Page 123 of Awakened

Riven snatches a marker from the table. As he crosses the room toward a whiteboard on the opposite wall, he uses his teeth to uncap the marker, turns his head to the side, and spits it onto the floor.

He hums as he writes, and I get the feeling he’s purposely pressing the marker’s tip against the whiteboard as hard as he can, but no one complains about the excessive squeaking sounds, so maybe I’m wrong.

Once he’s finished, he steps aside to reveal a paragraph written in precise, tidy script and various words circled and underlined for emphasis.

His eyes find mine, and he smiles. “Idril, I believe you’ve seen this before. Or heard it, at the very least.”

I nod. It’s the same passage Riven was translating in the library a few days ago. The one I know by heart because my mother recited it as part of a story she told over and over when I was a child.

“We found this passage in an old book a few days ago. It was written in old Irish Gaelic. It took me a while to translate, but I had some help.”

“Once I got a few words translated, Idril was able to finish it immediately. This line of text—this exact passage, word for word—is part of a story she heard often as a child. A story told by her mother. From memory.”

“At the time, no one had any information about what the two missing Omegas were put through. Calla remembers very little of her experience, and Daniella rarely wakes long enough to ask. The only thing tying the two women together is their designation, the appearance of unexplained but largely harmless abilities with light and fire, and the things they—for lack of a better word—prophesied in an unconscious state.”

“There are two specific things both females mentioned while unconscious—a Light, and a Gate. After exhausting every modern form of research and finding nothing of relevance, we had to go old-school. And what’s more old-school than stories?”

Dax groans dramatically. “Gods, Riven, can you get to the point just once without the dramatic lead-up?”

“No,” Riven answers.

Soren coughs in a poor attempt to cover the laugh that slips free, and then the tension in the room seems to lighten just the smallest amount, making it easier for me to breathe.

“The interesting thing about this passage,” Riven continues, “is that it’s a completely different version of a well-known Irish folktale called The Song of Light. You can go online and pull up dozens of copies of The Song of Light, but I believe we found the original version. Idril’s mother not only passed the version on to her daughter, but could recite it so perfectly that, as a child, Idril memorized it. Until last week, Idril and her mother were the only two people in the world with access to the translated version.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

How is that even possible?

Riven turns to me with soft eyes and asks, “Do you remember the whole story your mother told you?”

Warily, I nod, forcing myself not to look at Dax as memories of the last time I answered Riven’s questions about this story slam into me.

Of course I remember. I heard it so many times that I would silently recite each line as my mother told it.

It used to make her laugh.

She had the most beautiful laugh.

“Would you repeat it now for us?”

I hesitate, but his request is so earnest it’s impossible to deny him. I close my eyes because it’s easier than watching everyone else watch me while I speak. When I finish reciting the entire story exactly the way my mother told it to me, I finally open my eyes, knowing I have to brave the room’s reactions. To my surprise, no one is looking at me with derision. Even Daxen looks more thoughtful than cruel for a change.

After a few tense moments of silence, Kane whistles, long and low.

“Aye, that’s right odd. That the Lass’s Ma would tell her that story when she was a wee bairne? What are the odds?”

Gavran scrubs a hand down his face. “Every time I think we know everything there is to know, something new pops up.”

Daxen clears his throat. “This might be a good time to mention…”

Gavran groans. “For fucks sake, what now?”

Dax schools his features, straightens his spine, and takes a deep breath. “Cage is dead.”

“What?!” Gav jumps out of his chair and slams both hands on top of the table, making me jump.

Oh… oh, no. This isn’t good. This is absolutely going to get blamed on me.