Death Springs Eternal: The Rift Book III (26 page)

INTERLUDE

THE ARRIVAL OF THE BLACK SHIPS

The dagger in her hand shimmers in the late afternoon sun. Izzy stares down at it, gazing at the intricate markings emblazoned on the blade. It feels light in her hand, as if it’s not a tool but a part of her fourteen-year-old body. Which it is, she realizes. The words written on it are those of her people, after all. It has been meant for her all along.

Someone approaches from behind her, and fingers run through her hair, breaking snarls, flattening curls. She turns and sees her mom standing there, a sad smile on her face. Izzy doesn’t smile back. It would be false if she did, and her mom would know. Her mom
always
knows what she’s thinking.
Has for as long as she can remember.

“You’re beautiful,” her mom says.

“Thanks,” Izzy replies.

Her mom continues to fiddle with her hair, now tying it back with a piece of twine. Izzy is more comfortable now, without strands constantly blowing into her face. Just like always, her mom knows how best to make her feel comfortable.
Too bad that comfort is fleeting.

“You have your mother’s hair,” says her mom. “Did you know that?”

Izzy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, dad’s told me that before.”

“Well, it’s gorgeous.”

This time her spirits stay lifted a bit longer. She loves it when her mom casts praise upon her, just as she loves it when she remembers how dad used to hold her at night before the fire, telling her stories of the past, of how he and mom met. It’s like a gateway into another world, one that holds only a sprinkling of the beauty she’s grown up with but is in many ways more fulfilling.

With thoughts of her dad, she allows her eyes to track down from her perch upon the green mountain, gazing upon the bustle of activity on the beach below. The island is inaccessible on all sides save one, Teacher has told her. The invader’s only choice is to arrive here, at the thin, rocky inlet. It is on this beach that the battle will take place, and now the people who stayed behind, her friends and family, are busy stacking rocks, sharpening spears, building blockades, erecting walls made from the remains of their homes. She cannot see their faces given the distance, but the anxiety each of them feels is as real to her as her own, flooding her senses in waves, invading her thoughts. She is able to hold these impressions at bay for the most part, as her mom has taught her well, but there are two she cannot. Her dad is down there, as is teacher, and they are both afraid. She looks up and over her shoulder and sees her mom’s expression of lock-jawed concentration. Yes, mom feels it as well. The emotions are overbearing.

Again she glances at the knife in her hand, and a part of her desires to spin around and bury the blade in her mom’s sternum. With the thought of this comes shock, and she stumbles backward. Never before has an urge toward violence breached her waking mind. She is taken off guard, unaware, and her head feels faint. It is only her mom’s steady grip on her shoulders that keeps her from tumbling off the ledge.

“It’s all right,” her mom says. “Stay strong. It will pass.”

Izzy nods.

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

Again she nods.

“Look up.”

She does as she’s told, and her vision follows the line of the horizon. Unlike the blue skies above, those in the distance are flooded with dark clouds and mist. It is from within this mist that the first of the vessels approaches, rounding the distant sea from the east. Though it appears small, like a toy, she knows how huge it is, how many of the enemy it contains. She closes her eyes and wills herself to see clearer, and she perceives the blackened boards, the creaking hull,
the
rotting, hole-peppered sails. It is the Ship of the Dead, the one she has dreamed about since she was old enough to remember. Her body shivers at the thought.

He is here.

She concentrates all the harder, bringing her mind’s eye onto the ship. Now she sees through her opposition’s eyes, watches the twisted deformities as they scuttle about the deck, winding the sails, lowering smaller boats to the water. Such hatred accompanies these visions, though excitement weaves in, as well. The confidence the other feels is palpable. He knows that victory is a foregone conclusion. And with herself immersed in these sentiments, Izzy agrees.

The other passes a broken piece of glass, and for the first time she is able to see him in his entirety. Unlike the others, the perverse creatures under his control, he is beautiful. His hair is golden, his eyes clear blue. There is strength in his expression, with lips curled in a sneer and eyes squinting. Yet there is something else there as well, something darker, full of lies and treachery. The façade is beginning to shatter, and with that comes a glimmer of hope. She knows he can’t feel it.
 
He is so obsessed with his goal that he can sense nothing but his own eternity.

Izzy opens her eyes. The call to cruelty lessens until it is nothing but a speck on her soul. And as it leaves a part of her pleads for it to stay, yearning to feel its virtue, its primal
realness
. It is as if she’s been given a fleeting glimpse of forever, of unity, and now the lack of it hurts.

Her mom spins her around and leans over, coming face-to-face with her.

“It’ll all be over soon,” she says. Her expression is strong, confident, much like the others, only more sincerely so. “Remember what we taught you. Everything is in your hands now.”

“I know,” Izzy replies, and plants a kiss on her mom’s cheek.

Together they lower themselves to the ground and sit on the edge of the cliff, watching the dark clouds roll back, revealing two more ships, just as haunted as the first. Her heartbeat picks up, so she grips the jeweled handle of the blade all the tighter, picturing it melding with her flesh, becoming an extension of her. With this action the urge to strike out returns, this alien sensation unlike any she’s known. Only this time she pictures the shearing edge ripping into the throat of her other, slicing in beneath that confident, pale face, ripping out his jugular, letting the blood flow over her.

His blood.
Her blood.
The blood of man.

Her mom pats her on the back of her head. Izzy grits her teeth and grins.