Chloe scanned the carpet of dried foliage and twigs. She spied a stout piece of wood, closer to the edge of the small grove, and hurried to pick it up. Looking out from the trees again, she felt her heart beat out of time. The younger of the two raiders was gripping his companion’s arm. They were both staring directly at her.
Her chest was heaving. They were just a stone’s throw away. The bearded man’s gaze flickered to the cudgel in her hand and he smiled. The red-faced younger man chuckled. The two raiders began to approach, spreading out.
Blood roaring in her ears, Chloe couldn’t take her eyes off the swords in their hands. They walked toward her slowly, like two hunters cornering a wounded deer.
Backing away, wondering if she could outrun them, she spied movement out of the corner of her eye and saw the gray-haired raider approaching from the other side of the grove. The three men were working together to pin her in the stand of trees, with only one direction remaining for escape. She was forced to leave the trees completely, but realized she was being herded back down the hillside toward the dormitory. The raiders were taking their time, eyes directly on her, ready to start running when she did.
Chloe heard a twig snap directly behind her.
She whirled, immediately realizing there was someone standing close enough to grab her. But she gasped with relief when she saw that it was Zedo. He held two staffs. Both were tipped with silver spirals.
‘Here,’ he said, handing one to Chloe. ‘Athos needs you.’
‘I can’t . . .’
‘You can.’
Without another word, the magus narrowed his eyes and turned toward the nearest of the two raiders, the red-faced youth. The three men continued their approach, but now Chloe and Zedo had come to a halt. The youth laughed. He lifted his sword and charged at the whipcord-lean priest in the white robe.
Zedo pointed his staff. The silver cone lit up in a flash of white light, a split second before a conical blast of wind lifted the raider up and sent him flying. His back struck the solid trunk of a tree, making an audible crack before he crumpled.
The bearded raider roared. He waved his sword wildly over his head as he ran at Chloe.
Fighting the urge to freeze, she tried to remember what she’d been taught. She leveled her staff at him. Her constant meditation helped to cloak her in calm. She fed the fire inside her with thoughts of the wind. The silver flame grew and sizzled through her skin, making her right arm tingle as the power traveled to the device on the tip of the staff.
In an instant, she released it.
The wind struck the warrior in the center of his chest. But although it was strong, he pushed against the powerful gust and snarled. She stared grimly and drew on still more of the silver fire until her entire body was quivering. Finally she made a sudden cry and a second wind slammed against him, picking him up like a leaf in a storm. Sailing through the air, he screamed as he flew backward and then fell, smashing his skull on the rock.
But her victory was short-lived. The gray-haired warrior barreled into her, and she felt the staff go out of her hands as she tumbled. Her head struck the ground hard and a burst of pain sent starbursts sparkling across her vision.
Suddenly everything was black.
‘Chloe? Chloe!’
Zedo’s voice sounded distant but gradually came closer until she realized he was leaning over her. A hand shook her shoulder as she groaned, blinking in the bright sunlight.
She sat up and put a hand to her head, relieved when there was no blood. From the position of the sun she could see that some time had passed. The raiders had come at dawn; it was now mid-morning.
‘Are you hurt?’ Zedo asked.
Beside Zedo stood one of his brothers, a staff in his hand with a copper fork on its summit. Both were watching her anxiously.
‘I’m fine,’ Chloe said, though her head was still spinning.
Scanning the hillside, she counted three bodies. One was the youth, killed by Zedo. Another was the gray-haired warrior, just a dozen paces away, his eyes gazing sightlessly and blood streaming from his ears. The third was farther away: the bearded warrior Chloe had killed.
For the first time, she had killed a man with magic.
She looked up at Zedo’s brother. ‘Thank you. You saved my life.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘The Oracle?’
‘She is safe. Zeda and Zedi took care of the other three,’ said Zedo. ‘Are you sure you aren’t hurt?’
Chloe swallowed and then climbed to her feet. She weaved for a moment, putting a hand to her temple.
‘Here,’ Zedo said, handing her the wind staff she’d used to kill the raider. ‘Take this.’
Chloe nodded her thanks and steadied herself with the staff. ‘Who were they?’
‘Raiders,’ her teacher’s brother, who had to be Zedu, said with a shrug. ‘It is not the first time.’
‘Why didn’t the Oracle see them?’
The two brothers exchanged glances, neither replying. Chloe began to get angry. ‘Do you even know? Or do you just accept everything she chooses to tell you?’
In all her time on Athos, Chloe hadn’t seen the Oracle once. She had been told to stay away from the cave and only received whatever information the brothers chose to share with her. Her close call with danger had made her starkly aware of how far away she was from the people she cared about.
Chloe made a decision. ‘I want to see her,’ she said.
Zedo hesitated and glanced at his brother. There was silence for a time as the two men communicated something without speaking. Zedo finally nodded. ‘You have earned the right.’
Chloe’s mouth tightened; she was suddenly fearful. But she lifted her chin. Zedo had only given her vague hints and premonitions. She wanted answers.
