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“What have you done to me!” The words roared and rattled the canvas of the tent as I jumped to my feet. My magic spiraled through my body, heating and lashing at my skin as I raged, even as I swayed and struggled to stand.
“Oh, Goddess,” Ziah gasped, fear finally replacing the awe on his face as he plastered himself back against the canvas of the tent.
“Will you calm down, you are going to tear the skin again,” Lyani snapped and pushed me back to sitting, her hand hot and dangerous on my shoulder.
“And you,” she snapped with as much firmness as she turned to Ziah who was once again caught between awe and fear. “Watch your language or Ryndle will have your tongue.”
His jaw snapped shut, those eyes still wide and staring as he nodded.
“Now you,” those bright eyes flashed to me again, her gaze boring into me. Fury was boiling under my skin, the rage at seeing those marks on my skin only growing.
They had tattooed me with those words.
Those words!
I tried to stand again, but her grip held firm, her hair falling around her face as she leaned closer. Her scent hit me hard, but it wasn’t enough to calm the fury that was boiling through me.
“Without those words and their power imparted to you by the Goddess you would have died. To reject those words is blasphemy. If you want your gut to open and the Goddess to take you away instead of giving you more time on this plane then I’ll be happy to cut them from your skin. Although, judging by the rest of you you’d be going to the underverse, not the garden. But if that’s what you want, I’ll be happy to oblige.” Her face stretched to a calm crescent that sent as much ice down my spine as my magic was.
That same growl vibrated against my chest as my magic continued to swirl, too weak to do much more than simmer in my rage.
“What say you, Caspyn?” She leaned closer, that warning in her gaze deepening. “Will you reject the gift of continued life the Goddess gave you and welcome yourself into whatever life is waiting for you after this? Or will you stay, accept the words and see what path your future holds for you?”
Every muscle in my back tightened as I straightened, refusing to look away from her knowing gaze. She already knew she had won. We had both seen the size of my wound. If she were to open it back up no amount of stitching could heal that.
Her smile stretched as she reached for the clean bandage.
My magic was still simmering dangerously, my muscles still a wall as she placed some salve over the stretches of new skin.
“Tell me,” I stopped her, wrapping my hand around her wrist. She was just as tiny as she appeared, the muscular boulder of my hand swallowing her wrist. I could feel each bone and tendon as she turned to look at me.
“What does it say?” The tendons in her wrist flexed at my question, but she didn’t shift away, even though she was so close I could see the tiny speck of gold in her eyes, the color nearly the same color as the words now inked on my skin.
“What did you ink on me?”
She gave me another look before she unwound the soft cotton, placing it over the healing hole, and the words above them.
“What do they say?” I asked, staring at the tops of the letters before she covered them again.
She paused for only a moment before she looked up, her eyes meeting mine for only a breath before she went back to work.
“Bedayn grynolin.” She whispered the words as though they were a prayer, each sound pulling gently from her mouth. It was more music than language. Even with its beauty I found myself stiffening. “It means to heal by the power of blood.”
Blood.
“Whose blood?” Each word was a harsh snap whether I wanted it that way or not. She didn’t even flinch, although Ziah was looking between us in what could only be explained as a panic.
“Your blood, the blood of your ancestors. The blood of Okivo and all who came before. This is not something to be upset about, Caspyn. In fact, you should be grateful to the Goddess and those who came before you for lending you their blessing. You healed faster than I have ever seen.”
Because of my blood. Because of whose blood runs through my veins. Every muscle and sinew in my back coiled, that thick, muddy vio magic swirling dangerously close to the surface. My great-grandfather’s power, Fae, yet not.
I was not Fae. I could not be.
“What language is that?” I asked the words broken as she secured the bandage in place, her fingers freezing against the clean cotton at my question. I did not miss her quick glance toward the flap in the tent, toward the boy who was now shifting on his feet.
Silence drifted through the tent, the soft sounds of people seeping through the canvas for the first time.
“It is not simply a language,” Lyani whispered in that soft prayer voice of hers “They are marks taken from the halls and the books found in the Temple of the Sister.”
