Page 127 of The Spark that Ignites
All her choices up to this point proved she was a fool. And even after all these years she hadn’t learned. For all she knew, Briar planned a trap as well. She'd been deceived, lied to, and trusted a man with a flashy smile, kind eyes, and malicious intentions. Maybe Destonne had done something to him, made him agree to this, but she couldn’t be certain. All she knew was she put Vesper’s life before her own sister, and the blame was irrefutably hers to bear.
Vesper was right. She should have let him stay dead.
Emmery buried her face in Juno’s mane. The sleepless night weighed on her like a heavy blanket and she drifted into darkness.
Giving her head a shake, she pried open her eyes and raised her bleary gaze to the horizon. The foreign lavender sand and pink sky stretched for as far as she could see. Gone were the snow-capped mountains, lush valley forest, and sparkling, iridescent blue ocean. Where were they? It was as ifthey transported somewhere else entirely. But that wasn’t what caused Emmery’s heart to sink.
It was her childhood cottage with the unmistakable, weathered wooden siding, porch with daffodils despite the cold, and the broken doorknob propped up by a board. But a strange purple smoke obscured the windows. As she dismounted Juno, she gaped in disbelief. Had she somehow travelled back across the gate?
No. That wasn’t possible. Guardian Kaah would never allow it.
The sand shifted beneath each step, and her hands shook as she set the wooden plank aside and turned the handle. The door creaked open and purple smoke puffed out the entrance. She coughed, shielding her face.
“You could have knocked,” a sing-song voice called from the far corner of the cottage.
Emmery squinted through the smoke. A woman, no taller than a child, sat on a kitchen chair, her short, emaciated legs dangling aimlessly. But there wasn’t anything childlike about her. She radiated infinite wisdom and a deep magical thrum that spoke to Emmery’s bones. Swaddled in a black puffy dress fit for a doll and no shoes, she grinned. Her skin glimmered like a sapphire and her round, plummy eyes beneath thick spectacles reminded her of an overripe blueberry.
Emmery cocked an eyebrow. “In my defence, this is my home.”
The woman’s shoulder-length black hair parted, revealing a scarred translucentcavae. Rather than under her collarbone, it centered her forehead. “I believe you mean itwasyour home.” She laced her crooked fingers. “Sit.” An order.
Emmery sank into the fawn-brown sitting chair, too tired to protest. It was the one her mother frequently fell asleep in after she became sick. Countless times Emmery had carried her frailbody to bed. She dug her fingers into the torn, canvas armrest, the familiar motion soothing. But when Emmery opened her mouth, she was cut off before a word left her lips.
“You are wondering why you are here.” The woman unclasped her hands and slowly drummed her fingers together, one by one. “Naturally.”
Emmery’s silver brows pulled together. “Who are you? And how did I get here?” Only a few lanterns lit the dim cottage. The purple smoke thinned but lingered and the scent of crackling firewood filled the air. Scattering the sitting room were books and papers. Had she gone through her things?
Emmery frowned at her childhood novel,The Lonely Toad, open on the table.
“I have many names. I have been called The Last Oracle. Others called upon me as the Foretold. I have even been called Sordid Lady Death.” She laughed, a wicked little sound rasping in her throat. “But my friends call me Zyphira. At least they would if I had any.”
Her stomach dropped but she fought to keep her mask of calm.
Zyphira. The one who had found Vesper and told him of the prophecy.
This was her chance to get some answers, though a quiet shame whispered in her ear that she wasn’t worthy of them.
Emmery fixated on the odd smoke swarming the woman’s head. “Quite the list of titles,” she observed.
“Indeed.” She gave a black toothed smile. “You may call me Zyphira.”
Emmery didn’t return the smile, her heart weary. “We’re friends?”
“Oh, Emmery dearest, you would not want me as an enemy.” Her stomach clenched at the sound of her name. Zyphiragestured to the room, her long black fingernails matching her teeth. “I have been waiting for you for some time now.”
“Why did you call me here?” Emmery chewed her lip. “And this of all places.”
“I didn’t. You did. It’s a tad disappointing. I was hoping for something more”—she waved her gnarled hand—“luxurious.”
“Yes, well, my imagination has been dulled by lack of sleep.” Emmery studied the room. It felt like her cottage. Smelled like it. All these things were hers ... and yet, something was off. “I assume we’re not actually here.” She clawed at that evasive thread wiggling at the back of her mind. “Is this the Divide? I—I think I remember something about it. From a dream. But I didn’t think I could be here awake.”
“Very good. You’re quick, child. I like that about you.” Her head bobbed in a single enthusiastic nod. “And you have momentarily slipped into sleep while Juno cares for you. The Divide can always be found when needed. You wished yourself here and,poof,you arrived.”
“I suppose you wish to discuss the prophecy.” Emmery’s chest tightened recalling her failure to relight the flame. “And my sheer lack of progress.”
“You, Emmery Hawthorne, Daughter of the Spring, born in the image of the Goddess, have a calling which you have run from,” she stated, the words suspiciously rehearsed. “You have heard the prophecy. Or at least a version of it.”
Emmery’s gut twisted with guilt. “Look, I’ve been a bit too busy to find my disciples and when I tried to relight the flame, it nearly turned my hands to charcoal. So, I’m not sure what you want from me. You made a mistake. It can’t be about me.” She couldn't meet those plummy eyes rounding with disappointment. “I don’t want people to die, and I know about the fever, but I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and I haven’t even heard the full prophecy—”
