In the first, the woman stood praying amidst a tangled wood. She and all the world around her fogged in darkness, yet her eyes glittered silver andgold. In the second, the woman was bound upon a ship over black water. His vision muddied as if he’d been thrust beneath the waves. A stifled, watery scream roared in his mind. The third panel showed the woman rising from the deep, haloed in fire, greeted upon the shore by a hundred kneeling men.
The text etched above read:
The Drowning of Nythis.
“Cerys.”
When he turned, he found himself opposite a feminine façade. It was carved in white marble and grander than all the rest. Her hooded form hewn in beauty, her face…He stood upon the tips of his toes and brushed his fingers against her cheeks. Soft to the touch, and even more familiar.
The druid had seen her face before… in his reflection.
He drew back as if burned.
“Alluring, isn’t she?”
The druid spun to face Hirí behind him—his gasp chased by her giggles.
“Did I startle you, wee dear?”
“Twenty-six winters I roamed this land, yet you hunt with the steps of ghosts.”
Her cat-like grin was unmoving. “You’ve certainly wandered off the beaten path.”
“I simply took a wrong turn.”
Suddenly, he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there, but he desperately wished to go.
“How curious.” Her eyes led him to the triptych. “Generations of my sisters are buried within this crypt. They say their voices can be heard from beyond the grave.”
“What is dead, is dead.”
“Certainly,” she said, admiring the painting. “Weare not gods, after all.”
The image of the drowning woman burned into his eyelids. As he gazed upon her face, twisted in horror, his lungs wanted to burst; every breath ragged in his throat.
“Do you know why the An’Atherin fear the Nytherim?”
“No.” The word pressed out of him.
“Itis simple,” said she. “It is because our magick is real. And men fear what they can’t control. They will forever seek to destroy it—it all began with her.”
“Do you mean to say the An’Atherin tried to kill her?”
“It is what they do. Break things… destroy them. Forge them anew.” Hirí shook her head, as if batting away a stray thought. Her gleaming irises fixed upon him. “Are you afraid?”
The sound of water rushed in his head.
“This place is… suffocating.”
Lightning flashed behind her eyes.“I knew at once I saw you. It is said that Nythis only bore daughters. But it is certain you are her son.”
The word was a cold blade, plunged into his heart.
“I have told you—your myths mean nothing to me,” he whispered.
“You think she a myth? You couldn’t be more wrong. Nythis was flesh and blood. Her bones lay still beneath the Augeri—here in this very crypt.”
His eyes widened.
