Part Eight: Everybody’s Psychic


PART EIGHT

EVERYBODY’S PHYCHIC

                ‘I can hear howling. Am I supposed to be hearing howling? Because I can hear howling.’ Harresta was tugging on Telcrow’s robe. ‘It’s wolves, isn’t it? Please tell me it isn’t wolves.’ Telcrow sighed. ‘It isn’t wolves’, he said sarcastically. Harresta glared at him. ‘Only my grandfather was eaten by wolves. In a cave. Hence my fear of wolves and caves.’

Telcrow glanced sideways at Berthond, with a look that said Please tell her to stop. Berthond wasn’t paying attention to the look. He was beginning to have the suspicion that Harresta would be the one to die, screaming, surrounded by wolves. He shuddered at the thought.

He wondered if he should tell someone about his…What would it be called? Premonition? Yes, that was a good word. But who would he tell? Telcrow was smart, but probably wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Anyway, it could just turn him paranoid. He was only seventeen, after all. Harresta? It wouldn’t do her any good to know about her own possible death.

Selebriar seemed like the only person to tell. He was an Elf, after all, and Elves are known for their wisdom.

He walked a bit closer to Selebriar. ‘Can I talk to you about something?’ He whispered. Selebriar gave him a sideways glance. ‘If it’s that secret, best wait until the next stop to impart it. Speaking in hushed voices may not be so easy on the road.’ Berthond nodded and kept walking, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

The next stop was for lunch. Selebriar motioned at Berthond to follow him once it was over. Berthond stood up as Harresta and Telcrow were packing up. ‘Where’re you going?’  asked Telcrow, with an edge of suspicion to his voice. ‘Oh…Just…Going to have a talk with Selebriar. You know. Strategies. And stuff. Strategicky stuff.’ Telcrow sighed. ‘Actually, I kind of have a feeling I know what you’re going to talk about. And I’m not going to be left out of that conversation.’ And Telcrow followed after Berthond, leaving Harresta to finish packing by herself and wondering what secrets she was being left out on.

Selebriar glanced at Telcrow as the two boys appeared, but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he said: ‘Alright, Berthond. What was it you wanted to talk about? Although I think we all know.’ Berthond took a deep breath. ‘Someone’s going to die, Selebriar. I don’t know who, I don’t know how, but someone’s going to die. At the tower.’ Selebriar nodded. ‘Yes. I felt it.’ Berthond remembered Telcrow, and turned towards him. ‘Wait, so you could tell, too? How?’ Telcrow rolled his eyes. ‘I’m a bloody wizard. I’ve been studying necromancy for six years. Of course I can tell when someone’s going to die.’ Berthond blinked. ‘I thought you were studying pyrokinesis?’ ‘No, I specialize in pyrokinetics: it’s the most basic form of magic. For six years now, I’ve been learning necromancy: the technique isn’t perfect yet. That’s the difference. Buy yourself a dictionary or something.’

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