Metal foldingchairs were procured and set up by the reliquary. All three of them sat in a triangle facing each other, close enough their knees could touch. Raum and Saemund both looked to Ezra, who drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out, releasing tension in his frame.
“Ready?”
Saemund nodded and closed his eyes. Hands on his knees, frame relaxed, Saemund’s face went blank as if he were sleeping, his breathing slow and steady. Raum gave it a moment, and then copied his grandfather.
It was a bit disconcerting—there was nothing to see with his inner vision—Raum and Saemund were making a connection, and hopefully they would be able to then connect to the skull through the reliquary.
The hangar was quiet. The air was chilly in the huge space, despite the strength of the summer sun outside. Major Grendel and the sergeants waited by the door, all of them watchingthe three of them sitting there, outwardly doing nothing. Lilith watched him, too, her tail flicking, but content to remain in Chase’s arms for now.
Saemund sighed, returning Ezra’s attention to the High Court Sidhe. “We’ve made contact.” Saemund spoke quietly, evenly, as if his concentration was engrossed in something else entirely.
“She’s waking up,” Raum said, low and intense. “Her emotions are powerful.”
“Can you speak to her?” Ezra asked, not wanting to jar either of them from the connections they’d made.
“She is aware—” Saemund gasped and his whole body arched, head thrown back. A strong hand reached out and grabbed Ezra’s wrist, and he gasped at the tight grip, Saemund’s fingers like iron.
“The fuck!” Ezra tried to pry Saemund’s hand off him, but it was impossible. It hurt, but was manageable, and Ezra struggled to calm himself, not wanting to panic. Panic made scary situations worse.
“Redmayne?” Grendel called out.
“Stay back! Do nothing!” Ezra yelled, afraid of what might happen to Saemund or Raum if the MERS soldiers got involved.
Saemund’s eyes opened, and Ezra froze. Wide and fathomless, Saemund’s eyes glowed with brilliant blue fire, energy crackling around him.
“Death mage,” Saemund's lips moved but it wasn’t his voice—this was raspy, deep, but with a feminine tone.
Saemund wasn’t in control anymore.
“Morana,” Ezra gasped out, right before a surge of intense blue energy swelled out from Saemund and Raum, crashing over Ezra like a wave.
Drowning in power was akin to drowning in water—icy cold, seeping into every nook and cranny, filling his lungs and burning with every aborted breath.
“Death mage,” came the voice of a dying goddess, cracked and discordant.
He was no longer alone in his head. Intense pressure, pain, and a cacophony of foreign thoughts exploded behind his eyes, and he realized that Raum and Saemund were up against a mind that was expansive, without borders, and Ezra had made a horrible mistake.
He’d touched the mind of a goddess before—Hecate’s, the day he learned how to heal a mortal illness years before with Lilith. Then, Hecate was careful with him, he realized that now—She had been comfort, control, and patience.
Morana was desperation, fear, and anger.
And he’d asked two men with no previous experience to wake a dormant goddess and tell her she was dying.
He was a fool, and he hoped he wasn’t going to get them killed.
Time did not stop, but struggled sluggishly, as mired as Ezra in the swell and eddy of Morana’s power. Through the mental invasion he felt Saemund and Raum as distant points in a storm.
Saemund’s eyes glowed brighter, a blue so vibrant it was nearly white, lightning in a snowstorm.
“Morana, let us go,” Ezra gasped out, swaying in the chair. He felt and heard both Raum and Saemund through the bonds they’d forged between them, and the way Morana was straining the connections. None of them were enduring well and he feared for them all if Morana kept ahold of Saemund. “We’re here to help! Let them go!”
“You are who I need!” she hissed, and the light went out of Saemund’s eyes, the grip on Ezra’s wrist falling away, his flesh throbbing in pain.
Saemund and Raum fell out of their chairs, landing on the floor. Saemund groaned, while Raum shuddered and threw up. Ezra tried to move, to go to them, but he was frozen in his chair.
He felt a growing pressure on his mental shields, his vision swamped by blue, icy tendrils creeping over his flesh. She wanted in. She wanted something from him. But even as she tried to enter his mind as she had Saemund’s, he felt her power wavering. Saemund had been the bridge out of the reliquary, and she released him.
Heal me, death mage.
