Oracle of Delphi

by James Gurley

  Then another odor came to him, the cold, stale odor of a tomb. The air grew chilled as though a shadow had passed. He glanced up at the sky, but nothing had changed.

  “Beware, Tad de Silva.”

  Tad jumped at the sound of the soft, disembodied voice. He turned around, but saw no one.

  “Who’s there?” he replied. Young Karal glanced at him with a questioning look, but his attention soon returned to the advancing tide and his fallen castle.

  “A servant of the Plin,” the voice replied. “Once I was Talidorus Murse, but now I am no one, a messenger without flesh.”

  “A Wraith?” By glancing from the corner of his eye, Tad could see a fine mist hovering like a heat mirage above the sand.

  “Yes. Beware yonder approaching boat.”

  Tad saw that the boat had veered closer to shore. Two Guards, noticing also, walked to the edge of the surf. One hailed it.

  “Turn away by order of the King!” the Guard shouted, waving his hands above his head.

  The man in the boat waved in reply, but continued toward shore. A uniformed Guard ran from behind the dunes and fired his rifle into the air as a warning. An answering puff of smoke erupted from the boat and the sand beside the Guard sprayed into the air from a bullet.

  “Look out!” Tad yelled to the Guards. He ran for Karal, grabbed him, and ran inland. A sudden premonition swept over him and he fell to the sand, laying atop the king, trying to press both their bodies into the ground behind a low mound of sand remaining from one of the king’s earlier sand castles. A second shot rang out, the guard firing at the approaching boat. Before the sound of the shot died out, the beach shook violently as the boat exploded, sending a fiery wind sweeping over him, scorching his already burned back. Splinters of charred wood jabbed into him like cactus spines. The water receded from the shore; then returned as a surging two-meter high wave. Tad held his breath and placed one hand over the king’s nose and mouth as warm water engulfed them. He clung to both his ward and the sand as the water tried to pull them back into the sea. He opened one eye and peeked toward the boat. A ball of orange flame and black smoke rose above the water. Smoking debris from the disintegrated boat littered the beach and the surf. The uniformed guard who had returned fire and all four guards in swim trunks lay dead on the beach, pools of blood-smeared sand surrounding their smoldering bodies.

  “Tad okay?” the muffled voice of King Karal came from beneath him. Tad tried to roll off the king, but found he could not move. Pain erupted from his injured back. He almost blacked out. He felt hands lifting him from atop the king and laying him in the sand face down and saw booted feet scurrying away with the king. He hoped they belonged to the remaining Guards.

  The sand beside him shimmered as the Wraith returned. “Do not fear. You are not near death, Tad de Silva. If so, I would feel its presence. My warning came too late.”

  Tad tried to speak. “Who . . . who . . .” He tried to ask the Wraith who had sent him, but gave up when the effort proved too painful.

  The Wraith, perhaps sensing his question, answered, “I am but a messenger. I cannot reveal my master.”

  The sand grew softer beneath Tad, almost as comfortable as a goose down mattress. He snuggled down into it to sleep.

  13

  ANSWERS

  TAD AWOKE AMID A DIN OF VOICES, EACH CLAMORING FOR attention, each yelling his name, each slightly out of phase. One by one, the voices faded until only one remained softly whispering his name. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the harsh light.

  “Tad?”

  Sira leaned over him, her face even with his. Worry shone in her bright brown eyes. Tad continued to blink, trying to bring her face into focus more clearly. In response, someone lowered the light to a more comfortable level. He tried to rise up, but pain erupted along his back. He was lying on his side, his back supported by pillows.

  “What happened?” he croaked.

  From somewhere, a glass and straw filled with a sweet juice was thrust at him. He sipped slowly, savoring the cool liquid as it eased the dryness of his parched throat. He recognized the syrupy sweet taste of hondish juice.

  “There was an explosion. You saved King Karal at the risk of your own life.” The voice sounded familiar, but he could not see the speaker.

