The Oracle Read online

  Saxton’s arrow caught one beast in the shoulder, making it snarl in pain.

  The threat pressed too close, and Angrud threw down his bow, drawing his long knife instead.

  Both men held their ground, too focussed on survival to feel any fear. They didn’t hesitate, and fought with a strength and confidence that only comes with training.

  Poor Jemma panicked at the charging monsters, and the blood that was spilt; she curled into a protective ball, praying for it to stop. Something grabbed her arm, and Jemma screamed and lashed out.

  “Miss Jemma, it’s over.” Saxton’s voice called out.

  Jemma cautiously raised her head, and saw Saxton hovering over her. The girl forced her frozen limbs to unravel, embarrassed that she should appear so weak.

  Looking around in disbelief, she saw two of the monsters lying dead on the forest floor. She felt a stab of fear, wondering where the other two were. “W-where...?”

  Saxton offered her a hand, helping her back to her feet. “The other two scarpered. Typical of wild mallus, they flee as soon as the odds are against them.”

  “Cowards.” Angrud spat, inspecting his bloody arm, shreds of fabric hanging from it. “Have you seen what the bast-”

  “It’s their nature to be opportunistic. You’d get your head bitten off, calling the mallus cowards.” Saxton argued.

  “Fine,” Angrud grumbled, “have you seen what those opportunistic, flea-bitten-”

  “How badly are you hurt?” Saxton asked, serious.

  “Oh, it’s only a scratch; but this is a new tunic!”

  “What were those things?” Jemma interrupted, her eyes fixed on the strange animals.

  “Mallus, in the flesh. I always thought they were a myth, before I moved to the forest.” Saxton answered. ”You look very pale, Miss Jemma, do you need to sit down?”

  Jemma looked at the dark, bloody heaps. She couldn’t think of anything worse than staying around them a moment longer than necessary. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Four

  Far away, in the capital of Enchena, the royal palace stood stark against the sky. Its tall towers cast a shadow over the city, a constant reminder of the unquestionable power of the King.

  A young man stood by the window on the top floor, his eyes fixed on the dark green blur of the forest that stretched away to the horizon.

  David had grown taller over the last year, and even though he’d always been physically fit, his frame and muscles had taken on a more mature set. A breeze from the open window ruffled his hair, which had grown longer than he’d ever worn it at home, it was now a shaggy mess of golden blond.

  He was still handsome, but his once-gentle blue eyes glinted with ice and hatred.

  David gripped the windowsill so firmly his hand turned white. He was full of restless energy, every nerve heightened and on fire. For two days he had felt it, a thrumming call through every fibre of his body. The gate was open, his world was calling him home.

  Home. David hadn’t given it a single thought for months. He had a good thing here, and had no intention of ever returning to England. Why would he? He had been so proud of his life, without knowing how little it was.

  David couldn’t imagine returning to it now. He had blood on his hands and he had changed so much from that doe-eyed boy, he could never go back to the rules and restrictions of home.

  “Your highness-”

  David jumped at the unexpected voice at his shoulder, he turned, instinctively grabbing the person by the throat and throwing them against the wall.

  The servant’s eyes widened with panic and he gasped, stuttering an apology.

  “What do you want?” David snapped, towering over the weak-looking man.

  “Your…” the servant trembled and tried to force the words out. “The Princess Helena sent me… she bid me… she would like the company of her husband.”

  David glowered, he had better things to do than visit his wife. It had only been a few weeks since she birthed him a daughter, and Helena was still fat and even less appealing than she had been when they had first met. Besides, her hormones left her emotional and impossible to talk to.

  He hated having to pander to her every need, coddling that silly girl. But it was only temporary, soon he would secure his place as Hrafn’s heir. Then once Hrafn and his wilting queen were out of the way, there would be no protection for Helena’s nonsense.

  As he thought of his wife, David didn’t notice his hand tightening around the servant’s neck, the man’s fingers clawing desperately at the prince’s hand, silently begging for release.

  “David.”

  David snapped out of his daze and glared towards the person who dared to stop him.

