“Welcome,” said Yun, guiding the trio into her tent. “Please come in and take a seat.”

  A hardy, crackling fire burned at its center, plumes of smoke spilling from a hole in the top as the tent exhaled. A ring of chairs encircled the blaze, barely a stride away. Zu sat and immediately extended his hands to the flames, Grask following his example. Yun gestured for Yechvan to do the same. He hesitated, not wanting to offend the oracle, then slid his chair back through the dirt and stones to a more comfortable distance.

  “Ah, yes, I remember you don’t care to be too close to the heat,” Yun said. Her grey-and-black hair billowed in unison with the smoke. She had strong features for a human woman: broad shoulders, a thick neck and blocky jaw, but she possessed a handsomeness through it all. Pale round cheeks, reddened by the fire’s warmth, glowed like coals, though they weren’t as bright as her green eyes, sparkling emeralds in the flickering light. A brilliant smile parted her pink lips.

  “Yechvan is particular about a great many things,” Zu teased.

  “Yes, yes.” Yechvan waved Zu’s comment aside. “We came here for the boy’s reading, not to contemplate my eccentricities.”

  “So you did,” Yun said.

  Her sheer stola rustled as she moved toward a chair, revealing small breasts, a flat stomach, well-muscled legs. She sat next to Zu and brushed a bit of dirt from her calf and ankle. Grask’s eyes followed her like a hawk’s.

  “How have you been?” Zu asked.

  “Not so busy as when I was younger. We oracles were quite popular during the First Age,” Yun said to Grask. “A motley group from Peryn visited a few days ago. You may have crossed paths on your way up. God-forsaken men and women, but that is neither here nor there. I simply feel old.”

  “The First Age?” Grask mused. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Almost nine centuries.”

  “Gru,” Zu said, then smiled. “You look great for nine hundred.”

  “Thank you. Hlun is kind to her oracles, so long as we remain in her good graces.”

  “There’s more than one?” the boy asked.

  “Yes,” replied Yun. “I am one of nine. The Oracles of Hlun have been around for a hundred hundred years and a hundred hundred more. Their origin has been lost to the fraying strands of time. The women chosen are of myriad races and philosophies, as diverse as the colors and threads of Hindagar’s Tapestry of Life. It is said that when Hlun walked Ex’ala to choose the first of her oracles, no two were of the same race: dragon, giant, human, elf, kobold, nymph, dwarf, pescan, wode, daemon and demon. Eleven oracles chosen to represent the original eleven gods, each installed in a temple atop the highest peak of the tallest mountain ranges on Ex’ala. We know of only nine locations today. The other two are believed to be in the heavens and the hells. Our duty is to guide mortals, to pass along the messages of the gods. Sadly, we oracles have been forgotten by many, drowned out by the plethora of new religions created since the Corruption. But your people are of the old ways.”

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  Yechvan watched, bemused, as the questions danced across Grask’s face while Yun weaved her story.

  “Will you be reading the stars for Yechvan and Zu as well?” Grask wondered.

  “The readings do not change. The fates are not prone to whimsy, dear boy.”

  “How can that be?” Grask asked. “What if we change our minds, choose a different path?”

  Yechvan chuckled. He had asked the same questions when he came of age.

  “Your stories have already been written,” Yun replied. “You have but to play your part. If you change your mind along the way, the gods have already foreseen it. You see, for us mere mortals, time flows in a straight line.” She drew a line in the sand with a smoldering stick. “We start here and follow it along until it ends. For the gods, it is more like this.” She drew a circle. “They may begin or end wherever they choose, and when they give me a glimpse of your future, I catch only bits and pieces along the curve. I do not see it all like they do.”

  “So you are saying the future has already happened?” Grask asked.

  “Hona sees neither past nor present nor future. She is the goddess of time, young one. This life you live, should she deign to watch, is but a passage from a storybook for her. I explained as much to Zu on his last visit.”

  “And I still don’t understand,” Zu laughed. “Nor will I, I think. Best to leave that nonsense to him.” He jabbed a finger at Yechvan.

  “You understand.” Yun turned to Yechvan. “You have replayed your battles in your mind countless times.”

  “That is because I have already witnessed them.” Yechvan paused. “I see. It is the same for Hona.”

  “It is,” Yun said.

  “But you’ve told me some readings can change a bit,” Yechvan said. “How does that work?”

  “It is rare and occurs only when the gods themselves tinker. Perhaps your Koruzan will restring a neighboring thread or two in the Tapestry on your behalf, but only to thwart the meddling of lesser godlings.” She stoked the fire, which sparked its malcontent. “For the orcs and blooded, it is the custom to come only once for your reading. Your race is not so vain as the humans or elves, who may come a hundred times, believing that the gods have nothing better to do than meddle in their insignificant lives.”

  “Did my mother and uncle come to have their stars read?” Grask asked.

  “At least half a hundred times,” Yun said.

  Grask frowned, unsettled by the burden his family had laid upon Yun’s shoulders. He opened his mouth as if to speak but decided against it. Yechvan wondered how Grask had learned such empathy, since the child’s human kin had never displayed much thoughtfulness or compassion. Nor his father, truth be sure.

  “Would you have to read our stars again to discover a shift in our fates?” Yechvan asked, giving the boy a respite to collect himself.

  She shook her head. “Once I’ve read your stars, we are connected. I am attuned to your thread in Hindagar’s Tapestry. If it trembles, I will know, but it will do little good. Though I have been gifted great power, I cannot divine the machinations of the gods. That is why I cannot read the stars for those who are chosen as divine champions. I’m afraid I have no news for the two of you, but I’d wager that is a good thing.

  “Now, Grask of the Senda and Callis, go with the acolytes and cleanse yourself once more in the baths. Hlenice will be hidden tomorrow night. You must spend this time in solitary contemplation. I will see you again when Solonia sets on the morrow.”

  “And remember,” Zu called after the boy as Grask made to quit the tent, “your prophecy is not to be shared.”

  Grask turned back to face his brother and huffed, “With anyone?”

  “You may share it with your one truest friend,” Yechvan said. “But only one, so choose wisely.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Grask grumbled as he departed. “I don’t have any.”