Page 22 of The Deathless One
“No,” she whispered as she shied away from them. But her skirts stuck in the mud. She was sinking deeper into it. “Leave me alone.”
“Jessamine, you cannot trust him.”
Who? Who was she not supposed to trust? She was asleep, wasn’t she? She vaguely remembered falling onto another one of those piles that Sybil had given her, and it wasn’t comfortable, but at least she could sleep.
She missed her bed at home. She missed her castle, where there was always sound. Maids moving through the halls as they finished up their last rounds of the night. Guards passing by on patrol. Soft voices of people meandering past her doorway. There was always someone or something that she could hear.
But in this manor full of shadows and villainous gods, she was alone in the silence. Except for the darkness pursuing her. Voices that whispered they could help her, hands that trailed along her sides, leaving inky smears in their wake.
They wanted her to listen, but she did not know how to interpret their words.
“Jessamine!” they called out again, growing angry with her. “Listen to us.”
“No!” she shouted as she finally yanked one of her legs out of the mud. It clung to her, so sticky and thick that it was almost impossible to move. “I don’t want to listen to you.”
A wall of darkness suddenly drew up in front of her, converging into the figure of a woman who towered over her. The open maw of her mouth shone with a white light, but everything else was black as night.
“Gravesinger,” the woman said, freezing Jessamine in place. “You will hear what we have to say.”
“I am not a gravesinger.” But she trembled as she said the words. “You have the wrong person.”
“A gravesinger follows in the path of those who came before her. A gravesinger finds a patron and bends them to her will.” The darkness bent a little closer, and drops of ink fell from the woman’s dripping hair onto Jessamine’s cheeks. “You will control him. You are the last of our kind. You will rip him apart, and when it is time, you will take from him as all of us have before. We are waiting for your power, sister.”
Take from him? What she was going to take from him? She didn’t want anything to do with the Deathless One; it would be foolish to tie herself to him even more. Hadn’t Sybil warned her?
“Jessamine.” The voice filtered through the dream, through the darkness. She could smell smoke in the air, and it seemed that the other creatures who lingered in front of her did not want her to smell that.
Hands reached up out of the darkness, black hands dripping in ink that gripped her face and forced her to look at the woman in front of her.
“Take from him,” the creature made of oil said again, her voice deepening with meaning. “Destroy him. And you will become all that you have ever desired.”
She didn’t understand what they wanted from her! She wasn’t a gravesinger or a witch. She could only follow the spell books, and even then, look at how that went! That moment was proof, laid out before them. The Deathless One had done what he wanted with her, even though that should have been impossible. Either that spell book had lied or she wasn’t a witch at all.
She wasn’t what they all thought she was. Maybe her mother had been. Maybe there was someone else out there who looked like her, some urchin who should have been a princess.
More smoke poured into her senses, making her eyes and nose burn. She couldn’t even think because it was so hot. She thought maybe she was burning somewhere else. Why could she smell this? Why was everything hurting?
“Remember,” the ink said before it started to disappear. A blinding white light suddenly erupted from the woman’s mouth and then radiated out of all the other feminine images, blasting away the darkness and leaving only brightness behind.
The smoke became overwhelming, and Jessamine suddenly lurched upright. Coughing, she cupped a hand around her mouth and tried very hard not to vomit. What was that smell? Where was she?
“Oh, good.” Sybil’s voice broke through her coughing, but only for a few moments before she went into another fit again. “You’re back.”
“Back?” she croaked out through coughs.
“You were gone for a little while. It’s a good thing I walked by and noticed your spirit was missing. Otherwise you might not have returned at all.”
The room was filled with smoke. Sybil crouched next to her, the coiled locks of her hair falling in front of her face. Those dark eyes saw straight into her soul and the fear that still lingered there. With a nod, Sybil stood and made her way to the window of Jessamine’s room. She opened it wide, even though some of the glass panes were already shattered.
She left behind a tangle of herbs and a smoking bundle of dried greenery that Jessamine couldn’t identify.
“What were you doing to me?” Jessamine asked, her voice sounding like it came from another person.
“That is eucalyptus and juniper, both hard to come by and very expensive. You’re welcome.” Sybil tsked. “Don’t encourage the ancestors if you don’t want them to speak with you! It’s like you know nothing about witchcraft.”
“I didn’t encourage anyone or anything. They were talking to me about… gravesingers, and I don’t… I’m not one of them.”
Sybil chuckled as though Jessamine had made a joke until she looked back at Jessamine and froze. “You really believe that, don’t you? That you aren’t a gravesinger?”
