by C. Greenwood
Eydis inclined her head. “I’m flattered by your condescension in meeting with me, Server. I am only a simple pilgrim from the seclusionary at Shroudstone—a hopeful adherent to the order of the First Mother. I would not trouble you unless my message was urgent.”
The server looked her up and down, from the worn out hose and rough tunic of the traveling costume she had changed back into, to the top of her head, still damp from the pool. Her gaze was coolly dismissive.
“I am told the pool guardians intervened to save you from drowning?” she asked flatly. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Server.” Eydis smoothed the frayed hem of her tunic, seeing the doubt in the other woman’s eyes. Did the server think she had invented the story? Why should she do that?
“Tell me about the visions you saw in the pool,” the server commanded.
Eydis surprised herself by saying, “I’m afraid I’m not comfortable discussing that with anyone but the oracle. Suffice to say the First Mother has entrusted me with important information the oracle should be made aware of.”
Server Parthenia’s smile was mocking. “Do you truly think you could be privy to anything the oracle in her wisdom has not already anticipated?”
Eydis held her ground. “That is not for me to say. Does not the First Mother share knowledge where she wills?”
The server’s smile disappeared. “The oracle is in her meditation chamber, and I will not disturb her under any circumstances. If you will not convey your message through me, it shall not reach her ears at all.”
“I am sorry,” Eydis said earnestly. “But I cannot accept that. My message is too important to be delayed by your arrogance.”
With that, she stepped around the server and tried to push past the temple doors. In her haste, she bumped into a pedestal near the door, toppling both it and the statue it held.
With a cry of dismay, she watched the sculpted likeness of a three-tongued dog shatter into pieces all over the terrace. She was on her knees in an instant, picking up the pieces. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry,” she rushed breathlessly. “I never meant to break it.”
“You’ve hurt yourself on the shards,” murmured Lytia, rushing to her side. “Look at the blood on your hands.”
“I don’t care if she’s cut off all her fingers and toes!” Parthenia ranted. “That bust was two hundred years old!”
But the server grew abruptly still on seeing the amount of blood spilling from Eydis’s hands and spreading over the marble floor.
“I feel no pain,” Eydis mumbled, searching her skin for a cut that could be the source of so much blood. There appeared to be no injury.
Then she realized she was no longer holding shards of pottery in her hands. They had disappeared, and in their place she held chunks of bloodied fur and flesh.
Horrified, she hurled the gory pieces away from her. Lytia’s screams rang in her ears, but she was too shocked to utter any cry of her own.
“What in the earthly realm is that?” Server Parthenia demanded, sounding at once shaken and accusing. “What have you done?”
“N-nothing!” Eydis stammered. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
On the terrace before her, the last rubble of the dog statue morphed from shattered clay to the mangled remains of a living creature with three tongues. Or living in a manner of speaking. The beast was mercifully dead but very much real.
Eydis tore her eyes away from the incredible transformation to find both Lytia and Server Parthenia regarding her with amazement.
“It’s the lifetouch, Server,” Lytia said to Parthenia. “She has brought stone to life. Just like in the old legends.”
“Be silent, silly girl,” snapped the server. “You know not what you are saying. No mortal has been gifted with the lifetouch in centuries. Even the oracle does not have it. Nonetheless…” She hesitated. “The oracle will wish to know of this.” She pointed at Eydis. “You will come with me. And you”—she indicated Lytia—“clean up this mess. Save the blood and remains. If this is a true miracle, the proof must be preserved.”
Lytia bowed meekly and the server stalked away, leaving Eydis to wipe her bloody hands on her clothing and scurry after her.
Parthenia led Eydis through the dragon-carved double doors and into the temple’s cool, well-lit interior. Past the vestibule, the floor was covered with rush mats and scattered with cushions for casual seating. The main furnishings were low tables and freestanding vases of lilies and cattails. A gentle breeze entered the space through tall slits in the high walls that let in sunlight and the soft noises of the outdoors.
