Bloodwalk

Her voice froze and her face reddened as she struggled to exhale. The designs of magic on the walls and floors flared brightly, like a flash of lightning, then went out, leaving only the glow of the oracles' eyes and the single candle burning at the foot of the altar. Everyone gasped. Several onlookers stepped forward to assist the high oracle.

She waved them back breathlessly, though her arms shook and her legs wavered unsteadily as if she might fall. She grabbed the holy symbol around her neck, a talisman passed down from one high oracle to the next, and doubled over in obvious pain. Dreslya, eyes closed, maintained her silent chant. Sameska was at the mercy of Savras's power, for good or ill. Elisandrya stood transfixed on the scene, u

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Hear me now." Sameska's voice buzzed through the crowd, familiar and distant, bereft of ceremony, gripping the nerves in a vice of rapt attention. None could look away, touched in that primal place between reason and wild alarm. All the oracles except one, a young woman on Sameska's right, had passed out. Whether from fear or exhaustion, none could say. The young woman's neck had broken out in a dark rash and her nose continued to spill crimson drops to the floor. On her hands and knees, the high oracle raised her nearly vacant eyes, peering at her stu

Elisandrya watched, enraptured as they all were by Sameska's strange behavior. The high oracle stared emotionlessly at them, aware, but lost in the power caught in her throat. "Hope has not yet abandoned us, though." The hollow undertones of the high oracle's voice lifted a little, and hope did indeed seem to brighten in the eyes of a few. The hunters listened carefully. None could fathom that Savras would see fit to condemn them all in prophecy without offering some foe to put bow and blade to. "One man comes to us from the north, across many miles and haunted plains. He alone must see to the ruins deep in the forest. He alone must come to excise that which sits at the delta of decay and complacency. He shall walk on a road of shadow that skirts the borders of the afterlife, where the whispers of the fallen carry him on swift winds." "Ghostwalker he is known to be, Hoarite and Knight of Old Assuran. We shall hold ourselves mute and incapable, unmoved by emotion or blasphemy, until he arrives to deliver us. Such is the will of Savras-such is his prophecy and the edict of the High Oracle of the Hidden Circle. "It is done." Sameska's head slumped for a moment, then lifted as she took a deep breath, gasping for air, wild-eyed and trembling. A torrent of words poured from her mouth, too fast and jumbled to make sense. Moments before the gathering, she had been prepared to deliver those words in triumph. Now they were ashes on her tongue, forgotten and useless. She stepped backward, pushing herself awkwardly and tangling her feet in the hem of her long robes.

Several in the gathering ran forward to assist and calm her, still in shock and full of questions. Hands and faces surrounded Sameska, filling her sight, all but blocking the view of the multi-hued glass dome above. She'd been helpless, trapped in her own body, fighting to speak past the power that had clutched her throat and used her voice.

She wanted to scream, feeling as if raped. She wondered if Savras had been with her, within her. Deep down, a black flower of doubt blossomed in her heart. Its roots spread and were cold, twisting her gut as bile boiled in her throat. How, she wondered-how, with all the wards and protections in the temple, could it have been anything but his voice? The ceiling spun in her eyes, the dome becoming a swirl of sickening color as questions filled her ears and clawed at the core of her reasoning. She fought again, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing deeply, calming herself and avoiding the well of sorrow that yawned in the back of her mind. Blinking, she looked closely at the faces above her, not yet hearing them, and saw their awe. They looked upon their high oracle, overcome by the power of their own faith. They sought the wisdom of she who had borne the voice of Savras, she who had spoken to them with his words. The horror that had so consumed her moments ago gave way to pride and wonder. The questions slowed, becoming more distinct. All of them echoed the same words, the same query, over and over. "What do we do? What do we do?" Doubt tugged beneath her gathering tears. Slow, swallowed sobs met with her i

Dreslya knelt below, listening as Sameska finally answered the barrage of questions, her answers loud enough to be heard by all. Dres turned to look at her sister, worry and confusion etched in her face, tears trailing down her cheeks. Eli looked away. Her eyes fell on a place to the left of the altar, shadowed, but just within the radius of newly lit candles close to Sameska. Others noticed as well. Those who had heard what they needed from Sameska turned to that spot, frightened and curious. Sameska eyed these, hunting for doubt in their whispered voices, seeking any hint of disbelief among them. Glinting in that flickering light, a stain of dark crimson slowly turned brown, marking the place of the oracle who had bled when the temple went dark.

The people of Targris milled about the streets, searching for family and friends and retrieving possessions cast into flooded gutters. Most of the fires had been quenched by the heavy rain, but the damage had been done, leaving several structures blackened and shrouded in steamy mist. No one neared the scene of the terrible battle or looked too long at the warrior. Quinsareth slumbered for some time, having passed out on the porch of the late mayor's home.