by Lesley Smith
Rumours that Aia, the Disembodied Goddess, had called another Oracle to her service.
News had travelled with the servants as they went out into the city, and it spread like wildfire. Priestesses mumbled and soon it seemed like everyone knew what had not been officially confirmed. So the city of Aia waited for the High Oracle to speak, holding its collective breath as dawn turned to day.
Jashri could hear the servants murmuring as she passed, speaking in hushed voices that they thought she wouldn’t notice, much less hear. She could have stopped and reprimanded them, but there was no real point. It was just a matter of time until she was forced to confirm what everyone in the sacred city already knew.
Accompanied by the ever-loyal Sarivashi, the High Oracle made her way from her chambers to the Hall of Oracles in the late evening. Her sisters had been summoned and as was custom, she was the last to arrive. No harm in making them wait a little.
Jashri walked confidently through the Hall of Oracles, her staff tapping against the cold stone floor. On either side of her were busts of the Oracles who came before her, with Kaiene at the end; carved in stone by her beloved. She could tell each one from the other just by touch…Kaiene, Saiede, Ashana, Toiana, Jian, Shiana, Lise, Kayan…
The Oracles’ Chamber was at the north end of the Temple complex. Their chambers were made in a sacred cave where Kaiene, unable to afford a home, had lived. Jashri had grown up hearing the stories. How the blind saint had lost her family as a child and had no one to take her in, so she had wandered and been guided to this place which she had made her own.
After Ishvei left, Kaiene had dictated the writings that would become the basis for the newest sections of the Sacred Scrolls. With the help of her lifemate, the artisan Jadias, she wrote down anecdotes, poems, fables, and stories Ishvei had told her. Jadias drew images of Ishvei and turned the codices from simple collections of bound or rolled parchment into works of art. The original was in Jashri’s keeping, kept carefully wrapped in skins and hidden in a panel below Kaiene’s statue. She had only touched it once, just once, when she took up the mantle of High Oracle many years ago, and the memory of that still lingered with her.
Hurrying into the main chamber, she heard the other oracles talking, their voices a gentle, hushed babble that instantly fell silent when she stepped into the room. Were there truly so few now? She counted only four voices and she vaguely remembered the times Sarivashi had mentioned an accident or an unfortunate passing in the night. The High Chamberlain didn’t need to announce her, and Sarivashi took her place behind Jashri’s chair.
“Sisters.” She found her seat and took it. “Let us sit.”
The others did as they were bidden, the legs of the chairs scraping painfully against the stone floor.
“We are blessed. Aia has revealed her latest servant, a young girl due to enter Ishvei’s service. Her name is Saiara and she is a daughter of this very city.” Jashri sat back. “The Companion has tested this girl. What say you, Companion?”
“The girl is indeed blind and she had a vision.” His voice was oddly deep for one so young and he spoke as if this was the proudest moment of his life, but she could hear fear in his voice.
“Of?”
“Thaeos’ anger, his fury at Ishvei’s departure.”
Jashri considered. The legend was well known and the Starchild had not taken the Goddess’ departure well. “That’s common.”
“No, Your Grace, you don’t understand,” the Companion said carefully. “In her vision, novice Saiara said she saw Thaeos’ raging and, in the aftermath, rocks fell on our world while others embraced us like a lover, forming rings around our world, and then a second moon appeared in our skies.”
“A second moon?” Jashri went cold.
Aia has chosen another. My time is over…
Time seemed to still. Jashri saw two paths in front of her. One where she listened to the Disembodied Goddess and did as she willed, then retired in grace and favour. She could finally enjoy her life, lay aside the mantle of power and rest. She still had several years, perhaps as much as another quarter-life before it was time for her to pass from this existence, and the years could be spent as she chose, perhaps even tutoring the youngest novices and future oracles not yet born.
