As he straightened himself, pulling the aura of authority around himself again, she studied his face. She had never heard of such a thing. She wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, or just talking out of anger. But if it was the truth…

“Nathan, anything you could tell me, or show me, would be a great help. We are all struggling on the side of the Creator. His cause must prevail. The forces of the Nameless One struggle always to silence us. Yes, I would like you to show me a prophecy the way it is meant to be passed on. if you can.”

He drew himself up, peering at her with burning intensity. At last he spoke softly. “Very well, Sister Margaret.” He leaned toward her, his expression so grave it nearly took her breath away.

“Look into my eyes,” he whispered. “Lose yourself in my eyes.”

His gaze drew her in, the deep, azure color spreading in her vision until it seemed she was looking up into the clear sky. She felt as if he were drawing every breath for her.

“I will tell you the prophecy of the true fork again, but this time, I will show it to you as it is meant to be.” She floated as she listened. “Of all there were, but a single one born of the magic to bring forth truth will remain alive…”

The words melted away, and instead, she saw the prophecy as if seeing a vision. She was pulled into it. She was no longer in the palace, but in the vision itself.

She saw a beautiful woman with long hair, dressed in a satiny white dress: the Mother Confessor. Margaret saw the other Confessors being killed by quads sent from D’Hara and she felt the blinding horror of it. She saw the woman’s best friend and sister confessor die in her arms. She felt the grief of the Mother Confessor.

Then, Margaret saw the Mother Confessor before the one from D’Hara who had sent the quads to kill the other Confessors. The handsome man in white stood before three boxes. To Margaret’s surprise, each box cast a different number of shadows. The man in white robes performed rituals, cast evil spells, underworld spells, late into the night, through the night, until the sun rose. As the day brightened, somehow Margaret knew that it was this day. She was seeing what had happened this very day.

The man in white had finished with the preparations. He stood before the boxes. Smiling, he reached out and opened the one in the center, the one that cast two shadows. Light from within the box bathed him in its brilliance at first, but then in a flash of power, the magic of the box swirled about him and snuffed out his life. He had chosen wrong; he forfeited his life to the magic he sought to claim.

She saw the Mother Confessor with a man. A man she loved. She felt her happiness. It was a joy the woman had never experienced before. Margaret’s heart swelled with the bliss the Mother Confessor felt at the side of this man. It was a vision of what was happening at this very moment.

And then Margaret’s mind swept forward in a swirl. She saw war and death sweep across the land. She saw death brought by the Keeper of the underworld, to the world of the living with a wicked lust that choked her with terror.

Again the prophecy swept her forward to a great crowd. At the center was the Mother Confessor, standing on a heavy platform. The people were excited and in a celebratory mood.

This was the joyous event that would bring the fork of the prophecy, one of the forks that must be passed correctly to save the world from the darkness snatching at it. She was caught up in the festive mood of the crowd. She felt a tingle of expectant hope, wondering if the man the Mother Confessor loved was to be the one she was to wed, and if that was the happy event the Prophecy spoke of that would bring joy to the people. Her heart ached for it to be so.

But something wasn’t right. Margaret’s warm delight cooled until her flesh prickled with icy bumps.

With a wave of worry, Margaret saw that the Mother Confessor’s hands were bound, and next to her stood a man, not the man she loved, but a man in a black hood. He held a great axe. Margaret’s worry turned to horror.

A hand forced the Mother Confessor to kneel, seized her hair and laid her face to the block. Her hair was short now, not long as it had been before, but it was the same woman. Tears seeped from the Mother Confessor’s closed eyes. Her white dress shimmered in the bright sunlight. Margaret couldn’t breathe.

The great crescent axe rose into the air. It flashed through the sunlight, thunking solidly into the block. Margaret gasped. The Mother Confessor’s head dropped into the basket. The crowd cheered.

Blood gushed and spread down the dress as the headless, lifeless corpse collapsed to the wooden floor. A pool of bright blood spread under the body, turning the white dress red. So much blood. The crowd roared with elation.

A wail of horror escaped Margaret’s throat. She thought she might vomit. Nathan caught her as she fell forward, crying and sobbing. He held her to him as a father would a frightened child.

“Ah, Nathan, is that the event that will bring joy to the people? Is this what must happen if the world of the living is to be saved?”

“It is,” he said softly. Almost every prophecy down this true branch is a fork. If the world of the living is to be saved from the Keeper of the underworld, then every event must take the correct branch. In this prophecy, the people must rejoice at seeing the Mother Confessor die, for down the other fork lies the eternal darkness of the underworld. I don’t know why it is so.”

Margaret sobbed into his robes as his strong arms held her tight against him. “Oh dear Creator,” she cried, “take mercy on your poor child. Give her strength.”

There is no mercy when fighting the Keeper.”

“Ah, Nathan, I have read prophecies of people dying, but it was only words. To see it as real has wounded my soul.”

He patted her back as he held her. “I know. How well I know.”

Margaret pushed herself up, wiping tears from her face. “This is the true prophecy that lies beyond the one that forked today?”

“It is.”

And this is the way they are meant to be seen?”

“It is so. This is the way they come to me. I have shown you the way I see them. The words, too, come with the prophecy, and those are what are to be written down, so those not meant to see the prophecies will not see them as they truly are, but those who are meant to will see them when they read the words. I have never before shown anyone a prophecy.”

“Then, why have you shown me?”

His sad eyes regarded her a moment. “Margaret, we are in a battle with the Keeper. You are meant to know the danger we are in.”

“We are always in a battle with the Keeper.”

“I think, perhaps, this is different.”

“I must tell the others. I must tell them what you can show them. We must have your help to understand the prophecies.”

“No. I will show no other what I have shown you. No matter the pain they would think to inflict upon me, I will not cooperate. I will never again do this for you, or another Sister.”

“But why not?”

“You are not meant to see them. Only to read them.”

“But that can’t be…”

“It is meant to be; otherwise, your gift would work to unlock them. You are not meant to see them, just as you often tell me others with common minds are not meant to hear them.”

“But they could help us.”

“They would help you no more than the one I told that girl helped her, or the thousands who died. Just as you keep me a prisoner here, so others may not hear what they are not meant to hear, so I must keep all but another prophet a prisoner of their ignorance. It is the will of He who has given the gift, and all else. Had He meant you to, He would have given you the key with your gift, but He has not.”

“Nathan, there are others who would hurt you until you revealed it to them.”

“I will not reveal it to them, no matter how much they hurt me. They will kill me before I do so.” He tilted his head toward her. “And they won’t try, unless you tell them.”