The prophecy of the red blood
Fantasy short story. Now matter how hard the Oracle looks, all possible paths in the future end in blood.
Note: This short story was inspired by the prompt from IronAge The Prophecy.
The temple was prepared for the ritual of the annual prophecy. It was filled with nervous priestesses, sisters, and novices, all helping in any way they could. The old Oracle tried to appear calm as she gave the final instructions to the new one, a girl of only sixteen, but who had already proven her talents could be much stronger and more accurate in time. Under normal circumstances, she would still be studying, using her talents only to assist the Oracle, making only small castings on her own.
But times were bad. The Temple was desperate and the Oracle, after two failures in a row, decided to risk it all and give her position to young blood.
"Remember, Amila, you must be sure. It will be hard, girl, very hard, but it would be better not to make a prophecy than to make it wrong," the old Oracle whispered.
"But, Oracle, the temple must…"
"Shh. Amila, we can survive without using the prophecy for a while yet. In a few months, there will be another opportunity. And we're already looking for other ways to keep the Temple running. If you won't see the path clearly, we will survive. But if you should choose the wrong path for us, it would be... very hard. So please... be sure."
The last instruction given, the old woman, who will hopefully lose her title today, stepped aside.
Young Amila sat down in the protective circles. Her sisters began their supportive chant, a quiet and simple melody, designed to drown out any possible noise from inside or outside the Temple, to give their Oracle the best possible chance to peer into the paths of probability and choose the correct one.
One that would allow the temple to survive another year, or perhaps even ensure its existence for several years to come.
Amila unfocused her eyes, staring into the blazing ceremonial flame before her, cleared her mind, and began to search.
It was a very difficult casting, because it was supposed to lead to a very simple answer. In a way, it would be easier to predict some big events in the distant future with a fair degree of accuracy than this, a simple question about an event that will happen tonight.
There were too many variables, too many possibilities, and all the paths were too fluid to make an accurate prediction, but Amila was surprised at how quickly she came to a crossroads and saw the paths before her. There were fewer than she had thought. The images and impressions swirled, but the uncertainty was incredibly low, and all paths felt dark and dangerous.
She tried to focus on the strongest path, walking the timeline of the future to get a sense of the outcome, and instantly recoiled, shouting in surprise and pain.
“Blood. So much blood!”
The chant held, despite the sisters’ widening eyes and the stab of fear they all felt. They overcame it quickly, supporting their young Oracle as best they could.
Amila, ashamed of her outburst, focused her mind back on the paths, carefully exploring them all, even those that seemed faint, almost non-existent.
She was sure, almost as sure as she had ever been during her individual simple castings. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be hard. The differences between the paths should be minuscule, and choosing the right one should be terribly difficult.
It wasn’t. All but the faintest paths were red, full of blood. She focused her mind on the deceptively simple question and looked into the future again.
She was supposed to give the answer while still in the trance, deep in the future events. Keeping it in her mind and answering after the casting was over was dangerously unreliable. The logical parts of her brain could distort the result. But this time, there was no hesitation. She could give them the right answer now. But it wasn’t the one they wanted. What should they do?
She forced her mind back to the normal world and had to fight back the tears.
"It is done," she whispered and extinguished the flame. She looked at the old Oracle, who nodded kindly, though Amila could see the disappointment in her eyes. The Oracle misunderstood.
"Red," Amila said loudly. "The answer is red, like blood. Like rivers of blood that drown everything."
The old Oracle frowned.
"Are you sure, Amila?" the old woman asked.
"I am. Any other path is almost impossible. Red. But it will lead to blood and chaos."
Amila rose and walked out of the circle on shaky legs. The old Oracle took her in her arms and whispered in her ear: "What exactly did you see, Amila?"
"Red, Oracle. But if we use the prophecy, it will not help us. There will be blood and death... the temple will be destroyed no matter what we do!"
Amila finally lost her composure and began to cry helplessly.
***
The priestess council was quick. It had to be. They didn’t have time. They had to decide within an hour.
“Amila’s prophecies were always grim. Dark. She hardly sees anything positive,” one of the priestesses said cautiously.
“The times have been bad lately, sister. She can’t see nice things if the doom and despair really await in our future, as some older prophecies claim.”
“Is she really so sure of the answer, Oracle?”
The old Oracle sighed. She managed to get everything out of Amila, every dark image and feeling the poor girl felt.
“It is red. The certainty of the casting in this case can only mean one thing. Someone is interfering and it will end badly, no matter what we do. Amila even tried to find a new way, one where we don’t use the prophecy ourselves, but try to warn people, but she said that would also end in blood. We must decide, sisters. Do we use the prophecy and hope that it will help us in the coming turmoil, or do we take the safer route and try to keep our distance?”