  Captain Losan looked thoroughly unimpressed by the young prince. “Let the servant go, David. Killing the last one was an accident, but this is getting to be a habit.”

  David grunted; trust Losan to bring up the last one: a chambermaid that had fallen down the stairs last winter.

  Between his disdain for following orders, and the fact that he didn’t care if his servant lived or died, it was with reluctance that David released him.

  The man fell to the floor, choking and gasping for air.

  “I have a title, Captain. You would do well to remember it.”

  Losan crossed his arms, his cold eyes fixed on David, his scarred face sneering in his direction. “I have a title too, Prince. And I had to do more than sleep with a princess to earn it.”

  The servant got unsteadily to his feet and backed away from the two men in the room.

  “Now, if you’re done posturing, your King requires your presence.”

  After a moment’s thought, David turned to the fearful servant, patting the man amiably on the shoulder. “You may tell my dear wife that her father has demanded my time, but I will attend her as soon as I possibly can.”

  David turned and strode away, letting Captain Losan follow in his wake. He led down several flights of stairs to the throne room.

  No matter how trivial the meeting, or how few men were to attend, King Hrafn always insisted on using the throne room. There was a confirmation of power, when Hrafn sat in the hall of his ancestors. The dais raising him above the others, a not-so-subtle reminder of his place.

  David mused over the transparency of it all. But Hrafn grew weaker as his doubts grew stronger.

  “Your majesty.” Losan bowed, showing his King all due reverence.

  David followed suit, a simple gesture to humour a simple man.

  Hrafn motioned for them to rise. He had aged in the last few months; he was still an intimidating figure, but his raven-black hair was streaked with grey. His once-clear and focused eyes now moved incessantly, unable to calm.

  “Captain Losan, anything to report?”

  “I have set men at the location of the gate. There was no sign of activity, or of Gardyn presence, but my men will handle anything that arises.” Losan replied.

  “Yes, well excuse me for not having much faith in that after last time.” David drawled. “Your men were trained for everything except two foreign teenagers, it seemed.”

  Captain Losan grit his teeth, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

  “David, do not antagonise the Captain, otherwise I will drop you into his arena and see how long you survive.” The King warned. “Losan, my friend, he has a point. David thwarted your attempts last year, and he seems to have a preternatural link to that gate when it is active. Tomorrow he will ride out with you; see if he can sense something you can’t.”

  David and the Captain shared a look of mutual distrust, but bit their tongues before the King.

  “You are dismissed.”

  Five

  They marched on, with no further breaks. Over the duration of the trip, Jemma’s many questions were answered, to an extent. Not by Angrud, who continued to look darkly at the girl every time he rejoined them, but by Saxton who willingly offered his time, answering what he could. Eventually, Jemma’s
questions tailed off, replaced by a concerted effort to keep one foot moving in front of the other. Her energy had been sapped by fear during the mallus attack, and it was only stubbornness that pushed her on. Trainers or not, Jemma was going to have some wicked blisters at the end of this.

  Her stomach rumbled with hunger. The ice-cream seemed like a distant memory, and had hardly set her up for a serious cross-country march. Although it was cooler here, and the canopy blocked most of the bright sun, Jemma was still hot. She kept wiping beads of sweat from her brow, and twisted her thick hair away from her neck, trying to get cool air to her skin. What she wouldn’t give for a cold drink right now; a nice, ice cold Sprite. Her mouth watered as she imagined such luxuries were at hand.

  Lost in thought, Jemma collided with Angrud’s back, not noticing that the young man had stopped. He grunted and turned, clearly displeased with her.

  “Sorry,” Jemma muttered, her voice a rough whisper after the long journey.

  “Well take her through,” Saxton said, smirking at Angrud’s discomfort.

  Angrud hesitated, rubbing his sore arm. “What if they don’t know the difference between one person and two?”

  Jemma frowned, trying to work out what on earth they were talking about. Through where? Which ‘they’ worried Angrud? She looked around and saw only more trees and grass; if this was their destination, it was definitely an anti-climax.

