4 comments/  4571 views/  10 favorites

The True Oracle Ch. 01

By: slyc_willie



Author's note: this story was originally submitted as part of a friendly contest between Literotica authors. I liked the premise so much I decided to expand a little upon it. I hope you enjoy this little Fantasy/Sci-Fi tale. Feel free to comment if you wish, but please don't forget to vote. 

This is the first of a two-part installment. 

* * * * 

Eleventh Day, Second Quadrimester, Year 3743 

Aging eyes watched from the shadows of the pillared, circular room. The Minister of Compliance of Owrn Sovereignty was a powerful man, with influence surpassed only by the Regent. Yet the ritual the Minister was about to witness was a sacred one, not normally intended for observation, even by such as he. But the Minister lived in desperate times within a desperate world, and he needed answers. 

The muscular stewards retreated, having supplied the three young women in the middle of the chamber with wine and fruit. They sat upon piles of luxurious cushions, sharing silent smiles as they fed one another grapes and slices of peach. To the Minister, the scene was a reminder of a better time, when the world was not as stark and deadly as it was now. A time when the Minister was a young man, when everyone lived idyllic lives and wanted for nothing. A time before the Blaze. 

A soft, airy giggle caught the Minister's attention. A grape had apparently fallen into the bodice one of the young women wore, and another was using her tongue to search for it. The third woman looked on with interest. 

The Minister could not help but admire the loveliness before him. Uniformly, telling of their protected and privileged status, each of the women was fair-skinned, two with long dark hair, the third a blonde. Each also sported swirling tattoos from shoulder to wrist on each arm, permanent badges that identified them as practitioners of zantri mysticism. The pattern of the tattoos was different, if one bothered to look closely enough; the inked patterns indicated the skills - both sexual and otherwise - each zantrist had mastered. 

What little the women wore was quickly and efficiently divested, revealing pure naked beauty. The blonde took the lead, trailing lips and tongue from the fine-boned ankle of one of the brunettes, past the knee, to the stark line of the woman's tendon which led the eye along the inside of the woman's thigh. 

The other brunette looked on with the glowing smile of arousal, watching the blonde kiss her way toward a smoothly-shaved pussy now colored with the blush of arousal. With a heavy-eyed look of desire, the blonde placed her mouth over the sumptuous, plump lips and sucked tenderly. 

Emotional sighs and gasps of passion filled the air, especially once the other brown-haired woman spread her thighs over the first brunette's face, then pried the blonde's legs apart to dip her tongue into the sweet nectar seeping from her sex. For many minutes, the only sounds were those of ardent, eager, wet sucking and licking and the moans and groans of gratitude they elicited. 

The Minister turned his attention away, forcing himself to look out over a city which had once been the heart of an empire but was now little more than a last stand against the chaotic evil of the world and an ironic beacon for beggars, panderers and thieves. 

There was a time, he thought grimly. In which this city would inspire millions to greatness. A time in which I could look upon the scene behind me and hope to enjoy as more than just an observer. 

The first of the orgasmic cries sounded from the zantrists, quickly followed by others. Grunts, growls, mews, whimpers, pants and moans all created a symphony of aural erotic bliss, forcing images into the Minister's mind that he tried in vain to block. But he could not. 

Finally, turning back, he looked upon the trio of women. They had formed a circle, a triquetra of three naked bodies, legs spread wide and feet pressed together, the women watching each other as they masturbated. The Minister recognized the significance of the womens' positioning, and the sight of it sparked a flame of hope within him. 

Will they do it? Gods, please, yes . . . . 

Breasts heaving, faces and necks glowing with rouge, fingers dancing in furtive blurs between their thighs, the trio of zantrists seemed to be coordinating themselves, watching each other for orgasmic cues, slowing, speeding . . . before all three cast their heads back, crying out to the world as they erupted together. Bodies trembled, limbs shook. The cushions beneath their naked bodies darkened as fluid gushed and soaked into the fabric. 

The Minister stepped to the very edge of his allowed presence, looking upon the women. Their sublime bodies rose and fell as they breathed, breasts flowing back and forth, nipples stark and dark and jutting out. 

Abruptly, the three of them rose up, as if dragged by the invisible wires of a puppeteer. They came together to embrace upon their knees. Their heads then tilted back, eyes open and glowing like pale white orbs. 

Yes, thought the Minister. This is it! 

The women then spoke, with a multitude of haunting voices all uttering as one. 

* * * * 

Far to the west, in the midst of a bleak landscape alongside a dry river bed, the city-state of Neustis Sovereignty was the furthest known bastion of civilization thus far into the continent. At one time a great hub of trade, with access to the world's mightiest river and the most fertile fields, now Neustis, like the rest of the world, was dying. Even the massive tower in the center of the city was beginning to show signs of decay. 

For the young-looking woman who stood before one of many steepled windows in the tower's highest chamber, the state of the world was not her concern. She lived a life of unparalleled privilege and luxury. At one time, she had been known by the name given her at birth, but for more than six decades she had been referred to by the title bestowed upon her, a title of peerless respect and power. 

The True Oracle. 

As the woman whose voice influenced the Seven Regents, dictating everything from trade laws to war, there should be little that would vex her. But she was troubled. For the first time in known history, the Zantri Temple had refused to send a delegation to Neustis. The breach in tradition was an insult to the Oracle . . . and a deadly complication. 

How dare they? They cannot do this to me! I am their Lady, their mistress, the only voice of power left in the world. To deny me what is mine is insufferable. 

Anger simmered quietly within the Oracle's thoughts. They have to know that I can destroy them with a word. All it would take is an order under the guise of a divination to send the armies of the Sovereignties to their temple and drag every one of those harlots to their knees before me. 

A cruel smile stretched the woman's lips. Yes, they must know this. Yet they defy me anyway. The audacity. 

"Audacity to be sure," came a dark voice from behind. 

Startled, the Oracle whirled about to face the black-garbed man in her private chambers. He was insidiously handsome, with powerful, glaring eyes that could, the Oracle knew, literally burrow into her soul. 

"But then, if you were to impose your will upon the Temple," he continued with a knowing smile. "You would most assuredly not get what you want. And this they also know." 

The Oracle glared at the man. "Why do you insist on popping in on me like this?" 

He chuckled. "Oh, weren't you expecting me?" he asked with rhetorical sarcasm. "You are the True Oracle, after all. Surely, you would have foreseen a visit by the Dark One." 

The Oracle's eyes narrowed with a mixture of fear and contempt. "Are you responsible for this?" she asked bitingly. "Did you tell the temple to break from sacred tradition?" 

The Dark One chuckled. "Oh, I believe your sacred traditions have already been broken, Tannamille. Broken, trampled, and ground into the dust of the world." 

The Oracle bristled at the use of her real name. It indicated an intimacy she would rather not share with the vile god. "Thanks to you," she shot back. 

He feigned a look of exaggerated innocence. "Me? Why, I only responded to a plea of distress, the crying of a soul desperate to offer a most delicious bargain. How could I resist?" 

Tannamille looked forlorn. "Why do you take such delight in torturing me? Why agree to my bargain in the first place, if only to take joy from seeing me in distress?" 

The Dark One laughed uproariously, shaking his head. "Did you forget who I am?" 

Tannamille ground her teeth, silent. 

The Dark One sprawled himself across a luxurious chaise covered in fine white leather. "Have you ever had roast lamb?" 

The Oracle's brow furrowed. "What?" 

"Roast lamb," her unwanted guest continued. "You know, before all the sheep died in the world. You are just old enough to remember the world before the Blaze." 

Tannamille huffed. "What is your point?" 

The Dark One grinned. "You see, it takes a long time to prepare and cook roast lamb. Hours upon hours. A full day over a bed of coals, if you want the best results. It is a long wait, but by the time the lamb is done and is ready to be devoured, it is truly, sublimely, delicious." 

He eased forward, the mirth upon his face darkening as he sneered at the Oracle. "You are my little lamb, Tannamille," he said with grim joy. "And I am so enjoying watching you roast. The feast that awaits me is . . ." his words trailed off as his eyes did the same down the Oracle's body. The expression of abject hunger he effected was chilling. "Well, I believe you understand the gist of it, now." 

Tannamille trembled, swallowing thickly. She turned away from the Dark One and looked over her dying city. 

There must be a way, she told herself. There must be . . . . 

* * * * 

Upon the table lay three items: a handkerchief, a book, and a knife. Gavin looked the objects over with casual interest. His practiced eye told him they had been imbued, but he could not discern the individual auras. Lifting his gaze, he stood patiently as the Minister of Compliance approached. 

"Knight-Gunman Reed," the stately man said, towering nearly seven feet in height in his gold-bordered ivory robe. He had a look of extreme age about him, despite the fact that he was merely seventy years old. "You have been assigned a sacred duty." 

"Thank you, my lordship," Gavin responded with a short nod and the customary circular motion with his right hand over his chest. "Any way I can serve the sovereignty is an honor." 

"Indeed," intoned the near-skeletal man. "The objects before you will be of great help in this assignment. Each has been potently imbued with the Reaching Aura. The handkerchief, for instance, will heal any wound it is placed over, and cure any malady, no matter how grievous, but only three times before it's aura is gone. Similarly, the knife will pierce any armor and slay any foe, but again, only thrice." 

Gavin arched a brow in interest. "And the book, Minister?" 

The man smiled thinly. "The book is your charge. You are not to open it under any conditions. Am I clear on this?" 

Gavin nodded curtly. "As clear as the blood of an aquan." 

"Good. Your duty is to deliver the book to the True Oracle in Neustis. The divinations of our own zantrists have given you three days to make the journey. If you do not arrive in time, you will be expected to take your own life." 

"I understand, Minister," said Gavin. 

* * * * 

Murmurs of excitement wafted through the luxurious chamber within the zantri temple of the northernmost of all the city-states, Bellisane Sovereignty. For the dozen or so zantrist disciples, a gathering of this sort, at this particular time, warranted rumors that a new adept - and thus a new potential True Oracle - was to be chosen. Would this at last be the year that the Gods would be pleased with the temple's selection? 

Adastriana did not feel quite the same level of excitement as the other sisters of the temple. Her divinations had been sporadic at best and while thus far always correct, she had as much chance of becoming the next True Oracle, she reasoned, as she did a knight. 

Nor would I want to be the oracle, she thought. I can think of no more dubious an honor than to be the voice of the Gods for a dying land. 

"Chin up, sister," one of the other zantrists told her with a slight scowl. "This could be the day." 

Adastriana started to respond when the golden doors at the far end of the chamber opened, revealing half a dozen near-naked, bronze-skinned men of utmost physical attractiveness. Adastriana smiled slyly, realizing that the approach of these men meant not a ceremony for choosing an adept, but a rather conventional orgy. 

"Oh, it is certainly a day," Adastriana, stepping past her sisters to greet the men. She already had her eye on the one she wanted. 

Despite obvious disappointment among the comely disciples, the promise of carnal fulfillment quickly had them assuaged. In pairs, they guided the men to various pillowed areas of the chamber, while more servants arrived with rolling carts upon which lay pitchers of water and wine. 

She knew him only as Lon, and very little else about him. But that suited Adastriana just fine. She did not couple with him for love - that would wait for later in her life, she assumed - but for his impressive gifts and skill. Of all the temple servitors, Lon possessed, to Adastriana's eye at least, the perfect example of manhood. 

He said nothing but smiled as the lovely brunette guided him toward a collection of large, earth-toned pillows near the center of the room. His loincloth was swiftly discarded as Adastriana slid to her knees before the man, revealing her most favorite part of his anatomy. His cock was not the longest nor the thickest, but it was smooth and firm and possessed a broad, pink head. Adastriana eyed it hungrily before licking all around the bulging dome, making it glisten. 

"My favorite toy," she murmured, before sliding her mouth down his length. She moaned softly in contentment, savoring the taste of the stud's cock, the aroma of his recently-cleaned skin, the weight of his testicles which she now cradled in her hand. 

"Allow me?" queried a feminine voice from just behind, before Adastriana felt a pair of hands settle to her shoulders. Adastriana chuckled, keeping her mouth on Lon's cock, and only nodded. Within moments, her temple sister had her naked, warm, skilled hands running over the brunette's nude body. 

"Lift up, sister," the woman said. From her voice, Adastriana knew it must be Callista, and as Adastriana rose up on her knees, she felt the other woman position herself beneath, face just below Adastriana's moistening sex. For a brief moment, she slipped her mouth from Lon's cock, stroking it firmly, and looked down between her legs. 

"It's been a while, Callista." 

The blonde-haired woman smiled up past Adastriana's small nest of carefully-trimmed curls. "Far too long, if you ask me," she responded, before sensuously passing her tongue across the brunette's sleek pink lips. 

Adastriana sighed, then took Lon back into her mouth with growing gusto, sucking and pulling with her mouth, eager to bring the man to the first of several orgasms that day. All around, soft sighs and moans rose from the others. And above, in the alcoves, the temple matron watched with her servants the writhing dance of wantonness. 

* * * * 

Adastriana reclined upon one of the lounges that ringed the chamber. Doing so indicated she was more or less off-limits to the others in the room. There were still those frolicking upon the pillowed floor, but after hours of heated and sometimes frenzied sex, Adastriana decided she had had enough. Her pussy was swollen and wet from more than just her own fluids, and her jaw was on the verge of aching due to all the genitals she had been sucking and licking. The flavor of both Lon and another man lingered on her tongue, as well as that of at least three of her sisters. 

Body heated and sweaty, surrounded by the cloying aromas of sex, Adastriana emitted a heavy sigh and accepted a copper goblet from one of the stewards. She drained the water quickly, then indicated her next drink was to be wine. 

"Had enough, dear daughter?" 

Adastriana lolled her head, offering a languid smile upon the middle-aged woman who had approached. Alone in the room, she remained fully clothed. As the temple's matron, she referred to each of the younger women as "daughter." 

"For the time being," Adastriana replied. 

The temple matron smiled. "You are going to make your husband a very happy - and tired - man." 

Adastriana rolled her eyes. "If and when I find a husband," she said, then noticed the meaningful look upon the matron's face. Her smile faded quickly and she sat up. "Do you mean to tell me . . .?" 

The matron nodded curtly. "This was not a celebration today, rather more of an audition," she informed the now timid-looking brunette. "The third son of the Regent of Sothari Sovereignty has reached marrying age. The Regent himself, being here for diplomatic reasons, was very impressed with your skills this afternoon. He has chosen you as bride to his son. It is a great honor, both for you, and for this temple. Congratulations." 

Adastriana swallowed thickly, all lingering traces of arousal banished before the heavy rush of trepidation. "So I am to be married off to a man I've never met? Have I no choice in the matter?" 

The matron's eyes and face grew stoic. "It is a great honor, Adastriana," she repeated forcefully. "So great, in fact, that a more powerful alliance between Sothari and our own sovereignty will likely be forged. Your compliance is . . . requested by our very own lord." 

Adastriana inhaled deeply, forcing herself to remain calm. Her perfect world of privilege and carnal indulgence had been abruptly shattered. 

"Is he at least handsome?" she managed to ask. 

* * * * 

Within the tiny spartan apartment that had been his home for seven years, Gavin assembled his armor. Though it was composed of nine different pieces, once fully donned the molded leather and ceramic bodysuit hugged his form like a protective lover. Of a deep, rich bronze tone, the armor blended in quite well with the wastelands through which he would be traveling. 

He tucked the handkerchief into one of the small breast pockets, while the knife went into a sheath on the outside of his right calf. The book he placed in the detachable leather pack that adhered to the back of the armor. There was only one more item he needed before beginning his journey. 

Three large wooden boxes were affixed to the wall opposite his bed. Gavin thought carefully before taking the middle one down and opening it. Within was his first love, a massive revolver with a thick cylinder, grips carved from the horn of a young convolution beast, and a barrel nearly as long as his forearm. The weapon could hold only five rounds at a time, but he had yet to meet a foe that could withstand more than a single well-placed shot. 

He slid the pistol into its holster, then attached it to the front of his belt in cross-draw fashion. The four replacement cylinders he settled into individual pouches that were also placed on the belt. 

He faced his reflection in the mirror upon the back of the apartment door and decided he was suitable for travel. Tracing the Circle of Life over his chest once more, Gavin Reed opened the door and headed out to meet his destiny. 

* * * * 

Of all the city-states, Owrn was perhaps the most prosperous, situated at the edge of the sea. Most Owrnites sustained themselves through fish, crab, and kelp, trusting the fishermen to only keep those which were not obviously diseased. Those who could afford it were allowed to supplement their meals with exotic fare such as imported fruit or even beef. But even in Gavin's short lifetime, he had seen fewer and fewer such offerings over the years. Owrn's vast market square, supposedly once bustling with strange imports from around the world, now entertained perhaps only a few dozen stalls each day. 


The True Oracle Ch. 01



"Salted roast pig, sir knight?" offered a gap-toothed merchant as Gavin rode past. "I guarantee it is the freshest swine you'll ever get in this market." 

Gavin gave the man a dubious look. His eyes wandered over the slabs of pinkish meat hanging from the wooden frame of his stall. "And when was the pig slaughtered?" 

"Eh . . . just yesterday morn, I swear it." 

The knight's eyes narrowed coldly. "You would not lie to a knight in service to the Ministry of Compliance, would you?" 

The man swallowed nervously. "Eh, of course not, good sir. What I meant was, as far as I know the pig was slaughtered yesterday." 

"And you would never use food dyes to make the flesh look unnaturally pink, would you?" Gavin asked pointedly. 

The meat merchant glanced back to the hanging meat for a moment before responding. "It is a trick of the light," the man offered. "I keep the meat moistened." 

"But isn't it salted?" 

"Repeatedly. Of course, I only offer the best." 

Gavin scowled. The hawkers seemed to be getting more and more desperate every day. "I think I will be content with what I have." 

The merchant looked relieved. "Well, of course, your garrison keeps you well supplied, I am sure. Have a wonderful day." 

