“Can we stop him?”

“I will know more tomorrow. You must continue to increase your abilities. Some here can assist you. Learn all you can while you remain with us.”

“Okay,” Rachel said.

“You want to know if you will go home. I have spent considerable time studying our respective realities. Five years and nine weeks from tomorrow our realities will be properly synchronized. I cannot speak for any other time. If you survive, and if you so choose, that would be the day I recommend for your return.”

Rachel felt a violent surge of relief. Five years might be a long time to wait, but it was much preferable to uncertainty and despair. Tears sprung to her eyes. She had not expected this particular hope to resurface. “If I go home on that day, I should be able to find my parents?”

“It should get you close to your proper time. Now leave me. I must speak with Galloran.”

“Thank you so much.”

The oracle gave her a sad smile. “My dear girl, please do not thank me yet.”

CHAPTER 28

THE PROPHECY

The next morning, Jason and Rachel walked down a long stairway deep below the temple. Ulani led the way, flanked by a pair of hooded acolytes bearing torches. The entire delegation followed. Nobody spoke.

At the bottom of the stairs, cowled figures hauled open a pair of ornate doors, granting access to a shadowy chamber. Melting candles partially illuminated a variety of ancient carvings. A disgustingly sweet smell saturated the air.

The delegation walked toward the circular pool on the far side of the room. A scaffold over the pool allowed a group of hooded figures to raise a slick gray slab from the fragrant fluid. When the upright slab hung suspended, the acolytes departed.

The face of the oracle was visible in the center of the upper half of the slab. Her eyes were closed, her wrinkled face composed.

The ornate doors closed. The slab dripped. Fumes rose from the aromatic pool.

The eyes of the oracle opened, made iridescent by a creamy film. Those eyes did not make contact with anyone present. They seemed to stare inward or, perhaps, far beyond the confines of the room.

“All paths but one lead to Maldor’s dominion,” the oracle intoned. Her voice did not sound much like it had the day before. She spoke with a remote certainty. “A single precarious lane leads to his premature demise, encompassed by failure, littered with corpses.”

“What should we do?” Galloran asked.

The eyes showed no flicker of recognition. “Two quests. Galloran must rouse Trensicourt. The Amar Kabal must join him, as must the drinlings. Together the free people of Lyrian must march on Felrook in the coming spring. The host will be insufficient, yet Felrook must fall.”

“By spring?” Nollin murmured. “Summer is already spent.”

“Rachel, Io, Ferrin, Nedwin, Nollin, and Tark must join Galloran.”

“Attack Felrook,” Ferrin chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

“Jason Walker must find the abode of Darian the Pyromancer. My sight cannot find his dwelling. I do not know what will be learned. The last abode of Darian the Seer can be learned at the Celestine Library within the Inland Sea. This greatest of seers has vital knowledge. Make sure the secret can be shared.”

“The Celestine Library is guarded,” Ferrin said. “Inaccessible.”

“Darian should have perished ages ago,” Farfalee added softly.

The oracle blinked, her cheeks twitching. “Jasher, Farfalee, Drake, Aram, Corinne, and Nia must join Jason. The parallel quests must succeed. Many present will perish. You must stand united. Otherwise the children of Eldrin will be vanquished, as will the children of Certius, and an age of immeasurable darkness will choke the world. Spend the fall and winter here. Depart as winter wanes. Send a few ahead to prepare the way. The timing is crucial. I have seen and I have spoken.”

“Felrook cannot be taken,” Nollin scoffed mildly. “Not by ten times the number we could muster.”

“I’m not leaving Jason,” Tark griped. “Look again.”

The oracle gasped, cheeks quivering. For a moment, her eyes were not hazy, and she peered desperately at Galloran. “I searched, but could not view the end. Nothing seen, everything glimpsed. You need one with a truer eye and a farther gaze.” Her eyes rolled back, her face slackening. “A secret from the past can ransom the future. The servant will betray the master. The pleasant paths have crumbled. Lyrian must be purchased with sacrifice. Our hope is red, like the blood of heroes; black as the bowels of the earth; and white, like a flash of orantium.”

Her eyelids fluttered rapidly. Drool leaked from the corners of her mouth. Hooded acolytes stormed into the room, armed with tools to cut the oracle from the clay. She died long before they succeeded.