Cast in Chaos. Michelle Sagara
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stiffened. “The other Supplicants?”
“Meetings have been postponed.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely. You can imagine how popular this has made Master Sabrai.”
If the Oracles did, indeed, see into the future—or the past—they often spoke in a way that made no bloody sense to anyone who couldn’t also see what they were seeing. Some of the Oracles didn’t speak at all, although that was rarer. But since the Emperor himself consulted with the Oracular Halls from time to time—and funded them—many powerful men and women thought they could gain some advantage by visits to the Oracles.
Those visits weren’t free, and they weren’t cheap. Kaylin, who sneered at the charlatans in Elani on a weekly basis, found the so-called real thing just as troubling, but for different reasons. She was mostly certain that the Supplicants who came with their questions couldn’t make heads or tails of the answers they actually got, and she couldn’t figure out why they’d spend the money at all.
But people with that much money could be really, really difficult if disappointed. She glanced at Sabrai. “Why have the Halls been closed to visitors?” she asked, in the no-nonsense tone she’d adopted while on formal Hawk business.
“I would imagine,” he replied, “that you have some suspicion, or Lord Sanabalis wouldn’t have sent you.”
“Is it like the last time?”
“No. Or at least, not yet.”
She waited.
So did he. And since he was used to dealing with people who could forget a conversation before they’d even finished a sentence, he won. “What do you mean when you say not yet?”
“There were a number of disturbing incidents today.”
“Were there any visual Oracles offered?”
“There were. They are not…unified, but there is a similarity of theme in some of them. It is not the visual that is of concern, and until we isolate the possible cause, we would prefer not to deal with the more trivial questions that cross this threshold. Why did the Emperor send you?”
“There were marked unusual disturbances in parts of the city today.”
“Unusual?”
“You could call them miraculous, given that we were on Elani.”
“How?”
“Some of the daily garbage that passes for magic on Elani actually seemed to work,” she replied.
He was silent for a few moments, staring just to the left of Kaylin’s shoulder.
“Master Sabrai,” Sigrenne said firmly.
He blinked, and shook his head. “My pardon, Sigrenne. I was…thinking.” His gaze became more focused, and his expression sharper. “And did incidents of this nature occur elsewhere?”
“Yes. I’m wondering, at this point, if they occurred here.”
“No. Or at least not in a fashion that would appear unusual to either myself or the caretakers. What question do you have for us?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” she replied, with a confidence she didn’t feel, because she didn’t actually have a question she wanted to hand to the Oracles. “Can you describe the unusual verbal incidents you’ve been experiencing?”
He hesitated for just a moment, and then said, “Let me see the letter you’re carrying.” It wasn’t what she was expecting, but she had no trouble handing it over. He, on the other hand, read it with care before he returned it.
“We have transcripts on hand,” he finally said. “They are less…useful…than normal, but in the past two days, a pattern seems to be emerging. The pattern involves fear—of monsters, of armies, of invasions. And,” he added, with a frown, “of doors.”
She watched the glance that passed between Master Sabrai and Sigrenne.
“There’s more.”
Master Sabrai nodded and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Everly is painting.”
CHAPTER 4
Everly wasn’t painting. He was stretching a canvas. He worked, as he always did, in silence; the only noises he made were the usual grunts physical effort produced. The canvas, however, was taller than he was, and it was almost as wide as it was tall. Kaylin looked at it, and then turned to Master Sabrai.
“When did he start?”
“Approximately two hours ago. We keep wood, nails, and canvas in the corner of his gallery.” The gallery in question was also the room he slept and lived in.
“He hasn’t done any drawings at all?”
“No. Not one. Whatever it is he’s painting, the image is strong enough—and large enough—that he feels compelled to begin immediately.”
From tone alone, Kaylin understood that this was not a good thing in the opinion of Master Sabrai.
“It is seldom that his large canvases are used for trivial affairs, but it does happen. The very large image of Lord Sanabalis might be considered one such event.”
That image, as Master Sabrai called it, occupied the wall directly opposite the door. It was the largest painting in the room, and as Kaylin wasn’t much of an artist, one of the largest she’d seen. The Halls of Law did boast some sculpture and some tapestry, but it was mostly for show, and therefore tucked away where only important visitors could see it.
“He will work until he’s done,” Master Sabrai added. “Inform Lord Sanabalis when you report to him. He has always expressed a clear interest in Everly’s work.” He paused and then added, “If you wish to remain, Private, you may remain to observe.”
She watched Everly for another fifteen minutes, and then said, “We’ll come by tomorrow or the day after.”
It was raining when they left the Oracular Halls. Master Sabrai was kind enough to hand them the transcriptions of the other possible Oracles, and he was foresightful enough to mention that anything discovered while under the auspices of the Imperial Court, however indirectly, could be legally discussed only with members of said Court.
Then again, foresight—for a definition of foresight that included garbled confusion and mute painters—was his specialty, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise. The carriage was still waiting, the horses looked a little more bedraggled, and the streets had half emptied, which at this time of day—closing in on sunset—was about as much as you could hope for this side of the Ablayne.
But as they drove toward the Imperial Palace, the rain changed. Kaylin thought at first it had just gotten heavier, because visibility plummeted sharply as they turned a corner. This pleasant bit of mundane wrongheadedness didn’t last, in part because the street around the carriage suddenly got a whole lot louder. People were shouting, screaming, and running for cover—not all at once, and not necessarily in that order.
She glanced at Severn; Severn had already unlatched the door on his side of the carriage by the time the carriage rolled to a halt. The streets weren’t empty enough to negotiate while people were running all over the place in blind panic.
Kaylin stepped into the rain and immediately understood why people were screaming.
It was raining blood.
Blood this watery and this red was usually warm; the rain was no exception. The clouds that were shedding it looked like normal green-gray storm clouds; there was no lightning and no thunder. Given the nature of what there was, on the other hand, the lack was probably a blessing in disguise.
It was the only one they were likely to get.
Kaylin headed straight for an actual store, tried hard not