fellow oracles. She ascended the lowest step of the dais to address the others, but before she could speak, Sameska gripped her shoulder tightly in aged fingers of rigid iron. 'You are unwanted in this chamber, child. Join your sister at the gates.' She turned to the oracles. 'Share in her blasphemy and none of you will darken this church's doorstep again!' Dres calmly removed Sameska's hand from her shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to show the high oracle that her touch would not be tolerated again. 'For many months we have been without prophecy, relying on minor divinations and fethra petals to guide our lives. For a tenday or so, we have suffered the blush, watching loved ones succumb to fever and bleeding sores.' She paused to allow her words to sink in. 'And only two days ago, we were warned of approaching evil. Have you not wondered why prophecy did not come sooner?' A few in the hushed crowd gasped at Dreslya's open defiance of Sameska's authority, but to the high oracle's growing irritation, many listened closely, while still others nodded quietly.
'Your words ring hollow, Dreslya Loethe. The plague, the storms, and the Hoarite have all come in accordance with the will of Savras and his divine wisdom. Do you now question the prophecy that unfolds before your very eyes?' Dreslya turned and raised her emerald eyes to look upon Sameska as one might view a stubborn child. Her own recent visions gave her new understanding of the high oracle, erasing the old woman's facade of power and control, replacing it with a priestess full of fear and spite. She pitied Sameska, but tempered her pity with anger and concern for her people. 'I do not question Savras or his will,' she began, her voice uncharacteristically strong and clear. 'I question the shepherd of his temple, the seer that might destroy us all.' Sameska narrowed her eyes, speechless before this confirmation of betrayal within her own temple. Her anger seethed and boiled as the audience of oracles murmured and watched in shock. Before the high oracle could respond, a cracking sound drew all eyes to the ceiling and the glass dome above. Spider web fractures crawled through the glass like slow lightning captured in myriad colors. The largest cracks, near the center, grew dark and more defined as they began to bleed.
The water's surface bubbled and steamed as Morgynn chanted the words on the scroll. She stirred the bowl with a finger, churning the images into a swirl of shapes and colors. Beyond the sound of her own voice and the blood pounding in her ears, she could hear the dim buzz of words echoing from the scrying bowl-words that changed to screams as her magic took shape in the sanctuary. Each shard of glass tumbled end over end in slow motion as she completed the first portion of the spell. She chanted, watching the reflections of the gathered oracles scattering in the flashing mirrors of the shattered dome. Her hands turned and pushed against the air, shaping the spell and focusing it.
The mind of the creature she summoned was dull and shiftless, a slave to her will. Its airy body spun, snatching the shards from the air, making them one with its body. A single shard caught the reflection of her chosen victim and froze in the tempest of falling glass. She stood alone, dark-haired with pale skin, a single pulse growing stronger as the spell gripped her heart and mind in its vile embrace. The blush was weak in her, only the root of the infection that would make her vulnerable to the spell Morgynn wove. Her blood-born voice roared in the girl's ears as the magic was completed. The blood magus released the bowl from her power, panting and wringing her hands as the magic drained from her body. The scroll had burned away, leaving only a thin dusting of gray ash coating her hands. Gooseflesh rose and fell in waves across her flushed skin and she steadied herself before returning her gaze to the water. 'My lady.' Khaemil's voice rang with concern as he stared out the tower's window into the darkness of the field and forest beyond. 'Something is happening outside.' He held his mace in a tight grip, squinting to make out movement near the forest's edge and growling absently through slightly bared fangs. Morgynn barely heard his voice above the torrent of her own heartbeat and was annoyed at the intrusion on her moment of pleasure. She watched the reflection in the bowl as her magic took effect, then reluctantly turned away from the image to join Khaemil at the window. In the rippling waters of the scrying bowl, the young savant stared blindly into a twisting cyclone of crimson razors with eyes that grew clouded with red as cold sweat poured down her face and neck.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Most of the oracles retreated to the edges of the chamber, screaming and praying for release from the magic that descended from the ceiling. A glittering whirlwind of spinning glass forced the shards to crash into one another, pulverizing them into a fine dust of flying razors. Sameska took faltering steps backward, her mumbled prayers for forgiveness lost in the tempest of wind and glass.
