Roar, page 16
It was then that he abruptly remembered that there was one other person present who could surely tell him something. But she did not look as though she wanted to help him – except maybe into a coffin. Still, he had to try. So Thorm took a deep breath to calm his nerves and turned to the hag.
“I don't suppose you could help?”
“Me?! I wouldn't help you even if I could beast!” She stared evenly at him, her eyes filled with hatred while blood continued to leak down her front. “I'd rather wish you a lingering death from a plague of festering boils.”
“Uh huh.” Thorm nodded, understanding that there was no hope with her. But then he had expected it.
“You know, I still didn't harm your sister. I couldn't.” Thorm thought he should at least try to defend himself once more. And couldn't oracles tell the truth when it was said to them anyway? Even if they weren't in their temples? He thought he'd heard that story among the others. But he didn't actually know which of those stories were true and which were simple wondrous tales spun for a few copper bits.
“Liar!” Matilde spat at him again.
“I am not lying. Ask your companion,” he added with a nod to Potaine. “Oracles know the truth when they hear it do they not? Well, that's what happened: The Enforcer marched into my store without warning. He had a witch hunter with him. She pointed her finger at me and named me as a wizard. And then your sister came flying in when the Enforcer called for her and attacked me. I had no time to prepare a defence. I could defend myself against you because you gave me time and I am light on my feet in this form. But there was no time then. She attacked with her magic and threw me through the back wall of my store. It left me broken and dying and changing. But you should know that this is not unusual behaviour for her. She has killed many many others in cold blood. She is a murderer.” Thorm paused and then looked directly into Matilde’s eyes. “Just like you would have become had you succeeding in killing me this day.”
“My sister is not a murderer!”
“Tell that to the scores of innocents she has put in the ground!” Thorm wasn't going to accept her lies. He understood them, even that there might be some truth to them, but they were still lies.
Matilde's only answer was to glare at him, hatred in her eyes. And despite what Thorm had suggested, she didn't ask her companion if what he had said was the true. Nor he noticed, had the Oracle volunteered the information. Maybe oracles couldn't determine what was true and what was false as he had heard?
Thorm knew he would never convince the woman of his innocence. And if she knew anything useful she would never tell him anyway. Speaking to her was pointless. And being anywhere near her was dangerous. As soon as the Oracle was away or distracted she would try to kill him. But even if she didn't, the hag's daughter Camille would probably try to do the same. By all the hells, even Mara might try to kill him once she found out who he was. His time with the escaped prisoners was at an end. He had to leave.
“Hag,” he decided it was time to finally dispense with the pleasantries, “you can believe me or not. I care little about what dark thoughts run through that withered brain of yours. I am an Endorson. My family has always followed the ways of Zara, as do I. But no matter what else you believe, know this: You owe me your life and your niece's freedom. I could have torn your throat out with scarcely an effort and it would have been just since you attacked me without warning or cause and tried to kill me. You are nothing more than a vile brigand attacking the innocent. Equally I could have left those prisoners in their dungeon to rot. Including your niece. I spared you and I rescued them.”
“You are in my debt. A life debt. Twice over. Remember that.”
Matilde's only answer was more angry silence as she glared at him. He hoped that in time – once she had found some calm – she would remember what he had said. He doubted she had any sense of honour – she was a hag after all – but it might keep her from trying to kill him again. Or not.
Either way he had said what he needed to say. Thorm realised that all he had left to do was to hear from the Oracle. He hoped that what she said would be worth hearing, though he doubted it. He didn't have to wait long.
“So you are not in the employ of the Eternal King?”
“Not by the Seven!” He was amazed that she could even ask such a question. “I have broken two hundred prisoners out of his central dungeon, and protected as many of them as I can from attacks by the hunters he sent after them. His trolls and soldiers will not be returning because of me. Nor his mammoths.”
“Why did you free the prisoners?” She didn't question Thorm on his answers but switched immediately to her next question.
“When I heard the roster called and learned that there were hamadryads locked up, I realised that they might have the knowledge I need to undo this spell and return me to my human form. And I knew that I could not learn what they knew while they were locked in the dungeon.”
“You believe that what has happened to you is the result of a spell?”
“Well of course! The ha –.” Thorm caught himself before he set the other hag off again. “The fell witch did this to me.” He paused. “You think it wasn’t caused by a spell?” Though how that could be so he couldn’t grasp. His change certainly wasn’t natural.
“You were in the dungeon to hear this roster called?” The Oracle ignored his question.
“No. Not exactly. I was in the sewers underneath the dungeon. I go there every few days to hear the roster being read out.”
“Why?”
