Eleos tilted his head to look at me. “Not all scholars are pudgy old men.”
“What?” I asked, surprised.
“Nothing,” he said, turning around.
Had he read my mind? Or had my shock been apparent? Gods, had I felt up his abs like a perverted wench?
Nuzzling my face into his scarf, I blocked my view of both the horse and its rider. “The Bloodstone. Do we need it for something?”
“Yes,” Eleos answered. “Supposedly, it emanates a sacred aura that protects one from the atrophying effects of the Empty.”
“Has that been tested?”
“Of course not. The stone would be lost forever if it failed.”
“Oh, good,” I mumbled, trying not to think about it. Seraphim said she would explain everything when we stopped. Good enough for me.
Silence consumed the marsh save for the sound of crickets and the sloshing of hooves. My heart started beating faster as fear set in. Pockets of the Empty could appear anywhere in the wilderness. I’d seen one as a child. A shadow within a shadow, the world itself warping as it was torn away and turned to dust. It had spread, like hands reaching for me, trying to pull me in.
Staring over Eleos’ shoulder, I watched the woman named Seraphim warily. She was a chthonic mage. Abyss-cursed, some called them. Those who used their blood and the blood of others—life itself—to fuel dangerous spells.
A deadly game, when death beget the end of the world.
“Calm down,” Eleos said softly, “We’ll be alright.”
Were my hands trembling? Tightening my grip, I clung to him like a frightened child, though I probably should have done the opposite.
“Percy is a mage, too,” he said. “We aren’t helpless.”
That gaudy charlatan could use magic, too? Three kinds of magic existed, each gifted by one of the gods—a rare blessing few obtained. Ainwir had been a mage, but he’d never told me which kind.
First, there were the psyches, born of Psythos, the goddess who governed and endowed humanity with their emotions. They could read minds, and alter emotions.
Then there were muses, disciples of Callesis, the god of luck, who drew magic from art into countless forms. I’d never met one and understood little of their talents.
Last were the chthonics, chosen by Haimyx, he who imbued the world with life and guided us after death into the great continent beyond the Empty.
Only the Maiden Brizo did not gift her magic to mortals. Perhaps she thought her Bloodstone enough. The other gods bestowed magic upon extraordinary individuals who had endured great struggles.
Small wonderIhadn’t received the gods’ blessing.
Exhausted, I counted the minutes as we rode deeper into the wilds, skirting the road to avoid the guards. The water level slowly lowered as we drew closer to the wetland’s edge. We crested a high hill, where Seraphim abruptly stopped and slid off her horse.
“I think we’re safe here,” she said. “Get a fire started. We’ll rest a while.”
I glanced around the soaked wetlands. “Where are we going to find dry wood?”
“We won’t,” Eleos said, dismounting. “I packed some.” He stepped away, but paused, eyeing me worriedly. “Do you need help off?”
Leaning left, I measured the distance to the ground. Swallowing, I smiled at him. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Slide off.” He beckoned. “I’ll catch you.”
Grabbing the saddle for dear life, I slowly swung one leg over and held my breath before letting myself slip off. Eleos grabbed my waist and gingerly set me down on the damp soil.
“See?” He said. “Not so bad, right?” Turning around, he pulled a sack of dry twigs from his saddlebags and dumped them into my arms. “Take these to the fire.”
I had been about to laud him for being a gentleman, but I quickly rescinded the thought. Carrying my pile to whereSeraphim set up a stack of fat wood, I dropped them beside her before joining Eleos in his hunt for more kindling.
