“Because we are always where we need to be,” said Owl Mother, a cunning glint in her eye.
A small oil lamp stood on a table. By the flame’s light, Aylaen could see the dragon’s red eyes gleam and the seagull’s black eyes glisten. Owl Mother’s eyes were dark and did not reflect the light. Aylaen sat down in the chair.
A tapestry covered one end of the room. The tapestry was very old and portrayed warriors in strange-looking armor battling each other. Aylaen had been forced to learn to sew and she could appreciate the work that had gone into the tapestry. Owl Mother walked over to the tapestry and with her wizened, clawlike hand drew it aside.
A man sat on a low three-legged stool. He rose when he saw Aylaen and stood facing her. He was tall and once must have been well-built, strong, and muscular. His heavy shoulders were now stooped, his muscles grown flaccid, and his skin hung from his arms. His face was deeply creased, and the corners of his mouth sagged.
His eyes were strange and arresting. Large and gray, the eyes were red-rimmed, watery, sunken in his head and constantly in motion, roving back and forth, shifting this way and that. He spoke to her, but he did not look at her. He searched, watched, always watching.
Aylaen rose to confront him. She knew this man, or rather, knew this god.
“I see you recognize me,” he said, not looking at her.
“You are Sund the traitor!” said Aylaen.
“I am Sund,” said the god. The corners of his mouth rose a moment in what was the memory of a smile. “I am pleased you know me, Daughter.”
“Do not call me Daughter!” Aylaen said angrily. “I am not daughter to one who betrayed his comrades and his people!”
“Too many eyes are watching you, Daughter,” said Sund. “Too many ears are listening to every word you speak. Too many hands carry knives to kill you. I needed to meet you where we would both be safe.”
“You wasted your time,” Aylaen said curtly. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Sund would still not look at her. His eyes roved back and forth; the side of his mouth twitched. “Your small mortal eyes can see no farther than your own nose. You have no way of understanding me. I make allowances.”
Sund shrugged his heavy shoulders. “I did not bring you here to hold discourse with you, Daughter. I brought you here to tell you what you are going to do.”
Aylaen shook her head. “My small mortal eyes may not be able to see into the future, but I know that if I was meant to do what you are going to tell me to do, you would not need to tell me to do it.”
Owl Mother chuckled. Sund’s gaze roved through the future, always searching and sifting through the myriad threads of the wyrds of men and gods.
“You know where to find two of the spiritbones of the Vektia dragon. You will be given the opportunity to obtain a third. You will take the two you have now and destroy them. You will destroy the third should it come into your possession.”
“Destroy them!” Aylaen repeated, not believing she had heard him right. “The Vektia bones hold the power of creation. If I destroy them I destroy the ability of the gods to create!”
“Precisely. And lacking that power, Aelon and the Gods of Raj will grow bored and depart. They will leave the world once more to us. If you attempt to use the Five, you will lose control. Torval, Vindrash, all of us will be destroyed. Aelon will gain control of the power of creation. And the first thing he will do with it will be to slaughter you and your people.”
Aylaen was distracted by Owl Mother, who was seated at the table, playing with a small wooden spinning top, a toy made to entertain small children. Owl Mother gave the top a twist with her hand and set it spinning on the table. The top spun and spun and then began to slow down and wobble. Finally, it fell over, rocked for a moment on its side, and ceased to move. Owl Mother folded her hands in front of her and winked at Aylaen.
Sund was not watching Owl Mother, yet he saw her, for he scowled. Owl Mother rolled her eyes and twiddled her finger around her head.
“That is one future,” Aylaen argued. “One among the many.”
“No, Daughter,” said Sund, “it is the one.”
Sund’s roving eyes rested on her at last. She looked into the wide and terror-filled eyes and realized with shock that the god’s fear had driven him to madness.
“I have tried to kill Ivorson and thus far I have failed,” Sund said. “His wyrd is strong and Torval protects him. But though Skylan is the one who finds the Five, it is you who will use them.”
Sund clenched his fist. “Promise me that you will destroy the Vektia bones, and all will be well between us!”
“I cannot make such a promise,” said Aylaen, trembling.
“Know this, then, Daughter,” Sund said, his voice deep and shaking with rage. “If you bring the power of creation into the world, you yourself will lack it. Your womb will be barren. No children will be born to you! This I have foreseen.”
“You are mad!” Aylaen cried.
“Your sister, Treia, is carrying Raegar’s child,” Sund continued relentlessly. “Her son will become Emperor of the Oran nation. Her son will grind his boot into the necks of the Vindrasi. I know this. I have seen it all. This is what will come to pass if you do not destroy the Five!”
Aylaen shrank away from him. She had to hold on to the back of the chair, where the seagull had perched, to keep from falling.
“Ivorson says his son must be born in honor.” Sund gave a hollow laugh. “His son will not be born at all! His seed will fall on dry, cracked ground.”
Aylaen could not bear to look at him and she covered her face with her hands. The baby dragon hissed in fear.
“Many wyrds,” Sund shouted. “Many wyrds wrapped together into one doom…”
And then all was quiet.
Slowly, Aylaen drew back her hands. Owl Mother let fall the tapestry. The god was gone.
“He is mad,” said Aylaen.
Shivering uncontrollably, she moved her chair closer to the fire. The dragon edged over to make room for her. Owl Mother took off her shawl and draped it around Aylaen’s shoulders.
“Sund was distraught over the death of the Sea Goddess’s sister, Desiria,” said Owl Mother. “He foresaw her death and he tried to warn Torval and Vindrash and the other gods, but they would not listen. They believed they were invincible…”
“Will what Sund threatened come true?” Aylaen asked, chilled. “Will I be barren?”
Owl Mother filled a horn with mead and handed it to Aylaen.
“Drink this,” said Owl Mother. “I will cast the rune stones.”
Aylaen drank the sweetly bitter mead and warmth returned to her body. Owl Mother drew from her belt a tattered and greasy leather pouch, opened the pouch, and took out six stones worn smooth from much handling. On one side of each stone was a rune. The other side was blank. Each of the six runes had meaning and were read together to reveal the future. Owl Mother dumped out the stones on the table and began to mix them with her hand.
Aylaen stirred in her chair.
“I only want to find my way home,” Aylaen said.
“You know the way,” said Owl Mother.
Aylaen realized she did know the way. Why then did she feel lost?
“If Sund, a god, cannot see the future, how can a bunch of rocks predict it?” Aylaen asked.
“Close the door tight when you go,” said Owl Mother, mixing the stones. “Or else the wind blows it open.”
Aylaen gazed down at the stones on the crude, rough-hewn table polished by loving hands rubbing oil into the wood.
Owl Mother indicated the stones with a nod. “Pick them up. And cast them down.”
Aylaen hesitated, then did as she was told. She held the stones tightly for a moment, then threw them onto the table with a jerk.
“Humpf,” said Owl Mother. “Never seen that before.”
Five of the stones came up blank. Only the sixth had fallen rune-side up.
“What does that mean?” Aylaen asked nervously.