Page 34 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

“Enough,” Tyla said. “Let’s get this over with.

” She pulled out a chair, scooting close to Ingrid.

“There’s a reason Makkar wants to find you.

He wants you for your power, but more than that, he needs you close.

He needs you in his control, or he needs you dead.

There’s no grey area. Because you are the only being in any world that can match his power. ”

The words nearly snapped Ingrid out of her rage.

She shifted in her seat a little, trying to process the information.

This, she realized, this was why Dean had evaded her question about what the King of Hydor was capable of.

He didn’t want to give specifics. Didn’t want to go down that road, the road that led to this. To her importance.

Makkar was the most powerful Viator in all of Ealis, Dean had said. And if Sylan was the greatest swordsman, the most skilled soldier, some kind of walking anti-magic charm, then…

“What is Makkar capable of?” she asked.

“World-ending,” Raidinn answered with his usual bluntness.

“Could destroy all of Earth all by himself, if given enough time,” Tyla followed.

“He isn’t just a practitioner of the old rites.

He’s a summoner. A Magus. A god damned bloody sorcerer.

And once he has enough power, he’ll turn Earth and any opposition in Ealis to ashes.

Just like his ancestor tried to do thousands of years ago. ”

Ingrid moved her mouth, expecting words to come out, questions flying, but none did.

“Makkar isn’t the first to invade Earth,” Dean said. “He isn’t the first to do any of this.”

Raidinn scoffed. “Lousy mimic.”

“Who else?” Ingrid asked exasperatedly.

Dean started, but thought better of whatever sat on the tip of his tongue. He looked to Tyla instead, imploring her with a nod to use some of her feminine finesse.

“In the first days of this civilization,” she said.

“There were two great rulers. The Oracle, Izadora, a peaceful Queen in the East. And the Magus, Gannotar, a great and powerful warrior King in the West. Together, they built this world up to what it is today. Castles and cities carved into the great mountains. Civilizations coexisting with the forests and rivers. A perfect harmony. For thousands of years, Viator lived like this, and there was only peace. Only life.”

Tyla stood and calmly walked to the window, beckoning a still slow-moving Ingrid to join her. She did, and together they peered into the forest, out into the wilderness from whence they’d come, marveling again at the dazzling vibrance that seemed to glow from every tree, every plant and flower.

“But somewhere along the way,” Tyla went on. “Viator succumbed to greed. Instead of being grateful for their eternal life, they grew restless. They wanted more. More power. More glory.”

With a small gesture, Tyla alerted Ingrid to a grove in the distance.

The Oracle assessed the scene a moment before giving a questioning glance. “What is it?”

“Out there,” Tyla said. “Look.”

It took a minute of scanning before she registered the toppled-over conifer, reminiscent of the smaller tree she’d hidden in earlier.

It was gargantuan, its pine cones the size of her head, and leaves like ship sails.

Then Ingrid noticed the trunk of the tree.

There was a distinct, blackish rot slithering up the side and extending out to the branches.

The inky disease had spread, infecting nearly everything nearby.

The sheer overwhelming beauty of the forest had blinded Ingrid to the cracks, the death, the signs of decay. And now, the more she looked, the more she saw of it. It was like the forest’s veins had been stained black with pulsing poison.

“With the warring and greed came a scourge on Ealis, just like the one happening now,” Tyla went on.

“The Oracle Izadora believed it was the circle of life and death, the necessary suffering to make way for new growth, new life. But the Magus, he believed it was Ealis asking for nourishment. For even more death, even more flesh, more sacrifice.”

“Sound familiar?” Dean asked.

Ingrid looked to him in acknowledgement, seeing a deeper root of where his impatience and anger came from. He shook his head, then glanced up at Tyla, urging her to go on.

“The Magus started sending soldiers through the portals. Into Earth. To cause chaos. A living, bloody nightmare. Because chaos, he believed, bred life. From the death on Earth, great vitality and power would come to the people of Ealis.”

“When was this?” Ingrid asked. “When did the first Magus start killing off humans? Wouldn’t I—or anyone on Earth have heard about it?”

Tyla raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You’d like to think so. Yet, look at the history of our world. Genocide, countless massacres, wars, plagues. So much death, so much violence. The Magus’ terror blended right in. It was almost too easy.”

Ingrid saw the thick threads as if they were hovering over her. “So the Oracle,” she said. “Izadora. She saved them? She saved the humans??”

“Eventually.” Tyla gave a nod that turned into a small shrug.

