The True Oracle Ch. 01

Author's note: this story was originally submitted as part of a friendly contest between Literotica authors. I liked the premise so much I decided to expand a little upon it. I hope you enjoy this little Fantasy/Sci-Fi tale. Feel free to comment if you wish, but please don't forget to vote.

This is the first of a two-part installment.

* * * *

Eleventh Day, Second Quadrimester, Year 3743

Aging eyes watched from the shadows of the pillared, circular room. The Minister of Compliance of Owrn Sovereignty was a powerful man, with influence surpassed only by the Regent. Yet the ritual the Minister was about to witness was a sacred one, not normally intended for observation, even by such as he. But the Minister lived in desperate times within a desperate world, and he needed answers.

The muscular stewards retreated, having supplied the three young women in the middle of the chamber with wine and fruit. They sat upon piles of luxurious cushions, sharing silent smiles as they fed one another grapes and slices of peach. To the Minister, the scene was a reminder of a better time, when the world was not as stark and deadly as it was now. A time when the Minister was a young man, when everyone lived idyllic lives and wanted for nothing. A time before the Blaze.

A soft, airy giggle caught the Minister's attention. A grape had apparently fallen into the bodice one of the young women wore, and another was using her tongue to search for it. The third woman looked on with interest.

The Minister could not help but admire the loveliness before him. Uniformly, telling of their protected and privileged status, each of the women was fair-skinned, two with long dark hair, the third a blonde. Each also sported swirling tattoos from shoulder to wrist on each arm, permanent badges that identified them as practitioners of zantri mysticism. The pattern of the tattoos was different, if one bothered to look closely enough; the inked patterns indicated the skills - both sexual and otherwise - each zantrist had mastered.

What little the women wore was quickly and efficiently divested, revealing pure naked beauty. The blonde took the lead, trailing lips and tongue from the fine-boned ankle of one of the brunettes, past the knee, to the stark line of the woman's tendon which led the eye along the inside of the woman's thigh.

The other brunette looked on with the glowing smile of arousal, watching the blonde kiss her way toward a smoothly-shaved pussy now colored with the blush of arousal. With a heavy-eyed look of desire, the blonde placed her mouth over the sumptuous, plump lips and sucked tenderly.

Emotional sighs and gasps of passion filled the air, especially once the other brown-haired woman spread her thighs over the first brunette's face, then pried the blonde's legs apart to dip her tongue into the sweet nectar seeping from her sex. For many minutes, the only sounds were those of ardent, eager, wet sucking and licking and the moans and groans of gratitude they elicited.

The Minister turned his attention away, forcing himself to look out over a city which had once been the heart of an empire but was now little more than a last stand against the chaotic evil of the world and an ironic beacon for beggars, panderers and thieves.

There was a time, he thought grimly. In which this city would inspire millions to greatness. A time in which I could look upon the scene behind me and hope to enjoy as more than just an observer.

The first of the orgasmic cries sounded from the zantrists, quickly followed by others. Grunts, growls, mews, whimpers, pants and moans all created a symphony of aural erotic bliss, forcing images into the Minister's mind that he tried in vain to block. But he could not.

Finally, turning back, he looked upon the trio of women. They had formed a circle, a triquetra of three naked bodies, legs spread wide and feet pressed together, the women watching each other as they masturbated. The Minister recognized the significance of the womens' positioning, and the sight of it sparked a flame of hope within him.

Will they do it? Gods, please, yes . . . .

Breasts heaving, faces and necks glowing with rouge, fingers dancing in furtive blurs between their thighs, the trio of zantrists seemed to be coordinating themselves, watching each other for orgasmic cues, slowing, speeding . . . before all three cast their heads back, crying out to the world as they erupted together. Bodies trembled, limbs shook. The cushions beneath their naked bodies darkened as fluid gushed and soaked into the fabric.

The Minister stepped to the very edge of his allowed presence, looking upon the women. Their sublime bodies rose and fell as they breathed, breasts flowing back and forth, nipples stark and dark and jutting out.

Abruptly, the three of them rose up, as if dragged by the invisible wires of a puppeteer. They came together to embrace upon their knees. Their heads then tilted back, eyes open and glowing like pale white orbs.

Yes, thought the Minister. This is it!

