Some lives are meant to be sacrificed.  Such is the way of things.  Such was the way with D'lena.  Hers was a life of hardship and turmoil, until the end.  Then, in death, did life become beautiful.
	D'lena came into this world marked.  Born of a slave woman she was, on a night full of dark omens.  The moon was full open, and the sky crackled with sharp energy.  On the exact moment of her expulsion from the womb, a shard of lightning rifled through the sky, bringing the cleansing spirit of fire to the surrounding plantation.  The child's mother's scream rended the air within the tiny farmhouse being used for the birthing.
	The call of alarm went up throughout the great plantation, but it was too late.  The tiny house caught aflame, and the midwives and observers fled.  The woman and the child were engulfed in flame, left alone to die.

	The crispness in the air startled D'lena.  The feeling it gave her was familiar, and definately not unwelcoming.  In fact, it was strangely relaxing.  She took a moment to lean back on her scythe and breathe the world in.  She had been assigned to the upper field today, and the view was tremendous.  All around her in the hills, the slaves were working and singing.
'Mistress Maelyn in the fields, oh what a laugh!
Mistress Maddy brewing tea, now that's what she's at!
Why can't I be a Mistress, and live like that?'
	It was always like this, had always been like this for as long as she could remember.  Each long day passed to the rhythm of the slave songs, of the hard but pleasant work.  Nothing ever changed, except when a new slave began her work, or when an old one died.
	D'lena closed her pale eyes, listening to the wind and the words whipping around her.  Very faintly, she heard what could be mistaken for the crack of an overseer's whip.  Almost.  Somehow she knew, even with her eyes closed, that it was lightning.
	A murmur arose around her, bringing her to open her eyes.  Shortly, a woman clothed in the lord's designated colors of grey and purple emerged from the field.  The crowd of slaves drew back to let her through, bowing and mumbling greetings to the woman.  She walked right up to D'lena, looking a bit anxious about being so near the slaves.  Her bright green eyes took in D'lena's form with a tiny glitter of contempt.  The woman was much taller than most of the slaves, even the males, and her long golden hair reflected the fact that she was of the noble family of Eyandry.
	'Mistress Carinn, what a pleasant thing it is to see you here.  What news?'  D'lena glared at the woman, letting her know that her welcome here was not a warm one, and that it would very soon wear out.
	The richly clothed woman now looked visibly uncomfortable, insofar as she was even shaking a little.  'M'Lord Dareyn wishes to see you, Ma'D'lena.  It is about your Oracling.'
	'But, Mistress Carinn, the storm has barely even started...'
	Indeed, the first few fat droplets of rain hadbegun to splash onto the ground around them all.
	'Ma'D'lena,' the woman was yelling, half from frustration and half to be heard over the approaching thunder, 'You must come, m'Lord has said that your presence is mandatory!'
	Resignedly, D'lena sighed, watching the reactions of the crowd around her.  Many of the faces seemed shocked and openly curious.  Only a few of the older folk seemed to have expected this.  Carinn, sensing the other girl's hesitation, grabbed D'lena's arm and began to pull her away from the perplexed mass of slaves.  Unable to do much else, D'lena let herself be dragged away to the holding house.

	The holding house, as the plantation master's house was called, was in all honesty, more aptly named a castle.  Twin guard turrets pierced the sky on either side of the immense iron gates, and even the walls rose an easy three stories from the ground.  Inside the walls lay the majestic house itself, a white stone monument built during the reign of the First Queen of Melaarin, Miela.  Now, Dareyn, High Lord of Eyandry, ruled his minute kingdom from here, barely holding his lands during what was referred to by most as the War of the Queens.
	This war had been going on for at least D'lena's entire lifetime, and probably a good ten turnings before that.  No one remembered any longer what had really started it, except for the very few still alive that had actually been there to witness the events.  The most widely accepted rumor was as follows:
	The Council of Queens had been called in order to inaugurate the Seventh Queen of Melaarin, the Lady Anwyyn, previously Lady of Mont Traygle under her mother the Sixth Queen, Lady Landryn.  One of the nine Queens, the Queen of Goanla, Lady M'talia, had met a bit of traffic on the way to the Council, which was held at Pring, and was a bit angry to learn that the ceremony had begun without her.
	When the other women denied M'talia's request to start again from the beginning, she became furious.  It is said that in her rage, she set a curse on Anwyyn's reign.  The rumors can never agree on what exactly this curse entailed, but whatever it was, Anwyyn took it to heart.  Right there, in all her regality, she spoke the words that broke the peace of the world for the first time in known history.
	'I may be a queen,' she intoned darkly, 'but never among the likes of you.'

