Page 27 of Skyshade
There was power, at least, here in their base, it seemed.
The woman before her lowered her hood. A large scar cut across her face, slicing through her lips, her brow, and one eye. Her smile was wide and warm, completely at odds with her height and muscular figure. This woman used to be a warrior. She could see it in the small scars along her fingers. She’d had the same ones, once, before Poppy had healed them away with their elixir, thinking them ugly.
She took the seat she offered.
“I’m Eta. Welcome to our peak, Isla, ruler of Wildling.” A book appeared on the table. Its pages were thick and yellowed. Eta trailed a leathered, scar-crossed hand along its spine. “Our dear prophet,” she said reverently. “The book is bound in his skin. The words are written in his blood.”
She fought the urge to vomit. She had clawed her way to this very seat. Part of her wanted to come out and ask about her prophecy, but no. She had to start off small. Judge whether she could give her any useful information at all.
“I’m here to find out how to stop the storms on Nightshade. Did your...” she motioned toward the book with a wave of malaise, “prophet have anything to say about them?”
Eta gently traced the edges of the book, though she didn’t look down at it. No, her gaze was fixed on her. She was studying her closely. She looked almost amused.
Isla shifted uncomfortably under her gaze but was relieved when she nodded.
“To stop them, you must close their source.”
“Which is?”
“The portal. The door left open.”
She blinked. No, she couldn’t have heard her right. “The one on Lightlark?”
Eta shook her head. “No, no, that is a bridge. The one here is simply a door, left ajar.”
She leaned forward. She wasn’t sure she was breathing. “You’re saying there’s a portal on Nightshade?”
“Of a sort.”
Grim couldn’t have known about it. If he had, he would have used it. He wouldn’t have attacked Lightlark.
“How do you know?”
“It’s how our prophet got here. He came from another world entirely. It’s how he knew everything that would occur. It had been written.”
The prophet had come from the otherworld?
She didn’t mask her interest. No, she couldn’t do anything but demand, “Where is it?”
“No one knows. The prophet’s records of it were stolen.” Eta reverently flipped through the book’s wellworn pages; and upon closer study, Isla saw a large portion of its beginning was missing. Pages had been ripped away.
“If someone found the portal...could it be used?” It could be the solution to all her problems.
Eta shook her head. “It is simply a rip between worlds, a torn seam. Anyone from this world would die making the journey—the power required doesn’t exist here. Portaling between worlds has a price, just like power has a price.”
Power has a price. She knew that better than anyone.
“The portal on Lightlark. If it had been used, it would have killed us too?”
She shook her head again. “Not necessarily. That portal is a bridge, built to fuse two specific worlds, so the connection is stronger. It does most of the job itself, you might say.” She pursed her lips. “Still, many would have died. Only the strongest would have made it through. Many did die, in the creation of Lightlark. Their bodies were used as the foundation of the island. It gave it power. Did you know?”
She didn’t. Her voice was a frustrated growl. “Why is there a portal on Nightshade at all, if it can’t be used?”
“That, I do not know. What I do know is that it is like a hole in a dam. And it is growing. Things are being let in. Storms and creatures that don’t belong here.”
“Can it be closed?”
Eta nodded. “The prophet knew how. He simply wasn’t able to, before he died.”
