The Light of the Oracle (25 page)

Or had he? Bryn unfolded her legs, wincing. Even her bones felt tired.

Kiran's sleeping face looked very peaceful, and his color was better. She mustn't wake him from such a healing sleep.

Selid couldn't sleep. For her, the bedroom was filled with bright silver light all the night through, light that enveloped and eased her mind.

At daybreak, she and Lance saw Bryn and Dawn and the troupe on their way. Bryn made them promise to follow as soon as they were able. Selid tried to reassure the young prophetess, but Bryn was deeply anxious.

The carpenter and his wife waved to the travelers, and then went inside to check on Kiran. He was sound asleep, Jack sitting watchfully at his feet.

“Don't worry,” Lance whispered to Jack. “We won't wake him.”

They tiptoed into their bedroom. “He's mending,” Lance said. “His color is better. I'll begin the packing, get the horses ready. We can ride out as soon as Kiran wakes.” He stroked Selid's hair. “We've another long journey ahead.”

A very long journey, from which there is no return.
Selid heard the Oracle's words, but somehow her fear had gone. She understood that it didn't matter where or when they went. Keldes would find her.

But Monzapel, too, would be with her. With her, and with Lance, forever.

She smiled at him. “I want to stay beside you today.”

Kiran woke feeling refreshed. He sat up cautiously. When he drew breath, his ribs were only slightly sore.

Sensing the change in him, Jack jumped up and began licking his face.

The sun was low. He must have slept through the day. A fragrant smell drifted from the kitchen, where he could hear Selid and Lance moving about.

Kiran slipped outside, happy to be able to walk without help. He entered the washhouse, where he gratefully bathed. He was eager to see Obsidian but decided to eat first; he was famished.

He went inside. Selid set soup and bread on the table, inviting him to eat. His stomach rumbled. “Bryn kissed your forehead before she left,” Selid said, sitting across from him. She looked different somehow. The day before, when she'd spoken so passionately about prophecy, she'd been lit like a candle, but a candle too small for the great flame burning within her. Now, she glowed as though the Moon Goddess had a hand on her head, tranquil and serene.

Kiran spooned delicious soup into his mouth. “Did they leave early?” he asked.

“At dawn.”

Lance put a hand on Selid's shoulder. “We're ready to travel,” he said. “We'll leave as soon as you've eaten.”

Kiran took another bite. “Traveling at night will
help hide us.” He heard a sound at the window, an urgent thumping. He slid back his chair. Peering through the curtain and fading rays of sunset, he saw a bird dashing itself against the pane. “The cardinal!” A sudden sense of peril overwhelmed him. He turned to Selid and Lance. “ You waited. For me,” he cried.

They didn't answer. Urgency made Kiran short of breath. Regret choked him as he thought of the time he had taken bathing. “We should go. Now.” He turned to the door.

Jack was ahead of him, growling a warning. Kiran opened the door. The dog streaked out.

They all heard enraged neighing from Obsidian.

The shadowy yard was crawling with armored men.

Run, Jack. Don't let them capture you.

“The animal is unimportant, let him go,” said a familiar voice. The Master Priest stepped out of a squadron of Temple guards, the last rays of the setting sun smearing his face with blood-colored light.

Kiran didn't try to fight or run this time. There were too many of them, and besides, if he didn't resist, perhaps they'd let Selid alone. “It's all right,” he said. “I'll go with you.”

“That you will,” said Renchald, coming up to the door and pushing him backward into the room.

Obsidian
, Kiran called silently.
Run, Obsidian. Run away
. He heard the stallion's frantic snorting.

Renchald looked at him sharply. “I warn you, Kiran, the horse is well tethered. If you urge him to run, he will be injured. If he injures himself or comes near you, the guards are ordered to kill him.”

Kiran called again.
Let them lead you.
The frenzied sounds of the horse trying to get his liberty faded. Renchald gave Kiran a grim nod and brushed past, flanked by Bolivar, guards swarming after them.

Selid and Lance stood before their hearth. They faced the Master Priest. “So,” Renchald said. “Keldes claims you at last, Selid.”

