Inside Book Three

Oblivion

 

The flash left Rowan standing dazed. Then a skin-crawling sensation began to spread through her chest and she felt something coiling around her torso. Her eyes widened and she gasped in a horrified breath as it began to burn and pulse sickeningly.

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“Torrin!” Rowan cried out in panic.

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She was being pulled inside out. The room dimmed.

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As if from a great distance she watched Torrin lunge toward her, dimly felt him grasp her arm, struggling to pull her free. But she couldn’t move.

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Searing pain lanced through her, ripping a scream from her throat. The vault shimmered, then everything was gone.

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She couldn’t speak, there was no sense of up or down. The echo of the scream she heard was her own, but she had no mouth, no voice to make it.

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Chanting became audible, growing in volume. Even without physical sensation, Rowan recoiled in revulsion as she realized whose voice it was. Feeling returned to her body – a pulsing, pulling that tugged at her. It intensified and a room began to take shape.

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It was not the Brotherhood’s vault in Tyrn.

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Bookcases and tables resolved around her, filled with leatherbound tomes and scrolls. Strange contraptions and instruments covered the tables and desks. The air she pulled into her lungs was warm and dry, laden heavily with incense.

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A short figure stood before her, his arms raised, round face glazed with sweat and his eyes feverish. The Magus’s voice rose in pitch as unintelligible words tumbled from his mouth along with his spittle.

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Ilyason.

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The disembodiment subsided and she could feel her limbs once more. She registered the weight of her sword, still clenched in her hand, and it gave her feeble hope.

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It was enough. It had to be.

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Amid her disorientation, Rowan gripped the hilt, clenching her teeth and striving to gather all her strength to attack.

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But then everything shifted, she was shoved sideways and her head spun, although it did not seem as though she had moved at all. White light flashed around her and Rowan was pulled again. She gasped as the horrific sensation of being folded inside out rolled through her once more.

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She was torn away from the room, away from Ilyason and his chanting.

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The last thing she heard was the Magus’s frustrated screech.

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Then oblivion took her.