Page 102 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

More poured out of her mouth, and more ravens joined the others, eating the spiders before they could scamper away.

Until, at last, no more came forth and the birds returned to their perch.

Aleysia’s pale body didn’t move. Eyes closed, she looked as if she might have peacefully slept, except that her chest didn’t rise and fall with breath. “She’s dead.”

“Yes. A god does not wish to reside in a corpse.”

“She’s my sister!”

The priestess stepped in front of me. “And you will wait to see what Morsana decides for her!”

“Maevyth?” a weak voice called out, and I looked past the woman standing in my way, to see Aleysia sitting upright, looking around.

Tears wavered in my eyes, the relief so unbearably overwhelming, I couldn’t move at first.

The priestess smiled back at me, one brow raised. “It seems the goddess has decided.”

“Where are we?” Her eyes were the first indication that something had changed—they seemed brighter, the way they’d always shone when we were younger. The sickly pallor that I’d gotten used to seeing in her cheeks had warmed to a healthy pink.

It was her.

My sister.

The one I remembered.

“Aleysia.” I rushed toward her and fell to her side. “How do you feel?”

She looked down at herself, lifting her arm, where grime covered her skin. “Well, in spite of looking like I crawled out of a grave, I feel good?”

I chuckled. “Do you remember anything?”

Brows knitted, she stared off for a moment. “I remember…the church. And creatures coming out of the ground.”

“Nothing after that?”

A darkness clouded her eyes. “There was something else. Dreams. A nightmare, but…I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“What was it?”

A mist of tears wavered in her rounded and fearful eyes. “A tree. A horribly mangled tree in the woods.” She stared off as if she were looking at it right then. “And there was a beast inside of it.” The fear in her eyes dulled to an unfocused stare. “ Four, three, two, one, one, two three, four. ”

“What is that? What are you counting?”

“Moros…he took me to that tree and gave me to the spider who wrapped me up in its webs.” Aleysia winced, breaking her stare, her hands trembling in her lap.

“I was so scared. I would listen for its movements. When its legs would strum the web. One, two, three, four, four, three, two one. The way it’d walk along the delicate strands.

I felt … connected to it somehow. As if it were moving inside of me. ”

“You said Moros took you to his mansion.”

Eyes pinched tight, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t recall bits of what I told you.

There were times I’d have moments of absolute lucidity and then something dark would take over me.

Speaking to me in a voice I didn’t recognize.

” The focus in her eyes dulled as though she were lost in thought.

“Compelling me. I couldn’t tell if the lucid parts were the dreaming moments and I was still stuck in that awful tree. ”

“You escaped, though.”

Her eyes held a high shine as she nodded. “There was a break in the webs. I managed to tear through. I ran. Out of the tree. Through the darkness. The Crone Witch found me at the edge of the wood.”

“She put you in that pantry for a reason, didn’t she?”

Lips pressed together, Aleysia lowered her gaze and nodded.

“I fear so. As I said, I suffered…fits. I couldn’t remember a thing, but I’d wake and she would show me where I’d scratched or tried to attack her.

I left a terrible bruise at her throat when I had attempted to strangle her once.

” She raised a trembling hand to her mouth.

“Oh god, it was something terrible. I did terrible things,” her voice cracked with panic.

“It’s okay.” I tipped my head to break her of the image in her mind. “Do you remember me finding you back at The Crone Witch’s home?”

“Yes, of course.” Her brows pinched together again. “I was so angry at you.”

“Why did you feel anger towards me?”

She scratched at her head. “I don’t even remember now. I was out of sorts and nothing like myself.” Swiping up my hands, she held them to my chest. “You have to know that, Maeve. I would never feel such hatred toward you.”

“I know.” I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her forehead. “You’re better now. We’ve arrived at the mountains.” I glanced back at the priestess. “We’re safe.”

The smile on her face faded when she turned toward Father and the unnatural shape of his leg. “Father…your leg …”

“I’m fine. Just a scratch.” He chuckled, but as he hobbled over to us, the wince of his eyes betrayed his words.

“We’ll get them properly fed and settled into their own beds.” The priestess waved toward the Lyverian men, who helped Aleysia to her feet.

“I’m staying here with Zevander.” I reached out for Aleysia’s hand one more time, giving it a small squeeze, and once they exited the room, I exhaled a long and shaky breath. “Thank you,” I said, not bothering to look at the priestess. “For helping them.”