In the end, the temple council decided to take the risk and ordered novice Marika to act on the prophecy.
It also ordered the rest of the sisters to prepare as best they could.
***
Marika ran out of the temple. She was furious with the old sisters. They hadn’t given her and Beliar much time to prepare and act. She had to run through the city and arrived at her destination sweaty and with disheveled hair, but she didn’t have time to do anything about it.
“Beliar, it’s red,” she gasped. “Do it, quickly.”
He frowned. “Marika, are you sure? Red, that would mean a lot, but...”
“It’s red. The new Oracle is sure.”
The young adventurer frowned at his lover again. The commission for his services was supposed to be ten percent and suddenly it seemed like a huge pile of money, but...
“All right. But if this works out, I’ll have to hire more people. I won’t be able to carry it all!”
“If it works out, the temple will be happy to pay for it. Now go, Beliar. Please.”
“If we win… I... I will have to leave the city,” he added sadly.
“I know,” Marika said.
Beliar had a bad feeling, but he took the heavy sack he was guarding and entered the hippodrome. He found the bookmaker he was looking for. Most of the bets had already been placed, and only a few of the last undecideds were standing around, thinking, hoping for a last moment inspiration.
He dropped the bag on the table.
“Ten thousand. On the red,” he said.
The bookmaker frowned immediately. “Beliar... are you mad?”
The adventurer smiled. “Fortune favors the bold. I got this by chance, without doing much for it, and I just decided to blow it on another chance. I feel lucky. If it works, with odds of twenty to one on the Reds, I’ll be stinking rich. If not, well... easy come, easy go.” He shrugged, trying to get the right mix of expressions on his face.
The act he was putting on was more for several people nearby who were watching him with curiosity than for the bookmaker. Beliar's bad feeling intensified when the bookmaker frowned and something like fear showed in his eyes.
The bookmaker weighed the gold ducats in the sack and gave Beliar a receipt. The adventurer thanked him and disappeared quickly. He had many things to do, and he had to do them quickly.
***
It was true that he had come to all of this by chance, meeting Marika without knowing who she was. He was looking for some fun, but getting into a clandestine deal with the Temple of the Oracle was an unexpected bonus. When Marika dragged him to the temple to introduce him to her older sisters, he automatically tried to give them the best possible impression, thinking he might get a job or two out of it. It worked, but he hadn't expected this.
And he hoped desperately that the Oracle was wrong and they wouldn't win.
Because if they did...
Beliar was an honest man. But so much money made him think about keeping it all and, together with Marika, if she was willing, getting it out of the city as soon as possible.
He couldn't stay anyway. The story of his new riches would go far too fast.
***
The Reds were the total underdogs this year. They had a long run of bad luck, lost several good riders, and the reinforcements they managed to bring in were mediocre at best.
So the crowd at the hippodrome was really surprised when the Reds were close to the top right from the start.
When they won, the hippodrome shook with loud voices and the first outbreaks of violence among the hardcore fans.
Beliar managed to get to the bookmaker, accompanied by four men he sort of trusted and hired as soon as it looked like Red might win, proving his bad feeling. The bookmaker paid him angrily.
"Did you know about this, Beliar?"
Beliar grinned carelessly.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I told you, chance. I met a girl who brings me luck."
Bookie watched him for a moment. "She may not be as lucky as you think. If I were you, Beliar, I would make myself scarce."
"I intend to," Beliar assured him. "All right, boys, let's get out of here, quickly."
To his surprise, they managed to get to a waiting cart and Marika without any major incident. They quickly loaded five hundred pounds of gold inside. But word of a huge win was already spreading, and they attracted a crowd. It would have been much bigger, but too many people were arguing with the bookmakers, and the violence between the fans was already spreading.
"We're not out of the woods yet," Beliar warned his men, who had already been paid five and promised two thousand ducats each. They all agreed, looked around nervously, and accompanied the cart away as fast as the donkey would go.
Marika wanted to take the money to the Temple right away, but Beliar managed to convince her that they had to be careful. He was proud that he had managed to get everything together on such short notice.
They managed to disappear into a curious crowd that was already making its way to the hippodrome. Rumors of Red's miraculous victory and the growing unrest spread quickly, and many people who weren't interested in watching the games thought that the bloody fight between the factions might be much more entertaining.
They paused in a dark alley. Beliar was afraid this was going to get ugly, but he didn't show it as he beamed at his guys.
"Well, boys, I guess this is the quickest and easiest money you ever made, right?"
Without waiting for an answer, he picked up a sack that should hold a thousand decaducats and offered it to the nearest man.
"I think you deserve a little bonus. Here are ten thousand. Can you divide it among yourselves and leave me and my partner?"
