Beyond the Wicked Willow: Chronicles of a Teenage Witchslayer

CAVE OF THE ORACLE

"Seeking answers," proclaimed a tipsy-sounding voice from behind them.

Frankie and his pals screamed and spun around. Sitting cross-legged in a circular recess cut from the cave wall was who they presumed to be Il Allucinato Oracolo, The Wild Eyed Oracle. In his raised left hand, he gripped a faceted crystal rod that slowly brightened. Now bathed by the ethereal radiance of the crystal, Frankie and his pals stared slack-jawed at the Oracle. He looked to be about sixty years old, was dressed in tattered rags, and was filthy from head to toe. His white hair and beard were wild and ratty. His left eyeball was clouded white like the old beggar woman's from the town square.

"Are—are you, uh...Il Allucinato Oracolo?" Frankie stuttered.

With his right hand, the Oracle brought a sizable pewter tankard to his lips and drank from it. Actually, he guzzled. His Adam's apple rose and fell seven times, each time accompanied by a loud gulping sound. He set down the tankard with a clank and paused briefly, then released a very long, very loud burp. With that, he answered Frankie in a drunken slur: "I is he. He is I. We are...we." He took up a staff with his right hand, hopped down, and swayed dizzily before Frankie and the gang. They quickly backed away and passed dubious glances among one another. The Oracle reeked of alcohol and body odor.

Sam waved a hand in front of her nose in a futile effort to fan away the rank air. "This guy is drunk off his—."

Though he still swayed to and fro, the Oracle shored up his footing the best he could, stood tall and snapped at Sam, "I am of no such thing, boy!"

Frankie cocked his head, somewhat confused and said, "Uh, sir, she's a girl."

The Oracle pounded the butt of his staff on the ground and barked at Frankie. "You calling me blind, you little stripling?"

"No, sir."

The Oracle poked his head forward with a scowl on his face and stared Frankie down. "A problem with my eye, boy?"

Frankie tried to come off nonchalantly, but he was sweating bullets. "No. No, sir. I think both your eyes are equally, uh...well, they have a lot of character." Frankie looked to his pals to rally support. "Right, guys? Excellent eyes!"

"Yes! Excellent eyes, um, really...unique," Bookworm quickly added.

"It's true, those are some mighty fine peepers you got there, sir," Sam said convincingly.

The Oracle looked to each speaker proudly as he received his praises. With a much more agreeable disposition, he looked to Beef for his final accolade. And, he looked and waited. And looked and waited, but Beef was at a loss for words. He simply stared awkwardly back at the Oracle.

Like prompting a child to thank someone for a gift, Frankie asked, "Do you have something to say to the Oracle, Beef?"

Beef wrung his hands anxiously as he looked to Frankie, then back to the Oracle. "The eyes," he finally said, "the eyes, what can I say about the eyes? Well, first, clearly you have a kick ass pair of eyes, sir. There's no argument there. Now...if I could trade eyes, or even just one eye, with anyone in the world, it would definitely be you."

The Oracle's mood seemed to sour. Frankie, Sam, and Bookworm stared at Beef in disbelief.

"You're probably wondering which one I'd take, right? Well, wonder no more. I'd take that baby right there," Beef said, pointing at the Oracle's left eye. "The white one, hands down. That eyeball is off the hook, my man! You sir, are a lucky—"

"Ahhh, hold your tongue, fool!" the Oracle said and looked to the others. "I assume you keep him for something other than his eloquence?"

Bookworm thought quickly. "Yes, sir, he's our jester."