Excerpt:

She threw the glass vial to the ground. It shattered, the salt spilling everywhere. Their shrieks echoed for a year, and blood followed.

The salts were infused with rituals and summonings, calls for great beings out of a mortal's control to grace the earth for minutes, wreaking havoc and pain, shattering the existence of a resistance to the caster. The salts were sealed in glass orbs, clear vials dropped in colors to mark which essence they possessed. The monks were the only beings who could truly channel the energy, cast the reigns and guide the power. They had no need to shatter glass orbs upon the earth and scream the calling for the spirit. All it took for them was a simple thought. But now, there were too few monks to handle the negative energies that circuited the earth and too many mortals who needed protection. So the Vials of Rites were created, and a small sect of monks was created to house those monks who chose dedicate their lives to the creation and management of the orbs.

The Monks were a society of their own, in reality. Though they weren’t immortal, their average life span was often triple that of a regular person- the oldest living Monk to date was 508 years old. Most Monks are born to regular families, but their chests are branded with a simple mark, a mark believed to have been carved by the gods themselves, denoting them as children of the Monkhood.

In times past, it was an honor for a family to bear a Monk into their lineage, though the child was only given several years with the family before a Monk from the high council would come to take the child away.

After several hundred years, tensions began to grow between the mortal society and the Monkhood- often, the people of the mortal society speculated that the Monks held themselves above those of the mortal society. Soon, tales were being spread that a child born with the mark on his chest was not only destined for Monkhood but was also a spawn of havoc. Children were being abandoned at temples and orphanages- no longer was a monk of the High Council, visiting a city, seen as a cause for celebration, but instead brought dark clouds over the nature of the city.

In the beginning, the Great House, the overseeing order of the monks, argued tirelessly over how much access mortals should have to the energies. The sect stayed quiet, not wishing to ruin the delicate ties they already had, allowing them to even have a sect, the Order of the Salts. Even the name of their order had been argued over. Glass sounded too much of a labor order, deities sounded too empowering. Coming to the conclusion of salts had been an arduous task, but the majority of the House had argued that it would be their main tangible item of use, so the name stuck.

Two hundred years later, and the Monks still had arguments among the House conventions when it came time for the liaison from the Salts order to come forward with requests for approvals.

The main deities are based from the five elements- earth, air, water, fire, spirit. Each deity had a trickle of sub deities, but by no means of lesser powers than their heads of elements.

“We can’t just let anyone come to a temple, grab an orb and walk out,” Asthor said. “We’d have people shattering them all over the place for the sake of settling an argument! Our world would fall to chaos- an apocalypse would ensue of this behavior.”

Core nodded sagely, invoking calmness. It took some effort.
“That’s not what we are suggesting, Brother,” he said. “What we are asking is that we loosen the requirements slightly for applicants. You’ve read the oracles, you know what’s been prophesied to be approaching within the next few decades. We must keep our people protected and prepared!”

Asthor rubbed his temple.
“I’ve read the oracles, Brother. They mention the possibility of a cleansing, a great fire, but not the death or destruction of our people in entirety. Those who have faith will be spared. A direct quote.”
He sat back in the high-backed wooden chair, one of seven that sat about a crescent table in the great hall.

“I’m surprised a man of your stature would read the oracles so literally, Brother Asthor.”

The quiet voice came from the end of the hall, but it carried itself to his ears like a wave carries a sick whale to the beach.

“Nice of you to join us, Amelia,” Brother Fallon announced, his voice tinted with annoyance.

“Thanks for the lack of an invite, Brother,” she returned.

“For such a formal meeting, we’re leaving the subject behind, councilors,” Asthor said gently. “Amelia, approach the Table, please.”

Amelia was one of the few women who had chosen to dedicate her life to Monkhood. While the Monkhood was not a sexist organization, few women sought out admittance, citing that giving up the ability to create a family left them with a void.

It wasn’t her only attribute, though. Most whispered that Amelia sought out Monkhood because she wasn’t with the Gift- her family held one of the longest lineages of Oracles- gifted with the Sight and the Knowledge of things undone, unsaid, unseen. But Amelia, the only daughter of this generation, was never sought out by the High Order, had never Seen or Spoke.
Some said she went to the Monkhood to fulfill a void- to find some worth in her life. Some said she went there to seek anonyminety to escape and shed the identity oh her lineage, to find a new name.

Asthor spoke quietly as she approached the table.

“For someone who seeks to abandon her identity, one cannot help but see that you bring up the Oracles quite often,” Asthor said.

Amelia had the grace to bow her head.

“I’m only stating what I see, Brother. It’s basic lesson, you know that. They who read the Oracle literally are not reading the Oracle at all, so what leg do they have to stand on to hold an argument?”

“You over-step your bounds, woman. You are not of the Salts; you are not of this meeting. So unless you’re here to impart some grand wisdom upon this council, retreat to the observance seating and speak no more.”

“There was a seeing yesterday.”

“We’re aware, Amelia. That hardly brings weight,” Brother Chael said gently.

“What you’re not aware of, Brothers, is that there was a sight unspoken by that Oracle. She wrote part of it and then burned it.”

“Then it was a false sight, Sister,” Asthor said, annoyed.

“Let her speak,” Father Amgol said.

Amelia nodded respectfully.

“I saw what she wrote. Not all of it, but enough to find its relevance in this meeting. It spoke of untouched words and unspoken salt.”

“Is that all you saw, Amelia?” Asthor asked, his voice tipped in curiosity.

“N-no, Brothers. It also spoke of fulfilling a cost and a year of blood,” Amelia finished, her hands clenched inside the sleeves of her simple robe.

“A year of blood?” Chael repeated, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not sure what it means yet,” Amelia answered.

“And it’s not your job to find out,” Amgol said firmly. “Write down what you remember, exactly word for word and take it to the Library. Which Oracle was it?”

“The sixth of her order, Brother. But I beg to differ about the research. I’m of the scribe order… words are my gift.”

