[Psalm]

Upon touching my left cheek, the spot that scraped against a rough rock when my kidnapper shoved my face into the ground, I flinched from the sharp pain. Luke had applied a soothing ointment to the scrapes, but they still were tender, and likely a dark bruise will appear.

After retrieving the horses, we continued north along the road, but much more wary now. Luke maintained a long silence that eventually became uncomfortable, keeping his eyes fixed ahead, never glancing my way. His wariness was understandable, given what happened, but a look into his soul revealed a loss of luster, as if tarnished — something deeply disturbed him.

While Shadow chased a fluttering grasshopper, I urged my horse forward, coming up alongside Luke. "How do you think those men found us?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I know not. No one knew the direction we took. But I suppose upon discovering you missing, my brother sent agents in every direction. They must have seen us at that inn. It was my mistake to stay there. I'm sorry, Psalm."

"You couldn't have known, Luke."

Luke turned down his head, still not looking my way. "I almost lost you."

My heart skipped a beat, as that implied he truly wished to be with me. "But you did not, and I am grateful." With my aura sense, I looked again into his soul — the dullness still existed. "I sense something more troubles you?"

A knowing smile crossed Luke's face as he turned toward me. "Little can I hide from you, Psalm."

Although unintended, Luke's words stung. I should be careful to respect his emotional privacy. Remaining silent, I allowed Luke to form his own words, or none at all.

His smile dropped away. "Those men... I've never killed before."

Reaching over, I interlaced my fingers within his. "My dear Luke, I shall not claim to fully understand. The situation was forced upon us, and I fear if you had not taken deadly action, one or both of us would have suffered a dire fate. You have a beautiful soul, Luke, and the remorse you feel now is a burden of compassion in an imperfect world."

Luke's smile returned, full of warmth. "How did you become so wise, Psalm?"

I grinned. "If I claim to be, then surely I am not."

"But if no wise person admits wisdom, how would we know who is wise?"

What an interesting question. I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came out.

Instead came the premonitions. Or were they merely waking dreams? The tree-lined narrow road, hardly more than a path, dissolved away in my aura vision, replaced by scenes that changed like turning book pages. But they were more vivid than any book, immersing me and all my senses as if I stood within them.

Empty villages, life missing; Blank faces, emotionless; Red eyed monstrous beasts sweeping through the lands like a wildfire; A great battle, clashing steel and spilled blood; Luke, sitting tall on his horse and commanding an army; Mother, her expression grim while clasping my hand, preparing to fight; A desolating, dark abyss that threatened to swallow me up.

Words of destiny scrolled across my mind: the ink of souls, bound beyond the pages of time; gatekeeper of destiny.

What did it all mean?

A voice pierced the premonition veil. "Psalm, do you hear me?"

"Huh?" I answered as the dream dissolved into liquid shadows.

Luke tugged at my arm while leaning over from horseback. Our horses stood nearly motionless, side-by-side. "You blanked out, Psalm, as if your mind went somewhere else."

For a moment, I stilled as the images fixed themselves within my mind. "I suppose it did. I saw things..."

Luke pointed ahead to a group of red boulders shaded by a sprawling tree. "Let us stop to rest the horses and have lunch."

Sitting together on a flat-topped boulder, we ate flatbread, dried fruit, and dried meat. Shadow looked up at me with practiced sad eyes, pulled his ears back, and let out a pitiful whimper, so I tossed him a piece of meat. The horses located a patch of fresh grass to graze.

Luke asked the expected question. "What did you see, Psalm?"

I stared at the ground. "Just changing images, but incredibly vivid. Premonitions, perhaps?" Luke listened intently as I told him of the visions, then I concluded, "I know not what they mean."

Luke shook his head. "I still don't believe in predetermined destiny. Your visions might be just one outcome of many possible."

"I suppose." Even so, they seemed ominously foreshadowing. Chilled darkness crossed my soul. "But do we only delay the inevitable? Is hope but a cruel deception?"

As a tear traced my cheek, Luke drew me against himself. If only he could be my gatekeeper of destiny.

"We shall write our own story," he whispered.

We, he said, our story. Those words simultaneously elated and terrified me. I very much wanted the 'we', but did I then condemn Luke to a dismal fate? He deserved better. As the darkness covering my soul deepened, I considered an option that would never have crossed my mind before.

"Naamah wants my soul, and I believe if she obtains it, she will become even more powerful, and humanity would suffer for it. But I can make sure that Naamah never gets my soul--" My words, putrid across my tongue, faded away.

Luke's eyes widened as the meaning sunk in, then narrowed to slits. He held me out at arm's length, hands tightly gripping my shoulders, and his soul blazed red. "Psalm, you must never... We shall find a way! That which makes you valuable to Naamah also makes you dangerous to her."

My tears renewed. "I... I wish no harm would come to you, Luke." At once, guilt soured in my gut, for little greater harm could I do to this good man than to end my life. "Please forgive me."

The angry reds of his soul transitioned to warm yellows as he lifted me onto his lap, pulling me against his chest within protective arms. As I nestled in, the truth of my heart slipped by my lips in a whisper. "I love you, Luke."

