Page 64 of A Rising Hope

And I knew her words were true, no matter how much I disliked the sound of them.

“Fate is an odd thing, Death. One might not be able to avoid it, but with just the right amount of knowledge, one can surely delay it.” I turned to face her stark look.

“You have to stop coming here. The longer you linger in the Beyond . . . ”

“I know.”

I knew that each moment here, each time I called on Death, each second that I had spent in the Beyond severed little by little my connection with the living world, taking my immortality as a payment.

And yet it was the only time I could have a glimpse. A single glimpse of Finnleah as my soul crossed between the veils of the living and the undead. A fleeting second. Risk and liability are well worth the reward.

“Have you always known then? About her? About who she is?” I looked at Death.

“Yes. She has been bargained for since her existence.”

“Hmm . . . ” I paused, pinching the bridge of my nose. My thoughts raced, calculating every move, every path. “I believe you owe me one more favor,” I finally uttered. Death gave a slight nod.

This was a terrible idea. One that might cause more harm than good. And yet when I died today, forcing my soul to pass from the In-Between to the Beyond through the veil, I caught a glimpse of her devastating tears. A look I could not endure any longer. So, I found the words spilling from my mouth.

“I need to pass a message.”

45

FINNLEAH

Ifluffed the feather-stuffed pillow for the hundredth time, nestling on the small mat on the ground near a loudly snoring Priya.

“Fifteen minutes, Finnleah,” I whispered to myself. I didn’t bother changing, dirty boots still on as I pulled the dusty sheet closer to my chest, fisting the fabric so tight it would surely rip. Nausea recoiled through me.

The bright morning light outside didn’t help either. The first rays of sunlight landed on my body through the shattered window of Xentar’s abandoned cottage. I shut my eyes, forcing them to stay closed, even as vile terror tore through me, slashing my entire being to pieces.

I wanted to sleep, to be lulled again into the dark abyss. But sleep didn’t come without a price. Visions and horrors and terror lunged at me from every corner of my mind.

The truth was, I had grown to despise the gift of Seers the most. An awful, inadequate gift. It had brought nothing but pain and agony to me and now it was set to ensure I would die alongside it.

Fuck that.

I should’ve let Insanaria take all that magic from me, after all. At least then I would’ve died, no longer haunted by my magic.

Gods, I truly was crumbling apart.

Where was that valiant assassin, that fearless machine? What happened to that brave and courageous anger that fought for my survival? Had it too been exhausted to the brim?

Had I reached my limit? Had the callous fortress I built around my heart for so many years crumbled into dust, only to leave me defenseless in the face of the enemy?

I rubbed the middle of my palm where a burn mark would usually appear, a phantom sting sending shivers down my bones. My entire body refused to drift to sleep, avoiding it like it was the worst torture, the most terrifying thing I had ever felt.

I ran my hand across my back, scratching the old, deep scars from the ruthless whips in the Rock Quarries.

Gods, I have grown weak, I scoffed. My mind drifted to the memories of other days, of much different times. Only a couple years back, I was thrown into the Rock Quarries, unsure I would ever see another day. Unsure if I wanted to see another day. Days where thoughts of hope and the future meant upcoming death.

And here I was now afraid to fucking sleep.

Yes, I’ve grown feeble. I snapped at myself.

My eyelids trembled, and I held them closed tight, choking on the tight knot in the back of my throat.

Perhaps I had been born weak, and I had grown callous, fighting against fate again and again, clawing for my survival.

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