Oracle's Moon

Page 25

“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.
Thirteen
The female Djinn gave Grace a smile that looked eerie in the flashlight’s sharp beam, elongated shadows filling in the hollows at cheeks, temples, underneath her black starred eyes. “Very good, human,” Phaedra said. “How could you tell?”
“You choose a physical form that has something of Khalil in it,” Grace said quietly.
Phaedra walked close to circle Grace like a prowling cat. “My physical form has something of both my parents,” said Phaedra. “I do not want to forget anything they did for me or to me.”
Grace held very still and tried not to let her unease and sadness show. She might wish with all of her heart that it was not so, but dark, angry spirits really did tend to be dark and angry because they held on to things.
She said, “Khalil told me how your mother kidnapped and tortured you, and how he had to go to war with her to free you.”
As Phaedra circled around, she trailed fingers along Grace’s back and across her arm. “Did he tell you it took him five hundred years to free me?”
Khalil always felt hot when Grace touched him. By contrast, Phaedra’s touch was oddly cool. Goose bumps broke out over Grace’s chilled flesh. She cleared her throat and said softly, “No, he didn’t say. I’m so sorry.”
“I spent five hundred years trapped,” said Phaedra. “Five hundred years because he was too cautious to fight Lethe on his own. No, he had to take his time, build allies, create an army. Clearly it was not an issue of some urgency to him.”
Grace struggled to reconcile that information with the pained sadness she had sensed in Khalil whenever he referred to his daughter. She said gently, “I don’t know what to say.”
“I used to dread Lethe’s visits,” Phaedra said. “Then I looked forward to them, because as much as they hurt, anything was better than the dark, empty, airless hole she kept me in. Then I learned that was just a phase too, as I became the dark.”
Grace couldn’t imagine what such a lengthy, profound deprivation interspersed with torture might do to a mind, inhuman or otherwise. What would it take to recover? Djinn might not need physical food but they gained nourishment from Power and energy sources like the sun. Had Phaedra actually starved? Was there anything left of her that was salvageable?
“Khalil said he thought Lethe was insane,” she said.
“Did he?” Phaedra thrust her face close, black eyes blazing. “Then why did it take him five hundred years!”
“I don’t know,” Grace whispered.
Just like she did with Khalil, she felt surrounded by Phaedra, but this time there was no pleasure from a warm, male presence. She felt surrounded by razors, any one of which might cut her at any time. She knew Phaedra was trying to frighten her. It was crude and obvious, like playground bullying.
It was also working. She thought she had felt alone at times before, but she had never felt as alone as she did right then. She patted the thread that led to Khalil. The connection felt so insubstantial, it seemed like a mirage. She kept part of her mind focused on it tensely, but she did not tug on it.