Page 129 of Anathema

Dear god.

I’d only seen one in my lifetime, belonging to the son of the miner who’d shown me how to touch him there, and it had been nowhere near as big.

“You do not push this glyph,” Zevander prattled on, completely unaware of the intrusive visual swallowing my attention. “You clutch.” He lifted his hand, curling it into a fist. The sight of his muscled arm had me stifling a shiver, as I imagined his hand curled around his massive length. “It’s useful against those who wish to read your mind, or probe your power. We’ll test with Rykaia.”

Tendrils of horror curled down my spine. I swallowed a gulp and turned to Rykaia. “You can read minds?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Zevander answered for her. “In her case, she has to be physically touching you.”

I forced all thoughts of him and his bulge out of my head as best I could, as I stared down at the marble floor, desperate for something else to focus on.

Do not think about him.

“Think of a word,” he said, that deep voice bringing the image forth again. “Any word. And Rykaia will say it aloud.”

A word. A word. What word? My head frantically scrambled for a word, as she took hold of my arm.

The moment her lips curved to a smile, I knew she knew.

“My, my, Maevyth. You are a naughty girl,” she said with an edge of amusement.

A flare of heat warmed my cheeks, my head a dizzying maze of humiliation, as I scrambled to think of something else. I did not dare glance at Zevander.

“Speak the word,” Zevander commanded, and Rykaia’s lips curved higher.

Eyes pleading, I silently begged her not to say the word aloud. Please.

“Oranges,” she said, licking her lips.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I nodded. “Oranges.”

“Good. Now close your eyes and imagine the glyph in your mind. See it clearly. Every detail.” When I nodded, he kept on. “Think of another word. Remember to make a fist.” He lifted his hand again to a fist, and once again, my head betrayed me.

Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I fought to come up with another word. At the first taste of copper on my tongue, she took hold of my arm.

“Blood,” she said.

“Blood,” I agreed.

“Try again.”

Again, she released me.

Focus, Maevyth.

I closed my eyes and squeezed my fist so hard, the bite of my nails left a sting across my palm. My head apparently decided there was no other thought more important, and my muscles tensed with my rising frustration.

Focus. Focus!

Show me something else! My head screamed. The glow of light through my shuttered lids turned pitch black.

All went silent.

“Hello, Maevyth,” a feminine voice said, and I turned around to find a willowy figure sauntering toward me, her silhouette illuminated by some obscure light source behind her.

As she neared, her features sharpened into view–long, raven-black hair and silvery eyes.

In the distance, I heard Rykaia call out for me, and the woman turned, as if she’d heard it too.

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