The White Rose dipped her hands into the water and closed her eyes. The water in the basin was chilly, and made her hands shake slightly, but she clenched them to make them still. Then she took a deep breath and focused. She let everything flow away from her. The day’s events, thoughts, life in general. Instead, she let her consciousness flow to the state of the future. A place full of possibility and undiscovered routes yet it was so plain and... White, she guessed.

When The White Rose was in the state of future seeing, she lost touch with the outside world, she was in a sort of trance. If someone spoke to her or touched her, she wouldn’t have reacted. She was docile. Or better put, simply not there. Where she instead was, was the physical future.

Where she was, in the white place of possibility, a physical future, she walked around and searched for clues or really anything in general. Just something that The Ruler might find useful. But she knew that this wasn’t the place where the future liked to show itself. The future liked to show itself right at the very end. The place where it was least expected. But it was expected and that made it lose all of the fun and excitement. To make time go by, she played with her robe’s lining and made up endings to the recent stories that she heard from her brothers. One that she liked in particular was one of a lonesome girl who made friends with a goat-boy. Juntia, her elder brother, had never finished the story, for he had been called to a meeting with a lesser council. His parting words had been “Shouldn’t a grown princess have better things to ponder on, than pub stories?” The White Rose had laughed and responded wittily with “Perhaps, but this princess is bored and would rather hear of how a boy became a goat, instead of a man.”

Perhaps the goat-boy had crossed paths with a witch and gotten cursed, The White Rose thought to herself. Or maybe his mother had been a goat. But how could a doe birth a baby? Was it possible?

The White Rose’s brain got muddled with thoughts, but then she remembered that she shouldn’t have been thinking. The future disliked people trying to test their boundaries and the future’s patience. She started to whistle a random tune instead, that she made up on the go. The future preferred that, for immediately a tension, that The White Rose hadn’t realised was there, released and The White Rose’s consciousness started to naturally leave the future’s quiet place. Her mental body started to numb and lose the will to move. Finally, was all that The White Rose managed to think before she left the mental space.

The basin room was in front of her when she opened her eyes. She hadn’t closed her eyes as far as she knew, but the future was cheeky like that. Never spoke a word, for it couldn’t, but communicated in other ways. She looked down at her cold, unworked hands, still in the basin, before regarding the water’s thin and shimmering surface. Nothing happened and a frown formed naturally on her pretty face. Dread started to pool at the bottom at her stomach. Why weren’t scenes unfolding? They always did by then, and it made The White Rose’s stomach twist uneasily.

The surface remained unchanging for the next thirty seconds and The White Rose was having a hard time thinking rationally, once she realised that nothing was going to appear. Not having anything appear on the water, was an incredibly bad omen. She was the only seer in the nation, the only one alive at least, so she couldn’t ask anybody what this meant. If she didn’t come to the ruler with some sort of future telling, she didn’t know what he and the council would do. Worst case scenario, he would punish her and put the nation in lockdown, just to ensure absolute safety. No trade, no mining, no income. Full on panic grasped her as she reached for a towel. What did this this absence of the future mean? Or more important, what could she do?

Then a reasonable suggestion came to her head. If she didn’t have the answers, maybe someone else did?

The firstborn girl of the ruler, at the time, is always blessed with the gift of seeing the future and therefor gets the title ‘The White Rose.’ It was the only title and name that The White Rose and her predecessors had been referred to with. The White Rose scratched her braided head as she thought. She had 8 brothers and no sisters. The White Rose was the sixth eldest sibling. Who was in the palace today? Who would understand her situation? Who would know what to do and wouldn’t snitch to a greedy ear?

Sohra, her younger brother, who was closest to her in age, had planned to chit-chat with her just after this. If he were in an understanding mood, he would understand and give her advice. She hoped, at least. Sohra was known to be her most unpredictable brother, but yet he was her closest. He usually understood. He must, The White Rose prayed.

She dried her hands and left the basin room. Outside in the thin hall, sat her nursemaid, head resting against the white rose patterned walls, sleeping. The White Rose felt unnerved by the sight and got goosebumps. She knew it was a bad omen, to have a sleeping guardian. She nudged her nursemaid awake, who apologised silently. She led her out the narrow hallway, and into one of many staircases, where The White Rose’s private guard, and a messenger, waited for her. They bowed and the messenger relayed a message, “Your flourishing highness, prince and aspiring weatherist Sohra is waiting for you in the west-northern parlour.”

