The Last Oracle

I sat, waiting, in the wooden chair by the entrance. I had seen some days ago that the Queen herself would come to me, today, seeking the wisdom of the gods.

Trouble was brewing in her kingdom; there were plots to undermine her authority. It was not a case of malcontent among the common men, but of deceit and betrayal on the part of other leaders and their sycophants. Though I could not say how great the ramifications were, I had sensed that the outcome of our meeting would be pivotal, a deciding factor regarding where the cards would fall for her and her kingdom.

Frankly, I was nervous. The Queen always smelled amazing, and her soft voice gave me chills. It tested my already faint dedication just to be around her. I might have been the ‘holy oracle,’ a blind servant of the gods, but I was still a man. I had never known a woman’s comfort or embrace, and the Queen was truly tantalizing. But chastity had never been my decision.

Millennia ago, the gods gave visions of the future to man via the celestial fumes of their volcanoes. However, such insight came with a price. The vapors granted the ability to see glimpses of the future, but took away the ability to see the present.

Instead of dealing with a few days of blindness as a price, it was decided, many centuries ago, that an adolescent would be selected to serve as an oracle. To live out his or her life on the volcano, and be the receiver of visions for all. It was argued that the practice an oracle would have with the hallucinations would increase the accuracy of the foretelling. However, the actual reason everyone agreed was that no one wanted to sacrifice sight of the present-day. A child would have no power to protest the assignment.

Thus, when I was twelve, I had been taken to this volcano, and had never left since. I had lost my contemporary sight permanently by the time I was eighteen. Though the clearest visions came from inhalation of the fumes by the vents, over half a lifetime of exposure had left me with a certain clairvoyance of a general nature.

I had many visitors, they all came bearing gifts and seeking advice, but no friends; I was essentially alone. The caretakers of the temple feared me as a freak. I could not imagine that I was the first they had known that had developed a temper once I had comprehended my fate.

It did not matter that I was unhappy, that I craved to experience the world, that I was sick of huffing gaseous, burning stench to help others with their troubles. I had no recourse. Supplicants always blamed me whenever anything did not go according to their liking after their consultations, as though I could have told them something other than what I was shown. By the time I was old enough to realize I wanted to leave, I was completely blind, and no longer knew how to live among people. I feared anything that wasn’t solitude as much as I yearned for it.

I was stirred from my morose apathy when I heard the sound of a group of people approaching. Hmm… I listened carefully. Four guards, a temple caretaker, and the Queen. Her careful, purposeful step, and the drag of her costly robes, were unmistakable.

I fruitlessly tried to arrange my long hair in a more presentable fashion. The caretakers never cut my hair, and I was unable to do it well myself, other than just chopping large hunks off sightlessly.

I rose when I heard the Queen knock. She was distinctive. She didn’t use harsh, unnecessary force, but was still deliberate in her request to enter. I liked it. “Come in, your Majesty.”

Notes

A new, shorter story! This was a gift for a friend, who has kindly allowed me to share it here. :3