The Oracle

by D. J. Niko

  Aristea did not speak for fear her voice would betray her. She bowed her head and placed a hand on her mouth.

  “You have taken a vow of silence, have you?”

  Avoiding his gaze, she nodded.

  “Then I shall leave you be.” He took two steps and turned back. “Before I go on my way, may I offer you some sustenance?”

  Aristea was famished. It had been days since she’d had a proper meal, subsisting mainly on what she could pluck from the earth or what was given to her by passersby. She nodded again, perhaps too eagerly.

  The monk reached inside the wool bag that was slung across his chest and pulled out a small clay pot. “Must pudding. I have made it with my hands.” He pointed toward the north. “We grow grapes at our monastery near the waterfalls.”

  Aristea accepted the pot and scooped out the thick pudding with her fingers. The sweetness of the grape must spiced with cardamom and cinnamon reminded her of ambrosia. She licked her fingers.

  “You seem hungry. You must have traveled for many days.” He reached back inside his bag and pulled out a piece of bread. “Take this. It will sustain you on your journey.”

  She accepted the bread and bowed in thanks.

  The monk lingered a while longer, staring at her. Had he suspected something? She pulled her knees to her chest and shifted her gaze to the ground.

  Finally he spoke. “Forgive my indiscretion, but I don’t see a cross. Do you wear it beneath your robes?”

  She said nothing. Answering in the affirmative might prompt the monk to ask to see it. Conversely, a negative reply might initiate trouble.

  “Perhaps you have lost it.” His tone revealed a vague skepticism.

  She raised a hand to shield her eyes, indicating she did not wish to address the matter. The habit’s ample sleeve fell to her elbow, exposing a slender wrist and forearm. She lowered her arm, immediately regretting the swiftness of movement that seemed like she was trying to hide something.

  “Go in peace, brother.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him make the sign of the cross in the air. “May the Lord bless your journey.”

  At last he walked on, following the path down into the valley. She was grateful he traveled in the opposite direction, for she wanted no one to haunt her steps. She cringed when she considered the encounter on the roadside might not be her last. As much as she longed to be invisible, there was nowhere to hide.

  Nowhere, except the cave of Trophonius.

  She tore a hunk of the dense brown bread with her teeth and tucked the rest under her arm. She would ration it, for she knew not how long it would take to reach the cave. She sensed she was close: so close she could feel the cool baptismal waters of the Herkyna and smell the moist earth fed by the river. She looked up at the sun, marking its passage toward the west. Though day was waning, Apollo’s presence was evident in the bright fingers reaching through the clouds and caressing the mountaintops.

  She closed her eyes. Even if all else were stripped away, that moment would remain with her, giving her strength to the end.

  Beneath a night sky thick with storm clouds, the woods at the edge of Mount Helicon seemed a dark, hostile place. The autumn wind whistled through the thinning canopy of oaks and chestnuts, forcing the few remaining leaves into an aerial death march.

  Aristea remembered her mother reciting the central Greece accounts of Pausanias, in which the chronicler had described that very place. If his famous insight held true, beyond the grove was a clearing that led down the mountain into the valley of Livadeia and the banks of the Herkyna.

  Her heart beat a little faster. She had arrived at last. Apollo had guided her steps to the threshold of darkness, where the curtain of pain and misery was lifted, leaving only light.

  If she made haste, she could descend into the cave of Trophonius before daybreak. She picked up the pace, ignoring the blisters and cuts that had afflicted her feet during the long days and nights of her journey.

  The ground was lined with fallen foliage. The sounds of nature—the hissing of the wind, the soft crunch as the leaves yielded beneath her feet—were almost hypnotic. She concentrated on the music of the mountain mingling with the cadence of her footfall and, for the first time, allowed herself to believe she might make it.

  She thought of her fellow Delphians. It was, perhaps, a fool’s hope to believe their plan would come to pass exactly as they’d dreamt it—yet that hope had sustained her through imprisonment and rape and the witnessing of the worst side of humanity.

  A cloud passed over the waxing moon, casting a silver streak on Aristea’s path. She could see the clearing and the pines beyond. The Herkyna was within reach.