“Because I was exposed as a wizard. That makes me a criminal. But so too is harbouring a wizard. Even though my family know nothing of my nature, I fear that they will one day be accused of this and will be locked away. So I go and I listen to see if any of my family’s names are called. And I prepare to free them when that day comes.” Of course that would be more difficult now.
“I see.” The Oracle stopped with her questions and stood there staring at Thorm after that. Studying him. Perhaps weighing his words.
It gave Thorm the chance to ask his own questions. “Oracle, if you cannot tell me how to escape this curse laid upon me, can you at least guide me to others who might? A wizard perhaps. There must be many with magic in Erisen. Maybe a temple or a priest. Even a sage who might know what was done to me.”
“I do not know what was done to you. Whether it was the result of a spell or perhaps even the actions of the Divine. I also fear that anything I told you might only lead to trouble. A great many forces are at work in the world and millions of lives hang in the balance. All is teetering upon the edge of a knife as we walk toward war, and it would take only a tiny push for things to fall the wrong way. I cannot tell whether you are part of that which is in our favour – or the enemy's.”
“I mean you no harm!” Thorm protested.
“Perhaps. But you do not mean to help us either,” the Oracle answered him bluntly.
“How can you say that? I rescued all these people! I have kept them safe, even at the risk to my own life!” Surely that had to count for something he thought. But it was hard to stare into the face of an eyeless woman and imagine that she cared at all about his plight.
“For your own purposes.” Again she was blunt. “I do not know how to help you or even if I should try. I only know that you have the potential to upset everything.”
Her decision was made, Thorm realised. There was nothing of uncertainty in her. She thought he was dangerous and she would not help him even to relieve his suffering. But then no one had ever said that oracles were compassionate. Or even that they were there to help. They carried the words of the gods. And gods were fickle.
“Oracle, you have come to escort the prisoners to safety in Erisen?”
The Oracle nodded.
“And you don't need my help?” He knew she didn't and he knew that it would be a disaster for him to remain with her against her will. Especially with a vindictive hag in the group. Yet he had to ask. Because if nothing else, the ability to speak again was a blessing he truly valued. Just to be able to continue doing it was something he would have given anything for. But even before she shook her head he knew what her answer would be. He was a nuisance to her Goddess' plans. Still, he pleaded.
“I have been unable to speak with another soul for three long years. Unable to be seen in public. I have little or no hope of finding a solution for my curse. I would travel with you for a time if you would let me.”
“It would be neither convenient nor wise.”
Thorm sighed heavily when he heard her say that. He had known it was coming and yet it still hurt. But in time he managed to gather his strength and put the pain aside. There was still one question he needed to ask. “Then could you at least let my family know that I still live? That is, if you have any knowledge of them.”
“I'm sorry, I have no knowledge of your kin.”
Of course she didn't. Thorm had to have expected that. But still it hurt. It stole his hope. And it left him with only one thing to do. To say all that was left to be said.
“Then I seem to be left without a choice. My work is done. I have freed these people and protected them as best I could. It's time you took over. I wish them fortune.”
“As for you hag,” he turned to Matilde, “know that you are a murderous savage just like your sister. You owe me your life and your niece's freedom. But as I doubt you have any understanding of honour or the payment of debts, I will put this simply. Should you ever come near me again, I will tear your face off. All the magic in the world will not save you a second time.”
The hag didn't answer him though clearly she wanted to. Thorm could see the rage in her bone white face as she tried to force some words out. But nothing made it past her lips. He wondered if that was the Oracle’s doing.
“And as for me?” The Oracle raised an eyebrow in his direction.
“You set this savage upon me. And you have refused to help. In any way. To suggest even a possibility of help. Or even to allow me a small moment of relief from my plight. Though you have not attacked me, I see you as little better than your companion. I do not wish to see or hear from you ever again.” If there was bitterness in his words, Thorm thought it was deserved. To have come so close and then to be denied! It had been cruel. He also didn't accept her reasons for it.
With that Thorm turned and headed back toward the distant forest and his home beyond. He even managed to make it to a lope, despite the fact that he could now fully feel the pain of his injuries now that the fear and anger were subsiding. But he knew he wouldn't be able to maintain his pace forever. Fairly soon his injuries would make him slow down. Maybe he would even be forced to stop for a time as he had to rest and recover. But he would be damned if he would let the Oracle or the hag see just how badly he had been injured.
But the true pain was not physical. It was in knowing that he had come so close to finding his answers, and then being denied. Everything he had done had come to nought.
And yet, he thought, he supposed there had been some small achievements. He had learnt some new spells that would be useful. He had managed to fight ably with the ones he already had. He had even defeated “a hag” if not “the hag”. And he had learnt that oracles still existed and he could speak with them. The last gave him hope. Though he had not learnt what he needed to from this oracle – and he wasn't completely certain whether that was because she didn't know the answers or because she didn't want to share them – there might well be other oracles out there.
