The White Shadow Saga: The Stolen Moon of Londor (19 page)

Many white statues of winged angels, dragons,
and hooded figures were scattered about the small courtyard,
standing tall and magnificent. Their age was unknown, for they
showed none of the signs of weathering displayed by the ancient
steps. A sea of thick clouds with no break covered the view below.
Randor strolled to the front doors of his ally's house and awaited
the group. "Leave the horses here," he ordered.

"Should we tie them first?" Muron asked.

"We must not disturb too greatly what is
around us," the wizard advised, "lest the Oracle grow angry."

"I will leave most of my belongings behind,"
Arnanor spoke, grabbing his sword. "But I will not go anywhere
without my blade."

"Be forewarned now when I say that some
things we may encounter inside might be bizarre and alarming, but
do not be frightened. I also ask that you show the greatest
reverence to the Oracle and upset him not. His powers far exceed
mine, and I will be of no help to you if he retaliates."

"I'd rather stay outside," Lorn mumbled to
Seth. "This doesn't sound good at all."

"Have no fear, Lorn," Seth comforted. "You
think he would bring us this way if he thought it too
dangerous?"

Arnanor overheard the question and answered
sharply, "Just as the resting ground last night was safe! I doubt
this mansion is secure at all!"

"That was an odd chance, 'tis all," Lorn
replied.

"Don't fool yourself, dwarf."

"The supernatural is about," Randor spoke as
he grabbed the silver rings of the doors, pulling them gently to
open the way ahead.

The stale air within the mansion slithered
over them with a bold scent of flowered incense. It was very humid
inside, and Seth felt his clothing cling to his damp body. After
closing the doors, Randor returned to the lead position. Sweat
began to pour down the travelers' backs and arms, and every breath
was uncomfortable.

"Do not make any sudden movements," Randor
whispered. "We cannot afford to send the Oracle into
seclusion."

"Is he scared easily?" Lorn asked.

"Protective is the term I would use."

"Where is he?" Gildan asked, peering behind
the many dark columns that extended in a long row.

They found themselves in a large room with a
gray ceiling and walls, dulled by the many fixtures of lighted
torches. Long, thick banners of blood red lay draped over each
narrow window, allowing no outside light to enter this room. At the
farthest wall, a curved staircase invited them forth, and at the
top was a lone red door. Many closed wooden doors lined the wall
beneath the staircase.

Gildan needed answers to his multiple
questions. His main focus was the moon, naturally, but the
appearance of the Mazazuken also baffled him. Time would reveal
all--even, perhaps, some small insight into his future.
I can scarcely imagine the amount of gold the
Oracle will predict for me in my lifetime,
Gildan said
to himself.

"The door atop the stairs is where the Oracle
awaits," Randor spoke, pointing ahead.

"Well, what holds us here?" Arnanor replied
impatiently. "This prophet has much explaining to do!" The barrier
angered him, and his anger was augmented by the rage he still felt
from the night before. He double-timed his strides, Muron keeping
pace with him. Geil naturally fell in behind them, keeping a hand
on Muron's shoulder, followed at some distance by Randor and the
others.

"No sudden movements, I said," Randor called
out.

But Arnanor, heeding nothing that Randor had
said, remained stubbornly focused on the door ahead--and it was
open. Up the carpeted steps he stomped, when the door began to
close. His eyes shot wide in disbelief, and he hurried to catch the
fading opportunity.

"What have they done?" Seth yelled. "The
Oracle is sealing us out! We must stop them!"

"From what?" Randor asked. "They have already
placed a dark cloud upon our invitation."

Reaching the top of the steps, Arnanor dove
with all his strength, reaching out as far as he could. His fingers
barely graced the slippery metal ring of the door as a loud boom
echoed throughout the room. The prince's heart sank as he landed on
the stone floor, unsuccessful. He stood and turned to his brother
as if nothing had happened.

Muron raised his eyebrows, clearly
disappointed.
This could be the end of the
quest,
the young elf-prince thought.

