Oracle of Delphi

by James Gurley

  “I’ll go.”

  Simios nodded. “I had hoped you would agree. First, though, you must be prepared. We will double your studies.”

  Tad groaned.

  “It is well you found the Library, I suppose.”

  Tad looked sheepish. “You knew?”

  “Did you think we would leave such power and knowledge unwatched and unprotected? I am the one who placed the translator screen conveniently for you to find with the hope that your natural curiosity and unbounded enthusiasm would serve us.” He smiled. “Sometimes forbidden fruit tastes sweeter.”

  Tad felt ashamed at his attempted deception.

  “Quiet spells of suggestion whispered the names and locations of volumes we thought suitable for your perusal, though some of your choices surprised and intrigued us. Other volumes of a more, ah, delicate nature we removed for your safety. These, too, we will make available to you. There should be no more secrets between us.”

  Tad glanced away, then back at Simios. “There is something I did not tell you about the Sanctuary.”

  Simios grinned. “I suspected as much.”

  “Sira and I found evidence that someone has been living there, one person or a few at most. We did not see them, but I’m certain that they saw us.”

  “Perhaps that is where the late Professor Liess had been hiding,” Simios suggested.

  Tad straightened in his seat. “I never thought of that.” He snapped his fingers, causing several Plin to look up from their studies. “That was why he was in the hidden room. He had been using the observatory.” He turned to Simios. “But if he wished to harm the king, he could have easily done so at any time by entering the king’s rooms through the secret passage.”

  “It is a conundrum, is it not? What can we learn from that?”

  Tad’s mind seemed to buzz. Thoughts rushed at him from all directions faster than he could grasp their meanings. Slowly, he focused his mind on the question posed by Simios just as his teachers had trained him to do and his fluttering thoughts began to coalesce into a coherent picture.

  “Professor Liess was either duped into helping those responsible for the attacks or was used as a scapegoat to involve me.” Just as a smile rose on his lips at his reasoning, a second, darker thought dawned. “Sira! They chose Professor Liess because he was one of Sira’s teachers and he knew of such devices as was used in the attempt on the king’s life.” He turned to Simios. His voice was frantic. “She is in danger. I must help her.”

  “How would you accomplish this? From whom would you protect her? Professor Liess was a message to you that Sira, too, is a pawn in their plans. They want you to know that her welfare depends on your cooperation. Calm yourself. She will be in no danger if you are not here. We, too, have Watched. I believe your friend Sira Han to be a very capable young woman. You do not give her enough credit.”

  “The Council of Regents,” Tad groaned through gritted teeth. “They are behind this.”

  “Ah, that is the question, is it not? The Council, or more specifically Akalah, desires more power, but you do not pose a threat to them. We interpret your present predicament as a message to the Plin; however, that does not explain everything. There are other minds at work here, other foul plans afoot. A pawn can attack or block. Perhaps you are a chess piece on a board with more than two adversaries.”

  Tad thought of all those chess games with Saxtos. Were they messages? “Who else? The rebels? The danger more terrible than the return of the Veil that you mentioned?”

  Simios’s pupils flared. “There are other groups, but that is not your concern for now. I desire to see the Sanctuary. Perhaps there we can learn more about the players.”

  “The entrance is through the king’s chambers,” Tad reminded him.

  Simios shook his head. “That way is denied us.”

  Tad hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should reveal his thoughts about the Triocs to Simios lest he appeared a fool, but he wanted to return to the Sanctuary as well. “I believe there is another entrance in the Garden District somewhere or perhaps in the North Tumbles. I saw many Triocs in the Dome of Saracen’s Tomb.”

  “Ah, yes, Saracen.” He looked at Tad. “Saracen was Plin, one of our most adept, but we have kept this knowledge secret for many generations lest other races believe the Plin try to direct their history. Can you show me this second entrance?”

  The news that Saracen had been Plin did not surprise Tad as much as it should have. It seemed that every shadow held its secret. He scratched his head. “Not exactly, but perhaps we can observe the Triocs and follow them.”

