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Chapter 25. Patterns |
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t some point Zhou was laid down to rest and wrapped in blankets against the night’s chill and the stony ground. The bonds were gone now and he could have risen and fled had he desired it. Instead, Zhou slept as he had not for a very long time. No dreams haunted him, and when he awakened, it was to bird song and the first warm light of dawn setting the thin bands of eastern clouds afire. His vision was momentarily blurred with tears of gratitude, the long nightmare in the oracle cave behind him. Weak though he was, he managed to sit up and gaze upon his sleeping rescuers and captors. Only Khunzar was awake and the burly warrior was leaning against a towering boulder, his legs folded and his curved sword resting upon his lap as he ran a whetstone along its keen edge. “Good morning,” the warrior said, his voice low so as not to disturb the others. Zhou had been placed between Ishalha and Yajebe, both of whom were fast asleep, “I apologize for last night. I hope I was not too rough.” “It was unpleasant but not unnecessary cruel.” Khunzar chuckled and took out a small tin containing his cloves and rattled it. Truthfully, Zhou craved water and food to get the unpleasant taste from his mouth but he settled for the warrior’s offering. He rose to his feet and nearly fell over due to weakness. Khunzar put his sword aside and started to rise but Zhou waved him away. “I am going to walk again, leave me to it.” “I don’t doubt that,” the warrior said gruffly, gazing up at him under his shaggy black brows. He ran a hand through his thick wiry beard thoughtfully, “I expect you’re hungry and thirsty. I have some bread from last night in my kit and some boiled eggs still in their shells.” Zhou nodded. Humble fare, filling and easy on his stomach. He finally staggered to the place on the blanket beside the warrior and sat down as Khunzar rummaged in his pack, proffering a head sized leather box tied shut with what appeared to be old boot laces. As Zhou released the slip knot, Khunzar set a hammered tin water flask beside him. The promised food was inside the box and Zhou broke off a piece of the soft round bread. It was wonderfully bland and a few bites later it awakened in him a ravenous appetite. Khunzar encouraged him to eat the two boiled goose eggs, which he did with a pinch of ground black pepper hidden in a tiny jar at the base of the pack. “Yajebe has quite the collection. I sometimes take a little of his seasoning when he is cooking and too busy to notice. For later of course.” Zhou chuckled and leaned back against the wall of stone, content and ready to continue sleeping now that all his body’s immediate needs were attended to. Khunzar offered him his tin of cloves and he took one. “I’m not certain whether I should thank you or curse you,” Zhou said after a while, the clove releasing its numbing spicy flavor as he chewed it absently. Khunzar had thoroughly ground one up and spat it out away from the camp. The warrior chuckled softly. “Truthfully, I know next to nothing about the Order. Ishalha told me you were wrongly coerced into being the Oracle and dying because of it. She may seem about as friendly as your average block of ice, but she’s a good person.” “I agreed to it,” Zhou said. “It’s true,” Ishalha croaked, rising stiffly from her blankets, her silver-streaked hair ruffled, “but you are under a geas and you cannot refuse, and you could not tell us that.” Zhou opened his mouth to protest only to fall silent. How? If he had somehow revealed it, there would be repercussions. “Your former master kept a diary. He willed his writings to the archives of the Order. I read it. You were wronged and I corrected it.” Zhou felt humbled by her words. He had never expected anyone to take pity on him. He imagined Suhlevar had written more that a few choice things about his hated apprentice to justify his actions. “I earned my fate,” he said finally, lowering his eyes. “Be that as it may, this is your fate now,” Ishalha said briskly, her righteousness brooking no debate. A smile teased the corners of his mouth, “And frankly, I felt you deserved better than to die in some cave after your services. You saved many lives and perhaps turned the battle against Abaddon in our favor.” Zhou blushed. It was a broad claim and he sincerely doubted one man had that much sway over such an event. “I just wonder,” she continued, an unusual hesitance in her demeanor, “Have you always had oracular powers? I was taught future sight was not a gift the gods granted mortals. I was skeptical until your predictions never proved false.” “What?” he replied, confused, “I simply relayed what the voices told me… and the things I saw in dream and vision.” Ishalha