by Emma Hamm
Even he could not hear the lie on her tongue. In truth, Lydia wasn’t certain it was a lie anymore. The prophecy vibrated in her throat long after she stopped speaking. It would come to pass.
She would make it come true.
“That is disappointing. Now tell me where I can find one of these prophetic people.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t make the prophecy?” Lydia winced. She didn’t sound believable at all.
He was a perceptive man, and he read between the spaces of her words. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against her ear. “Just who are you?”
“I am no one.”
“You are most certainly someone.”
“Anyone with true power knows that they are no one. I am part of a larger whole, the connection between space and time. But you will forget all of that.”
“Will I?” He laughed.
The words rang in her ears like church bells. They crashed, echoed, and roared until all she could hear was “You will forget.”
Power burned her fingertips. It glowed from within her chest and oozed out of her mouth in black sticky strands. Light and dark, good and evil, pulsed from within her being as she reached out to touch him.
“You will forget.”
She found purchase on his shoulder. She gripped his skin, digging her nails into the soft flesh. Black ichor poisoned his blood while the light glowing from her eyes illuminated his face so clearly she could see him.
She could see him.
Malachi was beautiful. Like Pitch, he had been carved out of marble. Of dubious race and flawlessly crafted, she thought him to be pretty, not handsome. His long black hair was tied back from his head in a swinging braid. His eyes, so dark she could tumble into them, reflected fear into her burning gaze.
“You will forget me, but not your purpose.” Her voice was a lightning crack and the gong of rolling thunder. Black shadows twisted around her tongue, sinking barbed wire edges into her lips until she bled. “I take your memory but not your mind, Void. I do not exist for you any longer.”
She released her punishing grip, letting him stumble back in panic until his gaze cleared. His eyes passed over her, his brow furrowed as though he knew something should be there, but he did not linger. Malachi walked down the steps and back into the mass of teeming people.
The rush of power had left her weak. Her knees resumed their quaking, her lips trembled, her fingers shook.
“What am I?” she whispered to herself. “What am I capable of?”
Lydia did not know. The Goddess inside of her was more powerful than she ever could have imagined.
She looked out over the crowd, hoping to find something to ground herself. Instead, all she found was Pitch staring back at her.
The sea of people parted around him. He was a stone in the center of a river, the lone tree of a field of waving grass. Magic raged inside of her. The smoke of her vision cleared until all she could see was him.
Clear as daylight where everyone else remained hazy and dark. He stared at her with hope in his eyes. The song of his soul called out to her, the piper’s luring call begging her to drift into its embrace.
“Come to me,” she called out to him. “I cannot come to you.”
His hands grasped her waist. Each finger searing her in a perfect outline of aristocratic grace.
“My Goddess,” his murmured against the hollow of her neck.
“You weren't here.”
“My Goddess with teeth and claws. I keep thinking you are a delicate thing made of glass, but I forget you were born in the forest and the song of wild things does not fade so easily.”
Lydia felt all at once exactly as he said. She was hungry for the hidden glow of power which she now sensed to be a deep well. It was always there, waiting for her to call upon it. Waiting for her to trust in herself.
She traced the outline of his arms with her hands, watching Wren dance with the mysterious man who was made of bubbling dream magic. This was the start of her plan coming to fruition. The start of the beginning, or perhaps of the end.
“Yes I am,” she whispered. “I am more than just shaking hands and whispered prayers.”
Chapter 14
Lydia walked through the gardens behind Pitch’s manor. She had only recently discovered them, already filled with black flowers blooming as soon as the moon’s glow touched the ground. The sweet scent of honeysuckle and lilac thickened the air.
She loved this place. She loved the natural beauty and the myriad of magical colors that dusted each petal. This was no mere garden to her. Every life reflected in drops of water that clung to leaves, every breath rode the winds that ghosted through the willow branches, every heartbeat fed the soil.
No longer was she a mortal woman hovering between life and death. Lydia’s powers continued to grow with alarming speed. She saw every instance of the future and magic danced on her fingertips.
She commanded the winds like an Elemental, called upon the unseen like a Sorcerer, spoke with the earth like an Ent. The fundamental pieces of magic that came with this realm danced in her veins.
“Lydia?” Pitch called out.
“Coming!”
Thorns scratched at her legs as she tromped through the underbrush. Shadows fluttered over each wound, healing them instantly. His magic had followed her without Pitch knowing. At least, she thought he didn’t know. The shadows followed her like loyal dogs, always watching and keeping her safe.
She brushed a few hanging vines out of the way and paused. A banquet laid out on the ground, on top of a white and black checkered picnic blanket.
“Is there a special occasion?” she asked.
“No, I just wanted to spend an evening with the prettiest woman to ever exist.”
Lydia shook her head, carefully picking her way over the ground littered with roots. She could see the magic strands of light outlining their forms, but it was always uncomfortable to walk when she couldn’t quite see them.