Gavin looked about at the other stalls within the square. The wares displayed were anything but choice, but for those desiring something other than fish and kelp, the pickings were slim. They would pay what the merchants wanted for something that, a decade before, would have been destined for the garbage heap. 

With a snap of his reigns, Gavin spurred his mount toward the western gate. The crammed three-story homes and businesses along the avenue gave way to a large open space near the gate, within which stood a massive mechanical construct with vaguely human proportions. It was an intimidating, if aging, monstrosity, one of the last of its kind. Owrn was home to three of the mechanical constructs, more than any other city in the land. 

"May the Gods never forsake you, knight-gunman," came the mechanized voice of the West Colossus. Gavin gave the man within the towering metal battlesuit a professional nod, saying nothing as he waited. His presence alone was enough for the guardsmen to give him passage. 

He watched as the massive drawbridge was lowered. Swirls of orange-amber dust rose from the ground opposite the deep, seawater moat as the immense stone bridge settled into place. Without hesitation, Gavin spurred his steed along the span and into the wastelands. 

* * * * 

In a time not so long ago, before the sky caught fire and the Blaze burned away most of the world, the land outside the city had been lush and fertile, teeming with farms and gardens that kept nearly everyone from want. But that had been long ago, decades before Gavin had been born into a world that seemed to die more with each passing day. 

He left at mid-day beneath the hazy glow of twin suns, knowing it would be another nine hours before nightfall. The plan was simply to reach the Dying Grotto before then; he did not want to make camp upon the dry desert plains where blacknails and gapemaws hunted for travelers. 

Digging his boots into the steed's flanks, he urged the beast to the edge of its endurance. Time was not a kind companion on this journey. 

* * * * 

The silhouette of the distant oasis of the Dying Grotto was revealed to him just as the primary sun slid beneath the horizon. The second sun would give him less than two more hours to reach his mark before it, too, vanished from the world. He would reach the grotto, Gavin was certain, with little time to spare. 

But as he guided his mount to the top of a crest, the unmistakable cacophony of violence reached his ears. Gunshots, howls, and screams for mercy floated on the dusty wind. Immediately, Gavin pulled in on the reins, then slid from the saddle of his mount. He gave a voiceless command to the panting steed; its superior training, he knew, would keep it in place until Gavin returned, or issued a different command. 

Crouching low, Gavin slid his pistol from its holster and crept to the top of the crest. More screams - cut brutally short - reached him before his eyes settled upon the scene below. 

A simple caravan with a draft team of six horses had been ambushed by blacknails. All but one of the horses lay dead. Several bodies of travelers were strewn about, bleeding profusely from wounds inflicted by the hairless, pale-skinned cannibals that had attacked them. The cursed creatures themselves seemed to be after at least one more victim within the large caravan. They surrounded the wagon, jumping and screeching in bloodlust frenzy. 

Gavin's eyes narrowed. This was not his fight, he knew, and a smart traveler through the wastelands would take advantage of the fact that the blacknails had found themselves enough prey to satisfy them, and thus continue on. 

But through one of the small windows in the caravan, his eyes saw a feminine face masked in terror. The brief flash of youthful, fine skin and hair nearly as dark as a starless night was enough. For a moment, even his duty-bound heart was touched by the helplessness he read. In a single moment, he made his decision. 

Standing fearlessly upon the crest, pistol held conspicuously at his side, Gavin let his presence be known through a simple clearing of his throat. 

For all their degenerate human nature, the blacknails possessed acute senses, more than adequate enough to detect the sound Gavin made above their own dissonance. Their excited screeching stopped as the monsters looked his way. Pale eyes capable of seeing through the dimmest light glittered in the growing gloom. For a moment, not a move was made. 

Then one of them - the leader, the alpha - emitted a commanding shriek, and the others broke off from the caravan to clamor up the hill like skeletal, alabaster primates, snarling and sneering in anticipation of another kill. 

Gavin counted six of them coming his way, with the leader remaining behind. Seven, all told. Two more than he had rounds to fire. But he knew he did not need to kill them all. 

With a swift, deft move, he raised the pistol and fired. The explosion shattered the night as a brief gout of crimson flame erupted from the barrel of Gavin's weapon. 

The onrushing blacknails faltered, haltering their charge out of self-preservation. But none of them had been hit. For a moment, the savages shared dark chuckles, thinking their prey more sound than substance. But then they looked back to their pack leader. 

Still beside the caravan, the blacknails' alpha stared at Gavin with a confused jumble of emotions upon its vampiric face. Glimmering eyes drifted down to the large burning hole within the center of it's chest. Legs wobbled as strength ebbed. Falling to it's knees, the pack leader tried to voice a command, but it no longer possessed lungs to give breath. Silently and unceremoniously, the body pitched forward flat. 

Gavin stared down along the barrel of his weapon. Without a pack leader, he knew, the others would become confused and unsure. Their confidence lay within the strength of the alpha, which was now a corpse. 

"Who will die next?" Gavin asked grimly. 

The remaining blacknails exchanged questioning hisses and grunts, then turned and fled. Their pale forms grew dark against the descending night as they vanished into the desert. 

Holstering his pistol, Gavin snapped his fingers, indicating his steed to follow. Descending down the slope to the caravan, he approached the small window through which he had seen the feminine face. "Are you alright?" he called. 

"Who are you?" cried an hysterical voice. 

"I am Gavin Reed, knight-gunman in service to the Ministry of Compliance of Owrn Sovereignty," he replied. 

A few moments passed before the face appeared at the window. Much closer now, Gavin could see that the woman beyond was quite lovely, if he could only judge by her face. Youthful but not young, he judged her age to be close to his. 

Quivering eyes stared at him. "A knight?" 

He nodded. "You are safe," he said. "For now. But the blacknails will regroup, once they've determined a new master for their pack, and they will return. You need to travel far away from here. What is your destination?" 

"Sothari Sovereignty," the woman replied. "Is anyone else alive?" 

Gavin glanced around at the bodies, then back to the window. "Are you alone in there?" 

"Yes." 

"Then there is no one else alive." 

"Oh, Gods," she sputtered, face ashen. 

"Miss," Gavin said. "I understand you must be very emotional, but you should be on your way. One of the horses still lives; you can ride it east to Owrn. Mention my name and they will give you sanctuary until you are able to continue your journey to Sothari." 

Her alarmed face appeared in the window. "What? Will you just leave me here?" 

"I am on a quest," he responded. "As it is, I have strayed too long already." 

"But . . . you can't just leave me!" 

"I assume you have food," he said calmly. "And you can gather the armaments from your dead companions. The blacknails won't be back for another hour or so. Enough time for you to put some distance between you and they." 

A small door to the caravan suddenly burst outward. The woman, clad minimally in red-stained cloth that just barely covered her breasts, hips and groin, leaned out. Her arms were covered in swirling black lines of ink embedded in the skin. "I am not well-suited for traveling alone," she protested. 

Gavin looked the woman over. His eyes read the tattoos upon her arms and noted her bare feet. "You are a zantrist," he commented. 

She nodded. "Yes, I am," she said. "So now you know why I cannot travel on my own." 

Gavin puzzled a moment. Zantrists were the prize of any court, from Uban Abar to Zhamvari and every sovereignty in between. As both supposed seers and consorts, their talents were unparalleled. In effect, zantrists were akin to royalty in their own right, for they claimed to have the power to see the future and read the past. But Gavin had always dismissed such tales of the zantrists. Only the True Oracle could divine the future with any surety. Still, he knew the zantrists lived protected, cultured lives with no training for survival. 

"I do indeed," Gavin responded at last. "And I must apologize for my intervention. I should have let the natural course of events unfold." 

The woman gawked. "Do you mean you should have let me die at the hands of those flesh-eating monsters?" she shrieked. 

Gavin cocked his head, addressing her unemotionally. "As horrific a death as it would have been, it would have been quick," he said. "Far quicker than what you will suffer out here on your own." He nodded his head and offered the Circle of Life. "My apologies, dear lady." 

The woman stared after him, astonished, confused and frightened as the man who had just been her savior turned and walked away. 

"If you leave me to die, I will haunt you!" she cried. 

Gavin scowled and turned back. "Give me no hasty threats," he growled. 

She stared back with pleading eyes. "I beg you. Take me with you. Do with me as you will. I will give myself to you if that is what you want. But do not leave me to this forsaken waste." 

He took the few steps between them, advancing upon the woman until he towered over her. To her credit, she stared back, defiant in the face of his intimidation. 

"I am a knight in service to the Ministry," he said carefully. "My duty supersedes any . . . personal needs I may have. I do not wish your favors, or your company." 

"Then why did you save me?" she countered. 

Gavin stared into the woman's eyes. Had he not been charged with his sacred duty, he would have allowed himself to admire the loveliness of the woman before him. But he kept to his resolve, and rather than answer her question, turned away again. "I shall be on my way," he said. 

The woman followed him with her eyes as he approached the horse that awaited him. Furtively, she glanced about, desperation making her assess what she did and did not need to gather. Her heart palpitated in anxiety as she realized she was being left behind. 

As Gavin climbed into the saddle, he heard the woman's voice calling after him. 

"I'll die on my own!" 

Gritting his teeth, Gavin spurred his mount, continuing west. He tried not to think of the fate of the woman he left behind. 

* * * * 

He reached the Dying Grotto not long after the second sun had dipped below the horizon and plunged the world into star-dotted blackness. The gnarled husks of once-thriving trees surrounded him like the skeletal arms of a dead earth-god, reaching up from the parched floor of the desert. With the dark massive boughs to deflect the wind that washed across the plain, the sunken vale was still and quiet. 

He found a spot at the base of a massive trunk and pitched his camp. Once he had a small fire burning in the shadow of the old dead tree, Gavin erected a simple lean-to shelter. He drank from his waterskin, slipped a feed bag over the muzzle of his steed, then broke open one of the ration packs from the saddle bags. Salted fish, dry cheese and a wheat biscuit hardly made for a sumptuous meal, but they provided what the knight needed. 

He could not stop his mind from wondering as to the fate of zantrist woman he had met. The most optimistic scenario in his mind had her riding hard to Owrn, arriving haggard, tired, but alive and untouched as the morning light spilled across the grand city's walls. She would be accepted, nursed, fed, and provided another guide for her trip to Sothari. Her life would continue on. 

But other, less forgiving scenarios plagued him. He imagined the woman being ambushed by blacknails, or gapemaws, or any of the other murderous beasts that hunted the wastelands at night, and being torn apart while cursing his name. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and told him he had done what was right. He had followed, as he always had, the all-consuming mantra of a knight in service to the Ministry. Duty was first and foremost. Individual lives were but grains of sand cast to the wind before the majesty of the True Oracle, who alone knew the destinies of all living things. He had to trust in that simple truth, Gavin knew. 

In the midst of his commiserations, he became aware that he was not alone. Shuffles of something moving through the grotto came to his ears. He heard the snap of a dry twig. He smelled something . . . different, but familiar. Something both sweet and desperate. 

Without looking, Gavin snatched up the pistol and shifted slightly to aim it behind him, to the direction from which the gentlest of breezes rolled. "For my love of humanity, I should kill you now and be done with it," he said. He let his gaze drift slowly around until he was looking upon the zantrist woman. She had donned a heavy cloak that covered her from neck to foot and led a horse that had been hastily laden with bulky amounts of provisions. 

The woman stared at him as she stopped in her tracks, both fear and hopefulness dueling for prominence in her wide, glistening eyes. "Why would you kill an innocent?" she asked. 

"To save you from a more gruesome death," he answered. "You've never seen the wastelands before, have you?" 

She shook her head. "I've only heard stories." 

Gavin returned the pistol to it's holster. "'Stories,'" he repeated with a mirthful tone. "And what have the glorified tales of the world outside your sheltered temple told you?" 

She studied him with eyes far more mature than they should have been. "That our world is dying," she said. "That we cling to allegiances and notions of duty and honor that no longer hold any weight." 

He glared at her. "Without duty, there is no life," he intoned, invoking one of the many mantras by which he lived. 

She stepped forward gingerly. "Perhaps, if you only define yourself through service," she said, eyes wide with trepidation. "Duty is only a part of life." 

He turned back to his meal with a frown. "Says the temple harlot." 

The woman came around before him, keeping her distance. She lowered herself to her knees on the other side of the fire, folding her legs beneath. The cloak draped about her like a small tent. "It is true that I also belong to a life of service," she admitted. "But there must be more than that, don't you think?" 

"When I was a child, I thought so," said Gavin pointedly. "Then I matured, and discovered we all have a place in the world." 

Her eyes fell to the fire, watching the flames, seeing within them ghosts of things she had not yet experienced. "When I was young," she said. "When I was first taken to the temple because of my gifts, I dreamed of being a princess, or an adventurer. Life was still so simple and unspoiled then. But as I grew came the cynicism. It was told to me, again and again, that we are not harbingers of our own fate. We cannot change what we were meant to be." 

Gavin snorted. "Then you were taught well." 

She stared at him above the flames. "I did not believe it then, and I do not believe it now." 

"Then you have not learned what you were taught," he snapped, standing abruptly. 

The woman's eyes widened. "What are you doing?" 

He gave her an amused look. "If you must know, I need to relieve myself," he said before stepping away from the fire. 

She watched him walk toward a nearby tree, then turned back to her absent watch over the fire. She shifted beneath the cloak, finding that it scratched her fine skin. She had become accustomed, during her years of training at the temple, to wearing little in the way of clothing, and often nothing at all. But the cold desert demanded more protection than her minimalist garb. 

"You really should have gone east," Gavin growled as he returned to the fire. "Owrn would have taken you in and arranged for passage to Sothari once you explained yourself." 

"And I would have been back on the road to servitude," she said. "I would rather chance my life with a knight-gunman traveling the wastelands." 

He frowned. "Is your life truly that terrible?" 

"Terrible?" she repeated. "No, I suppose not 'terrible,' but it is hardly my life, especially now that I have been promised to another." 

"You are to be married, then." 

"If I continue to Sothari, yes." 

"Then why delay?" Gavin asked. "In Sothari, your protected life would continue. I am confused as to why you would not want that." 

Her eyes softened as she regarded him. "Do you know anything of the zantrist life?" 

"I've met a few of your kind before." 

She laughed, a short, sharp, tittering sound. "'My kind,'" she repeated. "As if I am of some other race." She shook her head with a rueful smile that turned nostalgic as she spoke. "Zantrist training is not like what knights, or surveyors, or marksmen go through. There is regimen and discipline, yes, but there are also equal amounts of freedom. No single zantrist does everything the same way. We are encouraged to develop our own particular skills." 

Gavin gave the woman a look. "Oh, I've been fortunate enough to sample some zantrist skills now and then," he said. 

She smiled back cattily. "I'm sure you have sampled some small measure of a zantrist's ways," she said. "But our sexual prowess is secondary to our true abilities." 

He studied her face. "Prophecy," he said dubiously. 

She nodded. "Prophecy," she repeated. "But it is a double-edged blade. It makes us valuable to others, so valuable in fact that we are treated as prize possessions. Pampered, spoiled, but still not free." 

"Most in the world would willingly trade lives with you," Gavin pointed out. 

"Certainly, at first they would. But when everything you do is under the watchful eye of someone else, when you are so protected from the world by bodyguards and laws that you dare not make friends outside the temple . . . privilege is just another word for a comfortable life of slavery. And then, of course, we are called upon to divine the future for some gluttonous politician who wishes to stab another in the back, or to determine if a marriage will result in healthy children for the ruling family." 




The True Oracle Ch. 01



Gavin cocked his head in interest. "So you really can read the future?" 

Adastriana nodded. "The future, the past . . . but the future is fluid; what we divine is usually only the most likely outcome. But too many do not understand that. We are not perfect." 

He gave her a cocky smirk. "So divine me something," he challenged. 

The woman frowned. "Now?" 

"Yes, now," Gavin said. "I have saved your life. Is that not worth a divination?" 

She looked about, plainly ill at ease. "This is not what I would call the best of circumstances," she said. 

He looked upon her, expectant. 

She met Gavin's gaze, reading the challenge in his eyes. "Alright," she said at last, shifting beneath the voluminous cloak. She pushed herself to her feet, then reached up and undid the clasp. The heavy fabric fell to the ground. Her eyes remained on Gavin's. "But remember that you asked for this." 

The knight said nothing as he watched the beautiful woman before him reach to the red leather top that encased her breasts. A quick turn of a clasp, a shrug of her shoulders, and the brassier fell to the ground. Next she unfastened the skirt and let it slide down her thighs. Stepping free from the garment, she stood fully nude before his interested gaze. 

Never had Gavin seen a woman of such sublime pale beauty. Aside from the intricate tattoos, not a mark or blemish adorned her skin that he could discern. Her skin was nearly as pale and shimmering as mercury. The woman's breasts hung suspended upon her chest as if invisibly supported. Her belly was taut and smooth, with a narrow navel that seemed to point downward to a neatly-trimmed triangle of dark hair just above smooth and silky labia. 

Unabashedly, the zantrist lowered herself to her knees once more, but this time spread her legs far apart. She pushed her hips out, thrusting her sex toward the fire and leaned back upon her hands. Firm breasts, nipples darkening, thrust toward the dark sky above. With her head cast back, she muttered words Gavin could not hear. 

He watched through the fluttering haze of the fire as the zantrist brought up a hand and settled it to her pubic mound. Fine-boned fingers wandered back and forth through soft dark hair, occasionally touching the thick pink shroud between the puffy labia. As the moments ticked by, she began touching herself in earnest. 

Gavin found himself enraptured by the sight. He had never before been privy to watching a woman pleasure herself, and found the scene all at once fascinating and supremely arousing. The zantrist woman's fingers began massaging the enclosed button above her sex, delving down between bright pink lips as they flared out more and more. 

As her self-pleasure mounted, she fell onto her back, still with her legs curled beneath, and spread her thighs widely apart. First one, then another finger plunged into the glistening depths of her sex. Gavin could hear the smacking wet sounds as the woman repeatedly and rapidly stabbed into her sex over and over. 