“But at first, she sat back and let The Magus take these drastic measures, seeing it as yet another spin of the cycle, a lesson her descendants would learn from. She only stepped in when The Magus went too far. When he’d already killed or converted most of Ealis to his cause and religion, and still the destruction of Earth raged on.

The scourge on the forests and drought of the rivers and seas continued, too.

That was when Izadora realized he wouldn’t stop.

He’d continue lying to his people. Lying to himself. ”

It was familiar . Almost exactly what Dean had accused Makkar of. Using religion and fear to drive his agenda, his thirst for power.

“The Magus wouldn’t stop.” Tyla planted a hand on the windowsill, tapping her fingers nervously. “He and his allies simply ignored the lack of results. Too mad to see reason.”

“And Makkar is madder,” Dean blurted out, as if his rage didn’t allow him to keep silent any longer.

“Too blind to realize he’s not finishing the job his predecessor started, he’s only repeating his mistake.

That ancient tyrant was lost, sick. And he’d never stop unless the only being alive that could stop him did it for him. The Oracle.”

Ingrid had already connected the pieces, but she waited, just in case she was wrong—and oh, how badly she wanted to be wrong.

“Since Karis is gone, you’ve probably guessed this last bit.” Dean flashed a reluctant smile like he was apologizing. “You’re probably the only chance history will have to repeat itself. The only hope for the Magus, Makkar, to be defeated.”

Silence, cold and unnerving fell over the room.

“How do you know I’m the last one?” Ingrid managed to ask. “Are you telling me this is some kind of—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word, so it hung there on the tip of her tongue. She hardly believed in fate, let alone some kind of divine path set out for her.

No. This was not some prophecy they were relaying.

This was only a rational conclusion drawn from the past. Her history books had taught her that the only guarantee in life was death, and man’s propensity to speed along death’s calling.

But those same books had also taught her something else, albeit not so blatantly—history tended to repeat itself.

She dodged the conclusion starting to set in and repeated, “How can you be completely sure I’m the last Oracle?”

“We aren’t certain,” Tyla said, seeming about as confident in the idea of a pre-ordained path as Ingrid was. “But Karis was certain. He spent his whole life, that’s over three hundred years, mind you, trying to find another Oracle. But he didn’t.”

“Nope. That accolade belongs to Dean.” Raidinn looked to his friend with a jutting smile.

“ He found you. He kept hope alive. All because he needed a little drink to take the edge off.” Another emphatic shake of his head.

“Fucking hell, I still can’t get over it.

I don’t know what’s more unbelievable. The fact that you were hiding under Karis’s nose all that time, or that the fate of humanity still has hope because Dean Crassus needed a hit of cheap whiskey.

” Catching himself, he swiveled to meet Ingrid’s eyes.

“But uhh, you know, no pressure or anything. Like we said, we’ll help as best we can. ”

“Thanks.” Ingrid’s face beamed with a nervous smile, and she left it at that.

How else could she react? How was someone supposed to react, being told all this?

The idea that a drink-slinger from San Bruno was the last of an immortal, magic-wielding race responsible for saving the world—or, rather, worlds .

Was she supposed to feel exhilarated? Was duty and purpose meant to set her heart ablaze, roused for a fight she only very recently learned was going on?

No. Hell no. All Ingrid felt was a slight deviation from what she’d felt most her life. Pure, raw rage. The only difference was, where that sentiment had always felt aimless in her past, lashing out at whatever stepped in her way, it now felt concentrated. Focused.

She had names for all her fury. Names for the people keeping her from freedom, keeping her from achieving that elusive solitude she’d always sought. Makkar. The Tyrant. Sylan. The Bastard. It became a violent mantra willing her on.

“So, what’ll it be?” Raidinn asked nonchalantly.

Ingrid shook off the surging, vengeful thought and slowly turned her gaze to his. She felt like slapping him across the face, yet at the same time, couldn’t help smiling.

“What’ll it be ?” she asked mockingly.

“Yeah. What’ll it be, love?” He picked at his nails, shrugging. “You want to save the world and all that? Or should I, what was it you said? Go find a little corner to hide in?”

Tyla reached over and flicked her brother’s earlobe so hard that an almost girlish squeal came out of him.

“What did I do now?” he asked

“You could ask a little nicer!”

“Oh…” Raidinn rubbed at his ear. “Alright, alright. Ingrid, would you like to save the world with us? Please?”

Ingrid stared out at the strange and novel world before her, so different and far away from the place she’d until yesterday called home, and said, “Sure. Not like I have many choices anyway.”