Page 144 of The Seeker
Her skin quiveredbeneath his needle, but Rhys began the intricate spell and did not stop. He could not stop. He murmured the words under his breath as the magic came to life beneath his hand, marking the perfect skin of his mate.
As he tattooed, Meera and Sari began the song that Ata had spent the past two days teaching them.
The old spell depended on compounding magic. A singer using her voice to bolster a scribe’s strength while the scribe tattooed an intricate spell to strengthen the singer. Voice and writing working in harmony to build and build power.
Rhys could feel it coming like a trickle of water turning into a flood.
He had reached Meera’s shoulder when her mating marks came alive.
The pain was excruciating.The needle tapped over and over in rapid rhythm, but no endorphin rush came. No sense of calmness or peace stole over her. She felt a knotting in her belly like a twisting sickness. She concentrated on the magic she was chanting, ignoring everything but the building power.
The magic pierced her skin. Her voice reached up. The power was circular. Exponential. It built and built.
The needle had reached her shoulder when the knot in her belly loosed a flood of magic that threw her head back and opened her throat. What had been a whisper turned into a guttural shout.
The magic unleashed a dam inside her. The still sea of memory rose up and crashed over her.
She was Adelina, slaying the sons of her lover until his line was stricken from the earth.
She was Jaleh, who sang for the rain and drowned the army of Zarab where they stood.
She was Kokab, her song so painful it paralyzed the Grigori and stopped their hearts.
She was full to the brim. She no longer felt the needle. Didn’t feel her mate’s soft lips when he finished the tattoo and pressed his forehead to her spine.
Meera. His magic was within her; his voice was in her mind.Let me walk with you.He took her hand in the torrent and steadied her until she could channel the minds of other singers into steady streams.
There are so many. His mental voice was awestruck.
When Meera spoke, her voice was a chorus.I hold multitudes.
Warriors.
Peacemakers.
Healers.
Destroyers.
Irina are no strangers to vengeance.
NO.
She felt herself swimming to the surface.We must be better.When she opened her eyes, Meera was staring into Ata’s face and her voice came from the depths. “Sun Singer. Painted Wolf. Are you a healer or a destroyer?”
“Do I have to choose?” Ata asked. “All of us are more than one.”
Meera closed her eyes and saw the multitudes in her mind, felt the truth brimming inside her. Healer and destroyer. Mother and killer. To create was to destroy. Destroy the past to create the future. Birth a child destined to die. Bind up the wound and fight again.
There is no end to this.
“Somasikara,” Ata said. “You will take my memories now.”
Still overwhelmed by the churning consciousness within her, Meera only shook her head.
“You must,” Ata said. “I know what I am asking, but I challenge an angel tomorrow. I may not have another chance, and then my people will be lost. Take my memories now while you are flush with power.”
“Your people will never be lost,” Meera said, her senses renewed by the surging memory magic. “Their blood runs through this land. The earth itself sings of them. Can’t you hear it?”