Hoarse gasps and wanton sighs rose in pitch. While the one hand was busy jabbing away at her pussy, the other caressed blushing breasts and pinched stiffened nipples. The woman's entire body undulated as if a boat riding a tumultuous sea. 

Then, finally, she gasped and cried out with release, her body shuddering, bucking, convulsing upon the ground. She buried the fingers within her pussy deep, pressing her palm against her clit. 

Gavin's aroused gaze wandered over the woman's body as she slowly relaxed. He shifted upon his seat, finding the armor around his groin suddenly uncomfortable. But more than being aroused, he was curious. 

With a heated sigh of satisfaction, the zantrist pushed herself up. Her face, neck and the tops of her breasts glowed with rouge. Her eyes were heavy, hair casting strands across her face. She slid the fingers from her pussy and brought them to her face. With a contented murmur, she sucked her own slick essence clean. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment. 

"Gavin Reed," she said at last, her words strangely echoing, as if spoken by several similar voices at once. 

"Yes?" he asked tentatively. 

She continued, still with her eyes closed, speaking in between licks and sucks of her fingers. "Born to a dead mother, raised by a soldier father. You followed in his boots, and surpassed him. He has not spoken to you in four and more years. In your life, you have claimed one hundred and twenty-three lives and known nine lovers, none of whom you loved . . . and in two days' time you will die." 

As she spoke, Gavin's expression changed from aroused interest to perturbed annoyance. The fire of fear was ignited in his heart with the final words she spoke. In a sudden move, he leapt across the fire to land beside her, and lifted her head. 

"How do you know this?" he demanded. "Who are you?" 

The woman's head lolled back and forth. Her eyes split open, revealing cloudy white orbs. "She is Adastriana, the next True Oracle," she said, the multitude of voices rising in pitch and clarity. 

He took his hand away and stepped back, looking down upon the nude woman beneath him as if she ahd become something alien, something dangerous. A battery of chaotic thoughts assaulted him. He could not believe what he had just heard and witnessed, yet neither could he deny the truth of his own senses. 

After pacing back and forth for several moments, Gavin looked upon the zantrist. She lay in a stupor, panting as if recovering from supreme exertion. The thought occurred to Gavin that he could end her life and bury the corpse within the grotto and be done with it. He could continue on with his quest alone, as had been intended. 

Instead, he gathered the comatose woman in his arms and carried her to the shelter of his simplistic tent. He covered her in the cloak she had been wearing, and set the rest of her clothing nearby. 

Troubled with his thoughts, he shook out another blanket and lay down beside the fire. He did not sleep much that night. 

* * * * 

Neither Gavin nor Adastriana spoke beyond the niceties of cleaning up the camp and getting underway. Gavin could feel a barrier between them - not that they'd had much of a rapport previously - that kept him from asking the zantrist about the evening before. 

After over an hour of riding, however, the tension finally broke as Adastriana spurred her mount closer to his and spoke. "What was your divination?" 

The sudden voice startled him, and Gavin had to struggle to comprehend what she said. He frowned upon her. "You do not remember?" 

She laughed softly. "I never do," she informed him. "The gift of prophecy is sent to me. I am merely a medium." 

Gavin read her face, but he could see no sign of deception. She was the same frightened woman from the previous day, though the fear was becoming lessened now. Gavin could only assume it was due to his presence. 

"Well?" 

He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "Nothing particularly impressive," he said. 

Adastriana nodded slowly, unconvinced, but remained unwilling to push the point. "Ah." She shifted in the saddle, hitched up the reins. "So, where are we going?" 

Gavin responded with obvious irritation in his voice. "You are going to Averine," he said pointedly. "As soon as we get through the Rift. I am leaving you there and continuing on my own." 

The zantrist woman let her eyes drift ahead to the horizon, where a dark shadow lay hovering above the entrance of a deep rift in the ground. "There are only two cities this far west," she said. "Averine being the closest. So if you are continuing on, you must be headed to Neustis." 

He shot her a dark look, said nothing. 

"You are going to see the True Oracle, then?" 

Gavin gritted his teeth. "It is no concern of yours, Adastriana," he said. "I am leaving you in Averine." 

His horse plodded on for several moments before Gavin realized his unwanted companion had stopped. Pulling back on the reins, he turned in his saddle and looked back. The pale-skinned woman sat still, almost mannequin-like, staring back at him. Their eyes met, his dark and annoyed, hers wide and questioning. 

"How do you know my name?" she asked. 

The creases in his brow darkened. "You told me," he said. "Last night." 

Her eyes dipped. She fell quiet. The cloak billowed about her slender body, tugged by the dry wind of the desert. "I don't remember that," she muttered, her voice almost unheard. 

Gavin huffed, perturbed. "You should cultivate your memory," he snapped, then slapped the reins of his steed. "Come, keep up." 

* * * * 

The Rift, as it's name implied, was a great, deep gouge in the land. The shadow of the scar upon the world was visible on the plain for hours before Gavin and his companion came to it. To north and south, the terrible gap stretched to the horizon. Where they approached, simple stone buildings stood at the edge of the chasm, with lifeless windows staring out. The bank of the other side was nearly half a mile away, eliciting hopelessness that it could ever be reached. 

Gavin slid from the saddle and drew his pistol as they approached. "Be alert," he barked. 

Adastriana looked about in consternation. "Shouldn't we go around?" she asked. 

"No," said Gavin, leading his horse past the stone constructions. He stopped at the edge of the Rift, peering down. A yawning darkness stared back, promising only death. But even in the depths of such a monstrous chasm, there remained hope. A stony bridge had been built, some ages before, between the walls of the Rift. It lay more than five times the height of a man beneath the cliff's edge. 

Gavin turned back to the zantrist, who looked fearful and anxious upon her horse. "Going around would take more than half a day," he said. "There's a bridge below that spans the chasm. We'll take that. But be wary." 

Adastriana swallowed thickly, eyes quivering. "I've heard stories of the Rift," she said. "About the rift trolls." 

Gavin nodded, leading his steed toward the largest of the buildings. A broad archway beckoned within, revealing a large metal platform set into the ground, with mechanical controls in the wall beside. "We'll have to watch out for them," he said. "It's been years since anyone has crossed the bridge, so perhaps the rift trolls are no longer around. But we shouldn't expect that." 

The zantrist eased from the saddle and walked her mount into the building after Gavin. Following his lead, she made sure her horse was positioned upon the rusted metal platform. "And if they are?" 

Gavin cast the woman a look. "Better arm yourself," he said. He reached to a conspicuous lever on the wall above the platform and jerked hard upon it. The metal platform shuddered, then groaned as it began to descend. The horses snorted and clipped their hooves in apprehension. Adastriana wavered on unsure feet. 

Amid great moaning mechanical gears and the screams of protesting metal, the platform descended. The zantrist looked about in uncertainty as uneven stone walls scrolled by. Her eyes finally settled upon Gavin, who remained stoic in the corner of the elevator. His apparent calm gave her reason to quell her fears, if only a bit. Heeding his advice, she took from her horse one of the weapons she had salvaged from her caravan. It was blunt but impressive, and gave her a sense of confidence as she held it. 

"Make sure it's loaded and ready to fire," Gavin remarked, having watched her. 

Adastriana looked to the weapon in frustrated confusion. Seeing the look, Gavin rolled his eyes and snatched the shotgun from her grip, making the woman gasp. 

"Have you never been trained to use a weapon?" he asked. 

She stared back acidly. "Where I am from, there are always those trained to protect me." 

Gavin grimaced, checking the weapon. Thankfully for his companion, she had taken one that would load itself after each shot. He clicked the small button beside the trigger that turned off the safety, then gave the woman a look as he handed it back. 

"Do not," he said firmly. "Under any circumstance, point this at me. Hold it firmly with both hands, the stock against your side. You only have five rounds, so if you must, make them count." 

Adastriana nodded as she took the weapon back. At that moment, the platform shuddered to a stop, making the zantrist gasp in startlement. Gavin lifted the gate. Beyond, a tunnel led to the bridge, which stretched like a long, stony arm from some bygone giant into the darkness. The bridge was wide enough for two horses to move side by side across its span. 

"Gather the reins, but not too tightly," Gavin ordered. "We'll lead the mounts." 

"Why not just ride across?" Adastriana asked. 

He met her eyes. "Because if we're attacked, or they slip, better to lose just them and not ourselves." 

She swallowed thickly. She grabbed a handful of the leather straps dangling from her horse's bit, then held them against the stock of the shotgun. She offered a look to the knight-gunman which she hoped conveyed her readiness. 

"Stay beside me," he told her stepping forward. As he approached, then set foot upon, the bridge, he cast his gaze about. Up, down, left, right. Where he looked, he followed with the pistol in his right hand. Winds swirled within the Rift, tugging gently at their clothes as the two advanced across. Various haunting moans drifted around them, like the voices of ghosts. 

"How did they build this?" Adastriana asked after several minutes had passed. 

"Geomancers," Gavin responded. "According to legend, it took half a dozen of them a full seven days to grow this bridge." 

Adastriana bulged her eyes, impressed by the information. "They . . . 'grew' it?" she asked. 

Gavin nodded, casting a quick look back. "That's the legend," he said. He suddenly stopped, senses alert. A faint skittering noise reached his ears. 

"That's amazing," Adastriana uttered, looking down at the broad path upon which they traveled. She tried not to think of the great chasm that waited below, like a hungry mouth eager to devour. "I've barely heard any tales of the geomancers-" 

"Quiet." 

Gavin's rough, commanding voice sent her into silence. She stopped walking, standing beside him. Her eyes gave silent, quivering questions to the knight-gunman. 

The man himself stood still, training his senses. Through the wind, the faint echoing howls, the skittering noise persisted. It conjured to his mind images of giant beetles clamoring over rocks. With a sense of dread, he realized the sounds were coming from below. 

From the underside of the stony bridge. 

He cocked the hammer on his revolver. "They're beneath us," he said. 

Adastriana trembled, eyes suddenly wide with fear. "'They?'" she asked. 

Gavin nodded grimly. "Do as I say and don't hesitate," he told her. "Otherwise, you will die. Do you understand?" 

She breathed heavily through her nostrils, heart palpitating. She looked about, furtive, darting snaps of her eyes. She could not see what Gavin had somehow detected, but neither did she doubt the man. 

"Do you understand?" he repeated, more forcefully. 

She bobbed her head. "Y-yes," she answered. 

"Good. Now, run." 

Adastriana's eyes widened. "What?" 

"RUN!" 

Gavin's uproarious cry filled the air, both startling and spurring the young woman. With a gasp, she charged forward, horse in tow, running full tilt across the bridge. Gavin watched her as she and her steed passed, but only for a split-second before his attention flipped to the bridge behind. 

Hairy dark forms suddenly shot up from the darkness beneath the bridge, howling, cackling, sneering. They flashed yellowed fangs and dark claws, blazed amber eyes more feral than those of any wild animal. Gavin did not hesitate as they pounced upon the bridge, letting loose with his pistol. 

Deafening roars shattered the air. Two of the rift trolls pitched back, their chests exploding with gore before they flew over the edge into the unforgiving deep. Even before they had vanished from view, Gavin was already sprinting to catch up with his companion, knowing that his well-trained horse would keep up. 

"Don't stop!" he barked, firing his pistol again as another of the rift trolls emerged before them. The head of the monster shattered with a spray of ichor before the body toppled back. 

Adastriana kept running, peripherally seeing the movements of shadows as she did so. Her heart hammered, driven by fear, fueling her limbs beyond their normal limits. All she wanted was to get across the bridge, to the implied promise of safety on the other side. But salvation seemed almost too far away, a tiny black maw at the end of an impossibly long and treacherous bridge. Still, she had no choice but to continue. She had not braved the dangers of the wastelands to become a meal for rift trolls. 

I shall make it, she told herself. I must make it! 

Gavin saw the clawed hand rising from beyond the edge of the bridge, but Adastriana's cloak billowed behind her, obscuring the taloned hand from view. In the next moment, the zantrist was crying out as she tumbled to the floor of the bridge, slapping her hands across jagged rock in an effort to keep from going over the edge. "Gavin!" 

But as the knight-gunman charged to her rescue, several more rift trolls lept before him, sneering and snarling in premature triumph. Gavin's senses told him more had clamored up behind, between he and the horses. His attention, however, was upon Adastriana and the troll-like creature climbing up over the edge, pulling her to it. Her eyes burned with fear. 

Gavin did not hesitate. The word was not one of which a knight-gunman was aware. Holstering his pistol, he hurled himself toward the closest pair of rift trolls, curling his hands around the far sides of their heads, pulling them down toward him and locking his arms about their necks. Using their bodies as crutches, he kicked with both feet, sending two more rift trolls sprawling upon the bridge. 

Momentum carried him up, and he drew in his legs to somersault backward. He felt the satisfying cracks as the necks pinched in his arms snapped. Landing on his feet, he dropped the bodies to the ground and glanced back. He need not have bothered; the pair of trollish monsters had their hands full with Gavin's horse, which reared up, foremost hooves lashing out. The hairy little creatures would not last long, he knew. 

Turning back, the two rift trolls he had kicked, along with a third, were now coming toward him. Gavin strode toward them with purpose, mindful of Adastriana's screams. But as a knight-gunman, he could not let her predicament impede his skill. He remained calm and focused. 

The three trolls charged at once, seeking to bring the man down through numbers and savagery. But Gavin was a quick, well-trained warrior, more than capable of anticipating the clumsy attacks of near-mindless brutes. As the trio of rift trolls pounced, Gavin effected a practiced stance. He curled his fingers in, pressing hidden buttons in the palms of his gauntlets. Curved blades sprouted from either side of his wrists. 

The rift trolls came to him, snarling, howling, anticipating a glorious kill. But as their claws raked across armor, Gavin moved with swift, slicing strikes, his blades ringing as they slashed through flesh and bone. 

The creatures stumbled past him, wavering as blood poured from wounds across their necks and under their arms. Gavin ignored them, continuing on to Adastriana. Behind him, the rift trolls pitched to the ground, twitching in their final moments. 

It took only a kick to send the obscene troll upon the woman screaming into the abyss below. Gavin knelt and helped Adastriana onto her knees. She clutched him desperately, as a child would a protective father. 

"Th-they c-c-could have k-killed me," she stammered. "They c-c-could have killed me . . . ." 




The True Oracle Ch. 01



He smoothed her hair, holding her close. "Are you wounded?" 

She remained shuddering for a few moments before pulling back. "I . . . I don't know," she said, then drew back the cloak to look upon her body. A group of puncture wounds was conspicuous on her upper thigh, where the rift troll had gripped her. She hissed at the sight. 

"Oh, Gods," she whimpered. "They're infectious, aren't they? The rift trolls?" 

Gavin nodded. He was already reaching for the uppermost pouch on his armor. "Yes. Under normal circumstances, you would begin degenerating into a rift troll yourself in half a day. Usually, I would either slit your throat or push you over the side, depending on how I felt for you." 

His words brought a fervor of alarm to Adastriana's face. 

He extracted the white handkerchief, and, for the first time since they had met, gave the zantrist woman the barest of smiles. "But I won't." He unfolded the piece of imbued silk and settled it over Adastriana's wound. She caught her breath and tensed as the aura-touched fabric began to do its work. 

"It hurts," she muttered. 

"Better this than the alternative," Gavin said, watching as the cloth turned pinkish as it soaked up the blood. But then, after a few moments, the blood seemed to dissipate, and the cloth was once more stark white. He took it away, revealing nothing but unmarred skin. 

"Interesting," he commented, mostly to himself, and folded the handkerchief before tucking it away. 

"Where did you get that?" Adastriana asked in amazement. 

"It was a gift. It supposedly heals any wound, no matter how grievous," Gavin replied, standing. He offered a hand and helped the woman to her feet. His eyes traveled down the bridge to the other side. "We had best continue on. There may be more rift trolls about, but it will take them time to garner enough courage to attack again." 

Adastriana stared at the man before her. "Yesterday you would likely have let me fall into the chasm and continue on as if I was nothing to you," she said pointedly. "But today you act as if it is your duty to protect me. What did I say to you last night? What was your divination?" 

Gavin studied her eyes a moment, tempted to reveal what he had been told. It was suddenly clear that, at least for the sake of the divination she had performed the earlier evening, she truly was not privy to her own words. But Gavin remained stoic. 

"Perhaps we'll discuss it later," he said. "For now, let us continue on." 

The zantrist began to protest, but realized it would be futile to challenge the grim knight. With an exasperated huff, she took up the reins of her horse and followed close as Gavin led the way across the chasm. 

* * * * 

The rest of the crossing across the Rift met with no further complications, for which both Gavin and Adastriana were thankful. Upon reaching the far end, they directed the horses into yet another creaking, aged elevator and rode to the surface. 

A light dust storm greeted them, casting up pale yellow dust that made visibility beyond perhaps thirty feet or so difficult. Gavin narrowed his eyes against the caustic uplift, and with a motion to Adastriana to remain close, led his mount out into the wastelands once more. 

Only a handful of steps from the shelter of the elevator building, Gavin stopped as he noticed an obscured form standing upon the plain before them. There was a familiar look to the man; he stood casually alert, clad in the same bronzed leather armor which Gavin himself wore. A horse laden for travel stood patiently nearby. Propped against the skeletal remains of a long-dead tree was a large rifle. Even through the swirling clouds of dust, Gavin could tell it's make. He owned one just like it. 

"Stay here," Gavin ordered Adastriana, without looking to her. Leaving his steed behind, he stepped forward, stopping when the man's pale blonde hair and features were visible. 

"Hail, fellow knight," the man called as he made the Circle of Life motion across his chest and gave a quick bow. "I am Knight-Gunman Corvo, of Neustis. The Oracle was concerned you may need assistance to arrive in time, so I was dispatched to meet you." 