Lance put an arm around her protectively. “Please, sir. We do no harm.”

“Ah,” Renchald answered. “That is where you are mistaken.”

Selid's gentle eyes looked through the Master Priest. “Ellerth will bury you, Renchald. I have seen it.”

The Master Priest lifted the hand that held his ring. Selid stared back at him serenely.

“My regrets have flown, Renchald,” she said. “They belong to this world no more.” She turned to Lance. “Goodbye, my love. Walk in Solz's light.”

Both Lance and Kiran flung themselves at the Master Priest, but guards grabbed them. Though they fought with all their might, they couldn't break free.

Renchald nodded to Bolivar, who stood near Selid. In one motion, the soldier drew his sharpened dagger and took hold of the back of her head. For an instant the blade seemed to catch time itself and hold it still, a silver edge of eternity waiting for all to bear witness. Then Bolivar struck with swift and hideous grace, cutting Selid's throat. He let her down, gently enough, on the hearthstones.

“No,” Lance whispered as her blood poured. He struggled against the soldiers holding him.

Selid smiled at him, and him alone, as the life left her eyes.

The carpenter twisted his head toward the Master Priest. “ You have killed the bravest, dearest soul of all.”

Renchald nodded again to Bolivar. Lance saw the dagger coming for his own throat, but he didn't flinch under the blade. Reaching for Selid, a strange gladness filled his face. He made no sound as death came for him.

Kiran went rigid. He saw through a watery mist. The soldiers guarding him pushed him to his back on the floor and pinned him there.

A face leaned over him, cornflower-blue eyes and a spiteful smile. A long black feather fringed with gray waved in front of him. The scent of carrion filled his nose. Clea's lips formed words he couldn't hear through buzzing ears. He tried to escape, but his strength failed him. His lungs labored but seemed to bring no air.

At last she slid the feather into its case. Kiran could breathe again, and sound returned to him. He heard her say, “ You will obey the Master Priest of the Oracle.”

Blackness rolled over him, bringing welcome oblivion.

Standing in the doorway of the carpenter's house, Ilona grasped the doorjamb for support. The effort of concealing her shock and revulsion made her feel intensely faint. She trembled, exerting herself to keep upright. She had not been prepared to see Selid and
her husband murdered, Renchald's dark threats about the Lord of Death notwithstanding.

Gods of earth and sky, what have I become part of?

Every curse that Ilona had witnessed in the past had been conducted with utmost solemnity, with due regret that such a course had become necessary.

Not this time
. Clea had been all too gratified to use her power to curse Kiran. She had positively gloated.

What if he was right to refuse to pair with a mind such as hers?
Ilona felt a strong pang of guilt at having agreed to sanction a compliance curse against the swan-chosen acolyte. She looked at Lord Errington's daughter, whom she was now charged to take to the queen.

Ellerth forgive me.

When Kiran regained consciousness, he heard the sound of wheels moving and felt the motion of a carriage. He listened closely but couldn't tell who might be riding with him. He kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep, guessing he was guarded. If he didn't show he was awake, maybe he could take time, precious time, to think.

In his mind's eye Selid and Lance rose up before him. He saw them die again.

They could have been safe if they had gone without me.
His despair mounted when he remembered Clea's curse:
You will obey the Master Priest
….

What would he do when Renchald ordered him to tell what he knew? Would he become a traitor to his friends and to all he believed?
I know too much: how
Brock and Dawn write in code; about the Gilgamell Troupe and Selid's message
.

He vowed to fight the curse, but even the thought of resisting left him intensely nauseated. Worse, his mind felt fragmented, his thoughts like tired birds fluttering aimlessly.

Forcing himself to concentrate, Kiran imagined that Bryn was beside him. The thought of her comforted him. She, too, had known this sickness and hopelessness.

And overcome it. She had proved that a curse could be lifted.

He racked his brain to remember what she'd said.
I found what didn't belong in my landscape.
His idea that the curse would attempt to blend itself into the inner landscape must have been correct.