The White Rose made her way there, with orange clad guards in tow, after dismissing the messenger.

The palace had always been of great size and grandeur, but as a small child, The White Rose had learned to navigate its great salons and hidden hallways. Today it felt bigger than usual, and the peering eyes of wall paintings seemed judging and all-knowing.

The White Rose straightened her posture and took a deep breath, as the doors to the west-northern parlour opened. Sohra sat loosely on a settee, picking his nails, but his eyes lifted once The White Rose entered the room. He did a relaxed nod to acknowledge her presence and rank. He was wearing a fashionable olive-green robe and a bejewelled emerald earpiece caught the light of the midday sun. His dark hair had been newly shaven and fitted well with the smile on his face. “Elder sister, you look good today.”

The White Rose had been wearing white robes, as always, embroidered with white roses. Sohra stopped his small talk once he noticed the nervous way The White Rose moved. He gestured the guards out of the room.

“Isn’t the weather nice today, Sohra?” He lifted a questioning eyebrow at her remark but played along. He stood up and gestured towards the great windows in the parlour, that reached from floor to roof. “Indeed, it is older sister, but soon I fear that a dust storm will diminish this bright weather.” He was playing with her by putting on a posh tone.

He pointed out the window, across the sundial and the dry courtyard, towards some clouds visible on the west horizon. His dark skin practically glowed in the sun and The White Rose’s worries were forgotten, for a moment, by her younger brother’s regal poise. “Those clouds are the first signs, dear elder sister.”

The White Rose smiled at the cheeky use of titles, as her brother sat down again in the over-decorated, gold parlour. “How’s the elder weatherist treating you?” It was easy to pretend that everything was fine while making small talk, but she could tell that Sohra knew something was up. It made her uneasy.

“His old bum is just as tired and worn out, as it was last time you saw him.”

A few years ago, Sohra had managed to persuade The Ruler or better known as their father, to appoint him to become the next weatherist in the capital. The Ruler had agreed to it, (reluctantly) for he had enough sons to pass around. Although it was not of regal rank, it was still a noble profession and a commitment that Sohra would have to commit to for life. It was proven by their distant great-great uncle, the current weatherist, who was well past fifty and had been a professional since youth, and still made well on his job.

“That’s nice.” The White Rose responded politely. Honestly, she had so many relatives, it didn’t matter who lived on and who didn’t. The Ruler’s bloodline was fertile and would recover. It was strong and durable, just like the pebbled landscape they lived on.

“Come closer.” Sohra urged and The White Rose obliged, as she folded down next to her blood brother.

The White Rose knew that he was trying to give her an opportunity to speak, without any eavesdroppers finding it suspicious. She rested her head on the top of the begilded backrest, close to Sohra’s ear and tried to act casual, play the role of a pestering sister, as she smoothed out the wrinkles on his robe. The material was thin and soft beneath her fingers, perfect for the early dry season.

“Earlier at the basin,” The White Rose took a deep breath, “The future didn’t show itself.”

Sohra stiffened but quickly smoothed it over by reaching for a carafe of water and smiling like she had just said a joke. He poured himself a glass and glanced over at her. “You must be joking.” He lowered himself back to her.

“I wish I wasn’t. Everything was normal, I managed to go into the docile state and managed to get out. But nothing showed itself in the water.” She whispered as goosebumps covered her skin. She felt more vulnerable and weaker than ever before, now that she had admitted that something was wrong. She wished she wasn’t in this situation, but as her eldest brother loved to remind her, ‘wishing doesn’t get anything done, you do.’ She stroked the soft velvet cushion of the seat and looked up to the glasslights hanging low from the high, white roof.

“Don’t speak of this to anyone.” Sohra looked straight forwards, rigidly, to the painted wall on the opposite side of where they were sitting. There was a scene painted there, telling the story of a war between the mountain folk and desert folk, in which at the end they signed a peace treaty, the first of its kind. Sohra wasn’t actually looking at it, for his eyes were glassy with thought, and perhaps just a little of, what The White Rose thought was, fear.