Gavin narrowed his gaze even more, this time with suspicion. "That is not usual protocol," he said. 

Corvo approached with a chuckling smile. "No, it is not," he agreed. "And I informed Her Greatness of that. A knight's quest is a sacred duty. But the Oracle insisted, and as we are all honor-bound to obey Her wishes . . . well, here I am." 

Gavin relaxed somewhat. "I suppose I can understand that," he said. "Another gun cannot hurt, after all." 

The man strode closer and extended a hand. "I have also been instructed to take possession of the book you carry," he said. 

Suspicion returned to Gavin. He regarded the man before him warily. "It is my charge. I am not to give it up." 

Corvo nodded with an apologetic look. "I know. Under any other circumstance, I would not dare to ask you to break the knight's code. But I have been specifically instructed to do so." 

"By the True Oracle?" Gavin asked. 

"Yes. By the True Oracle." 

Gavin fell silent. This was not the first time the protocol of the knight's code had been breached during his years of service. It was a rare thing, but not unheard of. Still, Gavin could not allow himself to give in so readily. 

"Gavin." 

Adastriana's voice drifted to him from behind, faint so as not to be overheard by the other man. Gavin turned his head only just, so that he could still see the other knight peripherally. "Yes." 

"He is not to be trusted," the zantrist continued. "Do not ask me how I know this, but I do. He has other intentions." 

"Is this a divination?" Gavin asked. 

"A feeling." 

A feeling, Gavin thought warily. From a zantrist. He addressed Corvo, taking a few steps toward the man. He noticed that his fellow knight-gunman was already standing balanced and ready, as if expecting a fight. 

"I cannot let you have the book, Corvo," he said. "Under the circumstances, I would suggest you return to Neustis on your own." 

A malevolent smile crossed the other man's face. "Then we have arrived at an impasse. I am to have that book, or die trying. That is my quest." 

The two men stared at one another as the dusty wind swirled between them. Adastriana watched fearfully, not knowing what was to happen. She wondered why, now that Corvo had made it plain that he was to take whatever book he and Gavin were discussing, by any means necessary, Gavin did not simply shoot the man. After all, Corvo appeared to be unarmed. His rifle lay conspicuously out of reach. 

Gavin settled his hand upon the butt of the pistol at his waist. "If you were of the mind, you could have taken me down from a distance with your rifle," he said. 

Corvo nodded. "We may be at odds, but you are a fellow knight and I would not do that. I had hoped I could parlay for the book, but it seems my skills at diplomacy are lacking. So that leaves us with a situation. You could now claim my life before I have a chance to reach you. But that would be doing me a disservice. You are a knight as I am. We follow a code." 

Gavin nodded grimly and drew the pistol from his belt. "That we do," he said carefully. He regarded the weapon as Corvo waited, teeth gritted. 

"Prepare yourself," Gavin said to the man, and tossed the pistol aside. 

As the weapon fell heavily to the dirt, the two men burst into action. Both quiet and grim-faced, Gavin and Corvo charged, meeting one another with flurries of blows. Hands and feet swung and kicked, countered by the practiced moves. The air around them was filled with the sounds of impacts against armored arms and legs, the occasional blow to the torso. 

The two combatants seemed evenly matched. But as Corvo jumped back after Gavin's strike found its way to his midriff, the enemy knight pivoted with a kick aimed for Gavin's head. But the kick was a feint, and as Gavin ducked, Corvo spun and lashed out with his other foot, catching Gavin in the chest. 

Gavin grunted as he fell back, landing hard upon the ground, breath expelled from his lungs. Dazed for a moment, he nevertheless had enough wits to anticipate his opponent's leap. He rolled to the side just as Corvo landed heavily where he had been, heavy booted foot crashing into the ground where Gavin's head should have been. 

Gavin rolled back, striking deftly into Corvo's side with his left hand, then following with a sweep of his right arm. Grunting with pain, the man fell back, giving Gavin the opportunity to jump to his feet. Both men came up at the same time, facing each other with hands raised. Blades sprang from their wrists. The combat entered the next stage. 

Their strikes were more furious, more swift now. Blades sang as they slashed across armor they could not penetrate. More impacts sounded as the two men blocked strikes. Adastriana could not follow the movements with her eyes. She was watching something that, to her, seemed supernatural. No one should have been able to move as quickly and deftly as these two men. She shuddered with anxiety, wanting the fight to end, and for Gavin to emerge the victor. 

But then Corvo became totally defensive, not trying to strike as he fended off Gavin's furious strikes. The man back-stepped, blocking blow after blow, letting Gavin advance. But then suddenly, he caught his opponent just right, and as Gavin over-extended with a vicious swipe toward his neck, Corvo reared back, spun about, and slashed. 

Adastriana's voice pierced through the howling winds. "No!" 

Gavin stumbled, falling to the side, reflexively clutching his neck. The warmth of his own blood flooded down to his shoulders, across his jaw. He fell to his left knee, feeling his strength ebb. Turned from Corvo, he lifted his eyes and found Adastriana, offering a silent apology. 

But . . . she said I would die in two days' time, he remembered. And it has not yet been two days . . . . 

Adastriana stared back, wanting to do something, anything. She fumbled to take up the shotgun, wondering if she could shoot Corvo before he finished off her knight. 

But Gavin raised a hand, cautioning the woman to stay out of the fight. A sudden moment of clarity dawned across his face and through his mind. He remembered the knife in its sheath against his right calf. 

As Corvo approached with the obvious intent of ending the fight, Gavin reached for the blade, jerking it free as he spun about. With all the strength he had left, he caught Corvo's upraised arm with one hand and stabbed deep into the other knight's chest with the other. The knife slid easily through armor as if it was not there, and through flesh, muscle and bone just as readily. 

Corvo froze, an expression of shock dominating his face. He stared at Gavin in wonder. "So . . . we kill . . . each other . . . ." 

Gavin grimaced, then twisted the knife, driving it deeper, piercing the man's heart. "Only you," he managed to grunt, before shoving the man away and falling back. 

Sprawled upon the ground, Gavin gestured to Adastriana, even as he pulled at the pocket of his armor in which was kept the handkerchief. He tried to speak, but that required too much effort. He could not even see clearly. The darkness was closing in. 

He was just able to see the zantrist's form hovering over him before he succumbed. 

* * * * 

"Gavin!" 

He sat up suddenly, startling the woman. His hand reflexively went to his neck, finding the handkerchief there. He took it away and watched as it transformed from a blood-saturated cloth to its pristine white hue once more. He touched his bare neck again, finding no trace of a wound. 

Adastriana beamed with relief. "You're alive." 

The knight-gunman nodded. "I am indeed," he said. "Thanks to you." 

"I remembered the cloth," she said, moving about on her knees before him. "If you had not used it to heal me I would not have known about it." 

He breathed out. Strangely, he felt rejuvenated, as if he had not lost any blood at all. Given such a grievous wound, even if it had been closed he would expect to be weak for days. Yet instead, he felt as fit and hale as if he'd had several nights' rest in a comfortable bed. 

He looked about, spying Corvo's body on the ground, the hilt of the knife protruding from the chest, then the man's horse and his equipment. He rolled to his feet and stood. 

"I was not out for long," he commented. 

"No," Adastriana confirmed. "A few minutes." 

Gavin stepped to the body and withdrew the knife from the dead man's chest. One of three kills, he thought. "Good. We need to keep moving if we want to make Averine before the inns close." 

Adastriana stood, a forlorn shadow crossing her face. "You still intend to leave me there?" 

He looked to her. "For both our sakes, it would be best, wouldn't it?" 

She cast her eyes down. "I suppose," she agreed in a small voice. 

* * * * 

They rode in relative silence, punctuated now and then by inane casual conversation, as the hours passed upon the stark, lifeless plains. As the hazy glow of the sun disappeared, replaced with abject darkness, Gavin kept on until the gently-glowing mecca of Averine appeared in the distance beyond a set of rolling, dust-streaming hills. 

"We should just make it!" he called over the growing winds, and spurred the mounts further. 

Indeed, just as the sentries at the gate to the city switched off the gaslight lamps upon towering poles above the walls, Gavin and Adastriana approached. They were allowed in, mainly due to Gavin's obvious status as a knight-gunman, and led their mounts through the arch before the portcullis descended with a heavy sound. 

"This is good," Gavin said, bearing a rare but faint smile. "Neustis is three-quarters of a day from here; I should arrive on time." 

"And what of me?" Adastriana asked as she rocked back and forth upon her plodding mount. 

He met her gaze with his own. "You will be safe," he said pointedly. "And able to continue on to wherever you wish." 

Adastriana fell quiet, looking about at her surroundings. She did not like the idea of having to fend for herself in such an alien environment, not when she was used to luxury and protection. She decided, with a moment of reflection, that she could do without the luxury, but not the protection. 

Especially the protection of Gavin Reed.



The True Oracle Ch. 02



Author's note: this story was originally submitted as part of a friendly contest between Literotica authors. I liked the premise so much I decided to expand a little upon it. I hope you enjoy this little Fantasy/Sci-Fi tale. Feel free to comment if you wish, but please don't forget to vote. 

This is the second of a two-part installment. 

* * * * 

Twelfth Day, Second Quadrimester, Year 3743 

Taverns and inns were customarily open well into the night, and those of the city-state of Averine were no exception. Gavin found one close to the city gate and gave a few coins to the valet to secure their horses. With Adastriana close beside him, he led the way into the tavern. 

Eyes fell upon them. The sight of an armored knight-gunman with a comely young woman - even one swallowed up by a cloak - beside him was enough to stir imaginations and make those with guilty consciences squirm in their chairs. Gavin ignored the sometimes fearful, sometimes challenging looks and stepped directly to the bar. He was conscious of how close Adastriana stayed to him, and he did not blame her. A woman of her qualities alone in such a place at a late hour would be mercilessly set upon by those with cruelly carnal intent. 

"Good evening, knight-gunman," said the stocky man behind the counter. "I hope this is not an official visit?" 

"No. Just passing through. I need a room for my companion and I, one with hot and cold plumbing, and soap. And if I could have a menu; we are in need of real food." 

The bartender relaxed with a smile and handed over a folded menu. "Of course, good sir. I'll have your room prepared." His eyes flickered across Adastriana's pretty face. "Eh, one bed, or two?" 

"Two," Gavin said quickly as he perused the fare. 

"I will see to it. Call on me when you have chosen your meals." 

Gavin turned to Adastriana as the bartender stepped away. "You do not mind sharing a room for the night, do you?" 

She shook her head. "Of course not." He brow furrowed in thought. "Gavin, why are you continuing on to Neustis when another knight, dispatched by the Oracle, was sent to kill you?" 

"Because that is my mission," Gavin replied simply. "I do not have the option of abandoning my quest. My life would be forfeit." 

"But if you arrive, and the Oracle demands your death, what then?" 

"Then at least I served my purpose in life," Gavin replied curtly. "What do you want to eat?" 

Adastriana gave a frustrated sigh at the change in conversation, and told herself she would resume it later. "Let me see the menu." 

* * * * 

Sated from their meal, Gavin and Adastriana were lead to their room on the topmost floor of the inn. The elderly woman who escorted them was the owner's mother, a kindly woman who assured them they would be left in privacy after commenting on what an attractive couple they made. The zantrist blushed but said nothing. Gavin scowled. 

"You may bathe first," the knight-gunman said once they were within the room with the doors closed. He removed the holstered pistol from his belt and tossed it onto one of the beds. 

Adastriana looked about the room, noting the amenities. A large open alcove included a tub, sink, and toilet. She was grateful for at least some measure of civilization away from her temple. "More than I expected," she commented, unfastening the clasp of the cloak. She let the garment fall to the ground amid a cloud of wasteland dust. 

"More than we need . . ." began Gavin as he unfastened his bracers. He followed after Adastriana with his eyes, watching the way the woman casually divested herself of her minimal clothing. Dust and grime from the wastelands contrasted starkly with the pale, revealed skin as she slid off the rest of her clothing. Casually nude, the woman stepped to the tub and turned on the faucet. 

Having adjusted the temperature of the water as it flowed into the large basin, Adastriana stood in profile to Gavin. He admired the shape of the woman's firm breasts, the tautness of her buttocks, the intricate swirling tattoos that covered her arms and shoulders. Even with the grit of travel upon her, she was easily the loveliest woman Gavin had ever seen. 

He suddenly realized she had turned her head to look his way, and quickly cast his eyes down. "My apologies," he muttered. 

"I am not embarrassed," she said. "You have, after all, seen me fully before." 

Gavin allowed himself a small, fond smile. "Yes, and it is something I will never forget." 

She turned to face him, delicious and unabashed in her casual nudity. Her nipples stiffened, growing darker. A flirtatious smile stretched one corner of her mouth. "A cherished memory?" she asked. 

He looked upon her, feeling less embarrassed for doing so now that she was obviously enjoying his attention. Even his stoic nature could not help but give way to a sense of arousal upon seeing Adastriana's brazen beauty. "Perhaps." 

She flashed her eyes. "I would be willing to give you another memory," she said suggestively. "One even more . . . intimate." 

The armor over Gavin's groin was beginning to feel confining. "You do not need to give yourself to me." 

She stepped closer. "I know that," she said. "I am not a 'temple harlot,' as you would say, right now. I am my own woman. I do not offer myself out of gratitude for having saved my life at least twice. I offer myself because I want to." 

His brow furrowed. "'Because you want to,'" Gavin repeated skeptically. He found it strange to consider that anyone would do something they were not directed, or compelled to do in some fashion. 

She stopped just before him, close enough that her nipples nearly grazed his armor. "Is that really a difficult concept to understand?" she asked in a soft, seductive voice. "That a person - a woman - would want to be with you out of simple desire, and nothing more?" 

"I . . . am not the sort of man women desire," he said awkwardly. 

She studied Gavin's face a moment, reading his loneliness. Her heart fluttered amid a sudden realization that her grim knight's stoicism was not simply an occupational requirement, but the result of a life dedicated to spurning desires in favor of following duty. 

She lifted up and brushed her lips gently across his. "You are now," she whispered. 

He said nothing in response. No words came to mind. He could face any number of deadly threats and emerge the victor, but at that moment, Gavin Reed, accomplished knight-gunman of Owrn, felt . . . vulnerable. He did not know how to act. 

Thankfully, Adastriana took the moment in hand and encouraged him to divest himself of his armor. She stepped back, watching as Gavin removed the bracers, then the greaves, then every other piece of potent protection he wore until he was clad only in a quilted bodysuit with a zipper down the front. The aroma of sweat, sweet yet strong, wafted from him. He had been wearing his armor for two full days without removing it, after all. 

Adastriana reached for the small tab of the zipper and pulled it down. The cloth separated from his skin, revealing the muscled torso beneath. As she smoothed her fingers between cotton and skin, pushing the bodysuit from his shoulders, she observed numerous scars, burns and other marks, the result of a life of constant conflict. Some of them looked ghastly, prompting her to wonder how he had ever survived such wounds. Each one of them was a story, she knew, and probably not one she would be able to hear without cringing. 

At last, she lowered herself to her knees, dragging Gavin's bodysuit down his body. She smirked knowingly at the outline of his penis before it was revealed, and licked her lips in approval at the half-swollen phallus as it dangled before her. She helped Gavin step from the garment and settled her hands to his thighs, gazing upon that one delicious part of his anatomy that thoroughly identified him as male. 

"I have always admired the sight of this particular part of a man's body," she remarked. "Each is like a face; no two are alike. I find the variety . . . stimulating." 

Gavin grimaced, feeling uncomfortable in his nudity, despite the arousal the woman before him elicited. He was conscious of the odor of his body, though it did not seem to perturb the zantrist woman at all. 

She slid upwards until she was standing, and took his hand. "Come. Share the bath with me." 

Gavin yet remained silent, but he allowed himself to be led to the tub. 

* * * * 

Never had he been so pampered. The attention Adastriana gave him was almost embarrassing. In his life, the simple act of cleaning one's body had been nothing more than a series of mechanical motions. But now, Adastriana tended to him as if caring for a child. Sponges had been placed at the tub's edge, and the zantrist used them with thoroughly sensual motions, lathering them with soap and caressing Gavin's body. The water grew cloudy as the dirt was washed away. 

Then the temptress treated Gavin to another erotic sight, one far more sultry and arousing than the self-pleasuring display of the evening before. She sat upon the edge of the tub, thighs casually parted, and washed herself. Skin glistened wetly as she massaged the soap into her body. Adastriana seemed lost to her own world as she carefully cleansed every part of her body, from her face and neck to her feet and toes. She even lifted both legs to settle her feet on opposite sides of the tub, fully exposing the fleshy pink heart of her sex, as she ardently scrubbed around her labia and anus. 

With a final dousing rinse from the shower above the tub, Adastriana again took Gavin's hand and led him from the tub to one of the beds. They did not bother to dry off. Feet smacked wetly upon the bare floors, leaving prints upon old wooden grain. 

She turned to face him once they reached the bed, giving a look of uncompromising desire. Her eyes were heady, lips parted and moist. "Tell me how you want to make love," she whispered. 

Gavin's eyes shifted nervously. He could not meet her gaze. "I am . . . easily satisfied," he managed to say. 

She placed her hands upon his chest, feeling the muscle, the scars, the pain beneath. "I don't want to satisfy you easily," she said. "I want to satisfy you completely." She planted small kisses upon his chest, working up to his neck. 

Gavin shuddered. He was not used to not being in control. The reversal of roles between he and Adastriana were both aggravating and alluring. His cock was firm and thick, brushing against her abdomen. There was a part of him that demanded he throw her down upon the bed and have his way, as he had always done with women. They had always given themselves so easily, but without passion. It had been their duty, after all. But now, here was a woman providing the passion he had never known. He was unsure of how to act. 

She sucked tenderly at the base of his neck, then pulled back and stared into his eyes. Her own were soft, round, eager. She wanted to please. "Tell me." 

