As the female reached the dais, Otto bent down to grasp her elbow and haul her up. He tucked her cane under his arm as he escorted her to the throne.
She wheezed as she sat, then closed her eyes and leaned her head back, her dreadlocks snagging in the rough bones.
Otto said nothing, merely stood beside her, surveying the guests with calm amusement.
The female sat so still that Mireille began to wonder if the short walk to the dais had too thoroughly exhausted her and she’d met True Death.
In a flash, the female’s drooping lids popped open and her milk-edged eyes bolted straight to Mireille, who had to fight the urge to flinch.
The old female muttered something to Otto in Aramaelish. Mireille was close enough to catch a few words.
Souls.
Anxious.
She dug her nails into her palms, the pain forcing her to stay present and not give in to her rising anxiety.
The Deathstalker female touched a wrinkled hand to Otto’s forearm, signaling him to proceed.
“Ladies and gentlemales, we have the extreme honor this evening of introducing you to a female who has been conversing with the souls of our dearly departed for longer than anyone in this room has been alive. Souls who are not, as you have been led to believe, living their eternal lives in the realm of Stygios, but are in a very different place altogether.” Otto paused, and the crowd strained forward. “They are in the Halfway.”
A Beastrunner near the dais piped up. “What’s the Halfway?”
“A sort of…repository. An area between worlds guarded by the Creator herself.” Otto’s eyes sparkled with gleeful menace. “You will see.”
The ancient Deathstalker female’s lips spread into a toothless grin, and she released a sound like a puff of dust escaping a dessicated corpse.
Otto touched her arm. “Our grandmother will lead you there tonight.” Delighted gasps bubbled through the crowd, along with a smattering of respectful applause as Otto bent down to press a reverent kiss to the old female’s cheek. “The mostpowerful chronomancer our world has ever known. Nostrata Otto, everyone!”
The applause grew louder, and Nostrata allowed it to continue for several moments before raising a wobbly hand.
“Ethyrians,” she croaked, her voice struggling up her ancient throat, “we come before you tonight as a conduit. When the Scales of Nyctima grace the sky, a path will open and we will travel to the Halfway in search of souls who have connections with each and every one of you in this room. You may encounter many different faces in the Halfway. Some are mere visions, spectral reflections conjured by the souls who reside there. But the souls themselves, those who have already passed, will emit a rainbow glow. Seek them. If you are lucky, they may bring you a message.”
A chill ran down Mireille’s spine, and she sought out Ronin, who had gone similarly pale.
Between the two of them, there were likely many,manydeparted souls in the Halfway who would have not-so-kind messages for them.
Nostrata began instructing the crowd. “Lie back on the floor and close your eyes.”
Mireille had been trying all eveningnotto glance at the floor. It was extremely unnerving to feel like one was walking on air. Especially since the drop underneath was many thousands of feet down, the rocky, pine-laden cliffs of the Blackspurs cascading to the valley floor.
She steeled herself, and looked down. The sight was very different now that night had fallen. Only blackness shown beneath her feet. As if she were floating in the middle of nowhere.
But she did as the ancient female had instructed, stretching out across the glass and closing her eyes.
A cool mist flowed into the room, kissing her ankles then wending its way up her body. It was thick and creamy, but light as air. Like being coated with dry foam.
She recognized what it was as soon as the smoky, licorice scent hit her nostrils.
Lethaphyll.
She tried not to panic as the hallucinogenic drug seeped into her lungs. The effects were instantaneous, her body melting into the glass floor.
The sounds in the room faded, leaving only her own heartbeat pounding a slow, mesmerizing rhythm. As if she’d returned to the womb.
She nearly burst into euphoric giggles at the thought. No one had memories of being in the womb.
Or did they? Perhaps every single memory she’d ever had was still within her, buried in the cobwebbed depths of her subconscious.
