“Yeah. But we have to have a bunch of outsiders here when he does it on purpose—and Master Sabrai issooooooogrouchy when that happens.” As she spoke she looked over her shoulder, in search of a glimpse of that master. Then she leaned in. “Do you want to see my room?”
There was no way that the Tha’alani would say no, although Tobi had the uneasy feeling, given the conversation that preceded the invitation, thatnowas the right answer. “We don’t want to get you in trouble,” he told her, lowering his voice to a whisper. Whispers, on the other hand, were hard for Tha’alani children. They had, of course, learned to speak out loud in their version of schooling, but they didn’t see the point in the activity on most days.
It was like trying to communicate poorly on purpose. It was a frustrating activity. This was the first time that any of the three had seen the use for, the practical necessity of, those lessons. But even so, they knew there was a better way to communicate with Random.
Years of admonitions prevented the attempt.
Severn felt uneasy and realized that it was Ybelline’s response, mirroring his own.
This happened at least two decades ago. Closer to three, I think. There’s nothing here that can harm you. And nothing here that can harm them now.
He felt her agreement. He had stated facts plainly, facts she knew better than he. The blend of discomfort and fact still remained. He thought he knew why. But he followed the three children who were only a memory as they followed Random. She stayed on the second floor, but moved away from the paintings and the open hall, into a narrower hallway, one that had doors on either side of the wall.
The rooms weren’t numbered; no nameplates distinguished their owners, if they had owners at all. Random put her palm in the center of one door. Her hand glowed a pale blue as light flared beneath it.
Names weren’t necessary. The door was warded.
None of the fief buildings that Severn had sought temporary shelter in had had door wards. He was grateful for the lack; he had a suspicion that even if these halls were abandoned, the wards would continue to prevent entry for as long as the doors remained standing.
He’d have to remember to ask what happened to door wards if someone used brute physical force to open the doors they were placed on.
It depends on the ward, Ybelline replied.
As both adults reviewing these memories—living on the inside of them—suspected, Random was at her most furtive, her most obviously worried, once the door was unlocked. She spun her head up and down the length of the hall so quickly she should have been motion sick, and then proceeded to shove them through the open door. She entered in a rush and shut the door firmly.
The Tha’alani weren’t even afraid. They understood her actions: she was trying to prevent being caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing. Since they didn’t see themselves as dangerous, and their activities thus far couldn’t be considered criminal, they assumed she was breaking normal adult rules—the ones that mostly made no sense to apply to someone who wasn’t adult yet.
They were only almost adult in their own minds, but Random was, or appeared to be, of an age with them. And Random was an Oracle, both anointed by fate and simultaneously as human as they.
They forgot even these thoughts as she spoke two words and the room was bathed in light. This was magic. It wasn’t as mythical as an oracle—they’d all seen light when no sunlight shone and no lamps had been lit—but it was not a magic they themselves had invoked.
Was she a mage as well as an Oracle? Tessa thought it unfair.
“You can do it too,” Random said. “It’s just words, right? You can saydarkenorbrighten.”
They weren’t words that the Tha’alani children understood. They understood the rest of her spoken words, but these were unfamiliar. She repeated them, inviting the Tha’alani to do the same.
“What do they mean? Are they magic words?”
No, Severn thought, although he understood their reaction. They were Barrani words, both. He’d heard and understood them instantly.
Barrani is the language of the laws, Ybelline said.It is not much taught to our children. The merchant tongue, however, is. It is what most people will speak outside of our quarter.
Do youhavea spoken native tongue?
Once.She offered no further answer; he felt a tide of information rising like a wave—a tidal wave. She suppressed it. It wasn’t why she’d come here. But...showing Severn this visit to the Oracular Halls wasn’t why she’d come, either.
He understood every word, every thought, the Tha’alani children had had. Language didn’t appear to make a difference.
No. Not when we are like this.
Random chattered endlessly in the confines of this room; it was her happy place. No, he thought, that wasn’t it. It was the place in which she felt most confident. The Tha’alani had come to see an Oracle. She knew that Oracles were misunderstood by people who weren’t Oracles. But she still hoped. She wanted, he realized, to impress the Tha’alani.
She took out sketches from a portfolio leaning against the wall opposite the door; she showed them various sculptures that rested on shelves; there didn’t seem to be any organization to their placement; they’d been put wherever they would fit.
She told them what the sketches meant—or what others realized they meant after the fact. That was the problem with oracles. The Oracles were driven to express the knowledge that filled the inside of their heads, but that knowledge wasn’t based on facts. It wasn’t based on the lives the Oracles had led. It came to them like a compulsion, and they could only get rid of it one way.
There were three items in this room that told no stories, or invoked no stories. Random didn’t know what they meant, or who they were meant to guide—if oracles were meant to guide anyone at all. Two were sketches, and one was a carefully sculpted piece of rock. Or at least that’s how the Tha’alani perceived it.