The second road was darker. Aia whispered in her mind, gently trying to nudge her away. Her voice sounded, as it always did, like her mother’s had, gentle and insistent. Ismena had always been wise and patient and as a daughter, Jashri had wanted to heed her parent’s words. Just because this choice heralded the end of her time as High Oracle, it didn’t mean Aia had forsaken her, not yet anyway.
Jashri could discredit this girl, this innocent Saiara, and hold onto her power. She could break her before she even dreamed of power, deny this girl her destiny and bend her to her will. The Oracle felt her face hardening. No child was going to take her place, not as long as she drew breath. She stamped on the Goddess’ quiet, insistent voice, turning her face from her Goddess, and somewhere in her soul, Aia wept.
“I want to talk to this girl. We’ve not had a visionary like that in years, not since I took Eirian’s place.”
“Perhaps that’s going to change,” Keiue, one of the younger Oracles, spoke up. She’d always been forthright; it was a trait of those from Baaren. It was said their will was as strong as the high tide during a storm. “If Aia wills it.”
“Of all of us, I am the one to know Aia’s will. She did show me the Great Tide, remember? I’m the last person she called.” Jashri’s anger flashed like lightning, her voice betraying it more than she had intended.
To her left, Eirian exhaled. “The position of Oracle has never been permanent, it is as transitory as the birds.”
“That is true,” Keiue agreed.
“Then best we bring the girl here. And the Test? Did she pass?”
“Yes.” The Companion answered. “She selected the third staff—Kaiene’s staff.”
Jashri’s gut went cold. The fear surged through her, the feeling of desolation threatened to drown her like the tides in her nightmares. Traditionally there were several tests to confirm an Oracle: High Oracles must have a vision of the future, they must select Kaiene’s staff from those offered to them, and they would be able to read the souls of those around them, to instinctively know truth.
Eirian spoke up next, her ancient voice calm and dripping reason in a way which made Jashri’s stomach churn with anger. The old woman had a lifetime of wisdom and Jashri couldn’t shake the feeling Eirian knew something she herself didn’t.
“Your contribution has been great, Elder Sister, but if it is Our Lady’s will that the mantle must be passed, then that is how it must be. Let us bring Saiara here and speak with her, then we will see.”
Jashri acquiesced. “High Chamberlain! Bring the girl to us. Now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The High Chamberlain brought the girl in a few minutes later. Sarivashi spoke in her ear, describing her. She was tall and dressed plainly in a novice’s shift, despite her formal induction as a priestess of the Lady of Inspiration. Her tail followed her, twitching and betraying her nervousness. Her long hair fell around her elbows, and her eyes were covered with a piece of cloth, tied underneath her hair. She was leaning on the Chamberlain’s arm, and every movement betrayed her state of mind; she was terrified.
“Your Grace, Oracles, I present to you Saiara of the clan Evastas, temple maiden of Ishvei.”
“Thank you, High Chamberlain.”
Saiara spoke softly, her voice quaking. “Most blessed Oracles, I’m honoured to be invited into your presence.”
“Welcome, Saiara,” Jashri said, her hatred for this girl hidden beneath pleasant words and high status. Amongst even the blinded, a smile could do much to hide emotion as it forced sweet words from her lips where only acid should flow. “High Chamberlain, please provide Saiara with a seat.”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” he replied and a few seconds later, the High Oracle heard
him speaking reassuringly as he gently guided the frightened, awed girl into her seat.
“Where’s her attendant?”
“You asked only that we bring Saiara, Lady,”
“Get the boy too,” she snapped, frustrated. “Now, Darus!”
“Yes, Lady.” The High Chamberlain’s footsteps hurried away and she turned her attention back to the girl.
Taking a moment to calm herself, Jashri directed her first question to Saiara. “So Saiara, you were pledged to Ishvei’s service, is that right?”
“Yes, Lady.” She swallowed her fear, the sound echoing around the silent chamber. “I chose to enter Her service three years before reaching the Age of Maturity.”
“And you studied the standard syllabi…calligraphy, the healing arts, composition, worship, and the sacred hymns?” Eirian asked, voice gentler and more motherly sounding.
