Page 18 of Godsbane
A childhood spent in religious schooling gave me plenty of exposure to the pious, the devoted so-called sons and daughters of faceless gods. People who are quick to pray and even quicker to judge. Followers who blame the cruelty of this world on its faithless inhabitants instead of the vengeful gods they worship.
The Captain of Corinth is the antithesis of holy, his acts openly rebuked by the righteous, and yet here he is on his knees in benediction.
There’s an eerie feeling in the air as if the world itself is holding its breath. My magic roils in my veins, suddenly desperate to get out. My muscles ache in protest as I keep my power locked away. Magic claws at my skin as I stumble backward towards camp.
Slumping down against a log, I try to steady my breathing. The fire cracks loudly, a flame nearly licking my boot before I can pull my knees to my chest. As suddenly as it woke, my power goes dormant again, somehow satiated after a frenzied starvation.
The moon is still high overhead, but I know for certain I won’t be sleeping anymore tonight. Not when my stomach is on the verge of emptying itself of the meager dinner of fire-cooked fish and bread that Murphy slipped under the tent flap.
Not when my dreams have already driven me closer to the edge of madness and further from anything resembling rest.
Laying my head back against the log, I chart the constellations overhead. Supposed symbols of the great divine. After today, I expect to find the starry image of an owl, but it’sa celestial wolf that greets me instead. The sigil of the Wolf God Mikais, brother to the God King.
The story of the traitorous sibling has always fascinated me. The holy texts conveniently omit the details of the brother who supposedly cast the ultimate betrayal upon Nobus. When asked, the holy priests only reply “The gods didn’t see fit to tell us.”
I have never been one to take things at face value, not when stories are the currency of reputation. Whoever controls the narrative decides who is a hero and who is a villain. I can’t help but wonder if Mikais and I have that knowledge in common, if maybe his actions were warranted, if maybe he rebelled against Nobus’ control and was rewarded with a slanderous nickname too.
A cool breeze stirs to life again and I sense Captain Murphy’s approach before I hear it.
“My turn for watch,” I say without lifting my head from its resting place.
He lingers, watching me as intently as I watched him moments ago. But whatever thoughts are in his head remain there as he wordlessly enters the tent.
When I’m sure that he’s not watching me, I let a single bloom of godsbane grow to life in my palm. Five midnight-hued sepals surround a cluster of poisonous nectaries in its center. I flex my power and watch as the almost-petals open and close at my whim.
The power of life flows through my veins, power to create and also to destroy. Power that I have always hidden, biding my time until the right moment to reveal what I can do.
And despite how it infuriates me, Captain Murphy might just be the key to unlocking even more of that power.
CHAPTER 8
There’s no bright sun to greet us in the morning, only rumbling thunder in the distance and moisture thick in the air. We ride hurriedly and anxiously, skating the outskirts of the storm that seems to stalk our path.
Our lead diminishes around midday. Dark clouds block out the sun and cast the day into an eerie gloom. The bite of electricity fills the air in anticipation of the storm that’s closing in.
We are still a few hours away from Eida, the last proper village before we cross out of the Emerald Region. If we push the horses to run through the howling wind, we can make it by supper. Our meager tent won’t withstand the gusts this storm promises to bring, and one look at Captain Murphy tells me that he doesn’t wish to spend the night in the elements either.
Lightning flashes through the sky, causing my mare to thrash against the reins.
“Easy girl,” I call out in a feeble attempt to reassure her.
“We need to hurry,” Murphy yells. A strong burst of wind rattles the trees forcing him to pull his cloak tighter across his broad chest. “I have a bad feeling about this storm.”
The signs of wildlife that are usually present in the forest are noticeably absent. There are no squirrels scampering across the branches or rabbits hopping in the underbrush. Everything has taken shelter; everything except us.
We spur the horses onward as the dam that’s been holding back the water in the clouds finally cracks. It starts as a drizzle—the steady kind of light rain that embeds itself into the fabric of your clothing, soaking you slowly.
It rains like that for more than an hour before the clouds open up and release the full contents of their stores. The wind relentlessly whips my sodden cloak from my body, removing any shield that I might have from the biting cold.
“We need to move faster,” Murphy yells over the roaring wind and rain.
I nod in reply, dropping the hand that I’m currently using to shield my face and urging my cantering horse into a gallop.
We ride headfirst into the worst of the storm in a desperate attempt to close the distance between us and Eida, and the warmth of the inn that awaits there. Magic tingles in my veins as an unsettling feeling swirls thick in the air around us. It’s the same feeling from last night—the one that sent my power into a frenzy. I force air into my lungs, hoping the torrential downpour of rain will subdue the fiery spark of power that threatens to break free.
A loud crack bellows through the woods and my horse rears up on her hind legs at the noise. She lets out a frightened whinny as orange flames burst to life in the tree overhead. A thick, large branch dangles, mere seconds away from snapping completely off. I tug on the reins trying to turn my mare, but she fights me. The horse may not want to move, but if she doesn’t, I’ll meet Death sooner than I’d like.
With one last ditch effort, I swing my leg over the saddle and fling myself from the horse’s back. My kick spurs the horse tobolt to the side as I fall face first into the muddy road. I tuck my shoulders in towards my knees, flinging my wet cape over my head.
