Page 130 of Anathema

She smiled back at me. “Don’t worry, she can’t hear us here.”

“Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?”

All of her features matched those of the death goddess I’d recently learned about. “Morsana. Am I dead?”

“No, sweet girl. You have much to do before you die. But should you ever need me, I am here. You can find me in this dark space.”

“Maevyth!” The fierce tone of Zevander’s voice thundered around us, and she glanced around, smiling again.

“He is irresistibly provocative, isn’t he?” Her eyes flickered, as though excited by his intensity. “There’s something you should know about him, Maevyth.”

“What?”

“Maevyth!” One hard shake snapped me out of the visual, and I opened my eyes to Zevander, Dolion, and Rykaia standing over me. A quick sweep of my surroundings showed I was lying on the floor.

“Again?” An ache flared at the back of my head, where I’d apparently struck it again, and a bitter taste flooded my mouth, like a chalky coating on my tongue.

“It seems you have a nasty little habit of this.” Dolion stepped back, as Zevander held out a hand, pulling me to my feet. “Had to use the rousing spell. My apologies for the aftertaste.”

“I … slipped into a blackness. Like a dream.”

Zevander and Dolion exchanged a glance, and Dolion knelt down to me, handing me a glass of water that I sipped with fervor. “You fell into caligorya. The darkspace. Interesting. Some never reach that state of mind.”

“It’s there you’ll learn the glyphs that are unique to your bloodline,” Zevander added. “That’s where I discovered mine. But I suggest you work your way to that. Caligorya is dangerous.”

“How so?”

“In that space, resides the dark side of you.” It was Dolion who answered. “The creature that feeds on rage, vengeance, apathy. Every living thing possesses this darkness, whether they care to admit it, or not, but we are taught from a young age to suppress it. By going there, you are opening a door, of sorts, and if you’re not careful, it may be quite difficult to close it.”

Dark side of myself? Creature? “I saw the death goddess there.”

“Morsana?” Dolion asked, brows pinched together.

“Yes.”

He shrugged and shook his head. “It’s possible that might be unique to the Corvikae. They are tied to her, after all. All the more reason to heed caution. She is a powerful goddess and leans a bit on the darker side of the moral compass.” He scratched at his beard, eyes lost to thought, as usual. “For now, we’ll stick to the easier glyphs. Try to avoid overcompensating. Propulszir should be effortless and natural.”

“Effortless and natural. Got it.” I pushed to my feet and gave one more rub to the back of my neck.

Rykaia stood across from me and mouthed, Are you all right?

I nodded and cleared my throat. “Right, so. New word.” Closing my eyes, I imagined a new word. One that Morsana had said about Zevander.

Provocative.

The word was swallowed by the image of the symbol I’d seen on Zevander’s hand. So clear in my head, I almost didn’t notice Rykaia’s grip on my wrist, until I felt her squeeze harder.

Harder.

She released me on a groan. “Nothing.”

Smiling, I opened my eyes and glanced down at a sharp burn on my palm, where and the soft glow of the new glyph had permanently etched into my skin.

“Again,” Zevander said in an unimpressed tone.

“Does he ever celebrate a victory?” I grumbled, lowering my hand and frowning after him, as he strode off for one of the weapons hung on the wall.

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