  “Jemma’s on our side, they won’t hurt you.” Saxton reasoned.

  “She says that she’s on our side, but a spy would say the same thing!” Angrud argued.

  Saxton sighed, giving up on the younger man. When he turned to Jemma, the amusement still lingered in his gentle eyes. “Now, Miss Jemma, what is about to happen may be... unusual, but I need you to keep walking beside me. Can you do that?”

  Jemma smiled, after everything that had happened today, she was pretty sure nothing could be ‘unusual’ by comparison. “Of course, no problem.”

  Saxton gave a knowing smile, and directed her towards their right, firmly holding her arm. Jemma saw that the forest was subtly different; the trees weren’t just close, they were tightly packed, without a glimmer of light getting through.

  Saxton started to walk towards the natural wall, pulling Jemma along with him. Before she had a chance to compose a sarcastic comment, Jemma froze, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  The ground began to rumble, and the trees shuddered. With an agonising creak, they began to move. A space started to form in front of them, splinters and leaves drifting through the air. The space widened enough for two people to pass through.

  Jemma looked up at Saxton, her eyes bulging with fear.

  “Trust me.” Saxton asked.

  Jemma nodded, swallowing her nervousness. She grabbed onto Saxton’s arm and shuffled next to him, and he moved towards the gap. The ground was churned up, and Jemma struggled to keep her balance. As she stepped into the space, she looked up at the massive trees that stretched up to the sky. The trunks seemed scarily close, and was it only in her imagination that they quivered eerily?

  At last, they were through. Angrud jogged through after them, and the trees shifted and closed, knitting the gap with living wood. Jemma stared at it, barely grasping what had happened.

  “W-what...?” Jemma coughed uncertainly. “Is this... normal in Enchena?”

  “No,” Saxton replied, “It was a gift from Lady Samantha, before she left. She promised that the Gardyn families would be safe. The trees obey her. It is said that, if anyone who tries to enter Treefort and wishes the Gardyn harm tries to enter Treefort, the trees will crush them. Hence Angrud’s reluctance.”

  “Can’t be too careful,” Angrud’s voice came from behind her. “Minaeri knows how the trees distinguish who is on our side.”

  Saxton shook his head at his companion’s grumbling. “Anyway, Jemma, welcome to Treefort.”

  Jemma had been so preoccupied by the trees that she had failed to notice the first signs of civilisation she had seen in Enchena. Tents and huts made from hides and wood, spread out across a half-mile space. Every few metres, small fires were already lit and anyone not on duty was helping with the organisation of a feast that was to be held for visiting Gardyn captains later that evening. Jemma glanced up, the sun warm on her face, beaming down on the valley, filling it with warmth and light. The trees, nothing more than a dark fringe.

  Jemma brought her gaze down to the make-shift village, and started. The idyllic camp suddenly tore apart to reveal hellish devastation. The tents were broken and many were burning bright, smoke curling up into the choking air. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, wild-eyed and bloody. The survivors ran as another ball of fire flew out of a deep smoky sky, crashing to the ground, not a metre from Jemma. The impact knocked her backwards, she felt her heart constricting.

  “Miss Jemma, are you alright?” Saxton was kneeling beside her, a strong arm supporting her.

  Jemma’s focus shifted from his worried face, daring to look at the camp again. All had reverted to the pleasant scene.

  “Did you see...?” Jemma paused, as she noticed the confusion on Saxton’s face. Perhaps it had been her imagination, even though the scene remained vivid in her mind. Could she trust herself? Thrown into another world, into a strange war with unknown forces, that was questionable enough. Suddenly Jemma felt all alone, perhaps it would be better not to stand out in any way; at least until she figured out who to trust.

  “I’m sorry,” she finished lamely, struggling to get back to her feet. “I’ve just had a tiring day and felt faint.”

  “You had best rest at my camp until we find out what to do with you. My wife will take care of you.” Saxton said, helping her up.

  “What!” Angrud exclaimed. “She’s a prisoner. We should shackle her to a tree or something.”

