Mantle: The Return of the Sha (22 page)

“Thank you for seeing me, oracle. I suspect you know the reason for my visit—in part at least,” Zander said.

“Yes my king, I know of the war—and of the queen’s predicament. In fact, I know a great deal of it,” the oracle replied, now shuffling over to stand at the far side of the table. “I have also spoken with Dicen, Majesty.”

Now he was looking directly into Zander’s eyes for the first time. His cloak hung down his back and he had the same gray-haired appearance as he did the last time he and the king had met.

“What can you tell me of it?” Zander asked.

“You will be at war soon, of this there is no question. As for your success in it, I cannot say.”

“You
cannot
say—or you
will
not say?”

The oracle smiled his toothless grin and said, “Majesty, I would not play such sneaky word tricks with you. I cannot say because I do not know.”

“And as to the matter of my wife?”

“Yes…the matter of your wife, that is a tricky one, indeed. The Crown of Forris, you well know, has been kept for centuries under the throne.
Protected
by it, or so it was thought.

“It was held in a glamor box, charmed for a second layer of protection. Here is a drawing of the box—and the crown as well,” the oracle said as he pulled a scroll from the pile on the desk.

He unrolled it, displaying a detailed drawing of the box. On the top of the box, the drawing showed the words written on the lid. It was in the old language, but Zander had been taught. It roughly translated to:
Guarded Under Touch of King or Queen.

The bottom of the scroll had a drawing of a crown that appeared to be made of wood. He could see the grains of the wood, intertwined together at the base and carved with spires circling the top. He became curious by this immediately.

“Oracle, was the crown
ever
placed in the box, or was it invented for the sake of secrecy? If it was placed in the box, then we have lost both the crown and the skull.”

“I cannot be sure, Majesty. There are no clear records of that time, as you well know. I believe it wise to think of it as losing both—whether they are separate items or not.”

Zander understood and realized that crowns could be replaced, but the skull could not. It didn’t matter if they were two pieces or one.

“And what do you make of the writing?” Zander asked.

“The writing in the old language is clear. It tells that the box may only be opened by a king or queen of Forris. But here is where fate has been sly, Majesty. I believe that Balki Touro and the inflock are convinced that he holds captive a queen who may open the box—handing him the skull.”

“Is he wrong?” Zander asked.

The oracle smiled and said, “Yes Majesty, he is mistaken. Queen Bella is only queen by marriage and title—she is not a sovereign. There has not been a
sovereign
queen of Forris in some nine hundred years by my count.”

Thoughts were suddenly rushing into Zander’s mind. The first thought, which terrified him, was knowing that Bella’s fate might be tied to her ability to convince Balki (and the inflock) that she did
not
have the ability to open the box. As king, he would be the only person able to open it.

“Are there other ways of opening the box, without my touch?”

“There is nothing that I can find in the written history, and I have not been shown or told of a way. However, I am certain that Menagraff and his minions will have a method for opening it without worry. You would be wise to take it back before it reaches them.”

“I will do my best to take it back,” Zander said, thinking the advice to be obvious.

“Tell me oracle, why would the inflock choose Balki Touro for such things? It is only by chance that I happened across him in Maske. Many things had to fall into place for him to be in a position that would be of an advantage.”

“Majesty, Balki Touro is descended of Barth on his father’s side—a man cursed in the last Mantle War, to produce heirs of dark will. It was Barth who also carried the inflock out of Skite lands and into Forris. That curse, along with the inflock, slept through time, until eventually they both landed with Balki Touro. It was Balki who the curse first took to; none of his ancestors apparently having fit the requirements. The inflock awakened once it had drawn enough strength from him.

“The circumstances for your meeting might have been by chance, but he would have found you soon enough.”

“So he was a traitor from the start,” Zander said.

“Yes, my king, but there is one other thing that I have seen, that you must know, although I suspect you may already.”

“What is it?”

“Balki Touro carries with him the power to
cloak
—something that hasn’t been seen in many years and is very rare.”

Although Zander might have been shocked by this, he wasn’t surprised in the least.

“Yes, I suppose that I did know, but I did not recognize it at the time,” Zander said, feeling guilt.

“Nor would there have been any way that you
could
have known,” the oracle said. “
That
, my king, is the danger presented by those who cloak.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true, oracle. I could not have been certain,” Zander said. He knew this, but appreciated hearing it.

“Do you have any other advice on the matter that you can share, oracle?”

“None more for now, Majesty, but I will keep all ears and all eyes alert.”

Zander started for the door, then stopped and turned back to the oracle, who was now taking his seat at the table.

“Oracle, there is one other matter, about which I would seek your counsel.”

“Yes, my king.”

“It is of Lizabet Abbot, the queen’s sister.”

“Yes, she is the girl who brought back your expression, is she not?”

“Yes, but there is something else. She has stumbled upon a door in the old part of the castle, a door which only she can see. What do you make of this?”

The oracle immediately stood up from his chair and his eyes were so wide that Zander thought they might fall from the old sockets that held them.

“You’ve seen it, Majesty? The door?” the oracle asked with urgency.

“Yes, I’ve seen it. What is the matter?”

“Did you walk through it?”

“Yes,” Zander said. “It opened to a staircase that led to a dungeon of horror.”