The women then spoke, with a multitude of haunting voices all uttering as one.

* * * *

Far to the west, in the midst of a bleak landscape alongside a dry river bed, the city-state of Neustis Sovereignty was the furthest known bastion of civilization thus far into the continent. At one time a great hub of trade, with access to the world's mightiest river and the most fertile fields, now Neustis, like the rest of the world, was dying. Even the massive tower in the center of the city was beginning to show signs of decay.

For the young-looking woman who stood before one of many steepled windows in the tower's highest chamber, the state of the world was not her concern. She lived a life of unparalleled privilege and luxury. At one time, she had been known by the name given her at birth, but for more than six decades she had been referred to by the title bestowed upon her, a title of peerless respect and power.

The True Oracle.

As the woman whose voice influenced the Seven Regents, dictating everything from trade laws to war, there should be little that would vex her. But she was troubled. For the first time in known history, the Zantri Temple had refused to send a delegation to Neustis. The breach in tradition was an insult to the Oracle . . . and a deadly complication.

How dare they? They cannot do this to me! I am their Lady, their mistress, the only voice of power left in the world. To deny me what is mine is insufferable.

Anger simmered quietly within the Oracle's thoughts. They have to know that I can destroy them with a word. All it would take is an order under the guise of a divination to send the armies of the Sovereignties to their temple and drag every one of those harlots to their knees before me.

A cruel smile stretched the woman's lips. Yes, they must know this. Yet they defy me anyway. The audacity.

"Audacity to be sure," came a dark voice from behind.

Startled, the Oracle whirled about to face the black-garbed man in her private chambers. He was insidiously handsome, with powerful, glaring eyes that could, the Oracle knew, literally burrow into her soul.

"But then, if you were to impose your will upon the Temple," he continued with a knowing smile. "You would most assuredly not get what you want. And this they also know."

The Oracle glared at the man. "Why do you insist on popping in on me like this?"

He chuckled. "Oh, weren't you expecting me?" he asked with rhetorical sarcasm. "You are the True Oracle, after all. Surely, you would have foreseen a visit by the Dark One."

The Oracle's eyes narrowed with a mixture of fear and contempt. "Are you responsible for this?" she asked bitingly. "Did you tell the temple to break from sacred tradition?"

The Dark One chuckled. "Oh, I believe your sacred traditions have already been broken, Tannamille. Broken, trampled, and ground into the dust of the world."

The Oracle bristled at the use of her real name. It indicated an intimacy she would rather not share with the vile god. "Thanks to you," she shot back.

He feigned a look of exaggerated innocence. "Me? Why, I only responded to a plea of distress, the crying of a soul desperate to offer a most delicious bargain. How could I resist?"

Tannamille looked forlorn. "Why do you take such delight in torturing me? Why agree to my bargain in the first place, if only to take joy from seeing me in distress?"

The Dark One laughed uproariously, shaking his head. "Did you forget who I am?"

Tannamille ground her teeth, silent.

The Dark One sprawled himself across a luxurious chaise covered in fine white leather. "Have you ever had roast lamb?"

The Oracle's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Roast lamb," her unwanted guest continued. "You know, before all the sheep died in the world. You are just old enough to remember the world before the Blaze."

Tannamille huffed. "What is your point?"

The Dark One grinned. "You see, it takes a long time to prepare and cook roast lamb. Hours upon hours. A full day over a bed of coals, if you want the best results. It is a long wait, but by the time the lamb is done and is ready to be devoured, it is truly, sublimely, delicious."

He eased forward, the mirth upon his face darkening as he sneered at the Oracle. "You are my little lamb, Tannamille," he said with grim joy. "And I am so enjoying watching you roast. The feast that awaits me is . . ." his words trailed off as his eyes did the same down the Oracle's body. The expression of abject hunger he effected was chilling. "Well, I believe you understand the gist of it, now."

Tannamille trembled, swallowing thickly. She turned away from the Dark One and looked over her dying city.

There must be a way, she told herself. There must be . . . .

* * * *

Upon the table lay three items: a handkerchief, a book, and a knife. Gavin looked the objects over with casual interest. His practiced eye told him they had been imbued, but he could not discern the individual auras. Lifting his gaze, he stood patiently as the Minister of Compliance approached.

