The Veil Queen may not be participating, but she’s at the top of my list of people to interrogate.
There are no more clues in the other variations. So once again I stop, planting my feet slightly apart in the hope that I will actually be able to keep myself from collapsing – as I let this scene move forward.
Please. I send up the silent prayer then watch as it unfolds again, standing unseen in the middle of the road.
My attention locks on my husband, and this time it’s Seth who’s beside him. As the Veil rips, Seth’s horse bucks, then bolts, taking Seth out of the action before he has time to react.
He throws himself from the saddle, landing with a roll and running back down the road, his sword drawn.
Shouting, “Dad!”
Attackers fill the gap between them as both Elorsins fight. Bodies fall, poorly trained and fueled by nothing but mob adrenaline. They’re sheep, every one of them, not a single wolf in sight.
Whips lash through the flesh of my Seth, felled before he can make the center of the skirmish. On my Vidarr as he moves like lightning and thunder, his sword nothing but a flash of steel, his horse pushing forward despite crying out in agony.
Soul deep pain rips fresh through me. Riveting me in place until the last moment when the attackers retreat and the Veil closes. Seth manages to drag himself across the dirt and grass to Vidarr’s side, the two of them weaving their hands together. Vidarr’s weathered fingers, wrinkles and calluses, a contrast against the mere few hundred years of my son’s.
I fall to my knees beside them. They can’t see or hear me because this hasn’t come to be yet. Just one of many possibilities.
The hum of the universe vibrates through my soul. Through every fiber that makes up my reeling existence.
It means only one thing – the chance that more than one of these moments will become a reality. An impending split.
Two paths. Two timelines. Two new worlds – unless I make the right choice.
I scrub my palm over the moisture on my cheeks and turn to the next page, but I don’t bother getting to my feet. The whips and rearing horses, the sword blows and angry attackers, none of them can hurt me. And in the end, those I love fall to the ground around me. Again and again.
Pax fights hardest, his earned immunity working to keep him alive, but the sheer number of attackers is unrelenting. His golden eyes are still open when his heart stops, every time.
And Killian, nothing but a babe in my arms, now grown into a striking young man. His Darkness battles to the end, sacrificing himself until the shadows fall like they too mourn his last breath.
Seth finds their hands, one of them, every time. Holding on ‘til death. Softly murmuring something, some final joke, that puts a smile on their dying lips.
And every scene that Roarke lays witness to stains his eyes with tears. Tears that turn black, that rot with his soul.
I continue to flick through the pages.
Torturing myself with the variations.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
No version of the future passes with an empty forest. Not a single turn of events ends with all my family safely eating lunch in the castle or arguing with each other in the halls. Not always all of them enter the forest, but at least one of them every. Single. Time.
I must have looked at millions by now, but time means nothing in here.
I need to find one. Just one version where they all survive. In the time between me seeing this and it actually coming into existence, untold ripples occur. Small details that alter the course. Do my boys find love and move away from the Black Castle? Or have I set all of them extra tasks with their tutors?
Surely there’s one where no one dies.
There has to be a detail I can use – because I have to write this prophecy, and it has to be perfect. I turn page after page.
Determined – because the universe might never show me this moment again. But not a single usable detail stands out, and instead I find myself watching the people I love die again and again with a growing feeling that stopping it is impossible.
With my magic fading and barely the energy to see straight, I turn one last page.
Same forest, same mist, same knot in my stomach as a horse rides into view. Just Vidarr.
As with every other version, the battle is swift, his body falling from the back of his mount and the attackers retreating before his last breaths are taken. The people from the Veil are giddy with devoured pain, feasting on the thick emotion. Their whips leave behind an acrid smell that even my incorporeal form has to endure. That, and the ash drifting in from the other side.
The Veil Queen is not an unreasonable woman, but this first level of the afterlife is controlled by the darkness of its inhabitants. The landscape is a product of the evil in there, and her indifference to the suffering leaves gaping holes open for others to exploit.
It is not just the dead who reside beyond the Veil. It’s full of creatures who feed on the souls and humans that harvest the pain, beings who have adapted to the environment. And slaves.
I have no power over that realm, and I can’t stop a future tear in the Veil.
The poison rushes through Vidarr’s skin, not just one lashing, but dozens on every limb. Its effects take hold in minutes, and there is no cure.
I have to remedy that. If I can gift my family a potion that can counteract the poison, this never has to happen.
I’ll need to make the potion before I can come back to the book and hope it will let me view its effectiveness. If I succeed, make the potion, change the playing field, then the pages might be written differently. My heart is already aching with the idea, the pain being pushed aside by hope.
Then Vidarr’s lips part, and he looks to his left, as if he can see me. “Raefiya, I know you’re here,” he whispers.
A new ache hits me.
“I can see you; I can see the book. It’s beautiful, Raefiya. The universe is beautiful.”
He blinks, taking too long to open his eyes again, as I remain stone still. This can only mean one thing. He’s having a vision.
Which is impossible because he was never gifted the trigger to his power. Every ProphecySeed lays dormant until they bring a prophecy gifted to them into fruition. Usually one powerful enough to create a split with the goal being to stop that split from occurring. So, in short, a ProphecySeed is born powerless then given breadcrumbs to save the world, hoping they’re doing it right. And only after that, for better or worse, can they begin to glimpse the universe.
But this is something so important that the universe has chosen to show him despite his powers being dormant.
Why? Why not show me?
His eyelids pull back and his gaze finds mine once more.
“I can see two things,” he begins, his voice weak with decay. “Stop trying to save Lucif and admit what your heart already knows – he is not what you thought he would be. There are two girls about to be born in your time. One will rule the dark and find her way to you, the other the light, and you must find her, born of the last…” He stops to swallow back a mouthful of black bile. “Of their kind. Put them both into stasis. You hear me, love, do not allow another girl to grow up in that castle. There’s a third child, a mortal soul born of mortal and Aeon magic. Stop hunting her, she’s out of your control now. When you find the cure for this poison, you’ll have one dose – save it for the one who’ll save them all. Trust no one, Raefy. No one. Our enemies have been by our side this whole time… My other vision is of you – I know you’re here. ”