Page 44 of The Stolen Throne
She pauses only a few paces away and sits, staring up at me, head cocked in a curious fashion.
“You’re a hard woman to get alone, Mereneith of Aryd.”
The sand fox runs, and on a gasp, I wheel around so hard that I get hung up in the deep sands and topple over, landing on my backside. As I go down, I catch the shape of a man out of the corner of my eye. He’s close enough that as soon as I hit the ground, I’m scrambling back on all fours as fast as I can.
Not fast enough. He just sort of disappears and reappears right in front of me.
With a yelp, I pull my power forward in a sizzling rush and throw sand at him. Except it goes right through him, falling to the ground in a shoosh of grains.
Eidolon raises his hands in what appears to be a conciliatory gesture before he disappears again.
I stop, looking around frantically. Goddess help me.
Then he’s back, even closer, right in front of me now, crouched down so that we’re eye to eye. And he’s smiling. Kindly.
I cut off the scream that started to rip out of me as it hits me that he’s not…solid. I can see through him like the semi-sheer curtains that hang between columns in my room in the palace.
“That’s right,” he says, and his voice sounds muffled, like he’s talking through a veil. “I’m not the current flesh-and-blood Eidolon.”
A squeak leaves me before I can stop it. But seriously, what would be a better response?
I gather my wits and take a sharp breath. “What are you, then?”
He stands, looming over me. Assessing. Crooked mouth still tilted, like he’s amused. “I’m one of the versions of him that was shed, lived as a man, and has already passed on to the afterlife. Not the first Eidolon who started all this, but…one of the first to be created.”
20
Ghost Stories
Shock punches out of me in a bark of a laugh. Uh-huh. Right. I’m talking to a ghost of Eidolon.
I push to my feet, dusting my hands off. I think it’s more likely that my mind has finally snapped. That or someone is doing this to me. An Enfernae with power over the mind, maybe?
“Where am I really?” I ask him suspiciously. “Still in the palace? Is Eidolon messing with my head, trying to get information?” I look around like the world I can see will fade away and reveal that everything that’s happened since the moment Reven appeared in my room and kissed me was all the king’s doing. A shadowy mimic of this world to get me to bend to his will.
The ghostly Eidolon before me shakes his head. “This is real enough. The current Eidolon took some of us out of the Land of Eternal Death. I…” He smiles to himself. “I hitched a ride. I’ve been trying to find you.”
Souls from the burning lands? He’s been looking for me? That’s a lot to take in, and I’m still not sure I believe any of this. “Why?”
“To tell you a story.”
A story? I blink, because that’s the last thing I was expecting.
Tabra had a nanny once…which meant I did, too, from time to time, when I was pretending to be her. A pleasantly plump woman with a personality that involved comforting hugs and kind smiles…and bedtime stories. Grandmother wasn’t thrilled with any of those things, and the nanny was let go after only a few months. I haven’t thought of her in years.
I’m pretty sure whatever this spirit has in mind, it isn’t going to be that kind of story. I don’t really want to listen to what any version of Eidolon, other than Reven, has to say. But maybe if I humor him, he’ll leave. “Like a bedtime story?”
He huffs a laugh. “Not exactly.”
“Okay…” I draw the word out. “And if I hear you out, you’ll leave?”
“I’ll leave.”
I try to think of any other way out of this, but given the way he moved last time, running isn’t going to work. I force myself to relax, hands on my hips and head cocked. “All right. I’m listening.”
Remaining crouched before me, he hesitates, as though trying to decide what to say. Then… “The story of creation is written in the glyphs and runes found on ancient monuments, obelisks, tombs, temples, and scrolls, pieced together from each of the dominions of this age.”
I frown a little. He’s going to tell me about creation? Every person alive knows this story. They tell it in schools, in the temples, in homes of those who still pray to the silent goddesses. I’ve heard it.
