“You’ve looked into eternity, and you drew a sword forged for a goddess out of your flesh. Anyone would be feeling a bit peaky after that.”
“But it was the sword that was making me sick, wasn’t it?”
The oracle didn’t answer and pressed a skin of wine into Liane’s free hand and urged her to drink. She had no idea where she’d gotten it and didn’t bother asking. She drank deeply. Her throat burned, and she felt as if she were suddenly ravenous. And as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the oracle handed her a hunk of very stale bread and old cheese wrapped in wax.
“Before they caught me, I stored some provisions. I knew you’d need it when you emerged. Magic takes much from us, but a full stomach can restore what was depleted faster. You’ll learn the balance of it in time.”
“What—” Liane tried to question her.
“Eat, eat,” she said.
The bread was hard to chew, and the cheese was equally as tough. Liane needed the wine to soften it enough to bite through it and swallow. But she devoured it all in greedy mouthfuls, grateful for each morsel as it lessened the pressure building in her skull. Though she still felt the flush on her skin, it wasn’t a full-blown fever.
“You can let go of the sword. It’s not going anywhere now that you’ve drawn it out,” the oracle said.
Liane maintained her death grip upon the hilt as she ate and drank, which admittedly made it infinitely more cumbersome.
“You’re safe. We have some talking to do first of all.” The oracle patted her hand.
Slowly, Liane uncurled her fingers from around the hilt, and despite her fears, it didn’t disappear when she let go. If anything, it became more corporeal, more like a real sword. On top of the pommel was a blazing sun; the leathers on the hilt were well-oiled, and the hilt gilded. But when it was out of her hands, it didn’t glow. Yet she felt the magic inside it calling out to her.
Her back no longer ached, but the rest of her body did—as if the pain was no longer centralized but everywhere. She wanted to fight, but she wasn’t even sure she could properly stand. She finished off her bread, cheese, and wine, then turned to the oracle.
“Why do I feel so weak?”
The oracle clucked her tongue. “Magic has a cost. Surely you learned as much in the temple? A pure-white goat to grant visions, carved bones to guide a spirit safely behind the veil. If an exchange cannot be made, the magic takes the price from the wielder’s flesh.”
Liane nodded. It had never been explained to her before, and she assumed that was intentional on the Avatheos’ part. “You’ve fought a great battle today to take possession of the sword. You had to break the seal that fused it with your body and break past the chains that kept you tethered to who you were before. Add to that you are untrained... It will take time before using the sword doesn’t deplete you completely, but there will never be a day when magic doesn’t drain you. It is the double-edged sword all magic users must bear. If you’ll pardon my pun.”
Liane had hoped removing the sword would cure her. All she’d longed for was a life free of pain and suffering. But with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she wasn’t going to get that. And now that it was out, she still had to master its use? The goddess was cruel for this.
“I thought I was the chosen one,” she grumbled.
“And the goddess doesn’t make the path to greatness easy. If she did, then everyone would do it. You’ve got a long and windy road before you. But I think you’ve got the right person to guide you along that path.” She looked past Liane, and Liane followed her gaze to see Erich striding over.
There was a cut taken out of his sleeve and a smear of blood, which may or may not be his own, on his cheek. Despite her exhaustion, she tried to stand again but swooned on her feet instead. He rushed forward to catch her. The feeling of his strong arms around her made her knees want to buckle for a different reason. And she fell against his chest, soothed by the steady beating of his heart. She’d gone into the water angry but stepped out with greater clarity. He was right; she had a destiny before her, one that she didn’t even fully comprehend, and to ask him to tie his life to hers was unfair.
She pulled away from him to save her pride, though he had enough decency to look ashamed.
“Fritz is leading the Midnight Guards away, but his illusion won’t last forever. We should get you out of this place before they realize he’s a fake.”
“Where do we go from here?” Liane asked.
The Avatheos had seen the rise of a dark army led by her mother. Should she head back to Artria and warn her? Try to stop it somehow?
“The dead will rise, led by the golden empress, and darkness will stretch far across the land. Only together can you defeat it,” the oracle said, her voice ringing with prophecy.
“I don’t understand why my mother would do such a thing,” Liane said.
“Not your mother—your sister, Aristea,” the oracle said, and her words sent a shiver down Liane’s spine.
“Aristea?” She shook her head. “You must be mistaken; she’s a good person. She wouldn’t raise an army of the undead.” The very thought was ludicrous.
“All things must be in balance; your destiny was written in your blood, from before your conception, when your mother first unsealed the sword. Magic must be healed, and this is the way it will be done.”
“There must be a way to prevent this. I can’t go to war against my sister!” Liane protested.
“I cannot tell you anything with certainty. The path ahead diverges, and there is darkness beyond my vision of this place. What I know is you both must go north, and Erich will be your shield.”
