Oracle's Moon

12

Carling’s expression sharpened. Even though Rune had not moved, his Power spiked with aggression.

Khalil did not mind that in the slightest. His own Power flared into battle readiness.

Carling’s hand shot out, and she gripped Rune’s muscled bicep. “Easy,” she murmured to him. In a louder, calm voice, she said to Khalil, “Clearly I have caused offense to you when none was meant. I would be grateful if you would instruct me on the nature of my transgression, so that I may make amends.”

“You don’t owe amends to me,” Khalil said. “And I am not your keeper.”

Rune had begun a low, barely audible growl. Carling whispered to him, “Stop it, please.” She looked at Khalil. “The only way I could have become honorless to you is if I did not meet my side of a bargain. Khalil, I want you to hear me on this. Rune and I have been under a lot of strain.”

“That holds no meaning for me,” he snapped.

“I know. The Djinn keep an immaculate accounting of favors owed and favors paid. But you and I have had an association that has been filled with honor for many centuries. We struck a bargain a long time ago, and yes, you paid me three favors, but I helped you first with something so dangerous I might not have survived to collect. I’m asking that you remember that and let it weigh against your anger. Please understand, at times these last few weeks, my thinking has not been very clear. If I owe someone, it is a mistake, not a choice to live without honor. I want to pay the debt.”

He struggled to hear what Carling was saying. She was right, his sensibilities were outraged. For the Djinn, only pariahs behaved in such a way, but Carling was not Djinn. And the Djinn might suffer from damage, but they did not suffer from disease. He could not calculate or fully understand what effect that may have had on the clarity of her thinking.

The Oracle’s website had explained everything perfectly. Khalil didn’t know who had created the content, but the webpage devoted to donations had been gracious and well written. A short paragraph described the history of the ancient social contract and the reasons why the Oracle would not speak of such matters whenever someone came to make a petition.

The tradition was very like those found in certain American Indian nations. The elders gave their teachings and healings to the people, passed down oral histories thousands of years old, and they often provided a place where sacred ceremonies were held. It was the people’s responsibility to support and honor them. Like any church or social service, it cost money to provide the space and time for sacred ceremonies. Mortgages, rents and utilities had to be paid. Lawns had to be mowed, firewood cut, properties maintained and food bought.

As the unknown writer explained, often petitioners were grieving or otherwise preoccupied with important issues and challenges in their own lives when they arrived to consult the Oracle. The experience could be overwhelming. It often left one with a sense of epiphany, so it was important to come already prepared to fulfill the contract.

No matter how nicely the webpage was phrased, Khalil thought, the underlying message was plain. Don’t forget to make your offering, because the Oracle won’t bring it up.

His respect for Grace grew. It took a particular kind of strength to hold true to one’s side of a bargain, no matter what. Most Djinn did not bother to find that out. If someone reneged on a bargain, they took revenge.

And he could not quite let go of all his anger, as he glanced around at the spacious villa that was, by anyone’s accounting, extremely luxurious, and he compared it to Grace and the children’s situation. If anyone should know better, it should have been Carling, who was so well versed in bargains, payment and balance not only in the culture of the Djinn but also in matters of magic.

So he chose to explain but not hold back the bite in his tone. “What exactly do you think you owe the Oracle for your consultation?”

Rune moved suddenly, his aggression ebbing. Stricken awareness flashed in Carling’s long, dark eyes. “Oh, damn,” she said. She and Rune looked at each other. Something passed between them, a troubled shadow from the recent past.

Rune said in a quiet voice, “We owe the Oracle everything.”

“She is in need,” Khalil told them. “You will pay her what you owe.”

“Of course we will,” Carling said. “And offer our deepest apologies. Thank you for telling us, Khalil.” She looked at him oddly. “You are still in contact with her? I—would not have expected that to go well.”

“She is my friend.” Khalil crossed his arms. “We are going on a date tonight.”

Silence filled the villa. Both Carling and Rune stood frozen.

Khalil had nearly forgotten one detail. He added thoughtfully, “I am to dress casually.”

Rune’s suntanned skin darkened dramatically. He broke into a convulsive fit of coughing. “Excuse me,” he whispered. “I need a drink of water.”