“Yes, I focused specifically on the written arts,” she said, her voice quivering. “I thought a life of poetry and prose was ahead of me.”
“No one knows what is in store of us, not even Ishvei.” From the other side of the table, Shaari spoke, her voice gentle and heavy with sympathy. She had thought that too, before she was called to Aia’s service.
“Only Aia knows,” Jashri intoned solemnly. “And you were assigned a trainee
attendant?”
Caspa’s voice rang out. “She was, my Lady Oracle. My name is Casparias,”
“Come in, attendant Casparias,”
Saiara heard his footsteps and her heart skipped a beat. “Caspa!”
A moment later, she felt his arms around her. Tears made her eyes burn and she buried her face in his shoulder.
“Caspa.”
Her senses were flooded by him. She could hear his heart thumping against her ear, his hair brushed her face, and for a moment, everything was okay. Then the moment shattered, and Caspa moved to stand behind his priestess as custom demanded, one hand on her shoulder so she knew he was still there. With him beside her, she could do anything, even stand up to the High Oracle.
Jashri asked, “Saiara, do you believe you had a vision of a future event?”
“I don’t know, my Lady, I simply know what I experienced and that…something bad is coming.” Saiara shuddered involuntarily as the memory rose in her mind. “I have this nagging sense of dread, like grains are running through a sandclock faster and faster.”
“And you saw a second moon in the sky?” the High Oracle asked.
“Yes. It was smaller than Kaiene, covered in craters, and white, not pale blue.”
She is my servant. Do the right thing and make the announcement. Aia’s voice was again in the back of her mind, urging her to walk the right path and do what must be done.
Jashri breathed. “Saiara, normally this council would rule on your eligibility, yet I find myself conflicted. The legends of long past spoke of a second moon in the sky and so we must confirm your vision, and this is going to take time.”
“I understand, my Lady.”
“We welcome you into our sisterhood and will endeavour to help you make the adjustment,” Jashri said. “But there is one more thing.”
Saiara looked up. “Yes?”
“Attendant Casparias.” Jashri’s voice was sharp as a knife blade. “You have done your duty and are hereby released from your vow. I ask you to leave the temple and go to the retreat in Danshu, as custom dictates. Should we decide Saiara is to be my successor, word will be sent. For now you are both dismissed until this Parliament reconvenes.”
Caspa hugged Saiara tighter, as if he expected this and dreaded the certainty of it. “As you ask, Your Grace.”
Saiara cried out and felt Caspa being pulled from her side.
The Tower and the Cavern
In the darkness the light shines more brightly but sometimes—being blinding—it is even harder to see.
The writings of Kaiene the Blessed, first Oracle of Aia.
Saiara was tugged—not dragged, oracles were never dragged—down dozens of steps and along a winding, cold corridor. Confused, shocked, and still dealing with the issue of her lost vision, it was a terrifying episode that did little to ease her fractured mental state. Her feet moved, but terror filled her as she tripped and half-fell, only to have rough arms drag her back to her feet. All she could focus on was Caspa being pulled from her side; replaying the memory, the sensation of it both physical and emotional, over and over in her mind.
“Come now, girl.” Darus’ voice cut through her terror like a knife. There was a coldness to him that she didn’t like. “Keep up.”
Was he the one pulling her? She had no idea. She knew only that the hand on her arm wasn’t gentle and would probably leave a bruise or three before it was done. Saiara’s head was still pounding like she’d drunk too much iced wine, and she felt dizzy.
If Senna have been there she would have insisted Saiara be left alone somewhere dark and cool, with a bowl to vomit in and a cloth on her forehead. Sadly, her cousin wasn’t there, and Darus didn’t appear to have a sympathetic bone in his body.
“This is your cell.” The pressure on her arm disappeared, and Saiara half toppled onto a pallet. “I’ll leave you to get settled.”
The irony of the word was not lost on her. Though the pallet was comfortable, the air was cold and it felt like it might as well have been a place where she was to be imprisoned.