Eydis would have enjoyed the appealing surroundings if her head was not still spinning from the horror and strangeness of what had happened out on the terrace. The memory of that clay dog breaking into pieces and then all the little pieces becoming real strips of animal flesh was enough to make her stomach churn. She took deep breaths and forced herself to focus on something else. Anything else.
The hall was largely empty, but here and there a few attendants went about their duties or conversed quietly in the corners. They didn’t wear their white robes indoors but were dressed, like Parthenia, in loose, flowing wraps of patterned silk, gathered with fringed cords beneath their breasts. They also shared Parthenia’s hairstyle of a thick braid worn long down the back. It occurred to Eydis there was not a single male presence in the place.
Parthenia seemed to read her mind. “Male pilgrims are welcome at the Pool of Tears and in the surrounding grove,” she explained grudgingly. “But only females are permitted within the temple. And of those, most are attendants.”
Eydis seized gratefully on what seemed a safe subject. “Does the oracle never venture outside the temple?” she asked.
“Rarely. She requires solitude to maintain uninterrupted harmony with the First Mother.”
Eydis spoke thoughtlessly. “She must feel something like a prisoner within her own walls.”
Parthenia flicked her a sidelong glance. “The oracle is not compelled to do anything against her will. Far from a prisoner, she is one of the most venerated seers in the land. With such great respect comes power. And responsibility. Even the highest adherents of the First Couple look to the oracle for guidance.”
Eydis bit back a denial. It was true. Even the Head Hearer of the Shroudstone seclusionary, who was the most impressive person in Eydis’s acquaintance, respected the oracle’s link to the First Mother.
Leaving the great chamber, they followed a short corridor that ended with a sturdy-looking door of granite or some other sparkling stone. This door, unlike the temple’s main entrance, seemed designed not for ornamental purposes but for strength. Eydis wondered if its function was to keep people in or out.
Parthenia did not attempt to budge the thick door on her own. A pair of silent attendants stood as if on guard at either side of the entrance, and at Parthenia’s gesture, it took the both of them to drag open the door.
A wave of heat blasted out, as though they had just opened the door to an oven. Instantly Eydis felt sweat forming on her upper lip.
“The doors and walls of this chamber are thickly constructed,” Parthenia said, “to keep sound and extreme temperatures inside.”
“Why?” Eydis asked, peering into the dimly lit interior. “What goes on in there?”
“You will see soon enough.” Parthenia led the way into the chamber.
Nervously, Eydis followed.
This room was nothing like what she had seen of the rest of the temple. Where the outer hall had been light and airy, this space was filled with shadows, and the air was thick and oppressive. There were no windows for light or ventilation. The only illumination came from a series of lit braziers that cast off an eerie orange glow and set shadows dancing along the walls. It took a moment for Eydis’s eyes to adjust to the comparative darkness.
The heat from the braziers was intense. Already she felt her clothing sticking damply to her skin. Even the smooth-faced Parthenia showed signs of d
iscomfort, her skin glistening with moisture.
And there was the oracle.
She wasn’t what Eydis had imagined. There was nothing splendid or elegant about her. She sat cross-legged, head bowed and eyes closed, her four arms folded in a meditative pose. A thin black veil rested on her head but did little to cover its baldness. She wore a simple loincloth and a rough strip of fabric binding her chest. There was nothing else to cover her violet hued skin, except a pale pattern of painted designs and a wealth of brass bangles around her wrists and above her elbows. A matching brass collar fit around her neck.
She sat on a slightly raised platform, surrounded by a circle of heaped coals. Puffs of steam rose around her from grates in the floor. There was only one clear path to approach her, and this was the one Server Parthenia took, weaving between the hot embers. Eydis followed at a distance, unsure of protocol and reluctant to be any nearer than necessary to the heat sources. How could the oracle endure them?
