Page 45 of Skyshade
It had to be a trick. A faulty enchantment.
Only one person would know for certain.
“Have you ever created something that allows one to speak from the dead?”
The blacksmith was busy hammering away at some creation. He had been working with the same material since the last time she saw him, the shademade metal. It glimmered beneath the flames of the forge. He carefully put his tools down.
Instead of answering her question, the blacksmith only outstretched his hand. He grumbled with impatience. “I’m assuming you’ve brought the object. Best to just let me see it.” She hesitated, wondering if she could trust him not to share this discovery with Grim.
But no. The blacksmith only cared about his death, and she was the only one who could give it to him.
She produced the feather from her pocket and placed it in his awaiting palm. He held it with remarkable care, eye gleaming as he studied it. “It writes words from the dead? You’re sure?”
“One dead.”
“On its own?”
She nodded. “I watched it write a sentence as if a specter’s hand held it.”
The blacksmith hummed. “Interesting.” He squinted and studied its every inch, seeming to find traits she couldn’t see. “I smell your blood on it,” he said. “Your power woke it.”
She frowned. “Even with the bracelets on?”
He glanced at her. “Your blood is power, Isla. The bracelets don’t change that.” She thought about the augur tasting it and shuddered. He turned his attention back to the feather. “Not my creation, but I recognize its charms. A shred of a soul has been stored within it.”
A shred of a soul. So, it wasn’t Aurora’s words from the dead...but a small piece of her she had left behind.
He tilted the feather at her. “Look at its tip.”
She squinted. There, she noticed a tiny layer of metal. It glimmered like a thousand diamonds trapped inside.
Shademade.
“This is very old enchantment. It predates this land itself.”
“What does that mean?”
“It is not of this world.”
Not of this world.
Isla frowned. “You—you don’t mean...”
“It’s from the otherworld.”
How did the blacksmith even know about the otherworld? Isla was under the impression very few people did. “How do you know?”
“Because that’s where I’m from too.”
Isla blinked. She had only ever met one other person who seemed to be from the otherworld, the ancient being that had taught her to wield her Nightshade abilities. Remlar. “That—that would mean you’re—”
Thousands of years old.
He just looked at her.
“Tell me about it. What is it like?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
He lifted a shoulder. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t. The more time spent here, the more the otherworld is forgotten. It was by design, you see. To keep us from wanting to return. I don’t even remember its name.”
