Oracle of Delphi

by James Gurley

  The young boy, Zak, cast off bow and stern lines and raced to the boiler room to stoke the fire. The captain positioned the spotlight to illuminate the right bank and the dark waters ahead of the boat. With a burst of adrenaline on Tad’s part and a hiss of steam on the boat’s part, they were off. His exhilaration died quickly. They were moving at a snail’s pace. He went to the wheelhouse and spoke to the captain.

  “Why so slow?”

  Captain Winset smiled. “The water is low. I don’t want to snag a tree or run aground on a sand bar. The river opens up in a few kilometers where the Moss, another tributary, runs into it and the channel gets a bit deeper. I’ll open her up then.”

  “Our passengers don’t seem too curious about the river,” he noted. “They’re inside their cabins.”

  The captain grimaced. “I was informed that they will cook their own meals and provide their own rations. It seems they wish to be alone as much as possible. Oh, well, the meals are free; the pay’s the same, so it’s no skin off my nose.” He bellowed out in laughter. “Ride here with me if you want.”

  Tad shook his head. “I think I’ll sit in the bow and watch the river.”

  Taking a seat on a metal cleat, he watched the muddy waters flow past, eyeing the bank suspiciously when he heard the occasional loud splash or saw eyes glowing in the water reeds. He knew that there were no large snakes on Charybdis, but some larger predators used the river at night for drinking and hunting prey. There was one problem with his position: The spotlight drew insects. Moths, beetles and several stinging flies buzzed around him. When he grew tired of swatting at them with his hands, he went to the fantail and dropped the netting. Their attacks diminished. He chose a hammock and lay down to watch the river from a more comfortable position. Over the steady beat of the propeller, he heard voices from the porthole below. At first, one of them spoke in Saddir and Tad was unable to understand him, but the other chided him in Terran.

  “Practice your Terran,” one said. “Do not make them suspicious.”

  The other voice he recognized as Ket’s, the girl’s father. “They do not care what we are about. The captain cares only for the money we paid for our passage and the boy is a boy. What can he know or guess of our journey?”

  “The boy is different. I can see it in his eyes. He is sure of himself and has a look of determination about him. He is no uneducated local. If his journey takes him beyond Fridan, as does ours, we might encounter him again. In the Waste, there is either friend or foe. We might need a friend.”

  “Hah! We need no one. These people are primitive.”

  “Yet they survive and thrive. Our task requires us to go among them, but do not dismiss them so readily. They are not fools.”

  Tad heard these words, but could put no meaning to them. From what he had heard about them, the Outer Islands were more primitive than even his home in Casson, certainly less advanced than Delphi, but they spoke as if they were superior. They were venturing into the Waste; this much was certain. Could palladium be worth the risk? How could two men mine enough palladium to make it a profitable venture? He heard a knock on the door and the voices faded, followed by the door shutting, as if they had left the cabin. Tad pondered what he had heard, but it made no sense to him. “Go among them”—what did Ket mean by that? Tad shook his head and dismissed the Saddir as not his problem. He did not need another mystery. He had enough to last a lifetime. His entire journey was a mystery, his ultimate goal unknown. If the Wastes held an answer, his journey would be short. If not, only the High Gate of Tomorrows remained.

  Eventually, the gentle swaying of the hammock lulled him to sleep. When he awoke, First Dawn was painting the eastern sky pale blue.

  “Breakfast?”

  Tad looked up from his hammock and saw Zak standing there with a tray. Tad smiled and nodded and the boy set the tantalizing tray of goodies on a bench. Tad took a big whiff. The aroma helped wake him. Toast with blackcurrant jelly, two large sweet buns, a single, large karth egg cooked over easy, two sausage links, fried potatoes and a giant mug of java—breakfast for a king.

  “Looks delicious,” he told Zak. “Did you cook it?”

  Zak smiled broadly at the compliment. “One of my duties. Captain says I’m a good cook. Try the coffee. Grown with beans from the north. Captain says Java was the best thing exported from Earth.” He looked toward the wheelhouse. “I’ve got to tend to the Captain now.”

