Dark Oracle by Alayna Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

nearing her age.
    They needed fresh blood. More priestesses. But there were so few willing to undertake the discipline to cultivate the powers of an oracle. Power had a price, and fewer women were willing to pay it.
    As she neared, the fire burned so bright it obscured the stars in the sky. Fire was the current Pythia’s element. Each of Delphi’s Daughters possessed her own unique divinatory talent. This Pythia’s talent was pyromancy. Fire loved her, and it showed.
    The Pythia stood barefoot before the fire, seemingly impervious to the chill. Dressed in orange silks, she was a short, rounded Arabic woman with glossy black hair blowing loose over her shoulders. Gray hair streamed from her temples. Her almond eyes were rimmed with kohl, and golden earrings shivered behind her jaw. Her rounded figure moved with the sinuous grace of a dancer.
    Sophia bowed her head, feeling the heat on her face and shoulders. “Pythia.” Once, Sophia had known her true name. But now she was simply the Pythia.
    “You spoke with her. With Juliane’s daughter.” Her contralto voice was low, melodious, but it was a melody wrapped around steel.
    “Yes.”
    Obsidian eyes took Sophia in, and Sophia knew they absorbed the sum total of truth of her experience. There was no use lying to the Oracle of Apollo.
    The Pythia frowned, arms crossed. “You did this on your own, without my blessing.”
    “We need her.”
    The Pythia’s eyes narrowed, and Sophia could see the shadows of the other women shifting uncomfortably in her peripheral vision.
    Sophia stood her ground. She was an old woman, and there was little the Pythia’s wrath could do to her. She lifted her chin. She would take whatever punishment the Pythia would mete out.
    One of the other women in the circle stepped forward. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. It was Adrienne, the youngest Daughter. Dressed in motorcycle leathers, carrying a helmet under her arm, Adrienne stalked into the firelight. Straight blonde hair spilled over eyes the color of frost on flint. “We don’t need her. We don’t need an interloper.”
    Sophia glared at her. But Adrienne was young. Impetuous. And she’d made no secret of the fact she wanted the title of Pythia. Rumor had it Adrienne was engaging in some shady work outside of Delphi’s Daughters, and some of that darkness seemed to cling to her. “Tara is not an interloper. Her mother was the successor to the Pythia. Tara is her mother’s daughter. She is strong.”
    “Juliane is dead. Her weak daughter will do no better. An outsider should not be chosen.” Adrienne paced around the fire, glossy leather gleaming like the skin of some reptilian chimera that had not bothered to completely take human shape. “Surely the great Pythia, the Oracle of Apollo, can see what I can: the terrible future even an old woman could read in her morning tea leaves. Magnusson’s technology could revolutionize the world, bring limitless energy. Or someone—some madman or religious fanatic—could use Magnusson’s new technology to commit a terrorist act. It’s too powerful, and too easily hidden. And the reaction by an aggrieved state would lead to war, perhaps even global conflict.” Adrienne snarled, “A successor to the Pythia must be chosen who can fight. Not a used-up relic.”
    A whisper rattled like dry leaves around the circle. Sophia put her hands behind her back so the Pythia could not see them shake in fury.
    The Pythia stared, and the fire before her roiled. When she spoke, it was with the voice of a queen, strong and commanding. “You forget your place, Adrienne. You are one of Delphi’s Daughters. Not the Pythia.”
    “I’m not the Pythia. I’m only a geomancer.” Adrienne’s hand sketched around the other women in the circle. “But I see your time is short. I see the sight is leaving you, that you are fading. All the glamour in the world cannot hide it.”
    The Pythia’s chin lifted, and her Cleopatra eyes narrowed. Sophia’s breath clotted in