Leaving the two brothers behind, she felt the eyes of her teacher on her as she climbed the hill, passing the raiders killed by the wind. When she reached the crest and descended the other side, the terrain ahead changed and was now devoid of trees, instead dotted by the colorful fires burning without tinder on the rocky slopes. Weaving around the fires, she stepped onto the path paved with blue stone. Grateful for the support of the staff, she drew in a slow breath of fresh, salty air.
Approaching the Oracle’s cave, Chloe saw the second pair of brothers. One held a sun staff – a tall wooden pole crowned with a circle of gold – the other a fire staff with an iron claw. The two men, identical aside from their chosen weapons, were standing on the path, conferring in low tones. Chloe looked for the raiders’ bodies, but couldn’t see them.
She opened her mouth, but it was the magus with the sun staff who spoke first. ‘The Oracle is waiting for you inside,’ he said, nodding at the cave.
Frowning, Chloe entered the shadowy interior and walked down the winding passage, biting her lip as she remembered the last time she’d come this way and received a prophecy in three parts. Everything the Oracle said had come true, no matter how hard she’d tried to fight it.
Following the passage, still carrying her staff, she finally saw light ahead, and after another bend she arrived at the cavern with the pale fire in the center.
The white flames were low, barely a few inches high. The Oracle sat with her back to Chloe, facing the flickering spears of light. The woman wore a black shawl and her head was lowered, her straight, perfectly white hair falling like a curtain to obscure her face.
‘Welcome, Chloe.’ Her voice was old and rasping.
‘Why didn’t you see the raiders coming?’
‘One of them had eldran blood. Am I not correct?’
Chloe remembered the slim man with the gray-streaked hair and pale eyes.
‘They interfere with my ability to see the future. For this reason, although I know that your fate is tied to that of the king of Xanthos, I cannot say for certain what the future will bring. I have had a vision that you will have an opportunity to destroy our ancient enemy and end a great threat. This is why we made a special effort to bring you here.’
; Chloe circled the fire and crouched in front of the Oracle, with the low fire between them, trying to see her eyes. But the woman’s head remained bowed.
‘What ancient enemy?’
‘The descendants of Aleuthea have returned. If unchallenged, they will gain the power of artifacts better left at the bottom of the sea,’ she said in a low voice, barely loud enough for Chloe to hear her. ‘Tell me, Chloe. Have you had any visions?’
‘Visions? No, I have not.’ Chloe felt a surge of anger. ‘I’m nothing like you. When can I leave this place?’ She straightened and reached forward, over the fire, to grip the Oracle’s chin and tilt her head up.
The hair parted and Chloe was staring into a grinning skull without flesh.
Chloe recoiled, crying out in horror. Tumbling to the ground, she fell into the flames. The fire surged, suddenly as tall as the roof of the cavern. For an instant there was nothing but white in her vision.
She was inside a huge temple, a familiar place, a place she knew she’d been to before. Seeing the colonnades on both sides and the pale ceiling high overhead, the lattice screens and the oil burners, Chloe realized she was standing in the Temple of Aeris in Phalesia. She was approaching the inner sanctum, a temple within a temple, a place she had only been to a handful of times.
She wondered how she’d come to be here. Was she dreaming?
She was being drawn to the inner sanctum, where the high priestess performed the holiest of all rites. Reaching the screen that shielded it from the rest of the temple, she felt a sinking dread in her chest that grew stronger as she neared. She took one hesitant step after another, knowing she was going to find something terrible inside. She didn’t want to be here. But she had to keep walking, to find out what awaited within.
She took three more steps, entering the domain of the high priestess. The urge to flee became stronger. She pressed her fingernails into her palms. Flickering candlelight revealed the interior.
The walls were covered in blood.
Chloe looked down. There was a man at her feet. She didn’t know him; she was certain she’d never seen him before. A handsome man with dark, oiled hair, a narrow face, and sharp cheekbones. He was clad in a white tunic and his hands were clutched over a wound in the center of his chest. His eyes were open. He was dead.
Chloe did recognize High Priestess Marina, a tall, olive-skinned woman with a topknot. The high priestess was sprawled out at the base of the rear wall, her pale-blue robe in disarray. At first Chloe thought she was unconscious, but then she saw the red smear on the wall where her head had struck the stone after she was thrown hard against it.
Horror squeezed at her heart as she turned, and when her eyes moved still farther she saw her sister.
Sophia had grown, but she was still small, with impish features and Chloe’s dark hair and wide mouth. She was curled in the fetal position, lying on her side not far from the high priestess. Her eyes were closed.
Her face had been battered.
Her cheek was bruised and swollen, and one of her eyes could hardly be seen. Her lip was torn and crusted with blood. There was a savage crimson mark on her chin. She lay motionless on the ground, utterly still.
Rushing over to her, Chloe gave a sob as she knelt down to touch her sister, but when her fingers reached Sophia’s arm they passed directly through. Looking at her hands, Chloe saw that she was transparent, ethereal. She crouched and stared at Sophia’s chest, praying for it to move, willing it with every fiber of her being so that she would know her sister was still breathing.
Fire suddenly seared her skull and she cried out. She felt herself fading.
