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White marble tiled both walls and the floor, and the chamber shimmered under the glow of a thousand orbs of light that danced along the ceiling. The walls were adorned with polished brass sculptures, depictions of the gods and mortals wandering the halls of the dead. Tapestries, woven of golden and black threads embroidered on ivory linen, hung across one wall. Panel after panel of the linen pictographs told the story of the dead as they formed a line to enter the kingdom of the afterlife.
If this wasn't an Egyptian temple, then what culture was it? Very few of the Fae that I knew followed the Egyptian gods. Delilah was an exception, with her worship of Bast. Usually the Fae paid more attention to the Celtic and European deities and, to a lesser extent, Greek and Roman. Then again, nowhere was it written that the seers of Aladril were Fae. While they looked human, it was obvious they weren't the regular run-of-the-mill-type FBHs.
I looked around for some sign of life. Nothing.
A series of doors lined the great hall. I'd have to take my chances. I finally decided to start with the one directly opposite the entrance. As I strode to the door, I planned out just what I might say to prevent them from killing me before I'd had a chance to explain who I was and what I wanted.
The door was unlocked and I cautiously pushed it open. The sound of wind whistled through the darkened corridor beyond. Shrugging, I decided to take a chance.
The corridor stretched beyond my line of sight. I caught the whiff of blood on the wind, but no fear attached to it. Deciding to follow my nose, I turned left into one of the branching halls and continued almost to the end, where the scent was emanating from behind a door to my left.
Maybe they were preparing meat for a meal, I thought, my hand on the knob. Or maybe a woman had given birth recently? Finally I gave up with the guessing game and opened the door.
As I entered the room, the first thing I noticed was a naked man sitting on a raised dais. His legs were folded into the lotus position, his back was straight. A half-circle frame forged from bronze spread like a rainbow from the center of his back. His arms were stretched out to his sides, parallel to the floor, supporting the thin strip of metal that formed the base of the arc.
Needle-sharp rods were spaced evenly around the semicircle, like spokes in a bicycle wheel. At the bottom, they angled in toward his back, piercing not the metal frame, but threading into his flesh. There was no blood, though I could smell it coming from somewhere. And by his expression, I'd have to guess that he was both very much alive and feeling very little pain. He had to be taking some good drugs. Either that or he was in a deep trance.
He opened his eyes and stared directly at me, but made no motion to move. I slowly walked toward him, more curious than worried for my safety. Even though the scent of blood was clear and pure, it wasn't affecting me. Fascinated, when I reached three feet from the dais, I stopped and cocked my head to the side.
The man rested on a turquoise pillow with golden tassels. Even though he was sitting with legs folded, I could tell he was taller than any man I'd ever known. With dark brown hair and eyes so black I could lose myself in them, he wasn't classically handsome. But there was something compelling about him and I stood silently, watching him, unable to look away.
Five minutes passed, maybe ten… maybe twenty. Finally the door to the back of the otherwise empty room opened and another man entered. Shorter than the living statue, this man bore the same exotic look, but he was dressed in a pair of loose linen trousers and a light jacket belted by a golden sash.
"You've come to question the Dayinye Oracle?" he said.
He was so calm. Didn't he know I was a vampire?
"I don't know," I said slowly. "I'm looking for a man named Jareth. I was told I could find him here in the Temple of Reckoning. Will you take me to him, please?"
The man returned my stare until I felt suddenly faint and had to look away. Who was he? Almost no one could withstand my smile when I turned on the old vamp charm, but it hadn't fazed him in the least.
"Why don't you ask the oracle?" he said after a moment.
Tired of games, but acknowledging that I was in somebody else's playground and that I'd have to play by their rules, I sighed and turned to the man on the dais. "What should I ask him?"
"That is entirely up to you."
I centered myself. This could be a trick—like wishes gone bad from some of the djinns who thrived on chaos and twisting meanings. Cautiously I said, "I'm looking for Jareth. Is he here in this temple, and will he help me?" There, that seemed clear enough.
The oracle blinked and then closed his eyes. I could no longer sense either of the men breathing, nor were their hearts beating the rhythm I was so used to hearing. This doesn't make sense, I thought. They were both alive—but it was as if all my sensory equipment went on the fritz.
After a moment, a thundering voice filled the room, departing the moment I caught the words, as if it had never been.
"The man you seek is here, and he will help you. But the question is: What help do you really need? The path is long and tortuous, leading within. Demons are only demons when they choose to live in the fire." And then, he fell silent, sagging for a moment before his eyes snapped open and he straightened, once again staring forward. Silent, like an image caught in freeze-frame.
I turned to the other man. "Now will you take me to Jareth?"
He inclined his head and motioned toward a door against the back of the room. I followed him, skirting the dais.
"Is he… does he always sit there with that thing on his back?" I asked, trying to keep my tone respectful.
My guide didn't look back at me, but said, "Yes, day and night, year after year. He is the Dayinye Oracle. He will answer questions until the day he dies, and then his soul will join Great Mother Dayinye's paradise in the afterlife."
We passed through the door into another hall that led farther back into the temple. Here I could sense more movement, though snores reached my ears from behind a few of the doors. Obviously a number of the temple's residents were sleeping.
"How long has he been the Oracle?"
"Two hundred and fifty-seven years. Each oracle serves but a short time—five hundred years—and then they die. A new one is selected in the four hundredth year of the old. They are trained for one hundred years to take over the position, before ascending to the oracular throne." He seemed quite amiable and willing to answer my questions. I decided to try for a couple more.