He cleared his throat nervously. "I . . . don't know. It has always been the . . . basic way for me." 

"'The basic way,'" she echoed, then smiled meaningfully. "Well, there will be nothing 'basic' about tonight, I assure you." She stepped back, then lowered herself to the bed. Wooden posts and old springs creaked slightly as the woman eased back, parting her legs to showcase the glistening treasure between her thighs. 

"Have you ever tasted a woman?" 

Gavin's gaze fell between her thighs. Adastriana's pussy glowed a succulent pink, the inner lips flaring out as she casually stroked her sex. "Tasted?" he asked dubiously. 

She tittered softly. "Yes. Tasted." She tapped a fingertip upon the hooded bulb of her clitoris. "I want you to lick me. Right here." 

Dutifully, Gavin lowered himself to his knees between Adastriana's splayed thighs. The aroma of her arousal, mingled with the clean scent of the bath, filled his senses. Tentatively, he placed his hands upon the zantrist's thighs and leaned in. He was enraptured by the sight of the woman's sex. Never in his life had he been so close to a woman's treasure. And never had he been so aroused. 

"Go on," she urged him softly. "Taste me." 

He looked to her face, seeing the heavy passion coloring her features. Something in him understood that she was genuinely aroused, and becoming moreso as he succumbed to her desires. And that, in turn, fueled his own. So he leaned in further, inhaling more of her succulent scent. The aroma made his cock throb. He eyed her pussy, noting the slick wetness of her inner lips as they shimmered between the more pale and firm outer flesh of her vulva. Carefully, he slipped out his tongue and lapped along the soft wet flesh. 

"Oh, Gods . . . ." his lover moaned, lifting and spreading her legs even more. She slipped a hand behind his head, stared down with an impassioned face. "Go on. Do that again." 

Gavin smiled, like a schoolboy praised by a teacher he wished to impress. He licked again and again, finding the flavor of Adastriana's pussy to be, all at once, gamey, pungent, bitter, sweet, and savory. Never had he tasted anything like it. The uniqueness spurred him on, encouraged him to delve further with his tongue. He slipped into the heated heart of her wetness, making the woman shudder. 

Adastriana groaned and rotated her hips, pushing against Gavin's mouth. She whimpered, mewed, moaned and gasped. Falling back upon the bed, the alluring zantrist curled up her thighs and placed both hands upon the back of Gavin's head. She pulled his mouth firmly against her pussy. 

"Don't stop . . . don't stop . . . ." she panted heatedly, over and over. Gavin didn't. Encouraged by the effect he was having upon his lover, he licked and sucked, moaning on his own, finding a sense of accomplishment at making his lover writhe. 

After only a few minutes more, Adastriana began convulsing, arching her back, gasping and grunting like an animal in heat. She took her hands from Gavin's head and slapped them to the tattered bedcovers, clawing handfuls of cheap linen. She shoved her pussy against Gavin's face and cried out with her orgasm. 

He clutched her thighs and kept licking, kept sucking, tasting a different flavor now. It was much more bittersweet than what he had experienced before, and overall, much more enticing. He lapped between her slick folds to get it all. Pulling back, a tendril of sticky white fluid stretched from the opening of Adastriana's vagina to his chin. 

The woman sat up suddenly, still panting, breasts, neck and face glowing with primal rouge. She grinned upon him, a thankful, worshipful look, then cupped his face and kissed him deeply. She did not seem to mind the flavor of her own climax upon his lips; indeed, she licked all around his mouth. 

"Now it's your turn," she whispered hotly. "Lay on the bed. I want to taste you." 

Gavin arched a brow at his lover's words, but his libido had been piqued to the point of not questioning anything Adastriana proposed. So as the woman made room upon the bed, Gavin lay upon the mattress, his stiff cock jutting up with need. Adastriana cooed playfully at the sight of it, then grasped the shaft firmly while swinging her leg over Gavin's body, positioning herself atop him so that her slick pussy was over Gavin's face, and her own poised above Gavin's cock.  

The zantrist murmured in approval as she stroked the stiff shaft beneath her face. The head glistened wetly, due to the clear, sticky fluid that had already begun to seep from the slit at the tip. Emitting soft moans and sighs, she licked all around Gavin's cock, tasting the seepage. Then, slipping her fingers to the base, she slid her mouth down the shaft, sucking the full length of him past her tongue and into her throat. Her chin pressed against the flat muscular plateau of his lower abdomen. For as long as she could hold her breath, Adastriana sucked and caressed her lover's cock with all the skill she possessed, letting her throat massage the head. 

Gavin groaned. The sensations his lover gave him were new and incredibly delicious. Try as he might to continue pleasuring Adastriana's nearly addictive sex, he could not deny the overwhelming esthesis her talented mouth was delivering upon him. He flicked his tongue, nipped, kissed, even tried to suck, but the ministrations of his lover were too much. 

Very soon, he felt the pulses of a powerful orgasm building beneath his groin. As Adastriana pumped her mouth up and down, sucking ardently, he could actually feel his cock swelling between her lips. The instinctual urge to experience the rush completely overcame any thought he might have to warn his lover. 

A hoarse, heated cry erupted from Gavin's lungs, just as his cock erupted in Adastriana's mouth. Thick gushes of warm fluid saturated her tongue, her cheeks, yet the woman responded with a muffled moan of approval, and continued sucking to draw out every last drop. She slipped her lips up to just the tip, swallowed, then delved back down to coax out more of Gavin's rich gift. She found the taste primal and semi-sweet, the consistency almost as thick as pudding; it had been a quite a while since her lover had last enjoyed a release, she realized. 

He twitched and shuddered beneath her, clawing at the woman's firm buttocks. The feel of her mouth upon him after orgasm was maddening, a strange convergence of pleasure and pain. But Adastriana seemed to know when to stop the delicious agony. She simply held his cock within her mouth, suckling gently, feeling it twitch between her tongue and palate as a few last trickles of fluid seeped across her tongue. 

With a soft muffled chuckle of proud satisfaction, she slid off Gavin's body, still massaging him with her mouth. She knew all too well that men were typically inspired by an erotic sight more than anything else, and she was certain Gavin was no different. Indeed, as he lifted his head to look down upon the lovely zantrist, and seeing her still ardently suckling him, he groaned with renewed arousal. His cock twitched between Adastriana's lips, remaining firm. 

She slid her mouth from him with a self-impressed smile, then moved about until she straddled him. The heat of her sex soaked into his still-erect shaft. "Not done?" 

Gavin managed a small chuckle as he regained his breath. "I was about to ask the same." 

Adastriana smiled adoringly upon the man beneath her. Her gaze wandered, again, over the multitude of scars and burns upon his body. There was even one just above and to the right of the base of his penis, which she traced with a finger. Yet for all that physical deformity, she found him handsome. A man who could survive as much as he had was certainly due a good deal of respect, and a respected man was, to Adastriana, a sexy man. 

She carefully lifted his cock and pressed the shaft against her pussy, gently undulating back and forth to stimulate him. She was careful not to massage the delicate area just beneath the crown of his penis, knowing from experience how sensitive men were there after orgasm. "Do you like a woman to be on top?" she asked. 

He lifted his hands to caress her body, her breasts. "This would be the first time," he responded truthfully. Bidden by sexual instinct, he shifted his hips, pushing up against her. Adastriana smiled, both in response to his statement and to the obvious indication that he was ready for more. 

She leaned over him, supporting herself on one hand as the other guided the head of his cock toward the slippery entrance of her pussy. "Do not be afraid to take control of me," she said meaningfully, eyes blazing with lust. "I do so like that sometimes." 

Gavin smoothed his hands along her lean, smooth torso, enjoying the contrast of his battle-worn body against her younger, supple one. "I will keep that in mind," he returned, then grunted as the woman slid down, enshrouding his length within a cocoon of snug, pulsing, heated flesh. 




The True Oracle Ch. 02



Adastriana moaned softly as she rolled her hips back and forth, moving just that part of her body. The shifting movement of his cock inside her was lighting up every nerve within her tunnel. She decided that he fit her perfectly, as if his penis had somehow been crafted specifically to fit every contour of her vagina. 

She settled atop him. They kissed torridly. The residual flavor of his orgasm upon her lips did not deter Gavin; instead, he found it arousing, and began pumping up into his lover with carnal intensity. Adastriana willingly surrendered to his thrusts, her body quaking atop his with every erotically forceful drive he gave. 

Abruptly, Gavin sat up, one arm around Adastriana as the other supported his weight. He lifted off the mattress for a moment, his lover wrapping her legs around his waist to keep him inside her, then turned about and lay her upon her back. Adastriana sighed and smiled sexily, face, neck and breasts blushing. She opened herself willingly to him. Now on top, Gavin kissed her as she had done him, and slid back and forth inside the beautiful zantrist. Knowing he would not achieve orgasm too soon, he did not bother to slow his movements for his own sake. He pounded into her again and again. Adastriana gasped, gritted her teeth, contorted her face. Her pussy sucked madly at his shaft. 

Gavin pushed himself up until his weight rest on his knees, and held his lover's legs wide. He stared at the erotic sight of his cock sinking again and again into Adastriana's body, watching the way the pink petals of her lips flared around his shaft. Sex for him had always been a discrete, mechanical affair, often conducted in a harlot's room with little, if any, lighting. But this coupling with Adastriana was undeniably the most erotic experience of his life. He felt as if he was giving himself to a woman for the first time. 

She tensed and moaned after only a few minutes more, inner muscles clenching his cock like a silk-wrapped fist. The woman gasped, convulsing slightly upon the bed as she experienced another orgasm. Aroused even further by the sight, Gavin nearly joined her in throes of passion. But he managed to hold back. 

Adastriana gave her lover a burning-eyed, fierce look of passion. "Let me turn over," she managed to say. "Take me that way." 

Skin glistening from his exertions, Gavin smiled euphorically. "Whatever my lady wishes," he said, withdrawing from Adastriana's pussy. His stiff shaft glistened with her fluids. 

The zantrist doubled over, gripping Gavin's cock at the base. With a growl of approval, she engulfed his length to the root, sucking away her own essence. She pushed every inch of him into her mouth and throat, slipping out her tongue to caress his testicles. 

"Gods," muttered Gavin, placing his hands upon her head. The sensations were incredible. A minute, at the most, and he would be feeding the woman his seed once more. 

But Adastriana slurped her mouth from him and flipped about, positioning herself on all fours. She arched her back deeply, brazenly offering the swollen wet sex beneath her perfect cheeks. With an intent glare over her shoulder, she commanded, "take me. Use me." 

Gavin groaned, a feral sound that confirmed his complete surrender to primal urges. He lined up his cock with the glistening, gaping entrance to Adastriana's pussy and shoved in deeply. She responded with a hoarse cry of abandon. Her inner walls spasmed around his cock. 

Gripping the woman's hips, he pounded into her again and again. The air became filled with the sounds and aromas of their coupling. Adastriana's body trembled with each powerful thrust, making even her firm backside ripple. 

Giving in to primal lust, Gavin reached for a handful of dark hair and pulled her head back. His lover responded with another heated expulsion of breath and shuddered once more. Pumping into her again and again, Gavin felt the beginnings of his rush. His breathing became more labored, his movements more urgent. Adastriana could tell he was about to erupt, and that realization triggered her own orgasm. 

They climaxed together, moaning, crying, sighing, grunting. Gavin's cock burned with the release of his seed deep within Adastriana's womb. Her spasmodic tunnel rippled along his shaft as the woman's body heaved up and down, milking his shaft for every drop of fluid. At the culmination of their shared bliss, Adastriana reared back, lifting off the bed to press herself against Gavin. His arms encircled her automatically. Only by clutching one another did they keep from falling over. 

He kissed her shoulders, the back of her neck, tasting fresh, sweet sweat. Adastriana sighed in approval, clutching the strong arms that embraced her. Together, they began to recover, letting the heated moment cool blissfully. 

As her face was turned from him, Gavin did not notice that the zantrist's eyes had become cloudy white orbs once more. But he did notice the sudden snuffing of the lamps and the resulting plunge into darkness, and the stereophonic flow of the voice from the woman's lips. 

"She needs you, Gavin Reed." 

The words startled him from post-coital bliss. He fell back, watching Adastriana as she turned about on the bed. A baleful gaze spilled from the naked woman's ghostly eyes she she looked upon him. 

"You must take her to Neustis, to confront the puppet and her master. All will be revealed there." 

Annoyance rose in his heart. "Why? Is she truly the next True Oracle?" 

"She is." 

"I need to know more than that." 

The woman was silent for a long moment, unmoving. In the darkness, her entire body looked almost ethereal. But then her lips moved once more. 

"Show her the book. She will know what it is." 

"And what of me?" asked Gavin in a slightly trembling voice. "Am I still to die tomorrow?" 

Adastriana's pale eyes looked him over, an expression that might be considered sad decorating her face if not for the unearthly pale eyes. But then the lips curled slightly, almost as if to offer hope even though the word that next came was anything but hopeful. 

"Yes." 

Abruptly, the woman collapsed to the bed like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly clipped. The lights blazed once more within the room. 

Gavin found himself breathing heavily. He took a moment to calm himself, to remember his years of devotional teachings. The idea that every day in which he breathed might be his last had always been a given; he had never believed he was afraid of death. But to be told when he was to die was frightening, even to him. 

He managed to center himself, then reached for Adastriana. She lay recumbent, angelically comatose, breasts rising and falling as breath passed between slightly-parted lips. 

If she is the next True Oracle, then her divinations are as certain as the rise of the suns. I cannot escape my fate, I know. The day, after all, was going to come sooner or later. What better way to die than in the service of the next True Oracle? 

An unlikely calm came over the knight, and his hard face cracked slightly with a smile of acceptance and pride. He settled a hand upon Adastriana's naked hip. And I could not have asked for a better way to spend my last night alive. 

"You are a strange and incredible woman, Adastriana," he whispered, before placing a tentative kiss upon the woman's lips. He rose from the bed, turned off the lamps, then slid back upon the mattress beside his lover. He curled up beside her, and she shifted in her sleep to accommodate his position. But it would be quite some time, Gavin knew, before he would follow his enigmatic companion into dreamland. 

* * * * 

Adastriana awoke with a smile the following morning, stretching upon the bed. She searched with her hands for the lover she hoped still lay beside her, but found herself alone. With a tired groan of mild distraught, she opened her eyes and pushed up. 

Gavin faced her as he sat upon the edge of the other bed. He was clad once again in his armor, and the hallow look upon his face was both intimidating and worrisome to the zantrist. In his hands he held a simple, small, leather-bound book sealed closed with a silver clasp. 

Her eyes darted from his stoic face to the book and back. "Gavin?" 

He tossed the book onto the bed before her. "What is it?" he asked in return. 

Confused, Adastriana reached for the aged volume. Its surface was scarred and worn, telling of its age. The cover sported a barely discernible rendition of a tree with numerous branches and roots, enclosed within a circular cartouche. As she took it up, a spark of recognition ignited in her eyes. She gasped. "The Journal!" she exclaimed. 

"What is it?" he asked again, his voice more forceful. 

She regarded the small tome with an obvious sense of reverence. "This . . . this book . . . It's the Journal of Insight. It contains the prophecies of all the Oracles throughout history. How did you come to possess it?" 

His strong eyes studied her face. "You're certain it is that book?" Gavin asked. 

She looked upon it once more and nodded firmly. "Though I have never seen it, I know this is it. In my temple, we have engravings based on the Journal. It is said that every divination of every True Oracle is imprinted within this book, at the moment the divination is given. For centuries, it was used to verify the prophecies of the True Oracle. Please, tell me, how did you find it?" 

"It was given to me by the Minister of Compliance of Owrn," Gavin said. "My charge is to take this book to the True Oracle in Neustis. I am to have it there by midnight today." 

Adastriana passed her hand over the cover of the book, evidencing her sense of awe. "It has been missing for half a century, even more," she said in a soft voice. "Ever since the current Oracle assumed her position. Many in my temple feared it had been destroyed." 

Gavin shoved himself to his feet. He was obviously agitated as he paced in the room. "I was given a simple task," he said in a grave, aggravated voice. "To take this book to Neustis within three days' time. If I do not deliver on schedule, I am to take my own life." 

He stopped pacing and faced Adastriana directly. "Since the start of my quest, many unusual things have happened. You're involvement is one, and that errant knight-gunman Corvo is another. Either someone really does not want me to deliver this book . . . or someone - or something - does." 

Adastriana frowned. "I do not understand." 

He stepped toward her with such directness it made the zantrist flinch and pull back upon the bed. Gavin lowered himself to one knee and stared into her eyes. "In my years of service to the Ministry of Compliance, I have done as they commanded without question. I was content to follow my orders. I found purpose and pride in that. I took lives, took liberties, took what I needed when I needed it and always felt I was doing right." 

Adastriana's eyes quivered in response. She said nothing. 

"But all that has occurred in the last two days has challenged everything I have ever known," Gavin continued. "And I want to know why. You have given me two divinations, neither of which have been none too encouraging." 

She blinked. "Two?" 

He nodded. "I lied to you, when you asked me as to the nature of the first divination you gave me. I said it was nothing of import. But it was." 

"What was it?" 

Gavin sighed heavily. "You said I was born to a dead mother and raised by a soldier father. That is true. My mother died during childbirth; I never knew her. My father was a simple infantryman, who always hoped to one day become a knight. But he failed every trial. He raised me, trained me, so that I would become what he could not. And in that, he succeeded. I became a knight, and at first, he was as proud as any father could be. But as my successes grew, as I advanced, he resented me. I was granted one of the highest honors I could receive, that of the Order of the Knights-Gunmen, and when that happened, my father turned his back. For more than four years, he has not spoken to me." 

Adastriana's face fell in vicarious sympathy. "I am sorry." 

He waved his hand dismissively. "I've come to terms with that," he said sharply. "I told you that only to confirm that the first part of your first divination was true. And because that part was true, I feel I have to believe the second." 

