Not every oracle dreamed of important people. Perhaps that was why Masha had survived. She dreamed of no one important, so they left her alone. For when an oracle turned out to be good, they pumped so much smoke into her that she never again woke with the same mind she had gone to sleep with.

There was a loud cough. The other Matron sharing duties with Masha today was a tall woman in her fifties, who looked almost ill in her gauntness; a lacerated wound circled her neck like a choker. There was a steady coldness to her gaze.

‘You are late.’

‘Thousand pardons, Rope Matron.’

‘Kids these days!’ Rope Matron shook her head in dismay. ‘No sense of propriety.’

Ashen-faced, Masha gazed down at her feet as she sat on the stool reserved for her. The oracle on the floor was still mumbling incoherently. ‘She say anything interesting yet?’ Masha queried tentatively.

Matron Rope frowned. ‘Nah. Same gibberish about Prince Ram. Yes, we know he jumps into the river…move on!’ she screamed at the oracle as if the girl could hear her.

‘Who is Prince Ram?’ Masha asked. Almost every King, Prince, Noble and Lordling of the realm was going to attend the Panchalan swayamvar, and Masha had memorized the list. This name did not ring a bell.

‘Prince Ram, she asks!’ Rope scoffed. ‘The King of Ayodhya, when Ayodhya mattered! Seriously, girl? So ignorant?’

‘Oh, oh,’ Masha shook her head, confused. ‘But then why would the oracle be dreaming of him? That is long in the past.’

‘You daft girl. Oracles dream all kinds of nonsense…some of it immediate, some decades in the future, and some ten thousand years ago.’

Masha froze, her eyes gleaming like a lantern. Realization seeped through her mind, and goosebumps erupted across her nape. She was so excited she felt a growing wetness between her legs. ‘Holy fuck! Oracles also divine the past. Of course!’ Masha jumped up and hugged Matron Rope tightly. ‘The cage of ice! It all makes sense!’

‘Have you run mad, girl?’

Before Rope Matron could admonish the clearly unhinged girl before her, Masha said, panting, ‘Matron, the Archives of Yester Centuries? How far back do they go?’

‘Uh, I don’t know. Fifteen thousand years, I suppose. Why? Those are silly old parchments, crumbling to dust no doubt.’

‘I’ve got it, Matron! It is I. I am the key! That is why no one understood my visions. I was divining the past.’

She turned so urgently that the stool she had been sitting on fell over with a crash, as Masha dashed for the door. She could hear Matron Rope uttering the choicest of curses behind her, but Masha was on fire. The stars had finally answered her prayers.

II