  Air whooshed past, causing her robes to flutter. She looked about for anything out of the ordinary—and saw it: a long, slim object lodged into the trunk of an old oak. It wasn’t until the second arrow flew past that she realized she was not alone.

  Her mouth went dry, and a fire burned in the pit of her stomach. She had been betrayed. The kindly monk on the roadside must have realized she was not who she pretended to be. It wasn’t unfathomable that word from Sumela had reached the shores of Greece. The monastic community could well have been informed a female prisoner had escaped, even that she hid beneath a monk’s robes for survival.

  However it happened, she had been found.

  Aristea wasted no time. She bolted through the grove, weaving in and out of the tree trunks to throw off their aim.

  Once more, angry clouds gathered in solidarity, obscuring the moon and veiling the fugitive in shadow. The priestess had the advantage—for now.

  Forty-six

  Lydia leaned into Sarah’s ear and raised her voice to be heard over the rumble of the motorcycle engine. “This is it. The path is just up ahead.”

  Sarah nodded. Braced by the icy air and drenched to the bone, she was fully alert and aware of her strength. At that moment, she felt as if there was no challenge she couldn’t meet.

  Her gaze darted along the shoulder of the road, searching for a good place to pull over. She saw a light in her peripheral vision and checked the rearview mirror. A blue flash blinked, approaching from the distance.

  She turned to the left and parked the bike between a tree and the craggy mountainside. Motioning to Lydia to be still, she turned off the headlight and shut down the engine.

  The blue light neared, now joined by the wail of a siren. Two more vehicles followed.

  “The fire brigade,” Lydia whispered. “Something has happened.”

  “We’ll have to go on foot from here.” Sarah looked up. “Bit of a steep pitch.” She turned to Lydia. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “I know my way around. I can help you.”

  Sarah was uncertain. Even if the woman’s frail constitution concealed a hidden strength, her obsession with Delphinios could be a hindrance. But she had no time to argue. “All right. Go on ahead. I’ve got your back.”

  The emergency vehicles passed, and the road was once again deserted. Farther up the hill, Sarah could see the stalled lights flashing. Hunching, she followed Lydia along the shoulder to a stair-like path carved into the mountain. It appeared manmade.

  Lydia turned to Sarah and smiled. “Shortcut.”

  Grateful for the distraction of the fire engines and for the finally dissipating storm, Sarah ascended the path with vigor. She was pleased at the agility of her companion. Lydia had tied her long skirt in a knot between her legs and her sodden cardigan around her waist. Even her great clumps of hair, so frizzy that the rain had failed to mat it down, did not seem to faze her.

  Though she was breathing heavily, Lydia didn’t stop. A curious determination seemed to drive her. Sarah knew why. A woman’s cracked heart always harbored hope, and the glimmer of possibility was a powerful motivator. She could read Lydia’s mind even if she spoke nothing of it. She’d waited years to be with him. She no doubt expected it to be different this time. Sarah cringed at the thought of what awaited Lydia. She wanted to protect he
r from the heartache, but she knew it was futile: one didn’t learn without firsthand experience.

  About midway up the face, they reached a ledge that separated the barren rock from the tree line. Aleppo pines hugged the mountainside, thicker as the elevation escalated. It was harder terrain to traverse, but it could also provide much-needed cover.

  Lydia grunted as she tried to lift herself onto the protruding shelf. Panting, she turned to Sarah. “I can’t do it.”

  “We’ll do it together. Hold tight. I’ll go up first and help you.”

  Lydia nodded. One of her feet slipped as she struggled to hold on to the rock.

  Sarah kicked into a toehold and climbed around her as quickly as she could. She placed her elbows on the ledge and pulled herself up.

  She could see Lydia’s wide eyes below. Sarah lay on her stomach at the edge and reached an arm down. “Hold on to my hand.”

  Lydia looked disoriented. She jerked her head to and fro, then turned to look behind her.

  Sarah remained calm to counteract her companion’s panic. “Don’t look down. Stay with me.”