  “The Guards?”

  Now he recognized the voice. “Five died in the explosion,” Saxtos answered. “A sixth was injured. The survivors described the boat, but could not see its occupant. Did you?” Saxtos walked into his view dressed in his night robe. He paced nervously in front of Tad, wringing his hands. Tad wondered why Saxtos would be wearing his night robe.

  “He was Terran.”

  “Terran?” Saxtos repeated, stopping his pacing and turning to stare at Tad. “You are certain? Not Plin?”

  Tad was not sure he could be certain the man had not been Plin, but he could not conceive of a Plin committing suicide. “Yes.”

  Saxtos nodded as if he had expected just such an answer. “But you could not identify him?”

  “No.”

  “This is indeed a bad omen. The rebels grow too bold.”

  Tad said nothing, but he did not understand why the rebels would attack the king or why Saxtos would now accuse the rebels when he had earlier dismissed them. He turned to Sira.

  “How did you get here?”

  Her lip began to tremble. “People heard the explosion. The guards kept the crowd back but …” She stopped and wiped a tear from her eye. “You kept calling my name. The Medico thought my presence might help.”

  His face flushed as he answered, “It does. Do the people know?”

  She shook her head. “No one knows the king was there.” She glanced at Saxtos. “Councilman Saxtos warned me not to tell anyone. It was the only way they would let me see you.”

  Saxtos frowned. “I must speak with Akalah immediately. The rebels must be stopped.” He bounced out of the room, leaving Tad, Sira and the Medico alone.

  The Saddir Medico, whom he recognized as Jesic, looked at him and shook his head. “I am not sure what to do with you, Tushima. If you insist on placing yourself in danger, you could at least wear armor.”

  Tad remembered the hapless guards blasted in the explosion. “It didn’t help the guards.”

  Jesic nodded. “Well, yes, but you tried. Something shielded you from the full fury of the blast or you would not be here now. You were very lucky. Do not trust luck too often or the well will run dry.”

  Tad had a vague memory of a layer of cold enveloping him before the blast. Had the Wraith shielded him in some manner? If so, was it for his sake or for that of the king? “I will try not to.”

  “The salve will soon ease the pain and other ointments will help grow new skin beneath the burned dead skin. It will take time and will itch like crazy for awhile, but it is a small price to pay.” He hesitated. “Some of the cuts were deep and required stitches. It will also probably leave some scars.” He shrugged. “Being a Medico is often an imperfect profession.” He glanced at Sira. “I will leave you two alone, but do not stay too long. He needs lots of rest.”

  He picked up a box of instruments and left the room.

  Sira leaned down and kissed Tad lightly on the lips. “I was so worried. They came to me in my quarters while I slept and summoned me. Oh, Tad! What is happening?”

  Tad wished he could move, hold her in his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “But the Medico … he said this was the second time.”

  He decided to tell her the truth. “Someone is trying to kill the king. This was the second attempt.” He described the Triocs with the strange device and the boat incident.

  “You must quit this job and leave this city immediately,” Sira begged. “You will die here!”

  He shook his head. “I must see this through. The Council blames the rebels, but I don’t think it is them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I have met them.”

  Her mouth opened a
nd closed before replying. She placed her hands on her hips and spoke harshly. “You have met with the rebels? Tad de Silva, what are you playing at? You haven’t been here a month and already you are entangled with rebels, kings and assassins. Do you think you are playing some silly game? Go home.”

  “I cannot leave the king. He trusts me. Besides, you are here.”

  “The king is retarded. Everyone says so. The Council rules for him. Do not die for his sake. He will still be retarded if you die and he will have no real power.”

  “He is an Oracle!” Tad did not know where the words came from, but he knew as he spoke them that they were the truth. “His mind wanders between worlds, it is true, but at times he sees things more clearly than you or I can. He can see the future.”

  “Have you witnessed this?”

  He remembered the poem Karal had spoken. “I believe so.”