frowned and walked stiffly away from the camp, her confusion palpable to Zhou’s sensitive mind instinctively scanned the state of his companions. He felt Khunzar’s gaze upon him, intense as a hawk and cunning in the way of a veteran warrior. “I was with her on some of those missions,” he said in a low voice once Ishalha had ducked out of sight to relieve herself, “I thought it was rubbish as well, but seeing is believing. Is it true what she says? That such a thing is granted only at the whim of gods?” Zhou did not like where this was leading. He was no vessel of the gods. He had felt the iron grip of demons and knew the snares of their temptations. Pride was his weakness and he was determined never to fall for that trap again. If the gods granted such powers, there were thousands of others better suited to their purposes. “I was taught that the future is not written, therefore it cannot be read,” Zhou replied truthfully, “A gifted seer may read patterns but nothing more.” “I was also taught that,” Ishalha said gruffly, returning now to begin rummaging through her pack, “Yet what you did was never granted to another Oracle in all the centuries that the Order has existed. And the Order leaves nothing to chance. They have seers and holy people they consult in times of crisis and these records only verify that even the greatest seer can see nothing more than emerging patterns. The future is not set in stone or the gods would not have granted choice, nor would there be chaos.” When Zhou did not respond, flummoxed though he was, Ishalha continued. “You had no idea, did you?” “No, I did not,” he replied, “I assumed the visions were presented to me as they were happening. It was not my place to question the visions of the Elon.” Ishalha muttered a greeting to Yajebe as the little monk climbed from his mound of blankets and gazed around blearily. “I’ll make some breakfast,” he replied, nodding to them with a broad smile before walking away stiffly, “and I expect you to eat every crumb I put in front of you, Master Bei.” Zhou chuckled, put at ease by the man. He reminded Zhou of Lemony and he missed her almost as much as he did Shikai and Pendaran. Gods, what had become of Pendaran? He vaguely remembered the man reached out to him across their Lyssan bond, but he could not risk going against the geas and had been forced to push him away. The urgency to flee homeward caused his body to tense painfully, but he was so far away. If they could just get him to a sigil gate he could hurry back to his alliance. “Who is Haodrim?” Ishalha asked after a thoughtful silence, implying that his powers were in some way connected. Zhou swallowed stiffly. Its utterance summoned the cold dread of Torment and yet he was certain he had never before heard the name. “I do not know. My instincts tell me it is a demonic name, but I am certain I would not forget the name of any demon I have encountered. I am eager to peruse my diaries when I arrive home.” “A wise move,” Ishalha said, “I would be interested to know what you discover. I offer my services in the event that you must battle demonic forces.” “I would be grateful for another Lightbringer at my side.” “On the matter of home,” Khunzar said, sheathing his sword and rising, “Do we sail for Cantha?” Zhou blanched. “No… no I simply require access to a town sigil focus. I hope such things exist in Elona?” Ishalha chucked. “Master Bei, your Dragon Empire may well be the oldest and mightiest of the human civilizations, but Elonians are very proud of their ancient magical roots. Of course our towns are so equipped.” “It’s just getting into them that may be a problem,” Khunzar laughed bitterly. “We don’t know that for certain.” “The Order can move to those towns by the same means well ahead of our arrival,” Khunzar replied, “It is what I would do were I them. Do you want to risk placing Master Bei back into their custody?” “Let alone face their wrath?” Yajebe added as he returned to the camp and retrieved an iron skillet from one of their bags, “Count me out.” “They might let us go, but you know how they regard traitors,” Khunzar said, “I will not let you place yourself in danger. No towns until we cross into Corsair lands.” “I agree,” Zhou said, although part of him sighed with remorse that there would be no quick or easy means of slipping home, “Lion’s Arch would be my preferred destination. From there I can easily go home and grant you the sanctuary of my guild and alliance.” “I see,” replied Ishalha, flashing a smile of relief, “I had not thought beyond merely escaping the Order. That in itself seemed trial enough. I would gladly receive sanctuary for myself and my friends.” “I hope it’s temporary,” Yajebe complained, “I don’t like foreign places.” “You’ve never even left Elona,” Khunzar chuckled. “Precisely,” the monk grumbled. |
