The Light of the Oracle (28 page)

She would read it later, in private. She, the First Priestess, would break the seal of the Temple and find out what Renchald had written.

Reverently, she bent to pick up the red feather.
I will honor you always, dear cardinal-chosen prophetess.

The Gilgamell Troupe filled the palace dome with music to celebrate the news that Zorienne might live to rule Sorana.

Thrilled though she was that Selid's prophecy had been delivered, Bryn couldn't shake an equally strong feeling of sadness. The sight of the red cardinal's feather landing on the floor had touched off a terrible dread. The First Priestess's face when she picked it up, and the way she had held it like a flower in homage to the dead, made Bryn want to burst into tears.

She longed to be gone.

Days later, on the road north to Zornowel, Brock told Kiran, “We should stop to rest soon, Mox.”

“The sun is still high,” Kiran objected.

Just then, Jack yapped wildly and took off running. “Come on,” Kiran yelled to Brock.
Run, Obsidian
. The stallion leaped forward, dashing after Jack. The white mare's hooves thudded behind.

Rounding a bend, they pulled up short just in time to avoid crashing into a party of riders led by the First Priestess. With her rode a squadron of Temple guards; the sun bounced off the gold and red insignia on their breastplates. Jack darted past them all.

In their midst was Clea, drooping in her saddle. Kiran looked at her warily. A puncture wound marked her forehead, and she wore a plain dress. Her blue eyes smoldered. Her mouth drew a bitter line. She said nothing.

Ilona bowed from horseback, her dark eyes full of questions.

Jack reappeared, weaving through the horses of the guard with Bryn beside him. Kiran jumped from
Obsidian's back. Bryn reached for him in welcome, and he took both her hands in his. Her eyes lit like pools of golden fire.

Ilona chose an inn for all of them to stay in. Avrohom insisted on gathering the group of friends into his room. “ You also, First Priestess. True stories are best heard in song, but before they become songs, they need to be told.”

Thus, Bryn learned from Kiran how Selid had died, and how Kiran had been cursed. The First Priestess hadn't told her about those events. Hearing of Selid's fate, Bryn bowed her head. Tears gathered in her heart. The cardinal-chosen prophetess had indeed given her blood for Sorana.

A soft breeze floated around Bryn; a gentle voice spoke in her mind:
Do not grieve. I walk with Monzapel now, and Lance is with me.

Brock was the one who described how the Master Priest had joined Keldes. Listening to his story, Bryn felt furious elation tinged with sadness. Renchald had written false prophecies to the queen, plotted with Errington to prevent Zorienne's reign, pushed Kiran to pair with Clea, ordered Selid killed and Kiran cursed. For those crimes—especially for the horror of taking Selid's life—his death under the hooves of a valiant horse seemed fitting.

But it was he who had lifted her from her bleak life in Uste. Because of him, she had been educated in the Temple. She'd known the splendor of the Oracle's
light. She had met Dawn and Jack and Obsidian, Alyce, Jacinta, Willow, and Brock, who would be her friends for life.

And she had met Kiran. He sat across from her, firelight illuminating his cinnamon-brown eyes.

Now Renchald was dead. She wondered who among the priests would take his place. She glanced at the First Priestess to see how she took the news, but Ilona's face showed little.

Avrohom told the tale of what had taken place at the palace, Kiran watching him intently as he spoke. When he finished with a report that Princess Zorienne had already experienced improvement after one night spent in a new bedchamber, Kiran's eyes glistened.

Everyone was quiet for a few moments. Then Ilona spoke to Bryn. “Will you return to the Temple and serve the Oracle, wind-chosen prophetess?”

Bryn recalled the dazzling light of the alabaster chamber filling her with visions; recalled that once she'd wanted to be a priestess more than anything.

“Before you answer,” the First Priestess continued, “ you should know that I gave Clea the choice to continue studying in the Temple if she wished. She has chosen to return to the Eastland. Though I pointed out the likelihood of civil war between our queen and her father now that his perfidy has been revealed, Clea was adamant. Therefore I have sent a message to the Temple so that Bolivar and several of his soldiers will meet us in Tunise and escort her eastward.”

Bryn's heart lifted. The Temple without Clea
would be a much warmer place.
Without Clea and the Master Priest
.

In her mind, she heard Renchald's voice again:
There she will be with others of her kind. She will serve the Oracle
. Might those words come true at last? “Would I be welcome?” she asked the First Priestess.

“ You would be welcomed by the First Priestess,” Ilona answered.

“I would like to serve the Oracle, yes,” Bryn answered. “And carry on Selid's legacy.”

Ilona nodded her stately head. “And you, Kiran?”

Kiran lifted an eyebrow. “Bolivar might need convincing before he allows Brock and me within a mile of the Temple walls.”

Brock snorted. “Convincing is a
kind
word, First Priestess. Bolivar may have to be assigned to the Eastland permanently after you make him escort Clea back to her papa.”

