Priestess

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Stopping her waterskin, Ara looped it back over the saddle horn. As she did, her gaze strayed across the shadowy pines. No sooner had she felt the ice in her spine, than the vision came.

She cowered in fear. Beneath her, the ground rocked rhythmically. The trees whipped her as she streaked through them. A sound split the air—high and piercing.

The scene slid out of her reach. Ara slumped against Talbot. She’d recognized the sound—a Hebock’s scream. The visions were coming more frequently now. How much longer before they ruled her life completely?

Burying her face in Talbot’s mane, she inhaled deeply the horse’s scent. It was both familiar and comforting. And warm. The visions always left her so cold.

“Breath, Ara. You are stronger than this.” She forced herself to focus on the cacti roses peeking yellow lips through spiny, green shells. Tiny, white flowers crusted the ground like patches of stubborn snow. “I am safe. Here, I will always be safe.”

            She looked down at the village spread below her. Houses dotted the northern tip of the valley. Smoke from morning fires curled in soft plumes. As she drew closer, the familiar smell of baking bread and work animals permeated the air.

            By the time she’d sold the meat and bought their supplies, it was well past lunchtime. Her belly voiced its complaints as she tied her horse to the post behind the local inn. Pulling out the cheese and bread her mother had packed for her, she rapped lightly at the back door.

Myrel answered, irritation plain on her round face. “I don’t take visitors when I’m serving—” Her annoyance melded into a smile. “Come in, Ara,” she opened the door wide. “How’s your mother?”

“Busy with the garden,” she replied as she inhaled deeply baked beef and fresh bread. Wishing she could at least afford Myrel’s hot, spiced cider, she swallowed back her disappointment.

Myrel grinned, her white teeth a sharp contrast against her dark skin. “Tell her to come visit me as soon as she gets a chance. I haven’t seen her since last fall.” Noticing Ara’s lunch, she nodded toward the inn’s dining room. “I can’t let you sit in the kitchen with us today. Table’s covered with dough. Go on in and start eating at a table. I’ll send Cashelle in soon as she’s back.” Myrel’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh! I forgot the bread in my oven!” She disappeared inside the kitchen.

Ara settled on a chair and scratched at her woolen cap. She glanced around once more before pulling it off and letting her thick braid fall heavily down her back. Slouching, she took a bite of her bread and cheese. Dry and salty, in that order.

Sending a bit of her soul out, she checked on Talbot, and out of habit, the room. Smiling when she found nothing more out of place than a litter of mice, she pulled her soul back.

            Danger, her Gift whispered. More than a little shocked, Ara’s gaze stumbled upon a stranger—one that her soul had completely missed—just like she’d missed Lodan. The hood of his nondescript cloak was drawn up—hiding him in shadows. Though she couldn’t see his face, she was certain he was looking in her direction. The thought made her squirm like a mouse caught in an owl’s talons.

Closing her eyes, she brushed the tiniest amount of her Gift across the void. Where Lodan felt light, this man felt the opposite. Dark. But not just dark. It was as if the darkness around him was a living thing, reaching out to strangle the light. Did that mean he was Gifted too? That he was an assassin?

She recoiled, drew out enough of her soul to hear, and made a broader search. As far as she could tell, he was alone—that is, if others weren’t blocking her as well.