  Simios smiled. “Ah, you suggest we Watch. How appropriate. We start in the Garden District. There are too many observing eyes in the North Tumbles.”

  “The Blood Cabal?”

  Tad saw a twinkle in Simios’s eye. “You have sources of which I am unaware. How did you learn of the Blood Cabal?”

  “From Hanat, a Saddir mercenary. He saved my life.”

  Simios frowned. “You did not tell me this. What other secrets do you keep? Each secret is a shadow. Too many secrets create dark places.”

  Tad expected another attempted probe of his mind, but none came. However, Simios was visibly upset.

  “You call Hanat a mercenary. Perhaps, in a way, but he is well known in Delphi.”

  “How do you know about the Blood Cabal?”

  Simios cupped his hand to his right ear. “We Watch but we listen as well. The Cabal has an agenda of its own, a sinister one. We have heard many rumors, but have found few clues to their existence. If they reside in the Sanctuary in the Catacombs below the Black Tower, they could possibly move about the city and the Tower unseen.”

  One thing concerned Tad even more than the Cabal did. “Will you, the Watchers I mean, dismiss me from your service?”

  “No, my son, have no fears of that. You are an apprentice Watcher and a fledgling Mage from what we have learned during your training under Theliolis. With more direction and with age, you might become a formidable Mage. You are a key to our plans. Of course, publicly we will have to show our dismay at your actions, if only to appease the Council of Regents.”

  Tad nodded. He had expected as much, but Simios’s assessment of his talent surprised him. “Mage? But I have learned so little. I can barely complete some of the less complicated spells. I thought Mages were born with their powers.”

  “We are born with a potential. Mages must follow a strict discipline to become adept. No other Terran could do what you could do before your training. The power lies within you, dormant and untapped. Slowly, we can coax it out of hiding.”

  Tad was stunned. “Within me? How? I thought . . .” His voice trailed off as the implication of Simios’s words struck him. He remembered the feeling inside as he fought against Meran’s powers of seduction.

  Simios sighed, as if what he was about to reveal troubled him. “It is a relatively unknown fact that Plin and Terran are genetically very similar, perhaps were once even of the same species, like the Lilith. Somewhere in your lineage, I suspect a Plin ancestor.”

  Tad thought of Zarot, the half-breed Cloud Rider. Was he also a half-breed? “I’m a freak?” he cried out in dismay.

  “You are no different from any other Terran other than a latent force inside you, lying hidden. Without training, it would have gone unnoticed by you and others – a few minor abilities perhaps: powers of divination, truth saying, and a quick mind.” He shrugged. “From correspondence between Askos and your uncle concerning you, we suspected a potential in you. That is one reason your uncle brought you here, for our test. It was Askos’s idea to apprentice you to me and introduce you to the king. You are a talented individual, Tad de Silva. I foresee great feats in your future. I also foresee a time when, not only the safety of Delphi, but of the entire universe may rest with you.”

  Tad stared at Simios, his mouth open. His mind refused to accept Simios’s statement, but he knew the words were true. He knew his father and mother and even his gr
andparents. None of them had ever displayed special powers, no unique abilities, except farming, though his grandmother always knew when it was going to rain, even before the skies clouded or the smell of moisture rode the western breeze. Could it be true? Was he part Plin? If so, was he therefore less Terran, less human, than others? A great weight descended on him, threatening to smother him. He was suffering from information overload.

  “What do you mean I am key to your plans?

  Simios smiled but it was not a joyous smile. It was one of regret and acceptance. “Do not concern yourself with that now. There are more immediate matters to consider.”

  “Yeah, like whether or not I’m human. I must think on this,” he whispered, choking back an anguished cry.

  Simios nodded. “It is much to digest. Think deeply and consider your future. You cannot return to the past.”

  As Simios walked away, Tad was uncertain if he had a future.