  This time Sira paced the room. “Ooh, Tad, you make me so angry. I am so proud of you, but you recklessly place yourself in great danger. If anything happened to you …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Would you miss me?” He felt silly after saying it.

  In answer, she ran to him, grabbed both cheeks and kissed him on the lips. It was an awkward position, but Tad responded as best he could. Finally, she pulled away.

  “There! Does that answer your stupid question? Go to sleep. Heal. I’ll be back when I can.” She stopped before she reached the door and turned back to him. “If you will leave this place, I will go with you.”

  She fled the room as if embarrassed by her emotional outburst. Tad smiled. The salve was working and the pain was subsiding. Her offer of leaving with him was tempting, but if he was to help the king, he must stay in spite of the danger. He closed his eyes and drifted away.

  For five days, he lay on his side staring out the single window of the room. His view, the roof of an apartment building across the courtyard, provided very little excitement. He could see little else but the passing clouds. The clouds reminded him of King Karal. Simios assured him that the young king was doing well and asked of Tad constantly, but the Council had forbidden Simios to bring the king to see Tad. Sira came by daily to check on him, often staying and reading poetry from an old, leather-bound book. By silent mutual consent, they did not speak of her earlier outburst, or her offer, but it seemed as if their relationship had breached a barrier. Teen infatuation had blossomed into something more durable—If not love, then mutual infatuation. They often held hands as she read and she kissed him chastely on the lips whenever she left, but her eyes glowed for him.

  Jesic checked on his recovery one day in Sira’s presence. He removed the bandages from Tad’s back. Tad saw the pain reflected in Sira’s eyes and wondered what his back looked like. The Medico probed and peeled away layers of dead skin, dropping them in a metal pan. The process produced some pain, but Tad tried not to flinch. There was a surprisingly large amount of dead flesh in the pan by the time Jesic had finished.

  “It heals nicely, Tushima. The new skin is pink like a Terran baby’s bottom. It is quite remarkable that there is so little scarring, quite remarkable indeed. The deeper punctures are healing as well, though several are still infected. Overall, you are very lucky. You will have a few minor battle scars with which to impress the ladies.” He winked at Sira. “I believe I can allow you to walk around the room some each day and sit for short periods of time, just to relieve the monotony of lying in bed like a sunning tiss lizard.”

  “Tad! Tiss lizards are horrible creatures with their spiny backs and long tails. You are no tiss lizard. You must heal.”

  Jesic applied more salve and smaller bandages, then took his instruments and left, humming softly to himself.

  “Why does he call you Tushima?” Sira asked.

  Tad eased up on his elbows and rolled over on his back, wincing as a bandage pulled at tender flesh. “It is a Saddir word for ‘Selfless One’. I think it is his little joke.”

  Sira rushed to help him sit up on the bed. She was smiling. “I don’t. I think you are selfless, perhaps too selfless, if that is possible.”

  “All things are possible. Can you help me to that chair?” He pointed to a comfortable-looking overstuffed leather chair by the window.

  Sira took his hand and helped him to his feet. At first, his legs were wobbly from lack of exercise, but with Sira supporting him, he managed to hobble across the room to the chair.

  “Don’t tease me,” she said. “He thinks you are a hero. I can see it in his eyes and in the manner in which he treats you. Simios, the Plin watcher—he sees you differently than I do, too. He sees greatness in you waiting to emerge, like a butterfly from its cocoon. You have grown since coming here, Tad, not in a physical manner that can be seen with the eyes, but otherwise. You are bolder and more confident than the young boy I arrived with.”

  He was pleased with her opinion, but he did not say anything, fearing it would sound childish or trite and change her mind about him. She stared at him for a while with a twinkle in her eye. She sat down and began reading from her book of poetry:

  “Shadow comes; shadow goes

  From hidden chambers we once arose

  Blind we see; deaf we hear

  Stars fade out as end draws near.

  Fight the Veil with tooth and nail

  The answer lies beyond the sail.”

