The Oracle.
Her white hair streamed out behind her while her frail body appeared to float about in mid-air, until I realized that the sphere was full of water. She turned to face me, those impossibly pale blue eyes meeting mine.
“Vita.” She whispered my name, and like the time she’d reached out to me in the bathroom mirror, I heard her voice inside my head, disorientating me completely so I almost stumbled and fell flat across the ground. Regaining my balance, I rushed forward, reaching out to touch the glass of her prison.
“Can you hear me?” I asked urgently, looking around to see if I could use something to break the glass. Before she could reply, footsteps came from behind me. Both the Oracle and I turned in the direction of the sound, and my friends, led by the Druid, rushed down the footpath that I’d used only seconds earlier.
Before they could reach us, a horrifying scream split through the air. I yelled out, putting my arms up to stop the Druid and everyone else approaching, but they couldn’t see me. Out of the darkness, the Destroyers rose up from the abyss over the side of the cliff, their horses screeching and snorting as the Destroyers raised their spears.
“Stop!” I cried out, running toward the others.
The Druid turned to face the creatures, shoving Serena behind him as he did so. Field flew up into the air, wielding two swords, their blades aimed directly at the Destroyers. One of them threw his spear. It missed the Druid by inches, but then Serena screamed. I turned to her, running as quickly as I could to reach her. The Druid moved forward to attack, and I saw Jovi, held up by Serena, a spear protruding from his chest.
I woke up in the ice-cold tub, screaming.
Aida
[Victoria and Bastien’s daughter]
I clamped my eyes shut, hoping for oblivion to come as quickly as possible. I couldn’t stand the cold of the water a second longer; it felt like my whole body had been frozen rigid, while my blood boiled in fury and frustration, wanting out. Wanting never to have agreed to this dumb, dangerous idea.
Please…please, make it stop!
It felt like an eternity until my prayers were answered, though in reality it had probably only been a couple of seconds before a slow heat burned its way through me, my body’s tremors and shakes subsiding.
I opened my eyes, discovering that the basement had been replaced by dense and colorful jungle. I inhaled deeply—the humid, hot air was better than the musty staleness of the house—and looked around me.
I wasn’t alone.
The vision had placed me in the center of a clearing, and everywhere I looked I could see men, standing around in small groups, all with the silvery skin of the incubus. In all honesty, it was a bit like wandering backstage at a catwalk show at a men’s fashion week. There were men who must have been older than seventy (by human standards) present, but they were so inhumanly beautiful, their age appeared to add to their beauty, not detract from it. I started to move around, quickly realizing that I was invisible to them, and tried to listen in to some of their conversations. I was also curious as to why there weren’t any women around…was this some kind of army regiment? They were all wearing the same military-style clothing that Bijarki wore, so perhaps my guess was correct.
I sidled up to the nearest group, daring to take a seat by one of the oldest-looking incubi there. His hair was wild and unkempt, with ropes of different colored beads hanging from his neck. The top he wore was stained with mud and sweat, his boots so worn the soles looked like they would fall to pieces with the next step he took.
“It is insanity, and worse, a death wish!” the older man barked at a younger one, spitting seed cases from his lips. “How can you think of betraying us that way? Oh, yes, it’s an ‘us’—your sons and daughters, and their sons and daughters!”
The younger man shook his head, his lips curled in disdain. “What else do you think we can do? The Druids have all surrendered. There is no one left. We are incapable of standing against Azazel. What would your plan be? Do we make ourselves extinct, Father?”
“Better to die in honor than to live in shame,” the older man retorted, his fist clenching as if he wanted to smash sense into his son.
“There’s no honor in death!” cried the son. “I’m talking about buying us time. We can’t stand against the Destroyers now, but we can stand another day, when the time is right. When we have a chance.”
“And when will that be?” the father retorted, scooping more seeds out from a woven hemp bag at his feet and knocking them back into his mouth.
“One Druid still lives,” the incubus replied softly, looking intently at his father and then glancing around the clearing to see if anyone else had overheard him. Most of the groups were intent on their own conversations, and few seemed to be taking interest in the heated exchange.
“In his bubble of safety!” the man roared. “He’s no good to any of us, and neither is your brother. Better that we forget them, better that we forge our own futures than rely on a single Druid to save us!”
The younger incubus shook his head. “Your way leaves us with no future. We will just be dead men.”
He turned his back on his father, his head bent in sorrow, all the anger and disdain wiped from him. I started to follow him, wishing I could say something that might help, or to comfort him at least, but as soon as I had taken the first step, the vision started to fade.
I was transported to the next vision. My stomach gave a sickening lurch, a bit like I was plummeting in an elevator, and then settled again, leaving me feeling slightly nauseous as I tried to get my bearings. This time, the vivid light of the jungle had gone, and I was standing in gloom at one end of a long, low-ceilinged tunnel. Behind me there was a dead end, but cut into the stone was a barred window—a small semi-circle that let in light. I peered outside, seeing nothing other than a huge stone wall a few yards away, and above that, only empty sky.
I turned back around, looking toward the far end of the gloomy tunnel. Arched entrances led off this one, but in the distance, I could see nothing more than darkness. The tunnel must go on for miles.
