by Cole Pain
There was no dampness in the air, but the entire forest appeared vivid and verdant. Ren stopped and drew in a breath, sensing the crystalline air could sustain his body better than any food. It was as if he were feasting on tender meat, tasting a delectable pastry, and drinking wine all with each breath.
The air was life itself.
The sun filtered through the branches, enchanting the trees with sentiment. A few lone fur-covered vines swung down the path, leading him on.
The trees became denser with each step and soon he walked through vines that barely cleared his head. A few moved toward him, touching his arm or shoulder in welcome. He brushed past them, careful not to break their soft leaves. Just when he thought he must have taken a wrong turn, he walked into a clearing.
The building rose before him, bathed in the glory of the sun. Its white stone had silver striations twisting through its surface. Ren knew the silver wasn’t part of the stone, but magic, caressing the stone in soft, shivering waves.
The temple was immense. Stairs rolled out from the piazza like a long, luxurious carpet. The piazza, lined with six colossal columns, supported a huge edifice that crowned the pillars with regal simplicity. The columns were plain, as was the building, but the Oracle needed no decoration. It sparkled with austere beauty.
Ren squinted up at the precipitous height, shielding his eyes from the sun. He was about to meet the Maker’s messengers. As he approached the shadow of the sanctum he noticed it wasn’t completely unadorned as he first thought. On the smooth crown above the columns three words were written in ancient script. There could be no doubt what those words said: Truth Above All. Ren glanced down at his sword. The same words were written repeatedly on the blunt of the silver.
There was a finality to each word, a toll of warning. The elation he had felt leaving the sphinx was gone. All that remained was his naked soul standing before the Oracle.
As he mounted the steps, his footfalls didn’t make a sound. In fact there was no sound, not even his soft breath. All was still. It was as if the Oracle’s magic soaked up all evidence of blasphemy, even those things intending no harm.
When he reached the piazza he felt even more exposed. Ren stood below the culmination, dwarfed by the immensity of the columns. They were far larger than the trees he had passed and their shadows left a foreboding of the most sinister degree.
But the guardians were good. They were sent by the Maker to aid those who sought their guidance. He had to keep that at the foremost of his mind.
His sword quivered when he reached the entrance. The inscriptions on the hilt – the arrows, the astragali, and the spiral – were all glowing with a brilliant light, making them take on a three-dimensional effect. The sword bore the emblems of Choice, Chance, and Fate and most assuredly knew it neared its namesakes.
Ren walked to the massive door and traced its grain. It was made from the silver wood of the surrounding trees. Three words were written at eye level: Truth Above All.
This time the phrase caused a slight chill to pass through him. When he walked through the door he may very well find a truth he didn’t care to know. The inscription was the Oracle’s way of warning those who entered to take its teachings to heart. But as Ren continued to study the words a peace settled over him, a surety that once he left the Oracle the truth he learned would guide him down the correct path.
Ren pushed open the door and walked inside.
The door closed with a soft click, but the sound resonated throughout the nave with finality. Ren’s eyes fell on the three thrones at the front of the chamber.
They were empty, but Ren put one fist to his forehead and then to his heart. “Truth above all,” he whispered. The guardians deserved every respect he could give them. He whispered a silent thanks to the Maker for granting him entrance.
The stone thrones remained empty. He wondered how long he would have to wait before the guardians appeared.
His sword pulsed with life. He placed a hand on its hilt and looked around the chamber. The nave extended to a vast height. Its hollow pinnacle allowed the gentle rays of the sun to flicker in, carpeting the white floor with glorious light. To each side six columns marched down the nave’s length, framing the Oracle’s treasures.
Dark slabs of stone were propped between every other column to the right. They stood in stark contrast to the white stone of the Oracle. To the left, paintings were hung. Ren could make out a few details from where he stood. Most contained images of people, perhaps the people who built the Oracle.
As he stepped forward his boots made a hollow, heavy sound. The stone beneath him was engraved. It read:
You are entering the Oracle
Make sure our words are understood
Everything happens for a reason
And in that reason there is divine good.
Ren thought about all the times he had prayed to the Maker, asking for guidance. He had always thought the Maker hadn’t heard him, that he wasn’t good enough in the Maker’s eyes to be heeded. Perhaps that wasn’t it at all. Perhaps the Maker answered in a way he didn’t expect. Perhaps the Maker could use suffering and darkness to produce goodness and light.
Ren whispered for understanding as he stepped around the engraving and walked to the first stone slab. If the guardians hadn’t appeared they may want him to study the Oracle’s treasures. Both may inform him of how he needed to act when speaking with Choice, Chance, and Fate.
The first dark gray stone contained a diagram of the three external elements in a depiction he had never seen before. It was in the form of an equilateral triangle. The three end points depicted the external elements.
Ren read the inscription below the diagram:
Why things occur has been one of the most talked about subjects since the beginning of time. Some believe it’s a mix of one, others of two, others of three, and still others believe only they influence their lives:
Some believe it’s fate, a destiny you find,
A road carved for you, carved before your time,
Even if that road will cause your soul to cry.
