The oracle moved on. The priest standing behind the girl rested a crown of purple flowers on her head.
“That one’s going to be a teacher,” the guard next to Martin said.
“How many of these things have you been to?”
The guard rolled his eyes. “Too many. Sometimes I think there’s a bit of trickery that I always draw the short straw. At least they feed us afterward.”
The oracle approached the next novice. “Although I sense in you much promise, you are not yet ready for the task set for you.” She strolled on by, barely stopping. The young man hung his head, receiving a green garland from a priest.
“Well, I’d hate to be him,” the overly experienced guard said.
“Why?”
“He’s been to five of these things. I’ve never seen anyone come back for a sixth.”
“What happens to them?”
The guard shrugged as best he could under the weight of so much leather and a broadsword strapped to his back. “I don’t know. They just disappear.”
Cere said they returned home. What if they didn’t? The tingly sense of dread took up a place in Martin’s stomach.
Sheer force of will likely kept the rejected candidate from crying. Maybe he knew his fate.
One by one, the oracle made her selections: teachers, mentors, acolytes, a future priest. At last, she stopped before Cere, a smile curving her gold-painted lips. “You have faithfully worshipped me with your body and mind, freely increasing the love in your heart. The day will come when you shall open your mouth and deliver my words.”
All emotion left Cere’s face. His mouth dropped open. What? What had she said? Despite the solemn occasion, the crowd broke into a frenzy. “Oracle! He’s to be an oracle!”
Oracle. The voice of the Lady. How Martin wanted to grab his friend and never stop running. But no, the oracle now approached, golden image blocking out Cere’s blinding smile. She regarded Martin for several long moments. Was that cold hostility in her eyes?
Her body went completely rigid, and her eyes rolled back. Martin glanced around. This wasn’t normal, was it? Was she ill?
When she spoke, her voice was low and raspy, so unlike her former musical tones. “Demon-slayer, you think you know me, but you know me not. But you will, little warrior. I see you.”
Fire seared Martin’s skin. He bit his lip to keep from howling. The pain abated as quickly as it came. When he opened his eyes, the acolytes were already helping the oracle back onto the litter.
What had she meant? Had no one else noticed Martin’s discomfort?
“Did you see that?” he asked the guard who’d drawn the short straw.
“See what?”
“Did you hear the oracle speak to me?”
The guard let out a chuckle. “I’ve been told the Lady reserves visions for her priests.” He elbowed Martin. “I would say to apply for entrance, but you’re a bit too old to be a novice.”
A flash of gold caught Martin’s attention, and he turned to see Cere, a crown of yellow roses on his head, the flower petals highlighting his burnished hair. “Did you see? I’m to be an oracle.” His bright smile faded. “The priests said I could come and tell my family goodbye. They’re not here, so…”
The priests huddled together in a circle, their low conversation a slight buzz among the larger hum in the room. Spectators crowded forward to congratulate the newly promoted novices.
“I know it doesn’t matter now, but I wanted to tell you, I… I love you. You’re the only one who’s ever seenme, Cere, not the merchant’s son, not the novice, butme.” Cere turned and dashed into the crowd, quickly swept along with the tide of revelers.
Martin stood still. Love? What should he do now?
Silence fell. All eyes turned toward the doorway. The crowd parted, allowing a man clad in brown to approach. They drew back as though the very touch of his robes might taint them.
Father Dmitri said for Martin’s ears only, “She has seen you. The battle begins.”
Martin closed his eyes. That voice. That eerie voice. Chills raced down his spine.
