Oracle of Delphi

by James Gurley

  “I’m defeated,” he exclaimed, his hands pressed to his belly. “I could not eat another bite.”

  His uncle agreed. “I shall not want breakfast tomorrow. Perhaps not even lunch.”

  The check, when it arrived, more closely resembled the bill for seed for a season’s planting than that of a meal for two. Tad counted out the coins and put his sadly depleted purse back in his pocket.

  “You did not have to do this, lad. I can pay my part,” his uncle said.

  Tad shook his head. “No. I invited you out for a grand meal. Besides, Simios will pay me far more than I could spend, even here.”

  As he spoke Simios’s name, Tad noticed an older, well-dressed Terran gentleman dining at the table beside them look up and stare at him intently. His dark eyes were cold and calculating as he took in Tad’s countenance, as if committing it to memory. Looking at the man, Tad felt a sudden chill.

  As they were leaving The Dying Swan, the man left his table, hurried past them, and disappeared around a corner. The man’s strange behavior made Tad uneasy, though he did not know why. “I have never feasted so well!” his uncle exclaimed.

  “Nor shall I again, I think.” To emphasize his point, Tad belched loudly and stumbled. “I think that brandy is much stronger than Casson wine is.”

  As they neared the gates to the docks, two men approached them, both working-class Terrans judging from their attire.

  “Ho, young man,” one said as he drew near. He saw his uncle reach subtly into his pocket for the knife Tad knew he carried there. The man stopped half a dozen paces away and held his hands out palms up to show that he was unarmed. “No alarm.”

  “What do you want?” his uncle called to the man.

  Ignoring him, the man spoke directly to Tad. “If you are to work for Simios, I bring you warning.”

  Tad gulped. “Warning me of what?”

  “Do not trust the Plin. They are an ancient subtle race given to many dark secrets. Their lies are pleasant to hear but often strike deeply.”

  “What do you say?” his uncle burst out. “Askos has long been a friend to me.”

  The man nodded. “Perhaps he is, in his Plin fashion, but even friends sometimes do not reveal all to friends. The Mages have a plan known only to themselves.”

  Tad thought of what Simios had revealed about the future of Charybdis. “They are with the Terrans,” he said.

  The man smiled. “They are with themselves only. Be wary is all I say.”

  “Do you know Valcor?” Tad asked, wondering if the men were rebels.

  His uncle looked at him strangely. The man smiled but remained silent. His uncle took a step towards the man and the man’s companion began to walk forward to meet him. The first man stopped him with a jerk of his hand.

  “We do not appreciate being accosted in the night,” his uncle said.

  The man again held out his hands to show that they were empty. “We do not accost you, sir. We are fellow Terrans sent to warn the lad. Nothing more. Take it as you will or leave it alone.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Tad called.

  The man stopped.

  “Did the man in the restaurant send you?”

  “Yes,” he said and then walked away, followed closely by his companion.

  After they were alone, his uncle turned to him. “Keeping secrets, Tad?”

  Tad related all he had done and seen that morning, leaving out only the parts about the coming war and the return of the Veil. He did not wish to disturb his uncle with information of such a highly speculative nature. He mentioned the man in the restaurant. His uncle listened quietly without comment. Then he said, “I fear to leave you here in this city alone. There is too much intrigue.”

  “I cannot go back. I no longer belong in Casson.”

  His uncle nodded his agreement. “Still, I fear for your safety. You are in the middle of rebels and Kings. It cannot bode well for your future.”

  “I promise to keep safe, uncle. I can learn much from the Plin and if I must leave, the money I can save will help greatly back on the farm. You have said we need more land. I could buy it.”

  His uncle threw up his hands and made a face of resignation. “I cannot bind you and take you back by force. You are old enough to know your own mind, I suppose. I will still worry for you. You must promise me to watch your back closely and perhaps learn to use a pistol.”

  This advice surprised Tad. His uncle was not overly fond of weapons except for hunting. The knife he carried was utilitarian, used for cutting rope and opening bags of grain.

  “I will, I promise.”

  His uncle looked at him a moment before smiling and shaking his head. “I’ve done as best I could with you after your parents died. I will have to trust that it was enough. Live here, then, if you must, but keep in touch. I will rush back if you need help.” He patted Tad on the back, and then hugged him. “Come on, lad. It has been a long day filled with rumors. I must leave very early for Casson and you must begin your new life. It is sleep we both need now.” He patted his full belly. It thumped like a ripe melon. “I, for one, must digest this wondrous meal.”

  Together, they passed through the gates into the docks. His uncle settled down quickly. No late night singing or dancing broke the silence of the camp. Everyone was preparing for an early start. Tad found a comfortable niche beneath the overburdened cart to lie down, but still found sleep elusive. So much had happened in such a short time; it would take some time for him to put things into perspective. He had met and befriended the rebels; had gotten a job with the Watchers observing no less than the King of Delphi; had learned a Cloud Rider had heard of him; had met the famous or infamous Sea Hawk; and had learned of an impending war between Terrans and the rest of Charybdis. Most disturbing of all, he had learned that the Veil might once again fall over the galaxy. He finally fell asleep thinking of Sira. So far, she was the only bright spot in his new life.

