Raymond Feist - A Darkness at Sethanon

‘What place is this?’ asked Tomas.

‘I do not know. I know this is the world of the Aal, or once was in the past. It is ancient. See the sun.’

Tomas observed an angry white spot behind blowing clouds. ‘It is strange.’

‘It is old. Once it shone like ours, brilliant and warm. Now it fades.’

Valheru lore, long dormant, returned to Tomas. ‘It is near the end of its cycle. I have knowledge of these. Sometimes they simply dwindle to nothing. Other times … they explode in titanic fury. I wonder which this will be.’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps the oracle knows.’ Pug directed Tomas toward a distant range of mountains.

Toward the mountains they sped, Ryath’s powerful wings carrying them swiftly. The city had stood on the edge of tableland, once cultivated, they suspected. But nothing hinting of farms remained, save a single stretch of what seemed an aqueduct, standing isolated in the centre of the broad plain, a silent monument to a long dead people. Then Ryath began to climb as they approached the mountains. Once again they flew between mountain peaks, these old and worn by wind and rain.

‘There,’ said Pug. ‘We have arrived.’

Following Tomas’s mental instructions, Ryath circled above a peak. Upon the south-facing rocks a clear flat place was revealed, before a large cave. There was no room for the giant dragon to land, so Tomas used his powers to levitate himself and Pug from her back. Ryath sent a message that she would fly to hunt, returning at Tomas’s call. Tomas wished her success, but expected the dragon to return hungry.

They floated through a damp, windblown sky, so darkened by the storm there was little difference between day and night. They alighted upon the ledge before the cave.

They watched Ryath speed away. Pug said, ‘There is no danger here, but we may yet travel to places of great peril. Do you think Ryath truly without fear?’

Tomas turned to Pug with a smile. ‘I think her so. In my dreams of ancient days I touched the minds of her ancestors, and this dragon is to them as they were to your Fantus.’

‘Then it is good she joins us willingly. It would have been difficult to persuade her otherwise.’

Tomas agreed. ‘I could have destroyed her, without a doubt. But bend her to my will? I think not. The days of the Valheru ruling without question are long since vanished.’

Pug studied the alien landscape below the ledge. ‘This is a sad and hollow place. In the tomes harboured in Elvardein this world is described. It was once adorned with vast cities, homes to nations; now nothing is left.’

Tomas asked quietly, ‘What became of those people?’

‘The sun waned; weather changed. Earthquakes, famine, war. Whatever it was, it brought utter destruction.’

They turned to face the cave as a figure appeared in the entrance, shrouded from head to foot in an all-concealing robe; only one thin arm appeared from a sleeve. That arm ended in a gnarled old hand holding a staff. Slowly the man, or so he appeared to be, approached, and when he stood before them, a voice as thin as an ancient wind issued from within the dark hood. ‘Who seeks out the Oracle of Aal?’

Pug spoke. ‘I, Pug, called Milamber, magician of two worlds.’

‘And I, Tomas, called Ashen-Shugar, who has lived twice.’

The figure motioned for them to enter the cave. Tomas and Pug passed into a low, unlit tunnel. With a wave of his hand, Pug caused light to appear about them. The tunnel opened into a monstrous cavern.

Tomas halted. ‘We were but scant yards below the peak. This cavern cannot be contained within …’

Pug placed his hand upon Tomas’s arm. ‘We are somewhere else.’

The cavern was lit by faint light issuing from the walls and ceiling, so Pug ended his own spell. Several more figures in robes could be seen in distant corners of the cavern, but none approached.

The man who had greeted them upon the ledge walked past them, and they followed. Pug said, ‘What should we call you?’

The man said, ‘Whatever pleases you. Here we have no names, no past, no future. We are simply those who serve the oracle.’ He led them to a large outcropping of rock, upon which rested a strange figure. It was a young woman, or, more appropriately, a girl, perhaps no more than thirteen or fourteen, perhaps a few years older; it was difficult to judge. She was nude, covered in dirt, scratches, and her own excrement. Her long brown hair was matted with filth. Her eyes widened as they approached, and she scampered backward across the rocks, shrieking in terror. It was obvious to both men she was entirely mad. The shrieking continued while she hugged herself, then it descended the scale, changing into a mad laugh. Suddenly the girl gave the men an appraising look and began to pull at her hair, in a pitiful imitation of combing, as if she was suddenly concerned about her appearance.

Without words, the man with the staff indicated the girl. Tomas said, ‘This, then, is the oracle?’

The hooded figure nodded. ‘This is the present oracle. She will serve until her death, then another will come, as she came when she who was oracle before died. So it has always been and so will it always be.’

‘How do you survive on this dead world?’

‘We trade. Our race has perished, but others, such as yourselves, seek us out. We abide.’ He pointed to the cowering girl. ‘She is our wealth. Ask what you will.’

‘And the price?’ inquired Pug.

The hooded man repeated himself. ‘Ask what you will. The oracle answers as she chooses, when she chooses. She will name a price. She may ask for a sweet, a fruit, or your still-beating heart to eat. She may ask for a bauble with which to play.’ He indicated a pile of odd devices, cast off in the corner. ‘She may ask for a hundred sheep, or a hundredweight of grain or gold. You must decide if the knowledge you seek is worth the price asked. She sometimes answers without a price. And ofttimes she will not answer, no matter what is offered. Her nature is capricious.’

Pug stepped up to the cowering girl. She stared at him a long moment, then smiled, absently playing with her stringy hair. Pug said, ‘We seek to learn the future.’

The girl’s eyes narrowed and suddenly there was no hint of madness within. It was as if another person instantly inhabited her. In a calm voice she answered, ‘To learn this, then, will you give me my price?’

‘Name your price.’

‘Save me.’

Tomas looked at the guide. From deep within the hood the dry voice said, ‘We do not truly understand what she means. She is trapped within her own mind. It is that madness which grants her the gift of oracularity. Free her of that madness and she no longer will be the oracle. So she must have another meaning.’

Pug said, ‘Save you from what?’

The girl laughed, then the calm voice returned. ‘If you do not understand, you cannot save me.’

The figure in robes seemed to shrug. Pug considered, then said, ‘I think I do understand.’ He reached out, seizing the girl’s head between his hands. She stiffened, as if about to scream, but Pug sent a comforting mental message. What he was about to attempt was something formerly thought to be solely the province of clerics, but his time with the eldar at Elvardein had taught him that the only real limits to magic were those of the practitioner.

Pug closed his eyes and entered madness.

Pug stood in a landscape of shifting walls, a maze of maddening colours and shapes. The horizon changed with each step and perspective was nonexistent. He looked down at his hands and watched them suddenly grow larger, until they were the size of melons, then just as rapidly shrink, until they were smaller than a child’s. He looked up and could see the walls of the maze receding and approaching, seemingly at random, while their colour and pattern flashed through a dozen changes. Even the ground beneath his feet was a red and white chessboard one moment, a pattern of black and grey lines the next, then large blue and green spots on red. Angry, flashing lights sought to blind him.