  “A tree or something?” Saxton repeated, drily. “She’s just a kid, Angrud. Don’t worry, I’ll take any blame that comes our way. Go get that arm checked out by the healer, and I’ll meet you shortly.”

  Saxton led past the first row of tents. People gave him the briefest glance as he passed; but their gaze lingered on Jemma. Jemma felt a warm blush creep up her neck as she realised the attention of so many strangers was fixed on her. Men, women and children alike, watched her with surprise. Was it so obvious that she was a stranger? Surely they couldn’t tell she was from another world by her looks – they all looked normal to her. Did that make her an alien, to come from another world? The thought made her skin crawl.

  Jemma increased her pace until she was walking beside Saxton. “What are they all looking at?”

  Saxton hesitated, and reluctantly answered. “You’re clothing is somewhat unusual, and... they are not used to seeing someone with your colour of hair...”

  “What?” Jemma looked back at the staring faces, nobody else wore shorts or a strappy top, nobody wore bright white. There were trousers and skirts, and comfortable tops with muted colours. As for their hair, it ranged quite boringly from brown to black; no blondes, and definitely no redheads. Jemma had thought it bad when some of the meaner kids bullied her at school, seeing her hair as a weakness; but now she felt like she might as well have a beacon on her head. “Great, that’s just... fantastic.”

  Saxton glanced at her, but refused to comment. He walked directly towards a small group of women. They looked round at his approach, and one of the women smiled and moved towards him, her oval face and big brown eyes emanated a warmth and kindness that immediately put Jemma at ease. A young girl grasped her hand and looked in innocent wonder at the stranger.

  “Saxton, I wasn’t expecting you back until later.”

  Saxton swooped down on the little girl, scooping her up in his arms. He then kissed his wife gently on the cheek.

  “Jemma, meet my wife Siarla, and my youngest daughter, Betony.” Saxton smiled to Jemma, then spoke to his wife, “You don’t mind Jemma staying with us until Captain Rian gets here, do you? It’s just she’s young and...”

/>   “And you have a soft spot for strays.” Siarla teased. “That’s perfectly fine, Saxton.”

  “I have to go report to my superior, before Angrud says something he shouldn’t.” Saxton lowered his daughter back to the ground. “I’ll be back within an hour, I promise.”

  Siarla’s smile faltered as she realised that her husband was leaving her with Jemma, but she shrugged her worry away.

  Jemma stood very self-consciously, a nervous blush colouring her cheeks, she had never felt more out of place.

  “Well, my little flower,” Siarla was kneeling down and tapped Betony lightly on her nose. “Shall we find your brother and sister?”

  Betony giggled and wriggled away from her mother, her big brown eyes staring up at the girl with the orange hair.

  “The other two are in our tent.” Siarla said, standing up. She gave a friendly smile and led the short distance to a large, patched canvas; big enough for the family of five to sleep comfortably.

  Siarla entered the tent, the flaps thrown wide open. A young girl jumped nervously and looked up, biting her lip guiltily.

  “Jemma, this is my other daughter, Kiya. Kiya, Jemma is staying with us for the evening, can you make up another bed?” Siarla looked about the tent, before slowly turning back to her daughter. “Kiya, where is your brother?”

  Kiya’s attention was elsewhere, and she stared open-mouthed at the strange girl with the flaming hair. A sharp cough from her mother brought back her manners.

  “He went out, mama. He said he wanted to see the mallus.”

  “Did he now?” Siarla said, thin-lipped. “Jemma, stay here with the girls, I just have to go and get my wandering son.”

  When Siarla promptly left the tent, Jemma stood uneasily, the two sisters staring up at her.

  “So, er... you’re Kiya, and you’re... Betony?” Jemma asked weakly, at a loss of what to say. The girls nodded silently, wide eyes fixed on Jemma. “They’re nice names.”

  “Thank you, I think Jemma is a pretty name too.” Kiya replied quietly. The girl bit her lip, then blurted out, “Why do you have orange hair?”