  7

  KING KARAL

  “WAKE UP, TAD”

  Tad rolled his eyes at his uncle who was shaking his shoulder. Corycia was just an ill-conceived thought of the new day, a rumor of dawn, and Cleodora’s soft blue glow lay hidden behind puffy grayish clouds.

  “Breakfast is ready. We will be leaving soon.”

  Tad rubbed the sleep from his eyes and saw that the other Caravaners were active also. All trade goods had been carefully loaded and the draw animals, penned for so long, seemed eager to be on their way. Flick and Flack, the pair of karth, danced on their toes and keened loudly. Their freshly polished control bands gleamed on their heads. They too, leaning into their harness, were eager to be on their way. Still half asleep, Tad munched on pieces of thick-cut pork bacon and fried tamil eggs, a small relative of the karth, with biscuits. A cup of hot java helped roll back the haze in his eyes.

  “I thought you would wait until dawn,” he said between bites.

  His uncle was already putting away the cookware. “By dawn we wish to be out of the city. The streets will fill early.”

  Tad looked at his bag of belongings set aside the previous night. It looked pitifully small to be beginning a new life. Besides the new suit of clothes, it contained all his worldly possessions—two shirts, two pairs of pants, a few changes of underclothing and an extra pair of boots. He had brought no books or mementos with him, no reminders of his old life except his memories of his family. His would be a fresh start, a clean break from the past.

  “Are the Saddir escorting you?”

  “No. A troop of Delphinium Guards will accompany us for the first couple of days before they break off toward the south. After that, we are on our own. We hope to meet up with more Delphinium Guards along the way.”

  Tad was concerned. “What if you run into Marauders?”

  “We should be fine on the plains. In Dilby Junction we might hire guards.”

  Tad nodded. Dilby Junction was where the main road split eight days’ journey to the west. One road led north into the B
lack Mountains and Casson. The other meandered south to the River Oort beyond the rolling hills. Dilby Junction was a small way post but sometimes out-of-work mercenaries hung around looking for a job.

  Tad stood and held out his hand. “I shall miss you and auntie.”

  His uncle shook his hand and then embraced him. “We will miss you, Tad. Remember us. Write when you can. Come home if you feel the need. You will always be welcome.”

  Tad fought back a tear. He had not thought it would be so difficult to leave. “I’ll accompany you to the gates.”

  “No. Get ready for your new job. Do not be late. Besides, I don’t think I could bear looking over my shoulder and seeing you standing there waving goodbye.” He climbed up on the cart and slipped his control band on his head. The karth instantly steadied and became more alert. Around him, others were climbing onto their wagons. It was a solemn occasion compared to their entrance into Delphi. A handful of citizens were present to bid farewell to newfound friends. Of the original Caravaners who had decided to remain longer in Delphi, most would follow in a few weeks, taking their chances on the unescorted return journey. A few, mostly artisans whose trade might earn them a good living in the city, might decide to remain in Delphi, having found city life to their liking.

  Tad picked up his bundle and slung it over his shoulder. “Good luck, Uncle Wilbreth.”

  “And to you, Tad.”

  Tad turned and strode from the docks without looking back. He walked to the first corner outside the dock gates and hid behind a fence. From there, he watched his uncle’s cart and the others parade out of the city, this time with no fanfare but for a few solemn goodbyes and heartfelt tears.

  “So long, uncle,” he whispered.

  He wiped a tear from his cheek and began his walk to the Watchers’ Tower. It was too early to let them know he had arrived. Instead, he found an empty crate near the entrance, sat down, leaned against the wall, and made himself comfortable. Around him, the city slowly shrugged off the night. A steady stream of people passed by on their way to their jobs though most avoided coming too close to the Watchers’ Tower. The noise level gradually rose as the day lightened with Corycia’s rising, though the threat of rain still lingered in the gray clouds. The same attendant he had seen two days earlier came up to him, acting as if he expected Tad. He nodded and unlocked the lift door. Tad entered and waited on the familiar stomach lurching sensation as the lift carried him upwards.

  Simios stood waiting by the door.

  “Ah, young de Silva. Prompt, I see. That is good.” He pointed to a low stone bench against a wall. “Leave your belongings there for now. We will find you quarters in the Black Tower if King Karal approves of you. Your belongings will be sent to you.”

  Tad nodded and placed his bag on the bench. He looked around the empty room. “Where are the others?”

  “They are in morning Communion. They will arrive soon to begin their duties. How have you found Delphi so far?”

  Tad thought of the people he had met. “Very large and strange,” he confessed.

  Simios nodded. “I find it so myself at times. Still, to observe, one must have something to observe.” He walked to the edge of the glass dome, strangely opaque from the outside but translucent from within, and looked out over the city. “See how it offers its belly to the morning sun, warming its solid flesh after a cold night. Soon its blood will warm and it will rouse and seek nourishment and the other things a living creature seeks.” He turned to Tad. “We are but fleas on its tail, clinging on for the ride with all our might and telling ourselves we control the beast’s direction, while in reality, the beast roams as it will and suffers its parasites with contempt.”