"Knight-Gunman Reed," the stately man said, towering nearly seven feet in height in his gold-bordered ivory robe. He had a look of extreme age about him, despite the fact that he was merely seventy years old. "You have been assigned a sacred duty."

"Thank you, my lordship," Gavin responded with a short nod and the customary circular motion with his right hand over his chest. "Any way I can serve the sovereignty is an honor."

"Indeed," intoned the near-skeletal man. "The objects before you will be of great help in this assignment. Each has been potently imbued with the Reaching Aura. The handkerchief, for instance, will heal any wound it is placed over, and cure any malady, no matter how grievous, but only three times before it's aura is gone. Similarly, the knife will pierce any armor and slay any foe, but again, only thrice."

Gavin arched a brow in interest. "And the book, Minister?"

The man smiled thinly. "The book is your charge. You are not to open it under any conditions. Am I clear on this?"

Gavin nodded curtly. "As clear as the blood of an aquan."

"Good. Your duty is to deliver the book to the True Oracle in Neustis. The divinations of our own zantrists have given you three days to make the journey. If you do not arrive in time, you will be expected to take your own life."

"I understand, Minister," said Gavin.

* * * *

Murmurs of excitement wafted through the luxurious chamber within the zantri temple of the northernmost of all the city-states, Bellisane Sovereignty. For the dozen or so zantrist disciples, a gathering of this sort, at this particular time, warranted rumors that a new adept - and thus a new potential True Oracle - was to be chosen. Would this at last be the year that the Gods would be pleased with the temple's selection?

Adastriana did not feel quite the same level of excitement as the other sisters of the temple. Her divinations had been sporadic at best and while thus far always correct, she had as much chance of becoming the next True Oracle, she reasoned, as she did a knight.

Nor would I want to be the oracle, she thought. I can think of no more dubious an honor than to be the voice of the Gods for a dying land.

"Chin up, sister," one of the other zantrists told her with a slight scowl. "This could be the day."

Adastriana started to respond when the golden doors at the far end of the chamber opened, revealing half a dozen near-naked, bronze-skinned men of utmost physical attractiveness. Adastriana smiled slyly, realizing that the approach of these men meant not a ceremony for choosing an adept, but a rather conventional orgy.

"Oh, it is certainly a day," Adastriana, stepping past her sisters to greet the men. She already had her eye on the one she wanted.

Despite obvious disappointment among the comely disciples, the promise of carnal fulfillment quickly had them assuaged. In pairs, they guided the men to various pillowed areas of the chamber, while more servants arrived with rolling carts upon which lay pitchers of water and wine.

She knew him only as Lon, and very little else about him. But that suited Adastriana just fine. She did not couple with him for love - that would wait for later in her life, she assumed - but for his impressive gifts and skill. Of all the temple servitors, Lon possessed, to Adastriana's eye at least, the perfect example of manhood.

He said nothing but smiled as the lovely brunette guided him toward a collection of large, earth-toned pillows near the center of the room. His loincloth was swiftly discarded as Adastriana slid to her knees before the man, revealing her most favorite part of his anatomy. His cock was not the longest nor the thickest, but it was smooth and firm and possessed a broad, pink head. Adastriana eyed it hungrily before licking all around the bulging dome, making it glisten.

"My favorite toy," she murmured, before sliding her mouth down his length. She moaned softly in contentment, savoring the taste of the stud's cock, the aroma of his recently-cleaned skin, the weight of his testicles which she now cradled in her hand.

"Allow me?" queried a feminine voice from just behind, before Adastriana felt a pair of hands settle to her shoulders. Adastriana chuckled, keeping her mouth on Lon's cock, and only nodded. Within moments, her temple sister had her naked, warm, skilled hands running over the brunette's nude body.

"Lift up, sister," the woman said. From her voice, Adastriana knew it must be Callista, and as Adastriana rose up on her knees, she felt the other woman position herself beneath, face just below Adastriana's moistening sex. For a brief moment, she slipped her mouth from Lon's cock, stroking it firmly, and looked down between her legs.

"It's been a while, Callista."

The blonde-haired woman smiled up past Adastriana's small nest of carefully-trimmed curls. "Far too long, if you ask me," she responded, before sensuously passing her tongue across the brunette's sleek pink lips.

