Read Online The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) by H. Anthe Davis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: H. Anthe Davis
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dimmer.
Seven.
A net of threads shattered, sending motes of light to vanish in the void. But there were many more, and the wheels were rising away from him, falling away beneath. Fading. The torch-flame had shrunk to a pinspot.
Eight.
The flame winked out.
In its wake, the darkness poured in, thrusting the wheels away until they too vanished in the distance. Cold encased him and now he felt fear, for it was not natural, not physical but searing in its absolute emptiness, the anathema of life. Even his necromantic bonds were warm in comparison—and those were fading fast, unraveled by the draw of the dark, leaving him exposed to the void that sought to penetrate his soul—
Two bright threads, one at brow, one at chest. Two sets of white wings. Talons. Blazing eyes. Pain. Painpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpain —
His eyes snapped open and he gasped in a breath of raw, cold air. Heart thudding arrhythmically, lungs burning, ribs on fire, he stared into the darkness in horror and confusion until he caught the whiff of snuffed candles, the blur of frightened voices, the solid reality of the hand on his brow, chilled though it was.
“What happened?” he croaked.
The Mother Matriarch inhaled a breath of relief. “Thank the Goddess. Something came for you. We had to drive you into the stillness so that we could break the bonds without harming you, but it was waiting there. I thought we had lost you.”
His heart clenched in his chest, and he remembered Thynbell: the darkness beneath the pounding waterfall, the hunger that had swallowed the energy he drained from the imprisoning circles. The frigid grasp of it. He tried to sit up, but his muscles were stiff from cold, his hands locked like claws around the icy sword and hammer. A gauntlet gripped one arm, a glove the other, and slowly they wedged him up. From the crowd came the sound of prayers and striking flint, and first sparks blossomed, then light.
Cob looked down upon the frightened faces of men, women and children, their breath making plumes in the frosted air. The entire atmosphere of warmth and harmony had evaporated, and he knew by the blanched looks on the faces of the two Sisters that such a thing was not supposed to happen.
Arik was waiting at the edge of the dais, fidgeting as if it was a barrier instead of a step. His face had gone wolfish, his ears laid flat, body covered with fur and quills beneath the loose chiton, and as soon as their eyes met, he leapt the distance and loomed at the altar to sniff Cob over critically. Sister Talla stood back quickly, but Cob just made a face and tried to elbow him away, still unable to relax his hold on the hammer. The skinchanger evaded him and sniffed again.
“ Watcher. Dark watcher,” he said in a rough voice. “Cold hunter. Endless hunger. Bad, Cob. Bad, bad.”
“ Yeah, no shit.”
The skinchanger’s ears lifted slightly, then with visible effort he returned to human form, the fur and quills retracting into his skin, his jaw crunching and shortening, his ears receding beneath his thick mane of hair. He patted Cob’s shoulder awkwardly, then chafed Cob’s fingers with his until they were warm enough to release the hammer.
Cob looked past him to the crowd, which was starting to disperse under the commands of Sister Talla and Sister Merrow. The candles and braziers that had lit the room had all been snuffed, but a grey-haired man stood by the entry with a little oil lamp he had lit with a handheld sparker, and one by one the Trifolders stopped at him with candles taken from around the room, then moved out to spread light through the darkened complex. Though subdued, they were all steady, their panic gone.
He saw Fiora pull Sister Merrow aside, but then the Mother Matriarch set a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to her narrow, weary face. “I wish that we could have done more for you, Guardian,” she said softly. “But I fear
Seven.
A net of threads shattered, sending motes of light to vanish in the void. But there were many more, and the wheels were rising away from him, falling away beneath. Fading. The torch-flame had shrunk to a pinspot.
Eight.
The flame winked out.
In its wake, the darkness poured in, thrusting the wheels away until they too vanished in the distance. Cold encased him and now he felt fear, for it was not natural, not physical but searing in its absolute emptiness, the anathema of life. Even his necromantic bonds were warm in comparison—and those were fading fast, unraveled by the draw of the dark, leaving him exposed to the void that sought to penetrate his soul—
Two bright threads, one at brow, one at chest. Two sets of white wings. Talons. Blazing eyes. Pain. Painpainpainpainpainpainpainpainpain —
His eyes snapped open and he gasped in a breath of raw, cold air. Heart thudding arrhythmically, lungs burning, ribs on fire, he stared into the darkness in horror and confusion until he caught the whiff of snuffed candles, the blur of frightened voices, the solid reality of the hand on his brow, chilled though it was.
“What happened?” he croaked.
The Mother Matriarch inhaled a breath of relief. “Thank the Goddess. Something came for you. We had to drive you into the stillness so that we could break the bonds without harming you, but it was waiting there. I thought we had lost you.”
His heart clenched in his chest, and he remembered Thynbell: the darkness beneath the pounding waterfall, the hunger that had swallowed the energy he drained from the imprisoning circles. The frigid grasp of it. He tried to sit up, but his muscles were stiff from cold, his hands locked like claws around the icy sword and hammer. A gauntlet gripped one arm, a glove the other, and slowly they wedged him up. From the crowd came the sound of prayers and striking flint, and first sparks blossomed, then light.
Cob looked down upon the frightened faces of men, women and children, their breath making plumes in the frosted air. The entire atmosphere of warmth and harmony had evaporated, and he knew by the blanched looks on the faces of the two Sisters that such a thing was not supposed to happen.
Arik was waiting at the edge of the dais, fidgeting as if it was a barrier instead of a step. His face had gone wolfish, his ears laid flat, body covered with fur and quills beneath the loose chiton, and as soon as their eyes met, he leapt the distance and loomed at the altar to sniff Cob over critically. Sister Talla stood back quickly, but Cob just made a face and tried to elbow him away, still unable to relax his hold on the hammer. The skinchanger evaded him and sniffed again.
“ Watcher. Dark watcher,” he said in a rough voice. “Cold hunter. Endless hunger. Bad, Cob. Bad, bad.”
“ Yeah, no shit.”
The skinchanger’s ears lifted slightly, then with visible effort he returned to human form, the fur and quills retracting into his skin, his jaw crunching and shortening, his ears receding beneath his thick mane of hair. He patted Cob’s shoulder awkwardly, then chafed Cob’s fingers with his until they were warm enough to release the hammer.
Cob looked past him to the crowd, which was starting to disperse under the commands of Sister Talla and Sister Merrow. The candles and braziers that had lit the room had all been snuffed, but a grey-haired man stood by the entry with a little oil lamp he had lit with a handheld sparker, and one by one the Trifolders stopped at him with candles taken from around the room, then moved out to spread light through the darkened complex. Though subdued, they were all steady, their panic gone.
He saw Fiora pull Sister Merrow aside, but then the Mother Matriarch set a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to her narrow, weary face. “I wish that we could have done more for you, Guardian,” she said softly. “But I fear
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