Page 140 of Eldritch
Zevander let out a held breath, the pressure at his chest easing. “What is the mark on her arm?”
Alastor crossed the room, staring out the window. “You changed her fate. She was once a simple mortal. Harmless and temporary. Now she belongs to death.”
“And yet, she lives,” Zevander said through clenched teeth.
The older man swung around, his eyes narrowed. “By the gods, boy. What have you done?”
“What you feared to do,” he spat back. “I walked where you fear to tread.”
A bitter smirk curved Alastor’s lips. “Is that what you think? That I fear the gods?”
“Why else would you idly watch the suffering of others?”
“Suffering is a fragile thread that transcends worlds. It wears a thousand faces and is as integral in our existence as a tightly-woven tapestry. We all must suffer. And yours will be the consequences of your actions. To take from fate means you must be willing to give in kind.”
“I took nothing. She is my mate.”
“She was a hypothetical. Nothing more than a whim of the gods.”
Zevander pushed to his feet, hands balled in tight fists at his sides. “I saw it. Ifeltit. It’s her. She is mine.”
“You are nothing more than chattel. A slave, as you called yourself. You have nothing! Youarenothing!”
Each harsh word lanced his pride like a jagged blade. “No. You said a god resides in me. The ancient power.” Zevander pointed to where the aged version of himself had stood moments before. “Did you see? I am not destined to remain at the cruel mercy of the general. I will be free, and my powers will be restored.”
“You are unworthy of such power. To be confined inside an ignorant and lowly boy for eternity. What misery!”
“You are right. I have no land. No name. No possessions. In the eyes of the king, I am nothing. But I assure you, she is mine. Our souls are bound.”
Alastor let out a bitter chuckle. “You don’t even know her name.”
“Tell me. Say it once, and I will remember her for eternity.”
“Are you certain of that, boy?”
The room around him faded into a blackness he couldn’t see beyond. “Yes, I am…”
“Can you recall her face, even now?” Amusement clung to his mentor’s voice.
Zevander glanced back to where she’d lain only moments before, found nothing more than a vacuous darkness there. He focused on the face he remembered, but it had somehow blurred in his mind. “Yes…she…she’s there…”
“You’ve already forgotten the color of her eyes. Her hair. Her smell. That angelic voice is all but a distant sound you can’t quite place.”
His mind scrambled to cling to what scraps of recognition he could summon to mind, but it was true. He could no longer recall her eyes. The smell had faded. And her hair, damn the gods, what shade was her hair?
“Do not do this, I beg you.” Tears blurred his eyes as he fought the encroaching darkness, the slowly fading image of the girl.
“She will disappear with time. Until you can summon nothing. And, in turn, the sound of your voice, that tone she once likened to an angel’s, will blend into every other.”
Zevander shook his head. “No. I don’t want to forget. Don’t let me forget.” He ran his hands back and forth over his skull. “As I hung from my chains like carrion for the vultures, she spoke to me. She gave me the will to live. Don’t take that away!”
“You were never here this eve. In your mind, she burned at that stake. Now, sleep, Zevander. Sleep.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
ZEVANDER
Present …
