The Veiled One

Chapter Nineteen: I discover the true meaning of a mood swing

I take a deep breath and reach into the Void. I imagine that inside the nothing that's swallowing my arm, there's a shelf, and on that shelf, there's a stand that's holding Lisentia's Tear. The tear is there, right where I left it. I pluck it out and set it on the map table, watching the way it seems to suck all the light in the room into itself. It's a disconcerting experience.

"Agramina, you know the ancient laws, don't you? How much they'll allow?"

Agramina sneers at Sibyl, evidently having moved on to angry and confrontational emotions now. "Of course, fool girl. I predate the ancient laws!"

"I don't know them," I point out, but no one listens to me. Instead, Agramina assumes a stance like she's pushing against something really heavy. She murmurs a few words in a language even older than the Old Tongue. I'm guessing that this is the language of power, of magic itself, the words that weave its fabric. I try to listen, to be able to remake magic myself, but I can't understand, only catching snippets at a time.

All of the sudden, I feel like a fist has slammed into my gut. I physically recoil, reeling so that I fly into the table, collapsing atop it. Paper crumples and glass crunches beneath my back, a sharp and soft experience all at once. The world stops far too abruptly for my liking as I wait for the pain to come. Surprisingly, there's nothing.

"Sylas?" comes Mor's voice from far, far away. "Sylas, are you all right?"

But they can only see my outsides. What's happening on the inside is far, far worse. It's like every emotion I've ever felt in my life, all happening at once while churning my guts. I look up at Sibyl's face, trying to speak, when a wave of the most unbearable sadness overcomes me. It's like the moment I realized my parents had been butchered, my grandmother was dead, and my brother was going to leave me all at once, then the pain multiplied by tenfold. I try to open my mouth to speak, but what comes out is a keening wail, the sound of pure misery. It's a dying scream, and tears pour from my eyes. I fall to the floor, sobbing and screaming, kicking at the stone with bruising force but uncaring, because my body can't understand how my heart is physically hurting.

Endor drops to the floor beside me suddenly, gathering my fists in his little hands, and he wraps his arms around me, his eyes filling with tears too.

"Stop it, Sylas, stop it!" he shrieks, but it's like he's underwater. The tears keep flowing, rolling down my cheeks, until something inside me ignites and burns out, the heat from my chest scorching my tears away. Calmly, methodically, I push Endor away and stand. He's still clinging uncertainly to my waist, and I look down at him.

It's like there's poison inside of me. The sight of him, of everything, disgusts me. I fling him away, and there must be magic behind me because he hits the wall so hard, there's a sickening crack. Sibyl lets out a scream and tries to go to him, but I cast out a hand, using my magic to fling her away too. Mor tries to get me, to pin me down, but I'm raging, and magic is flying around, and there's no way to stop any of it, anything at all. I'm just so angry at everything, furious and confused and unable to listen to anything that anyone is shouting at me...

It changes in an instant. There's no more anger now, only primordial, gripping fear. I scream and scream and scream, hitting the floor and curling into a ball, rocking, shaking, sobbing. Bile creeps up the back of my throat, and I want to let it out. I feel like pissing myself, and I don't even know what I'm afraid of. Mor's voice is trying to tell me something, but I can't listen, I can't do it. I'm too scared to open my eyes, certain that if I open them, there will be something there that I can't face.

That's gone too, suddenly. Something cool and glass is being placed into my palm, nudged there by a weak blast of magic. Sibyl's magic. Guilt twists in my stomach, heavy and aching, making me want to throw up for an entirely different reason. Sibyl crouches before me, pushing the hair away from my sweaty brow, and she's bleeding. Oh, gods, she's bleeding. And Endor...