Page 44 of The Mirror of Beasts

“It’s not sentient enough to know that,” the Bonecutter said. “Thankfully.”

“We could ask to see all of the memories that relate to Lord Death,” I tried again.

“There would be hundreds of them to comb through,” Olwen said. “He was mentioned in many of our lessons and in song, and I’m still not sure I’d be able to tell which one was missing.”

“Oh,” I said. “Right.”

“What memory is Lord Death most afraid of?” Emrys offered. “No, that’s subjective too.”

“It is,” Caitriona agreed. Her brows lowered in thought. It looked as if she might say something, but she held her tongue in the end.

“What is it?” Olwen asked.

“Viviane was very pragmatic,” Caitriona said. “She used to tell me that she and Morgan were one being—her the mind and Morgan the heart. And she always cautioned against acting out of emotion alone, and encouraged us to not be too prideful to ask for help when needed.”

“Sage advice,” the Bonecutter said.

“Yes, that’s all true,” Olwen said, “but I’m not sure I’m following.”

“By the time the darkness came to Avalon, all of the elder priestesses were gone,” Caitriona continued. “And the pathways were closed to the remaining Otherlands. We know she at least suspected it could be Lord Death regaining his strength, but she didn’t know how to stop him. She would have consulted the only other being alive who might.”

A grin broke over Olwen’s face. “Oh, aren’t you clever? We’d asked about it before, but there were no memories to echo through.”

“Precisely,” Caitriona said. “If we find one now, we’ll know it’s the one Lord Death tried to hide.”

“This all sounds very exciting,” Emrys said. “But can you please share with the rest of the class?”

Caitriona turned back toward the vessel. “We would like to see all of Merlin’s prophecies about Lord Death.”

“Close your eyes,” Olwen instructed us.

My gaze drifted toward Emrys, drawn by some self-destructive impulse, but his eyes were already shut and I followed suit.

When Olwen began to hum again, the song seemed to sink through my skin, echoing in the marrow of my bones. A warm trilling sensation raced up my spine.

The shadows behind my eyes lingered. My fingers curled at my sides, until my ragged nails bit into the flesh of my palms.

This isn’t working, I thought miserably.

Which, of course, was when I heard it.

The sound of footsteps scuffing along stone. The drip of unseen water. A wick catching fire and flaring to life.

The underpath below the tower revealed itself in silky brushstrokes all radiating from that single shivering light. Then came the ivory hand that held it, the skin fragile enough to see blue veins running over the back of it. And, finally, the woman herself. Olwen made a pained sound at the back of her throat.

Her face was only partly visible beneath the hood of her midnight-blue cloak as the woman strode forward down the dark corridor. Her features were handsome but had been softened by time. Strands of snow-white hair had escaped the long braid over her shoulder.

The tangle of roots along the floor and walls retreated in her presence, slithering back along the stones like humbled serpents. She hastened her steps toward her destination.

Drawing in a deep breath, she waited for the wall of roots guarding the entrance to the side path to part and made her way toward the dark shape ahead. The bark of the Mother tree shifted as the body trapped inside twisted, pushing out against the softened wood and sap to face its visitor. The white orbs of his eyes flashed in the dark. The snap of the bark as the creature forced his mouth open sent a shudder down her spine.

“Is it the shadows … or do my eyes deceive …,” the creature rasped. “Is it Viviane of Avalon … stooped and weary with age?”

“Merlin.” Her tone was withering. “My, how you’ve … festered.”

“I have called before … and yet you did not come …,” Merlin continued. “I spoke your name … to the shadows … but they did not … bring you to me.”

“I’ve had better things to do than listen to the last of your mind rot,” she said primly. “But I’ve use for you now.”

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