“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.”