  At first, Tad thought that the outstanding fish dinner the previous evening might curb his appetite, but as he sat down and dug into his meal, he found himself wolfing it down as if he were starving. After a while, he looked regretfully at the remains on his plate, a sweet bun and bits and pieces of potato and egg. He drained his java and picked up the sweet bun for a midmorning snack later. Then, he went forward to find the captain.

  Through the open wheelhouse door, he could see the captain holding a coffee mug in one hand and nibbling on a sweet roll held in the other, while turning the ship’s wheel with his belly.

  “Do you sleep, Captain?” Tad asked.

  “Good morning, lad,” he called cheerfully. “Aye. I nap a while and let Zak steer when the river’s clear. I’ll sleep later when we hit the White. It’s safe enough to let Zak pilot for a few hours.”

  “Isn’t he a bit young?” Tad asked, surprised that the young boy was given such responsibility.

  The captain laughed. “He’s twelve, but he’s a better river pilot than most men twice his age. He’s been piloting for me for three years. He cooks too. His ma taught him.”

  Something in the captain’s voice alerted Tad to a deeper relationship between the captain and Zak’s mother. “You know her well?”

  The captain smiled. “I did once, a long time ago. The lad might be my son, though he doesn’t look much like me.”

  “Does he know?”

  “He does, but he says he wants to be treated like crew until he earns the right to be family. When he reaches sixteen, I’ll give him a piece of the business. When I retire, the boat’s his. That’s why we keep her looking so spic and span. Don’t want it rotting away afore he has a chance to captain it.”

  The captain tossed the remainder of the sweet bun in his mouth and spoke around it. “We’ll reach the White in about an hour. Ever seen a tidal bore?”

  “No. What’s that?”

  The captain laughed and waved his hand. “No hints. Just wait and you’ll see why I chose just after dawn to reach the White.”

  Tad’s curiosity was piqued. What could be exciting about the tide this far from the ocean? He would have to ‘wait and see’ as the captain said. He expected the Saddir to come on deck to enjoy the morning air, but they did not. He went below to the common room and found Ket cooking a dish called meshuri on the wood stove. Tad had seen Hanat, the Saddir mercenary who had protected the Caravan, cooking the same dish often on the journey to Delphi. It was a combination of dried fish, mushrooms, bitter greens and a root vegetable called tara. It tasted as bad as it smelled, but seemed to be a staple for the Saddir.

  “Good morning,” Tad offered as he entered the room.

  Ket glanced at him, nodded and continued stirring the meshuri.

  “I tried that once,” Tad announced, pointing at contents of the pan on the stove. “It has an acquired taste.”

  This elicited a grin from Ket, the first sign of emotion Tad had seen from him. “Acquired, yes. We Saddir eat it often as a remembrance of things lost.”

  “During the Veil?”

  His brow wrinkled. “Before then. Where did you try meshuri?”

  “On the Caravan to Delphi, one of our Saddir guards made it. Hanat was his name.”

  A grimace crossed Ket’s face at the mention of Hanat, but it passed quickly. “You are from Churum, then,” he said.

  “Yes. A city called Casson. I lived in Delphi until recently.”

  “Was this Hanat a friend?”

  “Yes. I think so. He saved my life once.”

  Ket looked at
him. “You are young to have been in such a dangerous position. I hesitate to mention this, but I heard rumors while in Mors Point. You were involved in an altercation with several locals.”

  It was Tad’s turn to smile. “Yes, a slight one. A fight over a girl.”

  The Saddir’s eyes narrowed until his brows touched. “I saw the door. Yet you are not Plin.” He said it as a statement of fact and not a question.

  “No, but I trained with them.”

  Ket nodded once. “I see. You are indeed a peculiar youth. The Plin accept few among them not of their blood and few Terrans have your unique abilities. There was a Plin in Mors Point, was there not?”

  Tad was surprised Ket had heard of him. “Yes. A rattled old Mage named Berass. You’ve heard of him?”

  A look of sadness crossed Ket’s face. “We were told by the captain that a gang of drunken men went to his home the night before we arrived. They accused him of sorcery, burned his house, and dragged him through the streets.”

  Tad could not speak. His stomach churned and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes began to tear. Finally, he found his voice. “Why? He harmed no one.”

  There was no emotion in Ket’s voice as he spoke. “You befriended him. That, in their minds, was enough.”