  Tad smiled at the strange metaphor, but found it somewhat appropriate.

  “I see you think I ramble. Doubt is a good thing, young Tad. To believe too quickly prevents one from absorbing the knowledge with which to make an educated decision. That is why we Watch.”

  A growing commotion in the hallway drew Simios’s attention. “Ah, the others come. I will introduce you to those with whom you will have contact. The others you can meet as time progresses.”

  The first introduction was with a tall Plin half Simios’s age. He was extremely thin and allowed his red hair to fall below his neck in small curls. His red beard sported tiny colorful beads woven in intricate patterns. His smile was easy and genuine.

  “This is Osmos,” Simios said. “He is our teacher of Philosophy and History. You will meet with him twice each week in the afternoon for lessons.”

  Osmos noticed Tad’s slight frown. “You must learn the past so you will recognize the patterns of it,” he said with a booming deep voice. “We ever repeat ourselves in great cycles, some large, some small, mostly to our dismay.”

  Tad thought of the Veil’s return.

  A second man, similar to Simios in appearance, bounced in. He was rotund and jolly, wearing an almost constant smile. Though overweight, he carried himself in a confident manner.

  “This fellow is Arias. From him you will learn the art of weaponry and self defense.”

  Tad was startled. “Self-defense? I thought you only watched.”

  Arias looked smug. “We are Plin. None dare assault us. You, on the other hand, are clearly Terran. You must learn to protect yourself.”

  Tad nodded. It might prove useful after all. Even his uncle had suggested it. The third man was no man, but a boy just slightly older than Tad.

  “This lad is Theliolis. He is young in years but wise in the ways of Magedom. He will tutor you in the beginnings of the arts of wizardry and magic, at least as much as a Terran might learn.” Simios looked at Tad and scratched his head. “Askos informed me that you were special. Perhaps I will make time for you myself, if your lessons warrant it.”

  About a dozen other Watchers filled the room, each one consumed by the books on his desk, hardly glancing in Tad’s direction. Some read while others made laborious entries in journals.

  “Come,” Simios said. “We go to meet the King.”

  Tad was impressed when the guards at the Black Tower stepped aside for him and Simios.

  “Usually,” Simios informed him, “the guards stop and search everyone seeking entrance.”

  Tad noticed several people presenting their papers to the guards before entering. Once inside, Tad stopped to marvel at the interior of the Black Tower, every bit as splendid as its facade. The Entry was an atrium five stories high with black walls and black and white marble floors. Enormous electric chandeliers hung from the ceilings, casting a soft glow to the room. Wooden doors lined the walls. A single large metal desk dominated the center of the room. From it, the Concierge directed people to the appropriate door.

  Simios made directly for a small door almost hidden behind a large bronze statue of some ancient ruler. The statue’s face was so polished that it bore no fine details. A Delphinium Guard stood at attention beside the small door, but stepped aside for them. The door opened onto a lift similar to the one in the Watchers’ Tower. It whisked them up what seemed like the entire height of the Black Tower, but as they emerged on a windowed floor, Tad could see that it was less than halfway up but still dizzyingly high.

  More guards lined the corridor. They passed many doors and at last came to a series of ancient stone steps worm smooth by the passing of many feet. These spiraled upwards another several floors. They emerged in a second wide corridor lined with portraits, colorful tapestries and more statues. Through double brass doors, they entered a room filled with sofas, a bed, chairs and furniture—living quarters.

  Two guards stood at attention beside the balcony while a young boy played with a small toy dog. The boy appeared to be near Tad’s own age, thin and gangly with long black hair hanging down in a ponytail held in place by a jeweled silver clasp. Simios cleared his throat. When the king turned to stare at the two intruders, his large blue eyes were void of expression. Tad wasn’t even certain the king fully comprehended their presence. He continued to s
tare at his toy, casting furtive, uncomfortable glances in their direction, as if they had disturbed his concentration or broken a solemn routine.

  “King Karal,” Simios announced. The young king frowned but said nothing. Simios continued as if the king had acknowledged their presence. “Your Majesty, this is Tad de Silva. With your approval, he will assist me in my duties.”

  Tad stepped forward and bowed as he imagined he should. The young king glanced at him for but a second; then went back to playing with the toy dog.

  “He approves,” Simios said, smiling.

  “How can you tell?” Tad asked. He saw nothing in the king’s expression that indicated approval.

  “When he does not approve, he has many not so subtle ways to make you aware of his displeasure, most of them quite vocal.”

  Tad nodded. “I see.”

  “You must explain to him everything you do—every gesture, going to get a glass of water, going to the bathroom, standing because your legs are cramped from sitting —everything. Otherwise, he will take offense and scream at you.”

  Tad realized that his job was not going to be as easy as he thought. All he needed was to baby sit a kid that threw tantrums, but he had accepted the job and he was too proud to back out of his commitment. “What do I do?”

  “Stay with him at all times, even when he is summoned by the Council. Watch and observe everything, however small, and report it at the end of each day. Be especially attentive to anything he might say. He is a prophet, an oracle. His words can destine our future.”