The Oracle Needs a Second Opinion

How it begins

The oracle asked Anna whether a vision could be indigestion.

Anna considered the bowl of pickled onions beside the sacred tripod.

"It could certainly contribute."

Pythia looked relieved.

The temple attendants did not.

A man in a gold collar cleared his throat.

"The vision concerns the end of the valley."

"Does it happen after meals?"

Pythia nodded.

The man cleared his throat again.

Anna asked him to wait outside.

He explained that the voice of the god required an accredited witness.

"The patient requires a chair."

Pythia climbed down from the tripod.

For the first time since Anna arrived, the room stopped smelling quite so strongly of incense.

"What do you see?"

"A river of fire."

"How often?"

"When I think about failing."

"And do you think about failing often?"

Pythia looked toward the closed door.

Outside, the attendants were arguing about ticket prices for the announcement.

Anna took out her notebook.

She had treated shepherds, bakers, three mayors and a horse nobody admitted belonged to the bishop.

She had not treated a prophecy before.

Pythia pressed both hands against her stomach.

"It says everyone will stop believing."

"Who says?"

"The voice."

"Does the voice ever rest?"

A pause.

Then, from the bronze bowl between them, a small exhausted sound emerged.

No.

Anna looked into the bowl.

The reflection did not match the room.

A frightened old face stared back at her.

On the other side of the door, the attendants began rehearsing the phrase unavoidable catastrophe.

Anna closed her notebook.

"First," she said to the bowl, "we are going to stop selling tickets."

The face looked horrified.

Pythia began to laugh.

Not the ceremonial laughter described in the temple handbook.

A surprised, ordinary laugh.

For a moment, the river of fire became a kitchen sink.

Anna decided this was an encouraging start.