  “Is he alright?”

  Sadness crept into Ket’s eyes and Tad knew the news was not good. “He is dead.”

  Anger boiled in Tad’s blood. “Dead? How?

  “They kicked and beat him. A girl tried to stop them, but they held her while they hanged him from a tree. He was probably dead already.”

  Evie.

  The miserable creatures of Mors Point had focused their rage on a helpless old man simply because he, like Tad, was different. Tad clenched his fists. He wanted to return to Mors Point and destroy the entire town and its murderous inhabitants. He felt he could do it. More, he knew he could do it. Power churned in his veins and throbbed in his temples, yearning for release. Suddenly, the flame beneath the pot turned white hot and shot up to the ceiling. The pot buckled and began to smoke. Ket grabbed a rag and pulled it from the flames as they died. He stared at Tad a moment before saying, “I believe I have burned my meshuri. I must start over.” His voice betrayed no surprise or emotion at the bizarre occurrence.

  However, Tad was startled and perplexed. He knew that he had unwittingly caused the fire to explode, but he did not know how. He said nothing as he hurried from the room. On deck, the sky spun around him and the air became too thin to breathe. He gasped like a fish on land until he could feel his lungs fill with air, but the air tasted lifeless. He was appalled and sickened that the town had taken out their anger at him on innocent, addled Berass. The Veil-touched old man could have defended himself, but had instead chosen not to harm them. Perhaps he had decided that he had lived too long, or the things he had witnessed had dwelt in his dreams too often. His passing disturbed Tad more than the death of a man he barely knew should. That he had inadvertently caused the man’s death weighed heavily on him. His act of self-defense had come unbidden and without thought, as had the incident in the galley just now. Somehow, the powers latent in him were growing and his training had not been adequate to control them. Had Simios foreseen this? If so, why not warn him of the dangers? Was this land so touched by the Veil that even electricity could not be safely tamed already reaching insidiously inside him to twist his powers?

  Tad stared unseeing into the waters until a hand touched his shoulder, startling him. It was Captain Winset. By the captain’s expression, he must have guessed Tad had learned of the cruel death of Berass.

  “Come see the tidal bore,” he said gently. “I think you will enjoy this.”

  Tad followed Captain Winset blindly to the wheelhouse. His mind still ached with the knowledge of Berass’s death. He had no desire to see anything but the captain was insistent. Reaching the bow, Tad looked up. The White River lay ahead. It was almost a kilometer wide at this point in its journey to the sea. The captain increased the speed of the riverboat and, when he had turned into the westward surge of the White, said, “Get ready for a ride.” He pointed downriver. Tad followed his outstretched arm and saw a wall of white rushing toward them like an avalanche.

  25

  FRIDAN

  TAD SENSED DANGER AND HIS BODY BEGAN TO RESPOND. HIS chest tightened as his power built, but the incident below had drained its potency. The power died as quickly as it had risen. Still, his feet longed to run. Only the captain’s calm demeanor kept him rooted in place.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “It’s the tidal bore, a wall of seawater rushing up the White pushed by the high tide. This one’s small, maybe two meters high. I’ve seen them twice that, though I wait ‘til one that big has passed before slipping into the White.”

  Tad’s heart began racing again as the captain steered for the center of the river, but this time only from adrenalin. He held on as the wall of water slammed into the stern, lifting it until the boat stood on its nose at a steep angle, the single, madly spinning propeller now out of water. Slowly, the boat righted and rode the wave like a surfboard. The speed of the tidal bore increased the boat’s speed by five or six knots. The shore zoomed past them. The captain kept the boat centered on the crest of the wave by delicate turns of the ship’s wheel, alternately laughing and cursing. He was like a boy, giddy with pleasure, his eyes sparkling with remembered youth. The tidal bore carried them for several kilometers upriver before expending its energy. At last, the boat settled gently into the river and slowed. The captain called below for more steam to increase their speed against the current.

  “That always makes me feel young,” he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Saves half an hour’s steaming.”

  Now that the danger was past, the thrill of the ride dominated Tad’s emotions. He wanted to do it again. “What causes the bore?”

