The dark path of Otter Sundrawer

[Scott of Hyperborea]

There were one hundred eighteen official oracles registered with the Ministry of Prophecy in Tala. Atop the list sat the great oracles of Raikoth, hundreds of years old, who had honed their predictive skills to almost supernatural levels. In the middle sat the still-respectable institutions that catered to smaller cities, private companies, sometimes even just normal people who needed a prophecy for one reason or another. At the bottom, in slot one hundred eighteen out of one hundred eighteen, sat the Oracle of Dun Cran, least accurate of all the oracles of Lirikoth for eight years running.

Otter Sundrawer turned his map sideways and cursed. The pouring rain soaked his hair, soaked his clothes, left him barely able to see. He'd been here before, several times, but he'd always managed to get lost, and this wasn't the day he was going to break his streak. It didn't help that the oracle looked little different from the other buildings that dotted the mostly wild landscape, mostly barns rank with the smell of pigs, a low smell not even the constant rain could wash out.

Eluinea was often called the wildest and most hostile part of Shireroth, and Cimmeria the wildest and most hostile part of Eluinea. For that matter, this big western island called Kargan Mor was the wildest and most hostile part of Cimmeria, except maybe for Inlis Bren which stood all alone in the west, and these storm-battered swampy hills were probably the wildest and most hostile part of Kargan Mor. It was a good place to search for the world's least effective oracle.

Six of the Ministry of Prophecy's one hundred eighteen oracles were in Cimmeria, Otter knew. Two were in Uolrhaphen, the old history-wracked capital, and three more in Tielion Arumbe, the shiny new city, beautiful but sterile, that the accursed Raikothlin had built in the west. And then there was Dun Cran, the worst oracle in the world, for which Otter reserved a special place in his heart.

Otter realized his error; he'd been expecting the oracle to have fewer wandering pigs in front of it than the other buildings. This misconception corrected, the Oracle of Dun Cran stood suddenly revealed before him, a barn-like structure with a spiral on it - for Raikoth - and a sun - for Cimmeria.

Otter walked inside. "Evening, Cran Sundrawer."

The other looked up from an old book he was reading by a worm-chewed desk. "As I live. Otter Sundrawer. If I'd known you were coming, I'd have tidied the place up a bit. What brings you all the way to Kargan Town?"

"I've come to ask you a question, o great oracle. That is, if you're up for it."

Cran Sundrawer, the Oracle of Kargan, looked a bit nervous. "You know, I mostly just answer things for the local farmers. What the weather's going to be, whether their pigs will get diseased, that sort of thing. If you want something important, maybe you should go to Tielion Arumbe. I hear good things about Diori Phutarion there..."

"Say no more, Cran. You and I have known each other for twenty years, ever since we were both selected as Sundrawers. And you're a Cimmerian. The only one. Did you know that all five of the other oracles on Cimmeria are run and staffed entirely by Raikothlin. And I checked Bjorngard too, just to be sure. Twelve oracles there, also entirely Raikothlin. You, sir, are the only non-Raikothlin running a certified oracle."

"Oh," said Cran Sundrawer. "So it's about that."

Otter nodded.

"Back when we were Sundrawers together, I hoped you'd grow out of your obsession with fighting off Raikoth. Later, I just hoped you'd lock it away somewhere and get on with your life. I guess that didn't happen?"

"Cran, I want them gone. It's that simple and it's not something you grow out of. And I've got friends now. Two or three militias, here and there, nothing fancy, but it's a start. A couple of foreigners with interest in the area who will provide some funding and moral support. I'm not saying it'll happen tomorrow, but it'll happen. The islands will be free again, and Cimmeria will return to the old ways. The only question is when."

"And that's your question? For the oracle?"

"Sort of. I want to know whether I'll succeed."

Cran went to the big bookshelf that covered one of the walls of the oracle and took down a big, leather-bound book. "You'll need to tell me everything," he said. "The forces you have, the money, your strategy."