Luke paused for half a moment, then replied, "You are my Psalm of joy, and I love you." Bending his neck, he placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. "And that is our greatest advantage."

My soul soared to the heavens, and I reveled in Luke's arms. I knew not what the future held, but this bliss I had now.

*****

As we continued our journey, the sun shined brighter, the birds sang sweeter, and the burden on my shoulders seemed lighter. Hope has that way, but was itself, insufficient. To become real, hope must become an active verb.

Naamah was of the magic, and as she said, as long as magic existed, so did she. How could I fight that? Magic. A sparkle of an idea flashed into my mind, and I drew a sharp breath.

"What is it, Psalm?" Luke asked.

"An idea, perhaps? Naamah is magic personified. I am an oracle, and while I cannot wield magic like a mage, I might direct its flow and weaken her. And Naamah's soul is not as empty as I had assumed, for remnants of a former exist: Lilith."

Luke continued the thought line. "And if Lilith can be revived, then Naamah would no longer be a soulless monster. We might reason with her, make her vulnerable. Is it possible?"

"I have to try." It was possible, I told myself. But for this to work, I must directly confront Naamah.

Closing my clouded eyes to the fuzzy daylight, I concentrated with my aura sense. Magic existed all around me in diffuse, shimmering filaments as it had for centuries before. I reached out with my mind, gathering the threads one-by-one, then twisted them together as if spinning new yarn. A kind of temporary magical void remained in the space from which I drew the filaments. It was a slow, arduous process.

Eventually, I had enough magical yarn to... to do what? A whimsical thought formed in my mind. With coordinating finger motions, I wove and wrapped the yarn like a knitter, and the magic became visible.

Luke creased his forehead. "Are you doing that, Psalm?"

I smiled. "Yes. That is me."

The knitting became a magical butterfly, fluttering and glowing blue. By my direction, it landed lightly on my outstretched palm, producing a pleasant tingle. Then I sent it darting about, giggling as Shadow took notice and playfully chased the apparition. I only just kept the butterfly away from his snapping jaw. Eventually, it returned to me, and I let the magic dissolve back to the ambient.

"That was amazing, Psalm," Luke exclaimed, and I reveled in his praise.

"That was fun," I said. "But I must become much better at redirecting magic if I am to counter Naamah. This was a start."

Luke nodded, then pointed ahead toward a meadow between rolling hills. "A village. Let us see if we may buy more supplies there."

What he called a village was little more than a cluster of thatched roof houses, weathered wood sheds, gardens, and pig pens — by all appearances, a poor farming community. Yet something was off. A dull gray shimmer coated parts of the village, vague in my aura sense. The residuals of powerful magic pulsed in my bones, and not a pleasant sensation.

"Where are the people?" Luke said, standing up in his stirrups as we entered the village. "Or the animals?"

Save for the wind rustling through tall grass, no sound greeted our arrival.

Something about this village seemed familiar... Tiny needles prickled the back of my neck when I realized why. "Something terrible happened here," I whispered, afraid to break the ominous silence of this place. "This village was part of my premonitions."

A man laid face down in the dried mud of a pigpen, partially obscured by weathered wood fencing. Luke jumped down from his horse and ran to the body, with me following. But upon coming closer, it became obvious that the man was long dead. The stench of death nauseated me.

My heart jumped into my throat as a strained roar reached my ears, and turned to find an upright monster rounding a small house and lumbering our way. Blazing red eyes regarded us as a rumbling growl emerged from a wide mouth with slimy boar-like tusks. It stood a head taller than Luke, wearing torn remnants of a farmer's work-clothes over gray, leathery skin. It was as if equal amounts of man and pig were blended and allowed to fester into an abominable mass. I detected no soul.

But this one seemed injured, with deep oozing cuts to its torso, and limping badly.

Luke grasped my hand and crept toward his horse. "What is that thing?"

"Chort," I answered, squeezing his hand. "I've seen them in my visions. They are Naamah's foul army." I trembled with icy fear as we stepped closer to Luke's horse while the Chort glared.

"The villagers. Do you think--"

I choked back rising bile. "Yes. Naamah created chort from them."

With a gargling roar, the chort clenched stout, clawed hands and charged, although hindered by a leg wobble.

Luke snatched up his bow and an arrow from his saddle. Quickly notching an arrow, he drew back the bowstring and took aim. When the chort came to within eight paces, he fired. The arrow struck true to the monster's chest with a thump. The chort collapsed to the ground, yet refused to give up, dragging itself along the ground. I held my breath as Luke's long-knife sliced across the chort's neck, spilling thick, dark blood.

For a moment, Luke and I just stared at the stilled monster, unable to take our eyes away. Then I drew my lips tight and said, "Let us leave this defiled place."

No further words were spoken nor backward glances given as we rode away, continuing north. I numbed myself to the atrocity that took place here, and that more villages might suffer the same fate. The weight of an unwanted destiny bore down again on my shoulders.