“Come. We’ve much to discuss.”

I glanced toward the other room, where Zevander still lay on the bed. “I’m not leaving him. Not until he wakes.”

“Then, we’ll discuss here.” She snapped her fingers, and three new Lyverian guards carried in two wooden chairs and a small table, on which one of them set a pitcher of water and two glasses.

The priestess waved me toward the chair, and with hesitation, I sat, never taking my eyes off her.

She poured the water into the glasses and pushed one of them closer to me.

“Drink. You must be incredibly thirsty.”

“You first.”

“Very well.” She tipped back a long swill, gulping down half the glass, then set it down.

Still, I hesitated for reasons I couldn’t reconcile. She hadn’t harmed us, after all. I wanted to trust her. Snatching the drink from the table, I tipped it back, both desperate and grateful for the clean fluids.

“Your group is lucky to be alive. Vyrmish are quite vicious.” She ran her long, black fingernail over the rim of the cup in front of her. “Even for those with blood magic.”

“Are they at all related to the creatures in Foxglove? The plague?”

Lips flat, she shook her head. “The vyrmish have been here longer than our people. Attacks are rare, seeing most avoid traveling that route. They’re incredibly sensitive to vibration, so I suspect they were drawn to the noise. Your horses, specifically.”

“Are they only found there?”

“Yes. They don’t stray far from their nest. We’ve learned to live in harmony with the beasts that inhabit this land. It’s a shame what happened to the Vonkovyans who settled there.” Her eyes narrowed on me. “Tell me, are you aware of the history of Lyverians?”

I placed the glass down, eyeing the rest of the pitcher as I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “It’s a bit disjointed. Vonkovya likes to omit and paint Lyverians as something very bad.”

“Of course they do.” To my delight, she poured more water into the glass. “This land wasn’t always occupied by us. My ancestors arrived as refugees centuries ago. The indigenous here before us took them in. Gave them a home. Hope.”

“Where did your ancestors come from?”

“Aethyria. They were Corvikae who fled to the mortal lands to escape plague and slaughter. Ordered by their priestess to protect the vein here.” As my pulse ratcheted up, she turned to one of the men standing on guard. “Bring me the book.”

Tiny shards of a broken mirror pieced together, forming a distorted image of myself I’d never considered before. “I was told that my ancestry is Corvikae. Is it possible that I might be Lyverian?”

“They are the same. As I said, Corvikae came here from Aethyria.” Her brow raised as she stared back at me. “And you, child. You look very much like my sister.”

Harder, my heart pounded as I searched her face, through the kohl and aging lines, for a flicker of recognition. It was there, if I looked hard enough. Subtle features that I might’ve overlooked. “My mother was a slave.”

“Your mother was the daughter of a great priestess. She was taken many years ago by the Red Men.”

From somewhere buried in the mess of fabrics she wore, she pulled out a pipe that looked to be carved bone, along with a small sachet, setting both of them on the table.

Even from where I sat, whatever herb those sachets held carried a strong scent that reminded me of spring lavender.

She pinched a tiny amount into the bowl of her pipe, packing it down with her pinky nail.

A guard behind her produced one of the candles, which he tilted toward the bowl, spilling wax onto the table.

The priestess’s cheeks caved as she gave the pipe a few puffs, sending black smoke into the air.

The other guard passed off a book that looked identical to the one Dolion had given me, with its bone spine and the dragon’s eye on the cover.

Only, her version didn’t require puzzles to open it.

She flipped through the pages, landing on an elaborate painting.

She brushed the palm of her hand over the image, and just like those in the other book, it sprang to life.

A line of men, women and children, donned in black feathers, made their way to the mountains. “We did not possess blood magic and, therefore, we did not require the veins in the same way mancers require it for vivicantem.”

“But I have blood magic.” I raised my palm, opening it to show the glyphs etched there.

She ran her thumb over my palm and lifted the sleeve of my shirt. “Do you know what the mark on your arm signifies?”

“Only that I have some strange connection with the dead.”

“Strange connection, indeed.” She sipped the water and cleared her throat. “You are Vasmora.”

“Vasmora?”

“A death vessel for the goddess. It seems you were chosen to serve as her corporeal entity. Through you, she has power in our world.”

Frowning, I shook my head. “That’s where my blood magic comes from? Morsana?”