	D'lena followed the Lady Carinn into the innards of the snow white castle, feeling the coldness of the stone in her bones.  Outside, hardly visible from where she was through the high windows, the storm continued raging like a child in a bad temper.  She turned her pale eyes to the floor, entering the Lord Dareyn's room in the manner of a slave.
	'Mistress Ma'D'lena,' the young Lord boomed, and she looked up in genuine surprise at the title he gave her.  'My counsellors have bade me bring you here.  They have recieved some information which I find quite intriguing.'
	D'lena faltered under his stormy blue-eyed gaze, and when she spoke, her voice gave away her nervousness.  'What news is this, m'Lord Dareyn?'  She scanned the room, seeing the familiar faces of Eyandry's advisors.  One face in the group was unknown to her, however.  In the far shadows of the room stood a woman of average height and build.  She seemed to be green of skin and hair, and even of eyes.  She even appeared to give off a slightly green glow.  D'lena couldn't help staring at her just a bit.
	D'lena's eyes snapped back to the Lord as he answered, and her already pale skin blanched ghost white at what he had to say.  'My peers and I, with some help from a very reliable source, have come to the decision to raise you to the position of Queen's Oracle.'
	Dareyn watched her reaction with a suitably smug look in his eyes.  She gasped in surprise, and dropped a very low curtsey, at which point he laughed.  It was a hearty sound, unlike the other times it had hit her ears.  She glanced up at him, questioningly.
	'Ma'D'lena,' he began the answer to her unspoken query, 'As Oracle, I am now below you.  It is I, from now on, who must bow to you.'  And indeed, as he said this, every person in the room, with the sole exception of the odd green woman, lowered themselves to the point where foreheads touched the white stone floor.  D'lena's eyes widened in what might have been fear, and she took a step back, as if she could turn around and run from such a fate.
	In the blink of an eye, the green woman was at her side, speaking without words.  A tiny voice, reminiscent of the flicker of a tallow flame entered D'lena's thoughts, guiding her.  
	'They will not rise until you manage to tell them to do so.'
	D'lena jumped, frightened at the sourceless voice.  She was nonetheless very relieved for the strength it gave her.
	'Arise,' she breathed to the room, barely audible.  Slowly, the Lord and his advisors, and Carinn, all rose, their collective gazes scrutinizing her.  'When am I to be ordained?'
	She heard the green woman's voice in her head again, and it seemed that everyone else heard her this time too.
	'We shall meet with the Queen on the morrow, and then shall these things be decided.  For now, I have assigned a page to you, to prepare you.  Rest well, Oracle, for the Ordaining can take much out of one who is ill prepared.'

	Predawn light, rosy and cold, poured through the windows of the room D'lena had been given in the holding house.  She squinted at the shadows on the edge of her vision, wondering if she had really heard anything, or had just been dreaming it.  She sat up slowly, still scanning the room.
	The light creeping in the window slowly warmed, becoming more golden with each passing second.  D'lena shrugged her shoulders atthe feeling of being watched, but it never completely went away.  She stood, letting the covers fall away onto the floor, leaving herself fully naked.  A strange sound caught her ears, and she eyed her watcher warily.  It was a young boy; she guessed him at perhaps a bit over half her age.  He was garbed as a holding house servant.
	'What is your business here, boy?'
	'I wanted to see the new Oracle before anyone else did, m'Lady.'  He bowed clumsily, almost falling on his nose.
	She laughed softly, and the walls echoed the mirth back at her, surrounding the child in sound.  'What is your name, O intrepid one?'
	He looked up at her, still bowing down before her.  She could feel the burn of his cheeks as he eyed her figure.  'Davvy.'  He continued to stare at her body, with his face red as a ripe firefruit.
	D'lena nodded, not bothered in the least by his gaze.  In the slave quarters she had endured much worse, from male and female alike.  She began making the bed, ignoring the boy who seemed so content to sit in the shadows with his face ablaze.
	Soon her assigned servant knocked at the door.  Davvy looked surprised at this development, and jumped for the window.  She let him go on his way, knowing in the back of her mind that she would see him again.
	D'lena let the maiden in, again enduring stares, but at least this time she didn't have a red face to deal with.  The girl went over to the large wardrobe and began picking things out for D'lena to wear before the Council.  Neither said a word as the serving girl dressed D'lena and adorned her hair and did her makeup.  Soon enough, all was done and the girl left the room again.
	D'lena looked herself over in the smokey reflecting-glass that covered half of one wall.  The servant had dressed her in a delicate sky blue gown with a matching overtunic, and had strung small silvery beads into her pale hair.  D'lena gave her image an appraising look, smiled, and walked out the door.
	