The oracle turned toward the purple drape and motioned to the king to follow. “Come, let us look into the matter. You will be needed for this.”

Zander followed and could hear the oracle mumbling under his breath,
“It can’t be…simply can’t be! Is it possible?”

When they entered the room behind the purple drape, Zander saw that there was a large glass bowl resting on a stone pillar. The bowl was a dark amber color and spanned nearly two feet across, but Zander thought its depth to be no more than the tip of a finger.

The oracle walked around the bowl so that he was standing on the opposite side, across from Zander. He took a silver pitcher from the shelf behind him and held it with both hands against his chest. Closing his eyes, he mumbled words in a language that Zander did not recognize.

When he finally opened his eyes, he held the pitcher out and began slowly pouring a clear liquid into the bowl. It appeared to be water, but Zander quickly noticed the way that it was falling into the bowl. It didn’t splash or crawl up the sides as it was hitting the base. Instead, it landed smoothly and held its position so that when the oracle was done, not a ripple could be seen. To Zander it looked like clear glass.

The oracle held out one finger just above the clear, still liquid.

“My king, you are firmly connected to Lizabet Abbot. It is both of us who must ask for a reflection.”

Zander understood and held out his own finger as the oracle had. The oracle then nodded approval.

“I will tell you when,” he said. There was no toothless smile now, only a look of serious concentration.

The oracle took his finger down and gently touched the top of the liquid. Ripples went out in all directions in a perfect circle—spreading out in slow moving waves.

He then nodded to Zander to do the same. Once he touched the liquid, he watched as the rippling waves created by his own touch collided with those created by the oracle. Once all of the ripples had reached the edges, the liquid immediately became still again.

It was then that the oracle closed his eyes and began mumbling words under his breath. He took both hands and made slow circling gestures over the bowl, and as he did, a single large bubble emerged from the liquid. It grew until a liquid dome covered the bowl entirely. The oracle then opened his eyes, and pulled back his hands. He continued to mumble words that Zander didn’t recognize until smoke began to form inside the bubble. The smoke collected until the entire bubble was filled and appeared almost solid.

As Zander stood in awe, the smoke began to emerge from a small hole at the top of the bubble. It billowed up and then came together to form the impression of a face.

The oracle continued to speak in the unknown language, and Zander saw that the face in the smoke was speaking as well, although he could not hear it. After a few moments of this
conversation
, the oracle bowed his head slightly at the smoky figure, and then closed his eyes once more. The smoke immediately returned through the hole in the bubble and disappeared, bringing the bubble back down to settle as liquid within the curve of the bowl.

When the oracle opened his eyes, he walked quickly back to the other room. He began pulling scrolls out from their places on the shelves. He was frantically searching for something, and when he finally found the scroll that he was looking for he unrolled it and sat down in his chair. Zander had returned to the other room as well, and watched as the oracle read the scroll. When he was finished, he only sat in silence for a moment before uttering the words,

“She is a
sha
.”

He spoke so low that Zander was struggling to hear him. “A sha—what is a
sha
?”

“A
blue witch
, Majesty,” the oracle replied. “She is the embodiment of
good
—evil’s opposite. A blue witch has not been known
anywhere
in Mantle in untold years. Majesty, a sha in Forris is good fortune for your side, to be sure.”

King Zander tried his best to process this. He had never heard of a sha or a blue witch, but if it meant an advantage, as the oracle was suggesting, he was glad for it.

He now thought back to his conversation with Dicen. He had described a world in which good and evil would balance as if on a scale—at least that was how he had thought of it. Now he wondered if Lizabet’s very
birth
hadn’t caused the scale to tip so drastically to the favor of
good
that it had resulted in Menagraff’s return.

“Tell me, Majesty, of her reaction upon learning of her sister’s abduction,” the oracle said.

“She was angry and demanded that she accompany us to fight for her return. I refused, of course.”

The oracle contemplated this for a moment before saying, “You must take her. She could quite possibly mean the difference between victory and defeat—although I know not how.”

“I cannot possibly bring a child on such a dangerous mission as this!” he said, thinking the old man had lost his wits.

“Majesty, she will become more than you know—more than she knows herself, for that matter. She will become a great warrior…I have been told by the reflection.”

Lizabet, a warrior? Absurd!

As if reading his thoughts, the oracle continued, “Lizabet Abbot is no ordinary child—
far
from it. She may appear as a child to you, but her line is old, ancient even.

“Although she may not show signs of it, your very own wife carries the blood of a sha in her, as well. That is not to say that she
is
a sha, but she may carry some gifts of the bloodline. You would be wise to consider
Lizabet
Abbot, at least, to be among your most valuable weapons.”

“And there is no way around her coming?” Zander asked. “With respect, oracle, I do not see her as the warrior you describe.”

“No, my king, there is no other way. She is part of this whether you accept it or not.”

Zander relented and said no more on the subject. He had no intention of taking Lizabet with him to fight the Skites. She was a child and, more than that, she was Bella’s sister and Bella would never forgive him.

The oracle turned toward one of his many shelves and thumbed over the ends of the books, searching for the one that he had in mind. Finally, he pulled a rather large book from the shelf and blew the dust from the top of it. He walked over to Zander and handed it to him.

“Here, give her this and press her to read it. Do not tempt destiny with this one, Majesty. I beg of you do not tempt it.”