A Tapestry of Memories

The Mountain stood tall above the sandy plains of the desert. It had been there for many centuries, and would remain for many more. As had the cave near its summit, and the woman who lived there. She had no name, and the people of the Village below merely called her Oracle, for that was what she was. Nobody knew exactly how old the Oracle was, or even if she was still alive, for no-one had dared travel the perils of the mountain path that led to her home, for many hundreds of years.
And so tales turn to legend, and memories to dust.
One young girl believed the stories, and decided to travel to the mountain's peak, in order to know what the future held for her. She left her house in the dead of night, whilst all were asleep. She took with her enough food to last her some time, filled a skin of water, and so began her journey.
The first twenty-four hours were perhaps the hardest. After walking until early morning she fell to the ground in exhaustion. She slept until the heat of the noon sun awoke her, and her back ached from lying upon the hard rocks that were strewn over the dirt. That day she didn't get very far, as her legs were strained and sore from the previous night's climb.
It took her three days to reach the cave.
Exhausted, and now unsure of the truth of the old stories, she stumbled into the cave mouth, and fell unconscious.
Light played patterns over her closed eyelids, and they flickered open. She was in a cavern, lit by a single torch over what appeared to be a marble table. She stood, and staggered over to it, awed at its beauty. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was no table, but an open coffin. Inside lay the perfectly preserved body of an old woman, eyes open and staring into those of the girls.
Despite the urge to scream and run away, she could not move. Horrified, she found her arm reaching out to touch the woman's forehead. She tried to pull back, but could not. Her hand touched the cold, clammy skin, and she was flooded with memories.
She remembered things she had never seen. Wars she had never been in. Magic she had never used. And she remembered things that had yet to pass. Deaths she had never thought she'd see, the fall of her village to men with strange swords that spat hard fire, the destruction of forests by creatures with great, grasping maws.
This is what we are cursed with. Came the dead woman's voice in her mind. Knowledge of the future is no gift, but a burden. You must learn to bear it.
The new Oracle screamed, gasping for breath. It was far too much for her. The memories that were not hers played over and over in her mind, scaring her; maddening her.


The villagers searched the surrounding desert for their lost child, but after two days, despairing, left her for dead.
And still the memory of the Oracle faded, until there was nobody left to remember her.