Chloe tumbled away from the fire. Wide-eyed, she stared at the Oracle. The woman’s shoulders were straight, her hair parted to reveal her smooth features. Her face was youthful and beautiful, noble like that of a goddess, with startlingly green eyes.
‘You have had a vision?’ The Oracle spoke in a sibilant hiss. Despite her beauty, her eyes were frightening, as if they were staring deep into Chloe’s soul. ‘What did you see?’ She raised her voice. ‘Tell me!’
Chloe shook her head, horrified by her vision.
‘Remember, nothing you do can change what will happen.’
Finally Chloe managed to take a slow, steadying breath and gather herself. Placing a hand on the wall of the cave, she climbed to her feet.
‘What did you see?’ The Oracle’s question was powerful, insistent.
‘A friend once gave me some advice,’ Chloe said. ‘She said to act as if there is no destiny. I intend to do just that.’
Turning her back on the Oracle, Chloe rushed out of the cave.
It was later that Chloe explored the shoreline, staff in hand, walking along the rocky coves, until finally she found it.
The raider’s galley would be difficult to manage, but it had a sail, and Dion had taught her something about how to handle a boat. And with her staff, she would always have the wind on her side.
Chloe tossed the staff into the vessel and then entered. She untied the rope holding the boat fastened around a knob of rock and pushed off, letting the current take her away from the island while she hoisted the sail.
She hadn’t been given permission to leave. The magic might kill her.
But this was her choice.
15
Dion didn’t know if he was in love, but he did know that the world had taken on a shine that it hadn’t had before. Colors were brighter; music sounded sweeter. Laughter came more easily. Time passed more swiftly.
Lord Philippos agreed to extend his daughter’s visit by another two days, and Dion and Isobel spent every spare moment together. They walked the hills near Xanthos and saw the waterfall at Krastonias. He took her sailing on the Liberty, which she loved, and horse riding, which she hated. He tried to teach her archery, and although she failed miserably, she did it with such grace that soon they were both laughing until tears streamed down their cheeks.
But after this final evening, celebrated with a farewell banquet for Isobel and her father, she would be leaving. Dion was already sad to think that he might not see her for a month or more, and Isobel said she felt the same way. For their last day together, they decided to revisit the waterfall.
It was high on the hillside, in a forested glade, with the tumbling river surrounded by evergreens on all sides. They sat side by side on a ledge of rock with their clothing hoisted up and bare legs dangling over the void, feeling the rays of the sun on their cheeks and the waterfall’s fine spray coating their bodies. Together they watched the powerful torrent above them, pounding relentlessly at the pool they were sitting above. Though it was only spring and the water in the pool was undoubtedly cold, the day was hot enough that the sensation of moisture was pleasant.
‘Phalesia will always be my favorite city, but we have nothing to compare with the natural beauty you have here.’
‘Always, lady?’ Dion asked with a grin.
‘Well, perhaps I could come to love Xanthos also.’ She smiled.
‘It’s very different from Phalesia. No voting. No Assembly of Consuls. How do you feel about the citizens having no say?’
‘Is that how it is with you?’ she asked with a twinkle in her eye. ‘The citizens have no say?’
He laughed. ‘Fair point. We have guilds and temples, merchants and landowners. All make themselves heard, one way or another.’
‘Yet you play no games and tell no lies,’ she said. ‘Democracy can be a dirty business.’
For a moment Dion remembered Aristocles, a man who fought bravely for what he believed in. ‘But there is nobility also. Your father. I’m sure he’s a good man.’
A darkness appeared in her eyes. ‘He . . . Yes, of course he is. But he sometimes has to play along with the rest of them. Now,’ she said, ‘let’s talk about something other than my father.’
‘I have an idea.’ Dion’s eyes connected with hers and for a time neither of them spoke. His heart began to pound in his chest and his breath came short. He
leaned toward her, coming in close, but giving her a chance to back away if she wanted to.
But Isobel smiled and tilted her head. Dion knew then that it was going to happen.
His lips pressed against hers. The kiss didn’t last long before she broke it off and laughed. ‘Is that what they call talking in Xanthos?’
‘Sometimes there are better ways to communicate than with words.’
Her eyes were sparkling as she leaned in again. ‘Then perhaps we should talk some more.’
Isobel and her father, Philippos, walked together along Xanthos’s sandy beach. The sound of the waves breaking on the shore covered their conversation. There was no chance of being overheard.
‘I don’t like these games,’ Isobel said.
She glanced at her father, trying to read his expression. He could be quick to anger, and she’d known him to hold onto his wrath for an eternity. In public they were always the good-natured father and doting daughter, and her part was one she knew how to play well, but she sometimes wondered if he ever saw her as anything more than a means to achieve his ends.
Fortunately, he seemed to be keeping his good mood. ‘Games, daughter? Dealing with people isn’t a game . . . It’s what life is all about. And you do it so well.’
‘I like him, Father. And I think he likes me. Isn’t that enough?’
‘You have done well, Isobel. But your work is not yet finished.’
Isobel bit her lip. ‘You’re not listening. I’m not being false. Father, we actually enjoy being together. This isn’t like with Lord Haemon. I don’t want to do things just because you tell me to do them. It isn’t necessary this time.’
Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 10