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Chapter 34
Vaelenor
The fire has burned low, so Idril’s hidden in the shadows. Which is a good damn thing because after that laugh, I’m not sure I’d be able to tear my gaze away one more time.
We lock eyes briefly before her hands fall, landing softly in her lap. Her smile vanishes. I swallow hard, wishing I could see that look on her face again and hating that she feels she has to cover it up.
“Alright,” Dax grunts. “Get on with it, Riven. What’d you find?”
The air in the room seems to drop, and I realize neither Riven nor I have responded. I turn to face Daxen’s pissed-off glare that’s definitely one-hundred percent aimed at me.
Lovely.
I clear my throat and sit down. “Ah, yeah. What did you find, Riven?”
Turning pleading eyes his way, I silently beg him to help me out. Fate must be working in my favor, because Riven places his work in front of us and spreads it out with careful movements.
“This is the first half.” He taps one finger on a paper containing a verse translated line by line from Gaelic to English. “It’s the well-known part of the story, but I wanted to be sure I was translating the dialect correctly.”
”What’s it say?” I ask, trying to make out the words.
Riven clears his throat. “‘The earth remembers the blood of kings, Water brings life to nourish their souls, Fire gives warmth and guidance, and Air will cry their names back into the void.’”
The way he reads it makes it sound like some old spell pulled straight from a grimoire.
“Damn,” I grunt. “That’s not ominous as fuck. Does it happen to give us an exact date for Armageddon, or is that part left up to interpretation?”
Dax rolls his eyes. “It’s an old story, like I said. Same as all the rest. Fairy tales. Folktales. Parables. It’s how people used to make sure their six-year-olds didn’t wander into a bog and die.”
Riven scoffs. “That’s not true, and you know it.”
Dax throws his hands up. “Really? Then explain to me what else it could be. They’re warnings dressed up as bedtime stories. It’s all the same shit: don’t make deals with naked people in the woods, don’t follow lights into the trees, don’t take drinks from a guy with antlers.”
“Don’t you mean don’t take candy from strangers?” I frown.
“No.” Dax replies flatly, “I mean what I fucking said.”
My brows jump to my hairline, but before I can question him further, he huffs.
“Listen, I just don’t see what this—” he points to the verse Riven’s holding, “will help us find what we’re looking for.”
“Because it’s this part that changes things.” Riven rotates the paper so we can see his translations.
“This is the entire story, rewritten with a second stanza. Same story, totally different words.”
He reads, “‘She will be made of Flame to keep them warm and lead them to remembrance. She will provide the Air they will need to shout their names back into the Void. She will call on Water to nourish their lost souls, and her plea will stir the Earth to remember their grief, and the grief of those lost before her.’”
Dax looks like he swallowed something sour, and I’m not too proud to admit my hair’s absolutely standing on end.
“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s the same in all the iterations. Just… phrased differently.”
I suppose Dax is in denial, pretending this isn’t weird as fuck. Unfortunately for him, weird as fuck is our entire godsdamned aesthetic lately.
“It is… but, it isn’t.” Riven taps the wood of the table with his fountain pen. “There’s a bit more here, but I’m struggling with the rest. The dialect is… off.”
Dax leans in closer. “Alright, what do you have so far?”
““Beirfich sí coróin réalta, agus beidh tine ina féitheacha.’” His voice takes on a melodic quality as he reads. “Which is roughly translated to, ‘she will be born with a crown of starlight, and carry fire in her veins.’ But the last part of this is the part I need to be sure of.”
