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Kimashe and the Bleeding Stones


   In the early morning hours King Vendumar was awaken by a horrific nightmare but told no one of its details.  He called for his Councilors: Spiritual Advisor, Chef Guard and the Mayor of Mithar.  Though their conversations eased him back to a waking state, none could tell him his dream or its meaning.
   The Mayor said, “Forgive me O King, but there is one from the Nasilian camp named Kimashe, called a Seer by her people.  It is said that ‘she knows the unknown and can discern the yet to be’, sire.”
   Vendumar replied, “You are all good as you are but in this matter – bring her before me, but do not breathe a word as to why.  That I may know she is true or false.”

   Going out to the tent city of Slavath, a mile from the city gate of Mithar they searched her out.  At a blue tent on the outside of the settlement Kalena, the Mayor and two tower guards dismounted their steads as he called out her name.  From within the tent, she called them inside.  The tent looked much grander and larger on the inside than its small outside appearance.  Many colored veils and lit candles were everywhere, bones and feather and furs.  Rising from a pillowed seat a young woman said, “He has cried for three nights, but only this morning has he begged an answer from you and two others.  Even now he orders me to appear for a meaning of his woe.”
   “How did –,” began Kalena?
   But Kimashe replied in haste, “We must go.”  She walked as the three others rode horseback refusing to be lifted up.  Through the great statued gate, down the cobbled stone streets to the many stairs of Varlendur they soon came before the king in his tower.

   Behind the King’s throne the wall was a painted with a scene of the Great Departure; the boarding of the last swan ship.  For all his power Vendumar had no understanding of his own dream.  Coming before the king, Kalena introduced her, “Sire, here is the Nasilian Seer, Kimashe by name lord.”
   Kimashe stood dressed in a white hooded robe, both hands and bare feet adorned with rings and bracelets; she was covered in tattoos.  Her face was sand white, and hair black as coal.  Just as King Vendumar was about to speak, she spoke instead, “The bleeding-eye crows have nothing better to do than to torment you for the last three night of your sleep, and wrestle with your thoughts in the day, mi lord.  Shaken and crying in the night like an abandon child in a sand storm.  I tell you now oh King to command your scribe to write down all that I say; and the day my words perish is the day the dreams return worse than before.”
  Vendumar nodded, even as the scribe was already fast at his work.  Then the king asked, “What was the dream and its meaning, child?”
   “A bleeding eye crow sat on a huge cut stone lying on its side.  The crow flew to the ground as the pillar was raised.  Four times this happened.  Yet amid the standing stones were six bleeding eye crows walking about on the blood soaked ground.”
   The king was happy to have found someone who could tell him his dream but was in awe at who spoke the words.  The one before him was no more than a child of eight, but her maturity was more.  Vendumar inquired, “There was another.”
  Kimashe looked very grave, “Indeed there was sire.  For all six crows came together as one making a seventh larger crow.  The seventh crow had white bleeding eyes and a forked tongue like a snake.  The large, sharped tongue crow began pecking at a gold, ringlet-leaf crown, like yours.  It filled with holes and each one was bleeding, before it fell apart and melted into the blood soaked ground.”
   Falling back into his throne with great fright, Vendumar gasped, “Come wicked child!  Pray tell me surely the meaning of such disgust and mare as this thing you have made plan to me and all here.  These are the very things indeed that have so plagued me!”
  Both of her arms rose out and became stiff.  Her fingers went jagged and ridged as her own grey eyes began to bleed.  Suddenly her gentle voice sounded like that of an old man, “Six shall come, and four be slain and their black words shall see much blood spilt.  A seventh shall rise greater than the six.  Embolden by them the very king who hears him shall be the final one!”   After her prophecy she collapsed to the floor.  Upon standing she was as before.
  The entire room was much worried by her words.  Vendumar said, “No one shall speak against the king.  The king himself, alone shall reprieve or condemn any who do for that is what kings do; fate and judgement.  In this matter, I perceive you have spoken truthfully without malice.  We shall strive in our reign to cause only light, good and harmony to continue in -.”
   “What of Varlendur and the dungeon renown through Eriduah; and you as holder of its iron key?” Kimashe interrupted.
  Vendumar saw this was no child before him but something greater, “You have been afforded good will up to this point, Seer of Nasil.  Watch your words and tone thereof.  There is a reason and season for that key and its business is no concern of yours.  Thank you for your service; you may either return to your old life or begin a new one here.”

  “I shall return unhindered either way.”  As she turned to leave the great tower doors flew open on their own accord to the dismay of all.


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