Page 23 of Godsbane
The rising sun showcases just how much of a complete mess Eida has become in the wake of the storm. Inhabitants emerge from their homes to survey the damage. Branches, leaves, and trash litter the streets. Houses are missing their shutters, wagons are overturned, and the fountain in the center of the village is filled with rubbish.
The elements were not kind.
Few villagers spare a look in my direction as they distribute brooms, shovels, and rakes. Men push wheelbarrows and wagons through the streets to collect the debris. Crews form to start the clean up and I silently fall into their ranks. Hours pass quickly as we work, no one engaging with me except for the occasional directional command to place a limb or a leaf pile in a different wagon.
The sun is nearly completely overhead when the village baker sends a child with a basket to pass out small pastries as a treat. Mae comes by shortly after to pass out cups of water and ale. The heat of the sun combined with physical labor has caused me to ditch my cloak. I know that without it, Mae will instantly recognize me. My heart hammers in my chest as she approaches. If she calls me by name or title, all of the good I did here today will be for nothing. I’ll be dodging the very sticks I’ve helped to clean up.
The cool water does little to extinguish the panic rising within me. Mae offers me a soft smile as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Another cup, sweets?” she says with a wink.
I nod and she hands me another cup of the cool liquid before moving to the next person in line. That was close—too close. The clean-up effort in the center of town is nearly finished, so I decide to walk around to find another job, preferably one with less attention.
Life in a village is truly something amazing. I always loved the days that my mother would take me into town as a child. The shops, the smells, and the people all coming together to paint an idyllic picture of what life in Corinth could be. I linger in front of the bakery windows reminiscing on a simpler time, a simpler life.
Before I was heir.
Before I had secret magic.
Before I was hated by most of Corinth.
I wasn’t Poison Ivy then, I was just Ivy.
“Come hear the word of the gods! Let us beg for penance and praise Nobus for sparing our homes!”
The shout rings out through the village streets. The priest, an old man with a long white beard, herds the crowds towards the temple like a flock of sheep. Blind masses worshipping a god who couldn’t care less about them.
I put my cloak on again and slip through the throngs of people moving in the opposite direction. I’m met with a few sidelong glances, but they mostly pay me no heed.
A bell peals through the village, echoing off the stone buildings and calling all to worship. A tingle traces its way down my spine, a pulling sensation settling somewhere deep inside me. I follow the strange tug down an alleyway, across broken cobblestones and buildings worn with age and the elements.
Magic reaches a crescendo in my veins as a hooded figure steps out from the shadows. The body, shrouded in darkness, is female. Lithe and delicate—and completely out of place. Everything about this figure feels as if they do not belong here, as if they’re trapped here. Piercing eyes cut through the darkness, a deep shade of indigo that vacillates between blue and purple.
Stepping into the sunlight, she removes the shawl covering her head to reveal raven-colored hair in an intricate braid.Freckles pepper her face in tiny constellations that seem to dance across her pale skin.
“No desire to worship? Have you no love for the gods?”
Her voice is lilting, a haunting hymn echoing through the stone halls of a temple. I open my mouth to form a pretty little lie about being lost or having urgent business to attend to, but each one turns to ash on my tongue before I can give it voice. The hue of her eyes shifts again demanding the truth from my lips.
“They have no love for me.”
I expect a sharp retort, a scold for my insolence towards my makers and keepers. I don’t expect the chuckle that tips her mesmerizing mouth into an amused smile.
“Nobus has no love for them, but that doesn’t stop their prayers or offerings. He doesn’t send the storms that plague them, nor does he protect them from their wrath. There’s only one reason he hasn’t completely forgotten about this realm.”
“We’d be better off if he did.”
Another unwilling truth offered up to the ethereal stranger.
“How quickly they forget what life was like when they held his favor. Before the Great Betrayer Mikais doomed them all. The air smells of their blood just waiting to spill. Drayca approaches.”
The intrigue that pulled me into her turns to skepticism. Perhaps I mistook her craziness for mystery. She’s about four years too late with her prophecy of war.
“The Goddess of War already delivered her wrath to our shores. Synal invaded us and cities in Sapphire still lay decimated.”
I step to the side in an attempt to distance myself from the strange woman. A pale hand shoots out to grab my arm. Ice floods my veins at her touch, the cold seeping through the layers of fabric and chilling my bones.
A strong breeze whips around us, the clouds overhead blocking out the sun. The woman’s violet eyes fade into pools of pitch black. Her hold on my arm tightens, my heart pounding frantically in my chest. Magic goes dormant in my veins as if it cowers in the presence of an older, ancient being.
