Who would rule?

Come to us, oh precious one, all that is, will be undone,

Fear us not, we will not harm you, the things you see should not alarm you.

Drink the potion, drink it quick, if the spell it is to stick.

Transformation is at hand, a Kingdom you will soon command…

The child was quaking with fear as the circle of women, hovered over her prostrate body. The potion was vile and gurgled its way into her stomach. At her feet was her aunt, her favourite aunt, the aunt who promised to protect her from the dark things that came out at night. At her head, whispering gentle, soothing words; her mother.

The old cabin stood deep in the heavily wooded forest that surrounded her village. It was built against the tall sharp mountain that jutted out of the ground like a giant arrowhead. The random stonework of the hearth was assembled around a natural fissure that ran up one side. Xanthe had never been allowed into this place before. Talk of witchcraft and tales of little children being drawn in with the promise of treats, only to be boiled down and added to the potions and elixirs sold at market by the old woman who lived there. Today she had been led there by those she thought loved her.

The room was filling with a heady smoke, which smelled of familiar herbs and less familiar oils. They affected her senses and soon brought her to a calmness that bordered on euphoria.

The women, witches all, chanted into the night. The young girl’s mind swam in clouds of colourful light and as the words of the droning chant were absorbed, she saw a vision.

On the high peak of Mount Arnaan, a red glow in the distance warning of danger, she saw a man, sat proudly on his mount, adorned with the regalia of royalty. She knew he was a King.

In a blink, her perspective changed, and she was standing beside the horse looking back at what the King could see. In the dark of the valley amid blazing torches, rows of troops stood in glistening armour, which flickered in the torch light, like the flames were coming from within them. Each soldier banging their swords on their armour rhythmically, creating a great percussive chant.

Men on horseback flanked them on either side. Their steeds resplendent in armour of their own. Banners held high on sturdy poles, fluttering in the strengthening breeze, looked like birds of prey, flapping over carrion.

Xanthe gazed in awe at the vastness of his army, and as a fear ebbed away from her mind a fierceness took control as she realised what a terrible portent this vision foretold.

“Who sent you girl,” came a booming voice that carried over the din. She looked up to see the King staring down at her, his face foreign yet familiar.

“I will come for your crown.” The words slipped defiantly from her lips. “Prepare as best you can, but I will defeat you…Father.”

The girl opened her eyes. She had no sense of what time had elapsed. The chanting had stopped. The women were sleeping on the floor around her, except her mother, who still cradled her head and whispered soothing words. When the woman saw her daughter’s eyes, she asked earnestly, “What did you see, love?”

“I don’t know Ma. I saw the beginnings of war. I saw a man on a horse. I don’t understand.”

“Rest now, my love. Today we feast, tomorrow we teach. In time you will understand your place in the world.”