The Oracle Read online

  The Oracle

  Book 2 of Enchena

  K. S. Marsden

  Printed by CreateSpace, an Amazon.com Company

  Copyright © K.S. Marsden 2016

  Cover art by Jatin775

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted be any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

  Available from Amazon.com and other book stores

  ISBN-13: 978-1540691842

  ISBN-10: 1540691845

  ASIN: B01NBE62P1

  I would like to thank everyone who has contributed to the Enchena series. To my editor, Lesley, who continues to make sense of my random scribblings.

  To my beta readers, Wilmar Luna (author of Silver Ninja); Matthew R. Bell (author of Fear of God); and Jeni. You guys continue to be my source of common sense, and make Enchena real for everyone else.

  To all my readers that have contacted me, your support and kind words have been priceless!

  And now onto the concluding part of the story of The Lost Soul.

  One

  A shadow flew overhead, blocking the sun. She looked up, her eyes fixed on the creature; her limbs locked in fear.

  The creature flew across the valley, only banking to turn as it reached the wall of trees, its scales glinting in the sunlight. It beat its huge red wings to balance as it lowered its enormous body to the ground.

  On land the beast started to walk, ungainly, compared to how sleek it had glided in the sky. It turned towards the only other living thing in the valley, its awkward gait covering the gap in no time. As it loomed closer, she staggered back, fully aware that she could never outrun this creature.

  Something broke underfoot and she felt an excruciating pain pierce her ankle. She finally tore her gaze away from the monster and looked to the ground. It was littered with arrows, amongst the burnt remains of shelters. Smouldering wooden poles and ash fell away to leave the bare bones of the buildings.

  Further on, there were glints of metal, scattered on a field of blackness. It almost looked like a slew of scorched bodies littering the valley.

  Her back was becoming uncomfortably warm, and she turned to see the creature standing beside her, so tall that its chest hovered by her head like a rumbling furnace, fixing its fierce gaze on her. A guttural sound started in its chest and reverberated up its throat, until she realised that it was growling at her.

  “It wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t do anything!” She pleaded, tilting her head back until her neck hurt, to try and meet the creature’s eye.

  Her words did nothing to calm the beast, as it opened its jaw to roar, a sound emerged that made her cower and cover her ears.

  Panicking, she ran, not caring where, as long as it was away. She could hear the creature moving behind her, its leathery wings giving a deafening crack as they opened.

  Her foot caught in a half-burnt belt and she fell to the ash-covered ground. “It wasn’t my fault.” She pleaded, as the creature stepped slowly and purposefully towards her.

  It took a deep breath, and hot air radiated from its open mouth, ready to unleash the furnace within.

  “Minaeri, forgive me.”

  Fire, hot flames engulfed her-

  Jemma woke with a start. Sweat was pouring off her skin as she struggled to breathe. Despite being in the middle of a heatwave, she had managed to wrap her duvet around herself in her sleep.

  She tossed it away and lay, star-fished on her bed for a few moments, before checking the time. Not even 10am, and the hot sun was already beating against the blinds.

  “No wonder I’m dreaming about dragons and fire.” She muttered.

  Unable to stand the stifling heat any longer, she grabbed her towel and headed to the bathroom, keen for a nice, cold shower. Showers always helped her wake up, and remove the last traces of a dream.

  Jemma sighed as the cold water sluiced over her, weird dreams were nothing new to her, and it wasn’t the first to veer towards violence and death. She did wonder what that said about her poor subconscious.

  Finally, as she cooled down, she shut off the shower. The dragon was definitely new, she hoped that it wouldn’t reappear in any future dreams, it had been… terrifying.

  Jemma towel dried her ginger hair, glancing in the bathroom mirror as one question plagued her. “Who is Minaeri?” She muttered to herself again. Jemma was convinced that it was a person, one that was mentioned in many of her dreams over the last six months. In a fit of frustration, Jemma had tried to Google the name, to try and find out who it was and why they were featuring in her dreams. There was nothing in the wide expanse of the internet that offered an answer. Jemma was just going to have to mark it down to her own wonderful imagination. She snorted at the idea and finished getting ready for the day.