If he could find the Oracle of Zara! That was hope.
Chapter Sixteen
The camp was buzzing for once. That was surprising since for days now it had been quiet. People had moved beyond the stage of worrying about what was coming after them and simply fallen into the silence of continual exhaustion. After days of hearing the battles in the forest and then the scouts reporting the discovery of dead trolls and soldiers, then later witnessing the battle with the mammoth riders followed by their fleeing for their lives it had become obvious that their defender was far more capable than the King's soldiers. And once the worry had faded, people had more or less stopped talking about it.
The group were also becoming used to the occasional arrival of the winged dryads with food and medical supplies. Initially it had been a source of conversation as they'd spent a lot of strength just arguing over who was helping them. Now they knew, and no one wondered any more. For a day after the avaryads had arrived they had been the subject of conversation. Most people – humans at least – had thought the winged people were nothing but myth and legend. Now they knew better, but it wasn't something they needed to talk about any more.
There was little left to say. In fact ever since the battle with the mammoths they had simply marched and collapsed. It was all there was. Though they were fitter and stronger than they had been, that just meant they marched further each day before they collapsed. But they still collapsed – in silence.
But just an hour before the sky had turned to flames, a fiery tornado had raced across the grasslands, lightning and thunder had raged, and the green eyed magical lion and a wizard had gone to war. It had been a battle such as only the bards could have imagined. They had all watched the shocking battle with every one of them thinking the same thing. None of them wanted to face either of the combatants.
Then, ten minutes ago an oracle and a fell witch had walked into the camp and told them what had happened, and no one had been able to stop speaking. But for Camille there had been an extra punch. The fell witch turned out to be her Aunt Matilde!
Matilde was her mother's sister. Camille hadn't seen her in fifteen years. Not since her mother had been found out by the King's men and brought to the Palace of the Sun. All she knew of her was what her mother had told her, and the occasional letter that had reached her – before she was taken to the dungeon. But strangely she had recognised her instantly. Aunt Matilde looked so similar to her mother before the drugs had started affecting her, that it was like staring at a memory.
But an angry memory. Even as Camille tended to her aunt’s injuries, she could not help but feel that her aunt was not the person she remembered from her childhood. She was no longer a smiling happy woman who loved nothing more than to bring her niece little gifts. Now she was a fell witch of commanding power and even greater anger. And somewhere along the line she had fallen into the service of an oracle. Camille had no idea how that could have happened but she knew it had to rankle. Her aunt was a proud woman. She was never one to serve.
The events had breathed life back into the camp, and even as someone had set the water to boil for the tea, speculation was rife about what it all meant. It seemed the Oracle had sent their guardian green eyed lion away and had decided that she and Aunt Matilde would replace him as the group’s defenders on the rest of their journey to Erisen. The Oracle meanwhile had fallen silent on the matter. Sitting in the middle of the camp having told them what she needed to tell them, she had stopped speaking and apparently become lost in her thoughts.
She was a frightening looking woman with those burnt out eyes and crude stitches although Camille knew that that was a common thing for oracles. It was how they were generally depicted in the tales spun by the bards and in the histories of the various sages. Still, it was hard to gaze on her face and not know a little shudder of dread. Anyone who would do that to themselves or allow it to be done to them, was not someone to be trifled with. Or to be questioned. It was claimed that the sacrifice of an oracle's eyes was an act of faith. Or perhaps a bargain? It was said to be done so that the oracle’s vision could be replaced with that of their goddess Artana.
As she worked on her aunt's injuries Camille kept glancing across to the Oracle sitting just a few feet away and trying to suppress a shudder. Potaine was staring away into the distance and Camille kept wondering just what it was she saw. Because it was certain to be more than she or any other could see. Much more. Artana was after all the Sister of Light.
But she didn't have time to reflect on the matter. She also put aside the other questions that had been plaguing her ever since the escape. Questions such as why the hamadryads had been captured and thrown in the dungeon? Why had the avaryads chosen to involve themselves? Why had the Oracle and her aunt come? Why had her aunt attacked the green eyed lion? And perhaps most important of all, what would happen when they reached Erisen? Camille had so many questions but just then she had time for none of them.
Not when even as she tended to her aunt's injuries she was forced to listen to the woman’s complaints. And Aunt Matilde had a lot of them. Chief amongst them was her anger that she had been bested by either a lion or a wizard. Personally Camille thought her aunt was lucky to be alive. The escapees had all witnessed the results of the lion’s battles with the trolls, the mammoths and even the avaryads and knew the beast to be a fierce defender. Her aunt must have been mad to have attacked the lion wizard. Camille told her as much as she dabbed at her wounds.