"Don't you ever listen?" Malander said,
furious. Slowly he approached the Northern elves with shoulders
bowed back and hands tightened into fists. A deep look of
exasperation molded his face.

"Mind your own business," Arnanor snapped
back.

"Not when it comes to victory!"

"You overreact."

"I am far from that, elf-prince." Malander
ran his hand along the marble frame of the door. The metal ring of
the door gleamed in his eyes and beckoned his fingers downward. But
before he could reach the cold metal, his effort was stopped by
Randor's voice.

"That will be enough." Randor parted the
crowd of onlookers. Malander stepped aside without confrontation
and allowed Randor to grasp the ring that would hopefully allow
them forward. Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to Arnanor,
he said, "I will have no more acts of idiocy from you, Prince.
There will be dire consequences if any should fail to obey my
commands again--I do not care who the perpetrator is."

Arnanor stood silent.

"Do I speak clearly enough for you?"

"Yes," he replied softly.

"I do not want to harm you. That is not an
intention of mine, but if you continue to cross me I will not
hesitate." Satisfied that his stern reprimand had been heard,
Randor pulled open the door and allowed everyone through. Very
little light shone as the door closed on their new surroundings.
All they could see was a lone pool of light, swirling upward from
the ground. A robed figure stood alone with its feet at the light's
base.

The Oracle's face was lowered as he glared
into the floor's luminous rays. All present found themselves in a
great space without walls or ceiling. It seemed as if the door led
them to another plane of existence, but Randor knew this was not
so. "Step closer," the Oracle beckoned warmly. "I have been
awaiting your arrival for some time now."

"We had difficulties in your forest, my
friend," Randor replied.

"So my troubles are yours as well."

"This explains the barrier," Seth
whispered.

Gathering around the pool of light, the
company tried to witness what the Oracle was viewing, but not even
Randor could see what lay within the swirling light.

Malander quickly tired of this useless
concentration and stared at the white-haired Oracle instead. The
ancient being was tall and slender, covered in full by a tattered
blue cloak that gathered at his feet. From what little could be
seen of his face, his eyes appeared dark, and underneath these a
shimmering paint of blue, black, and white curled down to his jaw.
His snow-colored hair was short, in a style similar to Malander's
own.

"Return your concentration to the light…,"
the Oracle whispered, "…Sir Malander of Muldane."

Amazed that the stranger knew his name,
the knight feared what he might know. Malander tried to clear his
mind, wanting to conceal his deep, dark secret--this had to remain
safe at all costs.
I must hide my
misery,
he spoke to himself. Closing his weary eyes,
he lowered his head to turn the attention away and prayed for
secrecy of his mind. Suspicion would rise in the company if
Malander should be found out.

"Such a short distance you have come to seek
me out, yet the turmoil suffered is great. I can see the separation
in your ranks, my wizard friend."

Arnanor looked up at the Oracle, knowing that
it was he that the Oracle spoke of. Shaking his head in
disagreement, he shut out the wise figure's words.

"I have many questions for you," Gildan
spoke.

"In time all of your answers will be had, and
the many roads intended for you shall be laid down." The Oracle
looked upward at last, welcoming them to his inner circle. "If you
truly desire to see your fate, I will do the necessary."

"We seek your guidance," Randor said,
removing his hat in respect.

"You seek the moon. None of you have the
slightest notion of its fate. Stolen, destroyed, or hexed--none of
you know."

"I knew you could aid us in healing this
tragedy."

"Indeed," the Oracle answered. "I knew of it
long before it arose."

"Why did you not warn Mudalfaen or me?"
Randor asked. "This could have been prevented."

"I dare not leave my safe haven. Leaving
would throw off other balances of this world--there are worse
things than Beldas's disappearance. And withal, Randor, our Master
would not grant my freedom."

"Your carelessness has given the entire elven
population much suffering!" Arnanor cried, daring anyone to silence
him on this matter. "My people die needlessly! Even my great and
powerful father has fallen ill from your lack of
enlightenment!"

