Stone of Tears

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.”

She stared at him, seeing him differently than she had ever seen him before. None before had ever been as devious as he. He was the only one they had never been able to trust. All the others had told the truth about their gift and its capabilities, but they knew Nathan lied, knew he was not telling them all he was able to do. She wondered what he knew, what he was capable of.

“I will go to my grave with what you have shown me, Nathan.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Thank you, child.”

There were other Sisters who would have hurt him for addressing a Sister so. She was not one of them. She stood and straightened her dress.

“In the morning, I will tell those in the vaults of the prophecy that has forked, and of the ones on the false and on the true branches. They will have to decipher them as best they can, with what the Creator has given them.”

That is the way it is meant to be.”

She returned the ink, pen, and sand shaker to the desk drawer. “Nathan, why did you want the Prelate to come? I don’t recall you ever asking for her before.”

When she looked up, he was studying her with cool detachment.