The Pillar of Dominance
The Last and Final Prophesy
Wendell awoke the next morning feeling quite ill. The celebrating of
the night before was like nothing he had ever experienced. He looked at the
clock. It was late in the afternoon. He groaned. His master was sure to
reprimand him for his excessive partying. He pulled on some clothes, his
head still swimming with illogical spinning flashes of the night before. He
saw a long table laden with food, someone mumbling a drunken toast,
Aleafia dancing with him, her eyes shy and happy. He saw her bidding him
good night, and then more music and feasting.
Wendell glanced in the mirror. His hair resembled a bird’s nest. He
smoothed it with one hand. Not certain that he had made an improvement in
his appearance, he snorted at his reflection and hurried down the stairs.
His master was seated in his rocking chair, smoking a pipe and
looking out the window. Wendell cleared his throat. The old wizard made no
response. Wendell walked over to his master’s desk. Usually tidy, it was in
disarray, littered with scraps of parchment.
“Do you want me to finish these incomplete hexes?” asked Wendell,
indicating the bits of parchment scattered on the table. He hoped to soften
his teacher’s temper with a generous dose of helpfulness, but the old wizard
waved him away, only grunting a vague reply. The old man stared out across
the garden with an unseeing gaze, exhaling a puff of smoke. Wendell came
“What troubles you master?” he asked.
“Hum?” responded the old man, absently looking up before returning
to the window. “I am puzzled,” he said, leaning his cheek on his fist. “The
witch of Apple Grove has given the King her last and final prophesy.”
“Her last?” asked Wendell. “Is she going to die?”
“She passed this morning,” said the old wizard. “She was the last of
the Great Seers.”
Wendell took a seat near his master, recalling his brief and only
encounter with the witch on the day he visited her orchard seeking Aleafia.
“And what of the prophesy?” he asked.
“She spoke of the chosen one,” replied his master. “A boy who would
set things right, born to the seventy-fourth son of the sapphire dynasty—fifty
generations from now.” He put a heavy emphasis on the last part of the
sentence to convey the vastness of that span of time.
“Set things right from what?” asked Wendell.