In Which, Much To My Chagrin, I Have My Doom Prophesied

I don’t know how long I was unconscious for; all I know is that I was brought back around by a hand plunging into the snow, fingers outstretched and grasping. The probing hand happened upon my regal face, and as it prodded my buried flesh, I heard excited yells coming from above ground. The fingers gripped my face by the nostrils and hauled me up through the snow, slowly and painfully excavating me, inch by inch, and the wrenching agony wasn’t helped by the fact that the mead had worn off and I was now deathly hungover.

After 15 minutes of constant nasal tugging, my scraggled head sprouted forth from the snow, and I blinked as morning sunlight streamed into my bruised eyeballs. The divine hand that had heaved me from my white tomb belonged to Glob, who had apparently also salvaged Edgar, who was sitting behind her, patiently awaiting the exhumation of his king. I wrenched my arms free at last and Glob sat back, panting.

“Glob! Edgar! Thou art alive!

Glob shrugged, looking glum. I realised she was mourning the loss of the handsome mercenary.

“Alas, Glob, I am saddened as thee at the loss of our beloved Dedmìht. It seems that our quest has claimed the life of one of our company already. Doubtless, many more lives will be lost before we are able to reclaim my beloved. In the end, though, love knows no bounds, and if every one of you- er, us – must perish in the quest to save Astra, so be it. This is the price we pay for the greatest joy life holds for me– er, us: love.”

My followers did not look especially enthused at the prospect of their imminent deaths. To change the subject, I declared that we must press on at once with our journey.

We set about collecting our belongings, and thanks to the newly rearranged mountainside, we were able to slide on our bottoms down the powdery slopes. My sow was initially reluctant to slide down, digging her stubborn trotters into the earth, but a swift boot to her gargantuan buttocks soon sent her spinning down the snowy slope, squealing all the way in what I choose to assume was unbridled joy.

*****

Zipping down the mountain brought us to the end of the Klinghorns. We left the looming peaks of the mountain range behind, and the range’s severe, flint-strewn slopes underwent a gradual metamorphosis into grassy plains, and eventually to a fair wood populated with tall, elegant trees

The sun was smiling across a cloudpocked sky as we entered the woods. My noble pig, Margaret, was snaffling fallen apples as she carried me betwixt the trees, and on the back of Alfonso snoozed Edgar, his lolling bald head reminiscent of a pensioner headbanging underwater. Glob was jogging dutifully alongside carrying my armor, because the sun was beating down and it was much too hot for me to be lugging a steel breastplate around.

We made swift progress through the wood, and as the sun was setting we happened upon a clearing. It was the first break in the trees in hours, and we were compulsively drawn to its tranquil centre. A host of butterflies were the clearing’s only occupants and they parted gently as we approached. I hopped down from my pig and stretched in the sun, and called out to the others that this was a most excellent spot for a sandwich break. The others joined me, and we sat in a small circle nibbling corned beef sandwiches with ketchup.

As I was feeding my sandwich crusts to Margaret, whom I was rapidly growing very fond of, despite her piggy disposition, a sharp crack rattled my heart in its cage. It took the others by surprise too; Edgar had been polishing his crossbow, and the sudden jump had caused him to fire a bolt straight at Glob, a bolt that was now quietly vibrating in a tree stump two inches from her head.

We turned as one to find the source of the noise, and standing in the middle of the clearing, completely naked save for a tunic, breeches, boots, a pair of woollen socks and a large pointy hat, was a very tall woman.

The woman didn’t say anything for a long time. She just sort of looked around. My comrades and I exchanged concerned glances, but nobody wanted to be the one to break the silence, lest there be danger afoot. Finally, brave Glob spoke out.

“Ere, wot you want?”

I cringed slightly at the crude vernacular, and reminded myself to decree upon my return home that all peasants be better educated in future. I would work out the details of the plan later on, once my Astra was safe in my arms. I could probably just tax the peasants more, and then use the taxes to pay linguistics experts to teach them to not speak like idiots. It might not make them any more employable, due to the majority of their professions being things like ‘muck carrier’ and ‘potato examiner’, but at least I wouldn’t have to listen to their feckless mashing of my mother tongue any longer.

As I was mulling this over, I accidentally laughed out loud at the phrase ‘feckless mashing’, dazzled once again by my own royal wit. Though the tall woman had apparently not heard Glob’s question, her eyes snapped to me as soon as the chuckle escaped my mouth.

“Oh,” began the tall woman, “Christ, sorry I didn’t notice you there, I was miles away. It’s been a long day. So many fortunes to read, people to curse, potions to brew – you know how it is. My name… is Oblivia.”

