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Wind. Daniel Mello
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“Despair,” the Oracle croaked.
Wait, What? Was her future really that grim? “He’s got to be out there somewhere, right?” she pressed.
The old witch glared confusedly at her for a moment before continuing, “your friends will die, Lythina. You will lose all hope. You will meet your destiny in darkness where you find the Legend.”
The witch stumbled out of the chair and grabbed the walking stick to steady her gait. Hobbling around the desk to the other end of the room, she reached an archaic wooden hutch and threw open its doors. She began to sift through the various objects inside, pushing aside tattered books, dusty glass jars filled with a dirty liquid, and some small metal crates whose occupants had clearly expired.
For a moment, Lythina stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the prophecy. But she quickly snapped back to the moment and inquired further.
“That’s it? My friends are murdered and I die alone in darkness with the legend?!” She could feel the tips of her ears beginning to burn, her fists beginning to tighten. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! “Do you know how far I travelled to get here?!”
Immediately, the old witch stopped sorting through the items and turned to Lythina with a cunning stare. “I didn’t say you’d be alone.”
Turning back to the hutch, the old woman snatched a small pouch from inside and shut the rotting wooden doors. Then, with a difficult turn back around, she hobbled over to the young lady and thrust the pouch toward her. Lythina raised a flattened hand underneath it.
“This will help you when the time is right,” the Oracle said as she dropped the small bag onto Lythina’s palm.
“Okay, how will I know when to use it?” Although she was still angry after hearing the vague prophecy, Lythina felt like she had a little more time to learn everything she could from the Oracle. She took the pouch and tied it to a strap on the inside of her waist bag.
“You’ll know when all hope is lost,” the old woman advised. “Know thyself, and the rest will follow.”
With some effort, she managed to hobble back over to the aged chair and slide into it. From an old, tarnished urn atop the desk, the old witch shoved in a boney hand and grabbed a handful of dust, dumping it out upon the tabletop.
“These are the ashes of fallen kings,” the oracle spoke as she waved her dusty hand over the remains.
Lythina couldn’t help but comment. “That’s disgusting.”
Offended, the Oracle retorted back, ”Not disgusting, respectful. Always give a king his due respect. Always!”
“Okay,” Lythina surrendered, “Okay, easy.”
As she closed her eyes and started to chant to herself, the witch waved a pointed finger over the ashes. Instantly, as her hand hovered above them, the ashes began to move and spread apart from each other as if the old woman was writing in sand.
“The kings tell me many things,” the witch rasped. “Some say you will not make it. Some say that you will return peace to the land.” She paused, allowing Lythina to absorb the echo of her words, the stillness in the cabin. “What do you wish for?”
Just then, the Oracle’s eyes snapped open, solid white.
Lythina jumped.
“WHAT DO YOU WISH FOR?!” the Oracle bellowed.
Rushing past all of her other desires, past peace, past freedom, her one true wish flew out of her mouth before she could restrain it. “I wish for love!”
For a moment, there was silence. Lythina could hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears.
And the Oracle screamed, “MATHIAS!”
Instantly, a huge squall erupted out of nowhere inside the cabin as the witch howled, her voice echoing around the rotting walls. The raven in the crossbeams cawed and scrambled to fly away from the clatter as Lythina squinted her eyes and turned her head to deflect the pitch of the witch’s scream away from her ears. She braced herself against the gale, her cloak flapping wildly behind her, dust and straw and pieces of rotting parchment flying around the room as the storm of wind blasted over them, blowing out the candles.
As quickly as it had come, the witch’s echo vanished and the storm disappeared. A few moments of gloomy silence followed the shriek, leaving Lythina stunned from the sudden quiet. The hovering debris floated back to the floor, and the smoking candles instantly burst back to flame.
When the Oracle spoke once more, it was in her usual creaky voice. “Seek the Righteous Warrior.”
The old witch closed her eyes, relaxed her body, and slowly ceased to wave her hand over the ashen kings. Underneath her finger, untouched by the raging storm, a pattern of lines had formed. Instantly, Lythina moved closer to inspect them. Strange symbols she had never seen before surrounded a main line that twisted like a river. The symbols were made of straight segments and jagged angles, and the line had small branches shooting from its stem. Quickly, she pulled out a quill and some parchment.
“The kings have spoken,” the Oracle said as she opened her eyes to reveal normal human irises. Lythina was scribbling down the pattern of lines onto the paper when the witch scooped up the ashes and dumped them back into the urn with one fell swoop.
Luckily, the young lady had finished copying down the drawing. She folded up the parchment and pushed it, along with the quill, into a covered pocket on the sleeve of her shirt. Afterward, she knelt in front of the desk, taking a moment to calm her breath.
“Oracle, is there anything else you wish to tell me?” Lythina asked appreciatively.
For a moment, the witch sat breathing peacefully in the chair. “I have seen many happenings in my life, and I am sorry to tell you these things, but I speak only truth. I know the real reason you sought my knowledge, but there are greater forces at work, and now is the time to act. The kingdom as we know it is fouled with the corruption of evil generations. This age of Hyrendell is at an end, Lythina, and the Legend of a time long past will come to reign again. Your destiny is intertwined with the coming age; it was decided long before you were born.”
The Oracle searched the young lady’s face. “Once again, the fate of the Island hangs in the balance. To free the land from oppression, the people will need someone strong enough to lead a revolt against the entirety of Hyrendell’s armies. However, whether you choose to follow the signs in your life is wholly up to you. Oh, and if you sincerely desire love, then believe in it, for you are destined to have it only once in this lifetime.”
With one last word, the old witch reached out a shaky hand. “Remember: light protects you.” Lythina grabbed the boney hand and stared at the old face before her, seeing now a deep compassion glimmer from behind those ancient eyes.
“Thank you, Oracle, for everything,” the young lady said. “Thank you.”
“Go in peace, my dear,” the old woman smiled. “And good luck!”
Closing the rotting entrance door behind her, Lythina walked away from the cabin and away from the Oracle. As she walked back up the trodden roadway, her head spun with the challenge of tying the prophecy, the pouch and the drawing together.
“And who is Mathias?” she wondered. The walk back toward the ramshackle village was hard on her legs, and she could feel the exhaustion in her body begin to creep into her mind. All she wanted to know about was her non-existent love life, not some end of days fortune. And, okay, she got the hint, but how could she be the one to lead a revolt against the entire kingdom of Hyrendell? That would require a hero, or at least a soldier; she, however, was just a simple gardener who studied spirituality as a hobby. If she had gone straight home from the village Monastery like she knew she should’ve, instead of stopping by her favorite bookstore afterward, she might have avoided this life changing mysticism altogether. Then again, she never could just pass by the bookstore…
The Oracle was right.