Eyes glazed over and milky, the old woman gazed into the mirror. To any other observer it was her reflection that stared back at her. To her, the images in the mirror swirled and changed in front of her blind gaze. Each image showed a child, all different, all who would inexplicably meet. Unknowing to them, they held the fate of the country in their hands. Their parents were blissfully unaware of the moment when their children would meet and become entangled ever deeper in the destiny that was theirs.
Destiny…
And yet, as the old Seer gazed at the flickering images, she had problems seeing how it would all fall into place eventually. She leant forward examining each child in turn.
A sturdy, curly haired toddler, taking his first steps as his mother clapped in delight.
A dark haired baby smiling up with enchanting green eyes at her adoring parents.
A young couple holding their first son, his older sister looking on enviously.
A round little boy gazing amazed as his brother blew bubbles with soapy water.
A father, his faced lined with grief for the loss of his wife, watching his daughter sleep peacefully in her cradle.
A mother sitting in bed, showing proud relatives her son, a few weeks old, still wrinkled and new.
The Seer sighed and looked away from the mirror. They were all so innocent, so helpless. She mourned the lessons they would learn as they grew older; the hardships some of them would know more than the others. There was nothing the old woman could do but watch them, watch them grow into the powerful adults they would become, watch them meet each other, watch the friendships forged develop into ever stronger bonds.
Her unseeing gaze turned towards her own son, pacing up and down the tiny living room, unheeding of his mother’s work, unheeding of his young daughter’s trusting gaze upon him. He was waiting for his wife to return. The Seer knew, though she could not bring herself to tell this to her son, that his wife never would come back. She glanced at her granddaughter. Though physically blind, her Sight enabled her to see things anyway, albeit in a different way from usual. The baby sat in the faded armchair, her wispy blonde hair sticking out at funny angles, her enormous blue eyes fixated on her father’s strides.
The Seer gave another sigh. If only she did not know that her granddaughter, her Brooke, would be tangled up in the same fate as the other children. The old woman wanted nothing more than to keep her safe, keep her hidden. That was not possible. As soon as Brooke was of age, as soon as she learnt of her powers, nothing the Seer could do would make her forsake her desire to join the others.
No not desire. For she would not desire the journey ahead. It would be more a compulsion.
Shaking her head to rid herself of the terrible sense of foreboding that had befallen her, the Seer returned to her vigil in the mirror. It should be any time now.
There was still one more to come.
As if on cue with her thoughts the mirror suddenly swirled and darkened; becoming filled with the images of a storm. Through the purple-black clouds and the tearing lightning, a small farmhouse was barely discernable. Lights moved towards it. Leaning forward, the Seer could make out the outline of a horse drawn coach, racing towards the house.
“Closer,” she whispered.
The scene changed and zoomed in on the house, through the windows and inside, showing a man who paced up and down not unlike what her own son was doing at the very same moment. Every so often he would stop, as cries of pain pierced the night. Each time this happened the man would start to the bottom of the stairs, but always he stopped with a foot on the first step. Then he would resume his pacing, his face fearful and drawn. The screams became more and more frequent, until they were replaced by a different cry, higher pitched and wailing.
The man stopped dead in his tracks, a look on his face torn between terror and hope.
After what seemed an age, a rotund woman came down the steps carrying a bundle in her arms. The man made an involuntary movement, but remained where he was.
“H-how is…” he stammered.
The woman, who looked tired, smiled, “She’s fine. Sleeping though, it took a lot out of her. She’ll be exhausted for a few days, so take it gently for a while.”
The man nodded, staring all the time at the bundle in her arms, as if he could not bear to tear his eyes away from it. “And…and the baby…?”
A wider smile. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
Something seemed to break within him, and he buried his face in his hands. The woman busied herself with the tiny creature wrapped in blankets to give him time to compose himself.
“My son!” he whispered. “My son!”
For the first time the midwife’s face took on an expression of uncertainty.
“Mr Hooper – ”
She got no further as the door burst open, and several heavily armed men entered the room. They stood on either side of the door, making way for the two robed men who swept in, scattering drops of water from their rain soaked cloaks.
“What the – ” spluttered Mr Hooper, moving to stand in front of the midwife and his child. “How dare you enter my house! State your business!”
The robed figures glanced at one another. The taller of the two, his grey beard long and dripping with rain, spoke first.
“We have come to see the child.”
“There is no use resisting, farmer,” added the smaller, fatter one, with a sneer in his voice. “You have been told of this child’s fate. You know it as well as we.”
As Mr Hooper’s face fell, the taller man added, more kindly, “It is all right, you shall not be parted from him yet.”
