The other two were both filled with wine, one significantly sweeter than the other. That he handed to Amma and kept the third. There was a single blueberry left on the tray, and Damien handed it to Vanders, the fruit like an entire loaf of bread in its tiny paws.
“They know we’re coming—pretty good oracle, I guess,” Amma said and took a drink. “Oh, no, excuse me, great oracle.”
“Greatest oracle.” A young man darted out from around the bend ahead, eyes fixed on a scroll so long it trailed the ground behind him as he went. He paused only to push his spectacles up his long, pointed nose before they began to slide right back down. “Blessed with ninety-seven point three percent of the god Denonfy’s foresight, by my calculation.”
Damien didn’t recognize him, but when last he had made the trek over a decade ago, the human assistant to the oracle was a withered, old man who made it clear he didn’t like the look of Damien. The man thanked the rabbit, taking the tray from her, then tucked it behind his parchment as he looked up into the sky.
Above them, a hawk circled twice, then swooped down toward the neighboring valley. “It is you then, but of course it is—arrival on the wings of the hooked-beak twice encompassed will come The Cleansing Rodent, Death’s Vessel, The Eclipse of Destruction, and The Wrong Cat. No, notcat,”—he squinted at the parchment—“that’s Kaz? Well, whatever that means, it must be you lot. Come on, they’re ready for you.” Without a glance to make sure they followed, he turned and went back the way he’d come.
“One of us is Death’s Vessel and the other is The Eclipse of Destruction?” asked Amma, lips reddened by the wine. “Which is which?”
Damien only shrugged, not really wanting to know, and they followed the bend in the way that led between two tall rocks. The plateau of the oracle’s encampment had a sharp decline at its far end, nothing but sky beyond. Canvases were strung up along the rocky wall they popped out of, tented and darkened within, lanterns hanging at their entries and bits of carved wood beneath those, jingling pleasantly in the slight breeze. Themiddle of the plateau housed a large fire and a massive bowl strung over it that spiced the air with something savory.
An elven woman poked at the fire absently with what looked like a metal halberd, a scroll in her other hand. Her face, a russet color with sharp features and black hair, was familiar, but then elves didn’t really age, even if they were assisting oracles. “The Eclipse of Destruction and Death’s Vessel?” she asked without looking up from her pages.
“Yep.” The skinny man was just rolling up the length of his scroll and finally looking on Damien and Amma properly. “But it wasn’t a cat at all.”
“I told you it’d be a raccoon,” she said, but her grin fell off completely when she eyed Damien. “Uh oh.”
Amma’s grip tightened on her goblet, and Damien tried very hard to not look menacing.
“You’ve been here before.” The elf stood, hurrying to the thin man and trading her parchment for his, letting it unravel to the ground again.
Damien nodded. “Eleven years ago. You remember?”
“We don’t get that many visitors, only the worthy, all that,” she said then frowned even deeper. “This was before your time, Geoff, but I could have sworn he wasn’t called…well, no one’s sobriquet ever changes.”
“It’s not like the oracle’s gotten anything wrong.” Geoff fidgeted, eyes darting over the scroll he’d been handed. The rabbit hopped by then, collecting Katz’s empty mug.
Damien could only shrug, wanting their eyes off of him.
Geoff finally huffed. “You better come with me.”
They were brought to the largest canvas tent and immediately bombarded with the smell of something woodsy and fungal, a haziness to the air inside. Amma covertly wiped at her nose as she took the last sip from her cup, and the rabbit hopped up to take the goblet away. Bundles of herbs hung fromthe poles holding up the tent, and specks of light emanated off stones placed strategically about, but the heart of the space was filled with pillows stacked up and strewn about, all dyed in various, bright shades and intricately beaded at their edges, and sitting atop the highest stack was the oracle, almost exactly how Damien remembered them.
The Denonfy Oracle wasn’t an elf, but they didn’t seem to age, their blue skin smooth, two sets of arms slim and long, and face only creased with a perpetual, knowing grin. Tall and lanky, they were sprawled sideways and draped in a gauzy robe of many colors, belted loosely at the waist, white linens worn beneath. They took a long drag of a pipe then blew out a perfect ring that dispersed into the hanging haze.
Damien had forgotten the feeling in the intervening eleven years, but it came back with a vengeance then as he stood before what he knew was great power and knowledge. He threw back his wine and squared his shoulders, the cup slipped from his hand as the rabbit silently scampered by, but none of that stopped the feeling from coming. Fear. Not the same fear of being faced with harpies or arch-nemeses or even Damien himself, but the fear of what was to pass and not being able to do a thing about it. Staring at the Denonfy Oracle inspired something unique: the fear of total helplessness.
“You made it! Right on!”
And then the fear subsided. That was right—along with being all-knowing and imposing, the oracle was also strange. They pulled themselves up to sit, raising their four arms wide and taking a full breath of heady, smoky air.
“You knew we were coming,” said Amma in an awe-struck whisper. At least she was impressed.
“Sure did. And during harpy mating season too, but you did okay.” Their voice was smooth, words slow with a tinge of fascination as they looked them over. “Oh, yup, still got all yourlimbs even.”
Amma’s wide-eyed look went suspicious. “Were we supposed to not?”
The oracle shrugged. “It was only a slight possibility.”
“Um, your divinatoriness?” said the elven woman as she ducked around one of the tent’s poles. “This one’s been here before, but…well, I’m not sure how to explain.”
The oracle was nodding as the elf’s voice went awkward. “Yeah, you’re worried about his, uh, what is it you call ‘em? His sobriquet?”
She nodded, thin brows pinched.
“For sure, for sure, for sure.” They took a deep puff on their pipe, and Amma and Damien sneaked looks at one another. She was as confused but intrigued as he expected. “So, like, our greater purpose in life sorta…well, itchanges. We don’t get a lot of repeat customers, but if we did we’d see it more. Does that jive, Val’tiel?”
