Page 17 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)

Marigold

The Human Realm

* * *

I was floating in the dark, suspended in a space that felt more like water than air.

The sensation was disorienting, like swimming through thick liquid that warped all sound and distorted all perception.

Night sounds echoed in a wobbly, muffled way—the hoot of an owl stretched and deepened, the rustle of leaves becoming something almost musical.

The rest of the world seemed to blend into a blur of background noise that I could feel more than hear.

My feet touched solid ground, though I couldn't remember the transition from floating to standing.

I was in a graveyard, surrounded by weathered headstones that leaned at odd angles like broken teeth.

The grass beneath my feet was overgrown and wild, and somewhere in the distance water trickled over rocks.

In front of me stood an old church, its stone walls dark with age and weather.

The building was both familiar and strange, like something from a half-remembered dream.

Fear gripped my belly, sharp and immediate—not the fear of any specific threat, but something deeper.

A bone-deep foreboding that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the building.

As if an invisible person had seen me approach and decided to welcome me, the doors to the church swung open with a groan that seemed to echo through my bones.

They were like two arched wooden wings with black iron handles and studs that waved toward me in the night breeze, beckoning with an invitation that felt both welcoming and ominous.

The hinges creaked in a rhythm that sounded almost like whispered words, though I couldn't make out what they might be saying.

I looked to my left, taking in the fog-laden field that stretched into darkness.

The moonlight gave everything an eerie, silver glow that made familiar shapes look alien and threatening.

I looked to my right, at what had once been an orchard but was now just abandoned fruit trees—gnarled remnants from another time that had grown wild and untended, ignored by time.

The branches reached toward me like arthritic fingers, and I could smell the sweet-sick scent of fruit that had fallen and rotted on the ground.

Unable to stop myself, as if my body were no longer under my own control, I moved toward the gaping doors of the church.

My feet carried me forward despite every instinct screaming at me to turn and run.

I took the stone steps one at a time, each footfall echoing with unnatural loudness, as if in slow motion.

Inside the church, everything was draped in shadows so thick they seemed solid, like black paint that had been layered over everything until no detail could penetrate. The darkness was alive somehow, shifting and moving in ways that made my eyes water when I tried to focus on any one spot.

Farther ahead, moonlight streamed through a gap where the roof had fallen away, creating a silver pool of illumination in what would have been the sanctuary.

Half the church lay open to the sky, and I could see stars twinkling in the space where centuries-old timber had once supported a ceiling.

The contrast between the suffocating darkness around me and that circle of celestial light ahead was jarring.

I recognized this place with a certainty that made my stomach clench.

It was a ruin, an ancient stone church set on a hillside in the country, maybe three hours' drive from my parents' house.

It lay on the edge of a tiny village that had been slowly dying for decades, its population dwindling as young people moved to the cities and left only the elderly behind.

My vision grew blurry, as if I were looking through water or thick glass.

Everything in my periphery seemed distorted, out of focus, while only the center of my vision remained clear.

It was as though I had oil coating my eyes, some thick substance that no amount of blinking would clear.

The sensation was nauseating, making me feel dizzy and off-balance.

Movement ahead caught my attention, a shift in the shadows near the altar.

I couldn't make anything out clearly—the figure seemed to waver and shift like heat rising from pavement.

I squinted and stepped forward, my feet moving as if I had no control over my own body, as if something else was pulling the strings.

"Is someone there?" I called out, my voice sounding small and afraid as it echoed off the stone walls and came back to me distorted.

The sound of my own voice startled me. I hadn't intended to speak, hadn't been aware I was going to call out. It was as if the words had been pulled from me by some external force.

I blinked furiously and focused on the front of the church, straining to see through the oil-slick distortion that clouded my vision.

Yes. There was definitely someone there, a tall figure standing perfectly still in the moonlight.

It was a man, dressed in dark robes that seemed to absorb the light around him.

Was he a priest? Everything was muddled, reality and dream-logic blending in ways that made it impossible to trust what I was seeing.

He stood at the altar with his hands clasped before him, and when he turned to look at me, I could see that his eyes were pale—so pale they seemed almost colorless in the moonlight. They fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"Welcome," he said, and his voice was nothing like what I'd expected. It boomed over the space like a physical thing, like thunder or the crash of waves against stone, and then faded completely, replaced by the haunting call of a night bird somewhere in the darkness.

I flinched at the sound, startled by both the power of his voice and the sudden silence that followed. I realized I'd stopped walking without meaning to, my feet frozen in place as if they'd grown roots.

I sensed someone else watching me from the shadows to my left, a presence that felt different from the priest. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I had the distinct impression of eyes boring into me.

Was it a friend? Or foe? I couldn't tell, couldn't see anything but shadows within shadows.

The feeling of being observed was so strong it was almost a physical touch.

Despite my fear, despite every instinct telling me to run, I moved forward again. I was floating toward the priest as though my body were being pulled by invisible strings, as though gravity had shifted and I had no choice but to follow its new direction.

My boots scraped against the grit and debris on the stone floor, the sound harsh and grating in the unnatural silence.

My hands, acting without conscious direction, slid across the wooden pews as I made my way down the aisle toward the altar.

The wood was smooth under my palms, worn by countless hands over the centuries.

But wait—pews? There weren't supposed to be pews in this church. I knew this place, and had visited it before on school trips. It was an empty ruin, just stone walls and foundation. Only the basic structure remained, everything else having been stripped away by time and weather and vandals.

I had the sudden, certain notion that this was no ordinary dream. This was a vision, something being shown to me with purpose and intent. But was this something that would happen to me, or was I witnessing someone else's experience? Was I seeing through my own eyes or someone else's?

Was it Calyx? Was this something that was happening to her right now, or something that would happen soon? The thought sent ice through my veins.

I shook my head violently, trying to clear the vision, trying to wake myself up and escape whatever this was. But nothing changed. If anything, the scene became more vivid, more real.

The priest extended a long, shiny red ribbon from the binding of a massive book that lay open on the altar.

The leather binding looked ancient, and I caught glimpses of text written in a script I didn't recognize.

He laid the ribbon carefully across the page as he closed the volume, his movements ritualistic and precise.

Then he walked around the altar, coming to the front of it, his pale eyes never leaving mine.

He smiled at me, and the expression transformed his face completely. Where before he had seemed ominous and threatening, now he appeared almost benevolent, grandfatherly even. He reached out his hand toward me, palm up, fingers slightly curved as if he were offering to help me up from a fall.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and something about his tone had changed completely. The booming authority was gone, replaced by something peaceful, maybe even happy. He sounded like someone about to share wonderful news.

I blinked hard, confused and unable to understand the meaning of any of this. Ready for what? The questions swirled in my mind, but I couldn't seem to voice them.

The skin at the back of my neck prickled again, more intensely this time.

I was being watched, I was certain of it, but not by the shadowy presence I'd sensed earlier.

No, this feeling was coming from behind me, from the direction of the church doors.

I turned slowly and looked toward the entrance, and there, barely visible in the darkness, I caught the shape of a man.

He was watching me intently, his form mostly hidden in shadow. As if he realized I'd spotted him and wanted to hide from my gaze, he pulled back deeper into the darkness, but not before I caught a glimpse of something that made my breath catch in my throat.

His eyes. Even from this distance, even in the poor light, I could see his eyes clearly. They were warm and liquid, the color of new green growth, exactly like the eyes that had been haunting my dreams for weeks.