The False Princess

CHAPTER TWELVE

It took six days to reach our destination. I would have thought that would be enough time for my nerves to settle, but as we sat there, staring up the road to the temple at Isidros, I had to grip my horse’s mane to stay upright. My heart pounded in my ears, and my vision felt swimmy.
“What if they won’t help us?” I asked faintly.
“Don’t think that way,” Kiernan answered. “After all, who could resist such fine and feckless-looking nobles? They’re monks and sisters, and one oracle. They won’t have seen anything like us in the God knows how long. They’ll be dazzled.”
“Or irritated that we’re disturbing their contemplations,” I muttered.
Kiernan pulled on the reins of his horse, which was trying to graze on some thistle growing on the roadside, then flashed me a look. “You’re forgetting yourself, Lady Valri. As my sister you are a charming, slightly twitter-headed girl with scholarly aspirations and a bizarre interest in the prophecies of the latest oracles. If you weren’t, I probably would have stayed in court rather than accompany you on such a journey.”
I sighed. “Of course, brother.”
Kiernan pursed his lips at the slight edge in my voice, but only kneed his horse forward and said, “Come on, then. There’s no use waiting.”
He was right, of course. So I tapped my horse’s sides, following Kiernan and the road toward the temple gates.
The journey to Isidros might have been shorter if we had had better mounts. But I had balked at the idea of taking any of Kiernan’s family’s horses—too much evidence to point back to his involvement—and so he had rented our mounts from a livery stable in Flower Basket, one unlikely to recognize the face of a young noble. Not nags by any means, but also not quite used to extended journeys, the horses tended to flag toward midafternoon.
I didn’t mind, really. The road had cut away south from Vivaskari, meandering briefly through the farmland and then forest that surrounded the city. Most of the forest spread north of the city, however, so the road had soon entered more open country again, covered in farms that gave way to gently rolling hills by the third day. The hill country of Thorvaldor was home to shepherds, goats, and sheep, drawn by the grass and room for herds to wander. I had never been there; when the royal family left the city, we had gone north, to the cool lakes and deep forests. This was different, more sparse and rugged, but not without its own beauty. The openness, the scarcity of people suited me just fine in my present mood, I discovered. I was a jangle of nerves, but the thought that we could see anyone coming for miles comforted me.
I had another comfort: Kiernan. He had taken control of the practical side of our journey, choosing where and when we would stop, making sure we had enough water and food to reach the next town, checking our horses’ hooves for stones at every rest. He begged a salve from the innkeeper on the first night after I slid off my horse and could barely walk into the inn because of the sores forming on my legs, now so unused to long days of riding. Not that he had let such responsibilities diminish his natural enthusiasm. He sang as we rode, flirted with innkeepers’ daughters to get us cheaper rooms, and generally made a spectacle of himself. He told me, when I felt guilty, that lying to Philantha had been necessary for the good of the country. (I had told her that Aunt Varil had come down with a sudden, potentially dangerous illness, and that I felt it was my duty to go to her, as her only living relative. Since Philantha had been in the middle of an experiment when I told her, she had only waved her hand and told me to be back when Aunt Varil was well or dead.) Kiernan also came up with the story that we would tell at Isidros. A pair of siblings, we were the slightly impoverished Lord Aldarich and Lady Valri. I would claim to be writing a book about the history of the oracles of Isidros, and he would claim to have accompanied me to keep me safe on the road.
Now, as we approached the walls of Isidros, I wondered if anyone would believe our story. I felt grimy, even though I had taken a bath at the inn the night before, and I knew the wind off the plains had blown my hair into a tangled puffball around my face. I didn’t feel much like a lady scholar, but I set my shoulders and pushed on.