“Go back there, White Rose and try again. If it doesn’t show anything,” He took a deep breath as if he was going to go dive underwater, “Find me. I’ll try to speak with Katiz. She must be wiser than us on this subject.” Katiz was a examiner of the unexplainable arts. She was mid-century born and therefor very wise on everything written on occult arts. She worked in the scripture caves and the royal scripture assemblages chambers, on occasion. She spoke with a drag which had always made it hard for The White Rose to understand what she was saying.

“You should only focus on seeing the future. That’s the most important thing. Maybe this is a misunderstanding” He said the last sentence longingly and The White Rose shared the feeling. Please, oh, please, let this all be wrong, was all that she could think.

Sohra stood up, winked reassuringly and bowed, before leaving the parlour through the carved northern doors. The White Rose lifted one leg above the other and thought about Sohra’s advice. Traditionally The White Rose was only meant to go to the basin, once a month, and after that discuss the scenes with The Ruler and his council. She would have to go even if she had a sneaking suspicion that nothing would appear. But if there was a slight chance that something would appear, she would have to take it. She didn’t want to face the wrath and ill state of the council, when in crisis.

She called in her nursemaid, asked for a glass of lamb milk, got it served and drank it before asking to go back to the basin room. The White Rose played it off as that she had forgotten her handkerchief there (it was actually hidden in her undergarments beneath her robes), her nursemaid had looked suspiciously at her but asked no questions. The White Rose had always liked her for that. As well for her pretty looks and good cooking skills.

She dismissed her guards, and went down through the expensively stoned salons, red clay palace halls, and down the alabaster stairs with her nursemaid. Once at the thin hall leading to the basin, her nursemaid asked “Do you want company?”

More than anything The White Rose actually did want someone there to hold her hands as she faded away into future, but she forced herself to deny and reject her offer. The nursemaids dark skin turned a bit ashen once she heard the words, but she acted like nothing. The White Rose closed the expensive, imported wooden doors behind her and turned towards the basin.

It was always so cold in there, she thought, it felt like another bad omen. She stepped up to the granite basin, strategically put in the dead centre, of the tiny dark room. Murky windows let in some early dry season sunlight and granted her a slight view of the landscape beyond the capital. Stony, flat landscape, who’s only feature were white pebbles of different sizes depending on where in the nation you were. And more pebbles. Pebbles everywhere.

The White Rose let her fingers trace the hexagonal shape of the basin, which was inlaid with opals and alabaster gleaming in the half dark and was cold against her touch. Then she laid her hands in the water and closed her eyes. For some reason, instead of slowly fading from consciousness into the ‘trance’ state of being in the white future room, she immediately was teleported somewhere else in her head.

The White Rose immediately knew where she was, and looked around, examining the memory. It was a memory of a party from when she was younger. She was in the great ballroom, standing at the pedestal at the very end, on the right side of The Ruler’s massive, silver and wood throne. The throne room was the biggest room in the palace, and best fit to keep great crowds. At the end of the room were great, extremely expensive oak doors, that were big enough for battle elephants to pass through (The White Rose knew from experience) that were wide open and letting in noble and merchant guests.

This was from three years ago, just when her merchant uncle had been here last, she realised. Her merchant uncle was actually meant to come to the palace sometime this moon, to celebrate the harvest fest in The Ruler’s court. She quickly spotted him dancing with a lighter skinned woman dressed up as a red dragon tiger. He was clearly drunk so this must have been later into the night. His robes weren’t fitting well either, so the feast must have already passed. He looked happy, and he grinned as the woman lifted his dreads from his shoulders.

The ballroom was packed with people and it was impossible to hear anything but the endless stream of sounds rising from the dancefloor. She spotted Sohra and Kite, her second youngest brother, standing by a table of refreshments, chatting to a noble completely covered in golden silks that contrasted well to his dark skin. Her brothers laughed inaudibly, and The Past White Rose felt a need to be close to them and share that joy.

Something cold touched her bare wrist, and The Past White Rose turned around. The Present White Rose, who was looking through her eyes didn’t remember this ever happening. The Ruler had nudged The Past White Rose with the end of his diamond gilded cane. His afro had been braided in a pattern so intricate, it looked painful for his scalp. Upon his braided head, sat a thin, silver crown with giant egg-sized diamonds, shaped like the pebbles that dominated his nation’s landscape. He beckoned her closer with a ring-bare finger and The Past White Rose obliged, eager not to disappoint. The Present White Rose didn’t remember this at all and got mental goosebumps as the past her, stepped closer.

