A Worthy Use of Magic by Katherine Underwood

Prompt: it started as a whisper

It starts with a whisper, as it always does, magic slip-skipping down her spine and bringing her to life once more.

“Does it hurt?” young Pya asked once, when she first accompanied her father to the sepulchre. “Being brought back?” 

The Oracle had been puzzled, and delighted. None of the previous scions had permitted their children to attend the Manteia. She had not seen a child in four hundred years.​

“On the contrary, young one,” she had answered. “It is wonderful. Like awaking after a restful sleep filled with pleasant dreams.”

The spell comes to its completion now, gently settling into sanctified flesh, and the Oracle opens her eyes. Pya stands before her, a child no longer, but a bold, bright creature, newly come to womanhood. 

The Oracle bows her head, the draping sleeves of her robe falling in waves as she extends her hands, sapphire silk preserved by the same magic that shields her body from the passage of ages.

“I greet you, Pya of the House of Umbra. My wisdom and sight are yours.” The Oracle frowns – the sepulchre is not adorned with flowers as it should be for the Manteia, and the forest beyond the archways is soft with the first shy hints of spring. “Forgive me, Priestess. The season – I perceive we are many months from Solstice.”

Pya nods. “It’s just past the equinox. And you can still call me Pya, I’m not a priestess yet.”

The Oracle does not wish to diminish the excitement clear in the young woman’s eyes, so her words are gentle. “I am sorry, my child. The Awakening can only take place on Highsun.”

“The Manteia can only be performed on Highsun. But nothing says that you can’t cast the spells to Awaken the Oracle at other times.” Pya sits, actually sits, on the temple floor, and begins extracting items from her satchel. “As soon as I had enough magic to try, I did.”

“Your accomplishment in sorcery is most impressive, Pya-who-is-not-yet-a-priestess. But without the stars in their proper place, I cannot perform a divination for you.”

“I know. That’s alright.” Pya lays vessels upon an embroidered cloth; a bowl of tiny black berries, an earthen flask and cups. It is not unlike the offerings left in the sepulchre at Midwinter, gifts the Oracle perceives even in her ever-sleep. “I thought perhaps, we could just talk.” Pya gestures to the offerings. “Honey wine, from our own hives. And I picked the dewberries myself this morning.”

“But…surely it is a waste of such powerful magic, to awaken me only to share tidings and to…to have a picnic?”

Pya looks surprised. “How could sharing the day with an old friend ever be a waste?”

So for the first time in four centuries, the Oracle descends from her altar, to sit on the cool stone floor with a woman who seeks nothing but her company. 

​They speak of the world, and drink honey wine. It tastes of the afternoon sunshine whispering through the trees.

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K. A. Underwood is a fantasy writer who delights in crafting stories about the places where magic, love, and longing meet. When not writing, she can be found running Dungeons and Dragons adventures for her friends, and indulging the many whims of her cat, Gerald. She lives in Calgary, Canada with her husband.