Selka Ebonstone & the Prophecy of 7

Prologue

Prologue


He reached for the vial, his hands shaking. After all of the work he had done, or more accurately, after all of the work others had done for him, this had to be it. The old man had said it would work; that the pixie, being closest to the human's genetic make-up, should be able to bear offspring from a human male. But it was risky, and so she was to take a potion every month during the full moon in order to keep her body from rejecting the half-human child.


The girl had said that she had taken the potion, as instructed, since the conception. Not that he would have taken a chance on believing her word to be true. Instead, he had implemented spies to monitor her every move. They had confirmed that she had, indeed, fulfilled her part of the agreement; that she had taken the potion every month to ensure that the child would live. And so now, after nine long months, his plan was being fulfilled, and despite the attempts of the Elders to regulate faerie and non-faerie contact, the prophecy would be in motion.


He turned to the pixie, sprawled on the bed, sweat beads forming on her face. She sat up as he poured the liquid from the vial into the her mouth, then swallowed and collapsed back onto the bed. Her cheeks were a violent crimson, and her perspiration was beginning to dampen the sheets. Where is Moira? he thought angrily. He had sent for the conjure woman long before the contractions had started. If she was late, she would pay with her life.


He moved back to the fireplace, setting the empty vial on the mantle. Staring into the flames, mind restless, there was a faint knock on the door.


"Yesss," he hissed impatiently, "Who is it?"


"It's Moira,' a woman barely whispered, "I work for the 'fáistine." Hearing their password he opened the door with the wave of his hand.


"It's time?" she questioned, gently shutting the door behind her.


"Yesss," he hissed again.


She limped inside and felt the girl's head. "Her skin is flushed with the flame," she said, a deep frown furrowing her brow. "Pixies are never warm, not even during pregnancy. It could be a side effect from the potion, or from the pregnancy itself. It is difficult to know," she trailed off.


"Lorcan," she said, carefully choosing her next words. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground. "It is the same as before...heated temperature, difficulty breathing..."


"Nooo," he slammed his hand on the table, "The Eolaí had guaranteed that it would work this time!"


The woman cackled, apparently too beside herself to remember Lorcan's temper.


"The Eolaí is limited in many ways. As he likes to say, 'there are forces that natural magic cannot emulate.'" Shaking her head and chuckling to herself, she put a cool cloth on the girl's head, whose wings gave a light flutter as she coughed.


"I didn't know it would be like this," she gasped, gripping the bed with all of her strength. The contractions were getting stronger. "Please...please take it away."


Her body gave a jerk and she stiffened. Collapsing, she lay on the bed motionless, taking deep, rattling breaths. Her stomach began to shrink, sinking back into her body, a pool of silver liquid flowing from between her thighs.


"It's coming," Moira said, amazed. She moved to the end of the bed, directly at the pixie's feet, ready to deliver the child. "Push," she said loudly.


With what seemed like all her might, the girl pushed. Slowly, a small head appeared, followed by shoulders, and finally, the rest of the body. Moira picked up the babe and lay him in her arms, looking him over. He was small, slippery, and dead.


Lorcan reached out for the child, holding it from its feet, examining it closely. The girl screamed in horror at the sight of her dead baby. Her body turned rigid, and after many long and laborious hours, finally gave in, fainting from exhaustion.


"The mark," he bellowed, dangling the child wildly as he searched over the body, "Where is it? Where is the comhartha!"


He threw the babe to the floor, hands raised to the sky in anger and disappointment. Around him the small shack erupted in flames, his emotions consuming everyone inside. His efforts had failed once again, but his hunt was far from over.