20
LADY OF THE ORACLE
🙜
Ember came to consciousness with his face smashed into cold damp stone, a dreadful crick in his neck, and soft light flickering against the backs of his eyelids. When he shifted an elbow to prop himself up, his back split open and fresh blood oozed from the wounds. "Aaah—ah—ah—aaow—"
His skin felt feverish, and there was no strength left in his body with which to tend his wounds. All the knitbone in the world wouldn't help him now.
Gritting his teeth and sucking in a shallow breath, Ember decided to remain on the floor for the time being. He cracked one eye and noticed a few nearby candles tucked under a ledge, their flames wavering gently when he inhaled and exhaled.
The daylight he thought he had seen was gone, but he could make out a few crystal rocks jutting out of the ground and the walls, translucent under the light of the candles. The tiny glimmering wicks dotted every alcove, a few resting atop stacks of yellowed books, growing ever smaller and twinklier as they receded up a flight of stone steps at the end of the room.
And he could hear the stream flowing nearby.
It was almost pleasant.
Almost.
He lay there quietly for several minutes, remembering everything.
Where had the woman gone off to? Had she really been there at all, or had he imagined her standing beyond the stream, a spirit in white? Surely he couldn't imagine such a vision on his own, not even if he tried.
Licking his lips, Ember lifted his head from the flagstones.
Slowly. Very slowly.
His tongue was swollen, the corners of his mouth cracked from thirst, and the stream was just a few paces away…
If he moved carefully, he might be able to reach it without—
"Aagh!"
Confound it all.
Ember swore and threw himself headlong across the mossy stones, his hands splashing into the water.
"WAIT!"
He froze, fingers scarcely wetting his lips.
The woman knelt directly before him, on one knee in the middle of the stream. A pale and luminous hand reached toward his face in warning.
"Do not drink from the stream," she whispered. "It is poisoned."
Ember dropped his hands and sank to his elbows, lips parted in silent shock.
She smiled. "I believe you will find what you desire… there."
Her hand shifted and she uncurled a single finger, pointing somewhere behind his head.
He turned with a groan, but saw only candles and the flower-like crystals rooted in the wall and nearby flagstones. Now that his ears had stopped ringing, he heard something new and soft.
Ember listened for several seconds before realizing it was a melody. The shifts in tone were so subtle he could barely follow the notes, and it was coming from all around, it seemed.
Perhaps the crystals?
Don't be ridiculous.
Yet, somehow, it seemed oddly fitting.
There were thousands of sparkling crystals of many shapes and colors, adorning the walls and protruding from the ground where the flagstones touched the natural rock. Some were massive, the length of his lower arm and twice as broad with other smaller crystals branching off near the base, and others were very small by comparison. A few grew among the ordinary-looking foliage near the stream.
He dragged himself sideways across the floor, crying out in pain as the muscles across his back stretched and tore open. Each tiny flinch brought back the sensation of her claws digging into his flesh as clearly as if she were tearing into him at that very moment.
Blood dripped onto the flagstones—he reached out, utterly spent—fingers brushing one of the crystals—and the moment he connected with the stone, a sweet song filled the air like the trembling notes of a little bird in the forest.
He took his hand away and it was immediately silenced.
There was no echo.
Ember shivered; the pain was a little less.
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That faint tingle of relief was enough to touch the crystal again, and this time he eagerly dug his fingers into the surrounding stone with a sort of hungry franticness. The taste of healing was too much.
He needed the pain to end, and he needed it to end now.
Euphoria overwhelmed him as the floor crumbled easily under his fingertips and the many-faceted crystal fell into his palms. He clutched it tightly, savoring the relief that coursed through his veins.
The surface was clear, shot through with hues of coral and purple, and when he held it up to the nearest candle he saw the misty colors shifting to and fro like the eddying clouds of a tiny thunderstorm, trapped within a glassy stronghold. It reminded him, abstractly, of the stone he had hidden under his shirt.
It shimmered in his hands.
He waited with bated breath.
Then it began to dissolve, melting over his fingertips and sending streaks of purple and coral dust swirling up his skin. It was a strange sensation, like cool honey being poured over his head, or being submerged in a stream comprised mainly of bubbles, and somehow not at all unpleasant.