  “The river delta is wide and shallow where it empties into the sea, filled with centuries of silt from upriver. When the tide comes in twice each day, it pushes the river back on itself until the force of the river wins. When the wandering moon is in conjuncture with Bulls Eye, like during the Festival of Two Moons, it raises a monster bore that rushes far upriver and sweeps out for kilometers across the banks. I steer clear of it then. First time I witnessed it, it gave me the jim-jams.” He sighed. “With all the logging upriver, the delta will silt in for good one day and the land between here and Fridan will become a grand inland lake. I’ll be out of a job.”

  A thought crossed Tad’s mind. “How do you get back to the Canes when the tide is in?”

  The captain snickered. “I don’t. I tie up upstream and wait it out.”

  Tad nodded. “I see.” He looked at the captain. “You knew about Berass?”

  He nodded. “Aye, bad business that. He was a bucket of coal shy a full load, but he harmed no one. You’re an outsider and you made them see how small they are. They couldn’t stand that.” The captain spoke as if he too was an outsider.

  “How do you live among them?”

  The captain shrugged his shoulders. “I live on the river when I can, but I haul their freight and pick up passengers at their docks, so I cause no ripples. I have no friends there though, except when Captain Marcus and the Holden’s Spur is in port.” He looked at Tad almost apologetically. “This is a hard, bitter land filled with hard, bitter people. They don’t have time for the niceties of civilization. Why do you think there are only a handful of small villages and one major city scattered across a land half again the size of Churum? Weeds grow faster here than civilization does. If the remains of the Veil eat civilization here, what do you suppose it did to the rest of the galaxy? It’s been half a millennium and the shade of the Veil is still a funeral shroud over the land. Get your business done fast, lad, and head back to Delphi before it’s too late.”

  Captain Winset’s words struck a familiar chord in Tad and gave him something to consider. His thoughts had also often gone outward to the
rest of the galaxy and any remnants of civilization that might have survived. The Charybdis system was near the outer fringes of the galaxy on a thin wispy spiral five hundred light years from the main galaxy, and the Veil, as it swept through, warped time and space, displaced stars, and still had the power to torture a planet. Farther in, vast fields of stars no longer shone, either shrouded or missing. Tad wondered if the Veil had sated its terrible appetite on the Milky Way or if it was still spreading, wreaking havoc in other galaxies until it consumed the universe.

  Whatever the Veil was, it had almost assuredly destroyed most life in the galaxy and it was now returning for what remained. It seemed that most people did not wish to know their fate, while he, a lad going on seventeen, had chosen to stop it. Did they know something he didn’t, or were they, like the people of Mors Point, too ensnared by their petty lives to care? Berass had said he heard the whispers of the Veil. What horrible secrets had they revealed to him that had so tortured his Plin mind? Now, he was dead, killed for Tad’s indiscretion. Death, exile, saving the galaxy—it was a heavy load to bear for a boy fresh from the farm.

  True to Captain Winset’s promise, the banks of the White River above the Canes were beautiful. Gently rolling hills of waving golden grass, fields of blue and yellow native flowers, stands of Terran-stock oak, birch and native fern-like palms thirty meters tall, herds of ostrich-like karth made Tad yearn for home and his uncle’s pair of karth, Flick and Flack. Flocks of other flightless birds, smaller relatives of the karth, roamed the banks of the river, often leaping into the air and diving beneath the waters, only to emerge a minute later with a flapping fish in their beaks.

  Farther upriver, where the hills leveled out and the land became marshy, through breaks in the tall reeds, Tad caught glimpses of drakken, large, warm-blooded reptilian creatures the size of ponies often used as draw animals. The docile creatures waded through the shallow water munching on aquatic plants and wallowed in the muddy banks until only their large red eyes were visible. Slow and lumbering on land, they seemed at home in the water, swimming upriver with ease and floating back downstream as if for amusement. After that, the view became monotonous—seared tawny earth, sparse grass, clumps of spiny shrubs—a desert-like environment. The river widened and the captain placed the boat in the middle of the river, tied off the wheel, and invited Tad in for a game of chess. Unlike Saxtos, Captain Winset was less thoughtful, moving quickly, often making moves that confounded Tad but proved to be ingenious when executed properly. However, he did become distracted easily, allowing Tad to win a game or two.