Head pounding, but grateful to have a pallet to rest on, Saiara let the room spin around her as oblivion took her in its sweet, dreamless embrace.
Eirian heard Darus’ voice long before she heard his heavy footsteps stomping through the oracles’ living space at the base of the tower. The Hall and Jashri’s quarters were on higher floors, the central living space on the lower floor, and the bowels served as the location for the seers’ spartan cells.
He was talking to someone in that rough, irked, voice of his, as if even the expenditure of breath was a waste of his time. She was used to his tone. He addressed all of the sisters as if they were disobedient younglings, not oracles called by the Disembodied Goddess.
She thought back to the boy she had met in the days leading up to Jashri’s Ascension, the young man who just wanted to serve his priestess. He had been so meek and respectful once, so compassionate, and now he was a shell held together by anger.
Darus, then a young attendant, had been kind and willing to do his duty. The night he had tried to explain his role, his duties, to his new mistress, it had all gone terribly wrong. Jashri, convinced he was going to rape her, had attacked him in misunderstood fear. She had scarred Darus’ soul, not just his face. Because Eirian had been the one who had asked him to serve Jashri, he felt betrayed by her; and when the High Oracle made a mistake, everyone remembered.
She regretted sending for him, regretted asking him to serve the poor broken Cavari girl. That had been such a mistake, but even prescience did not make Eirian perfect. she had not known—and still didn’t—the whole story behind Jashri’s arrival in the city. The woman who now ruled them had never opened up to anyone, never told anything more than the faintest shadow. Mistakes had been made. Eirian’s was just the first of many, but there was little to be done about it now.
Eirian. Focus now, you cannot undo mistakes but you can try to learn from them. Aia’s voice was gentle in the back of Erian's mind, and she had a point, as always. If Saiara was to be next in the unbroken line, then Eirian could find redemption and help mould the girl into the leader Reskha needed now more than ever.
Saiara, only a few years into maturity, was still wearing robes that marked her out as a neophyte, despite having partaken in the ceremony. For now she was in between, unclaimed by any of the orders.
Eirian had some sight—more than the others—and she could make out colour, even if it was blurred. For a moment, she flashed back to the day the High Chamberlain had dumped Shaari in the cell in an almost identical manner, and a dozen now-dead girls in the years proceeding her.
“Curse you and a
ll your line, Darus!” Eirian didn’t mean it, but the oath felt good on her tongue.
The poor girl was still clammy and her forehead was hot to the touch. She moaned in her nightmares, lost in fever, and it would be a kindness for her not to remember this. The transition from mortal to oracle took time, and it could still end your life if the proper care was not provided.
“Shaari, we need to fill the bath with water. Ice if we have it.”
With the help of Keiue and Geetha, she carried Saiara to the pathetic excuse for a bathhouse. The bath itself could only sit three and was more of a trough in the ground than the one used by Jashri. It was supposed to harken back to the days of destitution when the bondservants would live in an unheated cave; symbolising their status as the lowest of the low and the sisterhood of the Aian Order as the most pious.
The oracles were meant to be unconcerned with material comforts that would distract them from hearing Aia. In recent years, however, that had turned to cruelty starting when Jashri had taken their attendants.
Over the years, fuelled by fits of sadistic pique, Darus had slowly stripped the Oracles’ tower of its wealth; turning it into a spartan monastery that they could not leave except during the New Year’s procession or by sneaking out to the gardens, thanks to the occasionally friendly soul sent to guard their tower. He wanted Eirian to suffer and so he made sure her charges did as well.
As the years had passed, Eirian had had to hide the sheui, the easels, inks and canvases—all secretly brought by their unlikely ally, Jashri’s handmaid, Sarivashi—lest Darus take them, but this morning he was in too foul a mood to notice. He was, thankfully, not a regular visitor, but when he moved through the tower, chaos usually followed.
Shaari dumped ice into the cool water and the girl cried out at the shock of it, only to fall back into her fever-dreams seconds later.