“Do you see now?” she said finally after giving him a moment to recover. “Wars are ended by that terrible event. If you stop it, then just as many people might die for other reasons.”
“Even if that’s true, it's still the wrong way to look at it,” Simon said. “Those wars might be stopped in other ways, too.”
Even as he said it, though, he knew that she was right on some level, but he didn’t like it, and he knelt there gasping at the now calm shoreline he tried to understand why he didn’t like it. Can’t we find a way to save everyone? Isn’t that the point of the Pit? He wondered.
He didn’t say that, though; it felt too juvenile. Instead, he stood and said, “Thank you for giving me a glimpse of the world you see. Do you think there’s any way I could learn to do that myself?”
“I used magic to share the vision with you, which blurred my sight slightly,” she admitted. “Though such a skill is beyond any one mortal lifetime, I’m sure that with enough clarity and understanding, you could see almost as well as me one day.”
That answer surprised Simon. “Isn’t that like… divine powers or something,” he asked.
“Close,” she nodded, “But I am no goddess. I am only as far above you as you are above some of your friends in the grand scheme of things. Everything is relative.”
“Kristos,” answered immediately, sure that was who she meant.
“Indeed,” she said. “Tell me, do you know why his robes never lighten? Why he alone is always charcoal gray while those around him move on to lighter shades and other tasks?”
“That’s not true,” she interrupted. “You might not know, but you certainly have ideas.”
“I think there’s something in his past that he can’t let go of or get past,” Simon said, well aware of how much he was calling himself out in that moment. “That, or he doesn’t belong here in the first place.”
The Oracle didn’t confirm either answer. She just nodded and said, “Well, then that might give you some insight into how you’ve come so far in such a short time.”
Half a decade wasn’t really that short a time, but Simon ignored that and the element of predestination she implied. Instead, he countered, “Unfortunately, I’ll never reach it. I’ll be leaving soon, I think, and when I do, well, I can’t imagine I’ll be allowed back to complete my journey.”
“I won’t stop you from leaving or from returning either,” she answered. “How could I? We still haven’t answered your question. We shall call this fruitless obsession of yours a detour on the road of your progress.”
“Haven’t we, though?” he asked. “I mean, I’ve seen magic. I understand that casting spells muddies the waters and—”
“On that, we agree, but in terms of seeing, well…” she hesitated, “You have glimpsed the glimmers of sunrise on deep waters on your own, but surely, after a look through my eyes, you know how far you are from the truth of things. You still don’t even know what it is the priests do when they obtain the white robes that are almost within your reach.”
Simon stood there for a long moment, considering his words. He considered asking the Oracle about what she’d just said, but he knew that she wouldn’t answer. Instead, he finally answered. “Then I suppose I will be back when this mystery is solved so I can continue my studies.”
“I do not believe that is the main reason you will be coming back,” The Oracle laughed. She did not laugh, but he could see the barest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. “But I am sure that Zoa will be grateful for your return, whatever the reason.”
Simon nodded. One did not have to be an all-knowing prophet to know that he wasn’t the love 'em and leave 'em type. While he might not feel the same sort of slavish devotion to her that he had to Freya in those early days, he still cared very deeply for the woman who shared his bed.
Honestly, he was tempted to take her with him, and the idea that she might get hurt on one of his adventures was far more concerning to him than the idea that it wasn’t allowed. While he wanted to keep good relations with the Oracle, he was fairly sure that she couldn’t stop him. He’d only ever seen the priests or the acolytes armed when they left Hepollyon to gather resources further down the mountain. This place wasn’t exactly an armed camp of Shaolin monks or anything.
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The two chatted a while longer about art and Simon’s impacts on the wider world, but really, by that point, his mind was already on Zoa and how he was going to break the news to her. He wasn’t sure that he loved her, but he was certain that he didn’t want to see her cry, and that was the certain outcome of whatever conversation the two of them had next. He didn’t need to see magic or the skein of fate or anything else to know that much.
