Changing the Prophecy Chapter Seven Episode 1

 

Chapter 7 The Prophet of the Khoum -- Episode 1

At the appearance of the figures-in-white, Crumpet roared with displeasure. He stretched out his hand, recited an enchantment that caused him to vibrate and emit a buzzing sound and then, with a pop, he turned into a tea kettle. Buttercup plucked him from the ground by the handle, muttering, “Couldn’t you have at least managed to become a knife or a shovel or something I could use as a weapon, ya bonehead?”

As the figures-in-white descended on them, Sonjay wished with all his might that he, his father, Crumpet, and Buttercup were somewhere else, far from the dungeons of the Final Fortress. He pictured himself and the others sitting at the kitchen table at Manzanita Ranch eating Aunt Alice’s delicious cherry pie straight from the oven.

Buttercup started to run down the corridor with Crumpet-the-tea-kettle tucked under her arm. Without warning or apparent reason, Sonjay, Buttercup, and Reggie collapsed onto the floor. Sonjay thought for a minute that he had been shot, but as far as he could recall no one had shot him and he was not in pain. He felt as if he had turned into a giant jellyfish. His insides had gone all rubbery and smishy-feeling and he could barely move. The figures-in-white lowered their guns and studied Sonjay and the others, who flopped on the floor. One of the figures-in-white poked Sonjay gingerly with his foot. Sonjay wobbled and quivered like pudding. He wanted to grab that foot and twist it, but he couldn’t raise his hand. The figures-in-white rolled Sonjay, Buttercup, and Reggie into Reggie’s prison cell. Bayard picked up Crumpet-the-tea-kettle in his powerful beak and flew inside before the door clanged shut and locked behind them.

Sonjay howled with frustration. He could barely move and alien creatures had locked him in a cell in the Final Fortress for the second time in his life.

After Sonjay’s howl died away, Buttercup told the others, “That wasn’t me.”

“What do you mean that wasn’t you?” Sonjay snapped.

Buttercup ignored him and continued, “And it wasn’t Crumpet because he’s indisposed. Your father is not an enchanter, so we know it wasn’t him. It could have been the aliens because we don’t know their capabilities. But I wanna say, by their reaction, that they had no idea what happened to us. So I’m gonna say it had to be you, Sonjay.”

“Me? Me what?” Sonjay demanded. His nose itched and he couldn’t scratch it with his wobbly arm.

“You tried to throw an enchantment.”

“Throw it,” Bayard squawked.

“Ridiculous. I don’t know how,” Sonjay argued.

“My point exactly. What went through your mind right before it happened?” Buttercup asked him.

“I wished we could disappear and go far away from the Final Fortress. I imagined us at Manzanita Ranch eating Aunt Alice’s fresh-baked cherry pie,” Sonjay explained. “With vanilla ice cream,” he added.

“You picked a fine time to come of age,” Buttercup scolded. “You have the mark of the crescent moon on your wrist, the same as Princess Honeydew, the mark of a born enchanter. Now you must restore us. Listen and do as I say. Close your eyes and visualize us here, right in this cell,” Buttercup instructed. Sonjay did as she told him and they soon found themselves restored to normal (all except Crumpet-the-tea-kettle).

Buttercup set Crumpet-the-tea-kettle on the floor and told the others, rather absently, “He does this so often these days that Cardamom taught me how to change him back. Give me a minute here to fix this.” Buttercup aimed an enchantment at her husband, who transformed back into himself.

As Crumpet dusted his shoulders off, Buttercup informed him gleefully, “Sonjay has come of age.”

“How do you know?” Crumpet asked.

“Because he just attempted to locomotaport us and instead he deboned us; sent our bones somewhere. He didn’t realize he had almost thrown an enchantment because he has never done one. You get what this means don’t ya, babycakes?” Buttercup gushed with excitement.

“What does it mean?” Sonjay asked.

“Back in the day, Hazamon could locomotaport. It’s a rare skill. Only the most gifted enchanters can do it. It means that we have here in this cell, in you, one of the potentially most powerful enchanters in all of Faracadar. We need to train you. Too bad Cardamom didn’t get locked up with us. Crumpet and I will have to do for the time being.”

“I don’t have time to train to become an enchanter. We have to get out of here as soon as possible.” Sonjay stamped his foot in exasperation.

“While we work on that, consider yourself officially in training,” Buttercup insisted.

“I refuse to study anything from Crumpet. He’ll teach me how to turn myself into a sweet potato pie whenever I try to throw an enchantment,” Sonjay grumbled.

“Do as I say,” Crumpet said with a frown, “not as I do.”

“He knows much more about enchanting than you do,” Buttercup chided. “And he’s your elder so show some respect.”