  Tad leaped up from his chair, ignoring the pain in his back it caused. “What is that you’re reading?” he yelled.

  Sira looked confused and a little frightened at his sudden outburst. “Just a poem. Does it bother you?”

  “Where did you find it?” he demanded, grabbing the book from her hands. It was a heavy, leather-bound volume having seen much use with dog-eared pages and faded writing. The poem covered an entire page written in a very elaborate cursive script.

  “It was supposedly written by Saracen. Why?”

  “It is the poem King Karal quoted.” He handed the book back to her.

  “Perhaps he heard it somewhere and remembered it. You said he was bright.”

  “Yes, but …” He shook his head and sat back down, weary from his sudden outburst. “It sounds like he was speaking about the Dark.”

  “Perhaps he was,” Sira said.

  “Saracen was an Oracle. So is King Karal, though his language is often jumbled and confusing. Perhaps he is saying the same thing.”

  Sira paled and clutched her chest. “Predicting the Veil coming again? Oh, no, Tad!”

  Tad put his hands to his head and massaged his temples. His mind was exploding. King Karal’s words whirled through the layers of his brain, tiny white-hot sparks trying to ignite an inferno. He was afraid that if he deciphered the meaning of the enigmatic poem, his mind would combust like a shock of wheat on a harvest fire. He had frightened Sira, and that was not his intention. He could not reveal to her the Veils’ return.

  “Probably I’m wrong and you’re right and he just heard it somewhere. I’m so confused right now. Things are happening too quickly for me to grasp their full meaning. I’m just a country boy in the king’s court, like you said. I grew up saying what I meant. Here, they speak double-talk, saying one thing and meaning another. A smile can be as deadly as a sword or bullet. Maybe you’re right and I should go home and plant potatoes.”

  Sira laid down her book and came to him. She kneeled in front of him and took his hands in hers. Looking him deep in the eyes, locking his eyes to hers, she said, “I was wrong when I called you a simple country boy. You are much more than that. Fate has chosen you for a special purpose. Your future lies here, in Delphi. I am no Oracle, but I can see this. Protect the king if you must, but please, oh, please protect yourself.”

  Saying this, she laid her head in his lap and began to sob.

  Tad could not even raise his hands to pat her head to comfort her. She still clutched them tightly to her bosom. He did not believe, as she did, that he was destined for greatness. He felt much too inadequate for even the job he had. He whispered to
her.

  “There, there. I will take care, I promise. I wish to live to a ripe old age. As long as I am beside the king, I will have guards around me.”

  “They didn’t help you on the beach,” she cried.

  “Perhaps they did. They stopped the assassin from running the boat aground. The king and I would have died for certain in that case.” He felt he should not reveal the actions of the Wraith of his unknown protector.

  His words, instead of assuring her, sent her into another fit of sobbing. Exhausted, he sat back and let her cry out her fears. After a while, she quieted and looked up at him. Her eyes were red and her makeup had smeared, but he said nothing.

  “I feel so foolish. I am so concerned for your safety and inflict my opinions on you, yet I have no claim on you or you on me, other than friendship. You must do as you see fit.” She stood up. “I must go now. I have been lax in my studies as of late and must complete my homework for tomorrow’s classes.”

  “Will you come back?”

  She smiled. “Of course! We are best friends, are we not?”

  He hesitated before answering, “Certainly.”

  As she walked away, Tad’s overburdened heart began to flutter in confusion. His chest ached and his heart was broken. He had admitted his love for her and he thought she had admitted loving him. Was it only friendship and concern for his safety she was confessing? Perhaps she came to him only out of familiarity. After all, they were both strangers in Delphi. It was only natural that she would seek out an old friend, especially one who was sick or injured. Her carefree manner and kisses might mean less to her than they did to him. He was still young and unfamiliar with love and romance. He had heard that girls matured faster than boys did. Perhaps she felt he was too naïve yet to engender such feelings and her earlier outburst had been meant only to spur his healing.