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Twenty-Six
Isolde
I stared at the light and shadow dancing across the tent roof, unable to sleep. I turned my head to Adrian who sat in a chair, his back to me.
He had not spoken since Dis had taken control of him earlier.
I had not either.
I could not bring myself to say anything—not even to tell him about the burn in my throat from hunger. I did not want him to have to hear my raspy voice, did not wish for him to hate himself any more than he already did.
I was still processing what had happened—how quickly she had taken control of him, how he seemed to have no ability to resist her actions. My throat felt tight and swollen, and it had nothing to do with what Adrian—Dis—had done earlier. It was the fear now that Ravena and Sorin might be right.
If Adrian could not control Dis, if he could not free himself from her, then he really might destroy the world.
I rose from bed, pulled on my robe and boots, grabbed my knife, and stepped out of the tent. I knew Adrian would not follow—at least not too closely.
Camp was still quiet, and though it was daylight, the sky was thick with clouds and the air heavy with the smell of rain. I was glad, at least, the snow had not reached beyond the border of Revekka.
I had left the comfort of my bed because I could not sleep, because I wanted to be outside of that confined space, because I wanted the freedom to cry without Adrian hearing. I could not stand the thought that he would have to listen to me, knowing he was responsible, though it was nothing he could control.
The air was cold and it filled my lungs, easing the burn of my hunger. I wandered around the black tents, nearing the edge of camp, when I noticed small, ghostly orbs floating in the distance. At first, I thought it was only mist, but they were too round, too compact.
They seemed to create a trail.
Normally, I would not follow, but I watched them sitting perfectly, whirling and churning, and I found myself stepping outside of camp, following them through the wood.
The leaves crunching at my feet were the only sounds as I made my way over the craggy earth. When I reached the first misty orb, it began to fade. I watched it until it was gone, and then I glanced back toward camp. It was still within view, looking ominous, a series of black pinnacles erupting from the ground.
Another orb drew my attention as it flew in a circle around me. I followed and did not look back again, nor did I stop as each orb faded away.
I did not know how long I walked, but I came to a lake over which more orbs had settled. Their ghostly reflections led to the very center and then stopped.
I shed my robe and my boots, leaving my blade atop the pile before wading into the water. I expected it to be cold like it had been at Lake Galat, but this—this was warm, and from it, I felt an energy seeping into my skin. It felt dark but also light, no more dangerous than life itself.
The water was up to my shoulders as I came to the final misty orb floating at eye-level. It began to disappear as if it were smoke, and when the final tendril was no longer visible, I closed my eyes and dropped below the surface of the lake. Everything went white.
***
Someone was humming, and as the sound vibrated against my skin, I recognized the song—a lullaby my mother used to sing.
Moon above and earth below.I mouthed the words but did not speak them aloud. Then I became aware of fingers running through my hair. I opened my eyes and sat up, meeting the dark-eyed gaze of my mother.
I burst into tears and covered my mouth, but I could not contain the barrage of emotion that accosted my body. I shook, wracked with incomprehensible feelings.
This could not be. It had to be a spell, some form of witchcraft used to hurt me.
I shook my head, tears burning my eyes.
“Do not cry, daughter,” she said in a smooth, balmy voice.
She held my face in her soft hands, brushing away tears. I wished she had been around to do this my whole life.
“You aren’t real,” I whispered.
“I am as real as any dream,” she said.
“That is no comfort,” I said, and she smiled.
