And This..Shall be Your Shield

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

Psalms 91:4

"Fonce"

The Oracle spoke my name and there was only darkness.

"Fonce"

Then the Oracle spoke my name again and I started to see.

"Fonce"

The Oracle spoke my name one last time.

And then I started to know.

The desert was bloody today. The sky a crimson orange of ripe mature fire. The sand a rusty red of parched and nutrient lacking rock particles. Where the two met on the horizon was a ribbon of scarlet light that beckoned to a cooler time and a cooler place where Beauty's continuum could not falter. The heat was intense. It soaked up every ounce of energy that I had .. sucking at every cell of my body and drawing forth any moisture that remained to be lost to the feverishly tactile air. I could taste .. hot. It had a tang ... a copper .. soft and heavy metallic flavor with a sharp lightly sweet under glaze. It laid over my tongue and weighed my words down with its sticky cotton shards ... I longed for one ... cool touch.

The aegis of my lids .. heavy ... with a promise of sleep and blessed peace from whatever it was that the Oracle was attempting to tell me. Her eyes were Sky blue and sightless .. but were not her eyes usually black? .. her lips were as pale as her voice. I wanted to listen to what she had to say to me .. her childlike urgency was endearing .. but not strong enough to eat through the drowsy numbness I was experiencing. The opiate lull of my senses. But it was not until I noticed her hands .. swaths of color as if she had been painting without a brush .. using only her fingers ... it was not until then that I could actually hear her voice. As long as I concentrated on the wet .. cool ... paint upon her hands I could hear her words to me ... and I listened as she pressed a bouquet of tiny white flowers into my own hands .. staining my calluses with the wet paint.

She told me to take them as my shield .. my protection. That in the desert ... they were weapons but ... in that place. They would act as a shield to one who wielded them. I wanted to ask her so many questions. I wanted to look into her sightless eyes .. whether they be blue or black ... and to see my future. To see the faces of those I am destined to hold close and those I am destined to walk away from. To see the face of my son and the tiny smile of my daughter. To hear the names of those who would sing of me long after my death .. of my life and my deeds upon the plains.

I do not get to see the Oracle often .. she rarely reveals herself to me. She is far more powerful than the rest .. but the hardest to find. She told me to forgive the Artisan for the Poppy's Draught of Ease .. and to remember not to forget to carry the shield. She told me she had no use for more monsters in the desert. She had quite enough of them to manage as it was. I numbly told her I would do these things for her. I tore my gaze away from the paint on her hands and I saw just a glimpse of feminine features in her eyes before the desert itself faded and I slept the sleep of the dead until the Central Fire broke over the horizon and spread a glowing warmth through the venting in the leather dome of the Spex wagon.