The midwife made as if to say something, but was quelled by a look from the shorter wizard, who beckoned her to hand the baby over. She hesitated, clutching the tiny bundle to her bosom, but Mr Hooper nodded at her.
“It’s ok, Marie.”
She passed the baby carefully over to the taller of the two who gazed down at the small pink scrap of life he held in his arms. The smaller man stood on tiptoes to get a better view.
“So tiny,” murmured the taller. “So small to think he will become a great man, and an even greater wizard. He will be ruler of us all. I did not think to see this day come in my lifetime.”
“But…”
They all turned to look at the midwife, who looked exceedingly confused.
“You question us woman?” snapped the short wizard. “You question the signs we have seen in the stars, in the waves of the oceans, in the whisper of the breeze amongst the leaves. What would you know, you ignorant female? What makes you question the might of all of wizard kind who have foreseen this boy’s destiny!”
“But it’s a girl.”
The room froze, as did the Seer, sitting miles away in her own house, watching avidly in the mirror. She permitted herself a small gasp.
It’s a girl.
“Impossible!”
“You lie!”
“The Seer…” Mr Hooper swallowed thickly. “The Seer in Gerning said he would be a great wizard, would become the most powerful of all. It has to be a boy!”
The midwife looked indignant at this remark. “All right then!” she snarled angrily, “See for yourselves if you don’t believe me!”
The wizard holding the baby twitched back the blanket and breathed in sharply. The shorter wizard went pale.
“Y-you must have switched him! Where is the boy! Where is the wizard whose future we have seen!”
“She is here,” said the taller wizard softly, gazing at the child. “There is no mistaking it Plenthy. I can feel her power. Already I can feel it. You can too, do not deny it.”
Plenthy looked as if he was about to have a stroke; he had turned purple. “I cannot feel it!” he shouted, making the sleeping baby stir and gurgle unhappily. “You forget your place! You are not senior wizard here! I am!” he glared violently at the farmer and the midwife. “Take this monstrosity, this…this…freak,” he spat the word into Mr Hooper’s rapidly angering expression, “away and hide her if you know what’s good for her. No woman should have the power we have foreseen. The prophecies were wrong, the order shall not change. All shall remain as it was until the rightful heir makes himself,” never had a word been more heavily loaded with spite, “known to us.”
The tall wizard looked sad and handed the baby to her father.
“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I – ”
“We are leaving!” bellowed Plenthy. “And make no mistake, no wizard shall ever return to this place of…of…” he seemed to choke on his own anger and fear. “Of evil!”
“Get out,” said the farmer quietly.
Plenthy needed no further prompting, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the door into the wild night, closely followed by the muttering guards.
The tall wizard lingered. He looked uncertainly at the baby, and then at the door, as if trying to decide what to do.
“Here,” he said, and pressed a small object into the midwife’s hand. “Give this to her. It…it may help, I am not sure…but…it is the best I can do for the time being. I…” he paused and shook his head sorrowfully, “I hope I shall meet her in the future.”
And with that he swept from the room.
The Seer was now leaning so close to her mirror that her breath fogged the glass.
The man and woman examined the thing on her palm. It was a ring of thick heavy silver, set with a white stone. It looked very old.
“Well…” breathed the midwife. “That was interesting. I wonder what this means?”
“All it means,” answered the man slowly, his eyes fixed on his newborn, “Is that I have a daughter who I can love and who will never be taken away from me.” He looked at the ring. “I shall keep this in a safe place, somewhere she shall never find it.”
“But he gave – ”
He silenced her with an angry look. “My daughter will not need to know of this night. She will never again be troubled by the affairs of wizards. I will not allow it.” He gazed at the baby again, who was stirring in his arms. “I was going to name her Joseph, after my father, if she had been a boy.” He paused, thoughtful. “But I still can…Josephine. That shall be her name. My little Josephine.”
And the baby began to cry as darkness descended on the scene.
The Seer sat back. It was quite dark outside now, and her son had put little Brooke to bed. She was troubled, troubled by the intense love of the man who wished to protect his daughter from the great things that faced her. For despite what Plenthy had said, the other wizard had been correct – it mattered not what the child’s sex was, only that she had the magic the signs had spoken of. Of that, the Seer was convinced. She had felt the power of the child, through the storm that heralded her birth. Her gender would make her path more difficult, but the same nevertheless. Whether it would hinder her success rate…
The Seer shook her head. There was no protecting her, she knew that all too well, and her old heart ached for the new life just as it ached for her own granddaughter, sound asleep in her bed, unknowing, unaware.