Read Online The Light of the Oracle by Victoria Hanley - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Hanley
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continued on, for the thistledown led through many corridors, deep into the Temple. Though she kept expecting to come across a guard or at least a senior acolyte, no one appeared. She crept down winding stairways of stone; as she gradually descended, the floors grew chillier. The thistledown glided in front of her, shedding light.
She came to yet another stairway; its narrow steps led straight down. At the bottom, a blind trench of stone ended in a silver door.
With the thistledown hovering close, Bryn examined the door. Its metal was wrought into twisting patterns around a large keltice at the center. Hesitantly, she touched the keltice. Her fingers pulsed.
The door swung open, silent as Bryn's feet on the smooth floor. She entered a warm chamber that seemed to be formed out of the same light that shone from her thistledown. Pure and bright, the light cascaded over hundreds of symbols she didn't recognize, and flowed across the softly domed ceiling and over the clean floor.
Bryn bent to the floor, wondering how stone could be so radiant. Her father and brothers had spoken of a stone known as alabaster. Was this floor made of alabaster? Was the entire chamber made of it?
Kneeling, she felt the chamber's brilliance pour through her, dazzling her mind. The longer she kneeled, the brighter the light shone in and around her.
When at last she stood, she felt as if her spirit had been altered by a power utterly beyond her understanding.
I'll never be the same again
.
She noticed a couch upholstered in gold velvet next to the wall, and wondered how she had missed seeing it before. She sidled up to it. The cushion felt softer than anything she had ever touched, as if spun from golden flower petals.
She was suddenly tired, terribly so. She knew sheshould leave again now, find the thistledown, let it guide her back to the handmaids' hall. But how inviting the couch was; surely it wouldn't hurt to lie down for a little while, just until she felt able to climb the stairs again.
Bryn fell asleep almost instantly after lying on the golden couch, and began to dream vividly.
A roar filled her ears. A strong wind was tumbling her toward an enormous faceless rock. She couldn't stop her headlong rush or even guide her own direction in any way.
She sped toward the wall of rock, extending her arms to brace herself against the impact that would come. As her hands hit it, the rock dissolved into grains of sand. Her arms sank into the softening stone, and her body followed, driven by the forceful wind. Sand coated her as she passed through it.
When she staggered out into free air, she sensed she had landed in the future, and that she was in Sliviia, the empire beyond the Grizordia Mountains.
The only light in the great room where she stood came from one narrow window and a skylight. The newly dead bodies of at least fifty men were strewn on the floor. Beside her was a soldier; he wore a leather doublet, striped gray and black, and steel-banded gloves. A black axe hung at his hip, its wicked blade gleaming. A double line of evenly cut scars ran from his forehead to his jaw. Fresh blood spattered his cheek.
Bryn tried to jump away from him, but shecouldn't move. He paid her no attention, and she realized he couldn't see her.
Others like him were grouped nearby, all looking down at a man who lay bleeding from a cut in his throat. Though his position seemed helpless, the wounded man inspired fear. Who was he? Bryn wondered.
Lord Morlen
, said a voice in her mind—the bell-like tone she'd heard only once before, in the great room that held the altar to the Oracle.
Morlen spoke in a rasping whisper. “I will seek you through death and beyond.”
Bryn's heart pounded in terror. To whom did he speak?
Lord Morlen will die, killed by a young woman with a knife
, said the voice of the Oracle.
Then the wind took hold of Bryn again, carrying her away from the dream of death in Sliviia, rushing her back through the wall of sand.
Stirring
She came to yet another stairway; its narrow steps led straight down. At the bottom, a blind trench of stone ended in a silver door.
With the thistledown hovering close, Bryn examined the door. Its metal was wrought into twisting patterns around a large keltice at the center. Hesitantly, she touched the keltice. Her fingers pulsed.
The door swung open, silent as Bryn's feet on the smooth floor. She entered a warm chamber that seemed to be formed out of the same light that shone from her thistledown. Pure and bright, the light cascaded over hundreds of symbols she didn't recognize, and flowed across the softly domed ceiling and over the clean floor.
Bryn bent to the floor, wondering how stone could be so radiant. Her father and brothers had spoken of a stone known as alabaster. Was this floor made of alabaster? Was the entire chamber made of it?
Kneeling, she felt the chamber's brilliance pour through her, dazzling her mind. The longer she kneeled, the brighter the light shone in and around her.
When at last she stood, she felt as if her spirit had been altered by a power utterly beyond her understanding.
I'll never be the same again
.
She noticed a couch upholstered in gold velvet next to the wall, and wondered how she had missed seeing it before. She sidled up to it. The cushion felt softer than anything she had ever touched, as if spun from golden flower petals.
She was suddenly tired, terribly so. She knew sheshould leave again now, find the thistledown, let it guide her back to the handmaids' hall. But how inviting the couch was; surely it wouldn't hurt to lie down for a little while, just until she felt able to climb the stairs again.
Bryn fell asleep almost instantly after lying on the golden couch, and began to dream vividly.
A roar filled her ears. A strong wind was tumbling her toward an enormous faceless rock. She couldn't stop her headlong rush or even guide her own direction in any way.
She sped toward the wall of rock, extending her arms to brace herself against the impact that would come. As her hands hit it, the rock dissolved into grains of sand. Her arms sank into the softening stone, and her body followed, driven by the forceful wind. Sand coated her as she passed through it.
When she staggered out into free air, she sensed she had landed in the future, and that she was in Sliviia, the empire beyond the Grizordia Mountains.
The only light in the great room where she stood came from one narrow window and a skylight. The newly dead bodies of at least fifty men were strewn on the floor. Beside her was a soldier; he wore a leather doublet, striped gray and black, and steel-banded gloves. A black axe hung at his hip, its wicked blade gleaming. A double line of evenly cut scars ran from his forehead to his jaw. Fresh blood spattered his cheek.
Bryn tried to jump away from him, but shecouldn't move. He paid her no attention, and she realized he couldn't see her.
Others like him were grouped nearby, all looking down at a man who lay bleeding from a cut in his throat. Though his position seemed helpless, the wounded man inspired fear. Who was he? Bryn wondered.
Lord Morlen
, said a voice in her mind—the bell-like tone she'd heard only once before, in the great room that held the altar to the Oracle.
Morlen spoke in a rasping whisper. “I will seek you through death and beyond.”
Bryn's heart pounded in terror. To whom did he speak?
Lord Morlen will die, killed by a young woman with a knife
, said the voice of the Oracle.
Then the wind took hold of Bryn again, carrying her away from the dream of death in Sliviia, rushing her back through the wall of sand.
Stirring
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