Knowing that would happen, though, did nothing to prevent it, and when he broke the news to her the following afternoon, there were indeed more tears than there was talking. No matter how much he tried to tell her that he’d come back, she didn’t seem to believe him. “No one who goes down the mountain ever comes back up,” she said, trying to get him to listen to reason, “And even if you did, they wouldn’t let you back into the city.”
“Well, I have it on the word of the Oracle herself,” he explained, “so if she’s lying to me, I’ll be very upset. I don’t think they would have an easy time keeping me out of the city when I’m upset.”
Zoa looked at him doubtfully when he said that, though he wasn’t sure if it was the former or the latter part of the comment that made her skeptical. He didn’t get a clear answer when he asked, either, and eventually, he moved on to other topics. The two of them spent the next few days together as they had before while he did a few menial tasks and gathered supplies, but there was a distance there now, and even if they pretended everything was normal, it didn’t go away.
For nights after he’d last met with the Oracle, Simon got up one morning with everyone else, but he didn’t go for his usual swim. Instead, he hung up his off-white robe, donned the clothes he’d come here with, which now seemed tight and strange to him, and then swept his small stone cell. Once that was done, he walked through the half-empty streets of the tiny city toward the front gate.
There, Simon found a white-robed priest he didn’t know, but the man didn’t try to stop him. Instead, he merely bowed slightly and said, “Safe travels to you,” as Simon walked out the front gate and started down the hidden way.
It felt strange to be alone on the mountain again. This wasn’t the first time in the last few years he’d been outside, but it was the first time he didn’t plan on being back by evening, and as he started to walk down, that realization settled on him. I’m not coming back, he reminded himself. I’m going north to find some necromancer, and I’m putting level six behind me for good.
That would be one more step toward Helades’ perfect world. He was increasingly unsure that was what he wanted, but in this case, it didn’t matter. No matter what she wanted, he would definitely save the world from a zombie outbreak. There was no other choice there, and finding the person responsible and killing him was preferable to cleaning it up after it happened.
Still, it was hundreds of miles away, and it took weeks to arrive. Sometimes, especially when he turned a corner on a winding trail or crested a path, he experienced those moments of connectedness he sometimes felt in Hepollyon. He couldn’t quite see those lines he’d glimpsed before or see the currents in the lakes that he passed, but he could feel himself being tugged toward a distant destination, and he trusted that feeling as much as the map he would sometimes call upon the reflected surfaces of rivers and lakes as he made steady progress.
Along the way, he encountered beast men and goblins only once each, but neither of the groups posed any real challenge to him, even as rusty as he was. He encountered bandits twice along the way as well. The first time, he saw a glimpse of them ahead where they’d taken part of the forest road and simply went around them.
His time with Ennis and the other farmers who had been labeled bandits had given him a bit of a soft spot for men who were down on their luck. So it was more that he decided he didn’t want to get involved this time than that he’d glimpsed any of their auras or experienced some profound feeling of connectedness that made him do it. He just saw men lingering where they shouldn’t be and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.
The second group was a little more involved. Simon would have skipped them, too, since he was trying not to resort to murder as a solution so often these days. He didn’t feel noticeably bad about it, but it was bad for his inner peace. It might even be worse than using magic; he wasn’t sure.
So, when he saw the group, he skipped them, too, at least until he saw the bodies. Partway through his alternate route, he smelled death, so he went looking for it. What he found was uglier than normal. He’d expected the site of a massacre or something. Instead, he found the remains of several small merchant caravans and the beginnings of a mass grave. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novelꜰire.net
“Well, I guess this is a valid detour,” he said to himself as he looked over the remains of several wagons, and the carcasses of the draft animals that had once pulled them.
What was happening here was pretty clear to him, even without special insight. They were stealing everything of value, hiding the bodies, roasting the animals, and breaking the wagons and carts down for firewood. It was like they’d learned to use every part of the victim. Simon thought that was interesting, at least. Most bandits would only try to shake you down for a copper or a silver, but these were just making their victims disappear.
He wondered what their sales pitch was. He was almost tempted to walk into their trap just to see if they’d try to hit him up for a few coins before they slit his throat, but he had no interest in dying in this life and every intention of returning to Zoa, whether she believed it or not.