Page 77 of The City Of Fractured Memory

Panic claws at my throat, my hand searching for Stryx’s and clenching her fingers tight. She eyes me wearily as the whispering builds up, but across from me, an old crone who has yet to speak holds her bronzed, withered palm in the air and silence immediately falls.

“Come here child,” she says, her voice youthful and soft, so at odds with her extreme years.

I let go of Stryx, walking round the circle until I’m standing in front of the old woman. She gestures for me to sit and I do, crossing my legs as she turns, until our knees are an inch apart. She takes my hand forcefully from my lap and yanks it towards her, pulling my palm close to her face as she starts to examine it.

“I don’t understand,” I choke out. “All I did was snuff the fires and relight them?”

She runs a crooked finger down a line on my palm and hums to herself. “It is not the what, child, but the how of it. How often have you been using this magic?”

I shrug, shaking my head as I try to think. “Rarely. I hate the effects of it, I only use it when necessary.”

She nods, exhaling in what I think is relief. “You are fortunate. It is that which has saved you.”

I swallow. “What will happen to me?” I whisper, my voice small, barely audible, but she lays down my palm finally and lifts her milky eyes to mine.

“Continue to use this magic, and it will consume you,” she snarls. “The Gods, they do not give freely, girl. Whomever taught you the ways of the Forbidden Current is no friend to you. The threads of our world are delicate, connecting to us all, allowing life and magic to flow between us, but the Veyne is a parasite, a plague, the antimatter to all things. It picks away at the world, fraying those threads that hold all life together until eventually, one will snap. It will eat away at everything you are until your soul is consumed by the darkness. Then the Gods will take back your body as payment. You will live out eternity within the Voyd, never dying, a permanent husk cursed to watch time pass infinitely. You will never learn peace.”

I gulp, a tear breaking free and slowly running down my face as I take in her vicious words. “I didn’t know.”

“What do you know of magic?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“I—I know that the Echofae have elemental magic,” I start, and she nods encouragingly.

“Yes, yes child, we do. Control over all elements gives us almost limitless abilities, the only caveat being that we can drain our power quickly, and we must channel to restore it. Though some Echofae bloodlines are born with unique gifts, like you. Your family are the last of the Veyrathi bloodline, the last to have the gift of true sight.”

“That’s what I don’t understand, though. If I have this power, how have I not been able to use it? Detect it?”

“It is not just your memories that have been repressed. So much time away from your home here will have taken its toll. But I’m sure you can feel it returning now, even though you’ve only just arrived?”

I nod, the constant pull of my magic thrumming in my veins. It’s become more insistent the longer we’ve been here. “Yes, I can feel it.”

“Good, very good,” she murmurs. “Time spent here will help strengthen and restore your power. Now, what else do you know? What about mortal magic?”

I grimace, starting to wonder how much knowledge I’ve previously dismissed as myth. “I know it’s illegal, for our own protection. The legend is that we once had limitless power, like the Echofae, but when the Faceless God was imprisoned behind the Veil, our magic became restricted. It can only be used by sacrificing parts of oneself.”

“Yes, this is true. Mortal magic resides in the soul, just like the Echofae. But instead of being a nurturing connection, it claws away at pieces of you, feeding on your memories, your emotions, anything that makes you…you. The prophecy suggests that releasing the God would save mortals from these consequences, once again giving them access to unlimited power. But there are those who still crave more, who draw power from the Voyd itself, allowing the Forbidden Current to flow through them. It seems you somehow have access to all three types of magic.”

I shake my head in denial. “How could I possibly be drawing this power without even realising? That doesn’t make sense.”

“A ritual would have been performed,” she says, her milky eyes narrowing. “Once completed it opens a permanent pathway, allowing you to draw power from it at any time. Given that you don’t seem to remember, we must surmise that it was performed before you were housed in the mortal quarters, though it is a most grievous crime to commit such an act, let alone upon a child.”

“Who taught you to use your magic?” one of the elders snaps from across the fire, drawing my gaze to hers.

I shake my head again. “I don’t know. I thought my parents did, but that doesn’t make sense…” I trail off, desperately trying to recall my memories, anything at all to figure out this horrendous puzzle, but it’s buried too deep. Murmuring erupts once again through the room, heads shaking, narrowed eyes watching me.

“What can we do? There must be a way to help her?” Stryx pleads, her gaze darting between the elders with tears welling in her eyes.

The old woman once again takes my hand, clasping it with both of hers, and she closes her eyes, muttering words under her breath in a language I don’t understand. Around us the elders hush as they watch, anticipating something. When the crone opens her eyes again, thin red vessels bleed against the milky white.

“The Other. He is like you. Only he can teach you. You must recover your true, repressed power, before the Veyne consumes you.”

Riven.

Voyd take me.

Before I can argue, shouting echoes outside the door, and everyone’s heads whip towards the sound.

“Where is she? Let me see her! Move!”