I grabbed the diary from the night-stand, and went through to the spare room where I’d originally found it. It felt right to be reading it in what I assumed had been the Oracle’s bedroom, surrounded by her things, able to get a better sense of her not just as an Oracle but as any other woman—with hopes, dreams and, clearly, a developing relationship with Draven’s father.
I opened up the diary where I’d left off, settling myself onto the musty bed. The entry was a few weeks after the last—the Oracle clearly wasn’t a regular writer, but perhaps that was a good thing, as long as she had documented what was important.
I had a vision today. It was beautiful. I never wanted it to end. It was of the three of us, Almus and Draven and I, traveling to the eastern city. Draven was much older, in his twenties, I suppose, and we journeyed through the land without fear of Azazel and his Destroyers.
How such an existence became possible, I do not know, but I saw it, so somehow it is a future that could be brought into being. With all my heart, I hope it is how my story unfolds, but I worry that it will not end this way. Tonight, at dinner, Almus spoke of rumors of the Destroyers laying siege to the western citadel. The Druids there have so far been the only ones to hold out against Azazel’s rule, but Almus suspects that soon they will fold.
After dinner, Almus escorted me to my room and bade me goodnight. He hesitated—I am sure of it—at the door, but then did nothing but give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. Still, it was enough to make my insides melt. How embarrassed I am about the feelings I have for him! Why on earth would he wish to begin a relationship with me? I am only a woman in looks, not in physical function. If I can’t bear him a child, then what good am I?
I stopped reading, realizing that the Oracle was referring to her reproductive organs—something those twins hadn’t had, though I wasn’t sure about the Nevertide Oracle. No one in my family had mentioned anything about it, and I hadn’t taken much interest. But I had known that Oracles never reproduced…perhaps that was why she’d passed on her gift to my friends and brother. I wondered if she had wanted to leave a part of herself in this world, something that would continue after her eventual death.
I felt sorry for Elissa. It must have been hard to fall in love with a man, knowing that it would be impossible for it to be a real relationship, in the biblical sense of the word. I returned to the diary, skim-reading the next few pages. They were mainly observations about the house, the changing seasons and what she did to occupy her time—mainly reading old history books, sewing and trying to overcome her growing distaste for eating the same food, day in, day out. I could relate to that.
The next entry was about a year apart from the last. The writing was more frantic, the letters spiked and ink blots staining the page.
I had an argument with Almus. He wants to join the rebel forces that are rising up against Azazel. It’s a huge mistake. I’ve been having visions of the bloody battle for weeks, but without seeing its conclusion. I can’t be sure that Almus will survive it, and so I am opposed. He tells me he wants a better life for both me and Draven, not stuck in this house forever, but if we were to stay here forever, as long as the three of us were together, I would be happy.
I put the diary down. It made interesting reading, but I desperately wanted to know how the Oracle had avoided blindness, and so far, that hadn’t been mentioned, nor any real information on the side-effects of her visions. I also knew the end of the tale—Almus had died protecting the next Oracle who came to visit them—the Nevertide Oracle, whose real name I still didn’t know. If he did go and fight in the battle against Azazel before that, he had clearly survived. I wondered if it would be easier speaking to Draven about the battle, and how the Oracle overcame some of her difficulties. He was willing to help with the training, and so I didn’t see why he’d have a problem with divulging some of Elissa’s secrets.
I left the room, careful to replace the diary in the drawer first.
Still hearing the murmurs of conversation floating from the rooms’ open windows as I strode purposefully along the corridor and then descended the staircase, I hesitated before going to hunt for the Druid. I would have preferred to spend some time with my friends, to put the mysteries aside for a moment, and pretend that everything was normal for a few hours.
It was Draven himself who stopped me. As I reached the ground floor, making my way toward the greenhouse, he emerged from his room, hair sleep-rumpled and his clothes disheveled.
“Can I help you?” he asked, yawning.
Instantly, I was put in a bad mood. It hardly seemed like the right time for a nap. Rationally I knew it was the heat that was making everyone drowsy, including myself, but I felt that the Druid, as our sole protector here, should be putting a bit more effort into helping us—making plans as to what we might do next.