I brushed my fingers along the wall, my skin crawling at the cold dampness. I hoped this vision would end soon—the previous one was far preferable to this. I felt like I was in a prison of some sort, because I couldn’t understand why else anyone would build a place like this. I couldn’t imagine anybody, supernatural or otherwise, thinking that this place was habitable.
Walking forward, I instinctively tried to make as little noise as possible despite knowing that it made little difference, no one would be able to hear or see me anyway. I came to the first tunnel that led off the one I was on, but nothing but more darkness lay ahead. I kept going, coming to the second archway. This one looked more promising. It led downward, rather than straight along, and I thought I could detect faint glows of light coming from its depths. There were no stairs to navigate, only a consistent slope of the ground which I discovered in places was almost impossibly steep. I kept going, determined to find something of use before the vision faded.
Soon I could hear voices, and the ground started to level out beneath me. I had slowed down, more cautious now that I knew I wasn’t alone, but in the next moment, a howl of pain ricocheted along the tunnel. I stopped dead in my tracks. The cry was so pain-filled and anguished that I could swear I felt it in my bones. I bent double, catching my breath as the cry went on and on.
“Answer us!” a voice hissed, halting the last notes of the cry.
“I can’t! I promise you—I can’t!” The reply was choked, torn from the speaker’s throat with as much pain as their howls had been.
Desperate to know what was going on, I continued to creep along the tunnel, heading for the light at the far end. When I reached the archway, I backed into the wall to peer around the stone.
The archway led into a small, circular room, the ceiling domed and just as low as the tunnel walls. The light was coming from a small fire in the middle of the room, and behind its red and ye
llow flames I could make out the figure of a man, stretched out on a stone table, his arms tied to one end, his legs tied to another. Leering over his exposed torso was another man—his chest broad, his arms muscular, one of which was covered in black tattooed lines ringed around his bicep. His eyes were black, completely black, with no irises or pupils. The man moved suddenly, shifting his position till he was at the top of the table, leaning over the prisoner’s head. As he moved, I noticed that he had no legs—instead, a thick, scaly tail wormed around the circumference of the room.
A Destroyer!
I recognized his species from the painting that Serena had shown us in the Druid’s house. In the artist’s depiction, the creature had looked monstrous—in real life, up close, it was much worse. I could practically feel the evil radiating off his skin. The room smelt like death, pungent and foul, as if the blood of a million different victims had already been soaked into the floor.
“We know they’re here,” the Destroyer whispered. “He knows they crossed. It will only be a matter of time… surely your life is worth more than this?”
The Destroyer lifted his own finger to his mouth. He bared his teeth, and I watched as two of them elongated and became fangs. He pierced the skin of his own finger, blood running down his hand. Next, he placed the finger on the exposed flesh of the man tied to the table, running it along his chest.
The man screamed again, rising off the table as his spine twisted and arched, desperate to escape. I smelled burning flesh. I turned away, unable to watch someone endure so much. I didn’t know what exactly was causing the pain, but I suspected it was a venom of some kind that had been produced by the Destroyer’s fangs.
I shuddered.
“I don’t know,” the prisoner replied helplessly when his cries had subsided once more. “If I knew anything I would tell you, but I know nothing of a new Oracle.”
“Oracles,” the Destroyer corrected him with a furious hiss. He turned away from the prisoner in disgust, slamming his fist into the stone wall. It shook from the force of the impact, sending dust scattering from the ceiling.
“This is inconvenient,” the Destroyer snarled to himself.
“Let me go.” The prisoner trembled. “I can find out more. I-I can hunt them, find out where they are…”
The Destroyer looked disdainfully down at his prisoner. I tried to get a good look at him too. If the Destroyer agreed to his bargain, then this man would soon come searching for us. I started to move closer, holding my breath, terrified that the Destroyer might be able to sense my presence, even if he couldn’t see me.
The fire produced a lot of smoke, which made it difficult to make out the person on the table behind its flames, but I could see a fan of dark hair and a distinguished-looking profile, with a Roman nose and square jaw. His face was covered in dirt, soot and perspiration, hair matted to his forehead.
“And we would trust you to do such a thing?” the Destroyer questioned him, his tone sneering.
“Yes! I know what he is capable of!” the man cried, moving his head about wildly in order to catch the Destroyer’s eye. “Let me serve you!”
I felt a wave of nausea swimming in my gut, and I knew the vision was about to vanish. I took one last look at the prisoner on the table as the scene before me vanished.
Gasping, I stumbled into the next vision, glad to be moving away from that place. I sighed in relief as I saw the familiar figures of my friends standing in the basement.
“Thank God,” I groaned, walking up to Serena. “That was horrific.”
I frowned, reaching out to hold her arm, but she paid absolutely no attention to me whatsoever. When my fingertips reached her bare arm, I felt her skin, warm and solid, but she still paid no attention to me.
What is happening?
I followed her gaze, and then jumped back in horror. Her eyes were fixed on the metal bathtub. Lying still, and completely submerged under the water, was me.
“When do we pull them out?” Serena asked the Druid, her voice desperate. Her hands clutched the sides of the tub, her knuckles white.