Startled at first, Dreslya gathered her wits and concentrated to think of a spell to counter the intruding magic. She dropped her bundle to the floor and gripped her holy symbol tightly before her. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as she watched one ensorcelled savant walk closer and closer to the falling doom of shredding glass. If the other oracles would add their power to mine, we might have a chance, she thought in despair. But most still accepted the prophecy and would not violate its edict. The wheeling cloud centered itself over the ancient rune-inscribed circle of before the altar, the sacred place of the high oracle where the most powerful visions had been born in ages past. Large chunks of glass fell from the tempest's center, shattering as they crashed to the stone of the circle, covering it in sharp slivers. Something about the whirlwind's movement nudged Dreslya's memory and she quickly realized that the thing was not merely a magical wind, but an air elemental. The dark- haired savant edged closer still to the perimeter of the circle, gazing upward into the spinning gale with blood- rimmed eyes and a blank stare. Dreslya held back an empathic gasp as the girl's foot crunched on the glass, her sandles merely padded cloth that offered little protection from injury. The imagined pain cleared Dreslya's head and she hurried to cast a spell. Conjuring a gust of swift wind, she directed it toward the circle, sweeping away the fallen glass, though it could not loosen the shards that already pierced the savant's bleeding foot. The dark maelstrom lowered menacingly, hovering just above the girl's upturned face, bits of glass scratching her cheeks and forehead as they whipped past. The cloth that covered the blood-stained statue of Savras was ripped away and carried into the cyclone, fluttering as it was sliced apart and lost. The statue stared blankly upon the scene, dried rivers of brown blood trailing from its eyes. Sameska fell as the statue was revealed, and she scrambled backward weakly on hands and heels, averting her eyes. Dreslya stepped as close to the circle as she dared and held her hands out at her sides, intoning an ancient rite. The duties and powers of acting Sybilite were still hers, and the temple's protections were formidable. A spell of command tumbled past her lips easily as she cast, stoically watching as several cuts appeared on the savant's face. Her voice was ragged and desperate as she shouted the last. 'Peshtak revallas, emuarte!' The chamber shook with power, and the spinning wind slowed for a moment, recognizing a sudden threat.
The sanctuary's runes glowed and burst to life, arcing across walls and floors like the lightning outside. Light beamed through the darkness of the foul wind, and the air creature writhed, surging upward to seek escape. Glass fell in a sparkling rain as the elemental abandoned its weapons and the helpless prey below. Trapped in the temple's net of spells, the wind quickly dissipated, destroyed by the magical wards of the temple. Silence fell upon the chamber, broken only by sobs and the scraping feet of those rising from where they'd fallen. Rain splashed high above where the glass dome had been, the wards preventing the weather from penetrating. Dreslya rushed forward to catch the dark-haired savant as the temple's white light banished the girl's strange possession. She caught the wounded priestess and lowered her to the floor. Ignoring the sacred circle beneath them, she inspected the girl's bleeding cuts and whispered prayers of healing to close them. Other oracles rushed forward to help. Dreslya rose, feeling slightly dizzy but relieved. Sameska stood as well, watching as rain slid across the invisible shield of power in the gaping hole above. Eyeing the chaos and disheveled oracles, she addressed the fearful and berated the blasphemous. 'This is what comes of our betrayal! This is his punishment, his wrath in answer to our doubt! We must-' 'No.' Dres spoke quietly, but the runes in the chamber still pulsed to her command, amplifying her voice and vibrating in the floor. Sameska stumbled back as if struck. 'Savras is not a god of blood and vengeance. We are taught to heed his words, not fear them.'
She turned to speak to the oracles, ignoring Sameska. 'I know that doubt still grips you, and I will not dismiss your fears as petty or trivial. I will ask none of you to join me at the gates to meet the evil that seeks to tear us apart.' She paused, looking down at the blood staining the deep grooves of the circle and the shimmering glass spread across the floor. 'But I will tell you this… I have been shown that a prophecy does indeed unfold before us, and we must decide for ourselves what parts we shall play in it.' Dres retrieved her bundle from the floor and turned to leave the chamber. Every oracle watched her go, still shaken and contemplating her words. Sameska