A root lifted from the hard packed earth and wrapped around her ankle. She let out a shrieking cry as she tumbled.
His arms wrapped around her waist, his shadows cushioned her fall, guiding her into his arms.
Breathless, she laughed at his antics. “Were you planning this the whole time? Terrifying me into your arms?”
“Has that not been what I have been doing this entire time?”
“I don’t know what you’ve been doing at all. I thought at some point you might try to impress me with your manly strength. At the very least, I thought you’d try to showcase your wit or at least chivalry.”
“Are we in the medieval ages now?”
Lydia shrugged.
She lay tangled on top of him. His arms held her caged to his chest while his legs weaved between hers. Shadows twisted, curling into the sky all around them, their hazy smoke shielding them from any prying eyes.
Lifting herself onto an elbow, she forced him to give her enough space to loop her fingers around the inky locks of his hair. He was so pretty, and she had never found a man pretty before.
It was strange what time could do to the way she saw him. The hawk-like nose which had appeared sharp as a blade now appeared distinguished. His lips had always been a thin line in her memories, but now they were curved with a secret smile meant for her alone. His thin body was no longer whip cord strong, instead, it was lean planes and angles that were pleasing to her eye.
“What did you have planned for us tonight?” she asked.
“A picnic.”
“I can see that. But are we just eating?”
They had practiced traveling the strands of Time together. Though he was not as adept as she, and he could not follow her down into the Past, Pitch had proven to be a worthy companion. He understood the changes, showing her how to affect the real world rather than just see what might happen.
She coaxed a black cat into the life of a little girl under his watchful dark guidance. She ke
pt a woman from walking down a dangerous street alone. Lydia saved countless people in tiny moments that didn’t affect the world as a whole, but meant so much to those individual lives.
He taught her that power was dangerous, but it was also to be used when she felt like she wanted to. To be afraid of her power was to be afraid of herself.
The glowing well of magic she felt in the depths of her belly grew all the more deep. She felt it stretch miles and miles all around the world. It tied her to every living creature, human, animal, and magical being alike.
This was the greatest gift of all. Lydia had been alone for so long and hadn’t realized that it was by choice. There were millions of people just waiting for her to reach out and speak with them, to nudge a gift in their direction, to whisper loving words into their ears.
“You are far away from me, my love.” Pitch murmured. His fingers tangled in the milky locks of her hair.
“I’m sorry, my mind was wandering.”
“And where did it go?”
“I was remembering how much you have gifted me. I am no longer alone, physically and mentally.”
“You aren’t pining away for Sil? Hoping at some point a Goddess would appear in your mind to help you answer the world’s questions?”
“Not if you aren’t.”
There would always be the lingering ghost of his first love between them. But the more time passed, the more Lydia forgave that small knowledge. Sil was not a wall to break for their love to blossom. Sil was the gap which bridged their worlds and weaved their stories together.
She traced a finger down the bridge of Pitch’s nose, her touch feather light. “Are you going to show me everything you brought?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He rolled her gently to the side, setting her on top of the checkered blanket she realized was made of silk. She rolled her eyes. Leave it to Pitch to bring the most expensive fabric he could find for something as simple as laying on the grass.
“Strawberries,” he gestured to a bowl brimming with large red berries. “Inspired by the champagne color of your cheeks when you blush.”
“I don’t have any skin tone at all.”
“Only when I whisper in your ear.”
She felt her cheeks burn and pressed her palms against them. Pitch chuckled. He leaned forward and brushed her fingers aside, lingering upon the soft swells. “Yes, love. Just like that.”
“Stop embarrassing me. What else?”
“White grapes, so you might feed me as a God should be fed.”
“You are not a God,” Lydia said. She leaned forward to pluck one off of the bunch, popping it in her mouth. “You’ve told me that many times before.”
“If I am not a God, then what am I?”
“A creator? A scientist. An artist. You’ve told me so many times I couldn’t even count the things you want me to call you. But you’ve always been very specific that you and your siblings were not Gods.”
“And you are?”
“Not a Goddess, although you call me that regularly.”
“Good.” He nodded his approval and handed her a glass of swirling gold liquid. “Now drink.”
“What in the world is this?” she asked. But she didn’t hesitate to taste it. It sat upon her tongue like liquid gold, bubbling and fizzing as it slid down her throat. Flashes of memories which were not hers danced behind her eyes.
Golden rays of the sun played upon the gilded edges of marigolds while cotton candy clouds floated above her head. Roses unfurled, their edges so dark red it appeared they were bleeding. Water glimmered like thousands of diamonds as the ocean held her weightless above the abyss.
“Happiness?” she asked.
“Nothing so boring as that.”
He laid down beside her, guiding her head toward the ground. She rested in his arms and stared up at the canopy of the darkening sky above them. Dusk was falling, but all she saw was gold leaves and heard the steady thrum of drums.
She could feel his hands stroking her arms. He lingered upon her soft skin as though she were a gift given to him, and perhaps she was. She would give herself to him. If he asked.