The road led directly past the temple before winding away over the hills. A wall surrounded Isidros, broken at the front by two large, plain doors. Both stood open to reveal a courtyard made of flagstone, and we directed our horses inside. Isidros, I quickly grasped, was not one structure but a community made up of many buildings, like a tiny village. At the far end of the courtyard stood what I took to be the temple itself. Long, shallow steps led up to a columned pavilion, which in turn connected to a domed building, similar to the temples in the city. To our right lay several shorter buildings with many windows, probably the rooms of the sisters and monks who lived here, and another building almost as grand as the temple. On the left and back were the practical buildings of any community—the kitchen, surrounded by vegetable gardens, the washroom, the stable, and such. They would not stand on ceremony here, I knew, and all the inhabitants, except the oracle, would be expected to cook and wash and sew. Beyond this lay a few more gardens, and then—I could see because the ground sloped down toward the south—a graveyard, surrounded by its own small iron fence. A mausoleum built with graceful, simple lines stood in the back of the cemetery, nearest the wall.
As I was taking all of this in, a young man dressed in a long brown robe approached, a solemn look on his face. “Be welcome in the presence of the Nameless God,” he said, placing his hands together and bowing. When he straightened, however, an easy smile graced his lips. “I am Brother Paxson. How may we help you?”
Swinging down out of the saddle, Kiernan handed his reins off to a Novice dressed in pale robes instead of the brown ones. Kiernan reached out a hand to help me dismount, then turned to Brother Paxson, saying, “I am Lord Aldarich, and this is my sister, Lady Valri.” He paused, flicking a glance at me; we had agreed that I should explain our “quest.”
I smiled, hoping that Brother Paxson couldn’t see the way my hands were shaking. “I’m writing a book,” I began. I hoped my voice sounded light and unconcerned. “A scholarly treatise on the history of the oracles of Isidros. I was hoping to speak with the oracle, and perhaps look at the records left by her most recent predecessors. The library in the palace has very good records up until the twenty-fifth oracle, but not very much on the last five. I think the librarians have been reluctant to leave the comforts of the city to obtain the records.” I tried to wink conspiratorially, even though I probably just looked like I had something in my eye.
The monk inclined his head. “Of course. I do not know if the oracle will be able to meet with you in person—there are many pilgrims who come seeking her guidance, you see, and she does not have time to meet with them all. But I will see, and you can surely meet with Brother Seldin, our abbot. He will be very helpful for your research.”
With that, Brother Paxson led us to a building broken into several small rooms, each with a narrow cot, and one currently empty communal room. I gathered that pilgrims and visitors stayed here as they awaited an audience with the oracle. He left us there, and after a while a sister came bearing a jug of water, two apples, and a half loaf of brown bread. She placed the food on a small table and then left.
“Do you think they’ll let us see her?” I asked after checking to make sure no pilgrims sat in the tiny bedrooms.
Kiernan shrugged through his bite of apple. “If they do, what are you going to do? Just ask her about the prophecy?”
I twisted my hands in my lap. Truly I had not quite figured out my plan, even with the long hours on horseback with nothing else to do besides stare at the roadside. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. It depends.”
“On what?”
“I don’t know. I’m just going on a … feeling. It all started here. There has to be something, some sign. But I don’t even know if she’s the same oracle who made the prophecy about Nalia.”
I didn’t get any further, because just then Brother Paxson opened the door and beckoned us forward. “You’re lucky to have come on such a quiet day,” he said. “Brother Seldin can see you now.”
Brother Paxson led us toward the large building I hadn’t recognized, murmuring greetings to the robed men and women whom we passed. They all had a serene quality about their faces, so at odds with the tautness I felt in my own.
Kiernan was talking to Brother Paxson, though I hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation. When Kiernan jostled me surreptitiously with his elbow, however, I heard him say, “Now, you’ll have to remind me. I know my sister’s told me before—probably five times—but I just can’t recall how long the current oracle has served.”
“Fifteen years,” Brother Paxson said amiably.
“Of course, of course,” Kiernan answered as I dropped back a step. Fifteen years. So she would not have been the one to make the prophecy. Which meant that any information I found would have to come from somewhere else. But where?
