The Oracle

by D. J. Niko

  She considered it a sign. The gods had the power, and every opportunity, to sabotage her passage back to Greece. That they didn’t meant there was purpose to her voyage. Her life had been spared not for its own sake but so that knowledge she alone held would not be forgotten.

  The captain, a surly, hardened soul with a habit of murmuring to himself, tied the boat at the dock and began removing sacks of grain that had doubled as ballast. Aristea lowered the hood over her eyes and climbed out of the stern. She touched the captain’s head in blessing, the expected recompense from monks who’d taken a vow of poverty, and went on her way.

  The port city of Avlis buzzed like a beehive as boat people yelled back and forth and travelers jostled for position near the front of the queue. Sacks of foodstuffs and jars full of unguents, wine, and oil came and went, tossed from hand to hand by shirtless laborers. The rhythmic clang of iron tools emanated from the shipyard adjacent to the harbor, where great vessels were constructed for the Greek naval fleet.

  In that chaos, she would be lost, her identity never questioned. For all bystanders knew, the person within the robes was an Orthodox monk, not a fugitive pagan priestess. The disguise provided by Sophronios was genius. Without it, she would never have made it past the woods around Sumela.

  Anxiety clawed at her core as she considered the consequences when the church fathers detected her absence from the monastery. How would Sophronios, her custodian, explain it? Would he be blamed—and punished? Would his god spare him knowing Sophronios served justice, or would he strike him down for aiding a nonbeliever?

  She didn’t comprehend the new religion enough to know how tolerant or vindictive the deity was. She only hoped this god would forgive a man whose actions were motivated by the purest kind of love.

  Aristea crossed the port gate and stood at the crossroads leading to Thebes on one side and to Athens on the other. The road to Thebes would continue on to the mountains of central Greece and to the underground cave that would shelter her and her brothers in secrecy. It was a journey of about two weeks, she reckoned. She thought of the great distances supplicants had traveled to hear the oracle of Delphi and considered the irony of making a similar voyage. How life had changed.

  She drew a deep breath and launched onto the Thebes road.

  Forty-two

  The light on the security-room console blinked red, indicating there had been a breach. Stephen Bellamy regarded it calmly, shifting his gaze to the computer screen marked Basement Access. A silver-hued figure slithered beneath the skylight and stumbled upright, checking the surroundings for a directional clue.

  The escape was flawless, just as Bellamy had planned it.

  The colonel smirked and sucked on a Churchill stump. In the smoke of spent tobacco he could taste the venom of malice. It was a luxury he allowed himself only once in a while, just enough to dodge the laws of the righteous. No material thing, no carnal pleasure delivered the rapture he felt when facing a man whose wits were no match for his own and dealing out the just punishment. Elimination of the weak: it was his duty and his privilege.

  “Go on and run, Danny boy,” he mumbled behind the cigar clenched between his teeth. “The colonel is coming for you.”

  His mobile phone vibrated against his hip. He picked up after the first ring. “Isidor. Is everything in place for tonight?”

  “She’s gone, sir. The girl escaped.”

  The cigar fell out of Bellamy’s mouth as he roared, “What? How?”

  “The earthquake. Falling rocks trapped me inside the tunnel. I could not run after her.”

  “You idiot! Do you know what this means? The entire plan pivoted on her. Now I have to change everything at the eleventh hour because of your incompetence.”

  Bellamy tapped the phone off and tossed it onto the table. He huffed. The plan he had so carefully woven was beginning to unravel. It was flawless: he’d wear down Madigan with his special tactics, then tie him up like a pig and take him to Delphi to be sacrificed to the gods. As the screws got turned on her boyfriend, that virtuous little wench Sarah Weston surely would rather come forth with the information than watch him burn in the sacrificial pyre.

  Little did she know, with her escape she sealed Madigan’s fate.

  He hit a button on the console. Tom’s voice came over the speaker. “Sir.”