“Not these words, child,” Amgol said. “Take them to Brother Tre. We will convene about this later. Now, go back to the observance seating, please.”

Amelia bowed and left the Table, trekking back to the end of the hall, head held high.

“Brother Core. These allowances you are requesting- how liberal did you plan on making them?” Chael asked.

“Nothing that would allow all of society to access them, Brothers,” Core answered. “I suggest that we create a… test of sorts. Three parts- mental, physical, energy. I’m hardly advocating for a full-fledged open access- quite the opposite. When I say loosen the restraints, I’m speaking to creating a new order- an order of protection. Outside of the Monkhood.”

The room buzzed with muttering and surprise.

Amgol leaned back and steepled his fingers.

“Brother Core, you realize that you are asking the Monkhood to partake in matters outside of our control.”

“Father, we’re already meddling in those affairs by having an Order of Salts! By maintaining that control, by governing who can and who can’t have access to those materials… we are already exerting control! I’m suggesting that we ally with mortals, bridge a gap. They view us as a religion, a distant resource at best. We don’t have to dine at their tables, but to take counsel to them and from them would be wise, especially given the nature of the most recent Oracles. You of all people should see the benefit in this.”

“And I of all people should also see the downfall, Core. This is opening a door that we were not meant to open- and doing so could mean the loss of the stature of the Monkhood- our lineage would be all but dead, we could lose our influence, our power-“

“The control?” Core interrupted. “We are not here to control the mortal realm, Brothers. We are here to govern, to council, to reach the higher shelves that our Children cannot access alone. We are here to help, not to hinder.”

“I see your point, Core, but I cannot allow the Monkhood to pass on our power yet- it’s too destructive! How can we allow mortals to wield something that we don’t yet have full control over? You yourself have recorded two deaths in the past year, simply from trying to reign in some foreign spirit into a glass bottle filled with salt! It’s simply not feasible that right now we could form a small coalition with the mortal society. We will discuss this matter in length later in the month, but for now we put it to rest,” Algom stated firmly. “We now move to the next matter on the agenda. Brother Chael?”

Core took a cleansing breath and stalked back to his bench, trying to maintain composure. He could still feel his face flushing with frustration. How could they disregard his heedings? The warnings were apparent in the recent Oracles, and some of the older books, and even a few from centuries ago, had prophecies of an impending doom. Sparret, a brother he had known quite long and had worked with closely, patted his shoulder as Core took his seat.

“At least Algom talked about it,” he said, attempting to console his frustrated brother. “And he wants to meet about it later in the month. That’s something to take away as a victory, not a hindrance.”

“I’m not so certain as you, Sparret,” Core said, sighing. “I’m of the pessimistic view that this meeting will be about how the monkhood can better me as a person and then Algom will try to shove more books and lectures on me about the history of our order.”

“Well, you can’t bring new ideas like this to the Council and expect them to pick them up in an instant. Monkhood has been longstanding in its history and customs. You can’t change that because of a single person’s interpretation of an Oracle’s sights.”

“You weren’t listening when Amelia approached, were you? We have support in this, Sparret. We just need to find someone on the Council to make Algom see what I can’t get him to open his eyes to.”

“What you’re speaking to is rallying, brother. And that goes against our vows. Find a better way. Keep talking to him.”

“I don’t have the centuries for that, Brother,” Core said as he stood from his seat. “I’ll see you at the dinner hour.”

Sparret watched, confused and irritated, as Core walked out of the Great hall.

“I can’t get them off, Theo!”
She started running, a trail of fire not far behind.
“Yes you can! Go to the end, they’re waiting there!”

Dark shapes, hovering in the sky, shuffled in, blocking out the moons’ light.

She stumbled, her hands breaking her tumble. The ground was hot, like coals, except it didn’t glow.

She ran harder.

Of all the main elements, Spirit was the strongest, invoking unharnessed powers that could destroy or remake a person’s soul- mortal or not. Often mistaken for the gentler element, Spirit didn’t announce itself with fire and frozen daggers, choking vines or suffocating winds. It came in quietly, unannounced- an elemental assassin.

Core opened the Book of Spirit’s Rites, caressing his fingers over the pages, tracing some of the words, but never speaking or mouthing them.

Sael entered the room, arms laden with Earth and Wind. Fire and Water were already on the table.

Brother Corrin was blowing glass, his two apprentices watching with awe as he gently ballooned a glob of molten glass into a delicate sac, a smooth vial, almost ready to imbibe its burden. Corrin gestured and an apprentice moved aside to reveal a bowl full of molten blue-colored glass. Corrin dipped and spun the tube with the vial on the end of it in the molten blue- streaks of color swirled around it as it spun. Quickly, Corren yanked it out of the molten glass and shoved it back into the open kiln, spun it, took it out, blew into the tube to retain the bulb shape, and started the cooling process.

“Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’m capable of being,” Core answered, clenching his hands to relieve some of his stress.
The salts were brought in- pure, cleansed, sterile.
In actuality, it wasn’t pure salt, but more of the beginning stages of salt- grainy, sand-like particles, harvested from matter drawn from souls of the deceased.

Five brothers entered the room, high ranking monks in the Order. Spirit, Fire, Water, Air, Earth.
Their robes were identical, minus the simple cords that tied them, colors representing the element the individual carried. Fever red for Fire, sage green for Earth, liquid blue for Water, shimmering white and silver for Air and deep black for Spirit.
In their hands, each of the five monks carried a token of the deity to be placed on the altars that were set- one alter for each of the five walls.
In the middle of the room, the exact center, according the to ancient blue prints, a wok-shaped dish was set. It contained water, burning, smoking wood, and bones. The Overalter, it was called among the salt brothers, it contained all five head elements, interacting with each other, mingling and producing.

“You can not be serious, Theo. Look at this! There’s no way we can break this and not hurt someone or something.”