"Which was . . .?" 

He settled his eyes upon her. "That I am going to die today." 

Adastriana caught her breath and looked upon Gavin with frightened eyes. "I said that?" 

He nodded. "And you confirmed it last night, after we . . . after our . . . time together," he said awkwardly. "But you also said something else. Something about this book. That you would know what it is." 

The zantrist looked at the small, slender tome she held. "And I do," she said, voice scarcely more than a whisper. 

"But that was not all," Gavin said. "Apparently, I am also supposed to take you with me to Neustis, because, supposedly, 'all will be revealed there.'" 

She lifted her eyes, wearing an expression that was conflicted between hopefulness and anxiety. "You are?" 

"Yes," said Gavin with a nod. He drew the large pistol from its holster and held it at his side. His voice grew grim. "So now I am faced with a conundrum. A knight's charge is always singular and sacred. My quest is my own. To reveal my quest is tantamount to abandoning it. Therefore, I have two choices. The first, and most logical, is to kill you and continue on." 

Adastriana's eyes flew open wide. She quivered in fear, eyes darting back and forth from Gavin's weapon to his face. 

Gavin continued. "The other is to take you with me, and violate the code I have faithfully served for all of my adult life." 

She watched his face, his body, the unsure trembling of the hand that held the pistol. After a few deep breaths to quell her own fears, Adastriana spoke. 

"If you truly wanted to be done with me, you would have killed me already," she said. "You may be a machine in human form, but you are not heartless. For the sake of last night's lovemaking, you would not be so callous and cruel now." 

His eyes remained hard. "From my point of view, it would be a kindness." 

"But there is not only your point of view to consider, is there?" she asked pointedly. "There are other forces in play, other . . . views." 

"So, what is yours?" he asked. 

She stared back, never wavering as she captured his eyes with her own. "I have never believed that there is only one destiny for every soul; there are always choices," she said adamantly. "And you must understand that, otherwise we would not be having this conversation." 

His eyes dipped. "There is a part of me," he said in a distant voice. "That could kill you and still love you, to savor the memories of our time together. It would be a way, I suppose, to lock those feelings within my heart without ever having to worry about disappointment or betrayal afterward. Especially more bearable, if I am, indeed, to die before this day ends." 

His eyes flashed back up, fierce and strong. "But that would be lying to both myself and your memory," he growled and replaced the weapon in its holster. "And it brings me back to the notion that someone, or something, wants me - us - to continue. To see this through." 

Adastriana breathed a heavy sigh of relief now that Gavin had put his pistol away. "Are you finished frightening me, now?" 

The knight's face softened somewhat. "I am finished frightening us both," he said. "For the foreseeable future at any rate, the meaning of which, considering your involvement, takes on different meaning." 

Adastriana made the effort to compose herself. "What are we to do, then?" 

"First, we need to get you dressed, and quickly," Gavin replied. "Guardsmen have been searching the inns since dawn, ostensibly looking for me." 

She gave him a quizzical look. "So you are a zantrist, now?" 

He smirked. "A good listener," he corrected. "I went down to the stable just before daybreak to tend to our mounts. Some of the stable hands tend to speak loudly. So, come. We need to act with haste." 

She threw off the covers then, and searched for her clothes. Gavin watched her with a faint smile, remembering the delights they had so recently shared. Under any other circumstance, he would have been willing to spend another hour or so reliving those delights. But time was not being kind to them. 

Within minutes, Adastriana was clothed and their gear had been gathered. Leading the way, Gavin opened the door to the hall and started for the stairs at the end of the corridor. But he stopped after only a few steps. Adastriana nearly collided with him. 

"What's wrong?" she asked. 

He settled a finger to his lips, indicating silence, as he listened. Two floors below, hard, commanding voices wafted from the tavern. They were voices of authority. 

"Come," he urged his companion, heading back into the room. His eyes fell to the two windows through which rays of the early morning sun painted the far wall in gilded radiance. Quickly, he pushed open the one above the beds and peered out. Serendipity was on their side as he spied the roof of the stable shack below. 

"I'll jump down first," he instructed Adastriana. "Then catch you. Once on the ground, we stay quiet and head to the stables, then ride out casually with cloaks donned. Understood?" 

She nodded, then impulsively grabbed his head to plant a quick, searing kiss upon his lips. "For luck," she said. 

He arched a brow. "A zantrist who believes in luck. Interesting." Before his lover could retort, Gavin pulled himself through the window, casually dropping the two stories to the roof of the shack below. He landed quietly, bending his legs to both absorb the shock and to lessen the noise. Glancing upward, he gestured to Adastriana. 

She stared down in trepidation, but she harbored nothing but confidence in her protector and lover despite the tense start to their morning. Climbing onto the window sill, she teetered in a squat within the opening, looking down upon the man below, the man she could not help but trust . . . and even love. 

Behind her in the hallway she heard heavy footfalls stomping closer. Her heart fluttered with anxiety. Gods! They're coming! 

A moment later, the door burst open before the appearance of four armed guardsmen. They held their impressive shot-pistols at the ready, looking about the room. But they had come too late. All that greeted them were an unmade bed and an open window. 

* * * * 

Gavin tossed the stable hands a few extra coins to secure their silence before he and Adastriana, long traveling cloaks obscuring them, trotted the mounts out into the avenue before the inn. The early morning was typically busy with laborers on their way to work and shopkeepers opening their doors. Beggars were ubiquitous, seeking any handout they could get. But there were also guardsmen out in force, clad in the conspicuous red and green hauberks that marked their station. Gavin kept his eyes to the street. 

The city gate ahead came into view. It lay open as merchants were checked in. Another minute of casual trotting, and their horses, Gavin knew, would bear them to freedom. 

They passed a group of guardsmen who stood on the edge of the street, speaking casually. 

". . . a man and a woman. The man is a knight-gunman, so take no chances. Anyone who kills him gets to have the zantrist bitch for an hour as payment . . . ." 

Gavin frowned in alarm. They're looking for both of us? How do they know she's with me? In his remuneration, he turned his head to look upon the guardsmen. A couple of them looked back, and within Gavin's hard, experienced face, they saw something that made them suspicious. 




The True Oracle Ch. 02



"You there!" cried one of the men, jogging into the street. He was quickly joined by his fellows. "In the name of the Regent of Averine, you are commanded to stop and dismount!" 

Gavin cursed under his breath and pulled back on the reins. Beside him, Adastriana also drew her mount to a halt. She gave him a furtive, apprehensive look. 

He looked back. "When I drop my cloak, you ride for the gate and do not stop. Do not stop, do you understand?" 

She swallowed thickly. "Why not break for it now?" 

"Because I can handle being shot once or twice. Can you?" 

She grimaced and remained silent. Her eyes darted toward the open gate, only a hundred yards or so away. She forced herself to nod curtly. "I am ready," she whispered in a shaking voice. 

Keeping his cloak gathered around him, Gavin slipped from the saddle to the ground. He kept his back to the guardsmen as he took several steps back, glancing casually this way and that. Others were getting out of the way, staring wide-eyed at the developing situation. 

Five guardsmen formed a semi-circle across the breadth of the street. They held their weapons in readiness. The center guardsman spoke again. "Remove the cloak, kneel upon the ground," he commanded. "If you make any other moves, you will be shot." 

Gavin took a slow, calming breath. His senses were on high alert. He could pinpoint the position of the man who spoke from the origin of his voice, and from the curious gaze of the civilian onlookers, could reason where the others stood. Years of training and experience crafted a quick, tactical map in his mind. 

He lifted a hand and undid the clasp of the cloak. The heavy garment slid from his shoulders. 

In a whirlwind of motion, the knight-gunman spun about, snapping up the pistol from his belt. He fired swiftly and surely, the explosive reports of his pistol filling the air. One by one, the guardsmen were sent flying off their feet, fatal wounds burning through their chests. It happened so swiftly that the last of the five guardsmen was shot before the first fell to the ground. 

Adastriana did not look as she spurred her mount, digging in as fiercely as she could with her heels and slapping the reins to either side. Leaving the violence behind, her focus for the moment was on reaching salvation through the Averine gate. She directed her horse around carriages and wagons, ignoring the alarmed looks she was given. As the gate neared, a pair of guardsmen looked up with consternation. 

"Drop the gate! Drop the gate!" one of them yelled. The other darted for the guard shack beside the gaping entrance to the city. 

No! Adastriana fumbled behind her in the bags she had hastily loaded with, among other things, weapons from the blacknail-slaughtered caravan. Her fingers found something with a pistol grip and she jerked it free. It was large and bulky and very unwieldy, but with as much determination and effort as she could muster, she aimed for the guardsman running to the shack and pulled the trigger. 

The weapon bucked repeatedly in her hand. Nearly invisible flame spat from the barrel as bullet after bullet was sent in rapid succession toward the small wooden building and the man within. Wood splintered. Glass exploded. A cry erupted from within, but whether it was from fear or pain Adastriana did not know. 

All she knew was that the gate remained opened, and a moment later, she was riding through as if chased by the demons of the Nine Hells themselves. The empty weapon fell from her grip to the muddy ground at the gate. 

Once out upon the dusty wasteland, she kept riding until the rush of adrenaline subsided, allowing for the emergence of calmer, clearer thinking. When she finally thought to stop and turn about, she was a good half-mile from the walls of Averine.  

A broad smile of elation lit up her face as she saw Gavin riding toward her, bent low over the undulating neck of his horse. He made it, she thought thankfully. But her joy faded as she observed the company of riders close behind her knight. 

"Keep going!" Gavin roared. 

With a frightful cry, Adastriana urged her steed around and spurred it once more into desperate flight. 

* * * * 

The guardsmen of Averine were not paid well enough to risk going too far into the wastelands; after a mere handful of minutes, they gave up the pursuit and let Gavin and Adastriana flee into the deadly wilderness. Still, Gavin insisted on riding the mounts hard for another quarter-hour, just to secure their distance. Once he was satisfied that no one continued the pursuit, he and his companion slid from the mounts to walk them for a while and conserve their energy. 

"Something vexes me," Gavin said as they shared a casual meal of jerky and water. "It was obvious those guardsmen were looking for us both, not just me." 

"Someone must have mentioned I am with you when we arrived in Averine," she suggested. 

"I considered that," he said with a nod. "But I do not think that is the case. I've been going over the encounter with Corvo yesterday. He did not seem at all surprised you were there." 

". . . as if he already knew I would be," Adastriana said after a moment's thought. She looked to Gavin worriedly. "He could not have known." 

"Yet I believe he did," the knight said. "Given the circumstances, there is only one way I can think of, or rather, one person I can think of, that would have given him that information." 

Adastriana inhaled deeply and let it out. "The Oracle." 

Gavin nodded. "What do you know of the True Oracle?" 

The zantrist woman was quiet for a few moment as they walked. "The True Oracle is the voice of the world," she said at last, as if reciting a childhood school lesson. "For ages, she has counseled kings and lords, peasants and warriors. Until the Blaze, anyone could be seen by her and receive her counsel, if they were of mind to accept her divination." 

Adastriana continued: "The True Oracle is always a woman, and, according to tradition, is replaced every thirteen years as a new one is chosen by providence." She suddenly smiled wryly. "The . . . selection process is quite a ceremony, from what I hear." 

"Oh?" 

Adastriana chuckled. "You have seen how we zantrists divine the future." 

Gavin managed a small smile of his own. "Yes, I have." 

"Well, imagine that process with a hundred zantrists like myself, along with carefully-chosen male servants, all in one room. It is an orgy the likes of which every zantrist dreams. It goes on for days on end, with barely a break for feasting or sleeping. In the end, a single zantrist adept is chosen by the voice of the Gods, and it is she who is taken to Neustis to relieve the current True Oracle and take her place." 

"That is . . . quite a process." 

Adastriana chuckled, but then her countenance darkened. "But things have changed," she said. "The tradition is no longer honored, from what I hear." 

He frowned. "How so?" 

She drew in another breath. "The last few times a new True Oracle was supposedly taken to Neustis, she was found lacking. There have been accusations of false prophecy and favoritism . . . I am not an expert on these things. I never envisioned myself becoming the next True Oracle, so I never looked that deeply into it. But I do know that, for the last fifty and more years, the Oracle has been the same woman. And it appears she will continue being the Oracle, since there has been no selection process this year." 

The knight's brow furrowed in thought. "So it would be this year that the True Oracle is replaced?" Gavin asked. 

"I believe so, yes." 

Gavin's eyes narrowed as he stared toward the horizon. "I think I am beginning to see what is going on." 

Adastriana stared at the man as they continued, waiting for him to say more. But when he did not, she stopped. Gavin went on for several paces before he realized his companion was no longer leading her horse across the desert. He stopped as well and glanced back. 

"There is something you're not telling me," Adastriana declared. 

He faced her. "You're right." 

"Why?" 

He approached her carefully. "Because you told me 'all will be revealed' when we arrive in Neustis, as if to suggest that it will not be revealed before. Who am I to argue with a zantrist's divination?" 

She huffed. "You are an aggravating man, Gavin Reed." 

"Yes. I know." 

* * * * 

The day wore on. The two travelers rode in silence punctuated by the occasional comment or attempt at casual conversation. The winds of the wasteland were stronger the further west they traveled, necessitating the donning of scarves around their lower faces to keep them from choking on the swirling dust. 

Gavin found himself becoming increasingly more alert the further they trekked. Adastriana's prophecy that his life would come to an end some time this very day weighed heavily upon him. It was one thing, he realized, to know one's life was always in danger. He had come to terms with that as a knight-gunman and thought nothing of the precarious edge he walked between life and death. But it was another to be told one's life was fated to end on a specific day, without being told how. As far as Gavin knew, he could accidentally slip from his horse and gnash his head upon a rock and that would be the end of it. 

Every sound, every shadow in the dusty maelstrom around them had him anxious. He found himself reaching for the butt of his pistol more than once, as if he had somehow regressed to a first-year infantryman. He berated himself time and again for his nervous reactions . . . but could not stop them. 

But the day passed, strangely enough, without incident. Not even a single gapemaw threatened them as they followed the worn road leading to Neustis which, to Gavin, was a mild miracle. These lands, he knew, were virtually infested with the broad-jawed predators. But aside from occasional spor, there was no sign of them. 

Mounting the crest of a high hill, Gavin reined in his steed as he looked upon the great walls of the city before them. Adastriana also stopped, staring ahead. 

"Neustis?" she asked, pulling down the scarf covering her face. 

The knight-gunman nodded. "Yes," he confirmed. He noticed a group of caravans heading toward the gate. Unlike Averine, Neustis was as fortified as Owrn, with impressive walls and steep-sloped towers that stabbed like swords into the heavens. Even from his distance, Gavin could make out a massive, mechanized colossus standing to either side of the gate. 

"If they are watching for us, simply riding in as we are will not do," Gavin said. His attention shifted to the caravans, and an idea blossomed. "But there may be another way in. Come." 

* * * * 

"Check every caravan," the Master of the Guard reminded his guardsmen. He stood upon a podium as tall as the average man, watching the large covered wagons as they arrived at the gate. 

"You will know the knight by his armor if you see him, and the zantrist by her tattoos. Be swift of action; the errant knight is to be executed on sight, but the woman must be captured alive." 

With these orders, the guardsmen went to task. As a colossus stepped in to fill the entrance to the city with a heavy mechanical whir of gears and hydraulics, the guardsmen approached the first of the five wagons as they trundled to a stop. Unceremoniously, they demanded that every man and woman pull back the hoods of their cloaks and reveal what they wore beneath. One after another, everyone was inspected. 

Other guardsmen searched through the crates, boxes and bushels within the wagons and checked underneath with the aid of bull's eye lanterns. 

"Here, now, don't go upsetting me goreberry bushes," grumbled the portly driver of the last caravan. "Them things are hard enough to grow. I don't need some clumsy guardsman jostling the roots." 

One of the guardsmen turned the blinding light of his lantern upon the round-bellied driver. "We are looking for fugitives. If we, eh, jostle your berries," he said with a chuckling sneer. "'Tis our right to do so." 

"I'll be remembering that come tomorrow morning if you visit my stall," responded the driver with a scowl. The young man seated beside him stayed sheepishly quiet. 

The guardsman in the rear of the cart looked among the large potted plants, moving aside heavy sacks filled with plucked berries. He kicked each one for signs of a human form within, but found nothing. 

"No sign in this wagon," called the guardsman. Another piped up as he straightened after inspecting beneath. "Nor under." 

"Fine," said the man with the lantern. He gestured to the driver. "In you go." 

The driver offered a false smile, then slapped the reins and clucked his tongue. The cart's four horses moved forward. The towering colossus began to move aside so the caravans could enter the city. 

"A moment," called the guardsman. The colossus paused. Faces from within the wagons turned to look as the guardsman approached the portly driver once more. 

Gavin felt a brief flash of anxiety, wondering if this was to be the moment of his demise. How ironic, he thought, that it would occur when we are so close. 

The guardsman stepped to the side of the cart. "I rather happen to like goreberries," he said. "What stall will you be in?" 

Gavin scowled in thought for a moment. "Seventy-three, if I remember correctly," he said, knowing there were hundreds of stalls in every market. He only hoped that his random guess did not clash with information the guard already had. 

But the guardsman only winked. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, then raised his voice. "Sorry to have troubled you all." 

The colossus finally stepped to the side, and the caravans rumbled into the city. 

"Stay alert!" cried the Master of the Guard after the wagons had passed. "The fugitives will be here by midnight!" 

Gavin allowed himself a small smirk as the wagon he drove bore him forward. Beside him, the real driver of the cart expelled a heavy breath of relief. 

* * * * 

Many minutes later, under cover of darkness in an alley between a pair of tall stone buildings, Gavin pulled off the cloak and unwrapped the sack around his middle which had given the illusion of a thick belly. It fell heavily onto the wagon's dashboard, filled as it was with the pieces of his armor. Gavin stepped to the rear of the wagon, to one of the potted goreberry bushes. He gripped the thick trunk of the six-foot-tall shrubbery and lifted with great effort. 

