A Storm of Shadows (Shatterborn Book One)

Chapter VII, The Mark of Imprinting

Emmaline opened her eyes.

She stood surrounded by rubble. Fog lay in dense mats over the ground, thinning slightly as it rose, but still Emmaline could not see more than a few metres in front of her. She opened her sight just a fraction, reaching out tentatively.

With a gasp, she snapped her mind shut and lurched back. Her very thoughts burned with a deep, aching chill. A sharp imprint of icy cold arced through her mind, numbing her thoughts and then her body. Inside the chill, Emmaline felt the faintest form of a presence. Wincing, she walked forward slowly through the rocks and stone.

It was only when she reached the lip of the crater that she realized where she was. Faintly surprised, she searched through her memory. She could vaguely remember walking inside a statue, and then a long walk in near-total darkness. After that, another kind of darkness confronted her mind. Confused, she turned her attention back on the devastation.

Her heart caught. If she was standing here, when she should have been miles away, then surely…?

She gathered her courage, then let it loose in one shout. “AZRAEL!”

For a half a moment, there was nothing. Then, her heart soaring, she heard a sound. “Azrael… Azrael… Azrael…”

Her shoulders slumped. It was only an echo. Emmaline turned away from the crater dejectedly, her mind numb.

A hoarse whisper came from the pit behind her. “Emmaline… You… you must…”

She whirled and leapt through the air, homing in on the whisper. Yet when she found its source, there was nothing on the ground. The fog around her swirled in silent eddies of greyness. She turned frantically, her eyes straining to pierce the vapor.

And then, out of the fog he walked. Whole and healthy, with not a grey hair on his head. Her heart rose as he came towards her. She searched his face for the same joy… and saw only terrible, terrible sadness. “You should not have come here.”

Emmaline’s heart throbbed in its chest, echoing the nervous pulse of her thoughts. Around her, the fog began to swirl more urgently. Other figures were manifesting in the fog, indistinguishable from each other. A low whispering shot through the fog toward her, and she felt herself bombarded with an assault of malice and fury. Her mind threatened to black out, but Emmaline summoned her strength, focusing on the man who stood in front of her. 

“Azrael… is… is this place real?”

Azrael’s face twisted with pain. “It is, child, but it is not a world for the likes of you. You must go, Emmaline. Now.”

The onslaught redoubled itself, and Emmaline found herself sinking to the ground, yet still she maintained consciousness. Her voice came out strangled and choked, tears that she didn't even know she’d been crying streaming down her cheeks. “NO! I won’t leave you!”

The figures in the fog moved closer. They surrounded her in a ring, and the low whispering had become a loud chant. Emmaline felt herself begin to crack. Then just when she felt she could take no more, they stopped.

Azrael knelt down before her. “You must. I love you, Em.”

Her body heaved with silent cries. Every tear on her face felt like a crack as she looked up at him. “Please, Azrael, please.”

Her raised his hand to her forehead. “Goodbye, Emmaline.”

And with a push of his palm, the world shattered.

Emmaline awoke to the smell of ash and cooking bacon. A stray spark flew through the air and hit her on the forearm. She grimaced and drew on her Mark of Healing. The silvery amulet shone under her shirt as she healed first the burn, then several other cuts, bruises and, oddly, a broken toe. The bones knitted together with a satisfying crack, just as the energy in the Mark depleted. The light grew dim, then faded into nothing. Opening her eyes warily, she raised herself into a sitting position beneath the blanket.