“We can’t save it all, Ara. That’s not how it works. There’s going to be some collateral damage, you were aware of that before we even agreed to take this on. You can’t just back out now because suddenly you feel weird. I had to talk their fucking ears off just to convince them to let you in on this project. Don’t give them one damn reason to doubt my words of support. Now shut up and let’s go.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“There’s a small town, just south of the axis, that’s been known to expel certain… activies. We’ve had several oracles from that one place alone in the past six years. It’s obviously some sort of hot spot, the question is whether or not it’s elemental,” Chael said, adjusting himself in the wooden chair.

“Have you talked to these Oracles?”

“That’s the problem, Father. Two of them passed away, and one is waining. The healthy one is very… anti social.”

“Two have died? From the same city?” Morec said, confusion and concern in his voice.

“Yes, brother,” Chael answered.

“And this didn’t raise any concern then?” Algom asked, raising his eyebrows.

“It does now, Father, because we’ve only just now realized that they were from the same place. You know that some Oracles aren’t very specific when it comes to their locations…”

“Well it’s a concern now. See if we have any monks from that area or contacts. Is there anything else, anything similar to this situation?”

“We’re still looking, Father.”

“Good. Sparret and Core will be curious about this, please keep them informed.”

“And Amelia?”

“We don’t want to concern her. One of the deceased Oracles seems to have been a second cousin of hers, according to the records. I’m sure she knows about the passing, but I don’t want to raise concern for her.”

“All do respect, Father, but I think she should have a voice in this. Not because it’s her family, but because of her talent in interpretation. I think she could be a valuable resource. She’s been working with Sparret and Core, quite closely, I might add. She’s been responsible for some of the knowledge we’ve aquired. I doubt it’d be fair to push her aside because of a blood relation.”

“She’s also a very passionate person when it comes to the matter of Oracles, Chael. I don’t want to risk a mishap because of passion. We need to be sure, and to do that, we need research. Please, trust me in this matter,” Algom said, adjusting his glasses.

“I’m not sure what it is, but I can feel it. It’s like… I’m tied to something… Not physically tied… just. I don’t know. Connected. I feel… connected.”
“You can feel the earth move when you walk? and the water seems to… push you through it… kinda like.. it’s… holding you.”

“...yeah. I lit a candle once, and I swore the flame followed me around, like eyes in those old paintings. I’m not really sure how to explain it, but that’s how it is.”

“Wonder if there are other people like that around here.”

“Probably. You think that’s how the Monks feel?”

“Who knows. You think they can feel at all? I hear they’re like dead beings, just floating in this earth… kind of like mirrors between us and the gods.”

“That’s ridiculous. They’re actual beings, you idiot. They came to the orphanage a few times. Apparently it used to be a big thing.”

“And what happened to make it not big?”

“No one will talk about it.”

“So when did you have your Sight?” Scilla asked, tearing her bread apart. The noon meal in the dining hall was simple but fortifying.

“Early. I was ten, I think. My parents were pretty… shocked,” Merian answered, slipping her spoon back and forth in the soup.

“Shocked? I thought it ran in your family a little bit,” Scilla asked, spreading butter in a thick wave pattern on the bread.

Merian laughed.
“Not because I had the Sight. Because of what I saw.”

“And that was…”

“..none of your business,” Merian finished with a smile.

“Well that’s not fair, leaving me hanging like that,” Scilla pouted, setting her knife down on the side of the plate.

“It’s a memory I’d rather not take out of the box right now, Scil. Are you done with that butter yet?”

“Apologies, sister.”

Merian was a fairly active Oracle. The High Seers showered her with favor in private, touting her abilities to bring forth eloquent prophesies. Merian was oblivious to her popularity, or at least didn’t wrap herself in it as one would with a stole. Mostly, she was no different than most of the other Oracles her age- she was smart, pretty and studied hard. Some of the more jealous girls attributed the favoring to the fact that her family was affluent and donated money to the Order once a decade.

However, it was known that Monks and Oracles disaffiliated themselves with their families once they were initiated into the order of the elements, the basic level that all monks and oracles shared as novices.

The Oracles were divided into five sects, depending on which of the elements they connected with best. There was a sixth sect, an extremely small one, comprised of those oracles who either depended on none of the elements to fuel their sight or connected with all five on an equal level.

Merian walked softly into the temple, a simple shawl wrapped over her blue robe. The water temple was quiet except for the gentle sound of running water- small water falls and reflection pools adorned the temple. Miniature moats lined the paths that led to small alcoves where groups of oracles reclined for hours, sometimes days.

When Merian was little, she described the onset of a Sight akin to the feeling one gets when they know they have to urinate. A slight tingling feeling, a warning bell. Except an Oracle’s sight didn’t come as soon after the warning bell as one’s urine does.

As soon as an Oracle was brought to the Monkhood, he or she was enrolled in meditation classes, scribe classes and the arts of elements classes.
History and philosophy were also introduced into their curriculum, but it was a delicate blend- some of the Elders were afraid of tainting an Oracle’s sight by exposing them to too much influence.

Thoman was in the alcove Merian’s path led her to. His eyes were closed and one hand was gently grasping a small globe filled with water. The other hand was dipped into the flow of a waterfall- he found the constant movement centering and relaxing. Merian smiled and silently settled into an adjacent seat. The back of her mind tingled slightly-something was coming. Although it was gentle and quiet, the sound of the waterfall was almost excruciatingly interruptive, crashing into her thoughts as she tried to empty her head. She sighed, shifting her position in the seat. She offered a prayer to the small alter in the middle of the alcove and dabbed a thumb of water between her eyes.

Those that identified with fire dabbed ash, earth dabbed soil, air dabbed smoke from an incense rod, and spirit dabbed blood.

Thoman opened his eyes.
“Relax, Sister. You can’t force it.”
He smiled gently at her, set the globe down and brushed an imaginary lock of hair from his forehead.
Initiates to the Oracles, no matter their sex, had their heads shaved as a sign of opening their minds and letting go of the material world for the Sight. Their eyes were covered for five months- one month for each element- and they lived in the temple for a year.
Some Oracles, after the final initiation in the novice rank, chose to keep their heads shaved as a sign of their faith. Thomen was one of those who chose, though he laughed it off by saying it made him look better.