She paused, apparently waiting for some input from our end of the conversation. It was very, very silent for a long time. What the hell do you reply to that? It was quiet. An owl hooted. Edgar trod on a twig and snapped it and whispered an apology. I rolled my eyes internally and spoke up.

“Erm, right, okay?” I croaked. “So… thou art a witch?”

“No.”

“But thou just said-“

“I’m a wizard,” shrugged Oblivia.

“Bollocks!” The word high-kicked its way out of my lips before I could stop it.

“Erm, well I am.”

“But thou art a woman.”

“I am acutely aware of that.”

“So thou art a witch.”

“Why do I have to be a witch? I want to be a wizard,” frowned the witch wizard tall woman.

“Girls are witches. That’s just… they just are. Girls are witches,” I mumbled.

“Well good for them. I’m a wizard. Now can we get on with this please?” she asked, growing impatient. “I must deliver to you a dreadful prophecy, regarding your quest to save your beloved-“

“Why dost thou not wear a dress, or perhaps some sort of pretty skirt?”

The tall woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because it’s not practical. You can’t ride a broom in a cloak. It causes unnecessary drag and ruins the aerodynamics. And I wear the pointy hat because I like it. Alright?”

“Hmm.”

“Can I get on with prophesying your doom now?” she asked, tapping her foot.

“Fine.”

“Right. Let me begin again. You’ve taken the wind right out of my sails. Okay.”

Oblivia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were glowing green. Tiny flames danced in her irises. It was a nice touch.

“King Athelstan,” began the wizard (that’s my name by the way, I realise I’ve not formally introduced myself, although if you’re a sharp tack you’ll already have picked it up when reading Prince Vena’s note. I should probably have told you who I am at the very beginning of the story but I forgot, and you know how it is with names, it’s awkward, and I couldn’t really find a good time in the story to bring it up without it seeming forced, so I simply left it out. I hope you don’t mind too much. But anyway, yes, my name is Athelstan. A regal name, right? Athelstan and Astra. A good, interesting pair of names. Star crossed lovers indeed.)

“King Athelstan, you are not listening!” cried Oblivia in anger. She sent a bolt of green flame zipping over my head as a warning.

“Sorry! Sorry. Please continue with your prophecy of…?”

“Doom!” roared the wizard.

“Right, yes. Continue.” I sat with my legs crossed and did my best to look attentive.

“King Athelstan, your quest to save your wife can only end in the darkest sorrow, raw anguish, and…” The wizard left a dramatic pause here. She had obviously had acting lessons in the past; she was quite good. “…death!”

“One of us has already died, actually.”

“What, really? You’ve barely left the castle! Who died?”

“Dedmìht.”

“Who’s that?” asked Oblivia.

“A really handsome mercenary,” said Edgar.

“A mercenary will do, Edgar. Be professional,” I corrected.

“Someone died already?” asked the wizard stifling an involuntary giggle. I frowned at her, and she wrestled her facial muscles back into a serene state. Her voice only betrayed a slight tremble as she spoke.

“How did he die?”

“He was hurled off the side of the Klinghorns by a massive avalanche.”

The wizard burst into a fit of laughter, doubling over and slapping her thigh. “Oh I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just, the Klinghorns aren’t even dangerous – I go skiing there!”

She wiped away a tear and regained her composure while we shifted and coughed and waited for the humiliation to pass. After three minutes or so, she was ready to speak again.

“Right, okay. As I said, King Athelstan, your quest is all but doomed. Ferocious perils await. Your very life itself may be lost.”

“Well, that’s less than ideal.”

“That is why I am gifting you with a magical weapon, to aid you in your travels.”

There was a flash and a sudden cloud of green smoke obscured the wizard, yet as the vapours parted, I saw that she was holding a large, immaculate sword. Brilliant light glinted off its every surface, its blade twinkling like the sun on the morning sea.

Holding it flat across her two upturned palms, the wizard lowered the sword into my hands. A warm wind blew as I grasped the hilt, and I felt a surge of power rush up my arm and through my body.

“This,” said the wizard, “is the Sword of Chekhov. It is made of one of the rarest metals in the land: Sylvion. You may have use for it in your adventures.”

She smiled at me knowingly. If she were wearing spectacles, she would have peered over them. I inspected the blade, thanked the wizard, and tossed it to Glob to carry. The wizard continued to regard me in a manner that made me uneasy however.

“All is not as it seems, King Athelstan.”

Before I could muster a witty retort there began a sudden, deep rumbling, and a flash of green flame gobbled the wizard up. All that remained of her was her boots, for some reason.