  When she made her way downstairs, Jemma ignored her mum’s pointed look at her watch. Sure, it was after ten o’clock, but what did that matter – it was the summer holidays, time lost all meaning. She was pretty sure that she wasn’t the only fifteen-year-old enjoying the lie-ins summer promised. After the six-week holidays, it would be back to early mornings and the stress of the final year of school.

  “You look tired, you weren’t on Facebook all night again, were you?” Her mum asked, taking in the tell-tale dark eyes.

  Jemma yawned and pushed back a lock of ginger hair that threatened to fall into her cereal bowl. “No, just didn’t sleep well.”

  “More dreams?” Her mum asked with a vague interest, turning back to her newspaper.

  With a mouthful of cornflakes, Jemma grunted.

  “Y’know, you should write them down.” Her mum said for the umpteenth time. “What happened to that dream diary Nora got you, anyway? They might mean something.”

  Jemma rolled her eyes. Most of her dreams seemed pretty violent and obvious. Except the one where David Tennant was a pirate pillaging Venice – that one she was still working out.

  The rest of the morning dragged by and Jemma checked her phone again, but there were no new messages. The only people that were likely to text her were her best friends, Nora and Amanda. Unfortunately, they were in Florida, and were probably still in bed, Jemma had to admit as she worked out the time difference.

  A trip to Disney World had been Nora’s parents’ idea, and they’d kindly invited Amanda and Jemma, so it was hard for her to be totally jealous. Jemma knew her mum regretted not being able to afford the trip, so she tried to keep her grumbling to a minimum. Most of the time.

  As the afternoon rolled in, her mum was in the main room, ironing work uniforms, the telly blaring in the background.

  “…the teenagers have been missing for over a year with no trace…”

  Jemma hovered, watching as the local news showed the same old CCTV clip of two kids leaving school, followed by their photos. They had both gone to Jemma’s high school, although they’d been a couple of years above her. She couldn’t remember the girl, but she’d seen the boy – David had been the school’s star rugby player, and all the girls agreed that he was very lookable.

  Jemma remembered when they had first disappeared, everyone had been uneasy, not knowing what to think. The police had turned up occasionally, their presence giving no firm answers, as they drifted between investigating the possible absconding teens; abduction; or even murder.

  As the days turned into months, optimism at finding them faded. The people closest to them became depressed about not knowing whether to grieve for them or not, but the atmosphere of the school moved on and carried on with life. It sounded a little bit cruel, but they had to put the bad things behind them.

  It didn’t stop a shiver running up Jemma’s spine as she saw their faces on the TV.

  Jemma sighed and dropped d
own on the sofa, claiming the remote and changing the channel.

  “Hey, I was watching that.” Her mum protested as she adjusted the shirt on her ironing board.

  “Why, it’s not like you can help.” Jemma replied, continuing to flick through the channels. So many channels, all full of rubbish. She left it on a daytime property programme and gave up.

  Her mum frowned at her daughter’s attitude, but let it slide. “Jemma, it’s a gorgeous, sunny day. Why the hell aren’t you outside?”

  Jemma sighed, “Because I’ll burn to a crisp.”

  It was a sorry fact that Jemma had inherited two things from her very absent dad – red hair and pale skin. Because of that jerk, she was cursed to never have a tan. No, she just got more freckles and went lobster red, before going white again. Luckily, they didn’t have too many sunny days in Leeds – overcast or raining was the norm, even in summer.

  Jemma often wished her dad had been olive-skinned and dark-haired. Oh, and that he hadn’t been a cheating toe rag that had run off with one of her mum’s best friends when Jemma was a toddler.