  Lydia’s lip quivered. “I can’t hang on.”

  “Yes, you can.” Sarah swallowed hard. “Focus on my hand. Can you do that?”

  Sobbing quietly, she nodded.

  “Slowly. You can do it.”

  As she reached up, Lydia’s foot faltered, dislodging small rocks and hurtling them into the precipice. She slid down by a couple of feet.

  Sarah held her breath as she watched Lydia’s hand slip out of reach. She looked around and noticed a fallen pine branch, about four inches in diameter with two smaller branches extending from it. The perfect handle, she thought. She crawled on all fours to the branch and dragged it back, then offered it to Lydia.

  The woman held on but was practically deadweight, obviously too exhausted and frightened to help herself. Sarah grunted as she pulled with both hands. She prayed Lydia wouldn’t panic, hurtling them both down the mountain.

  “A few more inches,” Sarah choked out. “We’ve got this.” She reached under Lydia’s arms and clasped her wrists against Lydia’s back for one final pull. They both landed flat on the ledge, gasping for breath.

  Sarah sat up first. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and placed a palm on Lydia’s shoulder. “All right?”

  Lydia sat up and fell into Sarah’s embrace. She was shaking, whimpering. “You are so brave. How can I thank you?”

  Sarah gently pushed her away. “By staying here and keeping yourself safe. I will carry on up the mountain—alone.”

  “I want to—”

  “No, Lydia. You haven’t the strength. I don’t want anything to happen.” She thought of Daniel—their last encounter, her failure to see his trouble and help him—and managed a bitter smile. “There’s enough on my conscience already.”

  The women gazed at each other for a long moment, a silent understanding between them.

  Sarah stood. “I’ll be back.” She looked up, haphazardly mapping out a plan of attack.

  “Sarah?”

  She glanced behind her.

  “I want you to do something for me.” She wiped a tear and unclasped her locket. She handed it to Sarah. “If something happens . . . will you give this to Phoebe?”

  A knot rose to Sarah’s throat, but she didn’t show emotion. It would’ve made things worse. She took the locket. “You have my word.”

  It was a difficult climb to the ridge just below the summit. Had the slope been bare, it would’ve been too steep to ascend without equipment. Sarah was grateful for the pines, whose roots and trunks provided some measure of footing.

  Her mouth dry and breath clipped, she rested against a tree trunk and looked up at the white smoke rising from the summit. Though she couldn’t see Bellamy’s house yet, she could see the water bursting from the fire hoses. The pyre was still raging.

  Thoughts assaulted her mind: What had transpired? Was it arson or an accident? Would the ceremony, set for the wee hours of that night, be aborted? And, most importantly, was Daniel safe?

  Sarah considered what she was about to do. Finding Bellamy, let alone delivering the intelligence that would liberate Daniel, in the midst of the chaos would be near impossible. Logic told her to flee, to abandon this foolhardy mission. She likely couldn’t save him anyway. But her instinct—the part she trusted most—urged her toward the summit. She had to go all in, for his sake.

  She inched forward. The scent of charred wood and sap permeated the air. The fire must have spread to the pines. Sarah took short, measured breaths to avoid inhaling the smoke, which grew progressively thicker.

  With one big push that rendered her breathless, she made it to a clearing from which the scene was visible. The house was more like a compound of buildings. Sarah’s heart sank as she digested the enormity of the disaster. The entire left side of the house was engulfed in flames that a dozen firefighters were struggling to get under control. Nearby trees were blazing or reduced to cinders.

  She closed her eyes and silently called to Daniel. His face, serene and smiling, crossed her mind’s eye. She was certain he was alive.

  “Sarah.”

  Sarah started. Heart thumping, she turned around. Lydia stood behind her, pale as a ghost. Her clothes, wet with rain and sweat, clung to her bony frame. “For God’s sake, what are you doing here? I asked you—”

  “I fear for my dearest’s safety. I must go to him. He needs me.”

  Sarah bit her lip so she wouldn’t scream. Her plan was a hairbreadth away from falling to ruin. She wanted to shake Lydia. Instead, she took a deep breath. “This is not the time or the place. Do you really want to risk your life in this way?”

