The Cavalry is Dead

Chapter 7: I Bravely Enter the Cave of Doom

This, Jax thought, would be a terrible place to die.

He crept along the damp tunnel. The air smelled of must and salt, and something crunched under his feet. Bones? Leaves? Letters written by dying heroes? Impossible to tell. Jax ducked to avoid a low-hanging vine, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"Hello?" Jax called.

His voice rang through the tunnel.

"I'm here about the prophecy?" Jax asked. "Like, the one predicting the end of the world?" He paused. "I'm not sure if you've heard, but Persophecles is dead. So I'm here instead. Er, it's Jax. Jax Blackwater."

More silence.

Jax forced his feet to move forward. He catalogued the vines as he went — twining, hook climbers, tendril bearers — and his shoulders relaxed slightly. This was fine. Maybe they had the wrong cave, Jax thought hopefully; maybe the oracle didn't live in this cave, and he wouldn't ever have to—

Light spilled from the end of the tunnel.

"Oh, blast," Jax whispered.

The cave opened into a wide room; bronze bird cages and twinkling yellow lights hung from the ceiling, and someone had painted a mural on the opposite wall. The air was heavy with a spicy musk. Cautiously, Jax peeked around the corner.

He paused.

A middle-aged man sat in an armchair, smoking a pipe. He was dressed in a crushed red velvet jacket, chortling to himself as he turned the pages of a book. Cigar smoke wreathed his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Er." Jax cleared his throat. "Excuse me?"

The man shot out of the chair. "Who are you?"

Jax gripped his sword. "Who are you?"

"I asked you first," the man said.

He hastily waved away the pipe smoke, smoothing down the velvet jacket. Jax had the sense that he hadn't been expecting visitors. "My name is Jax. Jax Blackwater. I'm the cousin to Persophecles."

The man raised an eyebrow. "And Persophecles is...?"

"The destined saviour?"

"Oh." The stranger waved a hand. "Right. Yes. Sorry, I haven't been outside this cave for a long time." He crossed to the sideboard, measuring out a syrupy red liquid. "Would you care for some port?"

"No, thanks," Jax said politely.

The man poured a splash into a crystal tumbler, holding it out towards Jax. Jax didn't know what to do, so he took the port. The man nodded, and — apparently satisfied — ushered Jax towards a cushy armchair.

"Um." Jax took a seat. "Is the oracle around?"

The man kicked his feet up. "You're looking at him."

"You're the oracle?"

Jax couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. He hoped it wasn't rude. The man took a long sip of port and wiggled his slippers.

"Call me Riven."

Jax's hands felt sweaty on the cold glass. "I didn't think you'd be so..."

"Young?" Riven asked, sounding amused. "Male? Exceptionally handsome?" He took another sip of port. "It's a family business. Mum died last year, and I'm new to the job. She was the one that gave the prediction about your cousin and the whole..." He waggled his fingers. "You know."

"Right," Jax said, wondering how often this man summed up cataclysmic world-ending destruction with the phrase you know.

Riven offered him a platter. "Bread?"