Thomen was related to Merian through some distant relative who had also been an Oracle. This was only known because records of lineage were kept in the libraries, and Merian, curious about her roots, had gone to investigate her ancestry.

“Sorry I disturbed you, Thomen,” Merian apologized, smiling.

“You didn’t disturb me from much. I’ve been here for a day; just resting my mind and my eyes.”

“They made beds for that, silly,” Merian replied, trailing a hand through the water. It felt like silk against her skin. Small fish slithered past her fingers. Their translucent bodies were nearly invisible to her eyes, but she could feel them going past and around, some stopping to taste her fingers.

“True, but if I fell asleep, how could I have prophesies?”

“It’s not a race, Thomen. There’s no contest. The only thing you have to prove you’ve already proven- that you have the sight. No one cares about how many prophesies you have… keeping count only makes you seem unvaluable, not invaluable-“

“Thank you, matron,” Thomen cut her off, softening it with a smile. “I just want to prove my worth, pull my weight. Was the noon meal of any interest?”

Merian smiled.

“Bread, honey butter, squash soup from the garden. There might have been lamb, but I’m not sure.”

“A feast, it sounds,” Thomen said, rolling his eyes.

“Voracious appetite, much?”

“An Oracle has to eat!” he replied jovially, patting his flat stomach. While not particularly toned or very active, Thomen managed to keep a slim figure despite his reputation for having a bottomless stomach at most meals. His excuse was that he always wanted to be prepared for a multi-day stint in the temple, should he ever encounter such a happening.

Theo settled into the booth, hungry for cheap coffee and bad diner food.
“How can you eat this crap?” Ara asked, picking her way into the cracked vinyl seating and wiping a napkin over the slightly greasy table top and giving skeptical looks to the patrons around them, digging into platefuls of runny egg and fatty bacon.

“Comfort food,” he answered tersely, waving an exhausted-looking waitress over to their table.

“Two coffees, the egg breakfast and… Ara, what are you having?” Theo looked over at his prim companion who was holding the menu between two fingertips.

“Just a fruit cup,” she answered, folding up the menu and placing it back between the salt and ketchup.

“And a fruit cup,” Theo repeated to the waitress.

She gave a curt nod and headed towards an ancient-looking coffee warmer behind the counter.

“I hope those bags under her eyes don’t hinder her from reading our order,” Ara said, clearly unhappy to be eating at such an establishment.

“Can you set aside your snobbery for one minute and just.. relax? You’re the one who wanted to come- you fucking begged. And now I have to listen to your bitching on the way there?”

Theo and Ara had been on the road together for half a day and already Theo was having second thoughts about agreeing to take Ara with him to the conference.

She had the grace to blush and shut her mouth, a welcome reprieve for Theo whose head was already starting to pound, throbbing for coffee.

Core scattered an offering over the alter- water, ash, incense, soil, blood and a pinch of the sand-salt.
Five hooded monks stood around the edge of the room, holding lit censors, the only light in the room aside from the fire in the alter.
The light cast eerie shadows on the walls and the faces of those in attendance- a small number for the ritual- five monks to represent the elements, Core, Asthor and Father Algom.

As Core stepped back from scattering the offering, all eight Monks began a soft, melodic chant that seemed to vibrate and resonate within the room and their bodies.

The chants were actually invoking rituals. The first was a ritual of opening, a calling to the elements, asking them to grace the five urns of sand around the room- one in front of each symbol of the five elements in the small temple- with their touch.

The chanting concluded and Core, Asthor and Algom silently moved to the wall with the symbol of fire etched into it. The Monk with the censor raised the lantern above the urn and the Monks started to chant again, this time invoking the element of fire, calling the power of the element into the salt-sand in the urn, asking for it to be infused. The Monks moved from urn to urn, calling an element into each. When they were done at an urn, the salt-sand seem to shimmer and the lantern near it seemed to dim. When all the urns of salt-sand had been infused, Core, Asthor and Algom returned to the middle of the room where they, and they alone, chanted a prayer of thanksgiving, of closing, of power. They kneeled, touched the alter, and stood again.

The ritual of Infusion was over. Once the salt-sand was trapped into the glass globes, another ritual would take place, a ritual of calling and invoking, so that when the vials of salt were shattered, the respective element would be called into the mortal realm.

In actuality, it wasn’t the entire element coming into the world, but more of a shadow, a gentler shade. It was theorized that to call the entirety of one element into the realm of mortals would all but ask for complete destruction.

No Monk had ever tried to invoke an entire element- Algom had forbidden it, as had his predecessor- citing that if a Monk could barely control the shade that came from a shattered globe, then they had no business asking for the entirety of the element to grace this earth with their presence.

The elements were neutral, though they had influences in both order and havoc.

Lately, within the past century, a few Oracles had prophesied an apocalypse coming. Some believed that other Oracles prophesied a solution to the apocalypse, but others saw it as a warning to the mortal world- maintain order or lose existence.

As of now, the High Order of the Monkhood and the High Order of the Oracles convened once a month to pour over the most recent prophesies and to discuss the use of the elements- especially the salt-vials.

When the Vials of Rites were first produced, they were made for the mortals that were guarding the boundaries- the boundaries between the mortal world and the pockets of havoc that still littered the world from the past appocolypse, several thousand years ago. Energy sources that polluted the earth, spawning creations that were still yet unknown to the majority of mankind.
Havoc-demons, they were classed.
The first Vials of Rites called a shadow of the element upon the earth- to destroy that which opposed the caster, specifically, the havoc-demons. However, as more and more of the vials were used, people began to notice consequences. It was said that the caster absorbed a certain kind of energy, a mix of the element and what the element destroyed. Still mortal, these people wandered the earth, continually fighting back the havoc-demons, but endlessly falling deeper into themselves.

