The Tyrant's Tomb

“No!” I snapped. “You just don’t understand my process. I’m going back
into the sphere of silence now.”
“But—”
I marched away before Meg could finish.
Only when I was I surrounded by cold silence again did it occur to me
that it might be hard to carry on a conversation with the arrow if I couldn’t
talk.
No matter. I was too proud to retreat. If the arrow and I couldn’t
communicate telepathically, I would just pretend to have an intelligent
conversation while Reyna and Meg looked on.
“O prophetic missile!” I tried again. My vocal cords vibrated, though no
sound came out—a disturbing sensation I can only compare to drowning. “I
need your guidance!”
CONGRATULATIONS, said the arrow. Its voice resonated in my head—
more tactile than audible—rattling my eyeballs.
“Thanks,” I said. “Wait. Congratulations for what?”
THOU HAST FOUND THY GROOVE. AT LEAST THE BEGINNINGS
OF THY GROOVE. I SUSPECTED THIS WOULD BE SO, GIVEN TIME.
CONGRATULATIONS ARE MERITED.
“Oh.” I stared at the arrow’s point, waiting for a but. None came. I was
so surprised, I could only stutter, “Th-thanks.”
THOU ART MOST WELCOME.
“Did we just have a polite exchange?”
AYE, the arrow mused. MOST TROUBLING. BY THE BY, WHAT
“PROCESS” WERT THOU SPEAKING OF TO YON MAIDENS? THOU
HAST NO PROCESS SAVE FUMBLING.
“Here we go,” I muttered. “Please, my memory needs a jump start. This
soundless god…he’s that guy from Egypt, isn’t he?”
WELL-REASONED, SIRRAH, the arrow said. THOU HAST
NARROWED IT DOWN TO ALL THE GUYS IN EGYPT.
“You know what I mean. There was that—that one Ptolemaic god. The
strange dude. He was a god of silence and secrets. But he wasn’t, exactly. If
you can just give me his name, I think the rest of my memories will shake
loose.”
IS MY WISDOM SO CHEAPLY BOUGHT? DOST THOU EXPECT TO
WIN HIS NAME WITH NO EFFORT?