“What are you searching for?” The Rulers distorted voice screeched. No longer sat the ruler there, but an ominous looking eagle.

Then The Present White Rose was back by the basin, out of breath by the scare. Never before had the future taken her to the past, or distorted it. And never before had it scared her like this.

But before she could process it what had happened, the water started to shimmer and swirl. She barely could release a sigh of relief, before the water started to pick up colours and make shapes, that arranged into scenes. The White Rose could barely process the first one since it appeared and disappeared so fast, but she saw that was some brown-white creature. Did it have four legs? She wasn’t sure. Before The White Rose could think further about it the colours swirled some more and took shapes, that twisted and turned on the surface before settling into a scene of snapping and crackling angry flames against, what seemed like a night sky?

Then, just as fast as it stilled, it swirled again into a brown landscape with knobs (?) or maybe some sort of strange protruding figures sticking out of the ground. Was that dirt?

Then the water’s surface muddied into darker colours, of black, blue and all the shades inbetween. Just for a second The White Rose managed to glimpse the scene it was revealing. Two sharp, curved blades in the dark (outdoors?), with water glinting in the distance. They seemed familiar, but before she could fully make sure of it, the water blurred back into its clear, normal state. Now it was just normal water, again.

The White Rose felt scared and confused after the rollercoaster of scenes that had appeared, on the water’s surface, but most of all she felt a warm and grateful sense of relief. She wasn’t broken and the future had shown itself. Before she could forget what she had seen, she dried her hands and wrote the scenes down on a piece of parchment, on the marble shelf next to the towels. She blew the ink dry and stepped out of the room. The look on her face must have been obviously happy, for the nursemaid genuinely smiled, and curtsied, at her presence. A palace messenger was there, who curtsied as well. “Do you have a message for me?” The White Rose asked the obvious.

The messenger nodded. “The Ruler and his council, await your presence, in the grand hall. I’ll lead you there.”

The grand hall was a mostly closeted room for outsiders and guests, and mainly used by The Ruler and his council. It was seated in the underground floors of the palace and was lit up by candles in the halls leading to it. As the messenger gestured for the bright orange clad guards to open, The White Rose prepared herself. She hated this day of the month, for all eyes were always on her when she was in here. Sometimes she would even get lewd comments on her infinite beauty, mid-description, by the old, crinkled men.

The wooden doors folded inwards, and The White Rose stepped inside the circular, marble clad room. The long table was facing the entrance, with its empty seated short side, so all of the council members immediately noticed her presence and stopped whatever discussion they had been holding. It smelled strongly of tobacco smoke and old paper in there, maybe because most of the old council members had serious tobacco addictions and the long table was absolutely covered in scrolls and scriptures. At the very end of the long table, sat The Ruler. He was dressed in grey robes that contrasted well, against the black and white marble walls, of the grand hall. His hair was braided back into a knot, where a crown was placed around it. The crown was lighter than his public appearance ones, for aristocrat and noble’s balls, but still radiated power and wealth. It was of gold and had platina and onyx nuggets sculpted as pebbles. There was a delicate, dancing, eagle and stork crafted of precious metals, hanging around his neck, from a thin platina chain. The eagle symbolised power and the stork symbolised wisdom. It was apparent that he was the leader in this room.

The Ruler clapped his hands once The White Rose had reached the end of the table, to get the attention of those council members, who had their noses in their scrolls. The White Rose started to sweat from the number of eyes staring at her. She recognised the hitchhiker, a council member who was known for doing the dirty work, for the council.

The Rulers black eyes drilled into her. “Speak child, of what the future has shown you.” He said with a deep vibrating voice. The White Rose started to feel dampness at her armpits.

She folded out the piece of parchment and started to speak, with a loud and clear voice. She spoke of the grey figure, the flames, the brown landscape and the blades. Sometimes the council members would ask her to repeat something or go into more detail, but for the most part they were silent and spoke amongst themselves. Some of them seemed worried and others unbothered. Some scribbled violently onto parchment, dripping ink, and others murmured into the ears of The Ruler. The Ruler never did more than nod back.

Once there wasn’t more to say or any more questions to answer, she was excused, as the thin and crumpled council started to argue amongst themselves, about what the future meant. The White Rose only managed to understand that they thought of them as bad omens, and that they all pointed towards the arrival of her merchant uncle. Then The White Rose couldn’t hear any more for she was led out the room by a dark orange guard.