The first recorded death was a few hundred years ago, when a caster allowed himself to be completely consumed by the element he called- when there was no demon to be fought. Suicide, it was called. Madness, insanity.. havoc.
That, according to most of the Monks in the Order of the Salts, was when society, both mortal and Monk, began to question the use of the vials. Strict limitations were imposed upon the usage- monitors and records kept diligently. Only twice more did a Consuming happen, as the incidents were referred to now.

“You cannot be serious, young man. You, maybe. Ara? I can’t see her pulling her weight in this cause. She seems much more concerned with the materialistic side of life, Theo.”

“I’m asking you for your trust in this matter,” Theo said as respectfully as possible for one who had never been in a situation such as this. “She has a strength that will be vital to this cause. You just… need to give her time. Get to know her.”

“Theo- we don’t have centuries on our hands. We have a few decades at best. I don’t want water where I can have ice to cool my soup. We simply don’t think she has what we need for this cause-“

“Father, respectfully, I could not disagree with you more. I’ve spent six months with this girl. You need her. I swear it.”

“I need a solid reason behind that, Theo, and so far all you’ve offered this council is founded on your feelings. We need tangible proof, young man.”

“I can’t offer you tangerines or whatever. All I can say is that.. I just.. I feel it. There’s something that’s telling me that I need to convince you people to take her on and train her and if you don’t then something will happen. I can’t.. I can’t explain it. I just need your faith.”

Core sat in his chamber, leaning his head against the cool stone. It was eveningfall, and his window was open, but no breeze was traveling through at the moment. A tray with a simple meal sat untouched on the small table beside him. He had been taking meals in his room as of late, but tonight he had no appetite. That was usual for him after a ritual, especially one as vigorous as the infusion and the calling. To channel that energy, without breaking concentration, even for a moment… it was physically taxing. Even as one of the younger high-ranking monks, he felt, at this very moment, almost completely drained. The emotional stress of trying to communicate his concerns to the High Council, preparing all the materials for the ritual, performing the ritual… it was as if someone had released a stopper in his body and all his life energy just came flowing out with the words. He closed his eyes for what felt like a moment, but when his body was startled awake by a knock on the door, he noticed that the moon was bright in the sky.

“It’s open,” he said, rubbing his eyes awake.
Asthor opened the door, with him was Amelia.

“An Oracle has spoken,” he said softly, solemnly.

“And?” Core asked, a slight hint of annoyance at having this announced to him. The Oracles had been quiet for a few days, but one breaking that spell wasn’t cause for a late night celebration amongst the Monks.

“And we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think you’d find some use from it,” Amelia said tartly. He noticed bags under her eyes, how her face was pale as milk and that she seemed thinner than usual.

“Give me a moment to compose myself and I’ll meet you at the front door,” Core said, pushing himself to his feet.

Asthor nodded and the two walked away softly down the corridor.
For a Monastary, it was atypical of what one brings to mind when the word is spoken. The Monks don’t sleep in bare cells and there is movement throughout the dorms, which are more like large, many-roomed houses.

Although the rooms were all furnished with the same basics- bed, chair, desk, table, lamp, closet- Monks were allowed to have personal objects- such as books, art, plants- to make the space their own.

Core’s room had a wall that was near full of books- copies of Oracles, research, journals, history and philosophies… his scholarship was as apparent as the nose on his face.

He splashed some water on his face from the washing bowl and reached into his closet for a fresh robe, discarding the one he was wearing at the same time. A night breeze drifted in, tickling his smooth skin the moment his robe slipped off. Core smiled, the cool air a welcome touch.

Slipping on the clean robe, he walked out of his room and down the hall towards the front door where Asthor and Amelia were waiting.

“What’s so important about this Oracle?” Core asked, still tying the cord around his robes.

“She never spoke her sight,” Amelia answered. “She wrote it down. I had a feeling that this one needed to be taken to someone more learned than Mir, so I brought it to Asthor.”

“Chael is the one who’s supposed to be helping us, Amelia,” Core reminded her, giving a slightly cool glance towards Asthor.

“Just because I disagree with you on certain aspects of your Order ideas doesn’t mean that I’m not on your side, Core,” Asthor said in response to the look. “This Oracle didn’t write just anything. She wrote ritual, Core. Ritual she’s never seen, never read, never had, or will have, access to. She wrote Elemental Ritual but with… elemental commentary, it seems.”

Core raised his eyebrows.

“Commentary?”

They reached the temple that the Oracle was residing in, Water. Asthor stepped ahead to greet a shrouded figure that had stepped out of the entry way. He spoke a few words and the figure nodded, picking up a small lantern and gesturing the trio to follow it into the temple.

“Have you been reading the news?”

“No, why?”

“The Monks are asking for people to come help them with some cause- sounds like they’re desperate to start a recruitment, to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Monks aren’t recruited, woman. They’re Born.”

“Well, either way, they’re holding councils around the cities. The papers are telling people to go.”

“Telling or urging? Probably compensation involved.”

“Crazy how times are changing all of a sudden. You heard about the kid born in that small town a few hundred miles from here?”

“Yeah… something about it being born with burned skin. Kinda gross.”

“That’s not the only physical deformity that’s been born this decade.”

“It’s the drug culture, nothing more. Now, where’s dinner?”

“Where is it?” Core asked as they stepped into the alcove.
The Oracle looked at him suspiciously, and her eyes conveyed anxiety.

Mir reassured her.
“They only want to see what you wrote. You did nothing wrong, child.”

The Oracle handed Core the writings she had been clutching in her hands, almost as if she was contemplating crumpling them up and throwing them into the fire bowl in the room.

Fire, let us pray
let us show you our devotion,
let us use you for protection
Fire let us live
let us cleanse our spirits
let us warm the earth with your flame
Fire keep us protected
do not allow the havoc to enter our souls
do not allow the havoc to enter our lands
Fire open your self to our cause
to infuse your rites within this matter
to infuse your rites within this cause
Harm not the good
Expunge all the havoc
Give us balance

Fire infuse yourself into these salts
give them your rites and your blessing
give them your prayer and your shadow
Upon a shatter, grace this earth
arch between our worlds
Keep this caster safe
destroy what harms

The writing ended abruptly, parts of it were fragmented and out of place- it was far from the complete ritual, but word for word, there were miniature replicas.