Sputtering and coughing, Adastriana climbed out from her hiding place, covered in black soil. She shuddered and slapped at her arms and legs. "There were . . . worms crawling on my skin," she complained. 

Gavin helped bat away most of the dirt from his lover. "If I could have fit inside one of these pots, I would have happily taken your place with the worms." 

Adastriana shivered once more. "At least we are in. I did not think that would work." 

Gavin looked to the still-nervous young man who owned the cart. "We thank you greatly for the chance you took," he said, then held out a handful of coins. "Go find yourself a comely wench for the night." 

The young man beamed. "Oh, I shall, sir," he declared, snatching the coins. "I shall indeed." 

"But say nothing of us to anyone," Gavin warned, fixing him a look of dire surety. "Or I will find you later." 

The young man swallowed thickly. "As far as I can tell, all this has been a strange dream, very quickly forgotten." 

Gavin nodded, watched as the man gripped the reigns of his horses and lured them, along with his cart, away. "Smart man." He returned his attention to Adastriana. "Now, let's get you cleaned up . . . before one more divination." 

The zantrist arched a surprised brow. 

* * * * 

As with every city-state within the land, there were more and more buildings every year that fell into ruin and disrepair. Many such constructions became the homes for the abject poor, but others, such as the one into which Gavin led Adastriana, remained dark and empty. 

Building a small fire upon the floor of what had once been some sort of warehouse, the knight turned his attention to his nervous-looking charge. "Are you ready?" he asked. 

Adastriana looked about with an expression of distaste. There were a few pieces of furniture here and there, tables and chairs in advanced stages of wood rot, and little else. The walls and grime-darkened windows reflected the pale amber flames that danced within the fire, casting distorted shadows in all directions. 

She addressed her knight. "For what?" she asked. 

Gavin gave a small smile of self-admonishment. "So much emphasis," he said, stepping to the closest of the tables. "Is placed upon the zantrist ability to divine the future. I'll admit; until I met you, I never placed much stock in that. I, like the majority of people in the sovereignties, believe that only the True Oracle possesses such power." 

Adastriana frowned, confused as to where Gavin was leading with his words. "I will be the first to admit that my divinations could not possibly compare with those of Her Truthfulness," she said. 

From the pouch on his vest, Gavin withdrew the handkerchief, then stooped to draw the bone-handled knife from the scabbard along his right calf. The first item he placed gingerly upon the table; the second, he stabbed harshly into the wood so that it stood up straight. His movements made Adastriana start. 

"Right now, I am not interested in the future," Gavin said, bracing his hands upon the table and looking down at the items. He turned his head so that his gaze fell meaningfully upon Adastriana. "I am more interested in the past." 

The zantrist was silent for a few moments as the meaning behind the knight's words and actions sank in. Carefully, she approached the table, stepping around so that she faced Gavin across it. Her fingertips trailed lightly across the handkerchief, then across the flat of the impaled blade and its handle. 

"As a zantrist, I can read the future," she said. She lifted her eyes to gaze into Gavin's. "Or the past. That is what you want, isn't it?" 

He nodded. "Call it an inspiration," he said. "But I believe the key to understanding what is going on lies within these items. And only someone like you can tell me what it is." 

Adastriana drew in a breath and regarded the objects. "Do you want me to tell you," she said. "Or show you?" 

Gavin frowned. "What do you mean?" 

She smiled thinly. "I can read the knife, and the silk," she said. "The nature of my ability, however, means that I will not remember any of it. So, either you will have to possess a very good memory, or . . . or you can share the divination with me. But that means we must be joined." 

Gaving cocked his head. "'Joined,'" he repeated, unsure of what Adastriana meant. 

She smiled coquettishly and stepped back, beginning to divest herself of her clothing. Firm, naked breasts were revealed as her top fell to the floor. "Remove your armor," she whispered coyly. 

Gavin's eyes widened a moment before he understood. Hastily, he began to loosen the straps and buckles that kept his armor secure and let the pieces fall to the ground. But even as Adastriana, the most beautiful and erotic woman he had ever known, now stood naked before him, the circumstances kept him from responding as he otherwise would have. 

But the zantrist only gave him a look as she sidled closer, brushing her nude body against his. "I need you to relax," she said pointedly. 

He gritted his teeth. "I am trying." 

She smiled sexily, then slid down to a squat before him. "Let me do the 'trying,'" she said huskily, brushing her cheeks against his dangling penis. Still keeping his attention, with her eyes upon his, she parted her lips and worked Gavin's cock into her mouth, sucking gently. 




The True Oracle Ch. 02



He sighed in response, settling hands to her shoulders, her head. Adastriana moaned softly, her mouth emitting wet suckling sounds that just reached his ears and ignited the bonfire of his libido. As his cock thickened, the zantrist took him deep, engulfing the stiffening tube of flesh within a cocoon of sucking, caressing warmth. 

"Gods," he murmured, shifting on his feet to remain standing. 

But then Adastriana released him and stood, her mouth wet and glistening. A fierce look burned in her eyes as she took the knife and handkerchief from the table, then pushed Gavin back. Her lover eased himself to the floor, fierce erection jutting upward, then groaned as Adastriana impaled herself, straddling his hips. 

She stared into Gavin's eyes, even as her own began to turn cloudy. "See what I see," she breathed heatedly. "Know what I know." 

Gavin nodded, then lifted up enough so that he cradled Adastriana in his arms. His cock pulsed and throbbed within the woman's massaging depths. His hands roamed across her back, from buttocks to neck. 

"Show me." 

Adastriana stared back, and her eyes glossed over with the now-familiar radiant sheen of cloudy-white hue. She tilted her head back, clutching the handkerchief in one hand, the knife in the other, and hugged herself close against the knight. 

The vision began. 

* * * * 

Images, thoughts, feelings . . . they were many and confusing, none of them complete, and all of them assaulting him at once. Gavin felt as if he had been drawn into a maelstrom of some kind, with wind, water, fire and earth whipping about him, assaulting from all sides. He struggled to resist the onslaught, holding onto Adastriana who, he realized with a start, was no longer with him. 

Abruptly, however, the storm vanished, replaced by a chilling calm. Gavin found himself within a long corridor, framed by pillars on either side, the floor gilded and inset with gleaming marble. 

A palace? Gavin thought. 

He stepped forward, looking around, seeing not a soul. The realization came upon him that his footfalls, while normally very light by practice, made no sound whatsoever. 

Well, of course, he chastised himself. This is a vision. It's not real. 

Suddenly, however, sound seemed to flood into the hall. The cadence of numerous booted feet marching in tandem came to him, and Gavin turned about just as two ranks of guardsmen in gleaming silver armor, rifles held against shoulders, marched toward him. Between their ranks was a stunning young woman with light, chestnut-colored hair and a voluptuous frame barely concealed by red-stained leathers. Her arms sported the same basic dark swirling tattoos Gavin had seen on every zantrist disciple. 

He jumped back to get out of the way on reflex, but he need not have bothered. None of the guards looked his way, nor did the woman. After a brief moment of reflection, Gavin chastised himself yet again. 

I am not here. This is just a vision . . . one that feels like a memory. 

As the woman passed, Gavin could see at the woman's waist lay a very familiar-looking blade within a sheath, and tucked into the top of her bodice, like a petaled flower, was a silken cloth. 

The knife, the handkerchief, he realized. But where's the book? 

At the far end of the corridor, the guardsmen stopped and fanned out, standing six abreast to either side of the massive double doors gilded impressively in golden scrollwork. The zantrist woman took a moment to compose herself, and Gavin found that he now stood inexplicably beside her. The woman smiled, looking excited, proud. 

With nary a sound, the great doors opened inward, revealing a circular chamber with a simple wooden throne - little more than a high-backed chair, seated upon a three-step dais. Within the chair sat a blonde-haired woman clad in a shimmering, transparent white robe, one leg crossed over the other. 

The zantrist woman smiled broadly, as if greeting a dear friend. "Your Truthfulness," she said, effecting a deep bow. She straightened and continued: "This is a glorious day." 

The blonde woman - she was older than the voluptuous brunette, yet no less attractive - nodded with a smile. "It is indeed. Thirteen years have come and gone. The Gods have chosen my successor." 

The blonde stood and descended the throne. She reached for the brunette, and the woman clasped hands. "Welcome, Onamara." 

The brunette's eyes dipped. "Thank you, Lady Tannamille. I am honored to follow in your auspicious wake." 

Tannamille cocked her head with a smile, looking over the younger woman's fine form. She caressed Onamara's cheek with the backs of her fingers, which then trailed down the strong, pale neck to the woman's abundant breasts. Onamara's lips parted at the touch. She lifted Tannamille's other hand to kiss it. 

"There is, of course, the matter of the ritual," Tannamille prompted. 

The brunette's cheeks colored slightly. "I am ready to begin, my mistress." 

The blonde woman smiled, but to Gavin, it seemed the expression was tinged with the steadily growing hint of malevolence. "I see no reason to delay," she said, stepping back. She raised her hands and clapped twice loudly above her head. 

In an instant, a hidden door to one side of the circular room opened, through which a quartet of muscular men clad only in loincloths appeared, pushing a broad, low bed across the floor. Upon the singular mattress sat only a pair of pillows. Leading the bed to the floor, the men quickly retreated, leaving the two women alone. 

Hand in hand, Tannamille the True Oracle and Onamara, her successor, approached the mattress. The older woman paused a few paces away and waited for the brunette to stop and turn. With a casual shrug, the transparent white robe slipped from Tannamille's shoulders to the floor. 

Onamara smiled with approval, taking in the mature woman's firm body, her fine skin, the trimmed thatch of dark golden curls above her sex. The blush of arousal was plainly evident upon her face. 

Reaching up, Onamara undid the clasp of her top and let it slip away. The handkerchief tucked within the brassiere fluttered like a feather to the floor. The she eased the lower garment from her hips, sliding it and the knife attached down her shapely, strong legs. As naked as her mistress, Onamara stood proudly, offering herself to the woman she - indeed, all of the Seven Sovereignties - considered a mortal goddess. 

"Beautiful," Tannamille whispered, before stepping forward and cupping the brunette's face. The women kissed heatedly, sucking one another's lips, tasting each other's breath as they sighed. 

The women moved to the bed, where they stood upon their knees as the kisses became more passionate. Hands roamed; fingers teased soft flesh, leaving wakes of awakened nerves. Nipples stiffened. Labia moistened. The great chamber echoed softly with the murmurs of impending sexual fulfillment. 

Onamara lay back upon the bed, a sultry smile inviting Tannamille to position herself on top. The blonde did so readily, straddling the younger woman's comely face as she moved to poise herself above the brunette's eagerly spread thighs. Onamara's pussy was slick, fleshy, and dark pink, with lips that flared out, splaying open like the petals of an orchid. The bulbous clitoris glistened as it peaked from beneath its fleshy shroud. 

"Oh, what a treat," Tannamille murmured before lowering her head to entrap her lover's pussy in a suckling, massaging sheath of oral flesh. At the same time, Onamara dragged her slick tongue up along the older woman's wet lips, before pushing it as deep inside the entrance to Tannamille's sex as it could reach. 

Both women moaned as they devoured one another. Bodies writhed. The bed groaned and creaked. Muffled groans and gasps permeated the air. 

Gavin watched with interest. He had never been privy to the love play between two women, and had often wondered, from his limited experience, how women could derive any amount of sexual pleasure from one another. 

But now he was beginning to understand. And he was humbled. 

The mutual oral pleasure continued for quite some time, with the wet smacking of lips and tongues against increasingly sopping vaginal flesh filling the air. The brunette erupted first, grunting beneath Tannamille's body, writhing and arching her back as the older, more experienced woman voraciously devoured her lover's sex. 

But then Onamara increased the stakes, and as she was still flushed and panting from her orgasm, she gripped the blonde's firm cheeks and spread them wide before lifting and craning her neck. With a firm jab, the brunette drove her tongue deep into Tannamille's rectum. 

The blonde woman gave a primal groan, lifting up and pushing back. She shifted her thighs and hips, giving Onamara better access to her puckered anus. Slack-faced and close to release herself, Tannamille rocked back and forth, using her lover's talents to bring herself closer and closer to the tilting point. 

Finally, with a cry, the blonde cried out, raking her nails across Onamara's body, leaving trails of pinkish welts. She grinned with her orgasm, and sighed heavily in satisfaction. 

Slowly, languidly, Tannamille drifted down from her orgasmic precipice. Onamara lavished her anus and pussy with affectionate, caressing swipes of her tongue. 

Satisfied, Tannamille turned about, swinging her legs and arms until she was poised, face-to-face, above Onamara. The brunette smiled up at her, lips and chin and cheeks glistening. 

"I am glad to have pleased you, Tannamille." 

The blonde leaned down and kissed her lover deeply, sucking her own flavor from the brunette's lips and tongue. Then she lifted up, gazing down into Onamara's liquid eyes. 

"There is one more thing you can do," Tannamille said. 

Onamara smiled, smoothing her hands along the older woman's back. "Please, tell me," she said. "Before I take your place and you leave for your home." 

Tannamille said nothing. She looked upon the brunette beneath her with a smile that became progressively more contemptuous and predatory. 

Too late, Onamara read the malevolence within the Oracle's face, but when she did, she found that the supposedly dismissed male servants had inexplicably reappeared, one at each corner of the bed, and now snatched wrist and ankle, holding them down against the sexually soiled mattress. 

The young woman struggled against her constraints, becoming more alarmed and apprehensive with each beat of her anxious heart. "What's going on?" she cried. "What have I done?" 

Tannamille ran her hands down Onamara's body with an evil sneer decorating her face. "You have done what you were supposed to do," she said. "Which is, to deliver unto me the power that I need to remain as the True Oracle." 

The brunette stared back, plaintive, angry and confused all at the same time. "What do you mean? Am I not to take your place? Is that not what the Gods decreed?" 

Tannamille laughed harshly, then slapped her hands to either side of Onamara's face. She stared into the young woman's shimmering, fearful eyes. "The Gods, as a whole, are complacent," she said. "Except for the one I serve: Malefleas, the Dark One, who has granted me the power to take from such as you what I need to remain where I am. I have no wish, after all, to return to a life of pathetic mundanity, not when I can remain here indefinitely." 

Onamara stared back in horror. "You . . . you serve the Dark One? But . . . you are the True Oracle . . . ." 

The blonde woman grinned evilly. "Yes, I am," she said. "And I will continue being so. You, Onamara, were not brought here to replace me, but rather . . . to replenish me." 

The younger woman squirmed and began to protest, but Tannamille lowered herself and pressed her mouth to the brunette's in what could have been seen as a deep, soulful kiss. However, as the union continued, Onamara struggled, kicked, moaned . . . then became progressively less animated. 

Her body sagged. 

Her eyes fluttered closed. 

At last, Tannamille lifted up with a great sigh. Her skin rippled like the waters of a pond after a stone had been hurled within it, revealing the sleek, unmarred skin of youth. For the Oracle, the clock had been turned back. She looked as she had nearly a decade and a half before. 

But for the woman beneath her, nothing remained save for a corpse with glassy eyes that stared up at nothing. 

As a last act of spiteful cruelty, Tannamille slapped her hand hard across the dead brunette's face, knocking it to the side. Drops of blood danced from Onamara's lifeless lips, sailing through the air to land upon the knife and the handkerchief laying upon the floor. 

A soft, hazy glow filled the room, and Tannamille, her guards, the bed, everything faded away, leaving only the ethereal apparition of the dead young woman floating in the air. Gavin approached, looking down upon the poor girl. 

A stereophonic conglomeration of voices emanated from the air around him. "She was Onamara, the intended True Oracle. But her story did not end here. It now continues with you, and with Adastriana . . . ." 

Gavin listened with a heavy heart as the unearthly voices continued. There was part of him that felt remorse for the dead woman, and another, stronger part that felt a need for revenge. Within his seething heart, a single thought blossomed. 

You will not be allowed to escape your judgment, Oracle . . . . 

* * * * 

Within the large circular hall with its gilded floors and ornate pillars, its grandiose throne made to look like a phoenix with wings spread in flight, Tannamille paced slowly, fidgeting. Though she looked no older than the barest onset of middle age, her furrowed brow brought out the wrinkles of the hidden elderly woman within. 

"The hour approaches, Tannamille," came the ominous voice of the Dark One. 

She cast a look of annoyance - tinged by fear - to her otherworldly benefactor. The god of deception and cruelty wore the same smug smile upon his face as he had given thirty-nine years previously, when he had first appeared to Tannamille with a promise of keeping her station . . . at the eventual cost of her soul. Since that fateful day, three zantrist women had been sacrificed to him, their youth bestowed upon her each time. Had the zantrists continued with their usual ritual every thirteen years, Tannamille could conceivably live forever and never know the horrors the Dark One would visit upon her. 

But this year, the Zantri Elders had not selected a replacement, and therefore a sacrifice, to the dark god Tannamille served. The god who now stood before her, gloating as he anticipated taking her instead. 

"And has not yet arrived," she answered acidly. 

The Dark One snickered. "Oh, but it will," he said. "Even I cannot challenge the march of time, as much as I would love to do so. But not in your case, of course. I think your selfishness has been served enough." 

Tannamille blanched. "Are you saying it is not to happen tonight?" 

A chuckle rolled forth from the Dark One's lips. "How am I to know? I am no harbinger of prophecy. Perhaps you should appeal to your god of portents," he said condescendingly. "But . . . oh, that's right; he so rarely sends you divinations anymore. Except when it pertains to your own doom." 

The Oracle shrieked in frustration, the pitch of her voice echoing in the chamber. "Possible!" she cried. "Possible doom! No divination is absolute! I will have that zantrist harlot here before the turn of midnight, and you will not have my soul!" 

"Oh, I will have it," the Dark One responded with calm surety. "Perhaps not tonight, my little lamb, but then . . . perhaps." 