“I will intercede with Bolivar,” Ilona promised. “The Temple has need of wise owl-chosen and swan-chosen prophets.”

“Where will you find a
wise
swan-chosen prophet?” Brock asked, and then ducked a punch from Kiran.

“But wait!” Dawn cried. “Where does that leave us? Bryn, you must agree to travel with the troupe every spring.”

“So you must,” agreed Avrohom, grinning mischievously. “We'll help persuade the new Master Priest— whoever he may be—that you are needed for inspiration to write ballads of courage and adventure.”

Brock slapped his forehead. “Master Priest,” he
muttered. He pulled something from his pocket. “Sorry, First Priestess, I meant to give this to you sooner, for the next Master Priest.” He opened his hand. Glittering in his palm was the keltice ring.

Ilona drew back. “Only the Master Priest may hold the keltice ring.”

Brock hung his head. “I probably violated at least two dozen sacred laws when I took it, but I only wanted to keep it from Lord Errington.”

Ilona stared into the laughing black eyes of the smith's son. “I cannot take it from you. No one but the Master Priest may hold it.”

Brock lifted an eyebrow. “ You trust me not to lose it before another Master Priest is selected?”

Ilona shook her head. “If I were to hold the keltice ring, it would destroy my powers.”

Brock frowned in confusion. Ilona rose from her chair and bowed to him: First Priestess greeting Master Priest of the Temple of the Oracle.

Kiran thumped Brock on the back. “She means you, Owl-face.”

At Brock's dumbfounded expression, Avrohom flung back his head and gave a delighted ululating cry. Soon everyone in the room joined the merriment. Even Jack, curled next to Kiran, lifted his head and howled his imitation of human laughter.

Zeb began beating his drums with great jubilance. Jeffrey grabbed his lute, Negasi his lyre. And Avrohom sang.

When the other guests in the inn heard the music of the Gilgamell Troupe, they broke in on the gathering of friends, begging the famous musicians to play for them, too. The troupe good-naturedly agreed to move to the main room of the inn. Word spread like fire until half the town joined them.

Kiran and Bryn danced together, dances of pure joy. No curse interfered with the grace of her steps; she dipped and rose like a golden breeze, her feet keeping perfect time with the drum. This night, there were no interruptions from unwanted partners. For song after song, they glided around the room until she laughingly declared she had to rest.

She went to sit with Dawn, and Kiran stepped outside with Jack. He gazed at the stars, dazzling flowers of light in the quiet field of eternity.

Jack's nose prodded his leg. The dog sat with his tongue out, grinning. “All right,” Kiran said. “ You're allowed to be smug.”
Jack, it's time I found you a lady love.

Jack snuffled, shaking out his fur.

“ You don't think I could do as good a job for you as you've done for me?” Kiran said.

The dog sniffed disdainfully. Kiran kneeled beside him. “Thank you, my friend. You chose well.”

* * *

Bryn sat next to Dawn in a corner of the crowded inn, watching a few determined dancers make their way around the floor. In another corner, four Temple guards, looking stiff and out of place in the gathering, guarded Clea.

“The Temple won't be the same without Clea, will it?” Dawn said, rolling her eyes.

Bryn shrugged. “It's her choice to go home. She'd rather be in the Eastland when civil war arrives than stay with us. Ilona said she could continue to study at the Temple if she wished.”

“Without the power to cast curses? That would be like asking a vulture to live without carrion,” Dawn replied. “Not in her nature.”

“As a favor to myself,” Bryn said with a wink, “I'm going to forget her.”

“That reminds me—when you see Eloise, blast the sneer off her face, will you, Bryn? As a favor to
me
.”

Bryn laughed. “May she meet with a cyclone.”

“I'm glad Clea can't curse anyone again, but she can still make mischief—she's rich enough.”

Bryn leaned forward to poke her friend's shoulder. “So are you. But what else have you got? Friendship, music, and adventure.”

“True.” Dawn's azure eyes sparkled. “Speaking of adventure, where shall we travel next spring?”

Bryn smiled. “There's a certain beloved sinkhole some call Uste that I'd like to visit. Beyond that, I want to go wherever the music is playing.” She stood. “I'm going to find Kiran.”

“I saw him go out with Jack.” Dawn pointed to the door.

Outside, Kiran stood with Jack. Bryn gave a little skip toward them. Jack bounded to meet her, barking joyfully, leaping up to lick her face.

“ You shouldn't let him paw you that way,” Kiran said, smiling.

The moon's crescent shone beside silvery stars. With one accord, they turned toward the inn's stable, where Obsidian would be. “When Avrohom makes a tune of your journey to the queen,” Kiran said, “ your courage will be sung throughout the world.”

Bryn shook her head, smiling. “Without friends I'd be a coward.”

“I don't believe you.” He stopped outside the stable door, and turned to face her. His arms went round her, pulling her close.

He leaned down. As she kissed Kiran, Bryn's heart danced like a breeze through green fields.

And above them, a plume of thistledown caught the light of the stars.