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Micro-fiction 087 – Prophecy (Echoes series)

There’s a fine line between prophecy and manipulation in the creation of Empire in the star system of Alpha Centauri…


Prophecy.

In the far future, on a distant planet in the twin star system of Alpha Centauri settlers had forged a life from the few ingredients left them by the Terraformers, the generation of star jumpers who fled Earth at the early signs of collapse of the Sun. Across the galaxy many such settlers had been seeded to create new life, new civilisations, across the stars of the known universe. Although many had the potential, only one would spawn the greatest empire known to humanity. On the yellow planet of Tria, a slowly spinning rock three planets out from Apha Centauri Bene’ah, covered in sand and populated by drifts of humankind the beginnings of empire began with a few simple words.

Reach out and you will find the future throne
you think beyond us, waits for you alone.

Words of prophecy are a balm in the unforgiving desert where for the uninitiated there are few places to hide – if you survive the heat of day, the bitter cold of the night will take its turn with you. Into the mix add sulphurous winds from the volcanic South, and life is a battleground, with no room for uncertainty or hesitation. And so, into the lands where people of the many tribes understand only their place in the hierarchy of survival, come the charlatans, the crooked vassals of deception, the self-servers, those who offer false hope of a better life, of long forgotten riches hidden in vast chambers in the undulating dunes that dominate the eye-line of any who venture to lift their vision beyond the sand. And some of those charlatans come to rule by means of their deception, and the willingness of others to believe in all they are told.

In the grand tent the local Chief, Shen, the third of his family to preside over the largest tribe of the region, sits on his simple throne, with his loyal adviser Quet’ah next to him, a wise woman from the dunes, who became the confidante of Shen’s father, a man famed for doubting his own opinions more times in a day than the number of bristles on his fine moustache.

“You know I am old my lord?”

“Of course my Quet’ah, but it is unthinkable that you’ll leave us.” He looked at the dry rivered face of his adviser.

“Ah, like the your father before you, you always see the good and hope for the best, but you must entertain the possibility of my departure.”

“Of course, but it seems so long away I cannot take it seriously.”

“Indeed, but it comes to us all, as your dear father discovered.”

“You don’t need to remind me.”

“Regrettably I must, for I am close to my end. But, do not look so shocked, I have lived in the canopy of two great Chiefs, huddled in the corner, lucky to be out of the winds.”

“You don’t think you’ve been treated ill, my Quet’ah? Have you forgiven me for the mishap with your family, your people?”

“Of course, my lord I know my place, and we both know such things happen in times of war.”

“Indeed. You have always proved your worth to me.”

“Thank you, I have done what I know to be right, according to prophecy and so too my daughter Shet’ta must follow my path. If you permit me, I will introduce her, and she will transform your life.”

“Hah, I’d like to meet the one who could do that. I fear for us at this time, with so many tribes now restless, trying to take our meagre supplies, and impose their will upon my troubled people, in spite of the good words of your prophecies.”

“I think she will be the answer to our prayers.” Quet’ah smiled, her eyes still wide, large black pupils seated in an oasis of fading white. “For it is written, as I have revealed before, in a text you know so well:

A hero comes, in a whirlwind of sands
Your enemies defeated, she demands”

“But your daughter? You are suggesting she is your hero, our hero?”

“Indeed. When she comes you will recognise her as such, and you will submit to the motion of prophecy, and her part in  it.”

“I will?”

“Of course. You always have, has it not served you over the years?”

“I suppose so.”

“Have you not prospered? Have you not survived, better than all the other chiefs? Do they not bow to your command above all others?”

“That is true.”

“And yet you hesitate.”

“I do. I have followed your excellent advice but sometimes I wonder who is the Chief, and who is the Advisor? You are so wise, but am I such a fool?”

“A fool would not take good advice and see it succeed, as you have done so many times.”

“But I have not always followed what you said.”

“Of course, and nor did your father. I am merely a vessel for future truth, but its application is for you alone, and sometimes that leads to other actions which are not revealed by the prophecies, then you have made your own choices.”

“Does that mean the prophecies are not reliable?”

“It means that not all is revealed at one time.”

Shen peered at his adviser, “You know I could kill you, and your entire family?” and wondered if this was to be her end. If she thought so, she didn’t flinch.