“Relax,” Kiernan whispered as we entered the building and Brother Paxson stepped ahead to lead the way. When I glanced at him, I saw a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “How can you be nervous? Don’t you see? We’re in a library.”
To my chagrin, the knot in my stomach eased the tiniest bit as I breathed in the scent of paper and dust. It was so familiar, the smell of so many books together, and it comforted me. As Brother Paxson led us past several large rooms with books on shelves going up to the ceiling, I couldn’t help slowing just a little to glance inside. Most of the rooms also contained tables, at which sat brothers and sisters with books and scrolls in front of them. All of the doors stood open, save the one at the end of the long hall we had walked. It had a symbol painted on it: an open eye, the sign of the oracle. Another man stood there, waiting for us, and Brother Paxson nodded genially to him before leaving us.
The abbot, Brother Seldin, was an older man, his graying hair curling about his ears and deep lines etching his face. Even so, he stood straight, and I could see that the muscles in his forearms had not gone soft with age. “Be welcome,” he said, smiling at us. “So, Brother Paxson says that you are writing a book about the oracles, and that you wish to see the records of their lives.” I nodded, and he seemed pleased. “It is a good thing, I think, for someone so young to have an interest in the oracles. Though you are welcome to search the other collections, I expect that what would be most helpful to you lies in here.”
One hand had disappeared inside his robes, and from them he produced a ring of keys, thick and jangly. Sliding a long key into the lock of the door, he twisted it, then led us inside.
This room had none of the airy openness of the other rooms of the library. It was small and somewhat dark, with lamps set at intervals that Brother Seldin hurried to light. Only one wall held any books, I noticed, and they were all small volumes, each with the same red spine. Set into the middle of that wall was a cabinet of black wood with a silver lock.
“Here you will find the journals of the oracles,” Brother Seldin told me. “All the oracles kept journals of the visions sent by the Nameless God, as well as some details of their own lives. You may read them, though we ask that you use the greatest caution and not take them from this room. Some are very fragile.”
“There are no names on them,” I said, as I gently took one of the last on the shelves and opened it to its first page. This was exactly what I needed. Surely the prophecy would be mentioned, or more than mentioned; maybe the oracle would have written about it in detail.
Brother Seldin shook his head. “The oracles give up their names. It brings them closer to the God, who also has no name.”
I had known that once, when I studied such things as the princess, and as a “scholar” I should certainly have known it. I found myself flushing. It didn’t help my disguise to make such silly mistakes. “Of course,” I said hurriedly. “I just thought that they might be listed here, in their journals.” Sliding the book back into place, I glanced to the end of the shelf, which stood empty. “Shouldn’t there be a few more?” I heard myself asking.
“There are, but, unfortunately, I cannot offer them to you for your research.” Brother Seldin gestured to the black cabinet. “The journals for the last three oracles are in here. We keep them separate, as no one but the oracle herself is allowed to read them.”
Kiernan made a strangled noise that he belatedly managed to turn into a cough. “We can’t read them?” he asked.
“No one can.” The monk’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Some of the prophecies contained within them may not yet have come to pass, and it is for no one but the oracle who made the prophecy and the pilgrim who asked the question to know the answer until they do. The only exception is the current oracle. I’m sorry, but these are our ways.”
I turned my head away, hoping that he took it for mere disappointment. The word didn’t cover the way my heart had sunk. The glow of my excitement vanished like a candle being blown out. I didn’t give a fig what the other journals said; those oracles hadn’t made the prophecy for Nalia. If we couldn’t read the journals of the most recent oracle, we had come for nothing.
“We understand, of course,” I managed. “Thank you. The rest will be most helpful.”
He left the door open, so I slowly pulled another journal from the wall, took it over to a table, and sat down, setting the book in front of me as if I were going to read it. After a moment, the chair beside me scraped the floor as Kiernan pulled it back.
“Don’t worry,” he said in my ear. “We’ll find another way. We can sneak in at night or something, break open the cabinet, and read the journals then.”
