A fickle breeze may touch no leaves
Excerpt from Deep Lore, Chapter X | Red Randalf
Red Randalf took a deep breath and slowly approached the entrance. The wind was fierce but penetrable—like a lover who repels with one hand and seduces with another—its relentless blows all but tore the robe from his body, causing it to follow him around like a shadow. He felt the rays of an unseen sun warm his skin, and with each step, the outside world evaporated. When he reached the narrowest part of the pathway, he was covered in a strange mist, and a misshapen pile of wood burned vaguely at its center. Its smoke smelled of curdled milk and hummed rhythmically as it ricocheted off the porous cavern walls. Its vapors glistened pale blue whenever it passed through the open flames. A strange woman hovered over it.
Red Randalf veiled his nose and mouth beneath the drape of his sleeve, but the Oracle swallowed and sniffed until cerulean soot sketched her a mustache and soiled her chin. She was old enough to be wise yet spry enough to dance naked about the bonfire. Her hair was copious and tangled with asymmetrical streaks of grey sprinkled throughout. Even her eyebrows refused to conform, the left one, maiden brown, its counterpart, a piercing shade of ivory.
Wrinkled cheeks and a leathery neck gave way to smooth shoulders, youthful legs, and surprisingly taught breasts. The hedomage felt himself becoming aroused but knew it would be for naught. The Oracle was unenchantable and uninterested in worldly desires. She was wed to the future, submissive to the unknown.
She turned toward him, piercing his soul with eyes that weren’t there. “Tell me what you seek and I shall seek what you tell.”
Red Randalf had only one question. Possibly the most sobering question he had ever asked.
“What will become of this world?”
“She walks without feet. She speaks with no lips. But she lies. She lies,” the Oracle prophesied, hissing as she once again shoved her face into the fire.
Although he had never interacted with seers, he knew they weren’t the most effective communicators. She answered questions he didn’t ask and he questioned answers she didn’t give. The best he could do was repeat himself.
“What will become of this world? Can my mistake be undone?”
The Oracle grabbed his hand, exposing his face to the odor and the fumes. She pulled him within kissing distance, two pupils nestled in each of her eyes, conjoined at the edges like the leaves of a clover. “Await not for wings to be upon us nor colors to not change, lest more will be mored and less will be lessed.”
“Sounds like a plan. But will the world end? Can anyone stop it?”
“Come.” Without the common courtesy of waiting for her guest to rise, the woman ventured into the dark depths of the cave. He hoisted himself off the dirty ground and hastened toward her naked body.
Smoke trailed behind her, dragging orange rays of light through the air like the wick of a hidden candle. They navigated a maze of flowstones and columns of petrified daggers threatening to stab them from above and below. Unfortunately, the light wasn’t accompanied by warmth, and the hedomage found himself shivering beneath layers of crimson wool, yet the unclad woman didn’t so much as quiver, even when they reached their icey destination.
“Stand here.” She pointed at a nondescript spot in the umber. “Tomorrow isn’t a tree, but the wind, a fickle breeze may touch no leaves, but a storm rattles all the branches.”
Red Randalf could see the outline of massive bats suspended from the crevices. While their number was great, they formed no cluster. Each creature was the king of his own domain. Folded wings and relentless stillness suggested they were asleep, but their ears were perked and their snouts pointed right toward him. No matter which direction he faced, a winged beast stared back at him with glimmerless eyes.
Suddenly, all light drained from the cavern, and he found himself in utter darkness. “No one sees the future, child. But if you listen closely, you just may hear it.” The Oracle’s voice seemed to come from nearby and afar all at once. But when her final word bounced off a distant wall, there was an abundance of nothing. Just me and the bats and no flock to help me fuck my way out of here.
But nothing became something as a choir of incessant, high-pitched chirps sang in unison. His head swayed amidst the dizzying melody, and his body soon followed suit. Despite covering his ears, their piercing cries penetrated his hands and provoked him all the same. The highs and the lows melted into a solitary tone like a band of bards calibrating their lyres to a single note. And when all was in balance, they began to play.
Sounds ascended and divided and descended and collided from every corner of the blackness: a woman’s laugh, a wave breaking like thunder, the clashing of steal, the burning of walls, the growling of a giant beast, moans of pleasure, the flapping of giant wings, the bells of a wedding, the splitting of skin, the cheers of thousands, a bellow of pain, the delicate steps of the nymphs, a stew boiling, hooves stomping, an old friend’s laugh.
And like a bard’s song, the sound paled in comparison to the emotions that accompanied it. Feelings so potent and foreign that to describe them would be nonsense. Perhaps the tongue of the oracle is more coherent than it seems.
The Oracle’s voice returned with a vengeance. “Man can’t save what the gods destroy, but gods can’t destroy what man has made. In the middle, the answer lies. Nestled between colorless thighs.”
When Red Randalf opened his eyes again, he was outside the entranceway, struggling to walk through the menacing wind. The sun was right where he left it, as if he had never entered at all.
“This is a waste of time,” said Kyrgena. “None of us can get in. It’s a shame. I was going to ask her how to be rid of you.”
Red Randalf said nothing and started the uphill climb to the bottom of the ridge. Replaying the riddle in his head. Trying to make sense of the world. Trying not to go mad.
But perhaps one must go mad to make sense of the world.