The Oracle's Queen (40 page)

A young acolyte came in from outside and whispered something in the head priest's ear.

Ralinus nodded and turned to Tamír. “The moon is well up over the peaks now. This would be the best time for you to go to the Oracle, Majesty.”

Tamír fought down the nervous flutter his words sent through her chest and slipped the Khatme talisman into her purse. “All right, then. I'm ready.”

T
he sky was a thin strip of brilliant stars between the towering cliffs, and the white-sliver moon hung overhead. Gazing up at it, Tamír felt a thrill of anticipation.

“Isn't there some sort of ceremony?” Nikides asked as the other Companions and wizards gathered by the spring. Wythnir was clinging to Arkoniel's hand again, as if he feared he'd be left behind.

Ralinus smiled. “No, my lord. There is no need, as you will see if you choose to descend.”

A linkboy hoisted his lantern pole and led the way from the square up to a well-worn path that continued into the deeper darkness of the narrow cleft beyond.

The way grew steeper almost at once, and the path soon dwindled to a faint track winding up between boulders. Ahead of them, the lantern bobbed and swayed, making shadows dance in crazy patterns.

The way was surprisingly even underfoot, and slick in places, worn by the feet of thousands of pilgrims over the centuries.

The cliffs closed in around them, and the way ended in a small cul-de-sac where the shrine lay. A low stone well stood beside a small open-fronted shack, just as Arkoniel had described.

“Come, Majesty, and I will guide you,” Ralinus said softly. “You have nothing to fear.”

“I'm not afraid.” Going to the well, she peered into the black depths below, then nodded to the rope bearers. “I'm ready.”

The men passed the looped end of the rope over her
head and down to settle behind her knees. It was a bit awkward in a skirt. She wished she'd kept to trousers. The priests secured the rope behind her thighs and showed her how to sit on the edge of the hole, gripping the slack against her chest.

Ki watched with poorly concealed alarm as she dangled her legs into the hole. “Hang on tight!”

She gave him a wink, gripped the rope with both hands, and pushed off into the darkness. The last thing she saw was Wythnir's solemn little face.

She couldn't help a gasp as the rope took her weight. She grasped it tightly, twirling slowly as the priests lowered her.

Utter darkness closed over her like water. She could see nothing at all, now, except a dwindling circle of stars overhead. Iya had said the cavern was very large, and Tamír began to understand what she'd meant.

It was uncommonly silent; no sounds of a breeze or water moving, not even the twitter of bats—or dragons, for that matter. There was no sign of walls or floor, just the dizzying sensation of an endless void. It was like being suspended in the night sky.

The air grew colder the lower she went. She stole another glance upward, using the shrinking circle of stars above the wellhead as a visual anchor. After what felt like quite a long time, her feet touched solid ground. She got her balance with some difficulty and stepped free of the rope. Looking up, she couldn't find the wellhead anymore. She was in complete darkness.

She turned slowly, still unsure of her balance, and was glad to see a faint glimmer of light off to her left. The longer she looked at it, the brighter it became, until she could see just enough of the cavern floor to be certain of her way. Gathering her courage, she made her way toward it.

The light was coming from a crystal orb set on a tripod. At first that was all Tamír could see, but when she drew nearer she saw a dark-haired young woman sitting
beside it on a low stool. Her skin was deathly pale in the cold light, and her hair fell over her shoulders and pooled on the floor on either side of her. Despite the chill, she wore nothing but a plain linen shift that left her arms and feet bare. She sat with her palms on her knees, her gaze fixed on the ground before her. All the oracles were mad, or so Tamír had been taught, but the woman only seemed pensive—at least until she slowly raised her eyes.

Tamír froze where she was. She'd never seen eyes so empty. It was like looking at a living corpse. The shadows closed in closer, even though the glow of the orb remained steady.

Her voice was equally devoid of emotion as she whispered, “Welcome, second Tamír. Your ancestors told me of your coming.”

A silvery nimbus brightened around the woman's head and shoulders and her eyes found Tamír's again. They were no longer empty, but filled with light and a frightening intensity.

