Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(68)

In one distressed gasp, the flames ran over me, drowning me in sights. The visions flashed before me with the speed of a strobe light: images of death, joy, war, and peace. There were images from hundreds of years ago and images I had seen yet had not come to fruition. I watched them all, my chest tightening with the realization of what I was looking at.

It was more than being in sight; it was seeing all sights. I was seeing everything that had ever been given to me by the mud. It was a recall of extraordinary proportions.

As I watched, calmness took over, a peace I didn’t think I had ever experienced before. Seeing all these amazing moments of my life, seeing my wife again, my children, I watched them, no doubt crying, about to burst with the strength of the emotion.

Then it was gone in a flash of white as hot and as powerful as the fire that had pulled me into that space and swallowed me whole.

My nerves jumped as though someone had stomped on me, my awareness tightening painfully at the amazing reality of what I was now surrounded by.

Yes, it was white. It was nothing, but it was more than that.

I was there, no longer sitting in a room with my sister and her mate, no longer broken and weak. I was there, among the nothing, the happiness of my sights still swirling through me.

“Hello.” The feminine voice came out of nowhere, so familiar, but I could not place it. There was wisdom in it that did not seem to fit.

“Hello?” I asked, looking through the space in an attempt to find the owner yet facing only the bright white of the world.

“Your sights are beautiful,” she said, the voice seeming to come from inside of me.

“Are they?” My confusion was melding into something closer to panic.

“Yes.”

“Who are you?” I asked, still looking through the nothing, still trying to place the voice, still trying not to lose my calm.

“You know me,” she said, her voice indicating a smile. “Everything will be all right, Dramin.”

“Will it?”

“Yes,” she said on a sigh, the joy in her voice fading away. The single word echoed hauntingly off the nothingness surrounding me. “It will hurt, but it will all be all right.”

My shoulders jerked at the frightening admission, my legs moving quickly as I pushed myself to stand, my feet spinning, eyes searching, the tension in me growing as I began searching for her, searching for the answers I needed.

“What do you mean?” I gasped. “What are you talking about?”

“Your death.” Her voice was monotone with sadness, the emotion so strong I fell back down to the floor, my heart as heavy as if someone had filled it with lead.

“It is coming, then?” I asked, shocked by the wave of sorrow the thought gave me. I had longed for it for so long, after all. I had seen it. I had expected it. Part of me had given up the moment I had stepped in front of Ryland.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her voice was so close now I was positive that, if I turned, I would see her. However, I didn’t even move. I stared at the palms of my hands, the color dark against the white. “Sooner than you think, but I need you to do something for me first.”

“What?” I asked, the question surprising me as I looked up, still expecting to see her.

Instead, I came face-to-face with a little girl I had never seen before: blonde hair to her waist, green eyes, and a button nose that made her tiny self look even smaller. I was confident she couldn’t be any more than seven.

“You must stop this child,” the voice gasped as the little girl stood still, looking like a doll in a shop window.

Staring at the child, I waited for answers, not knowing who the mysterious girl was, part of me not wanting to find out.

“This child is coming to kill someone who is needed. You must stop that from happening.”

“How can I stop an assassin if I can barely move?” I asked in desperation, watching the child vanish into the smoke of memory.

“You will fight. You will see.” Her voice came from right behind me, her breath hot against my neck, and I turned, expecting the white space of the sight.

But the white was now occupied with a woman I knew well. Older, different, but the same.

Joclyn stood before me, wisdom in her eyes from hundreds of years that had come and gone without either of us seeing them.

“Hello, Uncle,” she whispered. “Long time no see.”

My eyes narrowed at the phrase, not understanding her meaning, not even understanding what was going on or why she was here. I opened my mouth to ask, but she smiled before her bright laugh echoed around me as she walked away, her hair flowing behind her in a long, black sheet, the golden ribbon wrapped around her ankle.

“When the child comes, you will know,” she whispered before she was swallowed by the white, leaving me staring into the blanket of brilliance, the light wrapping around me so tightly it was all I saw. It was all there was until the screams came again. The discordant sound took over and pulled me out of the beautiful prescience I had missed so much and longed for so deeply since the magic had died inside of me.

I listened to the sound as I watched the sights play again, looking over everything that had happened in the fifteen hundred years of my existence until my own scream joined theirs. My own pain and anguish returned until the sight was gone, and I was left huddling on the floor, a panicked Ryland screaming for some form of assistance, and a few words embedded inside of me, whispering to my soul …