“Do you know what this is?” Core asked the Oracle.

She shook her head in an emphatic no.

“How did it come to you?”

The Oracle looked at Mir, who nodded reassuringly at her.
Typically, no Oracle was allowed to have a Sight questioned, unless, of course, there were obvious questionable aspects to it.

“I.. I just had my fingers in the water like I usually do, Brother.. and then it came and… I don’t remember. I just.. something told me not to speak, just to write it down. I.. did I do something wrong, Mir?”

She wasn’t crying, but her hands tremored slightly.

“Child, you did nothing wrong- it’s just… it’s baffling that the elements would recite ritual to us, word for word,” Core said, trying to sound calm and reassuring.

“…ritual?” the Oracle asked, eyes widening but a slight frown forming on her face.

Mir interjected, “Algom will want to speak with you, child. It’s not trouble, just curiosity. We want to be sure that this is a Sight; we want to experience what you experienced.”

The Oracle nodded and stood with them, setting aside the water globe- a glass, water-filled orb- her other hand had held.

The orbs were delicate devices, created for the Oracles to use as fidget-objects but also as non-human scribes. The one that was now set on the cushion the Oracle had sat upon pulsed gently, energy alive within the glass confines.

“Algom will want to see the water globe, child,” Asthor said.

“As will I,” Core added anxiously.

He pushed through the crowed, trying to get to the door.
It was bullshit. Complete bullshit.
Using mortals as a shield for their precious Monkhood and the Oracles- forbid that any non-mortal should be harmed. Let’s just kill off the regular people! They can reproduce!

These angry thoughts rushed through Theo’s head as he pushed for the door.

“Theo.”

He stopped, looking around for the voice that had spoken his name, so loud yet so… calm. People were still clamoring, still talking. He must have just heard something that hadn’t been there. He pressed on.

“Theo.”

It was in his head.
Great. Fucking bastards had poisoned the water. We’re a sacrifice!

“Calm yourself and go to the Southern corner and enter the stairwell.”

Shocked, it took a moment for Theo to get his legs moving. The city building was crammed with residents and vagrants, all curious to hear what this High Council Monk had to say… some Father or whatnot. Theo was far from up to date on his histories and social studies.

He made his way to the Southern corner and pushed open the door. A robed man stood on the other side of the door, smiling calmly.

“Hello, Theo. I’m Brother Chael.”

“Father Algom, there was another report of a child born with burnt skin a few weeks ago. Another was born with gills. The Elements are trying to tell us something,” Chael said, wringing his hands.

The High Council had convened for their monthly private meeting. Kitchen staff had just set their table with fresh fruit, warm bread, meat, butter and an tureen of soup. Pitchers of water and milk were set around the table- it would be enough to last the council the entire day, should their meeting last that long. Some lasted for a few days.

Algom rubbed his temples. He was getting older and the stresses of attempting to maintain balance was taking a toll on his sleep.

“I don’t think it’s the Elements, Chael. I think it’s the unions of Havoc, mocking their counter parts,” Algom answered.

“How do we address this, Father?” Asthor asked, as ever concerned for the wellbeing of the masses.

“We don’t, Asthor. Not yet. Not until we understand it.”

“So we shove it under the carpet?” Morgan challenged, eyebrows raised in an argumentative nature.

“Hardly, Morgan. I’m suggesting that we study it. We ask for the children’s bodies.”

“I’m sure that won’t raise suspicion among their parents and community,” Morgan returned, rolling her eyes.

Morgan was one of the more outspoken Elders, voicing her opinion on any and all matters, whether she was invited to or not. However, Algom knew her to be an extremely valuable resource and so kept her in the council, though he never condoned her temper. Often, Morgan would find herself very much on the outside of some social functions and news, though she managed to hold a following of her own and a small group of friends.

Gaining in age, Morgan had been responsible for managing the Monks who found themselves to work under the element of Spirit, and it was said that her personality reflected that element under who she dedicated her life and studies to.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

“Have you seen yourself? You’re a priss! No chance you’d survive out there, even with a team.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I lived in your house for three years. I know enough to tell you that there’s no way in hell I’m taking you with me. Besides, you weren’t even invited.”

“You’re such an insensitive asshole. In the three years you’ve lived here, you never took the chance to get to know me. So no, you don’t know enough to tell me I can’t go. I went to the city meeting, I heard what they had to say and I know I have something to offer them that they can use.”

“What, fashion magazines? You’re better off just staying here with your parents and your little friends, praying at the temples and worshiping your models.”

“Fuck you. I’m going. It’s my car.”

Thoman sat back, leaning his head against the top bar of the wooden reading chair at the library. He was reading the history of the Monkhood, indulging in the thrilling lineage of the High and Grand Elders.

He rubbed his eyes, letting the streaks and stars explode behind his closed lids. His ass and back were numb and sore from sitting for so long in the library, but with exams approaching and a history paper due in less than three days, his choices of activity were limited. The three o’clock bells chimed, their music traveling in some of the open windows, offering a soundtrack to the leaves dancing in the gentle breeze that played outside.

He looked around, surveying his fellow students, some studying diligently, others attempting to force-feed their brains information.

Scilla walked in the main doors, arms laden with a few books and a sheaf of papers. Her hair was slightly tousled and her robe looked wrinkled. Her eyes were tired.
She saw Thomen and waved tiredly as he gestured to the seat across from him.

She walked over and set her books down, drawing out the chair and sitting down with a weighted sigh.

“Long day,” she announced quietly.

“I hear you. I have a report due soon and this research is spinning my head,” he said.

“Did you hear about the Prophecy last night?” Scilla asked, adjusting her robe around her neck.

“Yeah, but they won’t say who it was who had it,” Thomen said, hoping she knew.

