“Recording ready, High Oracle.”
Pelagia turned back to the dais. “Now, we’ll try again, Sister Kara. And we will keep trying until the complete prophecy is read.”
Kara’s blindfolded face tilted toward the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry, High Oracle. The prophecy is… difficult.”
Pelagia pursed her lips. What Kara said was perfectly true—the Ritual of Prophecy was difficult, a skill that required years of practice and a lifetime of dedication. Not only that, Sister Kara was a novice, having joined the Chapel at Baleton only a year before. To be part of the Ritual for one so inexperienced was unheard of, but that was exactly why Pelagia was using her.
What she hadn’t told Kara—or any of the others, for that matter—was the real reason for her visit. Because she wasn’t here to personally supervise a novice attempting her first prophecy. No. She was here to gather more evidence, data she hoped would confirm a theory—one that had occupied virtually all her thoughts these last few weeks.
The Prophecies were being… well, interfered with. That was the only way she could describe it. Somehow, what the Sisters were seeing was not coming to pass—Pelagia had spent several months reviewing the prophecies sent to the High Overseer in Dunwall, even going back and listening to the original audiographs to ensure there had been no errors in their transcription, or manipulation of their content.
But the facts spoke for themselves. Something was wrong—something that would have profound repercussions not just for the Oracular Order but for the Empire itself, if the root cause could not be identified and eliminated. The prophecies of the Sisterhood were used for a multitude of purposes and helped to steer great decisionsof state. They could be used to declare war and peace alike, to aid in negotiations between the nation-states of the Empire of the Isles, down to planning crop rotations, fighting natural disasters and even predicting the weather. The fate of the world—the course of history itself—pivoted on the reports they fed to the High Overseer of the Abbey of the Everyman, Yul Khulan, who in turn reviewed the prophecies and disseminated the important information they contained to the relevant parties across the Isles.
The Sisters of the Oracular Order were the most powerful group in the whole Empire.
And interference in their work could not be tolerated.
Which was why the High Oracle herself was here, in Baleton. The Chapel in the small city on the western coast of Gristol had never hosted the Order’s leader in its entire history. And that was why she had chosen Kara, the young novice, to read the Prophecy. Her lack of experience and training would, Pelagia hoped, reveal more about the mechanism of the interference, the novice’s unshielded, naked mind more open to see and read what the other Sisters—trained, experienced, disciplined—had long since learned to disregard, to tune out.
So went Pelagia’s theory, anyway.
“Yes,” she said. “The Ritual of the Prophecy is difficult. But, Sister Kara, did you expect anything else?”
“I’m… I’m sorry, High Oracle.”
Pelagia sighed. Around the circle, the five other Sisters knelt in silence, their own bodies, Pelagia had no doubt, screaming for a rest. But the five other Sisters were among the most senior of the Baleton Chapel. They were used to the discomfort. They were warriors and athletes as much as they were prophets, their bodies trained as much as their minds. Discomfort was a central part of their lives.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Sister,” said Pelagia.“But if you wish to truly embrace our Order, if you wish to give yourself to it, wholly, then you must learn the Ritual of Prophecy. You must learn to reach out with your mind, dream about the Void, to see through it in order to read what the future will be. Remember, we are here to help. The seven Sisters are all part of the ritual, together. So concentrate, and reach out to us, draw on our strength to fuel your own.” Pelagia paused. “I am the High Oracle. I am here as your guide. Draw on my strength and read the future.”
Sister Kara bowed her head, then lifted it toward the ceiling. “Yes, High Oracle. I am ready.”
“Good,” said Pelagia. “Then we begin again. Sister Beatris, resume the recording.”
Beatris nodded and depressed the activation lever on the audiograph recorder. The machine whirred into life, the gentle clicking of the recording pins sounding like distant rainfall as it bounced around the circular walls of the chamber, the punch card slowly crawling out of the slot on the side of the device.
On the dais, Kara lifted herself up, then settled back on her haunches, resting her hands on her thighs. She rolled her neck and closed her eyes behind the red veil.
“The High Oracle guides you, Sister,” whispered Pelagia. “You have nothing to fear. Let the future show itself.”
The Sisters remained silent. The audiograph recorder chattered. Kara began to sway slightly as she drew short, sharp breaths between clenched teeth.
“Relax, Sister, relax,” said Pelagia. “Open your mind and let the Ritual of the Prophecy steer you toward the light. Relax, relax, relax.”
Kara rolled her neck again, then curled her fingers into fists. She stretched her neck back, her veiled eyes screwed shut, her face twisting into a grimace.
The audiograph recorder whirred, and the Sisters—and their High Oracle—waited for Kara’s vision of the future.
* * *
Day passed into night, and the Cloister of Prophecy grew dark. As the seven Sisters knelt in position, another member of the order slipped in and lit the four old-fashioned whale-tallow lamps that stood at the compass points in the circular room then retreated, leaving the others to their work.
The High Oracle and her Sisters waited. They would have no rest, no food, no water, until the Ritual of Prophecy was complete.
Another hour.
And then Sister Kara gasped, taking a huge, gulping breath as though surfacing from a deep, cold pool of water.
On the High Oracle’s left, Sister Hathena jumped, startled. She glanced