“Child Parthenia,” the oracle greeted her server without looking up. “I sense turmoil within you.” Her voice was surprisingly high, and Eydis realized that beneath all her body paint and jewelry she couldn’t be more than fourteen years of age. Yet her voice and bearing emanated intelligence and strength.
“Yes, Your Wisdom,” Parthenia answered. “I have brought with me a pilgrim I believe you will wish to see. She nearly drowned while having a vision in the pool, but the pool guardians carried her to the surface and one of them revived her.”
The oracle’s lashless eyes flicked open—eyes that might have belonged to a night creature. They were solid black without colored rings or white edges. Firelight reflected in their depths as they lazily surveyed Eydis.
Eydis found herself staring back just as openly at the startling visage before her and forced herself to avert her gaze.
“You think me freakish and ill-formed?”
Eydis hesitated, uncertain whether it was she or Server Parthenia the oracle addressed with the unexpected question. At Parthenia’s impatient hand motion, she answered, “No, Great Oracle. I would never presume to think such a thing.”
“Would you not?” the oracle’s voice was doubtful. “Others have thought it. My own kin abandoned me at birth, leaving me exposed in the grove. If others had not recognized me as light-touched and taken me in, I would not have survived.”
Eydis didn’t know what to say to such a confession. “Your family was foolish not to have seen your great worth,” she said. “Your insight and virtue radiate like a flame from within.”
The oracle’s mouth twitched in a cold imitation of a smile. “Your words are pretty, Pilgrim. But you know nothing of my knowledge or goodness.”
Eydis said, “I know you are a great oracle, revered across Lythnia for the power of foresight. I know that such powers could come only from the First Mother herself.”
Parthenia scowled, and Eydis took that as a sign she was talking too much.
But the oracle did not seem to mind. “You’re an unusual young woman, Eydis Ironmonger. Born the daughter of an insignificant metal dealer, impoverished and brought up among beggars and street thieves, you’ve risen above your origins. You’ve bettered your lot in life by procuring an education and a home among the adherents at Shroudstone.”
Eydis knew she shouldn’t be surprised the oracle could read her past with a single sweeping glance. But it was difficult not to feel startled. And threatened. With an effort, she kept her face expressionless.
“You have a talent for masking your emotions,” the oracle observed. “No doubt subterfuge was necessary to your survival as a child of the streets. But you cannot hide your feelings from me. I am not to be fooled.”
“Of course not, Your Wisdom,” Eydis said coolly.
The oracle’s gaze slide to Parthenia. “I can feel that Server Parthenia is distressed by something… Something more than the vision you were granted in the Pool of Tears. You must know visions are not unusual here. What is unexpected is that when you remained entranced for a dangerous period of time, the pool guardians intervened to prevent your drowning. This they have never done before.”
“Yes, I’m very grateful.”
The oracle waved aside her gratitude as if it were of no consequence. “Is this why you merited my time, Eydis Ironmonger? Because Server Parthenia thought I should see for myself the young woman the guardians saw fit to save?”
“No, Great One,” Parthenia interrupted. “I would not have troubled you were it not for a more serious matter.”
The oracle closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “This young woman has been gifted with the lifetouch,” she stated.
Eydis started. “How did you know about that?” she asked. Immediately she felt foolish. She was addressing an oracle after all.
But the oracle did not appear offended. “I felt it before you entered the room. The knowledge that something momentous had happened. From Server Parthenia’s mind, it was not difficult to unearth the fate of the clay dog at the temple door.”
At the sickening memory, Eydis wiped her palms on her clothes. They wouldn’t feel really clean of that dog’s blood until she could get to some water and give them a thorough scrubbing.
“Do not be so disturbed,” said the oracle. “There is no wrong in giving life to stone. What you have is a gift, not a curse.”
“A gift I never had until bathing in the pool in the grove,” Eydis pointed out.