Adastriana sighed, then took Lon back into her mouth with growing gusto, sucking and pulling with her mouth, eager to bring the man to the first of several orgasms that day. All around, soft sighs and moans rose from the others. And above, in the alcoves, the temple matron watched with her servants the writhing dance of wantonness.

* * * *

Adastriana reclined upon one of the lounges that ringed the chamber. Doing so indicated she was more or less off-limits to the others in the room. There were still those frolicking upon the pillowed floor, but after hours of heated and sometimes frenzied sex, Adastriana decided she had had enough. Her pussy was swollen and wet from more than just her own fluids, and her jaw was on the verge of aching due to all the genitals she had been sucking and licking. The flavor of both Lon and another man lingered on her tongue, as well as that of at least three of her sisters.

Body heated and sweaty, surrounded by the cloying aromas of sex, Adastriana emitted a heavy sigh and accepted a copper goblet from one of the stewards. She drained the water quickly, then indicated her next drink was to be wine.

"Had enough, dear daughter?"

Adastriana lolled her head, offering a languid smile upon the middle-aged woman who had approached. Alone in the room, she remained fully clothed. As the temple's matron, she referred to each of the younger women as "daughter."

"For the time being," Adastriana replied.

The temple matron smiled. "You are going to make your husband a very happy - and tired - man."

Adastriana rolled her eyes. "If and when I find a husband," she said, then noticed the meaningful look upon the matron's face. Her smile faded quickly and she sat up. "Do you mean to tell me . . .?"

The matron nodded curtly. "This was not a celebration today, rather more of an audition," she informed the now timid-looking brunette. "The third son of the Regent of Sothari Sovereignty has reached marrying age. The Regent himself, being here for diplomatic reasons, was very impressed with your skills this afternoon. He has chosen you as bride to his son. It is a great honor, both for you, and for this temple. Congratulations."

Adastriana swallowed thickly, all lingering traces of arousal banished before the heavy rush of trepidation. "So I am to be married off to a man I've never met? Have I no choice in the matter?"

The matron's eyes and face grew stoic. "It is a great honor, Adastriana," she repeated forcefully. "So great, in fact, that a more powerful alliance between Sothari and our own sovereignty will likely be forged. Your compliance is . . . requested by our very own lord."

Adastriana inhaled deeply, forcing herself to remain calm. Her perfect world of privilege and carnal indulgence had been abruptly shattered.

"Is he at least handsome?" she managed to ask.

* * * *

Within the tiny spartan apartment that had been his home for seven years, Gavin assembled his armor. Though it was composed of nine different pieces, once fully donned the molded leather and ceramic bodysuit hugged his form like a protective lover. Of a deep, rich bronze tone, the armor blended in quite well with the wastelands through which he would be traveling.

He tucked the handkerchief into one of the small breast pockets, while the knife went into a sheath on the outside of his right calf. The book he placed in the detachable leather pack that adhered to the back of the armor. There was only one more item he needed before beginning his journey.

Three large wooden boxes were affixed to the wall opposite his bed. Gavin thought carefully before taking the middle one down and opening it. Within was his first love, a massive revolver with a thick cylinder, grips carved from the horn of a young convolution beast, and a barrel nearly as long as his forearm. The weapon could hold only five rounds at a time, but he had yet to meet a foe that could withstand more than a single well-placed shot.

He slid the pistol into its holster, then attached it to the front of his belt in cross-draw fashion. The four replacement cylinders he settled into individual pouches that were also placed on the belt.

He faced his reflection in the mirror upon the back of the apartment door and decided he was suitable for travel. Tracing the Circle of Life over his chest once more, Gavin Reed opened the door and headed out to meet his destiny.

* * * *

Of all the city-states, Owrn was perhaps the most prosperous, situated at the edge of the sea. Most Owrnites sustained themselves through fish, crab, and kelp, trusting the fishermen to only keep those which were not obviously diseased. Those who could afford it were allowed to supplement their meals with exotic fare such as imported fruit or even beef. But even in Gavin's short lifetime, he had seen fewer and fewer such offerings over the years. Owrn's vast market square, supposedly once bustling with strange imports from around the world, now entertained perhaps only a few dozen stalls each day.