Pagdan rubbed his chin. “You must know. Callista is the one that sent you to us, after all.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
He rubbed a finger over the rose. “These words appeared only this morning. This is her sigil, the mark of the Silver Sorceress. She sent the message,” he clarified, when Thia continued to gawk.
Her cheeks heated at the expectancy in his gaze, and she swallowed. “What…what is the Storm Crow?”
He took her in for a long moment. “You really don’t know?” She shook her head, and he sighed. “I suppose if tales of our plight had reached unknown realms, we might have long ago been saved.” He wetted his lips. “It is a story as old as the Tyrant’s reign, which is shortly to come upon its seventieth year. The land of Eldris once had no king. Instead, six Houses coexisted in peace, coming together in a High Council once a year to ensure the prosperity of all lands. House Nightwing was the one exception; they appointed the Dómgeorn line to rule them, though these monarchs never set foot over their borders in conquest.
“That was where the Tyrant struck first. He slaughtered House Nightwing and claimed the title of king for himself. It was not long after that he named himself ruler of all of Eldris, and one by one the remaining Houses, either by trickery or conquest, fell to him. Today, only the Losrohir remain free, and they have done so by retreating so deeply into their magic that they have not been seen since that day.”
Sorscha placed a delicate hand on Thia’s shoulder. “The Losrohir occupy the lands to the east. They are old beings, some say as old as time itself, made of song and earth.”
Thia nodded in thanks, though the woman’s explanation only left her with more questions.
Pagdan continued. “Before their borders closed, they gave a final parting gift to us mortals: a prophecy, one small beacon to see us through the darkness.” His voice took on a lilting quality. “Born to the daughter of Nowhere and Everywhere, the Storm Crow shall come. A harbinger of war before the Tyrant’s reign undone.” He paused. “So you see, the Storm Crow is an omen of sorts, the first drop in a tide that will remake the world.”
“We should tell everyone,” one of the elders said, a woman with white skin and light brown hair. “Our people could use good news.”
“No—please,” Thia interrupted. “Don’t.”
Six faces peered at her.
“I-I’m not what you think I am.”
“It’s possible,” the elder to the right of Pagdan said, and the room quieted. He was weathered, his eyes milky with age, curly hair a mix of black and white. “I have no word from Sothis,” he said, voice thin with the warble of years. “I only read what signs the stars convey.”
“Chara is a cleric,” Sorscha whispered. “One who has dedicated his life to the gods.”
The cleric continued. “This girl may not be the one we have waited for. But it is said that the Storm Crow will come from nowhere and yet belong to everywhere. She appears now from the sky, claiming to seek the Tyrant of her own volition.” He paused. “That is a meeting I would be most intrigued to witness.”
“You can’t be serious,” another elder snapped. “She would be killed immediately. And our rebellion would be over before it had begun.”
Chara shook his head. “Perhaps, if she is not the Storm Crow. If she is, then Sothis will protect her.”
The brown-haired elder spoke again. “What good has Sothis done us? The prophecy does not promise that the Storm Crow shall live, only that it will set fate in motion.”
Silence met these words. Pagdan ran a thoughtful hand over his chin, and a few of the elders gazed at Thia with pity. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling slightly nauseous.
“Thia should decide,” Pagdan said at last. He turned his attention to her. “If you are determined to seek the Tyrant, I will send you on your way with a guide. But I will not risk what few fighters we have, if you do not know what you are. If you do not intend to lead us to war.”
Thia gulped. That was certainly not her plan.
Pagdan looked her over, not unkindly. “I meant what I said last night. We could use your skills here. If you would rather stay, we would welcome you. Storm Crow or not.”
For all that Haven feared the Tyrant, Thia couldn’t understand why Callista would send her to him if her death was so certain. Or why Callista would send this message here, when she of all people knew that Thia was just a girl who had fallen through a portal.
Unless this was the sorceress’s way of helping, since she now had a guide at her disposal.
The memory of her grammy swam before her, her heavy-knuckled finger pressed against Thia’s picture on the fridge. Of Riley laughing, arm thrown over her shoulder to protect her face, which was elbow-height for some people, as they wandered the school halls.
She met Pagdan’s gaze. “I have to go home.”
Sorscha took a soft breath behind her, and Pagdan nodded solemnly.
“I understand. Give me a day to find you a guide.” He paused. “This is a dangerous quest. I feel it is right that I should inform my people, so they do not make the decision lightly.” When Thia didn’t respond, he seemed to sense her confusion. “I will need to tell them that you may be the Storm Crow.”
“Ah.”