Others believe it’s chance, just a circumstance in life,
That bends events in ways and determines what you find,
Even if that chance leaves emptiness inside.
Some believe it’s choice, an intelligence per say,
You make a choice at the time and in that bed you lie,
Even if that choice will haunt you to the grave.
Others believe in naught, there’s nothing in their eyes,
Their souls are full of poison, their bodies full of lies
Still they continue, as if their fate was theirs to find.
What do you believe in, Dragon Tamer? Why have you been chosen? How will you conquer the darkness threatening to destroy us all?
Ren blinked in surprise at his cognomen. The Oracle must adjust its lessons for each person who entered. The Maker had sent the Oracle as a guide to man. The Oracle was teaching him what he needed to know to walk the path the Maker wanted him to walk.
Ren read the words again, ingraining them in his mind. What did he believe in? He believed all three influenced life but he also believed the Maker guided those elements and could bend them to His plan. Ren glanced back at the inscription on the floor – everything had a divine purpose.
Turning, Ren walked to the first painting in the opposite hall. There, painted with exquisite detail, were two full-length images of him, just like Markum’s dream.
The first image was as he was, but with a haunted, terrified gaze. Black blood oozed from a wound near his heart. The second image was covered with snakes and the left half of his face wasn’t his own. Ren studied it as a sense of foreboding crept up his spine. He knew the other face from paintings he had seen of the Wizard War. It was Barracus’ face.
His eyes slid up the length of the two images. The one with Barracus’ image stared at him with an animosity he couldn’t describe. Just looking at his left eye repulsed him. It was v
ile, wicked and so black it shone with a greenish hue. Although Barracus’ hair was slightly longer, his jawline stronger, his nose wider, the image formed to his own so well the difference was almost undetectable.
His face wasn’t all that had changed. His entire left side wasn’t his own. The change was subtle but unmistakable. Barracus’ neck was wider, his shoulder less defined, his waist more barrel-shaped, and his thighs thicker. Ren read the inscription below the painting.
Take heed our warning. Both you will be. One you will become. Which one depends on thee.
Both you will be. Ren gritted his teeth as he looked back at the paintings. The deformed image made his skin crawl, but the haunted look in the other’s eyes terrified him. They were without hope, hollow, and empty.
A surge of anger stole over him as his mind fought to deny the Oracle’s claim. He should have never come. He knew all who returned from the Oracle changed in ways no one could understand. People came for answers but what they learned …
Was the truth.
The thought hit him with full force: Truth Above All.
Ren turned from the paintings. If this was the truth he didn’t want to know it. He felt Barracus’ eyes on him. His anger melted. This was the truth. He had come for answers and now he knew. He would have to choose between those two figures. He would have to be one of those men. The Oracle wasn’t trying to torment him but to prepare him. He needed to remember: sometimes the truth could be painful.
He looked across the nave to the second stone slab before glancing at the thrones again. They remained empty. Choice, Chance, and Fate wouldn’t come until he saw every inscription and image they had displayed for him.
Ren walked to the second stone slab. The diagram it portrayed was in the same pattern as the first, except instead of labeling the external elements of choice, chance, and fate it labeled the internal elements of love, pain, and hate.
His eyes flickered down to the inscription below the diagram.
The internal elements assist the external elements, driving them backwards or forwards. All internal elements are found in the equilateral figure shown above. Without love, hate is ubiquitous; without hate, love is undefined; but without pain, love is unreal:
Hate is strong, but not as strong as love.
Love is stronger, but not as strong as the pain love brings.
Beware if hate is in your soul without love,
For then the darkness takes control.
But know where there is love there is also pain.
Dragon Mate, are you strong enough to stand the pain? Are you strong enough to choose love over hate? For hate is easier felt than love.
Was he strong enough to stand the pain? Dragon Mate preceded the question. Could the Oracle be referring to Aidan? Aidan had related their connection to marriage. Ren felt hot emotions well within him. It could only refer to Aidan. The Oracle associated her with pain. A sick feeling rose in his stomach.
Ren glanced to the thrones resting atop the small rise at the front of the nave. They remained empty.
He walked to the second painting. It depicted three scenes of his life. One was labeled “choice;” the other “chance;” the third “fate.”
The first scene depicted him and Aidan in the dungeon. She was touching his cheek and he had his eyes closed, welcoming the feelings she bought. That was choice.
In the second scene he stared into the eyes of the silver dragon when it had broken free of its chains. That was chance.
In the third scene, the Quy knighted him with the sword that now glowed hot in its scabbard. That was fate.
At the bottom of the pictures it read:
The Chosen’s choice will drive his pain;
The Chosen’s chance will end in love;
The Chosen’s fate will spur his hate.
But which one makes his soul?
And which will he choose?
To guide him in his role?
Ren read it again. Aidan had already brought him pain. He had just found her only to lose her again. Now it was his mission to release her from the dragon. But did the Oracle refer to more pain or the pain he already felt without her?
