🚀 go-pugleaf

     In the run-down Low City temple, the priests drew back the heavy
curtains, revealing a rosestone statue standing on a raised pedestal in
the center of an elliptical pool of water.  It portrayed a blindfolded
girl holding one hand modestly across her gown; the other rested by her
side.  The wane smile that played across her lips was evocative, but
also perhaps a little peculiar.

     One of the priests began a formal litany, a hint of boredom apparent
in his voice as he addressed the newest supplicant, the latest in a long,
long day.  "This is the Sanctum Sanctorium of Our Lady Fortuna.  All may
look upon her, kind visitor, but it is forbidden to enter."

     The young man in robes of white nodded agreeably.  "Very well, then.
I shall not--" he said, disappearing.

     "--enter," he concluded, his voice floating from the goddess' dais
where he now stood.  He pushed back the sleeve of his robe and held his
arm very near the statue's mouth as if in offering, speaking in low tones
to the carved image.

     There was a loud outcry and a burst of frantic activity from the
horrified priests, which subsided into a stunned silence as the statue
leaned forward and bit into the man's flesh, cleanly removing a piece of
it.  She chewed slowly and deliberately, as if savoring its flavor, and
then swallowed.  Dariel covered his arm again with his robe.  There was
no blood.

     The lips of the statue moved.  "What would you of me, Herald?"
The voice was lilting, soft like silk.

     "The usual three, Lady.  Knowledge and advice and blessing."

     "Ah, Seeker," she sighed, "you would seek the favor of Lady Luck?
You know that men say that I am fickle and uncertain."

     "I know.  And I would, for I would not say so.  But first,
knowledge."

     The statue removed her blindfold, no longer rosestone, twisting
it in her hands as she stared into space.  Her eyes were filled with a
milky, shimmering, pale grey haze -- still blind, but seeing something
other than mere light.  At last, she spoke.  "In past, there is nothing
and peace.  In present, there is war and nothing.  In future, there is
nothing at all."

     Dariel grimaced.  "This I suspected somewhat already."

     "Bide.  There is more.  Or rather, there is less.  Stratan, Barsool,
Ys, Tyraphris, and many Places are not.  The holdings of my sisters are
diminished thereby."  In the beautiful voice, there appeared a tinge of
pain and loss.

     "New hunters walk old Paths.  Myriad is fallen again, and this
time he is slow to rise."  The goddess was crying now, crystal teardrops
forming in her sightless eyes, dripping down her face, and falling to
the floor with a faint tinkling sound.

     Dariel shifted uncomfortably, then took her in his arms, touching
her hair but saying nothing.

     "The Warriors no longer span the spectrum.  More and more often,
sibling fights sibling instead of the dark.  Oh, Dariel, Dariel, I wish
I had refused you!  These are not the visions I had wanted..."  She
paused, wiping her eyes, then continued.  "Mayhap even here."  Dariel
froze.  "One is come, though not by progenitor's wish or will or whim.
But I dare not name him, lest he know me."

     "Enough," Dariel said to her quietly.  "Enough.  I will seek him,
named or unnamed, and see what I might do.  It is well that this much
you have told me.  But I think we both have had our fill of knowledge
for the nonce.  Will you give me a path to follow, then?"

     "Be wary yet be quick, for if you watch the fall of every sparrow,
you may miss the plummet of the eagle, diving from the sun to seize
his prey."

     "Oracles," Dariel murmured very softly.  "That is all?  The eagle?"
he repeated in a more normal tone of voice.

     "Yes.  And yes."  Then, the statue touched Dariel's cheek with her
delicate hand, and smiled up at him, though her eyes were still moist.

     "There.  The three are done, as you requested.  Now shrive me, Lord,
against the coming of Night," she whispered.

     "You have no need to ask that of me, Fortuna," Dariel said seriously.
"But you have partaken of me and spoken for me; it is my responsibility
and my right if you so will it."  And he bowed his head and kissed her
full on the mouth.  A silver mist suddenly seeping from the pool obscured
the pedestal from view at that moment, then was blown away in a phantom
wind as quickly as it had come.

     When the priests could see again, the statue was once more the statue
that the temple had held for so long, tiny slivers of pure diamond scattered
at her feet.  The young man in robes of white was nowhere to be found.
--
Comments, compliments, and complaints can be conveyed to:
Bernie Hsiung (bshsiung@eecs.umich.edu)