Page 75 of Immortal Sun

And I know where she goes.

It’s hell.

It’s heaven.

The in-between.

She will suffer.

But at least, finally, she’ll see.

CHAPTER 18

CLEO

“Often it is what happens to most others will happen to you.” — Eyrbyggja Saga, ch. 32

The sea moves like a harsh hand going back and forth, stirring in violent circles and waves. Over and over, it crashes against the long ship, spilling onto my bare feet. I have ropes of metal and other trinkets wrapped around both ankles, and one tiny bell attached to the wraps on my right foot.

I find it comforting and strange at the same time, like I’ve worn it before but that it was used for something.

The boat rocks harder to the right, and within minutes I’m completely drenched. I stare down at my black dress and the hieroglyphics tattooed down my arms.

The dragon-shaped bow is nearly black, rising high into the sky with each wave like it’s meeting heaven.

Despite freezing, I feel at home. I welcome the salty water and the bitter air even though each breath hurts from the frozen storm.

Something is heavy around my waist. I steady myself against the side of the boat and feel something pressed to my right hip.

A sword.

My fingers itch to draw it even though nobody’s with me on the boat. The air has a strangely dark energy, like war’s about to break out. It feels necessary to grab the hilt of my sword and draw it. The enormous sword shimmers in the moonlight as I point to the sky and scream at the darkness.

Swells build up as the long wooden boat rocks sideways. I’m not afraid. I steady myself but the next wave crashes across the bow, sending me to my knees against the hard planks.

“You will always worship where you came from.” A man’s voice rumbles deeply behind me. “If you are born of the darkness, to the darkness you will return. You will sacrifice. You will live by it. Die by it.”

I turn around, and nobody’s there. When I look back toward the dragon, people suddenly appear, all clutching oars that are pushed out of the sides of the boat. They row in perfect cadence, against the waves, fighting them with each pull. The storm rages overhead while the darkness tries to overcome the sun ahead.

Thunder.

Lighting.

They were together, fighting for dominance and control. The sky is just as angry as the sea.

Who will win?

And is the battle just beginning?

I don’t know, but I watch. I grip the side of the boat and look up as if I know what’s going to happen, when I’m nothing. My fingers itch to grab an oar the way they itched to grab my sword. I steady myself as best I can and watch the people work.

The voice speaks again. “Worship is nothing next to sacrifice.”

I turn around, torrential rain pounds against my face. It’s nearly impossible to see let alone hold onto the side of the boat at this point.

“Sometimes,” the voice continues, “you have to drown to survive.”

“What?”

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