  “Then keep to the bloody shadows.” Her mum replied, tutting. “Fresh air will do you good. Surely you’ve got more friends than Nora and Amanda to hang out with?”

  Jemma made a non-committal sound. There were people that she knew, but no one that she wanted to make the effort to meet up with. She fidgeted with her mobile, trying to ignore how much she was missing her best friends. Eventually Jemma sighed and stood up – her mum would only keep nagging until she got her way.

  “Make sure you’re home by half-five, I’m doing dinner early tonight.”

  Jemma looked at her mum and the half-ironed uniform, and the reason clicked. Her mum was doing her first night shift at the hospital tonight. As a nurse, she had always done day shifts, but the night shift paid better, and Jemma was old enough to stay home alone now.

  Nothing had been said, but Jemma knew that her mum felt guilty about their financially-limited lives. Not to mention that the extra expense of college and university hovered in the future.

  “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Her mum asked for the umpteenth time. “I can ask your Auntie Rose if you can stay at hers.”

  Jemma rolled her eyes. She could just imagine the boost of confidence her babysitting clients would feel, if they found out that Jemma couldn’t be left alone at night. “I’ll be fine.”

  “OK, just make sure you call Rose if you need her.” Her mum compromised, then pointed the iron at her. “Now scoot.”

  Jemma ducked the spray of water and laughed at the immature attack. “I’m going, I’m going.” She said, throwing her hands up in defeat.

  Two

  As soon as she opened the front door of the terraced house her mum rented, Jemma felt the hot air envelop her. It was so stifling she struggled to breathe. Even in her trendy short-shorts and vest top, Jemma could feel sweat start to prickle her skin. Great, she could wander around as the sweaty loser with no friends.

  Jemma put on her fake Dior sunglasses and locked the front door. She jogged down the steps from the row of grey-brick houses, and headed across to the nearest park. For some reason, she had an intense desire to be around something green, which had nothing to do with her dreams of valleys and forests, and all to do with proving that she wasn’t in a desert right now. Right?

  Before she even reached the park, the sound of kids playing drifted by. The green field; the playground; and most importantly the ice cream van, were irresistible, drawing young children in from all over the surrounding area.

  Jemma didn’t mind kids all that much, they could be fun to hang out with, and they were why she enjoyed her babysitting jobs so much.

  But en masse, they got pretty annoying. There would always be that one spoilt kid that ruined the harmony of the communal playground; or the one obnoxious parent that wasn’t happy unless they were interfering with everything.

  Jemma walked past the flattest part of the field that had been turned into a makeshift football pitch. She glanced at the boys curiously, but carried on walking when she realised that the oldest was no more than thirteen years old.

  There was nobody her age in the park. Jemma wondered what the big secret was – how often had she gone to school on a Monday and heard her classmates’ stories of adventures and parties? She was clearly missing some sort of memo that went round to all the other fifteen year olds.

  She sighed and traipsed up the hill towards the one thing that could cheer her up. Ice-cream.

  After queueing for what felt like an hour, while mums juggled toddlers to find the right change, and children struggled to make the important choice of what colour ice pop they wanted; Jemma walked away with her prize. She unwrapped her cornetto, trying not to be too annoyed at the redness that was already spreading across her arms and shoulders, thanks to queueing in the sun for so long. She should try and get some cover for a while, to let her pale skin rest.

  Jemma supposed the cool thing to do would be to jump on a bus to the Trinity Shopping Centre, but she couldn’t really face the hot and stuffy bus ride, and crowded shops. Jemma had her kindle in her bag and wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere quiet and cool with it. Jemma licked her ice cream and knew exactly where to go.

  *****

  St Jude’s Way had been marked for demolition months ago, but the project had been delayed multiple times. Jemma assumed it was legalities and council screw-ups that meant the street of old pit housing was still standing. Some of the more imaginative kids said that the project was cursed by the witch that still lived there. Others had heard rumours that DIY SOS had first refusal at regenerating the area, and the BBC was dragging its heels.