Both Khalil and Carling watched Rune stride rapidly out of the room. Carling’s face was rigid as she watched her lover leave, but her gaze held an expression that looked, to Khalil, peculiarly pained, as if she had been betrayed.

Carling turned back to Khalil. She raised her eyebrows. “So what are you going to wear?”

He didn’t have a clue. He hadn’t planned that far ahead. He said, “I thought I would Google for images of casual wear in Louisville.”

Carling had begun to relax. At that she went rigid again, closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, Khalil.”

“No?” He frowned. “Perhaps I should wear a garment like the one Rune is wearing then.”

Carling said, “No.”

A half hour later, Khalil strode toward Soren’s quarters in the north guesthouse. His business with Carling and Rune had gone much better than he had expected.

He had arrived prepared for a confrontation. When he walked away, he had a check written to Grace, along with a handwritten note of apology from Carling.

He had also received impromptu dating advice from Rune, of all people. Rune and Khalil had come very close to becoming enemies in the past. As far as Khalil was concerned, they were still not that far away, so he listened impassively as Carling called Rune back into the room.

“I’m going to write a quick note to Grace and write her a check,” she told Rune. “You need to tell Khalil what to wear for a casual date. Be specific.” Rune gave Khalil a sleepy-looking smile. She smacked Rune in the chest with the back of her hand and added sharply, “And be serious.” She pointed at Rune as she said to Khalil, “Pay attention to what he says. He’s dated quite extensively, and he’s been quite successful at it.”

Carling strode out of the room. Khalil and Rune regarded each other warily. Khalil remembered again how Carling had described male Djinn. He thought her metaphor probably applied to him and Rune as well. They were two betta fighting fish flaring their fins with aggression while talking about dating. It was an oddity.

When the silence had stretched between the two males for too long, Khalil finally said, “Speak.”

“Jeans. T-shirt. Either boots or sneakers,” Rune said. “Pay for everything, and open doors for her. Dating’s simple. Listen to what she says, tell her she’s beautiful and make her happy.”

Dating did not sound simple, except perhaps for one thing. Khalil looked at the Wyr quizzically. He said, “Grace is beautiful.”

That caused the other male to pause. For the first time in their spiky acquaintance, Rune gave him a crooked, yet real smile. “Dude, let her know that with the same kind of sincerity. You will make her happy, and it doesn’t matter what you do. You can go to a movie, take a walk in a park, hold hands, go to a restaurant for a meal or to a bar for a drink, sit on a beach and watch the sun rise at dawn or stand on your head—it’s all just variations on the same theme.”

Khalil had never been called “dude” before. He was fairly sure he didn’t like it.

Then Carling walked back into the room, and the moment passed. She handed an envelope to Khalil. “Neither of us has access to all of our accounts at the moment,” she said. “So this is what I can do for right now. Let me know if she needs more, and I can do more later. The Oracle should not be hurting for money.”

“Agreed,” Khalil said.

Then Rune and Carling looked at each other and shared a short, apparently private and rather incomprehensible conversation. “I’ve been reading diving information online,” Rune said. “I think all the cave systems in Florida are underwater.”

“They are for now,” Carling replied. She pursed her lips. “That doesn’t mean we can’t find a suitable cavern somewhere, block it off and pump all the water out.”

“Inconvenient,” said Rune. “Time-consuming. But possible.”

“I wonder if she would like Florida?”

Jealousy stirred. Khalil said, “Why are you talking about trying to move the Oracle to Florida?”

Carling and Rune looked at him, both wearing the same mild expression. Rune said, “We decided we might turn collecting underutilized resources into a hobby. It’s kind of fun.”

“The Oracle is an underutilized resource,” said Carling. “A very Powerful one who has fallen somewhat out of fashion in the last century or so. It is a shame Grace has become so isolated.”

“And Max is cute as hell,” said Rune. “I’m sure his sister is too.”

Khalil demanded suspiciously. “What are you planning?”

“Dude, we don’t have any agenda in mind,” Rune said with a blink. “It’s not like we synced our electronic calendars with some kind of overarching evil plan.”