  21

  THE ROOTS OF

  THE TOWER

  FOR TWO DAYS, TAD MOPED AROUND THE WATCHERS' TOWER, refusing meals and all attempts to draw him into casual conversation. He continued his studies, but his thoughts lay elsewhere. His forays into the Library became scavenger hunts for bits of useful knowledge, but the Library, now fully open to him with its hidden volumes back on the shelves, no longer held the attraction it once had. He read the words and passages, but their deeper meaning eluded him. He pondered ancient maps, but as his heart was not in them; they became mere squiggles on paper with unfamiliar names. Curious, he searched for information on the Plin, but found very little and suspected their benevolence extended only so far.

  Short histories of the other races contained as much myth as fact. Of the Quarn, he learned nothing useful. The Haffa, he was surprised to discover, inhabited Valastaria as well and were more warlike than their Churum brethren. Besides the known races of Charybdis, he found mention of three more—the Menna, a sentient, crystalline-laced silicon life form; the Acumoi, a non-native sea creature inhabiting the deep oceans; and the Naiir, of whom he had always considered a legendary race that some thought were invisible. The Naiir had assumed the status that pixies or fairies had held on old Earth. To his astonishment, they were real and had once been members of the Alliance.

  During sleepless evenings, he wandered the Watchers’ Tower. His mind ached from all he had learned and all that he had endured. His brain felt like it was doubling in size each day, squeezing relentlessly into the cavity of his skull as conflicting emotions and endless possibilities fought a great battle for dominion of his soul, leaving him the lone casualty. No, he remembered bitterly, not the sole casualty. The king and Sira were also unknowing victims of his choices, or lack of choices. Now, the king was in dire jeopardy and his beloved Sira believed he did not care for her, all because of his desire to prove himself a man. She had not answered his message.

  Since his arrival in Delphi, others had guided, prodded and used him, all without his consent or knowledge. Even his uncle had hidden secrets from him. How had Sea Hawk known his grandfather? Why had he expected Tad to remain in the city, had even corresponded with Askos about it? What else had he told the Plin? He harbored no ill will toward his uncle; he had been almost a second father to Tad. It would have been nice to know more about his past and how it would shape his future.

  It now began to make sense to him how so many could know of him in such a short time. He wondered how many times he had been the subject of conversations by the Plin, the Council of Regents, the Rebels, the Saddir and even the Blood Cabal. Did he have any true friends in Delphi, people who were loyal to him merely because they liked him? It now seemed unlikely, especially now that he had distanced Sira.

  He attempted to contact Hanat, informing him of all that had happened, but no one seemed to know where the Saddir mercenary was. It was as if he had vanished from Delphi. Tad was afraid further inquiries would simply draw him deeper into the quagmire in which he now floundered. It was with gratitude that he agreed to accompany Simios to the Garden District in search of an entrance to the Catacombs.

  They picked a late evening after Cleodora had set and a night with no moon in order to avoid crowds. Simios chose a circuitous route to confuse any deliberate followers, meandering through the empty park. The benches along the paths were devoid of their usual trysting couples or stargazers. Even the waterfowl were quietly slumbering in their downy nests along the edge of the lake. Slowly, the itch of adventure overcame Tad’s reluctance. The search freed his mind of other things. He glanced at the dark finger of the Black Tower and tried to imagine the layout of the Sanctuary beneath it.

  “By my recollection, Saracen’s tomb would have been about there, among those trees. I saw no way down from the ceiling, but perhaps somewhere is a hole that the Triocs use.”

  “What of the walls?” Simios asked.

  “Mmm,” Tad said as he thought. “I could not see it clearly in the dark, but the far wall was about there.” He pointed to a distant spot near the city wall. “Could the entrance lie outside the wall, in the Warrens?”

  “No, the Warrens have been there for only a century or so. Someone would have discovered an entrance before now. The wall seems the likeliest spot for a hidden access, though any of the older monuments in the park could hide such a doorway.”

  They walked back and forth along the wall for hours, searching for the slightest difference in texture of stone or decoration that might mark a hidden door. Simios lit the way by conjuring a swarm of light sprites, tiny flickers of cold energy that obeyed his commands. Tad grew despondent and impatient.