“That is your prerogative my lord. And one you have exercised in your reign. I can only give advice when permitted, and convey the prophecies as they are revealed to me.”

“Are you a reliable interpreter of the prophecies?”

“I do not interpret my Lord, I pass them on, they are not my messages.” Quet’ah looked back at the Chief, her eyes unblinking, her ancient eyelids quivering slightly. Shen noticed that, and wondered if time really was snatching at her flesh.

“So you have said so many times. And the books you read, the voices you hear, no others are permitted to witness.”

“Not exactly so my Lord, but being the vessel of another voice is arduous work for those who who do not read the language, or understand the ancient tongue.”

“It is true,” Shen laughed, “I remember when you showed me the books for the first time, my brain hurt just looking at the pages.”

Quet’ah bowed her head, a subtle gesture that demonstrated appropriate servility, and concealed the smile that wreathed her face. “My Lord, it is time for your counsellors to report from the outer regions.”

“Oh, yes, let them in.” Shen stretched his legs, and yawned slightly. Sometimes he wondered if the emptiness in his head would be his greatest monument. 

Three tribesmen entered, they were completely covered, only their eyes showing. One of their number stepped forward. His sonorous voice enveloped the tapestries and lanterns of the tent

“My Lord, I come to report that your enemies in the South have been defeated, without any losses.”

“Really?” Chief Shen was more interested that he had expected to be. “How is that possible?”

A second of the counsellors stepped forward. “We came across many dunes filled with the bodies of our enemies, as though a storm had cast them all aside, in the hand of the Chief of the final tribe, we found some writing.” The counsellor waved a small tablet, the size of a coin.

‘Well, tell us what it says.” 

Nothing from you but a recognition,
A simple truth, and a simple token

Chief Shen looked across at Octa’ah, who nodded.

“Give it to me.” He leaned forward and snatched the tablet. Leave, while I consider this news.” Shen stared at the smooth surface, turning it over, wondering at its power. He noticed that one of the counsellors had remained. “I said leave.”

“I cannot.” The figure stepped forward.

“Careful my dear.” Octa’ah spoke frailly from her station by the Chief.

“I know, mother.” The soft voice returned a smile, as the cloak of the desert was cast away to reveal a slim, powerful woman, with a single blade in her hand. 

In that moment, every side of the tent slithered down, with the roof wrenched to the desert floor by those who gathered outside, kneeling, allowing the sands of the open air to gust in from all directions.

“My friends did not tell the whole truth. It was your own troops who fell. No doubt my mother could have told you that part of the prophecy.” She leaned forward, her eyes ablaze, her blade high before she plunged it into the chest of the chief, his hand releasing the tablet, caught by Octa’ah’s daughter who recited, in the face of the dead ruler:

Reach out and you will find the future throne
you think beyond us, waits for you alone.

A hero comes, in a whirlwind of sands,
Your enemies defeated, she demands

Nothing from you but a recognition,
A simple truth, and a simple token

That will cast all injustice to the past,
That the last will be first, and the first, last.

She turned and saw her mother had slumped, her final moments intwined with that of her Chief, the oppressor of her people.

“So you withheld part of the prophecy from me too.” Shet’ta leaned down and stroked the dry flesh of her mother, allowing the rare flow of desert tears to mark the beginning of a new Prophecy. She stood up and kicked the throne from its dais, and stood gazing up to the stars at the beginnings of the new Empire. She threw the prophetic tablet high into the dark skies and watched it arc across the twin suns of Alpha Centauri.

[End]


Part of a new series of micro-fiction stories, released as These Fantastic Worlds SF & Fantasy Fiction Podcast on iTunes, Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Spotify, Vurbl and Stitcher  and more. Also on this blog, These Fantastic Worlds.

Text, image, audio © 2021 Jake Jackson, thesefantasticworlds.com. Thanks to Frances Bodiam and Elise Wells,  Logic ProX, Sound Studio, the Twisted Wave Recorder App, and Scrivener.


More Tales, More Audio

There are many other great stories in this series, including:

And a carousel of 10 audio stories from the podcast with information about submissions.

Here’s a related post, 5 Steps to the SF and Fantasy Podcasts.