Khalil decided he definitely didn’t like being called that word. Having done what he came to do, he deemed it was time to leave. Remembering what Grace said about leaving without a word, he said to Carling, “Good-bye.”

“Keep in touch,” Carling told him.

“And you, as well.” In the end Khalil was glad he chose to meet her halfway. Perhaps Carling was, after all, one of the few creatures he might call friend.

Then Khalil looked at Rune. No. He was not prepared to go that far.

Rune raised his eyebrows. He gave Khalil another one of his sleepy-seeming smiles. “It’s been so special.”

“Don’t call me ‘dude’ again,” Khalil told the other male, as he strode toward the sliding glass doors.

Khalil found Soren reading in the guesthouse he had taken for his quarters. Soren’s physical form was tall and lean, with craggy features, white hair, and piercing stars for eyes. As Khalil approached the open door to the small house, Soren said, “Come in.”

Khalil stepped inside slowly. The living and the dining rooms were all in one great room that was filled with fashionable furniture suitable for a beachside residence. Other than several books, stacks of file folders and a high-end laptop on the dining table, the place looked uninhabited, but then Soren created his own clothing when he created his physical form, and he didn’t have any bodily needs.

“Please have a seat,” Soren said. “I hope your visit was productive.”

Any first-generation Djinn had a presence so intense it took a while to grow accustomed to being in proximity to one. Khalil braced himself as he took the lounge chair opposite Soren’s. He replied, “I accomplished everything I intended to accomplish.”

“Did you,” said Soren. “I understand you have befriended this beautiful human Oracle and are looking forward to your date tonight.”

Khalil was not unsurprised to find that Soren had listened in on his conversations with Carling and Rune. Jailors often did monitor their prisoners. He said nothing.

Soren set his book aside. “If you were less mature, I would be concerned that you may have become too fascinated with the lure of those bound in flesh. I mourn whenever the folk of the air fall prey to this fascination. It is a sad thing when a Djinn falls to his death.”

Soren referred to when Djinn made the irrevocable decision to create a completely human form and fall into flesh. It was a rare occurrence. Khalil had never had a close association with any Djinn who had chosen to fall.

Djinn could only choose to be mortal. They did not have the Power to create one of the other long-lived Elder Races who were bound in flesh. It cost too much Power for a Djinn to fully transform. They could not create a cage of living flesh for themselves and also make it immortal. He had always wondered what might prompt a Djinn to make such an extreme sacrifice. He could not imagine a Djinn who might do so just as a rejection of who he was. As Soren said, there had to be a lure, something they fell toward.

Unbidden, the memory came to mind of soft little bodies sleeping so trustingly against his shoulder. That memory was followed closely by another one, the delighted joy on Max’s round face as he took his first two steps toward Khalil. He thought of the peculiar satisfaction in watching how Chloe’s forming, questioning mind worked, and of that ineffable, precious thing he had touched as he stood looking out the porch screen door at a tranquil summer evening.

Finally his mind turned to what he had been avoiding for most of the day, the most addictive memories of all. The softness of Grace’s lips, the way she kissed him, molding her mouth and body to his as she molded her presence to him. As he thought of it, the intensity of heat that flared inside him was blinding.

He shook with the urge to contain it, to keep it hidden from Soren’s too perceptive gaze. Djinn understood that knowledge was power, but it was also dangerous. They played a game of truth, balance and forfeit for a reason. The light of epiphany was a flame that burned like no other. He didn’t know all that he and Grace might share or how far they could take this unique new terrain that lay between them. He didn’t know. And the need to know drove him beyond anything.

He would coax out of her everything she had to give. He would finally understand the mystery of what it meant to be flesh to flesh while sharing the indescribable passion of spirit to spirit.

Silence had fallen. Outside the ocean murmured. Quiet Elven voices sounded in conversation from the other guesthouse. From the villa itself came the sudden, startling peal of Carling’s laughter.

“You wished to speak of something,” Soren said at last.

Khalil gathered his composure and his thoughts together. He told Soren of hearing the voice in Grace’s vision. He took his time, careful to impart every detail and impression, and Soren did not rush him. Finally Khalil fell silent.