“Hail, Queen Tamír!” Her voice was deep and resonant now. It filled the darkness. “Black makes white. Foul makes pure. Evil creates greatness. You are a seed watered with blood, Tamír of Skala. Remember your promise to my chosen ones. Have you cared for the spirit of your brother?”

It was too much to take in at once. Tamír's legs felt like they'd turned to water. She sank to her knees before the fearful presence of the Lightbearer. “I—I have tried.”

“He stands behind you now, weeping tears of blood. Blood surrounds you. Blood and death. Where is your mother, Tamír, Queen of Ghosts and Shades?”

“In the tower where she died,” she whispered. “I want to help her, and my brother. In a vision, he told me to come here. Please, tell me what to do!”

Silence fell around them, so complete it made her ears ring. She couldn't be certain if the Oracle was breathing or not. She waited, knees aching on the cold stone. Surely she hadn't come all this way just for this?

“Blood,” the Oracle whispered again, sounding sad. “Before you and behind you, a river of blood bears you to the west.”

Tamír suddenly felt a tickling sensation on her chest, where the old scar lay hidden. Pulling open the neck of her gown, she gasped at the sight that greeted her there.

The wound she'd inflicted on herself that day in Atyion, cutting out the shard of bone and Lhel's careful stitching, had healed itself during the transformation, leaving only a thin pale line where it had been. But it had come open again now, so deep she could see bone, and blood was flowing down between her breasts. It welled over her hands and ran down the front of her gown, spattering on the floor at her knees. Oddly enough, there was no pain, and she felt strangely detached as the blood spread into a round pool before her.

When it was the size of a shield, the dark surface rippled and shapes began to form there. The loss of blood must have overtaken her then, for she grew faint, and the images in the blood swam in a dizzying blur of color.

“I—I'm going to …” She was about to faint.

The touch of a cold hand in hers brought her back. Opening her eyes, she found herself standing with Brother on a windswept cliff above the sea. It was the place she'd visited so often in her dreams, but it had always been Ki with her, and the sky was blue. This sky promised rain, and the sea was the color of lead.

Then she heard the clash of arms, just as she had at the temple in Atyion. In the distance she saw two armies fighting, but she had no way to reach them. A rocky gully lay between her and the field of battle. Far beyond them, she could just make out what looked like the towers of a great city.

Korin's banner rose from the shadows at her feet, floating in the air as if held by invisible hands.

You must fight for what is rightfully yours, Tamír, Queen of Skala
a low voice whispered in her ear.
By blood
and trial, you must hold your throne. From the Usurper's hand you will wrest the Sword
.

More blood!
she thought despairingly
. Why must it be so? There must be another way, a peaceful way! I will not spill a kinsman's blood!

You were born of spilled blood
.

“What are you talking about?” she cried aloud. The wind caught the banner and blew it in her face, blinding her. It was nothing but a length of silk and embroidery, but it wrapped itself around her throat like a living thing, cutting off her breath.

“Brother, help me!” she wheezed, clawing at it but finding no purchase in the elusive, wind-torn fabric.

A chilling laugh answered her.
Avenge me, Sister. Avenge me, before you ask any more favors of the one wronged!

“Illior! Lightbearer, I call on you!” she cried, struggling desperately. “How can I help him? I beg you, give me a sign!”

The silken banner evaporated around her like mist at dawn, leaving her in darkness again.

No, not darkness, for in the distance she saw a cool white glow, and realized she was back in the Oracle's cavern. Somehow, caught in the vision, she'd wandered away from the light. Her hands felt sticky. She raised them, squinting in the uncertain light and saw that they were bloody to the elbow.

“No!” she whispered, wiping them hastily on her skirts.

Slowly, on unsteady legs, she made her way back toward the Oracle's seat, but as she drew closer, she saw someone else in her place, a robed figure with a long, familiar grey braid, kneeling with bowed head before a much younger Oracle. Tamír recognized Iya even before the wizard raised her head. When had she come down, and why? The priest had said only one person was allowed down into the chamber at a time.

