Chapter 48 #2
Silence stretched for a long moment. The lamp Ysabel had lit on the bedside table flickered. Amryn leaned forward, a look of concentration taking over her face. Carver wondered what she was sensing from the empath seated across from her.
Eyes still closed, Ysabel began to speak. “This journal belonged to the reviled empath, Saul Von. Desperation clings to it.” She opened her eyes, blinking slowly at Amryn. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it while in Esperance,” Amryn said, keeping her answer vague. “But anything you can tell me about Von, or what he wrote . . . I need to know.”
Ysabel frowned but closed her eyes once more.
She bowed her head, her hand flattening against the journal.
Another long silence stretched. Then, “He was afraid. No, terrified. Not by things that happened to him, or things he feared would happen to him . . . He was haunted by things he’d seen.
” Her eyes blinked open. “Visions. Terrible visions. It was his gift and his curse to see them.”
Amryn leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Ysabel. “The Flame,” she whispered, as if she could not help herself. “The Sword—”
“The Dragon,” Ysabel interrupted smoothly, taking up the now familiar words. “And the Storm.”
A chill raced over Carver’s arms. “What does it mean?” he demanded.
Marc shot him a censuring look, but Ysabel’s eyebrows tugged together as she considered. “I’m not sure. I need . . .” Her words drifted as she lifted the journal and pressed the small book between both hands. Once more, her eyes fell closed.
When she opened her eyes this time, Carver knew she wasn’t seeing them. Her gaze was unfocused, her voice deeper than before. Rougher. “When five bloodstones unite, the earth will rend and chaos will rule. The power of five, wielded by one, leads to an unstoppable end.”
Amryn paled, but she didn’t look away from Ysabel. She didn’t even blink as the empath continued to speak. “Broken men will be drawn to defend The Flame, the hope for us all. For without The Flame, there is no spark. When no one fights, everyone falls.”
Ysabel’s hold on the journal shook, but she didn’t drop it.
Nor did she stop speaking in that low, aged voice.
“The voices of the cursed echo. In the end, they will scream.
Only one can decide the ultimate fate. The Flame, shaped by betrayal that ends in violent death.
The Sword, stained by the blood of enemies and innocents.
The Dragon, silenced by all and none. The Storm has come.
“The Flame must choose to heal or destroy; to sacrifice or betray. The Sword must break; break and be mended, so it can shatter anew. The Dragon must wake; terror will reign for all but the monster. The Storm must rage.
“The Flame will choose, and burn out. The Sword will defend, and be defeated. The Dragon will rise, and fall. The Storm cannot be escaped or survived.”
Ysabel suddenly gasped, her entire body going rigid.
Marc leaped forward, grasping her shoulders. He shook her. Hard.
She didn’t even seem to notice. Her head was thrown back, her eyes rolling wildly, the rest of her body frozen in a harsh contortion. Her chest wasn’t moving. She wasn’t breathing.
Marc groaned, the sound wounded and frantic.
Carver darted forward, but Amryn beat him to it. She tore the journal from Ysabel’s clawed hands.
The second her skin broke free of the journal, Ysabel collapsed in Marc’s arms.
Her jagged breaths filled the room. Her body was wracked with shudders as the large man cradled her protectively. His agitation was tangible as he grunted.
She was still trembling as she rasped, “I’m all right. I promise, I’m all right.” Saints, her throat sounded ravaged. When she finally stopped shaking, Marc forced her to lie back on the bed. His own large body was vibrating with tension.
Carver had tugged Amryn to her feet, so they stood beside the bed. The journal lay abandoned on the now-rumpled quilt.
Amryn was pale. “What happened?” she asked Ysabel.
“I’m not sure,” she said, her breathing still a little ragged. “I’ve never experienced anything like that. I . . . I think I fell into one of Von’s visions.” She swallowed hard, grimacing. “Water. Please.”
Marc moved before Amryn could, reaching for the nearby pitcher and pouring a glass. He handed it to Ysabel, who drank gratefully.
Tense silence gripped the room as they waited for Ysabel to finish and set the empty cup aside.
Only then did the empath continue. “I didn’t see what Von did.
I simply heard his voice and echoed his words.
But whatever he saw . . . it was bad. Very bad.
” She shook her head, her face bleached of color.
“The fear he battled . . . the dread. He was desperate to stop this prophecy from being fulfilled, yet I could feel his certainty that he would fail. He still tried to give the world its best chance. He wanted to destroy them. The bloodstones.”