  Whatever the reason, the street of derelict houses lay empty and silent. Jemma’s friends refused to go anywhere near the road; both Nora and Amanda said that it gave them a bad vibe. It wasn’t just them either, everybody else seemed to steer clear. It seemed like the ideal location for squatters or druggies, but Jemma had never seen any evidence of them.

  Whatever was scaring the rest of the population obviously wasn’t bothering Jemma. She never felt anything except safe, and a strange sense of belonging. Further proof that her subconscious must be wonky.

  Jemma glanced towards the one occupied house. An old woman had lived there for as long as Jemma could remember; she had refused to move out, ignoring the money offered for her little house. There were lots of rumours about the old woman – some called her a witch; others treated her as the monster in the shadows, something to scare the young kids.

  Jemma knew that it was all nonsense, but years of ingrained fear made her wary. She stayed at the far end of the street, as far from the old woman’s house as possible.

  She made her way up to one of the shady porches, and sat down on the cracked step. Jemma pulled out her kindle and opened the book she was currently reading. She always liked to read fantasy stories; the magic and the adventure so different to life here. It was something Jemma could immerse herself in and be distracted for a few hours.

  Jemma finished her ice-cream, and her attention locked onto the digital page.

  Seated in the pleasant shade of the porch, time drifted by, and Jemma hardly noticed the shadows shift as the sun moved across the sky.

  A flutter of wings broke Jemma’s concentration. Jemma looked up to see a bird, no bigger than a pigeon, but brightly coloured. It had a red breast and delicate blue-grey wings. It…

  Jemma rubbed her eyes… she wasn’t too familiar with birds, but she’d seen enough David Attenborough programmes to know that it was a bird of prey; and that it was definitely out of place here.

  The bird turned its beady eye onto Jemma, and bobbed its head expectantly.

  “You alright, little guy?” Jemma asked softly, trying not to scare it. She winced as she moved, her bottom felt numb from sitting on the hard step.

  The little bird gave out a sharp chirruping squawk and shifted on the fence. Jemma noticed a small brown pouch tied t
o its leg. It didn’t look big, or heavy enough to be a burden. If Jemma didn’t know any better, it looked as if it could carry a message; but surely nobody had used messenger birds for fifty years or more.

  “But that means you must belong to someone.” Jemma said out loud. If it was a tame pet, that would explain why the bird wasn’t scared of her. Jemma stood up and moved towards it.

  With a flutter of wings it moved out of reach, and Jemma berated herself for chasing it off… only it stopped at the gate and perched again, looking back at Jemma expectantly.

  Jemma eyed it warily, before taking a step closer. The bird took flight again and stopped at the fence next door.

  “Seriously, if you want me to help, then staying still would be good right now.” She said, knowing how daft she must appear for chiding a bird. She walked towards it, for the bird to fly a little further down the street. Jemma stopped and put her hands on her hips; it reminded her of the game over-excited dogs sometimes play. Either that or it wanted her to follow.

  Jemma shrugged, giving up. “Fine, let’s pretend this is totally normal. I’m following a bird. Lead on, feather brain.”

  The bird snapped its very sharp-looking bill at Jemma, then continued to fly in short spurts down St Jude’s Way.

  The bird stopped at another gate, its talons scraping loose the flaking paint. It looked back at Jemma with meaningful eyes, then flew through an open door.

  Jemma halted in her stride. In a street full of boarded and vacant houses, the bird had to fly into the one building that was still a home. Not that you could tell from the neglected front yard. The small patch of grass was overgrown and shrivelled from the prolonged heat.

  Jemma stood, her hand gripping tightly onto the wooden gatepost. The door had been left open, perhaps by mistake, or to let some air in. Jemma could only guess the reason, but as she eyed the dark hall within, her heart began to race and sweat rand down the back of her neck.