I shook my head, trying to ignore the burning behind my eyes. “There’s a spell on it. I can feel it. Philantha showed that kind of spell to me. Only the key can open that cabinet. You couldn’t even burn it up, or chop it apart with an ax.”
“Then we’ll get the key.”
“We don’t know where it is.”
“We’ll find it. Or maybe we can skip all this and just ask the oracle where Nalia—the real Nalia—is, since you’re sure she’s alive.”
It was a thought I had been toying with myself, though I hadn’t mentioned it to Kiernan. Could I just ask the oracle to point me toward Nalia, give me the name of the town, of the street where she lived? Somehow, I didn’t think it would be that easy. Prophecies tended not to be that specific; there was generally room for interpretation.
“Maybe,” I said, not believing it.
We stayed in the room until late afternoon, pretending to read the journals and taking fake notes. Even the allure of the books didn’t tempt me now, however. I could feel myself slipping into a dark place, despite Kiernan’s efforts to cheer me. I had no idea what I was doing. I had to admit that now. I had come running off to Isidros because I had no real ideas about how to find Nalia or decipher the identity of the spell-shielded person. What was I playing at? I couldn’t do this. I was just a scribe with magic I could hardly control, not a savior of Thorvaldor.
My thoughts seemed stuck on the same path, wheeling around and around themselves without going anywhere new. I felt heavy, my dashed hopes weighing me down. Was this what my aunt had meant when she said I gave up too easily? Maybe there was something else I could do, but in my misery, I couldn’t see it. Finally, though, my dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone entering the room. It was, I realized after a moment, Brother Paxson.
“The oracle will see you, if you wish,” he said simply.
Since I didn’t have any other ideas, I nodded, trying to look excited. Again we walked through the library and out onto the grounds. The wall cast long shadows in the afternoon light, and several sisters and brothers sat on benches in the shade, paring vegetables for the evening meal.
As we mounted the shallow steps leading into the temple, I wondered what I would say to the oracle, mostly to distract myself from my suddenly weak legs. Would she tell, if I revealed that I was not a lady scholar but a girl on a more desperate quest? And if I did, would she have any information that could help me? Despite the malaise that had gripped me, I felt a tingle of real excitement as we entered.
The inside of the temple was cool and dim, the domed ceiling arching high overhead. Our feet echoed on the stone floor, for the entire space was empty, save for a small circular dais set in the exact center of the room. A hole had been cut in the top of the dome so that a shaft of sunlight fell into the room, the only light other than a few lanterns hanging on the walls. At noon, the light must pour directly downward, but now it had moved with the sun and only vaguely illuminated the still figure sitting on a thin mat on the dais.
Brother Paxson stopped only a few feet from the door. “I will leave you now. Do you wish to go together, or alone?”
“K—Aldarich can stay,” I murmured.
“You will approach and kneel,” he said. “Do not speak until she speaks to you.”
I nodded, and a moment later, he was gone, the door shutting softly behind him.
Kiernan and I looked at each other, both unmoving, and I had a sudden urge to reach out and take his hand. I blushed at the thought, surely brought on by the strangeness of the place, the eerie quiet, and the unmoving figure on the dais. I hadn’t held hands with Kiernan since I was eight. Still, the thought jarred me enough to break the spell that had settled over me, and I took the first step toward the oracle.
She was not old, I realized as I came closer. I had expected a woman with gnarled hands and gray hair, but this woman looked no older than thirty, the skin on her face and hands smooth and pale. She sat with her legs folded beneath her, a long dress of blankest white pooling around her. Her hair was pale as well, a soft, thin honey color, and it fell unbound to the floor. Her eyes were light blue, nearly colorless.
Licking my lips, I knelt, letting myself rest back on my calves, my neck prickling. I heard Kiernan do the same, but I couldn’t look away from the oracle’s face. It was still, as motionless as the rest of her, and I knew she didn’t see me.
She blinked slowly and I felt her suddenly focus on me, coming back from wherever she had been.
“Greetings, Princess-who-was,” she said.