The silver dragon would drive his love. Was the Oracle saying he would be able to release Aidan or that he wouldn’t? Ren looked back at the first scene. Aidan would drive his pain, but the silver dragon would end in love.
The Quy would spur his hate. The Quy had knighted him as her defender, charging him with this quest. Could it mean the quest would ignite his hate? His eyes flickered to the painting of him joined with Barracus. If the quest would spur his hate he had a better chance of becoming corrupt than remaining whole.
He looked at Aidan once again. The feelings she invoked rose to the surface, haunting him. She had changed him forever. He feared living without her, yet he also feared living with her. If she ever discovered his true feelings how would she respond? He traced the lines of her face, murmuring what was in his heart before ambling toward the final gray slab. In his peripheral vision the thrones loomed above him with terminal resolution. He felt the air stir. The guardians would soon appear.
He forced his mind to focus on the stone slab. Its diagram showed the two triangles merging into one. Hate joined with fate. Choice merged with pain. Chance absorbed love.
The inscription read:
Choice, Chance, and Fate
Merged with pain, love, and hate
Can embrace the light,
Can embrace the dark,
Heed us well Our Chosen.
The sword grew hot in Ren’s hand. He looked down at the weapon, trying to remember when he had unsheathed it. The blade flickered with power. Sparks of silver light bounded down its length with unimaginable speed. The sword wasn’t just a weapon. It was also filled with the Quy. He felt the power filter through him as he tightened his grip on the hilt.
The Quy had told him many would try to use her for evil, transforming her world into darkness. He recalled his horror at her words and how much he wanted to make her world light. He read the inscription again, taking the warning to heart. He finally understood what the Quy and the Oracle wanted him to know.
All were vulnerable, no matter how good or true the heart, to the darkness. The Oracle’s talk of pain wasn’t a warning. It was a statement of truth. Pain came to those who sought the light, who fought for righteousness. The very definition of love held pain. If you chose love you would hurt when a child cried, a friend bled, or a loved one breathed their last. If you lived only with hate, pain didn’t exist. If hate was the dominant emotion, the pain of love would be consumed, swallowed alive, and never sensed.
If he chose to fight for truth, pain would be felt daily. Some pains he wouldn’t understand, others he would fight to deny, but they would be real. If he ever gave in to the pain, doubting the light, he would turn to the darkness.
They were warning him not to succumb to the darkness, to the hate that would drive the pain away.
Slowly the quest before him began to take shape. He had to overcome the pain in his own soul to triumph over the darkness or he would give in to the darkness. If he refused, the Quy would be drowned, the world would be drowned, and everything would be consumed by hate.
Although he felt dwarfed by the monstrosity of the task, he also felt empowered. He gripped the sword tighter, letting the tingle of the Quy bounce off his fingertips.
The air stirred again. The thrones remained empty, but Ren sensed the guardians’ presence as he strode to the last painting.
When his eyes fell on the scene, he immediately took a step back. It was a picture of the silver dragon, wallowing in its own blood, but that wasn’t what had caused his retreat. He stood on the dragon’s back, holding a bloodied sword. There was no mistaking the weapon the Quy had given him. It glowed with power. The twin dragons on its hilt laughed in mockery at their fallen colleague.
Then he saw something that tore a silent scream from his lips. The dragon’s eyes were violet.
Ren f
ell to his knees as the sword dropped from his hand and hit the stone floor. The ringing of the metal echoed in the temple with cold resolve. His chest welled with both repugnance and anguish. Slowly, he raised his head, hoping against hope the expression on his face portrayed his horror. When he saw the truth a groan escaped his lips. His expression was wicked, cruel. Then he noticed the chains. The dragon hadn’t even had a chance to fight. It was chained to the ground, defenseless. He had slaughtered the creature with intense hate.
May the Maker have mercy. He would never do such a thing.
And if he can’t destroy the silver form the darkness will begin.
“No,” he whispered. The pain poured out and encased him in a torrent of waves. It wouldn’t happen. This was not the truth. He would never! Rage surged through him.
He reached for the sword, justified in his anger, and lunged forward, shredding the canvass with the tip of his blade. He would never do such a thing!
Ren spun to face the thrones.
The guardians stared blankly ahead, formed from the white stone of the Oracle, as cold and dead as the thrones beneath them.
But Ren felt their power and knew they were as alive as he. He glared at austere and unwelcoming faces. Their lifeless eyes were filled with righteous judgment; their shoulders were stiff with regality; their entire presence warned of caution.
Ren let caution fly. “I will never do it!” he shouted. “You lecture on keeping my emotions between love and pain and yet you portray me slaying a dear friend with hatred on my face!”
He glanced back at the torn picture. It looked even more gruesome hanging in ruin. He quickly turned away. Choice, Chance, and Fate stared at him with expressionless eyes.
He marched up the steps. He wanted answers and he wanted them immediately. As soon as he had taken the top step a glow came from the stone floor, lighting words in aureole warning.
As he read them, his anger became even more defined.
The Rules of the Oracle:
You must wake each of us or you will die.