The closest man was, deliberately, Dimyn, a huge bear of a man Beliar trusted more than the others. Dimyn grabbed the bag and grinned happily.
"I think we can handle it, Beliar. Are you sure you don't need any more help? You being a rich man now, you should have some permanent bodyguards."
Beliar noticed the greed in their eyes, especially Grishka's.
“Guys... I have a bad feeling about this. You don’t want to get involved in this,” Beliar told them. “Anybody asks, tell them the truth. You were hired to help me move it, got paid, you have no idea where it disappeared to. I’m leaving the city tonight.”
Grishka frowned thoughtfully. “Was this all a fraud? Were you in on it from the beginning?”
“We weren’t,” Marika said in a haughty voice, her face covered with a scarf, as Beliar had suggested. “We heard about a good investment opportunity an hour before the finals started. We decided to take it, despite the risk.”
“Considering the risk, I think we deserve a bigger bonus,” Grishka said. The other mercenaries exchanged quick glances. Dimyn frowned at the others.
This could get ugly, Beliar thought, ready to draw his short sword.
“ I can see you’re thinking about risking a bit yourself,” Marika said, staring at Grishka. “Don’t. It’s not worth your soul.”
And her hand seemed to glow for a moment.
“Well, boys, I hope we’ll meet again sometime later,” Beliar said to the surprised mercenaries. The real magic was rare and feared in the Empire. “Who knows, I might have a well-paid and quick job for you again.”
“I hope so, Beliar!” Dimyn boomed. He glared at Grishka and shook the sack. “Let’s get out and divide it. It’s too heavy and I’m too lazy to carry it any longer than I have to.”
“I can carry that for you,” Grishka offered immediately with a sneer.
“I should also note that my paranoia is stronger than my laziness,” Dimyn grinned. “See you later, Beliar. And good luck.”
“You too, guys.”
As the mercenaries left and disappeared around the corner, Beliar breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Marika.
"I didn't know you could do... magic."
She giggled. "Anyone can do that kind of magic, dear." She opened her palm. There was a light crystal, one of the few magical things that were common, if expensive.
"Nice bluff," Beliar beamed at her. "You know, my love, we work well together. Really well."
"That we do, my love."
"Too bad I have to... leave now," Beliar sighed.
Marika nodded, her face still hidden by the scarf.
Beliar took a deep breath and asked her: "You said you will never rise higher in the Temple. How about a career change?"
She frowned.
"Marika, I mean it. Why don't you come with me?" He hesitated. There were two possible paths he could take. In the end, he was glad that his guess as to how she would react agreed with his conscience. He always preferred to be honest when possible. "Let’s carry the gold to the temple and leave together. With twenty thousand gold ducats, we can do whatever we want for years. I'll show you places you've only heard about."
Marika shook her head slowly.
"I cannot leave my sisters now, Beliar."
"I understand. But I had to ask you, my love."
"I know. And thank you."
***
They managed to get the gold safely to the temple. Beliar got his two sacks as his share and said goodbye to Marika. She gave him a long, sad kiss. He thought about repeating his offer, but she stopped him as soon as he opened his mouth.
"Don't, Beliar. I'm sure we'll meet again in time. Maybe I'll be willing to listen to any offers you might have for me."
"I look forward to that meeting, Marika."
He gave her one last quick kiss and left to find a good horse. He felt a little sorry for himself.
"Maybe I should have risked it and asked her to run away with me with all the money," he mused on his way out of the city. "Nah... that would make her mad at me. I'll just have to wait a bit. This will blow over quickly anyway," he thought and turned back to the city wall.
"Maybe not," he added aloud as he saw more and more smoke rising over the city. The riots were getting out of hand.
***
A week later, Marika was very sorry that she had refused Beliar's offer. The city was burning and the situation was getting worse by the minute. The sisters were ready to leave the city, to move to a safe place, but they couldn't decide where such a place could be found. No matter how hard Amila tried to look into the future, she couldn't find it. All her prophecies were grim.
The Red's ploy to make them look weaker for the finals might have worked in itself, bringing them victory and a lot of money from bets placed on themselves. But what they didn't know was that their plan had gotten to a less than honest bookmaker, who shared it with a few others and decided to make sure that the Reds would win.
The bookmakers expected some outrage. It always happened after the finals, no matter who won. There had been a few attempts to rig the games in the past, some successful. It all blew over after a while anyway.
They were careful. They used magic.
But the bookies hadn't expected the riots in the city to be this bad. They didn't expect the accusation that magic had been used to rig the finals. An accusation that turned out to be true.
And they hadn't expected the riots to be used as a pretext for a military coup, launched under the guise of stopping the violence in the streets.
The prophecies of Amila, the Oracle of Doom, came true. The Empire was drowning in blood.