“What happened?” The words were barely a whisper, hoarse and faded.
“You don’t remember?”
She tried to cast her mind back. There was the hunt, she knew that much. Her brows furrowed as she willed the memories to resurface.
“Stop.” Dhara placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re exhausted enough. Just try to rest.”
With each agonising breath, the darkness closed in on Aloisia. She pushed it back, searching for what had happened. The herd of deer, arrows falling, a sickening thud.
Darkness dug its claws into her, dragging her away from Dhara, away from her home, away from the memories.
The ground was soft beneath Aloisia’s feet, the blades of grass still damp with morning dew. Her dress was thin, and the chill of the air shuddered through her. Aloisia drew her arms around herself, peering at the pale blue sky visible between the canopy of leaves above.
A hawk shrieked a warning.
Aloisia turned, trying to find it.
Behind her was a clearing. She moved into it, the grass becoming slick beneath her bare toes. A spring lay at its centre. On the surface of the water, a body floated.
Brighde.
Aloisia froze, her breath choking in her throat.
The hawk cried again.
As she turned her gaze upwards, she saw the majestic bird circling overhead. Aloisia stepped forth, taking careful strides to the banks of the spring.
Brighde looked peaceful, much as she had atop the marble slab in the Temple. The markings upon her arms were reflected in the water beneath her, the inky black stretching out across the spring until the water was nothing but darkness.
Aloisia scurried back. She lost her footing, the grass treacherous beneath her feet. And, when she hit the ground, she realised why.
Blood.
Aloisia screamed, scrambling to her feet. Her previously pure white dress was marred by red blossoms. The thick liquid trailed up her arms and clung to her hair.
“Blood will release him,” a low voice rasped.
Aloisia spun around, trying to find the source of the words. The hawk screeched above her.
“Blood will bind her,” the voice said.
Her left palm burned, a searing pain. Aloisia glanced down to see the star aglow. Molten orange.
“What does that mean?” she called back, closing her fist around the marking.
The hawk fell silent. No voice answered her.
As she turned, a figure emerged from the inky depths of the spring.
Aloisia paused, fear pounding within her.
Brighde stood before her. The dark waters clung to her hair, to her dress. Her eyes were no longer their familiar light blue, but as black as the depths from which she had emerged. The veins around her eyes pulsed with the darkness as it slowly spread across her face.
“Brighde?” Aloisia murmured.
“Darkness gathers,” Brighde said. “And death with it.”
Brighde lunged for her.
