The Orphan of Saint Olette

Twenty-seven

The path into the heart of the pyramid was one that was taken in darkness. The girl leading Aoife had a vice like grip on her hand, and Aoife felt safe enough that she wouldn't fall in her presence, but it left her fumbling in the dark all the same. The darkness served as an extra security measure. If someone was able to find the way in, they would lose themselves instantly in the darkness, and much like Ankora itself, the innards of the pyramid were too built like a maze. The only hope they would have of finding their way out was for an Oracle to find and apprehend them, and given that word of the Oracles' home had never spread...

All of a sudden, the darkness ended and Aoife was thrust into a room filled to bursting with candles and oil lanterns, and for just a moment she thought she mid go blind from the sudden change. Great white spots barred her vision—a sensation she was all too familiar with courtesy of the darker corners of the Cathedral and the candlelight filled nave—and she was left fumbling once more, for in the light the young Oracle had relinquished her grip on Aoife's hand.

The first thing Aoife caught sight of once her vision had cleared were the same lavish silks that had lined the Oracle's shack in Karasti. It seemed strange to the orphan that they would waste such expensive fabric as wall drapery when it was far more appropriate to make clothes from. Shay had kept quiet on the various traditions that the Oracle had told him of, so the reason for the state of undress was still unknown to Aoife, but as she looked around the room, she spotted but a few bodies draped in deep red fabrics.

These women were the matrons of the Order. Acting as something akin to mothers, matrons were charged with raising young Oracles and teaching them to hone their skills and their gifts. It was the matrons who ensured the traditions were followed, and ingrained in each Oracle's brain by the time they left the safety of Ankora. It was the matrons who made sure young Oracles remembered to eat when their human shells were at risk of wasting away beyond repair, and it was the matrons who ventured into Ankora to obtain water from the old man. Were she aware of their duties, the matrons would have reminded her of Sister Ciara.

"We don't often find strangers here," one of the matrons said.

Her accent was decidedly different from the other Eastern ones they had heard, and her skin was pale as ice. Amidst the sea of dark hair and varying skin tones around her, the matron looked out of place, especially when Aoife caught sight of a light blonde braid creeping down her back.

"I mean no ill will, I promise," Aoife said, suddenly all too wary of the Oracles. "My companions and I are lost, and we'd hoped maybe we could ask if you knew the way. The water merchant was less than welcoming."

The matron, and in turn the thirty girls gathered around the room with her, let out a quiet laugh. Aoife wasn't sure if they were laughing at what she had said, or if they were simply laughing at her, and it had her wanting to turn and leave already. How large could the desert be? Now that they had water, if they used it sparingly they could just walk until they found somewhere, couldn't they...?

"Jabbar is not the friendliest of men," the matron spoke once more, a smile on her lips. "But he is good to us, and he keeps us safe. Evidently he is not at his best today, or you would not have made it inside."

"I must insist we mean no harm. We'll be out of your way as soon as we know where to go," Aoife said, keeping her voice as soft as possible.

"If you meant us harm, we would know it," the matron assured her, but it didn't set Aoife at ease. "We have been watching you and your companions."

"And who exactly is 'we?'" Aoife asked, not sure she enjoyed the idea of being watched across somewhere as large as Ankora. Wait, did that mean they'd seen them wandering in circles for hours? More importantly, did that mean they'd seen Rin's stroke of genius?