Chương 27: 25 • LADY OF THE ORACLE (PART II)

20 LADY OF THE ORACLE PART II 🙜 H e stared at her, chest heaving.

"Look into the basin," the lady urged him. Ember had no choice but to glance desperately into the bottom of the bowl. Human runes had been etched into the mottled blue stone: Receive. He frowned, glancing into the pitcher, but it was still empty. He grasped the handle and tilted it toward the candlelight, squinting down into its glazed interior. The inside was perfectly smooth without a hint of a rune. Then his finger brushed a ridge along the outside, opposite the handle. He flipped it over.

More runes had been carved into the side of the pitcher: Ask. Ember growled, feeling tricked. Yet the basin lay before him, too tempting to ignore. What if it's more bad magic, like the book? The promise of those shimmering runes was improbable, at best. But it didn't seem more improbable than anything else which had happened to them—no, him alone, now—in these treacherous halls.

"Water," he rasped, tilting the pitcher. He didn't know what would happen, and he certainly believed that something would happen. There was too much magic in the air for nothing strange to occur here. A shiver ran through him from head to toe at the first plink of water hitting the glaze. He filled it as full as he could stand before setting down the pitcher with a thump and lifting the basin, taking five deep draughts of dusty water. When he was finished, he snatched up the pitcher and poured some more.

He did this three times until he was completely sated.

"Hungry?" He slowly lowered the bowl, peering at the lady over the rim of it. She swayed in the door, smiling at him. Did she never stop smiling? Who was she, anyway? He was, in truth, afraid to ask.

"A little," he confessed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and grimacing as bits of dried blood clung to his skin. She moved into the room and he backed away, feeling cornered. Both elegant hands reached out to cradle one of the vines that branched along the wall, which had grown into a veritable bush. Something hung between her glowing fingers, and under the light of her touch Ember realized that it was a small pear-shaped fruit.

"Eat this." He cleared his throat, setting down the basin and eyeing her from his corner.

"What is it?"

"The oracle's fruit," she said, as if that should have been obvious.

"It is his room in which you stand, and his water from which you drank."

"Won't he mind?"

"Not at all. This is a sanctuary. You are free to eat and drink of our fruit and water as much as you please, as are all who come here seeking refuge." She petted the fruit with her fingers, and he noticed that none of the vines or the leaves moved under her touch.

"Come and eat." He crossed the room slowly, but she made no move to harm him.

"How many people have passed through here?"

"Hundreds," she said.

"But you are the first in many days."

"I can't say I'm surprised." He plucked the fruit, enjoying the smooth feeling of it in his hand for a moment, and then took a bite. Mingled flavors burst on his tongue, both tart and sweet, and a bit of juice dribbled down his chin.

"Mmmm…"

"Are you satisfied?"

"Well, if I die," he declared around a full mouth, "at least I didn't die hungry." He stopped chewing as she let out a gentle laugh.

"What are you laughing at?"

"That you would perish, eating the fruit of the oracle." She blinked once, still smiling.

"That is a funny thing to say."

"Not when the water's been poisoned!" he said, indignant. But he finished the fruit, plucked another, and ate it as well. When he was through, the lady drifted back to the doorway. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"You may rest here as long as you wish," she offered, trailing down the steps and out of view. Ember hurried after her, suddenly not wanting to be left alone in the dark.

"Wait—uh—" He wavered on the stoop. The lady was nowhere to be seen.

"Hullo?" He stepped down onto the flagstones, slowly, and shivered, pacing along the stream. The candles flickered from every ledge and he sidestepped a pile of books; he had no desire to touch those. The black alcove at the top of the stairs was the only place she might have gone. Ember withdrew the stone from his torn shirt, blowing on it, but it remained dim despite his best efforts. He tucked it away again and glanced at one of the candles.

He cautiously placed a finger to the wax, but it was cool to the touch; nor had any wax dripped down from the wick. He half-expected it to bring a curse upon his head, and cringed as he retrieved it from the flagstone—but nothing happened. Holding it out to light the way, Ember ventured up the first of the steps, glancing first down at the water which sparkled beside his shoes. The candle's flame provided just enough light to reveal a circular stone structure at the top of the stairs, near the center of the alcove.

As he advanced, it took shape before him: a well. Yawning wide and blinking away tears of exhaustion, he dragged himself up the last few steps, pulled by a relentless curiosity. He stared down into the water and scrubbed a hand across his face, watching it flow through a gap in the carved stones and trickle down the steps. At the opposite end of the room it flowed out under the wall, but it wasn't nearly large enough for him to fit through. Neither did there appear to be a door in this alcove. Only the well.