The oracle shrugged. “You have brought yourself to the First Mother’s attention today. It sometimes happens suddenly like this.”
“So what exactly is the lifetouch?” Eydis asked. “Someone said it is spoken of in a legend?”
“In many legends,” corrected the oracle. “But not a great deal is known of that skill today. It was thought no mortal would have the gift again. Strange that the Mother chose you as the first receiver in centuries. This leads us to the greatest question.”
“Question?” Eydis repeated. “What question?”
The oracle leaned forward. “Tell me, Eydis Ironmonger, what makes you so special?”
“I am sure I don’t know,” Eydis said honestly. “I cannot say why I was spared by the pool guardians or why I was given the lifetouch.”
Apparently this wasn’t the desired answer. The oracle conferred softly with Parthenia.
After a moment, Parthenia instructed, “Come nearer, Pilgrim Eydis. The oracle would examine you more closely.”
Eydis obeyed, walking between the heaped coals and foggy steam grates. The intense heat made her skin feel dry and tight. Why did the oracle expose herself to such discomfort?
“My gift comes in pain,” said the oracle as though sensing her question. “The greater discomfort borne by my body, the more perfect harmony I have with the Mother.”
Eydis nodded, pretending to understand. She stood directly before the raised platform now.
“Turn your head,” the oracle commanded.
Eydis obeyed.
There was an audible gasp from Server Parthenia. “It cannot be,” the server murmured. “First the lifetouch and now this.”
“What is it?” asked Eydis, suddenly nervous. “Is there something wrong with my face?”
She put a hand to her cheek but felt nothing amiss.
“Server Parthenia is surprised to see you have been masked,” answered the oracle. If she shared her server’s astonishment, her flat tone didn’t betray it.
“I don’t understand,” said Eydis, confused.
“It seems the First Mother saw fit to give you more than one gift while you were in the sacred pool,” said the oracle. “Aside from the lifetouch, she has given you the power to disguise faces, including masking your own as that of another. You do not realize it, but you are doing it even now.”
“But I’m not trying to do anything.”
“You do not have to try. Simply let your mind wander and the mask appears. With practice you will learn to control this ability.”
“Whose features am I w
earing right now?” Eydis asked, fingers cautiously exploring her face. Did her lips feel a little fuller, her face a little rounder and more youthful?
“Mine,” said the oracle, her mouth drawn in a flat line. “You mirror my countenance.”
Eydis flushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to stop.”
She concentrated on how she usually appeared and imagined she felt a very faint tingle spread across her face.
“Better,” the oracle said. “You learn quickly. Just remember to keep your thoughts clear, and it will soon become second nature to keep your own appearance, except when you wish otherwise. You will forever wear a faint mark to show you’ve been set apart by the Mother, but it is scarcely noticeable.”
“What sort of mark?”
“It’s a pattern on the skin, visible only beneath the light. Like this.”
She tilted her own chin back, the movement revealing a pattern of runes dancing across her forehead. When the angle of her face changed, the writing disappeared again.
“I feel no different,” Eydis protested, touching her forehead wonderingly. She longed to examine her face before a mirror, but of course that was out of the question right now.
“It is of no matter,” the oracle said. “Whether you feel changed or not, changed you have been and will ever be. The First Mother lays her mark upon those she has chosen to be the receivers of her gifts. By that mark her followers know your visions are to be heeded as if your words came directly from the First Mother herself.”
Eydis’s head spun. “You mean I’m to be an oracle?”
“I mean you’re to be an instrument. Of what sort remains unclear.”
“And the lifetouch?” Eydis asked. “How am I meant to use such an ability? Does it work only on stone, or could I go about bringing corpses to life? Can I heal death itself?”
The oracle’s lips quirked. “Do not think yourself that great. You can give life. You cannot give a soul where none exists. I suggest you confine your talent to nonhuman materials.”
“You assume I can learn to summon and dismiss this talent as easily as that of the masking,” Eydis observed.
