A Storm is Coming
Prologue
The cool night air is in stark contrast to what will come with the dawn, just a few hours away. She stands, naked except for a series of copper bracelets adorning each of her wrists, arms outstretched, and face raised, beckoning to the star-filled sky. Blood runs slowly down her arms; small rivulets of the sanguine liquid slowly creep down her torso and legs, staining the sand around her feet.
Oblivious to all around her, she chants softly, the language she uses is all but unknown outside her own kind. She is Tehir.
Once she would have been called pretty, even beautiful, but the magic has taken its toll. Her once coal black hair is mostly grey now, prematurely so, considering she has yet to see her thirtieth year. She learned long ago, the greater the gift, the higher the cost. The loss of her beauty is a small thing, however, and the power she has gained is much more valuable, and far longer lasting.
As she continues her chanting, she raises the dagger in her right hand and makes a shallow cut just below her left breast. The blood wells from the injury and begins to flow, combining with the already flowing blood, much as small streams join to make rivers. The sand at her feet, greedily sucking up her blood, appears black in the feeble moonlight.
Her body begins to slowly sway to and fro, as if to some unheard rhythm. Her chanting suddenly ceases as her eyes open wide, staring into the darkness, strangely unfocused. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, each one sounding more laboured than the last. Her knees buckle and she collapses into the sand, unconscious.
Dawn
She awakens, her entire body in protest, every muscle in agony. She tries to rise but her vision grows dim and the world spins sickeningly. For a moment, she considers that she may have gone too far this time, but the need was great; there was no other choice. She lies back into the rapidly warming sand, drawing comfort in its familiar embrace.
After a few minutes, she decides she can probably gain her feet without too much difficulty. Slowly, she rises, being very careful not to overdo it. She spies her scarlet robes lying nearby in the sand, along with her satchel. Before dressing, she hastily scrubs herself with sand, removing as much of the dried blood as she can; a bath will have to wait.
Walking unsteadily, she heads back towards the camp, much slower than she normally would. She has to stop twice when her dizziness nearly overcomes her before she makes it to the familiar surroundings of her tent. A cup of tea, that's what she needs, she thinks to herself, then, a bath.
She mulls over the events of the previous night as she soaks in the warm water. Carefully cleaning each of her wounds, all self-inflicted as part of her magic, her mind catalogues each of her visions. She remembers everything; each and every detail, no matter how small, is ingrained in her mind.
As her mind ponders the implications of what was seen she looks at the myriad of scars criss-crossing her body, each one a journey into the realm of her magic, and a single moment of regret passes through her mind.
Her fingertips lightly trace the line of a single, thin, unbroken line of scar tissue that runs from her shoulder to the inside of her wrist and she thinks to herself, "One life, traded for another; one future, denied, so that this one might come to pass; only time will tell if it was the right choice."
The clan leaders must be told of the results of her visions. Rising from the bath, she dries herself with a soft yierka hide and dresses in clean garments, robes of scarlet, as is her station.
Evening
Somewhat rested and restored by a light meal, she walks to the place of the meeting she has requested. A feeling of great dread hovers over her thoughts as, one step at a time, she approaches the large tent.
She ducks slightly in order to gain entrance to the tent. It is a large structure, perhaps twenty feet across and roughly circular in shape. A small fire, in the center of the area and surrounded by a ring of stones, provides both heat and some light. Numerous lamps hanging from the support poles or resting on low tables provide the rest of the needed illumination.
Each of the elder clansmen and women greet her with the utmost respect. A few exchange a word or two, but the seriousness of the situation makes it impossible for her to continue in any conversations; her mind is utterly occupied by her visions, and the consequences about to befall her people.
As she takes her seat a cup of tea is passed to her, she nods in gratitude. Taking a small sip, she allows her mind to wander. Since her vision, her normally ordered mind has been in turmoil, and she finds the tea to be mildly calming, allowing her some measure of control over the images passing behind her minds eye.
She hears her name being called and her mind flies back into the present. In one graceful motion she rises to her feet, once again becoming the woman of power, a woman to be respected and even feared.
She holds the cup of tea with both hands; she fears that her hands may begin shaking otherwise, and this is not the time to show any form of weakness. Strength and confidence are the orders of the day. She has done this what seems like a thousand times and she knows how to play her part well.
"The future is always upon us," she says, "just around every corner." All eyes are upon her, waiting patiently for her to continue.
"Our past has been tumultuous, the present is difficult. We call this Sea of Fire home. We have, and continue to, struggle to survive here. But, with that having been said, it is indeed our home. No others make their home here. It is ours, and ours alone."
She takes a small sip of her tea, as much to pause to order her thoughts as to gather the courage to say what must be said.
"Those days will soon be over," she states. "I have seen fire in the skies and blood upon the sands." A collective gasp arises from the group gathered. She raises one hand and the assembled people quiet immediately.
"Others will enter our domain. They will be clad in metal and wield blades of the same material. They desire all that we have and they shall try and claim us as their own."
"I do not know who these invaders are, but I have seen them. They are not as ancient as we are, they do not follow the old ways, and they do not appreciate the power of blood as we do. Their strength is in their numbers and in their desire to conquer."
"These things I have seen, through my blood and pain," she softly says. "We are a divided people; we will fight amongst ourselves as much as we fight the interlopers. Due to this, victory will elude us."
"However," she begins, "if we do not fight then all will most assuredly be lost; and our people will be as slaves, our daughters and sons sold, in chains."
With that, her duty to her people done, she walks from the tent; she has brought them the vision and what they do from here is up to them.
Besides, she already knows the outcome; she has seen it… in blood.
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