When the crystal was entirely dissolved and the dancing colors faded to nothing, leaving behind only grime and flecks of gore on his skin, Ember gratefully sat up straight and ran his hands through his tangled curls, drawing deep, effortless, grateful breaths and closing his eyes for a moment.
Thank the Maker.
Now that the pain had fled his body, he observed another pain— this one very deep inside his chest. He swallowed, blinking away all recent memories, and put two fingers against his collarbone where a noticeable lump stuck in his throat.
The sudden relief had given him enough mental clarity to focus again, and he chose to redirect his attention to the nature of his surroundings rather than dwelling upon the unhappy circumstances which had brought him to this place.
He dug his fingers into one of the larger gems on the floor, curious, but the rock around it remained immovable and the crystal itself was dark and unfriendly.
"They know."
He glanced up and saw the lady in white still standing in the middle of the stream—she was leaning forward to look down at him, her long hair brushing the stone tiles.
She was smiling again.
Ember slowly removed his hand, glancing helplessly at his knife. It lay beside the door where he had dropped it, too far away to be of immediate use.
"You have no need of further assistance," she explained, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder. “The crystals know.”
He leaned away, scowling in suspicion.
"Are you thirsty?"
He was indeed parched and famished, but remembered all too well the twisted advice of the book, and held his tongue.
"If you thirst," she said, her tone somehow both soothing and authoritative, "follow."
She drifted between the twinkling candles and the crystals, her lengthy skirt trailing behind like a glowing waterfall. The currents seemed to drag at the hem of her dress, but there was something unnatural about her silent footsteps and sudden appearances which made him wonder.
He glanced to his left and realized that the stream was sourced from a darkened alcove at the end of the long room, and flowed between the steps.
Licking his lips, Ember glanced upward. He was surprised to see that the cavern narrowed to an opening far, far above him—the room itself seemed to be a naturally-fashioned hollow or crag which had previously existed within the mountain.
Crystals lined the rocky walls nearer the bottom, growing in an upward direction as if drawn to the natural light, and he could even make out a few stars in the inky sky.
Ember held his breath for a moment, captivated. So close, so tangible, and yet so far away. And even could he scale those heights, stumbling back down the mountain would mean certain death as well.
He could never do it alone.
Not without her…
"Who poisoned it?" he croaked, swallowing again.
The lady had paused in a doorway framed by twisted wood—the only room he could see from his vantage point.
The door itself was slightly ajar, and looked as if it had remained so for many years, for much foliage had grown over it. Thick green vines trailed out of the room in a carefree tangle, broad white flowers with pink and purple throats spilling over two shallow steps and the flagstones below.
She was still smiling.
"Did you not seek refuge from one such assailant?"
Instead of answering, Ember stepped across the floor and grasped the knife, adjusting his fingers around the handle until it felt secure in his palm, and weighed his options. He certainly wasn't going back to the hall of mirrors at the moment—and this woman seemed to be hinting at fresh water further in. In the end, it was his own thirst which drove him onward.
He took two steps, watching her closely.
Her blue eyes glowed in the mingled light of the candles and the stars—so different from the sirena’s pitted glare. And she smiled at him again.
A smile of encouragement, he thought.
It made him feel slightly less disturbed, in spite of himself.
"Come and drink.”
That was all Ember needed to hear—he splashed through the stream and hopped up both steps at once, pushing his way inside. Vines enveloped him, soft and smelling of spring, but he brushed them out of the way until he could see the light of a few candles within.
A small room had been hewn from the surrounding stone. In one corner sat a pristine bed with a frame of the same twisted wood as the doorway, neatly adorned with startlingly white linens. A wooden trapdoor which featured a small handle rested on the ground behind the entrance; its purpose was not difficult to guess at, and he made note of it in case he should need to use it later.
In the corner opposite the bed sat a single wooden stand: and on it a wash basin… and a pitcher.
He hurried toward it, stuffed the knife under his belt, clamped both hands around its cool glazed finish, and held it up to his mouth—
Empty.
He glanced at the basin.
Also empty.
Stricken, Ember whirled around and thrust the pitcher at the woman, shaking it violently.
"You said there would be water!" He tried to shout, but his voice cracked and it came out in a hoarse whisper. "Where is the water?"
"It is in your hands. You have only to pour it into the basin."