Marc frowned and signed briefly.
Ysabel shook her head. “I don’t know what a bloodstone is,” she said, obviously answering his unspoken question. She turned her gaze to Carver and Amryn, lines appearing on her forehead as she studied them. “But I think they do.”
Carver hardly knew what to think, let alone say, as Marc and Ysabel stared at them. Everything he’d just witnessed was impossible. And yet . . .
Amryn took his hand with her own. He knew it was a silent plea, and despite all his reservations, he sighed. “We don’t know much about them,” he told Marc and Ysabel. “They’re magical objects that—when wielded by an empath—somehow amplify that empath’s power.”
“A reserve of some kind?” Ysabel asked.
“Something like that.” Amryn glanced at Carver, but he subtly shook his head. He didn’t want Amryn to admit that she carried a bloodstone, or share the things she could do with it.
Her lips pursed, but agreement was in her eyes—and in her silence.
Ysabel glanced between them, obviously picking up something. But instead of prying, she said, “If that’s true, why would Saul Von have wanted to destroy them? He was fighting against the emperor himself. It doesn’t make sense that he would have sought to destroy such a great source of power.”
“I don’t know his reasoning,” Amryn admitted. “But I think he wanted to destroy the bloodstones because of that vision you just witnessed.”
Ysabel’s eyes clouded. “If destroying those bloodstones can prevent what Saul Von feared, I pray he succeeded.”
Amryn folded her arms, her fingers wrapping tightly around her elbows. “Did you see or hear anything that might explain how to destroy a bloodstone?”
“No, I didn’t see anything about that.”
Amryn bit her lip. “When you were hearing Von’s voice, did you see anything at all? Even a hint of what he saw? Anyone?”
“No,” Ysabel said. “The whole experience was strange. Those words . . . I felt them. They carried a weight I’ve never experienced before.
I don’t know if Von’s visions were accurate portrayals of the future, but .
. .” She eyed the journal, still lying on the bed near her feet.
“Based on what I felt, Von certainly believed that prophecy was inevitable.”
Amryn’s throat flexed as she swallowed. “When he spoke of The Flame . . . did you get any impressions of what he might have meant by that?”
Carver tensed.
Ysabel glanced at him, but she answered Amryn. “No. I’m sorry, it was just so overwhelming. I’m sure I missed something. I could try again—”
Marc’s harsh growl tore through the air.
Ysabel set a hand on his rigid arm. “Perhaps not right now,” she conceded. “I need to rest. But I can try another time.”
“Thank you,” Amryn said.
Marc caught Carver’s eye, then jerked his head toward the door. That didn’t need any interpretation.
“Let’s go,” Carver murmured, setting his hand on the small of Amryn’s back.
Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t argue. She scooped up the journal and deposited it back in the small satchel she’d brought.
“I wish I could have been more help,” Ysabel said. “Perhaps next time.”
Marc grunted.
Carver felt the same, but he was certain the women would make them meet again. Amryn might even want Ysabel to use her gift on the bloodstone, especially if they couldn’t discover the information they needed in any other way. Namely, how to destroy it.
Amryn hung the satchel on her shoulder before facing Ysabel again. “I’m sorry it caused you pain.”
Ysabel gave a weak smile. “Pain is a part of our gifts sometimes.”
Marc’s hands twisted as he signed.
Ysabel’s lips twitched. “Marc is reminding me that rest is essential to my recovery. And since I frightened him so much, he is insisting we wait at least a couple of weeks before we try that again.”
Marc’s stern expression made Carver wonder if his words hadn’t been a little more emphatic than Ysabel’s translation. Regardless, Carver said, “Of course.” He pulled out a small purse filled with coin.
Ysabel shook her head. “This was a favor between friends.”
Marc snorted and snatched the purse from Carver’s hand.
Ysabel rolled her eyes. “Or not.”
“Thank you again,” Amryn said.
Carver led her to the door, but before they could step through, Ysabel called out Amryn’s name.
When they turned to face the empath, her expression was serious. “I don’t know if it’s just because you’ve had possession of this journal, but I felt you in its pages.” Her eyes flicked to Carver. “Both of you. And I don’t think that’s a good thing.” Her expression tensed. “Be careful.”
More unsettled than before, Carver squeezed Amryn’s hand and pulled her from the room.