Eliot leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “That’s exactly why it’s best to keep your distance. A trained Oracle would be better able to suppress visions concerning the things or people they touched, unless they wished to see them. Suppressing their magic is the first thing Oracles learn.”
Knowing what she did about the curse of Oracle magic, Ilsa found this unsurprising. She nodded at the chemist. “And she ain’t learned that?”
Eliot grimaced. “It’s ironic. One would think a people with such an unparalleled grasp of the mechanisms of fate would have less affinity for the self-fulfilling prophecy. The Oracles believe their magic is sacred, and those who can wield it are chosen by the gods. When an Oracle is born, another will See into their future and determine their capacity for controlling their magic. Those deemed to have little capacity – more than half, most likely including the girl in there – are forsaken. They’re abandoned to a lifetime in the Glare. They’re the ones who often turn to vemanta. If they’re deemed to have adequate strength and mental acuity, they are taught how to not use their magic; how to amplify the here and now and minimise the Glare in the hopes of leading a halfway normal existence. Only if they’re exceptional will they start to learn a specific skill. The acolytes, for example. They’re trained in combat, so they learn how to concentrate on the immediate future and See their opponent’s next move. It’s an inexact science, of course. Every time they use their magic in combat, they change the fight.”
“How?”
Eliot ran a hand over his face. “It’s… complex.”
“Try me,” said Ilsa, folding her arms. “I ain’t simple.”
Eliot was quiet a moment as he considered it. “You and I can’t act to change the future directly,” he said slowly. “We’re destined to take whatever course it is we’re going to take, but if an Oracle Sees that course, they can try to change it. If their magic tells them you’re going to lunge for their right, they can step left, but then you will react to the change they’ve made, you see?”
“I ain’t gonna lunge for their right if it ain’t there no more.”
“Exactly. So as the acolyte steps left, the future changes. And perhaps they’ll See that too…”
“But in the meantime, I’ve whipped them off their feet with my tail.”
Eliot smiled. “So you see the bind. Fighting takes presence and concentration, and Seeing demands their focus is elsewhere, on the moment ahead. Yes, their magic can grant an advantage, but balancing the two introduces plenty of room for error.” He laughed sardonically. “If you ask me, acolytes are fodder. They teach them nothing but combat, out of fear they could turn against them. When your militia’s family are all poverty-stricken addicts because you refuse to care for them, you don’t run the risk of arming them with the full strength of their own magic. An eternity of knowledge – past, present, and future – and all an acolyte knows how to See is the next few seconds.
“Of course, Seeing further into the future becomes even more fraught. There are countless Oracles out there making changes according to what they See, then others make changes to those changes and so on. Some are small, some have implications that stretch on for centuries. Those Oracles skilled in prophecy tend to spend their days studying what might have been and writing furious scripture about who among them should be allowed to act against the future.
“But among the most highly prized Oracles are the ones who study the present moment.”
“What’s so special ’bout that? I can see the present moment just fine and I ain’t even an Oracle.”
“You can see the present moment here,” said Eliot. “Imagine the value of Seeing what the Sage was up to this very moment.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly. But the difficulties in using that type of Sight are manifold. Simply keeping their grasp on the thing they wish to See is a challenge. The present is in motion. It’s much harder to stay focused on it than it is to look into the past.”
“I’ll say,” muttered Ilsa, whose head was starting to hurt. She looked at the chemist. “So you reckon if I get too close, she might know her militia friends are looking for me?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
“That’s unfortunate, ’cause I got an idea. Make yourself invisible.”
He looked at her like she’d gone mad. “I don’t know what kind of Changeling you are, but invisible isn’t in my repertoire.”
“Not like that. Watch me.”
A couple of shops down was a greengrocer, and Ilsa concealed herself in the shadow of its striped awning, where she made herself invisible. It didn’t take much; in both Londons, people in the street barely paid attention to each other anyway. She dulled the shine from her hair, leached the pink from her cheeks and lips, and made herself a couple of inches shorter. The rest was just misdirection, the kind she used on stage when she wanted the audience to look elsewhere. Hunched shoulders, eyes downcast, no large or sudden movements. Looking awed and confused, Eliot followed suit.
When the girl re-emerged from the chemist, empty-handed, she passed them like they weren’t even there, and did not look around when they started following at a distance.
“I have no idea where you’re going with this and it still feels like a bad idea,” Eliot said under his breath.
“I got us this far, din’t I?” Ilsa said in a whisper, as the girl made a right turn and descended the steps to a basement flat.
Even from street level, Ilsa knew where they were. No curtain hung in the front windows, but what looked like blankets had been strung up to keep out the light; the ramshackle door had a latch but no handle or lock, for ease of coming and going; and a beguiling floral scent with an undertone of human grime clung to the air.
This was an opium den. Or rather,