“‘Not form but Form, a prime indivisible,’” Soren repeated. The elder Djinn had grown intent, his entire focus on Khalil’s tale. “And ‘all things were set in motion from the beginning.’ Those are the Primal Powers.”

The Elder Races honored seven gods, the Primal Powers that were the linchpins of the universe. Taliesin, the god of the Dance, was first among the Primal Powers because everything in the universe was in motion. Then there was Azrael, the god of Death; Inanna, the goddess of Love; Nadir, the goddess of the depths or the Oracle; Will, the god of the Gift; Camael, the goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.

“That seems logical,” said Khalil. “But it sounded to me as if this voice claimed that Lord Death was not a Primal Power but a part of…it, whatever it is. And it also talked of Cuelebre as though he is a Primal Power. Your memory goes back to the beginning of the world. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Soren spread his hands. “I have not. But I do not remember the beginning of the world. To remember that, I would have to have existed before the world did. I do not know that any of us who came first remember that. As far as I have ever heard, we only remember coming into a new world. If the Great Beast is indeed a Primal Power, as your voice said, he would remember the beginning of the world.”

Cuelebre—a god? Khalil wanted to scoff at the idea, but he found that he couldn’t. The idea was too disturbing. “Do you believe such a thing is possible?”

Soren gave him an indecipherable glance. “It is more accurate to say I do not believe it is impossible. It is a curious thing, that the older one becomes and the more knowledge one acquires, the more one realizes what a mystery the universe is, after all.”

“Whatever the reality may be, the speaker believes it,” Khalil said grimly. “And it believes it is also a Primal Power.”

“It is also quite possible that the speaker is entirely insane,” Soren pointed out. “With your permission, I will pass word of this occurrence on discreetly to others to see what they may think.”

Khalil spread out a hand. “Be my guest,” he said. “Grace thinks the vision came for Cuelebre, but I heard it too.”

“In the meantime,” Soren said, “it turns out that you taking an active role in the Oracle’s life is the wisest course after all. I think it is smart to befriend her and coax her into growing comfortable with your presence. Forgive me. I should not have voiced any concern about your involvement with her until I heard everything you had to tell me.”

Khalil remained silent. He had no desire to confess anything to Soren regarding his own newfound need and growing struggle. Soren might feel obligated to approach the other elders of their House to voice his concerns, and Khalil would not risk that.

Djinn could be imprisoned. Lethe had imprisoned Phaedra. Even the most Powerful of Djinn could be imprisoned if enough of his fellow creatures joined in the effort. A serious thing to consider at any time, imprisonment was an especially terrible thing to do to the folk of the air.

He had heard of such a thing before, one group who took it upon themselves to imprison a Djinn who was in danger of falling. They held him prisoner until the object of his fascination died.

Khalil did not know what had happened to the Djinn after that.

He became aware of how late the evening had progressed. It was almost nine o’clock, and Louisville was on the same time as Key Largo. He frowned. He would have expected Grace to call him for their date by now.

He stood abruptly. “I must go.”

Soren nodded to him and reached for his book again. “I enjoyed seeing you again. Peace be with you, Khalil.”

“And you, father.”

Khalil released his physical form and arrowed toward Louisville and Grace’s house. As he came nearer, he noticed that her car was in the driveway but the lights in the house were off. Perhaps she had been too tired, and she had fallen asleep.

He entered the house quietly and checked from room to room. It was unoccupied, tidy and silent. Not even the fans were running. He frowned at the empty little beds in the children’s room. He disliked how the house felt without any of them present. By the time he had reached the narrow futon where Grace slept, his frown had turned into an agitated scowl.

He whirled out of the house and rampaged across the land.

She was not in the meadows. Nor was she near the river. He could not locate her anywhere, and the light was failing fast. His sense of urgency turned to frenzy. In fifteen, twenty minutes at the most, it would be full dark. Her eyesight was limited, and her knee was not strong.

She was so fragile. She was only human.

Then he saw the door set into the side of the hill. It stood open. That would be the tunnel that led to the place where the Oracle spoke.

He dove. He didn’t waste time assuming a physical form. Instead he roared down the tunnel to the cavern.