Page 43 of The Shadowed Oracle
There was another beat of silence, longer this time, enough for Ingrid to sense that this line of questioning wasn’t working. One look at the dejected Tyla and Dean, and she suddenly felt responsible for finding a new interrogation style. Since she’d only just met with the creature, she thought she might be of some use in the one area she’d practiced most in. Hiding her true self.
“When did your people last live in Heartwood?” she asked innocently.
The Wrane snapped its head at her, making a popping noise that was all too familiar. Like joints grinding on stone.
Ingrid took a breath through her nose. “Or, were you never able to live in your homeland? Like me?”
The creature loosened its grip on the prison bars, withdrawing its head a few inches before it answered. Its bony facial features weren’t capable of expressing longing, or sadness, or anything really, but there was a clear change in its eyes. “As a youngling, I lived there. But not since. For over thirty years, we’ve had no home. Since before the soil went sour. Before the invasion of the swampland vermin.”
Ingrid hesitated at that. Like the numbers and data on the control panel, this might as well have been a foreign language. But, operating on guesswork, she chose the former to ask about. The soil. Seeing as it would take less exposition, and no explanation of a breed of monster she’d never heard of—and probably didn’t want to.
“You said the soil went sour?”
The Wrane didn’t answer right away, only hovered there with its… legs? Ingrid wasn’t sure if it even had feet. All but its faceand hands were completely covered by the black cloak, seeming to settle at her question.
“Slow as winter,” it said in that rocky tone, “Over decades spanning generations of my people, the rivers ran dry in the Heartwood. Trees went bare. Wildlife migrated east to greener pastures. And a scourge, living, breathing, and just as deadly to my kind as Viator themselves, took hold.”
The way the Wrane spoke, Ingrid thought, it made this so-called scourge seem like it was a very conscious enemy. An enemy with cruel motives not unlike that revolving cycle of kings and rulers that had enslaved them. She almost felt bad for it. Not that the Wrane had been innocent, Ingrid reminded herself.
Viator are their favorite meal.
“Makkar,” Ingrid said curiously, shaking off the macabre thought. “He is Viator, too. Hell, he might’ve been the one who sabotaged your land in the first place. So why do his dirty work for him?”
The wraithy captive didn’t hesitate, letting out a strained noise not unlike a scoff. “Oh, you Earth-born are so ignorant. The scourge is at his own doorstep, didn’t you know? It has spread to Hydor.”
Silence fell over the room, and with it came an obvious tension between Dean and Tyla. It was clear that they had no idea the drought from Heartwood Forest had spread to Hydor, but what that meant for them, and for her, Ingrid could only think the worst.
“Fools.” The Wrane made another sickening, pompous sound. “Makkar is a cruel, unforgiving ruler, that is no secret. But he loves his land above all. He wouldn’t sacrifice it, no matter what the gain.”
“So you say,” Dean offered. He looked at Tyla, and the two of them seemed to come to a silent agreement.
“We appreciate your help,” Tyla said, eerily calm. “But I think you’ve avoided our question long enough.” She turned, making no attempt to lower her voice. “I think this one is too far gone. What do you think? Should we kill it? Or should I fetch my pliers, just in case?”
Dean shrugged, stepping closer to the prisoner with a cocky, condescending strut. “What do you think, buddy? Any last words?”
The Wrane fixed its bestial gaze on him, straightening its posture to speak down to him. “I speak the truth. A royal treaty has been signed. If we restore Makkar’s power, if we help him restore the soil in Ealis and retrieve what he seeks, then we will be free.”
“Free of yourlives,” Tyla said under her breath.
The Wrane either didn’t hear her, or refused to acknowledge her. It continued in a hopeful tone. “It is written in blood. If we bring him what he seeks, he will ban the enslavement of my people.”
“And what does he seek?” Ingrid asked hesitantly. She’d noticed an emphasis on the word, like the Wrane was hinting at something. “What are you looking for? Why is Sylan here?”
The imprisoned Wrane broadened its shoulders, stretching that long, hunched back and making itself at least a foot taller. Then, fitting its sharp, hideous visage in between the metal bars, it cackled, “He once sought answers. Then he sought flesh. But now he seeks… you. He seeks the last Oracle.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ingrid didn’t giveherself any room to panic.
She pressed Dean and the twins to agree on their next step, and they decided then and there that they’d go after Sylan, to hunt the hunter—once they knew where he was. Raidinn was brought back in for further “discussion” with the Wrane, swaggering in with twice the venom he’d had before being sent out. It only took a few minutes. He threatened to swallow the Wrane’s three sacred seedlings, dig up the pliers his sister had mentioned, then added a promise to cut off its head for good measure.
The prisoner very kindly agreed to lead them to their target.
Raidinn had grinned like a child in a sweet shop once they left the portal room. Now that the decision was made to seek out violence, one massive foot was already out the door.
But Dean stopped him short.
“We’re not ready. One day might not make much of a difference in the advantage on Sylan,” he said. “But it could significantly improve Ingrid’s preparedness.”
