Chapter 24
Sorcha woke with a scream lodged in her throat, one hand to her neck. Her skin was slick with sweat, hot to the touch. The vision still screamed in her head, as clear as any memory, yet it left a harsh taste in her mouth. The taste of blood. With a shuddering breath she pushed the hair back that had fallen in front of her face and moved onto her knees, then pushed herself up. She was wearing a short tunic and pants, putting on only her boots before she slipped out. The passing storm had left the night air warm and heavy, which she didn’t mind. She liked it, really, the quiet after the storm, how the world seemed to hum with magic. It swept over her skin, lifted the hairs up so that she felt the crackle of energy wash her, then fill her.
She looked out across the camp, quiet with sleep. In the small clearing beside her tent Lorca was curled up in dragon form, with Wren fast asleep on a bed roll next to him. A thin blanket was draped across her and a cloak had been folded for a pillow. She’d never say it to Wren but Wren looked right with Lorca, two sides of a coin with magic that harmonised. Wren might not like it but she was a creature of fire and magic.
The magic within her tightened suddenly. She glanced in the direction it pulled her, past the rows of tents to where the caravan ended and the forest began. She’d been ignoring it since Wren and Lorca left, when the caravan had moved from flat open farm lands and into the forest that would shelter them from storms the rest of the way. Problem was, as much as she wanted to ignore it, the magic was restless, calling her.
She was being called, had been for years by her future – yet as it rushed to meet her, the days drawing closer at a terrifying pace, she found herself wavering. Every decision she’d made, the careful manipulations, all of it seemed like it wasn’t enough. She felt like she was failing short and so much weighed on her succeeding.
With a sigh she set off to the caravan, her feet silent against the grass, softened by rain. At the last tent she paused, looked back…and froze. Omi stood before her, one hand cocked on her hip, a brow lifted.
“Another midnight walk, little one?” Omi tried to sound motherly, scolding even but there was real worry in her voice.
Sorcha glanced back to the forest, the whispers in her mind growing louder.
“I used to be afraid of my magic,” she said softly. “Then I had the visions and I knew the truth. Who I was, where I was meant to be. It scared me, Omi, more than anything. How could I become that?”
Omi appeared beside her. “When I found you on the side of the road, clutched in the arms of a dead slave, I didn’t think you were anything more than a bastard child. Clearly, I was wrong and I’ve never been more proud of being wrong.” She paused for a moment, then turned to Sorcha again. “It’s time soon, isn’t it?”
Sorcha turned suddenly to Omi and stepped into her, wrapping her arms around Omi’s waist, like she did as a child. She buried her face into the crook of Omi’s neck and released a shuddering breath.
“I’m so damn afraid – what if I fail?” The words came out harsh, desperate.
Hands suddenly grasped her shoulder, moving her back so that Omi could look her square in the eyes.
“You are destined for greatness, my little one, you always have been. It is your destiny to reclaim everything that was taken from you and defeat the evil that has infected this land. So, you will step bravely into that future and I will be there, by your side as I swore the very day, I plucked you up from the side of the road. You are the future, my little one.”
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