She walked up the stairs, back to above surface level and saw that it had already darkened outside, through the painted windows. She reached her chambers and asked all of the guards to wait outside. When she stepped into her big main chamber, she was heavy with thoughts and wondering. Most of what had happened today, hadn’t sunk into her mind yet. She hadn’t really comprehended what had happened, yet she knew that if she tried to fall asleep now, she would be haunted by bad dreams. She ordered her handmaidens that were present, to change her into more comfortable attire. As they unlaced and took off her white clothing, she looked out of her grand window. The palace was built upon a cliff, that was elevated above the rest of the capital, and her window faced right out towards the city. She had never been down there, but she had been told that several hundred thousand of people lived there. They were all under the law and order of her father, The Ruler, and all worked in the mines, for the most part. The mines were situated at the base of the cliff. They were said to go several miles beneath the ground, and all sorts of minerals and ores had been found there. They were the source of the riches of her nation.

The White Rose knew that there were some problems amongst the commonfolk’s living conditions, but the council were working hard to combat them. So many people here, was what The White Rose usually thought, when she saw the endless mass of the capital. She influenced all of them through her future seeing’s, in a way or another, and that made her feel big. Powerful, to some extent.

Once the maids were done dressing her into a thicker cotton robe-ish nightgown, she headed out. She wanted to go to gardens. Feel the cold night air against her skin and pluck a white rose of her namesake. She dismissed the guards outside her door, much to their delight and walked down to the empty tiled kitchen. From the copper-filled kitchen, she walked out into the kitchen gardens and from there she walked to the palace gardens. The palace gardens were surrounded by clay walls, the same ones that surrounded the kitchen gardens. Outside of it was where the wild white roses grew, but to get there she must go through the outwards leading garden door at the palace gardens. A tall, dark guard stood by it, holding a typical guard scythe in a defending position. She walked up to him. “May I go through?” He nodded. Maybe he recognized her from guarding inside the castle, but he let her go through without any hustle much to her convenience. She nodded her thanks, that he respectfully didn’t respond, as she walked through.

Outside the palace walls, it was colder, maybe because the wind blew unhindered here. All before her was flat pebbled landscape all the way to the misty horizon and surrounding her city that she could barely see before the outline of the cliff. City lights polluted the night and confused the loud crickets and moths.

The White Rose hid her hands, from the cold, in her robes and stepped towards the rosebushes growing against the walls. They were beautiful, with delicate white petals and thorns that protected them from any harm. They gleamed all pearly like in the moonlight and the leaves shined like glazed glass. The White Rose reached in, carefully past the thorns and picked a rose carefully between her thumb and forefinger. She pulled it loose carefully and pulled it out of the mass of protecting thorned stems. She studied it, rolled it in her palm, before carefully sniffing it. It was wild, so the aroma was weak compared to those inside the palace garden, but it still pleased her. It blended with a ashier smell in the air.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could quickly make out a dark scurry. The White Rose suddenly flinched back, but then she realised it was just a mouse following the curve of the palace walls, before dipping into a mouse hole, between some small pebbles. The White Rose felt disgusted by the sight. She hated vermin and in the feel of that emotion, she had dropped her rose. She decided that she was tired and didn’t want to stay out in the cold pebbled wasteland anymore.

Then she saw it. The same as in the basin. Tall flames licking the palace towers. Consuming her chambers. Embers sparked and screams and shouts were heard. The White Rose felt her body go rigid. Her vision had come true, and she feared it. Another sudden burst of flames appeared, and the fire started to burn the floor above her chambers.

Then something hit her, before she could process it. Square in the stomach, a punch. The White Rose fell to the ground with the impact. Then she got kicked in the side by a dark, shadowy figure above her. She saw the glint of a blade swing—

The clang of metal meeting metal swallowed the silence, along with muttered swearwords and the screech of metal clashing, again. The orange clad guard was fighting the black figure. They traded blows that were parried by either scythe or sword, more quickly than The White Rose could process. “Run!” The guard cried at her. And she did. Away from the flames, and from the violence. Away from all that was wrong. She felt tired but her limbs carried on, as flames and soft city lights lit the night.

End of chapter one.