	The Queen's anteroom opened before D'lena for the first time.  Bright white walls splashed with crimson and gold edgework surrounded a large burnished silver throne.  A large crowd of people huddles about, discussing something, most likely the new Oracle.
	As she scanned the room, D'lena's eyes fell on the green skinned woman from the day before.  She was looking right back at D'lena, her crystal green eyes searching.  She moved toward D'lena, gliding silently without moving her feet at all. D'lena's wyes widened, and she took a step back.  The woman smiled, and came even closer.
	'Ma'D'lena.'  That burning voice blocked out all the other sounds in the room.  'It is time.  Please come with me.'  The green woman beckoned to her to follow.  D'lena did so obediently, not knowing what else she could do.
	Both women approached the group of advisors and nobles, and the crowd parted to let the through.  At the center of it all were the Lord Dareyn, the Lady Carinn, a few others of the royal family, and another woman who wore the Eyandrian crown.  The last must obviously be the Queen, not just because of what she wore to mark herself, but also because of the sure way she held herself, the way she looked at the things around her, the way she spoke.
	Queen Anwyyn noticed the green woman and D'lena as soon as the crowd opened up for them.
	'Muneca,' Anwyyn intoned, and the green woman looked up at her, putting out a hand to stop D'lena.  'We have been waiting for you. How is the Oracle?'
	The flickering voice filled D'lena's mind once again, and everyone in the anteroom quited suddenly, watching the exchange between the three woman with a sharp interest.  'Here she is, m'Lady Queen, as reqeuested.  As you can see, she is well and rested.'
	Anwyyn nodded, tilting her head to better view D'lena.  The Queen did not look near as aged as D'lena had guessed; she seemed maybe ten years D'lena's senior, although D'lena knew that that had to be impossible.  
	The woman's bright strawberry hair drizzled down her shoulders trussed in sunburst coloured pearls.  Her gown was a deep scarlet, and almost matched the borders on the walls.  Her gaze fell on D'lena, sizing up her council's choice of Oracle quickly.
	'Ma'D'lena D'rishi.  I hear nothing but good things about you, from nobleman and slave alike.  This portends good things, I should think.'
	D'lena inclined her beaded head to the Queen, not entirely sure what the expected answer was.
	'I also hear, Ma'D'lena D'rishi, that every prediction you have spoken since the day you uttered your first word, has been proven true.'
	'That is so, m'Lady Queen,' D'lena answered, her nervousness shining through.
	Anwyyn nodded slightly, as if this confirmed something she had already suspected.  She then raised her voice to include everyone in the room.  'Ma'D'lena D'rishi shall be Ordained in three days time.  Until then, please see to it that her every need is met.  I shall expect you then.  Please, be dismissed.'
	There were bows and curtseys given all around, to D'lena and Muneca as much as to the Queen.  D'lena watched in awe, still a little surprised at this turn of events.  Next she thought to look, the green woman had silently slipped away and the room was slowly emptying.  Soon she was alone with her thoughts, and Queen Anwyyn.
	She felt Anwyyn's eyes on her, and her thoughts were no longer her own. The woman's cobalt gaze held her steady as images washed through her: images of what must be other queens, pictures of people she had known, and some of those she had just met.
	She looked up at Anwyyn, her eyes frightened, and not quite understanding.  The Queen gazed back at her, sympathetic.
	'The slaves do not learn this, do they?  Do not despair, I shall have someone tutor you in this form of communication soon.  In the next three days, I believe you shall learn quite more than you can handle.'
	D'lena just stood stock still, staring at the Queen.
	'Ma'D'lena, if something is making you feel uncomfortable about all of this, please do say something.'
	D'lena blinked slowly, pushing the images from her mind.  'It is only that I have never aspired to anything like this, and it seems so...out of my station.'  She looked demurely at the marble floor, avoiding Anwyyn's eyes.  
	The Queen, to D'lena's surprise, laughed softly.  'The Oracle is of no station.  Indeed, she is above all, even the Queen.'
	D'lena looked up at Anwyyn, once again noting the other woman's youthfulness.  She mustered what courage she had left before speaking, and even so her voice shook.  'Why me?' she squeaked. 'Why raise a slave to such heights when there are others with the same gift?'
	The Queen smiled at D'lena, making the girl feel even more uneasy.  'Other Oracles before you, and indeed before us all, have foreseen your coming, Ma'D'lena.  The writings speak of the abandoned Queen and her fire-borne Oracle, the Oracle with silver eyes.  And, you have confirmed the rumours I have heard.  There cannot be any doubt who these writings speak of.  Now, Ma'D'lena D'rishi, we must prepare.'
	With those words, Anwyyn, the abandoned Queen, turned her back on D'lena and exited the room.  D'lena stayed where she was for a few minutes longer, perplexed.  Then she shook herself, gathered her thoughts, and ran.
	She ran down the shadowy corridors of the holding house, passing servants who watched her with curious expressions.  She kept running until she was clear-headed enough to realize that she had gotten herself quite irreparably lost.  Nothing around her was at all familiar, and noone seemed to be about here.
	Looking around, D'lena saw cold cloudy marble all around her.  The corridor she was in stretched on for yards in either direction  There were no windows here, and only a few sporadic torches for light.  She saw two doors, further on in the direction she had been going.
	She opened the first door.