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My skin burned where the new, silvery tattoo marked the burden of her soul. I wanted to believe that had it not been me, some other would have come along and killed her just as viciously as I had. The truth was, my obsession over Farryn had reached an alarming peak. Even the demon that tore at my conscience refused to settle for anyone else.
Thankfully, I was able to cast aside those cravings and stay the path throughout the night into morning.
The gray, ominous mass of Dreadmire’s wall stood off in the distance. On the other side of it, The Fallen reigned in a conundrum of anarchy and violence. Anyone unfortunate enough to land themselves within those walls would’ve likely been subjected to slavery of the worst kind. Why Farryn’s father chose the outskirts of such a place remained a mystery to me.
Onyx ambled over the thick brush parallel to the wall, and I scanned for the small alcove where Augustus, Farryn’s father, had taken shelter. A caw overhead signaled Cicatrix had located my position and guided me toward the spot where he’d seen the old man.
Through the barren trees, I spotted the notch in the rock where Augustus had made a disturbing little home. Talisman relics hung from the ceiling of it, and the old man sat at a small bonfire, warming his hands against the early morning frost.
A good distance away, I dismounted, not wanting to scare him off, and hid behind trees as I made my way closer to the cave. It was only when I was near enough to make out the weathered texture of his skin that I emerged from my hiding place behind an oak tree and strode toward him.
He scrambled for what I presumed to be a weapon, but I held up my hands.
“I mean you no harm.”
A trembling hand held a blade toward me, his good eye wide with a crazed fear. “Do not come any closer!”
“Do you remember me, Augustus?”
The old man’s brows lowered, as he seemed to study me, his faulty gaze sweeping over me. “Van Croix.”
“Yes. You came to me a while back, regarding your daughter, Farryn.”
He lowered the weapon and set a finger to his lips, obnoxiously shushing me. “Do not say her name.” Tucking the blade away, he leaned forward, peering up at the trees in a paranoid way, then settled back against the cave wall.
I appreciated his protective nature and strode just a bit closer, still keeping my distance so he wouldn’t dart off in thinking I might be a threat. “She came to me, as you anticipated.”
A flicker of a smile danced across his face, and he nodded. “She is safe, then.”
“For now.”
“I am grateful.”
“I can take you to her.”
The man’s eyes shuttered, and gaze cast downward, he shook his head. “No.”
“Forgive me, but I made a promise to your daughter, and I intend to keep it.”
“As much as it pains me to say so, I must refuse. I am a danger to her.Theyare searching for me.” He glanced around again, as if something had flown overhead, which prompted me to look upward.
Only Cicatrix circled above us.
“Who?”
“To say their names would summon them. I do not speak their names.” He nabbed one of the objects hanging from the ceiling and held it tight to his chest.
“Very well. I’ve come to ask you a question. About the Omni.”
With hands fitted with ragged, fingerless gloves, he scratched the back of his neck. “The Omni?”
“Yes. Tell me what you know about it.”
Again, he peered up at the sky and back down to the bonfire. He rocked in place, quiet. Contemplative. “I found the Omni in a print left behind from centuries ago. It was the approximate location to where I believe Praecepsia once stood before it burned.”
I kept my lips zipped on the fact that I had been the one to burn Praecepsia down.
“A colleague of mine,” he prattled on. “He had traveled there and found the print. He was the one who sent it to me. For months, years, I studied it. I tried to tie it to one of our existing languages, and then when that proved fruitless, I studied the symbols against Enochian. Utilizing every resource available to mankind, I searched for its translation. There was nothing. Nothing!” His body shook as he spoke. “When I arrived here, I sought out your texts for some meaning. And still, I found nothing. I came to the conclusion that the Omni was useless, unless spoken by a particular group skilled in its language, known as the Met’Lazan. Only they know its translation.”
