Page 103 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

“Sweet child, it is not a simple blood magic that you possess. It is eldritch. Ancient. Yes, the power of a goddess.” Her finger traced the silvery lines of my scar almost longingly. “Some have attempted to steal the power of the gods. Very few are born with it.”

“I swear I didn’t steal it. I cut myself on the archway to The Eating Woods, and this just appeared.”

A smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Of course you didn’t steal it, child. You were chosen.”

“Chosen for what?”

“To fulfill her promise.” She flipped the page of the book to another image, which showed men in the telling red robes of Vonkovyan clergy attacking the Lyverians.

Blood spattered across the page as the Vonkovyan men attacked, shooting the Lyverian men with their rifles and dragging the women away.

My brows pulled together, watching the brutality come to life across the page.

The violence I’d always suspected.

My own father’s violence.

The men who’d been slain sat up. They rose from the ground, from the red pools that surrounded them, pale but somehow stronger, the way their muscles had been painted with far more definition.

“Were they immortal?” I ran my finger over one of the men, and he turned toward me. A breath shot out of me as I stared back at his silver eyes.

“They were Hollowyns. In the early days of man, Magekae, the god of creation, bestowed immortality upon the mancers. And Morsana, the goddess of death, gifted the Corvi people with the ability to rise from the dead. In times of war and plague, our Hollowyns protected us.”

“They couldn’t become infected.”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Very astute. However, the longer my ancestors remained in Vonkovya, our bloodline thinned.” Her lips flattened, brows tightening.

“Particularly when our women were taken by the Vonkovyans. Our ability to raise our dead has waned in time. We’ve not been gifted the blessing of a Vasmora in nearly two millennia. ”

I shook my head, my mind resisting the idea that a goddess would have chosen me—a clumsy mortal who lacked the ability to wield a knife properly, let alone ancient magic. “How? How was I chosen ?”

“Our fates are written the moment we are born. The gods cannot change that. Unless …” She paused, brow raised. “One’s fate is altered. The veil between what is and what will be is shattered.”

My skin prickled with the realization that crept over me like a cold shadow. “Could a single person alter one’s fate?”

“Our fates are strong and binding. They, too, would have to possess the power of a god to do so.”

Or the stubborn will of one, anyway. Was it possible that Zevander’s interference with my past had allowed Morsana to choose me as a vessel? “And, so, what is this promise that I’m to fulfill?”

“You will restore our bloodline.”

“Restore your bloodline?”

She turned the page to a different image. A woman who bore a striking resemblance to me, with pale skin, silver eyes, and long black hair. “For years, we thought my sister had been chosen. She resembled her so much.” She ran her palm over the image, and it sprang to life, just like the others.

The woman on the page mated with one of the men in black feathers, and her stomach grew, round and very obviously with child.

Moments later, a child with silver eyes and black hair appeared on the page.

Then another child. And another. Until there were at least a dozen children running across the page—all of whom boasted dark hair and silver eyes.

“These are the visions of a long-forgotten priestess. You bear the seed of our future. You will be mated to our strongest warrior, and the two of you will bring forth a new generation with Morsana’s blood running through them.”

A laugh tugged at the back of my throat, but I swallowed it back. “You’re telling me my fate is to be a baby-making vessel?”

“Your fate is to strengthen the next generation’s bloodline.”

“And if I refuse?”

Her face twisted with an indignant scowl, as if I’d insulted her with the question. “Why would you deny us?”

I didn’t dare speak the truth, for fear that she would refuse to help Zevander. That she would sense I was already in love with him and would sooner watch their bloodline fade to oblivion than choose another man over him. “I’ve seen a different fate.”

The tight furrow of her brows softened as her eyes widened. She reached across the table for my hand. “What is it? What has she shown you?”

“Fire. Black fire.”

A look of terror bloomed in her eyes. “Sablefyre?”

“Yes.”

“Deimos.” She sat back in her chair, and smoke seeped between her lips and her pipe as she fervently smoked it. “She has saved you for Deimos. A sacrifice, I would venture to say. Oh, goddess, what if she longs to restore the vein? To punish us?”

“How would restoring the vein punish you?”

She flipped through more pages of the book and landed on an image that yanked the breath from my lungs.

A creature with antlers and bark-like skin.

The same one I’d seen peel away Uncle Riftyn’s flesh back in The Eating Woods.

Waving her hand over the image brought it to life, and the creature raised his bony hand, where a complicated image burned across his palm.

He shot it toward a chasm in the mountains, and a violet glow flared to life on the page.

The priestess flipped to the next page and livened the image of the creature throwing flames at a shimmering wall, surrounded by trees.

The Umbravale, no doubt. Another flip of the page showed a massive, rotted tree in the forest, from which hundreds of spiders crawled.

The tree split to make way for a horrifying monster—a humanoid spider, but nothing like the Primsleys or Uncle Felix.

No, this one carried a dark and ancient aura.

Something powerful and otherworldly that sent a shiver coiling around my spine.

I swallowed back the tremble in my throat. “I’ve seen them. These human spiders.”

“No, my sweet child. What you’ve seen is nothing more than a few harmless monsters that possess no power. This is Pestilios. A god. I was certain Morsana would protect us from him. But your vision tells me otherwise. And I will not question the will of the goddess.”

A scowl tugged at my face, and I whipped my gaze to hers. “Why? You would face destruction simply because she wills it?”

“Yes. She is the goddess. All powerful. She sees death. She writes our fate.”

“Do you truly believe she willed my sister back to life?”

“Of course. There is no other way for a mortal to return from death.”

Lips pressed together, I nodded. “Days ago, Morsana urged me to kill her. I refused.”

A look of skepticism crossed her face. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying perhaps the fate written by a goddess can be changed, as well. Maybe none of this is etched in stone. You say I am the vessel of a goddess. Then, trust my words.”

“You bear the mark. And the silver eyes. But your words prove nothing. I’m not inclined to deny the visions of a respected priestess for the empty claims of a young girl.”

Teeth grinding, I stared her in the eyes. “And I will not be used as a baby vessel based on the paintings of a woman I’ve never met.”

Her eye twitched, clearly insulted. “Then, there is only one solution. You must prove your words true.” She drew the pipe to her mouth for another puff and blew the smoke between us. “Tonight, you will show us that you can defy the will of the goddess.”

“How?”

“You will be cast into the vein. Should you walk away unscathed, then I will take your words as truth.”

“Cast into the vein? Is it not dead?”

“It is,” she said and raised a brow. “But like our people, it, too, was fated to rise from death.”