"I can't give you that, Cran. I trust you, but if you get captured, or if you accidentally let it slip...just work off a general Cimmerian rebellion against Raikothlin rule led by a Sundrawer. If it's not as accurate as it could be, I'll understand."

Cran leafed through the book until he came to a page close to the end. "Ah," he said. "Here we go."

"You've thought about this already?" asked Otter, surprised.

"I've known you since we were Sundrawers together," said Cran. "I figured this day would come. Don't look so surprised, Otter, I am an oracle." He gave a wan smile. "And sometimes I just get curious. So. We define success as removal of greater than fifty percent of the ethnic Raikothlin population from Cimmeria within twenty-five years of today, on the grounds that as long as there are Raikothlin here they'll have de facto political control. The twenty-five year date is arbitrary; if you want I can give you numbers for other intervals. The calculation assumes that no unusual events in Tala, Shirekeep, or the outside world have proactive effect on the Cimmerian political situation, although it takes into account possible reactions to Cimmerian events in foreign lands."

"I understand the terms," said Otter.

"In that case, there's a two percent chance of success," the oracle told him. "There's also a two percent chance of limited success that doesn't quite meet the criteria, a ten percent chance of some sort of stalemate, and an eighty six percent chance that you lose completely, your forces are scattered, and you yourself are killed or imprisoned. Here, I'll give you the book. It has my calculations and some more information."

"I see," said Otter Sundrawer. "Thank you, old friend. How much do I owe you?"

"For a Sundrawer?" asked Cran. "How could I charge you even a single bead? But Otter? You'll stop this nonsense now, won't you?"

"Of course not. It's much too late for that."

"Two percent, Otter! Your life is your own to throw away as you please, but the lives of our people, the peace of our islands, all the progress we've made in the past century. You'd throw that all away for two percent?"

"Cran, you and I are alike. We were both raised in Tielion Arumbe, both studied in Raikothin schools. You became an Oracle, maybe the most Raikothin profession there was; I was a Paladin in the Raikothin army. We're so Raikothin we can barely even call ourselves Cimmerians anymore; certainly if those pig farmers next door heard us they'd think we were Raikothlin, maybe second-generation because we speak the Cimmerian tongue.

But when I drew the sun into me, Cran, I felt Cimmeria, the way it was before the Raikothlin colonized us, back when Uolrhaphen was still called Wolfraven and the clan chiefs would sacrifice bulls on the altar there. I decided that if I wanted to free Cimmeria, I had to stop thinking like a Raikothlin and start thinking like a Cimmerian.

You went to Raikothin schools same as I did. You remember what the prophet Coriolander said - if you want to be a farmer, be a farmer's farmer; if you want to be a priest, be a priest's priest; if you want to be a warrior, be a warrior's warrior. The Raikothlin call us barbarians, Cran. So I thought to myself - if my destiny is to be a barbarian, I'm going to be the most barbaric barbarian I can be, a barbarian's barbarian, a man such that all the other barbarians of the world look at him and say "There was a barbarian!"

The Oracles are Raikothin, Cran. You're a good man, but you're Raikothin through and through. I came here to cut my last link with Raikoth. So the oracles say I can't do it. So logic, probability, and foresight stand against me. What are these to a barbarian? I came here so I could get the odds and then laugh at them. I have heard the counsel of Raikothin wisdom, and turned aside from it. Now I know my heart is pure."

"I think," said Cran, "that in several years, you will look back on this day and remember it as the day you made a terrible mistake."

"Goodbye, Cran Sundrawer", said Otter. "If your blood calls to you, look for me in Uolrhaphen. The resistance could use someone with a mind like yours."

"No," said Cran. "No, I don't think it could."

The two old friends looked at each other for a moment, saying nothing, and then Otter stepped out of the Oracle of Kargan and on to his dark path.

[Daniel Farewell]

This is actually really interesting. Didn't get a chance to read it until now. Well written, Scott.

[Erik Mortis]

I thought it was rather cool.