Iya held something in her arms. Coming closer, Tamír
saw that it was an infant. The child was limp and silent, and its dark eyes were vacant.

“Brother?” Tamír whispered.

“Two children, one queen,” the child Oracle whispered in a voice too ancient and deep for her small frame. “In this generation comes the child who is the foundation of what is to come. She is your legacy. Two children, one queen marked with the blood of passage.”

The girl turned to Tamír, her eyes full of searing white light that seemed to bore into Tamír's very soul. “Ask Arkoniel. Only Arkoniel can tell you.”

Terrified without knowing why, she fell to her knees and whispered, “Ask him what? About my mother? Brother?”

Cold hands closed around her neck from behind, choking her as the banner had. “Ask Arkoniel,” Brother whispered in her ear. “Ask him what happened.”

Tamír's hands flew to her throat; she didn't really expect to touch Brother or stop him, any more than she'd ever been able to. But this time her hands found cold flesh and hard, corded wrists. She grabbed at them as a terrible stench rolled over her, making her gag.

“Give me peace!” a thick, gasping voice moaned close to her face. It was not Brother's ghost behind her anymore, but his corpse. “Give me rest, Sister.”

He released her and she fell forward on her hands, then twisted around to face the horror behind her.

Instead, she found herself looking at the Oracle again, the woman she'd been speaking with. She sat just as Tamír had left her, hands open on her knees, eyes wide and empty again.

Tamír raised her own hands, and found them dry and clean. Her bodice was still laced. There was no sign of blood anywhere.

“You've told me nothing,” she gasped.

The Oracle gazed stupidly past her, as if Tamír wasn't even there.

A rage she'd never experienced before came over her.
She grabbed the Oracle by the shoulders and shook her, trying to find the god's intelligence again in those blank eyes. It was like shaking a doll.

It was a doll, large as a woman, but made of cotton-stuffed muslin, with a crudely painted face and uneven limbs. It weighed nothing and flopped limply in her hands.

Tamír dropped it in surprise, then stared down in renewed horror. It was just like her old doll, the one her mother had sewn Brother's bones into. It even had a twisted cord of black hair tied tightly around its limp neck. There was no sign of the Oracle. Tamír was alone in the dark chamber and the light of the orb was slowly failing.

“What are you trying to show me?” she cried out, clenching her fists in desperation. “I don't understand! What has any of this got to do with Skala?”

“You are Skala,” the voice of the god whispered. “That is the one truth of your life, twin of the dead. You are Skala, and Skala is you, just as you are your brother, and he is you.”

The light was nearly gone when she felt something tighten around her chest. She looked down in a panic, wondering if the terrible doll had come to life, or if it was Brother's grisly corpse again. Instead, she saw that it was the priest's rope, somehow looped around her body again. Someone had taken up the slack and she just had time to grab on for purchase when she was lifted bodily off the ground to spin up through the solid darkness. She looked up frantically, found the circle of stars overhead, and kept her eyes fixed on it as it grew larger and closer. She could see the dark outline of heads there now, and hands were reaching down to help her up over the lip of the hole. It was Ki, and his arms were strong and sure around her as her knees gave out.

“Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously, helping her to a seat on the edge of the stone enclosure. “We waited and waited, but you gave no sign.”

“Brother,” she gasped, clutching at the neck of her gown.

“What? Where?” Ki cried, alarmed, still holding her.

Tamír leaned gratefully into that embrace. “No— It was only—only a vision.” But she couldn't stop shaking.

“The god spoke to you,” said Ralinus.

Tamír let out a harsh laugh. “If you could call it that. Riddles and nightmares.”

Suddenly she heard a scratching sound behind her. Turning, she was horrified to see Brother gazing up at her from the cavern entrance, his face a mask of hate. His pale skin slowly shriveled on his skull, and hands like claws emerged and scrabbled at the ground as he began to pull himself from the hole.

You are he, and he is you
, the Oracle whispered from below.

The words followed Tamír into darkness as she fainted.