  “Tommy, get the Renegade ready. Make sure all the toys are loaded on.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “There’s one other thing: Sarah Weston is on the move. I want you to mobilize a massive manhunt. This time, she cannot get away.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Bellamy took one last look at the security screen that showed Madigan running through the thick woods. He synced the screen on his wrist to deliver the same image and walked over to the arms cabinet, where he kept the weapons chosen for the occasion. He unlocked it and removed an MK12 sniper rifle and a tricked out 6P62, a cherished gift from his Russian comrades. He inspected both to make sure they were loaded.

  He licked his lips and reveled in the lingering taste of Cuban tobacco. The familiar cold steel of the guns against his arms was comforting. He smiled. “Okay, Danny boy. Let’s do this.”

  Forty-three

  A burst of pewter light filtered through the cloud veil obscuring the sky. The thunderclap came almost immediately, indicating the strike was within a hairbreadth. Seconds later, it happened again—and again, a succession that fueled Daniel’s anxiety as he ran through a stand of tall pines.

  His visibility hampered by the relentless downpour and his ability to navigate by the stars completely effaced, he had no idea where he was going. He looked over his shoulder at the house and realized he was heading downhill. That could give him an advantage: even if the path were to dead-end into a ravine, he could use his free-climbing skills to get away.

  If only he could silence the demons that made his pulse race and his skin burn. He was walking a knife’s edge between lucidity and disorientation, fighting against the rip current of his subconscious to keep his thoughts nailed on Sarah and not his own plight. He was hyperaware of his breath—a rapid pattern bordering on hyperventilation—and the fact he was drenched. To counter the sensation, he ran faster, as if the forward motion would flush the agony out of his system.

  Another bolt of lightning illuminated the thicket and gave Daniel a split second of light to judge direction. At the far left, there seemed to be a clearing. He wasn’t sure if his eyes cheated him or his mind was slipping into paranoia mode, but he thought he saw a dark speck in the distance. He ran in the opposite direction, letting the thick old trunks of the Aleppo pines shield him.

  Where the ground wasn’t covered with pine needles, it was slippery as a greased pig. The patches of slick mud slowed him down and forced him to think about every step. The last thing he wanted was to go sliding with no control in unknown terrain.

  A crack of thunder jolted Daniel. The rain hissed in his ears as the water came down in sheets. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. With his forearm, he pushed the dripping strands of hair away from his face.

  And then he saw it: a bright, round light in the near distance, growing larger as it headed toward him. It was either a powerful torch or a vehicle headlight. His heart hammered.

  As he ran away from the approaching light, he heard the roar of an engine and realized they were on his tracks. He headed into the thickest part of the stand, hoping a vehicle couldn’t negotiate the path, and looked over his shoulder. He could make out the dark outline of an all-terrain vehicle. It was gaining ground—fast.

  Daniel sprinted through the forest, barely noticing the branches that whipped his skin raw. The headlight was so near that it cast a ghostly pallor onto the trees, making them seem like frozen soldiers from a prehistoric army. There was nowhere for him to hide: they could see his every move.

  Suddenly, the engine idled. Daniel looked behind him again and saw the light was no longer moving. The ATV couldn’t make it through
the thick woods. He allowed himself the luxury of thinking he had a reprieve, until he heard the crack of gunfire.

  A single shot, intended for him. With the blast lingering in his ears, he scrambled to the nearest trunk and crouched behind it. A second shot rang, this time closer. His pursuer was on foot. Unwilling to be a sitting duck, Daniel moved from tree to tree, dodging the bullets released from what he believed was a sniper rifle.

  Daniel had no illusions about his opponent’s marksmanship. He knew he was missing on purpose; the shots were intended to intimidate and disorient him—at least for now.

  “Come on out, Danny boy.” The colonel’s voice was spiked. “Come on out and play.”

  Daniel scanned the surroundings. Directly ahead, the forest was dense and the trees seemed to angle down. The path led sharply downhill. It was a gamble, but he had nothing left to bet on.

  With his back against the peeling bark of an Aleppo trunk, he stood slowly and took a deep breath to steady his racing heartbeat. It was no use: his body was in full fight-or-flight mode.