  “You’re risking yours . . . for a man.”

  Sarah searched for a watertight comeback, but Lydia was right. It was hypocritical. “I can’t force you. I can only point out how dangerous this is for someone who’s not trained.”

  Lydia started to speak, but Sarah turned her head and raised a hand. She’d heard savage barks.

  Eyes wide, she turned to Lydia. “Does he have bad dogs?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Follow me—now.” Sarah launched down the mountainside. She glanced to and fro, searching for a tree to climb. She ran frantically and, for the first time in her life, feared her heart might give out.

  She glanced back. Lydia was losing ground, and the shadows of the four-legged beasts approached. “Run,” she commanded, but her voice came out feeble, choked.

  Lydia screamed.

  Sarah stopped and saw her companion had fallen. There was a window of seconds before the dogs would be upon them. She ran back and grabbed Lydia’s wrist, raised her to her feet, and pulled her along.

  The barks were deafening, as if there were dozens of dogs.

  Sarah checked over her shoulder. Sharp canines glinted in the moon’s platinum glow. The pack was closing in.

  With her head still turned away, she felt an arm grip around her torso, breaking her stride.

  “Quick! Up here!”

  Sarah was so bewildered, it took a moment to realize what was happening. As if in a dream, she watched Daniel climb a few feet up a tree and offer her a hand. She took it and let him guide her to one of the high branches. Then he did the same for Lydia.

  The woman took his hand and struggled up the tree trunk.

  “Don’t let go,” he shouted over the frenzied howls beneath them. “Don’t let go!”

  Sarah watched in horror as one of the dogs snatched Lydia’s long skirt and Daniel fought to hang on to her.

  There was a long ripping sound, followed by a blood-chilling scream. Sarah yelled down to Lydia. “Don’t panic! You’re safe.”

  But the woman shook her head and let go of Daniel’s hand. He reached down to regain a grip, but it was too late.

  Sarah’s heart pounded in her throat. Over and over she shrieked, “No!”

  Daniel climbed up to her. He put one arm around her back and buried the
fingers of his other hand in her hair, turning her head away from the grisly scene.

  A cacophony of wails, rips, and growls echoed off the mountainside. Sarah clutched onto Daniel’s shirt and buried her face in his neck to muffle her hysterical screams. As she released pent-up sobs, her body quaked in his arms. He gripped her tightly and whispered words to calm her, but no amount of comfort could console her.

  Lydia’s screams trailed off until they were heard no more.

  Forty-seven

  Sarah stood at the roadside with only a vague idea of how she’d gotten there. She recalled moving from tree to tree while the dogs were distracted, then jumping onto terra firma and sliding down a steep cliff to the ridge.

  They had managed to elude the beasts, but their guttural growls rang in Sarah’s ears all the way down the mountain and haunted her even as she stood in safety. She had survived, but she felt guilty for it.

  She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Sarah.”

  She turned to Daniel.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She blinked back fresh tears. She took his sentiment as a condolence, for he owed her no apology. If anything, she owed him one. But she had no words at that moment. She slipped into his embrace and squeezed his shoulder.

  His arm shuddered, and he grunted slightly.

  She pulled back. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “Nonsense, Danny. Give us a look.” She turned him around and lifted up his shirt, following a streak of dried blood to the left trapezius muscle. She gasped. The skin looked as if it had been hacked with a dull handsaw, and blood was smeared across his back.

  He spoke over his shoulder. “Sniper rifle. I think the bullet was intended for my heart.”

  She exhaled. “You’re very lucky; it just grazed you. Still, we’ll need to see to that.”

  He turned to face her. “We? Is there still a we?”

  His comment was like a bucketful of cold water. “Why do you think I’m here? Sightseeing?”

  Daniel nodded. “Just making sure. I’ve had a lot of conflict lately, inside and outside. Feel like I don’t know who’s my friend anymore.” He exhaled sharply, as if expelling bad karma. “Now, let’s get on out of here, try to put this nightmare behind us.”