The Light of the Oracle Read Online Free PDF Page A

Bryn didn't see the soldier who watched her from the shadows. A few lights shone in the windows of the inn, but it looked too far to get to. The stable was closer. She began to crawl toward it.
    Panting, she found the horse trough. With the last of her strength she heaved herself bodily into it, dunking her head to wash away the bitter sand of the desert. She pumped the cistern, her face under the spigot. When she felt the water singing in her veins, she hauled herself from the trough, and went to find a bed of hay near the white mare.
    Selid, former handmaid of the Temple of the Oracle, bird-chosen by the red cardinal, clutched the precious water bottle that had been thrown to her by an unknown girl, as she walked alone down the path of the moon. Monzapel's light had never appeared more lovely—it touched Selid's shoulders with soft silverfingers, guiding her forward. The pain of the previous two days was gone, days spent under Solz's unremitting heat. Selid knew her raw and blistered feet should hurt; her burned skin should be on fire. But instead, protected and guided by Solz's gentle sister Monzapel, Goddess of the Moon, she seemed to float within a web of comfort.
    By the time the sun's shimmering rim began to rise, eclipsing the moon's cooler light, Selid saw a city ahead. Grateful tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, Monzapel,” she told the moon as it faded. “Thank you, and watch over the one who gave me her water.”
    Bryn crept into the inn as the sun rose, gnawed by dizzying hunger. When she joined the others, no one welcomed her, but she wasn't turned away and was given breakfast along with the rest of the Temple travelers. She ate ravenously.
    “Where did you learn manners?” Clea asked. “In a sty?”
    Gulping milk, Bryn longed to break a plate over Clea's head.
    When they rode out of the inn yard, Bryn noticed there was no water bottle hanging from her saddle horn, and her mouth went dry. But the agony she felt watching Clea drink freely when they stopped to rest was more bearable than it had been the day before. She told herself that by holding up her head without complaining, she was proving herself worthy to thegods; she wanted them to send her a feather. Not a vulture's feather, though. A lovely one.
    Bryn was too tired even to exclaim in wonder when the Temple of the Oracle came into view. The road had climbed steadily for much of the day, until mountains were visible in the distance and the air was somewhat cooler.
    At first Bryn believed she must be dreaming, for surely it was impossible for a building to be bigger than the entire village of Uste.
    Stern guards wearing red and gold insignia waved the line of travelers through a wrought-iron gate in a thick, high wall. Red and gold banners flew proudly from the Temple's turrets; turrets higher than the tallest trees back home. The stonecutter's daughter marveled at the way the Temple walls were set. She'd heard her father speak of masons so skilled that they could make walls like these, with corners smooth as glass, the mortar mixed so well that it appeared to be only an artful addition to the stone. Marble stairs wide enough for fifty people to stand abreast led up to great doors embossed with brass, the metal cast into symbols twined around a silver-inlaid keltice. The great silver knot was delicately worked, yet it looked strong enough to bind the world.
    Bryn dismounted along with the others beside long stables. Eager for water, she took a step toward the Temple. A firm hand fell on her shoulder. “Come along,” Nirene said sharply, waving both her and Clea down a path away from the broad stairs.
    “Where are we going now?” Clea asked irritably.
    Nirene rounded on her. “Royalty or not, Clea, I will tell you only once: When anyone here in the Temple, whether priest, priestess, guard, or Sendrata of Handmaids, gives you—a
student
—a direction, do as you're told.” She took in both girls with her furious glance.
    Faint and nauseated,