  He darted toward the cluster of trees and zigzagged between the trunks. The rifle cracked again, and a bullet ripped toward him, hitting a tree. The colonel was no longer toying with him; he wanted blood.

  Daniel ignored the gunfire and kept running, jumping over pine roots and ducking branches as he made his way out of the thicket. His breath, rapid and erratic from a cocktail of fear and exhaustion, was a disconcerting reminder that time was running out.

  The colonel shouted, “You think you can run from me, boy? Ain’t no place for you to hide. I know every inch of these woods.”

  As Daniel gulped the air, he tasted the rain, something like cold, liquid metal. The sounds around him were suddenly amplified: the snapping of branches and the crackling of fallen pine needles exploded in his ears like fireworks.

  Then the next shot came, so loud it caused him to stumble. He felt a sharp sting in his shoulder and clenched his teeth. The sensation intensified into a burn that radiated down his arm and buckled his knees. As he tried to get on his feet, he slipped on a patch of mud and went sliding. He clawed at the slick ground, to no avail. A jumble of pines, shadowy and ominous, rushed past as he tumbled toward an uncertain fate.

  The familiar fog descended on his mind. The red light blinked in a corner of his memory, threatening to ensnare him in its greedy veil. He had the urge to shout, to wail, to rip something apart with his hands—anything to dislodge the sensation.

  Sarah’s face flashed in his mind. What good was he to her now? A wave of anger crashed down on Daniel’s consciousness, sobered him.

  His torso struck something that broke his fall. He struggled to focus, to get a clear grasp of his situation. He’d hit a fallen tree whose trunk appeared split in two. Thick branches were scattered about. A lightning strike? The earthquake? He couldn’t round up his wits enough to make a determination, and that scared him more than any smoldering weapon.

  With great effort, he tried to prop himself upright but fell to his knees. His shoulder felt as if it had been branded, and the strength in his left arm had diminished. He had never felt so weak, so close to the end.

  One after another, negative thoughts invaded his awareness like an alien army: the terror of free fall from thirty thousand feet, the brutal duplicity of the British, his father’s alleged fatal accident. He forced himself to concentrate on Sarah. She needed him. He had to get himself together for her sake.

  The steel barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

  “Well, well, Danny boy. Looks like you’re in a bit of a quandary.” The colonel’s voice had the lilt of victory. “You good at math, boy? Listen up. There are two of us, but only one is going to make it out of these woods alive. How many dead men does that make?”

  Click. Daniel shuddered as his opponent released the safety.

  Forty-four

  Despite the cold rain pummeling his skin, Daniel’s face flushed. He could feel the blood surging through his carotids. It was checkmate.

  “Say your prayers,” ordered the smug voice. He pulled the trigger.

  Daniel crumpled to his side and rolled onto his back. He was shaking, unsure if he was alive or dead.

  The colonel stood over him. “I’ve seen men with what you have a thousand times, son.” He tapped his temple. “It’s the mark of a weak mind.” He held up the MK12. “Mock execution. It’s one of our more charming tactics to induce a useful anxiety in our enemies. But you don’t need help from me, do you?”

  Daniel released a series of sharp exhales as he tried to come to grips with the fact that he was alive. Then he realized the blinking red light was extinguished. He leered at his assassin and choked out the words: “Is this the way you serve your country, Colonel? By using torture and corruption? You have no right to call yourself an American.”

  “My country abandoned me, boy. But that’s none of your business. If I were you, I’d be more concerned about my own predicament. And you’ve sure got one.” He kicked Daniel in the ribs. “Your girlfriend has run away. She was your one hope of salvation. We gave her a chance to save your pathetic life, but she deserted you. And who can blame her, after what you did? Lying to her . . . walking out.” He shook his head. “Just like your old man.”

  Daniel clenched his fists. “You piece of trash . . . Who are you to judge me?”

