Page 51 of The Shadowed Oracle
Tyla only snorted. “Meaning you might be able to run away. If it’s only Sylan standing in the way, run. Then never look back.” She softened her voice to add, “Please. I’m sure it feels impossible right now to feel the full gravity of all this, but don’t let that make you careless.”
Ingrid nodded, tiny needles pricking her arms.
“Good,” Tyla said.
And with that, her session ended. The best lesson in all of this, Ingrid gathered, was that overthinking would only make it harder for her to survive. If she remained focused, tempering herself, she might have a chance.
It was easier said than done. Ingrid had been trying all her life to control the whirlwind of her tortured mind. It was one thing to suffer what she’d suffered, yet it was another to blame yourself for all your pain. In her darkest moments, she couldn’t help but think that her misfortune must have been in some way her fault. That it was just her nature. That she’d been born that way. Damaged, doomed, different—and she’d never be strong enough to break the curse.
But to survive this, she couldn’t doubt herself any longer.
“Get some rest,” Tyla said as she ascended the stairs. “And try not to think about all this until you have to.”
Yes, how much easier it was, said than done.
Ingrid shuffled out the door of the bunker and up the stairs, her new iron companion still in hand. The mounted lamps flickered as she walked softly on her toes, unsure if the males in the cabin were tucked in their bedrooms asleep, or worse, wandering the halls and under the impression they were alone. The last thing she wanted was to cross paths with them while sweaty and probably stinking, carrying a four-foot-long sword.
Once in her room, she placed her weapon hilt-down next to her bed, kicked her shoes in a corner, and threw herself on the mattress, not even bothering to get under the blankets.
Even with the pain and terror shooting through her, she thought more about the attitude Tyla carried at the end of their session. That soldier mindset she quickly realized was necessary for what they’d face tomorrow. Sooner rather than later, she would have to make her choice. She would have to commit to this strange new world, accepting her slim chances of seeing the end intact, or allowing fear into her heart.
She pulled in a long, shaky breath, focusing.
And then she made her choice.
She chose fear.
Slithering in like some serpent from an antiquated fairy tale, it spread through her veins and nerve endings until she was shedding slow, complicated tears. The release surprised her, but she wasted no energy trying to snap herself out of it. It had been so long since she’d allowed this kind of catharsis, so long since she’d let her rage melt into a torrent of unrestrained sadness.
She wasn’t mourning her old life, exactly. There was no home to go back to, no joy, no solace in that isolated existence. But the future, the aspirations she’d held so close to her heart—finding a small spot in the world where she could carve out some peace—that was now impossible.Retreatwas impossible. She was stuck.
That is why she wept. That is what she mourned. That is why she gave in. She was in danger of losing the little freedom she’d earned for herself, and she could do nothing about it. Not alone.
She wiped her tears, closed her fists.
And then came the denial. When suddenly it all felt like a charade, like an elaborate ruse to cut the final string tethering her to reality. If only she could fall asleep, drift off dreamlessly like she’d done the night before, then wake to a world where she wasn’t in constant straits.
But that world didn’t exist—it never had.
And then came the anger. It burned like some dormant demon surging through Earth’s core and bursting through the surface. Damn the combat training, she thought, she didn’t need it. The monsters wanted her inherent power, wanted to use it, wanted to take it from her, make it their own, because they wanted to eliminate what they didn’t possess themselves. Because they feared it. Because they fearedher.
If the worst came, and it all turned to a pitiful pile of gore before her, she wouldn’t run, she wouldn’t merely hold on tohope. She would go out in flame and turn to ash before she went on living like prey.
The thought soothed her. A mad grin stretched across her face. But then came the reality again.
Absurd—the whole thing was completely absurd. She had two conflicting truths balancing on a scale, each threatening to tip over in an instant. There was a light that shone bright, showing her the way, begging her to adapt. Yet that other, long-trained and habitual voice in her mind was still unrelenting.Leave. These people are mad. This is all too much. Too unthinkable.
She couldn’t do this.
Her head snapped up from her pillow, and every nerve and joint and muscle screamed at her to move, to go, to run.
Then never look back, Tyla had said.
Ingrid would never forget those words. Never had a warning rattled her so, while also carrying so much care, as if the battle-ready world-walker had peered into her soul and seen exactly what would seize her later that night. This exact fear. This indecisiveness. Her fleeting impulses.
Because if Tyla hadn’t said those exact words, in that exact manner, giving her student the bold and ugly truth of what they were up against, Ingrid might’ve run. Might’ve fully given up. Might’ve opened the window in her bedroom and run through acres of dark woods for as long as she could manage.
Which, as it turned out, wouldn’t have been long at all.
