The Fifth Sorceress

Epilogue Recluse

The following day the weather surrounding the Recluse turned harsh and cold, the wind whipping steadily through the cloudy air, wheeling the cold rain into heavy, swirling patterns before it hit the already soaked and muddy ground. Thunder and lightning barreled across the sky from time to time as the Vagaries continued to mark the passing of the Coven, unleashing yet more wind before finally relenting. They were soon followed by a dense fog that had slowly snaked into and around the once-magnificent structure, carrying with it a silent, foreboding kind of impenetrability. With the slow, final cessation of the wind, nothing moved and there was no sound. The deserted, ruined Recluse rested awkwardly, split open and broken, on the island in the center of the surrounding lake.

And from the fog now came, slowly, an azure mist, glowing ever more brightly as it deepened in both size and density. The azure haze swirled and gathered, then slowly, silently, began creeping across the surface of the moat and started to approach the little grave with flowers upon it.

The grave that was marked Galland.

The sapphire radiance swirled and began to coalesce, forming itself into an ethereal, yet partially human aspect. Two human, glowing azure hands hovered bodiless above the grave and then slowly began to beckon to the stones.

The small, carefully piled rocks began spilling down over the edges of the grave and onto the ground, finally exposing the little body that lay there, wrapped in the simple cloth. With a smooth turn of one of the ghostly hands, the dead, exposed infant in the grave rose into the air and floated over to settle in an azure palm.

With a wave of the other hand, the rocks piled themselves back into a cairn, the marker remaining untouched, the grave completely taking on its previous appearance.

Then a combination of voices from the sky spoke aloud. Their words seemed to encompass the entire land, although there was no one near to hear it.

Our servants, the Coven, defeated by what was once an irresponsible prince, the voices said as the child rested peacefully in the cupped palm. A mere prince no longer. Now the fully realized male of the Chosen Ones. But all was not in vain. The blood, the male heir of the Chosen One, shall be ours.

The hand without the child gathered upon its glowing fingers yet more of the swirling, lapis mist and guided it to fall gently upon the dead infant’s face.

Slowly, the baby’s chest began to rise and fall, his breathing beginning to quicken, the color returning to his cheeks.

Finally, his eyes snapped open.

His hair was dark and thick, his expressive eyes blue, slanting slightly upward at the corners in a rather exotic fashion, his face the perfect embodiment of the man who was his father and the sorceress who had been his mother. He continued to gaze calmly, almost wisely, into the dark night sky. He was quite unafraid.

The firstborn son of the Chosen One lives, and now he is ours.

The thunder and lightning of the Vagaries came once again, even more violently this time. The wind howled, and the lightning cascaded across the sky in unimaginable streaks, now more a portent of what was to come than an homage to the death of the Coven.

Turning towards the heavens, the pair of azure hands holding the baby began to ascend skyward, toward the stars, and disappeared.