"Much temper in such a strong soul," the
Oracle observed. "You must understand that my place is here with
the spirits. Without my presence here the entire supernatural world
would unravel. This is why I remain."

"Then help my people," Arnanor pleaded. "Help
us all, I beg you!" Acting for once like a true leader of his
kingdom, the prince showed compassion for his subjects and for all
elves across the lands. "Grace this company with your powers."

Randor was pleased with Arnanor's quick turn
in attitude, and he could see the anger slip away from the stern,
youthful face.

"I will look into my source of light and
await a sign that will reveal a guide in your cause." As the Oracle
held his hands closer to the floor, his robes shifted from the
small gust of wind that rose upward. "For this to truly work, you
all must concentrate and clear your minds. Any outside troubles
will alter what I see, and the powers granted will fall to ruin."
He loosened his posture and stretched his long, pale fingers
outward. "Keep your eyes fixed to the ground, and see for
yourselves what will come to be." Closing his eyes activated the
swirling of the environment, encasing the nine inside a
tornado-like cage of cold air. The pure radiance danced in all
directions like a raging sea of waves crashing on a rocky shore.
Randor kept his sight mobile, peering outward to the very rim of
the supernatural, desperately seeking the answer to his direst
problem. Still nothing came as long moments passed--grueling
moments that seemed an eternity.

The sound of howling winds began to soften as
the light's intensity calmed. Randor thought that the Oracle had
been unable to grant them passage to the next phase of the
journey.

But the Oracle reopened his eyes and dove
deeper than ever into his trance, losing all sense of time and
space. His entire body ached in agony, and every muscle cried for
him to retreat to the normal haunts of humankind. In the midst his
pain, he saw a black shape forming in the middle of the whirlpool
of light. The image was not yet clear. The dark shape grew immense
as it spun slowly toward clarity. Not only the Oracle, but all who
peered inward, saw this. The company locked their curiosity onto
the black symbol. As the pool of light smoothed to a state of
calmness, what seemed like a jagged "S" showed itself to all who
watched.

"This is all I can give you," the Oracle
admitted. Despite all his divine powers, the gods showed no mercy
in assisting him further. "Wondrous magic is at work if this is all
my strength can give. Something powerful, indeed, does not want the
fate of Beldas known."

"What does this figure mean?" Arnanor asked,
puzzled. "Never have I seen such a symbol." The prince turned to
Randor for once, seeking whether the wizard might know. "Tell me
about this symbol we have just seen."

Randor thought upon the question briefly and
searched every corner of his knowledge for a response. Adjusting
his glasses, he frowned; no answer presented itself. Randor could
see in everyone's eyes that they depended on him to lead them to
victory. Neither sword nor magic would bring back the moon--only
wisdom. "In all my existence, never have I encountered a sign such
as this. It is unclear to me at the present." Randor leaned forward
and took a long look at the symbol.

"Indeed it does," the Oracle added. "I have
seen this icon in my visions, but I am never able to see its
bearer."

"What advice could you give us?" Randor
asked, feeling disappointment settle into his spirit. Rare it was
that Randor sought the counsel of others. Generally he had advised
the likes of kings and councils of many lands throughout every age
of Londor. Now came the time when he was the one asking the
questions. "Where do you think we should go next?"

"My intuitions tell me southward, Randor,
though I cannot say why. Place this symbol in your minds, and
journey south to the many cities and peoples you encounter."

"Well spoken," Randor replied. "I thought
south as a general direction, but I did not know exactly where, or
what to begin with."

"So these dark times have clouded your wisdom
as well," the Oracle said softly.

"As soon as Beldas disappeared, I immediately
felt a decline in all my powers." Randor paused and tucked the
precise image of the jagged "S" into his memory. "I have not seen
much of Londor the past seventy-eight years; the last three of
which I was alongside the Obinoth elves in midst their struggles
with the Rhingar. Before that, I was at Ethindar's side for
seventy-five years. This symbol had to have come about during my
absence."