Page 5 of Heir of Broken Souls (HOBF #3)

Chapter 5

Delilah

I ’m floating in a golden pool of magic. It sings to me, its lyrical voice lulling me into a state of tranquility as blinding white light shines through the canopy above me.

It takes me a moment to recognize the odd feeling humming through my body—magic.

It’s old and yet new, born yet created. Hot, cold, quiet, chaotic.

It pours through my body, consuming my very being. Until a deep timbre voice breaks through, the sound so sudden my body flinches. I wait for my magic to calm me, to soothe the shock the voice created, but it does no such thing. Instead, it ignores me, turning to the voice as if waiting for an order.

The lights recede, leaving my eyes blurring and my vision swimming—until colors explode throughout the space, swarming like a rainbow of butterflies. Then they stop.

I wish I never opened my eyes.

Above me, rising as high as a ten-story building, stands a dome comprised of seven podiums. And what stands atop them makes my heart both drop and soar once more.

Years of wisdom, confidence, and elegance emanate from the Fae-like creatures. Their skin glows, shining with a sort of radiance I never knew existed. They look like Fae, embody the power and grace of one, but they’re far from it.

They’re extraordinary. Gods.

My throat closes, choking on the shock of it all, as loud boisterous voices fill the space, the sound rumbling the podiums they’re perched upon. Yet their lips barely move, as if whispering.

The voices stop, plunging me into silence so startling I lose my breath. My lungs scream their protest, begging me for oxygen that I can’t give, not as colors start to pour from their hands and drift toward me. One by one, the black, gold, pink, violet, blue, green, and white colors encase my entire being, shimmering, opaque. The ones above me begin to speak again, allowing me to part my lips and breathe.

A lone voice draws my attention, the language as foreign as the magic covering me from head to toe. The source of the melodic sound belongs to a woman whose beauty far outshines the six other Fae creatures. Despite not recognizing her tongue, my heart gallops as if in knowing.

“Viren tali tholana, inorath guven thur ashtal,

Uthr vithara sathen, milan zal vethar.

Sor aeldar avel, nega thaerai naorin.

Ith no vashak, inorath milar, a vithar naran.

Uth avor tanu, vithar zarith, guveth solenn.”

The white magic pouring from her hands recedes, along with the white layer of power cocooning my body.

Silence falls upon the room until a man with skin as dark as night, and adorned with golden armor and jewels, tilts his head back and begins to preach. It’s in the same language as the woman before, and yet with every word, the golden power wrapped around me strikes sharp and quick, forcing my body to twist and turn, trying to evade the pain I know I don’t deserve.

“Sathen dorath lora, kiven elasith.

Mira larith an zothar, vithar avithor althar.

Nira rith thol, laen Morath galar.

Yath kithar doth althara, giveth lira vorithar.

Uth galar, saltha vithor, elen daron, ni thora milar.”

The tears pooling in my eyes fall as he removes his hands and the golden magic. Another steps forward, this one dressed in a blue so light, it reminds me of an awakening sky. With skin touched by the golden sun, her soft pink lips part. I brace my body for impact, but instead of pain, soft gentle warmth washes over my skin.

“Kith arath vorth, galar dothar maril.

Mira shothen vithari, kithar nira zalth.

Elen veira, lara doran alitha,

For a vithar eloth, milan thonara melith.

Uth nira sithan, larith kithar vithor.”

Too soon, the woman stops speaking in her soft whimsical voice, replaced by the wrath of a darkness so consuming, I scream.

“Voran thol yathen, milan gaelar,

Kithar narith miran, ithen marothar.

Luna nevrith yathra, lira sael,

Kith alethea, maran yathor vithor.

Inorath tharin, ashti vithar milar.”

This comes from a man with a face as white as snow, drenched in black billowy robes. As soon as he removes his power, my body slumps. Moving from rigid pain and what felt like unending torture to an overwhelming sense of relief.

A sob of fear flies from my mouth as a beautiful woman adorned in a green dress smiles down at me and raises her hands. But her power is as soft as the one in blue.

“For a larith thol, ethen dolonar,

Inorth thael, thur yath daron.

Vithara vithor, elen marith arna,

Nira dorath ashtar, uth laen milar.

Inorath thol, vithor talor guveth.”

Stopping as quickly as she started, the green power surrounding my body evaporates, and another woman with ethereal beauty lifts her hands, her violet light exploding.

“Vitha zelet alar, uthera nalor.

Sathen dothal marith, guven vithar neva.

Ashti no milar, milan thalar alen,

Vithar enor, vethar nira milar.”

With my body, mind, and soul feeling reborn, my eyes lift to the last woman, dressed in a flowy red and pink dress. She offers me a tentative smile. And instead of speaking in the tongue of those before her, I recognize her words. They drift toward me, wrapping around my heart like a gentle caress as all seven slice their palms, hover their injured hand above me, and allow one drop of blood to hit me.

Open your eyes and come alive, golden one. It’s time for their demise.

The corners of my lips lift, and my body, despite the torment it’s experienced, feels feverish with energy, brimming with a sense of delight as my magic hums around me.

Alive and waiting.

I don’t have time to contemplate it, though, before something below me in the water clutches my waist and yanks me below the surface, taking my scream with it.