Tannamille seethed, trembling in fear at the possibility that, after merely more than half a century, she might have to pay the price to which she so willingly agreed as an impetuous and avaricious young woman. It seemed to her too short a time to enjoy the status she had come to take for granted. 

"I did not come this far to not cheat you yet again," she claimed. 

The dark god laughed softly. "The designs of mortals are always so amusing to me," he said, circling her as he spoke. "So sure of your strength of will, you are. So many of you have no grasp of what it truly means to live. You bemoan the inevitability of death and let it consume you. After so many eons, I am still perplexed by that fact. But the truth remains." 

He faced her directly, and both his countenance and voice darkened. "You are not immortal. You all die. Every . . . last . . . one of you. It is simply a matter of circumstance, chance, and providence acting in concert. Make no mistake, Tannamille. You will die. And it will be a delicious event when you do." 

She was about to retort when the chime sounded, indicating someone at her door. She glanced briefly to the towering portal that divided her chamber from the hall outside. "Report!" she called. 

A voice filtered through disguised speakers. "We have captured the knight-gunman. He is being brought to you now." 

"What of the woman?" cried the Oracle. 

"He claims to have knowledge of her location. He wishes to parlay for his freedom." 

A wicked smile crept slowly across Tannamille's face. "Oh, what beautiful irony," she muttered. She glanced to the Dark One. "Not even a knight-gunman is immune to the fear of death." 

The man in black remained amused. "It would seem that way," he said. "But you should certainly know by now that not everything is exactly as it seems." 

Tannamille huffed and stepped toward the door. "Bring him in!" 

* * * * 

Standing in readiness in the broad hall outside the Chamber of the Oracle, a dozen figures clad in sterling armor and hefting rifles awaited the approach of the prisoner. Though well-trained and outfitted with the ultimate gear, even they had to admit to some level of trepidation when it came to facing a knight-gunman. 

At the far end of the corridor, a door opened. The man himself appeared, clad in his distinctive armor, wrists shackled before him. A single armored guard marched beside him, one hand upon a rifle, the other upon the knight-gunman's elbow. Their matched footfalls echoed within the hall. 

As the knight was brought closer, the waiting guards fanned out, forming a circle which enclosed the prisoner and the guard which escorted him. Both stopped. 

"Has the prisoner been searched?" asked the lieutenant of the Oracle's detail. 

Silently, the escorting guard held up the knight-gunman's massive pistol. 

The lieutenant smiled thinly. But then his eyes drifted down Gavin's armored body, noticing the hilt of a knife within its sheath at the man's right calf. "Why did you not take his blade?" 

"Because I still need it," Gavin replied, before bursting into action. 

With a jerk of his hands, the shackles were sundered, casting steel rings that flew through the air. In the same moment, the knight-gunman snatched both his pistol and the rifle from the escort while shoving the armored figure aside. Then he began firing. 

The thunderous eruptions of his weapon filled the room. Five men, one after the other, were sent hurtling back, fatal wounds driving through their chests. Even as they still tumbled across the polished floor, Gavin tossed aside the pistol and opened fire with the rifle. 

Chaos reigned. The armored guards cried out as more of them were brought down. Gavin moved swiftly and with superhuman poise, evading the attacks of his enemies. Bullets lanced through the air where he had been less than a heartbeat before. He pivoted, ducked, leapt, cutting down his foes. When the ammunition in the rifle ran out, he darted to close quarters, engaging a final trio of the Oracle's detail with his wrist blades. 




The True Oracle Ch. 02



A flurry of slashes sliced efficiently through armor, muscle and blood, leaving the men gasping and convulsing in their death throes. As the final man fell, clutching a neck gushing with blood, Gavin retracted the blades and calmly stepped back. He looked to the side, where Adastriana emerged, pulling off the helm she had worn as part of her disguise. She looked about at the carnage. In the space of mere seconds, Gavin had reduced a dozen men to nothing more than well-trained meat. 

"It frightens me, how efficient you are," she said. 

He gave a short, stiff nod. "Sometimes it frightens me, too," he admitted. He held out a hand. "The time has come." 

Adastriana took a breath, then tentatively slid her hand into Gavin's. Together, they faced the impressive door to the Oracle's chamber. 

* * * * 

She did not need to be the True Oracle to deduce what had occurred on the other side of the chamber door. Tannamille sat upon her golden throne, glaring at the portal as she anticipated the arrival of her guests. She effected a haughty expression, conscious of the presence of the Dark One even if she could not see him. 

"It seems your plan has developed a wrinkle," came the menacing voice. 

"A minor one," she responded arrogantly. She pressed the aura-touched ring upon her finger, activating her personal armor. In a moment, she was surrounded in a hazy, shimmering field which no conventional blade or bullet could penetrate. 

The chamber door burst open to an imposing sight. The armored knight-gunman, spattered with the blood of those he had slain, stepped boldly into the room, followed by the zantrist. Tannamille had to admit the knight was impressive. Under different circumstances, she might have made him her personal protector. 

Gavin stopped halfway to the True Oracle's throne. Behind him, Adastriana pushed the door closed, then joined the knight. In contrast to Gavin, the zantrist looked timid, fearful. The Oracle smiled hungrily upon her. 

She returned her attention to the knight-gunman. "So you have arrived," Tannamille said casually, as if greeting guests who had come calling for tea. 

"I have never failed a quest," Gavin declared. "I was not about to begin with this one." 

Tannamille gave a wry look. "How admirable." 

"Of course, the real question here is, just what was my quest in the first place?" he continued, giving the Oracle a direct look. He reached over his shoulder and extracted from the small pack the book he had been given. Tannamille's superior smile drained away as she recognized it. 

"You weren't expecting to see this, were you?" Gavin asked rhetorically. "In fact, you thought I was only charged with bringing Adastriana to you. That is, after all, what your divination told you, isn't it?" 

The Oracle narrowed her eyes in angry suspicion. "Where did you get the Journal?" 

Gavin ignored her question. "This," he said, holding up the book. "Was my quest. But so was Adastriana. I just did not know that at first. But now that I have brought them both here, everything I have learned makes sense." 

"And just what have you learned?" the Oracle asked with a condescending glare. 

"That the gods have abandoned you," Gavin said. "And with good reason. You have abused your power, and taken from those who came to replace you both theirs, and their lives. For four decades, you have maintained the corruption and the charade. You arrogantly thought you could continue forever. 

"You see, after the revelation that you remained the Oracle and his daughter did not return home, the father of your first victim became suspicious. He devoted his life to finding her, taking an influential position that would give him the resources to find his daughter. Over the course of nearly forty years, he discovered what had happened, and he located his daughter's three most treasured possessions: a lady's silk handkerchief, the Journal of Insight, and the knife her father had given her for protection. But it was not until recently that he discovered who had killed his daughter, and why. 

"But just a few days ago, after all those years of careful inquiry and some timely divinations, he learned everything. And thanks to Adastriana, all that he learned was told to me." 

"It means nothing," Tannamille claimed. "You are a knight-gunman. You are bound by honor to serve your minister, who serves your sovereignty, which ultimately serves me." 

The knight nodded. "That is true." 

Tannamille sneered. "Take a knee." 

Gavin did not hesitate to do as he was told. Beside him, Adastriana watched, having struggled to remain silent throughout the exchange. But now she could hold her tongue no longer. 

"What are you doing?" she hissed. 

"I am following my duty," Gavin explained calmly, keeping his eyes on Tannamille. "Something you will come to understand." 

"All men and beasts have a place in the world, Adastriana," the Oracle said. "Especially you." 

The zantrist stared at the woman. "What are you talking about?" 

Tannamille sneered. "We will get to that in a moment." She addressed Gavin once more and stood, stepping away from her throne. She approached until she stood over the knight-gunman. "Give me the Journal." 

"I cannot do that." 

The woman's eyes flared. "Give me the Journal!" 

"You do not seem to understand how a knight's quest works, Oracle. No one, not I, not you, not even the Dark One himself, can challenge the dictates of my quest." 

"And just what, exactly, was this quest?" 

Gavin met the woman's eyes. "To deliver this book to the True Oracle in Neustis." 

The woman's face reddened with rage. "Then give me the journal!" 

Gavin remained unfazed, speaking calmly. "You are not the True Oracle." He turned his head and looked calmly upon Adastriana. "She is." 

With a frustrated cry, Tannamille slapped Gavin as viciously as she could. Thanks to her armor of haze, the blow left a slash across his cheek. Gavin only barely flinched. He did not touch the wound. 

The Oracle stared hard upon Adastriana, who trembled with uncertainty and fear. "That is not to happen," Tannamille proclaimed, looking upon Gavin with contempt. "Unless I abdicate, which I will not do, or you kill me, which you cannot do." 

Gavin stared back, blood trickling down his cheek. He looked as if he was waiting for something. 

The Oracle took a step back. She chuckled malevolently. "What a tragedy. To be sent so far to exact a father's revenge, only to be undone by duty and honor. Draw the blade your minister gave you." 

Again without hesitation, Gavin did so. 

"How wonderfully poetic it will be for you to kill yourself with that knife, don't you think?" 

Adastriana's eyes bulged. "What? No! Gavin!" 

"Do it!" hissed the Oracle. 

"No! Gavin, don't do it!" Adastriana shrieked. 

But the knight-gunman gave his lover a strangely calm smile. "I must," he said, turning the knife about in his hand so that the tip was pressed against his midriff. "It is my duty." With those words, Gavin drove the blade into his belly. He grunted with the sudden, searing pain. His face quivered. 

Adastriana turned away in horror. Her heart hammered. Tears flowed from her eyes. 

"How delicious," commented the Oracle, watching Gavin as he swayed. She stepped closer, gloating. "I want you to know, before you die, that your lovely temple whore will die much more slowly than you, and that I will continue on as the True Oracle. Your life, Gavin Reed, has been meaningless." 

The struggle to hold in the pain was telling upon Gavin's face. But even as the spectre of death hovered over him, he yet remained calm. "And yours was wasted," he responded. With the last of his strength, he jerked the blade from his abdomen, turned it about, and stabbed with all the force he could muster into and through the Oracle's haze armor. 

The bloodied knife bit deep, all the way to the woman's spine. Shock and pain were instantly frozen upon her face. She looked down upon the impossible. No blade ever crafted was supposedly able to penetrate her defenses. "H-how . . .?" 

Gavin stared into the dying woman's quivering eyes as she dropped to her knees before him. "Aura-touched," he spat. "By the spirit of the True Oracle you murdered. That, I think, is poetic." He settled a hand to the woman's forehead and shoved, sending her sprawling upon the golden floor. Then he also toppled onto his back, his own strength finally fleeing. 

"Gavin!" cried Adastriana, falling beside him. "Don't die!" 

He smiled through bloodstained teeth. "It is my duty and my destiny," he managed to say. He took up the book and offered it to her with a shaking hand. "For you, True Oracle. It is finally in your hands." 

Gingerly, she took it, weeping upon Gavin's form as the man closed his eyes. His bloody lips curled into a smile. 

A roaring howl suddenly filled the room, startling Adastriana. She looked to the still body of the Oracle, witnessing the most terrifying and fantastic thing she had ever witnessed. Shimmering, dark, demonic forms materialized in the air, kneeling over the dead woman's body like blacknails preparing to feast. But their clawed hands went through the flesh without marring it, and from the corpse they pulled a ghostly, struggling figure of an old woman, her face twisted in abject horror. 

The voice that tore from her was ghostly and ethereal, filling the air with its terrified content. "Do not take me! Malefleas! I will do anything! Anything!" 

But the demonic figures only laughed, shrill, evil, cackling sounds that bespoke an eternity of agony to come. Amid a brilliant flash of hellfire, they and the spirit of Tannamille were gone. 

"Now that sight always brings a little tear to my eye," came a deep voice. 

Adastriana lifted her head to behold the Dark One. He gave her a smile that seemed unexpectedly benevolent. "I am going to have fun with that one," he remarked casually. "As for you, True Oracle, I'll be expecting great things." 

Adastriana was numb, unable to speak. The presence of a living god, especially one so nefarious, filled her with confusion and trepidation. She was unsure how to speak or act. 

The Dark One stepped beside her, looking down upon Gavin's body. "A truly noble sacrifice," he said. "Even I was touched. Of course, I can appreciate the irony of the situation." 

Adastriana sniffled, looking upon Gavin's calm, still face. "What irony?" she managed to ask, having found her voice. 

The Dark One leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Why, the handkerchief, of course," he said simply. 

A burst of hope blossomed in Adastriana's heart. The handkerchief! He said it would heal any wound, no matter how grievous! She clawed at Gavin's armor, finding the small breast pocket with the piece of white silk within. Clenching it in her teeth, she searched for the straps and buckles that secured the man's armor. In moments, her frantic movements had the chestpiece loosened enough that she could slip her hand within. She shoved the handkerchief inside, covering the wound, then cupped the man's face. 

"Gavin," she said, then again and again, looking for any sign of life within him. 

"This is not the end, Gavin," she insisted. "This was not your only destiny. Come back to me, Gavin. Come back to me!" 

For moments that seemed endless, she stared upon the man, until finally, he heaved as new breath entered his body. His eyes flashed open wide. He slapped hands to the floor. 

"Gavin!" Adastriana exclaimed, streaming new tears, those of delight. She clutched him tightly, head upon his chest. 

Finally, she lifted up, smiling upon the man beneath her. He smiled back, fully and deeply. "I was rather hoping you would remember the handkerchief." 

She rubbed tears from her face. "I had . . ." she looked around the chamber for signs of the Dark One, but there were none. ". . . an inspiration . . . ." 

"Inspiration is always good," Gavin said as he sat up. He slid his hand beneath the armor and pulled out the once more pristine handkerchief. It felt differently now, less smooth. Onamara's aura, the knight realized, was gone. The power she had unintentionally infused into the handkerchief and knife had fulfilled its purpose. The revelation lightened Gavin's heart. 

"What happens now?" Adastriana asked. 

Gavin looked to her, then to the throne, then back. "I would say it is time you sat upon your throne." 

The zantrist paled. "I cannot. I am not the True Oracle." 

He stood and took her shoulders in hand. "I am afraid you are," he said. "That was the point of all this. To end the false oracle's reign and begin your own. That is your destiny." 

Adastriana wavered on unsure feet. "I never wanted this," she insisted. 

He shrugged. "I never wanted to die." 

She sputtered an uneasy laugh. "Good point," she said, then looked to the book she still held. "Perhaps . . . ." she trailed off, turning the silver lock that held the Journal of Insight closed. It opened to a page inscribed with shimmering black ink, as if the words had just been written. Adastriana's eyes widened as she read the words. 

"What does it say?" Gavin asked. 

The woman turned away, reading the page and its words over and over. She stepped as if by chance to the throne, then sat upon it. Finally, she lifted her head to look upon Gavin. "It says-" 

But she was interrupted as the doors burst open before a flood of armored men. They charged into the oracle's chamber but stumbled to a halt upon seeing the body upon the ground and the two strangers. 

One of the men stepped forward. "The Oracle! You've killed her!" 

A dozen weapons and more were leveled upon Gavin. At their distance, he knew, they would cut him down before he had the chance to engage them. After all, the only weapons he had left were his blades. 

"No." The single word rolled out as if spoken by a dozen voices at once. 

All eyes looked to Adastriana. She sat fully upon the throne, eyes ghostly white. The voices came from the air around her as her lips moved. 

"The True Oracle has been found. She is Adastriana, Harbinger of the Rebirth. Her reign will return life to the world." 

* * * * 

Gavin looked down into the open courtyard below, watching the gathering that surrounded Adastriana. Over the course of the preceding few days, as news of the new True Oracle spread, envoys from all the sovereignties had begun arriving. They doted upon her, listening to the otherworldly voices that flowed from her lips. Adastriana spoke volumes, revealing new ways of tilling the land, of cultivating new crops, of taming the wastelands and bringing them back to fruition. 

It may not have been the destiny you wanted, Adastriana, but you were needed. Gavin allowed himself a smile. He had not had a single moment alone with her, but he had expected that. His lover was a busy and much-demanded woman, now. 

At least, for the next thirteen years . . . . 

* * * * 

The Minister of Compliance knelt before the altar within his study. Upon it lay the only picture he possessed of his long-dead daughter. Not a day in four decades had passed that he did not look upon it and hope for justice and salvation. Not a day had passed that saw a smile come to his lips. 

But there was a smile now. 

"It is finally done, my daughter," he whispered to her visage. "You may rest peacefully now, and know that I will soon be with you." He made the Circle of Life and stood. 

"It might have helped had I known the truth from the beginning," came a familiar voice from behind. 

The Minister turned, settling a proud gaze upon Gavin Reed, his most accomplished and trusted knight-gunman. "Had you known the truth, things would not have turned out as they did." 

Gavin gave a small smile as well. "Perhaps not." 

"So," said the Minister. "What comes of you now? I assume you have become part of the court of Her Truthfulness." 

Gavin shook his head. "Actually, no," he said. "In fact, she did not even offer." 

The Minister looked surprised. "She did not?" 

The smile upon the knight-gunman's face grew. He was getting used to using his facial muscles in that way. "I think I have been in service long enough," he declared. "I have fulfilled the duties of my station; my seven years have passed." 

The Minister nodded slowly in understanding. "What will you do?" 

"I am not sure," Gavin said with a shrug. "And I am glad for that. I figure I will do some traveling, perhaps visit other lands. I'll need to keep myself busy for the next thirteen years." 

"Thirteen -?" began the Minister in mild confusion, but he stopped himself and smiled. "Ah, yes, of course." 

Gavin straightened formally and made the Circle of Life over his chest. "Gods be with you, Minister." 

The elderly man returned the gesture. "Gods be with you, Gavin Reed. And, Gavin?" 

"Yes?" 

"My thanks for what you have done to brighten an old man's heart." 

The smile returned to Gavin's face. "It was my duty." 

-fin-