Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(51)

‘He’s stirring. Take that weapon away from him.’

‘No,’ Dion moaned.

He was powerless to prevent strong hands untangling his bow from around his shoulder. Opening his eyes and flinching from the glare, Dion saw an emaciated man in a white robe crouched on the sand, looking down at him. A bald crown topped his triangular head, which was devoid of excess flesh. Dark eyes regarded him from sunken pits.

‘I have your bow,’ he soothed, showing Dion the weapon.

‘And it will be returned to you when you leave,’ said another man nearby.

Eyes shifting, Dion saw that the crouching man had a companion, but he realized with shock that the two men looked alike in every way.

‘Can you rise?’ said a third voice from still further away.

Dion rolled and finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows. The third man was robed just as the other two. His face was the same. There was no way to tell any of them apart.

‘Where . . . Where am I?’ Dion asked hoarsely.

He tried to lick his lips but his tongue was dry. He needed water more than he’d needed anything in his life.

The crouching man closest to Dion spoke. ‘You are at Athos. Not just at Athos, but at Seer’s Cove. We are magi, devoted to the Oracle. How did you come to be here?’

Dion tried to speak but simply shook his head.

‘He needs water,’ said the closest of the standing magi.

‘If we give him water, we are accepting responsibility for his well-being.’

‘Then that is what we will do.’

‘I am not certain this is the right course of action, brother,’ the furthest magus spoke. ‘He is not here of his own accord. He brings no offering.’

‘Wait,’ Dion croaked, sitting up and holding up a hand. ‘I am here by choice; I simply met trouble on the way. Wildren. I want to visit the Oracle.’

‘Where is your offering?’ asked the suspicious magus.

Dion thought about the silver coins he carried, sewn into his tunic. He tried to recall everything he knew about the Oracle. ‘Here,’ he said, lifting up the silver medallion around his neck. ‘This is my offering.’

‘See?’ the two magi regarded their wary companion.

‘Give him water, then.’ The last man folded his arms over his chest. ‘He has chosen to step onto the path. The Oracle will know what to do with him.’

Dion tried to stand, but it wasn’t until one of the magi returned with water that his strength returned enough for him to stagger to his feet. He swayed and put a hand to his head until the dizziness passed.

He was finally able to take stock of his situation.

The three magi stood around him, looking at him uncertainly. He was on a beach in a small quiet cove, and just above him a stretch of grassy bank led to a long stone wall. Through a gap in the wall he could see a paved path made of brilliant blue stone. A mile inland was a misshapen hill; the area in between the hill and the wall was dotted with stone temples and rocky knobs.

Aside from the grass in front of the wall, there wasn’t a tree, bush, or shrub in sight. And fires burned on both sides of the path.

The flames flickered in a multitude of hues, from bright vermillion to warm gold. Green fires and blue fires burned on top of the rocks, though he could see no kindling beneath them.

White monoliths poked up from high points on the hill. The path curved like a snake and led to the dark mouth of a cave.

‘You must now set foot on the path,’ the closest of the three magi said. ‘And you must not stop until you have entered the cave.’ He gestured. ‘Go. The Oracle awaits.’

Dion nodded. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he began to climb, and was conscious of the magi’s eyes following him as he passed through the wall and stepped onto the path.

He wondered what the Oracle would tell him about the future. Would she share what the omen of the tremor truly portended? Would she tell him whether there was coming danger for Xanthos?

Would she tell him what he should do next?

He concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and tried to ignore the strange flickering flames on either side of the path. Finally, he reached the mouth of the cave, and before his courage could fail him he walked in.

The cave wound back and forth, initially dark but growing brighter as he continued. Rounding the last bend, he saw that the white light came from a pure flame that filled a circular cavern.

A woman leaned forward; her body was obscured by a black robe but her white hair was so thick and long that it covered her back and formed a fan on the ground around her.

‘Place your offering beside me and then sit opposite the flame,’ the Oracle said in a soft, whispering voice.

Dion unclasped his chain to remove the amulet with the trident of Silex. He placed it on the cavern floor, beside the Seer, then refastened the chain around his neck. Circling the white fire, he settled himself and looked at the Oracle through the flame.

He saw her place her fingers on the amulet.

‘You are . . . You are . . .’ she said.

The Seer suddenly shrieked, a piercing sound that echoed through the cavern, shrill and filled with pain.

Dion frowned. He knew little about the Oracle, but he knew enough to know that something was wrong.

He heard footsteps and saw a white-robed magus rush into the cavern. He had the same sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes, but Dion didn’t know if this was a new priest or one of the three men from the beach.