by Kyra Dune
“Shh,” Simon ran his hand down the back of her head. “Everything is going to be all right.”
“Oh, your hand.” She pulled back and caught hold of his hand. “Now you must let Oracle look at it.”
“First, the reason we came.”
She would have protested, but she had never seen such a look in his eyes before. This was not the same Simon she had grown up with. Always they were friends, but there was a hint of her being above him somehow because of her station. That was gone now.
Simon looked over her head at Oracle. “You know why we’re here. Tell us how to stop the Cataclysm.”
“My, my, you are the take charge sort, aren’t you?” Oracle wandered over to stare out the window. “A grand city once lay in the valley below. It was a wondrous place full of splendor and delight. A paradise of sorts. Enlightened. Artistic. Free. People came from all over the realm to experience it. And they came here as well. To the temple. To worship their gods. Thousands of them lined up along the path, carrying candles with flames every shade of the rainbow. It was so beautiful. And now it’s gone. Destroyed. Nothing left behind but a memory.”
“These gods they came here to worship,” Simon said. “Are you one of them?”
Oracle turned from the window. “How do you define a god? As a being of greater power than its subordinates? Would you not fit such criteria?”
Simon frowned. “I am no god.”
“Why not?” she asked. “In your true form you are one of the most feared and respected creatures of the aether. Do not the lesser angels look on you with the same kind of worship and devotion as any would look upon their gods, even if they do not refer to you as such?”
“Gods are immortal,” Anastasia said. Hearing Oracle refer to Simon as a god made her distinctly uneasy, though she couldn’t have said why. “They cannot die.”
“Really?” Oracle asked. “So you would use immortality as a marker for a god? Doesn’t your religion dictate your soul lives on forever after your body dies? Is that not the definition of immortality? Are you, then, a god?”
“I...” Anastasia flushed. “Of course not. I have no power. Gods have power unlike mortal men and women.”
“Like magic, you mean? Well, the lesser realm is fairly crawling with Magi and illegal practitioners of witchcraft. So, I suppose they must be gods then.”
“That’s not what I... I mean...” Anastasia made an exasperated noise. “You’re confusing things. Are you a god or not? It is a simple question with a simple answer.”
Oracle laughed. “Oh, child, there is no such thing as a simple question.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Simon broke in. “Forget it. I care not whether you are a god, I only care if you know a way to prevent the Cataclysm without it costing Ana her life.”
“The Cataclysm will come about when the exiled gods are freed from their prisons,” Oracle said. “It cannot be prevented, not forever. Eventually, the magic which holds them will fail. It must.”
“Can’t we rebind them?” Selene asked. “It was elder powers who imprisoned the gods in the first place, couldn’t they strengthen the spells?”
Oracle shook her head. “I’m afraid only the elders of the time the original spells were cast can affect them now. Each generation has its own, unique signature of magic. But those elders are all dead now. Morpheus was the last.”
Selene’s jaw tightened. “How did you know of my father’s murder?”
“I see many things,” Oracle replied. “My name was not given me by chance.”
“So you’re trying to say we can do nothing?” Simon asked. “There is no way to stop the Cataclysm? I refuse to believe that.”
Selene frowned as if a sudden thought had come to her. “What about Clarissa? I had not heard of her death.”
“Clarissa.” Oracle made a dismissive noise. “She forfeited her status as an elder and moved to the lesser plane ages ago.”
“But she remains a higher power,” Simon said, relief creeping into his voice. “And she can help us.”
“It’s a slim chance,” Oracle said. “Much better to simply kill the girl now and be done with it.”
Simon’s arms tightened around Anastasia. “Not going to happen. I don’t care if you are a god, you aren’t going to touch her.”
“Such fierce loyalty,” Oracle said. “Mishkael chose well in making you her guardian. Very well, if you would seek out Clarissa, you must return to the lesser realm. In a place called Kartesk is a desert, and within this desert is a temple. Clarissa resides there, though she calls herself a Magus now and lays no claim to being a higher power.”
“Can you send us to her?” Simon asked.
“I can,” Oracle gazed intently at Anastasia. “If you insist upon going.”
Anastasia stepped away from Simon’s securing embrace. “I want no more lives lost for my sake. But if going to Clarissa will not endanger my companions, and if it won’t hasten the approach of the Cataclysm, then I would go to this temple. If it comes to it, I will willingly forfeit my life to save the realms, but if there is any other way... Well, I’m no different than anyone else. I would prefer not to die.”
“Then to the temple you shall go.” Oracle returned to the window. She traced her fingers across the glass and at each point of contact a crack appeared. These cracks spread in a spider web pattern, radiating outward until the window was covered in them.
Oracle took a step back and blew her breath upon the window. Glass shattered outward to reveal a new scene beyond; a crimson dawn spreading its bloody glow across the stones of a temple standing pristine and white in the scouring desert wind.
Simon slipped his hand into Anastasia’s. “I’m right here with you.”
“I know.” Together, they stepped through the rift.
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About The Author
Kyra Dune was born in Oklahoma, but spent most of her life travelling with her family. She is the author of more than two dozen fantasy novels, including: Shadow of the Dragon, Elfblood, and Firebrand. As a child, her favorite stories were those that told of ordinary children being whisked away to magical lands. She has yet to find her own secret wardrobe or rabbit hole, but she hasn’t given up the search. You never know what might be waiting over the next rainbow.
www.kyradune.weebly.com
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