If only he had asked her to say more. Now she was gone, on her way to the queen. He would simply have to do what he could by himself.

Weariness urged him to go back to sleep, to wait until he was better rested before trying to undo the curse. But then he imagined the Master Priest commanding him to betray his friends and felt a frightening impulse within himself to obey.

No, he must keep awake.

Kiran squirmed on the carriage seat to ease his body, moving carefully, pretending continued sleep. To give himself heart, he summoned the memory of pairing with Bryn.

It took longer than usual to get to his inner landscape, but his dream body finally arrived there.

The sky shone golden. In the distance, scarlet mountains rose. Streams glittered as they poured down the mountainsides, weaving into bright waterfalls that leaped to join a silver river. The river sped across lush plains to a well-made stone dam. Below the dam, the water slowed, creating pools.

Kiran's gaze swept the landscape, looking for what didn't truly belong. Something was out of place— something that made him terribly uneasy—but what? He scanned the territory again.
Mountains. Waterfalls. River. Plains. Dam. Pools.

Kiran approached one of the pools. He squatted beside it. A film of slime was coating the water. The slime thickened noticeably even as he watched. He looked at adjacent pools, and saw scum gathering over them also.

Of course. The curse had taken the form of a dam. Kiran himself would never have stopped the free flow of water within his landscape.

He rushed along the banks to the dam. Massive blocks walled off the river's current. What could he possibly do to remove such a structure? Who could help him?

The answer floated on the air.
Swan
.

Kiran remembered that Clea's curse had taken the wind from Bryn, sealed her in stillness that shut out her gift. Maybe he would be unable to touch the spirit of the swan. Then again, Clea had sought to
deprive
Bryn of prophecy, whereas Kiran's curse was for the purpose of making him obedient to the Master Priest's desire for
more
prophecies. He would be of no value to
the Temple unless he continued to be a black swan prophet.

He must call the swan. Nothing else could help him now.

Kiran called. He stood beside the dam within his landscape, waiting, calling with all his heart. He kept his eyes fixed on the blank sky, pleading,
If I have done any good thing in my life, please help me now.

After a timeless interval that seemed to last for hours, a great bird came into view, soaring out of the plains. Black wings glistened against the golden sky as it flew closer, its beak ruby red. Kiran watched as it came nearer and nearer.

It perched on a branch directly across from him. It shook its feathers and looked at him with eyes deeper than all the waters of the world.

Thank you for heeding my call.

Light rolled off the swan's wings toward him, light so thick he could gather it in his hands like silken rope.

And Kiran knew what to do. He arranged the coils of light into a web, a net big enough to throw over the dam.

He cast it. Alive with intelligence, the net slid under the blocks of Clea's curse, shining ever more brightly as it wrapped round the whole structure.

When the entire dam lay within the net, Kiran and the swan drew the edges of the net together, the swan using its beak, and Kiran his hands.

Now.

They tugged with their combined strength. The dam broke into pieces held by the net. The pent-up water burst free, flowing into the riverbed, overrunning the pools, catching them up in its pure current.

Energy and strength streamed through Kiran. He gripped the net.
What now?
he asked the swan.

The bird led the way out of Kiran's landscape. Dragging the net, Kiran followed the swan past his inner barriers. He understood that he must not leave the curse lying in the abanya. He decided to try bringing it with him into the outer world.

Thank you
, he told the swan.
Thank you
.

Black feathers glinted as the bird soared out of sight.

Kiran sent his dream body back to the carriage that traveled toward the Temple of the Oracle. And as he passed out of the abanya, the net he carried and the stones within it vanished.

Renchald regretted the need to push for a quick return to the Temple to meet Lord Errington. It would have been more suitable to travel at a measured pace. However, he took solace in knowing that he and Bolivar had done what they set out to do. And Clea had subdued Kiran before heading on to Zornowel with the First Priestess.

The Master Priest remained wakeful during the night journey through the Lyden, but he was able to sleep in his carriage for much of the next day. He woke in late afternoon. The terrain outside told him the Temple would appear within an hour. He took advantage of the solitude to reflect on the events of the past two years.