“What did you give me?”
The petals of his lips played upon her throat. He made her feel as though she were shimmering, shining, glowing with love and the unexpected swirls of light inside of her.
“Bliss,” he murmured. “I gave you Bliss.”
“And are you partaking?”
“No, I want to watch you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s going to take you on a journey and I want to see every second of it in your eyes.”
She tried to meet his gaze but memories kept overwhelming her. She was here, with him, lying upon a blanket in the center of a dark field. But she was somewhere else at the same time.
Lydia tilted her head, glancing over his shoulder. Crisp white linens snapped in a breeze she could not feel. Their clean scent cleansed her nose and reminded her of home. White petals danced upon the wind.
The taste of cherries burst on her tongue. It made her salivate and lick her lips.
“What do you taste?” his voice surfaced through her vision.
“Cherries.”
“Describe it for me.”
“They taste red,” she whispered. “Red like the first time I blushed when I saw a boy I liked. Like the unfurling of a rose or the stain of jelly on the kitchen counter.”
“What do you see?”
She blinked her eyes, and the vision changed before it. The field of marigolds disappeared and left in their wake giant dandelion puffs. The breeze billowed past and send a riot of spinning seeds into the air.
“Dandelions, larger than trees.”
“What do they feel like?”
This was a vision, she wanted to snap at him, she couldn’t touch them. But her hands lifted of their own accord and she realized, she could touch them.
“Soft,” she whispered. “Like a newborn rabbit, or perhaps like crushed velvet.”
Surely she was dreaming. Lydia was floating in this world of light and happiness. Bliss wasn’t something she had ever truly experienced.
The thought almost made her laugh. Before this moment, she would have sworn she knew what it felt like to be blissfully happy. There were so many moments in her life when she should have been. So many kind people who had offered her compassion in the hospital, brought her jello that tasted like strawberries, or read her stories when she was sick.
“Find me, Lydia.” Pitch’s voice compelled her to do just that. “Find me in the vision and tell me what you see.”
And there he was. Standing knee high in a field of wheat like a pillar of shadow.
“Tell me, Lydia.”
“You’re in a field. A golden field.”
“What else? I want to know everything, little love.”
“There are thunderstorms behind you. Great rolling banks of clouds crackling with thunder and lightning.”
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“No. I can feel their power just like I can feel you. They’re rolling all around you but you stand in the eye of the storm. You’re lifting your arms.”
“Do you want to go to me?”
“Yes.”
“What can you smell?”
She breathed in deep. “Honey.”
“Honey?”
“Honey before it’s been boiled and changed its form. Honey straight from the comb of bees. I can hear them humming.”
“What do you taste?”
Lydia licked her lips, flavor bursting through every sense. “Pomegranates.”
“Go to me.”
She did. In her mind’s eye, she rushed toward his darkness without fear. He would not harm her, he couldn’t. Pitch was as much a part of her as she was of him. To hurt her would be to hurt himself.
Only a few steps had passed, but she was in his arms. Pressed against his chest with his hands searing her spine. Pomegranate overflowed from her lips li
ke blood as his lips crushed hers. His darkness, his anger, his pride all mingled with the forbidden taste.
And the rains poured down upon them.
She could not think. She could not speak. All she could do was feel the hard planes of his body, the curving lines of his arms as he bent her backward. Fat raindrops struck her cheeks and echoed ringing peals as they landed upon her antlers.
Her spine arched and the strands of her hair tugged as he pulled. Lightning cracked and her eyes flew open. She stared into the glowing white light of the sky in awe as he whispered hallelujahs in every kiss.
Thunder rolled like the sound of drums. The true Gods were looking down upon them, their eyes lingering upon the couple entwined on their hill. She felt their gaze of approval, the warmth of their blessing, the heavy curse of their words.
She was a vessel. A vessel brimming full with the love of a dangerous man who pressed prophecies into her flesh. A vessel guided by Gods and Angels, whispering the future into the night. A vessel overflowing with euphoric happiness that rushed down the hill and gilded the edges of every plant with silver light.
“Pitch,” she whispered against his lips. “Oh Pitch.”
Slowly, they came back to earth. She gripped the picnic blanket with clawed hands, grounding herself in the here and the now. He traced patterns upon her throat with his tongue.
“Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“That was Bliss?”
“That, my love, was your bliss.”
She could believe that. There was no better ending in her mind than standing with him at the pinnacle of the earth’s power.
Sighing, she tucked her nose into the crook of his neck. “Did you think I wouldn’t see you in it?”
“I never know what anyone will see. It’s a rare treat to be told what a person experiences for the first time.”
“Have you ever taken it?”
“Many times.”
He rolled onto his back, dragging her with him. Lydia rested her head over his heart. The steady thumps stilled her wildly beating heart and calmed her reeling mind. “What do you see?”
“I am always on a ship. The waves crashing around me and the wail of the Leviathans of old ringing in my ears.”
