The Heirs of Death

21. 1. Child of Deceit

CHILD OF DECEIT

The darkness was swirling and trashing, carrying my soul in trembling hands as it swirled and tossed it around again and again. It felt like the world was shaking, like my body was trapped in a whirlwind, like my soul was shattering to pieces.

And in the end of that darkness I was swimming in, there was a small flare of light that was steady and bright, calling for me. It whispered my name—my real one—in a voice that was heavenly, each syllable sung with beautiful melodies that seemed to gently come toward me, battling its way through the dark.
Something in me stirred, something that was raw and pure and bright, like a kernel of happiness and ease that craved that voice, that needed to reach that light. That needed to be freed.

And so, I fought the darkness swallowing me, pushing through the shadows wrapping me like a swathe, hands digging a way out. And when I was able to push it away, to remove that heavy weight of depression and grief off me, it dissolved, bending in half as light shot straight through it like a path sewn of sunlight. On each side of that road, the darkness hissed and burned, thin and weak smoke emanating from it.

My limbs were shaking, my arms and hands trembling as I pushed myself onto that beautiful road, to that sweet light, to the voice that called my name. Home. It felt like home was in the end, away from all the horrors awaiting us in our quest. I urged my legs to move faster, half running, half wobbling my way toward my escape gate. The voice became stronger, clearer, more beautiful with each step. The kernel in me stirred harder, my magic singing along, and I felt free. I felt safe. I felt like my father's arms were embracing me, like this was his light guiding me back to him even when the voice was not his.

Those chants, the voice singing them, it was familiar and warm, tugging at my memories, begging me to remember where I'd heard it. But I couldn't, as though it was something that happened in a past lifetime, in a piece of my mind that was locked away. I hated that feeling, hated the fact that I was accustomed to it. My first night at the Norm, the voice when we crossed the White River, the faraway memories when Siltheres helped us with the old magic Blake was messing with, they were all so different and so familiar.

This one was no different, yet it was more peaceful than any of those times. More at ease.

Tears ran down my cheeks, leaving trails after trails on my chin before dripping to my chest. A broken sob left me, my voice—my true voice and not Elayda's—raw and hoarse and a bit foreign as it left my throat.

I was quivering from head to toe by the time I reached the light, my eyes greeted by a small sun that was cerulean in color as though the sky was forged into a sun of its own. The voice didn't whisper my name anymore; instead, it chanted old words that were a hymn and a lullaby combined. Chills ran up and down my spine, a shiver of cold and warmth kissing my skin. I reached that sun, allowed my skin to feel its hotness, and opened my heart to the singing voice.