Reggie cleared his throat. “If I may,” he interjected, “I have spent the last ten years studying the Mystical Book of the High Shaman of Khoum. Even though I lack the ability to produce enchantments, I have learned a great deal of value that could prove useful in the hands of a skilled enchanter. For this reason Sissrath has kept me alive and well-tended in this cell. Sometimes, when I clear my mind of all extraneous thoughts and the energy falls just about right, I can see into the future.”

Sonjay’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

“So you’re a Prophet of the Khoum?” Buttercup asked with growing excitement.

“I believe so,” Reggie replied humbly.

“Way cool,” Sonjay commented, as Bayard squawked, “Khoum, Khoum, Khoum.”

Buttercup cackled gleefully and pinched Crumpet’s arm. “Couldn’t have picked a better pair for the Corportons to lock us into a cell with, eh, babycakes?”

“Not in a million years,” he replied, whistling the final “s” through his teeth in a way that sounded very like a tea kettle whistling.

 “What is the Prophet of the Khoum?” Sonjay asked.

Buttercup settled her considerable bulk into Reggie’s desk chair at his large work table and focused her full attention on him. “What have you seen of the future and how much of it have you shared with Sissrath?”

“Do you know where Sissrath is and what diabolical scheme he has rattling around in his twisted brain?” Crumpet asked.

“Berries,” Bayard contributed to the conversation.

“Whoa, whoa,” Reggie said, as he held a hand up in defense and sat on his bed, since Buttercup had commandeered his only chair. “Too many questions. Let’s take one thing at a time. A few months ago I had a vision of the arrival of the aliens in the white suits. I don’t know what they really look like. I think they come from outside Faracadar. I believe they come from the future, but from what land, I can’t say. Before they arrived, I envisioned them destroying Faracadar and I cast the prophecy of the destruction for Sissrath. I did so because I hoped that the forewarning provided by the prophecy might help him save at least some of the people. Instead of using the knowledge to try to save the people or the land, he applied it to the task of saving himself. He apparently cut a deal with the aliens. They signed a contract with him, bound by his enchantment, that they will take him with them to their land if he helps them on their mission here. He plans to escape with them while the rest of us spin to our death as part of whatever cataclysmic event will occur to bring about the coming destruction.”

“Berries,” the bird squawked more urgently, unimpressed with Reggie’s prediction of an apocalyptic disaster.

“Could you see what event will destroy Faracadar?” Buttercup asked, with apprehension.

“It has something to do with the poisoning of the ocean,” Reggie answered.

“Do you know where Sissrath is now?” Crumpet asked.

“No,” Reggie shook his head regretfully.

“We know that the aliens plan to go back to their own land eventually because they agreed to take Sissrath with them,” Sonjay said, as he pondered the information he had just received. “They came here on a mission. That means they are after something. It seems as though they came here to get something and when they have it they’ll take it with them and leave. I figure Faracadar is in danger of destruction because of the impending loss of the thing the aliens came here to take, or from the process of obtaining whatever they came to take.”

“Berries, berries, berries,” the bird insisted. He pecked Sonjay on the hand.

“Reggie, do you have any fruit up in here? Any fruit at all? This heap of feathers will drive me nuts if he doesn’t get something to eat,” Sonjay said. Reggie took a jar down off a shelf and opened the lid. He set the jar in front of Bayard who peered inside and exclaimed delightedly, “Raisins!” The bird greedily picked raisins from the jar one by one.

“When you envision something, does it always come to pass?” Buttercup asked.

“So far, yes,” Reggie replied. “That’s why Sissrath took me seriously when I prophesied the destruction of Faracadar.”

“The Prophets of the Khoum have never been wrong,” Crumpet reminded Buttercup.

“I don’t believe in prophecy,” Sonjay informed the others.

“That’s like saying you don’t believe in water,” Crumpet responded in exasperation. “Just because you don’t believe in it doesn’t mean it’s not for real.”

“Prophecy is a warning, not an absolute fact. Believing in prophecies is like believing in fate. We can change fate. Otherwise, why bother to do anything? We might as well lay on the floor with all our bones gone,” Sonjay pointed out.

“What are you suggesting?” Reggie asked, eyeing his son with a combination of curiosity and pride.

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying. We have an advantage over Sissrath. He believes your prophecy that the land is headed to destruction. We know we can find a way to change that.”

“Do we know that?” Crumpet asked.

Sonjay fished his amulet out of the inside of his shirt and put it face-up on his chest as a reminder to the others that he was one of the Four. “Trust me. We know it.”

“That’s your mother’s Amulet of Heartfire,” Reggie noted softly.

“It’s mine now,” Sonjay said.

Bayard paused from his raisins and announced, “Berries.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, eat the raisins and be grateful,” Sonjay warned the persnickety parrot, without taking his eyes off his father.