“Why would they? I heard it was a really strange sight. If it was me, I wouldn’t want my name connected to a sight that had the entire Council dancing on their toes.”

“What if it was a good prophecy? Would you want your name connected to it then?” Thomen asked, doodling idly on his parchment paper.

“I believe that a prophecy should be anonymous. Having a name connected to it just opens the door for a bias to enter the situation. Family feuds, scorned lovers, enemies...”

“So you think we should revert to the old ways? A Blinded Justice, selecting the Oracles, damning them to a life of seclusion and blindness… you think that’s humane?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But to me… a society in which Oracles are allowed to co-mingle… where their prophecies are published with their name on it, not a number… it just seems… false, to me. There’s too much room for an agenda, for someone to slip up, for influences. I think the old ways were harsh, but they were effective.”

Scilla sat back in her chair, looking him in the eyes, her face a sculpture of sincerity and seriousness.

Thomen raised his eyebrows and leaned forward.

“So why aren’t you secluded in an alcove with your head shaved and your eyes blinded, speaking your anonymous prophesies?”

He allowed a playful grin to grace his face.

“Because my elders prevent me from doing so,” she retorted, standing up with her books in hand.

“Where are you going?”

“I, too, have a report due in a few days,” she answered, smiling.

Merian walked in the front doors, arms also laden with books and a tired mask on her face. Scilla waved to her and walked towards her, wrinkled robe billowing behind her.

The waitress set the coffee down. Theo took a grateful gulp of the hot liquid as Ara tainted hers with powdered creamer and stale sugar packets. Theo rolled his eyes and set the coffee cup back down on the faded blue table. Parts of the formica were white- years of wiping it down with bleach water had sucked the color out of the cheap material.

A few seconds later, the waitress returned.

“The bags under my eyes didn’t stop me from seeing that we’re out of fruit cups. What else did you want?” A sassy hand on her hip accentuated her irritability as Ara blushed furiously.

“She’ll have French toast,” Theo said, biting back a grin.

The waitress walked away, calling the order out to the cook through the opening in the wall between the counter and the kitchen.

“What if I don’t want French toast?” Ara said.

“I figured there was a huge chance you didn’t want that fruit cup either, and I’m not in the mood for a fruit cup. So I thought I’d order something I’d have a higher chance of eating when you rejected it,” Theo retorted.

Ara rolled her eyes.

“You’re saying that to piss me off so that I’ll eat it.”

“Yep.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re irritating.”

“Too bad it’s my car that we’re using and you have to put up with me.”

“Too bad I’m paying for everything.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

She settled into the alcove. It was late at night and any other Oracle awake at this hour was either in their own alcove settling in or leaving the temple. She was alone in this nook, the only sounds surrounding her being the water and her breathing.

She grabbed a water globe from one of the small pools near her hand and played with it, dancing it on her fingers, feeling the delicateness of the glass, letting the energy of the water inside enter her fingertips, traveling languidly up her arm, into her head, down to her heart. The sensation was phenomenal for her, allowing her to enter a trance-like state, blocking everything out- all thoughts and emotions- and focusing solely on connecting with the Elements.

She never felt her body lean back or her head bump and settle against the cold stone or her right hand reach for the pen and parchment some Oracle left behind from a training session.

She never felt the water globe glow with gentle heat or her hand clutch it harder.
She never felt her hand start to write down the Prophecy, but she knew enough to keep her lips paralyzingly still.

Scilla entered the Fire Temple, her dark red robes flowed gracefully behind her figure. Carlin stepped out of the archway as she entered and nodded a good morning to her.

Pausing by an alter to give her thanks and offerings, she dashed a pinch of salt into the pirouetting flames as a symbol of invitation for the Elements to greet her.

Padding softly down the narrow corridor lined with troughs of burning oil set into the floor, Scilla searched for an empty alcove. The first several she passed were already occupied by one or two Oracles, some in a trance, some trying to settle, and others re-awakening.

For a temple filled with fire, the temperature in the halls was surprisingly neutral. The alcoves were warm, some even hot, but the Oracles’ bodies were attuned to the temperature- the heat was a welcome sensation, almost a cleansing, as one would welcome a bath or a shower.

Finally encountering an unoccupied alcove, Scilla stepped in and tied the curtain closed. Sometimes she found she could focus and settle better without the burden of clothing to weigh her down. She slipped her robe off her shoulders, letting it pool around her small, pale feet.

Settling herself on a seat, she reached towards the small alter in the middle of her alcove and dipped her thumb into warm ashes, dabbing it between her eyes- opening her mind, body and spirit to the Elements. She sat back and grabbed an orb resting on a small bed of coals. The orb was cool to the touch, despite the fact that it had been resting on a pile of hot coals and that there was live, unending fire burning within the glass confines.

She gripped it in her hand, clutching it as tight as she could. The glass was unbreakable, infused with spells and rituals to prevent it from doing so. She felt the flame liven to her touch, to her grip. The glass heated almost instantly- far from the slight warmth a person’s hand leaves behind on glass- it was close to burning, but Scilla welcomed the sensation. She let the energy consume her, let her body absorb the heat.

Settling back into the cushion, Scilla closed her eyes and allowed her mind to shut itself off and open itself to the elements.

Her face was covered in minute beads of sweat, dripping into her tear ducts and dampening her hair line. The tingling feeling in the back of her mind grew stronger, encompassing all of her mind, tucking Scilla into a trance. Her lips began to move, mouthing words. The globe began to pulse and glow louder.

Her screams were deafening.

“Can’t you just... give her something to shut her up?”

“That would show that we really care… here, bring that to the room.”

“We don’t care. She didn’t give a name, she just dropped womb-water on the floor and howled a whole lot. You can’t have an empathetic connection with someone who a, annoys you right off from the get go and b, never spoke to you aside from “get it out.””

“This is clearly not the profession you should have chosen. Now take those to the next room.”

The woman was trickling blood from between her legs and a midwife was trying to calm her enough to spread her legs to receive the baby.

