Page 8 of A War of Embers

I’m under the Blood Sea.

What the fuck?

“Quite an entrance,” a calm woman’s voice chuckles from nearby.

I shove my damp hair out of my face, rolling onto my side until I can sit up fully and look around. The ground here is gray, damp, and cool. Mist slides over the land in every direction, only letting me see what it wants me to.

Turning, I spot a woman in her late fifties, clad in a silver dress far from fancy, more like something to wear around the house yet there’s nothing here. Her blond hair hangs in ringlets around her face, sea glass eyes watching me with fascination. There’s a claylike look to her skin, dark and damp like the sand beneath me. The wrinkles in her face deepen as she smiles at me.

“Are you the Blood Witch?” I ask.

“Come here to kill a god, immortal?” She arches a light eyebrow tauntingly.

“No.” I shake my head as I rise to my knees and expel a breath. Holy shit, I did it. I actually jumped into the Blood Sea. I’m here.

“Did you think before you jumped?” Her curiosity is evident even without watching her face.

“I…did.” Kind of. Before I let go of the railing, this was the most logical choice. Although logical is a far stretch. Perhaps it was simply a choice, one of many, but the one that offered me a potential for more. Now that I’m here, there’s a freeing feeling flooding my body. The sludge of Lady Gwenyth’s magic covering me seems to no longer exist beyond Tellus as my lungs deflate in a cry of relief.

She tilts her head as she studies me. “Do you wish for me to send you back?”

My voice comes out like a whip as I answer her, “Absolutely not.” I shake my head adamantly.

Her surprise is clearly shown on her face. “Well, this is new. You jumped into the sea knowing you could not die yet you do not intend to kill me nor do you want to return. Where is it you wish to go, immortal?”

Where indeed? My brain takes a moment to slow down and focus, still too pumped from the freefall into this strange world beneath the sea. But my brain focuses on her prior words. “You called me an immortal twice.”

“Are you not one?” She flicks an eyebrow up. “If you were mortal, your body would be here, your soul would be traveling to its resting place. Yet here you are, still in your flesh.”

My brow creases. “Are you the Blood Witch? Or a goddess trapped under the sea?” She’s too…polite to be the woman I’ve been taught to fear, though little scares me now. Franklin never spoke of what she looked like, although I doubt he remembers the details his former immortal brethren told him.

She flashes her teeth at me. They’re pointed like sharks with a rough texture like a whale’s coarse bristles. “I am Sereia, the Blood Witch, the mother of the Blood Sea.”

The Blood Witch possesses a name. I don’t know why it surprises me. She’s the daughter of the original gods who came to this world, surely they all have names even if they’re long forgotten. “I am Keres Anderson, indentured servant to Lady Gwenyth from the Cinnabar District. I was made immortal.”

Sereia wrinkles her nose. “I see. You do not wish to house the soul of the dead? Is that why you jumped beyond the veil where your Lady Gwenyth can longer protect you?”

The last thing I would ever describe Lady Gwenyth as doing would be protecting me. Ignoring Sereia’s comments, I ask, “Can you aid me? I want to find peace at the Cliff of Embers.”

“Only the dead can go there.” Her dismissive tone grates on my nerves.

“I wish to die.”

Now I have her unwavering attention. “You, an immortal, wish to die?” As if the mere idea is foolish.

“Yes.”

“Yet you chose to keep hold of the soul you house rather than indebt another. Let me look at this soul of yours you so selfishly wish to keep.” She walks with grace towards me. A queen inside her kingdom beneath the waves and amongst the mist. Her hand lifts gently as the tips of her fingers press into my chest, swiftly taking on the form of claws. Then it’s like an electric shock occurs. One moment she’s touching me, the next a blue bolt of light separates us, tearing her away in the process.

“What the fuck was that?” I demand, rubbing at my chest. There’s no pain, no burning sensation. Nothing to show there was a bolt of lightning ready to burn either of us at the provocation of removing my souls.

Sereia dusts her hands along her dress, a look of shock marring her face. “You possess far more than a single soul.”

Of course I know that already. The four assassins of another time period. I didn’t think it would be a big deal to not elaborate on something so common knowledge to me. “Is that a problem?”

Sereia narrows her eyes at me. “One soul per immortal. She tried to hide you.”

“Lady Gwenyth?” I shake my head. “Everyone knows I house four souls, one of her knights in shining armor to dispense justice on her behalf. She’s not hiding me. On the contrary, actually.”

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