Excerpt from Omens and Widows - Chapter 1, Arrival

High King Sol peered out the window of the royal carriage, wishing for the umpteenth time that his guards would agree to let him ride one of the horses. He was cramped and bored and tired of straining his neck only to see the same trees and the same rolling hills. The high guard had insisted he remain in the shelter of the carriage, which was ridiculous, because they anticipated no trouble crossing the border. And according to the captain, they’d crossed the border nearly two hours ago.

“How much longer?” he called to one of the soldiers, a young man who patiently obliged his regularly repeated question.

“Until Abrantis or the high city, your majesty?”

“Ah…” In his anticipation, he kept forgetting they would be passing through the port city to visit the governor and receive updates regarding trade and local politics.

He supposed he forgot because he disliked the governor, though he’d never admit that to anyone but his closest advisers. His droning about numbers and fish was incredibly boring. Sol had very little to do with Galenese trade, other than signing the treaties and agreements they requested. He understood it, of course, but they governed themselves quite well enough without his input and it seemed a waste of everyone’s time to present detailed updates. It also meant he wouldn’t reach the high city until at least tomorrow.

“Less than an hour, I think,” the soldier replied to his unanswered question.

Sol thanked him before drawing back into the carriage to wait some more. He folded his hands and stared at his listless fingers, wishing he had a book to read or a puzzle or anything other than this endless bumping along.

“Solanus Artori?” a voice whispered.

It had been a long time since somebody addressed him by his full name.

A brief look through the wrong window had him confused. But when he finally spotted his mysterious visitor, Sol laughed to himself. He checked to make sure none of the guards were paying attention–they had all fallen ahead or behind—before sidling closer to the window.

“Greetings, Vi. It’s been a while.”

The pale, semi-transparent figure glided alongside the carriage, bearing a subtle smile–or at least he assumed it was a smile. You couldn’t always tell with deus loci, spirits of the land. Called ghosts or gods by some, he had always called them friends.

That is, when none of his human companions were around. People didn’t think highly of a king who talked to invisible beings.

“You were gone for a long time,” the spirit admonished, appearing sad rather than angry, which was good, because one did not want to anger a land spirit.

“I was traveling,” Sol explained. “In Amaranth.”

Vi twirled gracefully in the air, stirring up a cloud of dandelion seeds.

“They’re wild in the forest. You could have been hurt.”

Sol shrugged.

“I make friends easily, you know.”

The spirit blew a raspberry and an eddy of wind messed up Sol’s hair. He patted the ginger curls absently, knowing it was a futile effort. His hair was always disheveled.

“I forgive you. But Solanus, there is news. When you were away, things happened.”

Sol grimaced. He’d known life would go on in his absence–that was precisely why he was not looking forward to returning to Theros–but if a deus loci was bringing him warning, it couldn’t be good. That meant it wasn’t only the humans who had been busy.

“People have died. A prince, a village, an ancient spirit—there was much death in the north, and the inside world. The… what do you call it? The Intermundus.”

“Intermundi,” Sol corrected the spirit.

“Hmm,” Vi considered, “I don’t like that, but alright. You should go home though, Solanus. A lot of people are upset, and you have some new friends to meet.”

“That doesn’t sound especially dire. The dead are dead already, yes? They’ll keep.”

A stream of fresh air blew into his face, leaving him plucking dandelion seeds and grass from his mouth and eyes.

“I assume there’s more, then.”

“War, maybe. And a curse breaking. The rightful queen will return soon.”

It didn’t take more than a few ticks on the proverbial clock for realization to nearly stop his heart. Sol’s breath caught in his throat and he gripped the edges of the carriage window.

“Are you certain? How do you know? Are the people okay?”

The spirit sighed the sigh of a breeze rustling a tree’s leaves.

“Solanus, you ask so many questions always. I will tell you one thing, and then I must go back to my grove. Two queens arrive, one king dies. A golden beast rises as a cold witch’s power grows. Be careful—sweet honey may be bitter, and ripened fruit may be rotten on the inside.”

Before he could reply, the spirit was gone, leaving behind a whirlwind of leaves and grass and flower petals that the guards behind the carriage brushed away from their armor.

Suddenly, Sol was very eager to return home.

“Change of plans,” he called out the window. “Alter our path to the high city.”

“Your highness, we’re expected at the port,” the captain protested.

“It’ll have to wait. There’s something important I need to attend to at home.”