He held the candle a bit closer, leaning down and peering into its depths. A glistening, reflective surface lay beneath him, as still as the mirrors outside. It was impossible to guess how deep the cistern went but he studied his reflection for a moment, startled at how odd he looked in the flickering light: deep hollows ringed his eyes, as if he had not slept in weeks, and dried blood spackled one side of his face.

His hair was a nest of tangles and dirt, and the stubble he usually shaved away for the sake of his pride had reappeared; it added nothing of benefit to his disheveled appearance.

"No one may see into the well"—came a gentle voice from the door—he spun around—"but the oracle. You are not the oracle." Ember glared flatly at the woman, holding up the candle in a shaking hand.

"What do you mean? What am I not seeing?"

"The past, the present. Rarely the future." She tilted her head, her impossibly long hair shifting over her shoulder. It was then that he noticed how tall she was—not a giant, by any means, but taller than Ember, and none of the women in the village had been taller than he.

"The well whispers, and the oracle hears." He turned his tired glare to the well.

"I'd like to know how to get out of here. Could it tell me that?"

"It could. But you are not the oracle."

"Maybe, if it's not too much trouble, you can tell this 'oracle' that I require his services."

"Impossible."

"Why." She pointed, and Ember held the candle toward the darkened corner of the alcove opposite the well. A skeletal figure slumped against the mossy wall, and in spite of how many bodies he had encountered, it was enough to startle Ember. Most of the raiment had mildewed or been carried away by little rodents. Nothing was left but the bones.

"Oh…" He swallowed tightly.

"Can you make it talk?"

"The well speaks to the oracle."

"You said that already." Ember touched a finger to the hewn stone.

"Well of the Oracle, show me how to get out of this mountain." He lowered the candle almost to the water's surface, leaning as close as he dared, but only his own face glared back at him, haggard and pale.

"Help me," he tried again, too tired to speak above a whisper.

"How do I get out of here?" The candle flickered under his breath, but the water remained unmoved. Ember opened his mouth to ask the lady if she might try for his sake, but the alcove steps had lapsed into shadows and his strange hostess was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and headed back to the little bedroom, each step heavy and slow. A quick glance around the sanctuary revealed no trace of her flaxen hair or luminous attire.

Fine, he thought bitterly, reaching the two flat steps and ascending them for a second time. Hide yourself then. He brushed the trailing vines aside and set the candle on the stand beside the basin. Then he removed the stone from his shirt and set it beside the candle. It glowed dimly, and he knew if the siren were there she could bring it back to life with a single breath. Groaning, he pulled back the linens and crawled into bed.

His battered body relaxed at once and he inhaled deeply several times, grateful for the comforting embrace of the linens. The mattress was not prickly or overstuffed, and he caught a scent of dried flower petals and sage as he sank into its welcoming embrace. As he stretched, a peculiar tightness beset his back—and when he slipped a hand behind his shoulder he noticed a thin depression and bump under his fingertips. He explored further, and encountered several more. Scars.

Ember curiously unwrapped the makeshift bandage from his lower arm, which had remained there since he had applied the knitbone, and swept away the drying leaves. A quick touch revealed a few faint blemishes further up his arm, near the crook of his elbow. The crystals hadn't taken away the sirena's marks; only healed them insofar as they caused him no further pain. He wrinkled his forehead, dismayed, but quickly decided that it didn't matter as long as he was no longer tormented by them.

As Ember reclined, arms tucked comfortably behind his head, he noticed that this room also reached to the open sky—only a narrow gap could be seen, enough to glimpse a few stars. It must be enchanted somehow, he decided. Elsewise, rain and unwanted guests from above would surely have brought the place to ruin; there were too many books strewn about not to have taken some precautions against the elements. Oracle, thought Ember, tugging the blankets under his chin. Strange name…

whoever he was, he must have been a great lover of books. Despite the fatigue, it was impossible to quiet his mind. For when he drifted close to dreams, he remembered the dark haired sirena: her ink-blot eyes and predatory smile haunted him without mercy. First she had two fangs, then four, then ten, and then there was nothing but the fangs and a gaping, drooling grin. Thus, though the passing night felt like an eternity, his sleep was far from restful and he awoke many times in a cold sweat.

As the sky grew faintly brighter, he found himself unable to return to his slumber. Instead, he stared up at the hollow sky far above him, and watched the stars sail over the mountain.