“When they’re ready,” he replied, peering over another of the tubs, staring down at Phoenix, who lay still like I did.
Wake me up now!
I wanted out of this. I felt like the vision was more like a nightmare than anything else—like experiencing sleep paralysis, when all I wanted to do was wake up. Beneath the water my body looked like a dead, drowned thing. My eyes were closed, my hair wafting in the water like seaweed.
I moved past Serena, wondering if I could somehow climb back into my body…I had seen that in a movie once, with ghosts re-inhabiting their bodies to animate themselves. Would that work? I stood bent over the tub, ready to step into it, when Vita suddenly sat bolt upright in the water. Her eyes were wide open, and she started to scream.
Phoenix
[Hazel and Tejus’s son]
My head was pounding, my vision blurring gray at the edges, as if I’d been heavily syphoned from. I kept my eyes closed, waiting for the feeling to subside. When the ache left my temples, I opened my eyes and looked around.
I was standing in a room of the house—the room that the Druid habitually sat in, with the door that led down to the basement. I recognized the windows, and the view out onto the gardens, but everything else was very different. The fire wasn’t lit, for one, and all signs of shabby decay had long gone. The wallpaper was a dusty pale pink. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn aside, letting the sunlight stream in from outside. On either side of the fireplace were bookcases, containing neatly bound leather books, the kind kept more for show than actual reading. The room was also full of furniture—small tables covered in decorative porcelain figurines and lace table mats. The room smelled of polish and freshly varnished wood.
As I stood in the sunlight, trying to understand how this could possibly be a vision—it felt more like I was looking backward, not forward into the future—a woman strode purposefully into the room.
Her hair was tightly drawn back into a bun, and her clothes were old-fashioned—a simple dress with a small bustle at the waist, and a white pinafore covering it. Ignoring me completely, she walked over to the fireplace, and, kneeling down, proceeded to sweep up the ashes fallen from the grate.
“Hello?” I called, wondering if she’d seen me.
I was ignored, and, approaching the fireplace, I realized she had no idea I was there. Clearly, this was a benefit of the visions—never having to explain how I’d just miraculously appeared in a place, or what I was doing there.
I kept watching the woman as she cleared the ash, noticing the perspiration building on her forehead and the attractive silhouette of her face, before I eventually realized she was blind. It hadn’t been immediately noticeable because of the effectiveness of her work and the sure way in which she’d crossed the room—it was only after some time that I realized her sight was fixed at a point ahead of her, not on the task she was performing.
“Are you going to be down there all day?” A sharp voice pierced through the room. I turned to see another woman at the door, much older than the blind woman, grossly overweight, with a rolling pin clutched in her chubby hand.
“I’m sorry,” the blind woman replied meekly, brushing faster.
I frowned at the woman in the doorway, wishing I could say something. The fact that she could sweep a fireplace at all was a feat in itself.
“Lord above,” the large woman cried, “what she and the master were thinking when they hired a blind scrap like you, I’ll never know!” She waved the rolling pin in the air, tutting dismissively at the woman before storming off—no doubt to berate someone else. I strode swiftly to the doorway, noticing the frantic action that lay outside the room. There were servants everywhere, dressed in a finer manner than the blind woman, but just as preoccupied in their work, carrying tables and chairs along the hallway, and sweeping and dusting the main entrance.
I was about to leave the blind woman and investigate when she cried ou
t. Turning, I saw her bent double in pain. The dustpan brush tumbled to the floor, sending soot flying everywhere. I hurried over to her, forgetting I couldn’t help, but froze on the spot as she arched her back in pain. Shadows started to appear on her skin, taking the form of strange runes flittering across her face and arms. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth open and gasping for breath.
She was an Oracle! The realization surprised me and I took a closer look at her figure, noting she had no breasts—suggesting an absence of reproductive organs that I knew the Oracle twins also lacked. But what was the daughter of a jinni and a witch doing here? Living as a lowly servant?
Before I could discover more about what was going on here, I felt the headache return, my vision blurring, and the room starting to spin.
When I opened my eyes, and the headache receded once more, I found myself back in the same house. This time, it looked more familiar—the wallpaper was starting to age, and I was on the second floor where our bedrooms were, surrounded by the same oddities that existed there now—the stuffed animals, the piles of books and worn-out carpet. As I was looking around, noting the still silence of the house, a young boy ran out from one of the rooms, clutching a leather-bound notebook, the same book Serena had found. It was the diary of the Oracle “Elissa”, and he waved it about in the air, laughing as he tore past me.
“You little monster!” A laughing voice echoed down the hallway, and the same woman I’d seen in the last vision—the Oracle—stepped out from the same room the kid had just exited. Her face was lit up in a smile, the stern hairstyle gone, leaving tumbling auburn locks flowing across her shoulders. She started to chase the boy, running past me. I wanted to reach out and stop her, suddenly realizing she was no longer blind. Her eyes were fixed on the corridor, but I was absolutely sure she was taking it all in. I followed the pair of them into another room—the last in the hallway, where the girls were currently sleeping.
A House of Mysteries Page 4