  “Maybe I was wrong,” he complained. “Maybe the sole entrance is inside the Black Tower. I read that the Tower has always been there.”

  “The Catacombs for the Sanctuary were dug much later. There would have been more than one entrance for an emergency.” Simios completed his scan of the wall and squinted into the darkness. “Let us go that direction.”

  Tad followed. As they entered a grove of trees, he saw a shadow pass between him and the stars. Gazing upward through the overhanging limbs, he saw a handful of Triocs flying overhead and guessed that Simios was following them, using them to locate the opening. In the center of the grove, amid a clearing overgrown with tall grass and bramble thickets, they found an abandoned building. Three of the six fluted marble columns of the façade had collapsed, giving the building a gap-toothed smile. Ivy dug green fingers into the cracks between marble blocks and cascaded from the roof. A statue stood atop the building, its features erased by time, a forgotten monument to some earlier hero. The Triocs circled the building.

  “Follow me,” Simios said.

  They watched a Trioc land near the building and then disappear. When they approached the spot where it had vanished, Simios pointed to a dark crevice in the ground amid a patch of high weeds.

  “Ah, yes, this is how they enter the chamber below.” He sent the light sprites into the crevice and peered into the opening. His voice echoed as he spoke. “It appears to be a deep shaft, perhaps a crack in the cavern’s roof.” He sighed and stood up. “We cannot enter that way.”

  Tad was ready to give up.

  “There must be another way,” Simios suggested.

  Simios led Tad back to the tomb. Extinguishing their lamps, they entered the building. The building was empty except for a stone sarcophagus in the middle of the floor. Simios leaned in close to read the plaque attached to the sarcophagus by moonlight.

  “Das Korian, King of Delphi. Tenth month, 325–New month, 373,” he read aloud. “Das Korian was the Fifth King of Delphi.” Simios smiled. “He was also an architect. He constructed many of the great buildings of Delphi that still stand today. We must search the room.”

  Simios’s light sprites followed him. Tad had not yet mastered the conjuring and delicate control necessary for commanding light sprites. Instead, he switched on an electric torch he had brought and walked along the walls shining it up and down their surface. It was a fruitless s
earch. Just as he was ready to admit defeat, he felt a sudden chill and the corner of the room in which he stood grew darker. He turned to face a murky shadow that absorbed the light from his torch. The darkness expanded until it enveloped him. The room, Simios and the light sprites disappeared. In the center of the deep shadow, a shimmering figure appeared, darker than the blackness surrounding it, its features distorted as if by heat from dark flames.

  Wraith.

  The Wraith spoke. “What you seek is near,” it whispered in a quiet, sepulchral voice.

  In spite of himself, Tad shivered. He wondered if this Wraith was the same one to whom he owed his life. “Talidorus Murse?” he asked.

  “I was,” the Wraith answered.

  “Who sent you?”

  The Wraith did not answer, but raised an arm and pointed to one wall. “Search here.”

  “Why…?”

  As suddenly as it had appeared, the Wraith disappeared, leaving Tad facing the wall it had indicated. His torch flickered back to life. He turned to Simios, who had been oblivious to the exchange.

  “I think it is here,” he said. He pointed to a bronze plaque that on second glance seemed out of place. The plaque itself was innocuous, as was the writing on it, a simple repetition of the other plaque, but its placement closer to one of the supporting columns rather than centered between them as one would expect, seemed important. He pried at the plaque with his fingers and discovered that a single rivet in one corner held it in place. He slid the plaque aside. Behind it, within a shallow, cobwebbed recess, sat a small lever. Simios eyed the lever for a moment, then looked at Tad and raised one eyebrow questioningly.

  As he moved the lever, a section of the wall slid aside with a low rumble, revealing an opening beyond. Stairs within the opening led to a sealed door below. With Simios leading the way, they descended the stairs and faced the door. Dozens of lines, like the rays of the sun ran from the center of the door to its outer edges. Simios studied the door carefully by lamplight; then he pressed his palm against the center of the door. With a slight hiss, the lines disappeared and the door opened.