  The colonel reached behind him and produced an automatic weapon. “No more fun and games, Danny boy. This badass baby’s loaded.” He held the gun in front of him, the firing end pointed at Daniel. “Now tell me what you know about the map, or I promise both you and Weston are going to hell tonight.”

  Daniel looked past the colonel’s shoulder at the house on top of the hill. An amber light trembled inside one of the windows. He knew that glow: it was the unmistakable mark of fire. Using his peripheral vision, he scanned the fallen branches and considered his next move. Perhaps it wasn’t checkmate after all.

  “Everything you need to know is sewn into the lining of my backpack. But better get it fast”—Daniel nodded in the direction of the house—“before it burns.”

  The colonel glanced back and did a double take. “What the—?”

  With a motion so swift it sent a searing pain down his arm, Daniel grabbed one of the heaviest branches and, gritting his teeth, swung it at the colonel’s knees. It knocked the man off his feet and pinned him to the ground just long enough for Daniel to stagger upright and run down a steep patch of hillside.

  The automatic weapon roared with a rapid succession of shots that echoed off the limestone monolith. He heard the colonel call behind him. “You’ve sealed your fate, Madigan. Run all you want. I will have your hide in the end.”

  Daniel heard more shots, then the distant rumble of the ATV engine, but didn’t look back. The pitch was getting sharper, too vertical to gain purchase. Knowing the terrain was unsuitable for a vehicle buoyed him—until he reached a ledge above a sheer drop. He halted, attempting to assess the rock face beneath him. A bolt of lightning gave him a split-second visual; it was all he needed. The angle was about sixty degrees, and the face was layered limestone. In normal times, he would not have hesitated to tackle that, but a shoulder injury all but ruled out a free-climb.

  Through the rain’s constant trickle he heard a curious sound, like the cry of an animal. He listened more intently. It was indeed an animal, or rather a pack of them. Wolves? As the sound grew louder, he realized he was hearing the frantic barks of dogs. He turned back to the precipice.

  “You can do this,” he whispered to the weaker part of himself.

  The snarls were louder as the pack closed in. Daniel sat on the ledge and lowered himself to a toehold. The chalky dust that covered the limestone had turned into a paste in the downpour. Every micromove mattered. He felt the lime under his fingernails as he dug in to the rock.

  “Steady . . . steady.”

  He had descended no more than twenty feet when the black dogs halted at the ledge, barking at
him with a fury. The whites of their eyes and their bared teeth glinted in the darkness. There were six of them, likely Doberman pinschers.

  One launched down the rock face, and the others followed. The pitch was steep enough to keep them from moving quickly but not so forbidding it stopped them.

  Eyes wide, Daniel looked around. There was a ledge beneath him, but he’d have to jump a good ten feet to land there. The good news was, the dogs wouldn’t be able to follow.

  As they drew nearer, piercing the night with their bloodthirsty growls, Daniel let go of his handhold—and his fear. He landed on his side and rolled twice to the edge of the ledge. The pain was so crushing he could hardly breathe. Clutching his wounded shoulder, he groaned through clenched teeth.

  He looked up at the sextet of animals howling in frustration: they wouldn’t taste flesh tonight.

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Daniel shifted his gaze downhill. Perhaps two hundred feet beneath the ledge, a white pin light traveled in a straight line. He squinted. Could it be?

  Following the light trajectory, he realized it was traveling on flat ground, steadily heading uphill. Emotion choked him, making him forget about the violent spasms in his shoulder and ribs. He could think of nothing but the black ribbon beneath him, so close he could smell the asphalt.

  Forty-five

  Mount Helicon, central Greece,

  393 CE

  A hand shook Aristea’s shoulder with a hint of aggression. She jerked awake and rubbed her eyes. She had fallen asleep on the roadside, leaning against a chestnut tree on the mountain pass to Livadeia.

  “Ah, you are awake. I thought you had died, brother.”

  She turned toward the voice. A hooded monk, wearing a gray linen tunic and goatskin coat cinched at the waist with a jute rope belt, stood over her.

  “Where do you come from?” His accent identified him as Macedonian.