Warm, damp towels were laid around her body, women stroked her hair and her hands, and two gripped her knees and spread her legs apart.

The baby came slithering out from between her slick thighs and silently opened its mouth.

The mother fell silent and the child cried, life flooding into its body as life left its mother’s.

“We understand that our relationship with your society hasn’t been on the best of terms, Councilors, but with all due respect, this isn’t about fixing past grudges. It’s about bridging a gap for the sake of survival.”

“Survival from what, exactly?”

“Havoc.”

“You’re trying to convince us that some sort of apocalyptic demon is going to burst out of the ground and destroy mankind because we aren’t allied with the Monks?”

“It has nothing to do with us. It has everything to do with the long-standing feud between the Havoc and Order.”

“And we’re fodder?”

“Allies with the right side would be the correct assessment, sir, I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“And what side is that, Father? How can we assess which side is the better side, simply based on the fact that one seems to come from beneath us and wreaks torture upon us?”

Chuckles peppered the room.

Algom smiled, a hint of annoyance flickered in his eyes.

“Because it’s obvious, sir. That which comes from beneath obviously craves to be above, and if something below us craves to be above us, why should we dedicate a following to it when it clearly has not obtained pure enlightenment, as the Elements seemed to have achieved? We’ve never had any problems from their level.”

“You are using philosophy to buffer yourself, Father. I’m afraid this will take some time, and negotiating. The people won’t take easily to a sudden cry for help and to arms from the Monkhood, simply because some seer on your side of the fence spoke a scary poem and wrote some verses she had never seen before.”

“They’re Oracles, James. You’ve had several from your family. I’m positive that you, of all the mortals in this room, know the difference between a seer and an Oracle. Come to the temples yourself if you need such convincing.”

James sighed, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses higher up his nose.

“I do believe you, Algom. I just need to remain speculative and objective. It’s not my personal belief that matters. It’s the societies. And without their consent, I simply cannot allow you to come tramping though our cities on recruitment missions.”

“These aren’t recruitment missions, James,” Algom said, sighing in frustration.

“Well what are they then? Evangelical rallies, hoping to bring people to the light of the Elements?”

“An Oracle cited in a prophecy that there were untouched ones in the mortal society, ones that can feel and speak with the Elements but aren’t quite as attuned as a Monk or an Oracle… these people would be the bridge we’re looking for. A link between our worlds.”

“So we have people stalking our lands with powers unknown that you’ve just now thought to come by and snag from us?” An older woman sat up, silver eyebrows raised behind black-rimmed glasses.

“Enough, Esthor,” James said, patting the semi-petulant woman on the shoulder. “But she does have a point, or part of one, Algom. Why now? Why wasn’t this seen before?”

“Because either no one translated it out of the texts or the Elements decided to hold off on releasing that information,” Algom answered, fumbling for words that sounded eloquent and concise.

“Why would they do that?” another councilor asked.

Algom shrugged.
“We can communicate with the Elements, but that doesn’t mean that we know their temperaments as a mother knows her child or as you know your friend. We can’t track their movements as easily as a hunter tracks his prey. We can only listen and interpret and keep listening. It is our duty, and our calling, to keep this realm safe. But it doesn’t mean that the Elements will give us all the answers all the time. That’s the puzzle of life, Councillors, figuring out how to solve problems ourselves. Otherwise, what would be the point of our races?”

Algom stood from his chair.

“Ladies, sirs, it is high time that I return to the monastery,” he said, gathering his papers.

“We will meet again within the week, Algom,” James said, also rising from his seat.

The two men shook hands and Algom left the hall.

The journey back to the monastery was uneventful, but long, taking a half day. The streets were busy- the middle of the week always meant markets. Farmers and their harvested boon traveling to and from the city to sell and trade- the cycle of life and economy in a raw form of function.

“Theo, I need more! This isn’t going to work; it won’t be enough!”

“You have to trust me. I swear it, I swear it will work.”

“We’re going to die.”

“With that attitude, yes. Are you really just going to give up because you don’t think you have enough vials?”

“I’m trusting what my instinct is telling me, Theo. You of all people should understand what that means!”

“And I do, but my instinct, probably much better developed than yours, is telling me that what we have will be enough!”

“Why can’t you trust me on this?”

“Because you’re just nervous.”

“I’m terrified, you idiot.”

“I know.”

“You are, too.”

“Who isn’t?”

Scilla came to from her trance and found her body sticky with sweat. The Pillows were damp, and when she reached for her robes to wipe her face, a drop of her sweat sizzled in the coal beds. The alcove was almost suffocatingly hot, but there was hardly any moisture, aside from her sweat, to make the air humid.

The Fire Temple’s air shifted between arid and humid, and right now Scilla felt like she was in the exact middle of the two.

She set the Fire globe aside and mopped her face with the hem of her robe, standing to redress herself. Knotting the cord around her waist, she bent down to grab the orb, accidentally knocking it into the coals, where it seemed to nestle itself among the glowing embers. Gritting her teeth, she snatched the orb from them, trying to shake a niggling feeling that the orb was trying to keep itself from her. Gripping it in her hands like a child grips a new balloon at the circus, she padded softly, barefoot, down the hallway, looking for an available scribe to hand the Fire globe off to.

Amelia turned a corner and Scilla quietly called her name. Smiling, Amelia waved and walked towards her, extending a hand for the orb.

“Anything good?” Amelia asked, smiling.

“Not that I can recall,” Scilla answered, handing the orb off. It wasn’t uncommon for an Oracle to have no recollection right after prophesizing. Often, though, Scilla found that she was left with shreds of the sights, memories, emotions, physical ghosts of touch and sensations.

Given a few moments and a meal, though, Oracles often had their prophesies come crashing back into their minds where they stored them away for safe keeping.

Amelia tucked the globe into a small pouch tied to her waist cored, scribbled a note on some parchment and bid Scilla a good evening.

“There’s a good soup and some lamb in the dining hall,” Amelia called over her shoulder as she continued down the hall.