Authors: Denise Rossetti
Thief of Light (65 page)
“Sweetheart!” she’d called. “Wait for me. Wait for Mama!”
Elke had glanced over her shoulder and chuckled, a rich baby chuckle, one that showed her bright new teeth, but she didn’t stop. “Mama!” she’d caroled. “Mama!” Her sturdy little legs twinkled along, with that toddler gait like a tipsy sailor’s.
And beyond her, Cenda had seen it.
A huge wall of flame, flickering and shifting. Behind, dimly seen figures. A queenly woman with five moons circling above her head, a broad-shouldered man wearing a horned headdress.
The woman crouched, holding out her hands through the flame curtain, her smile so tender, so loving, Cenda’s eyes filled with tears of joy.
Yes, yes! Exerting her will, she hurried after her daughter, skimming down the tunnel like a twig carried by a summer stream. Laughing, Elke stepped through the flame as if it wasn’t there and was gathered into the Lady’s embrace.
But when She rose, She looked directly at Cenda and shook Her head, the moons dancing in the swirl of Her hair, Elke tucked into the crook of Her arm.
Not yet,
She said, Her voice like a silk-and-silver bell in Cenda’s mind.
Not yet, my dear
.
Not yet,
She said, Her voice like a silk-and-silver bell in Cenda’s mind.
Not yet, my dear
.
“Yes!” insisted Cenda. “Oh, my baby, my baby!”
And she hurled herself into the wall of fire.
Agony licked over her skin, crisped her bones. It took her lungs in giant, greedy fists and wrung them dry, sank taloned fingers into her heart and guts. Her skin sizzled and she threw her head back, screaming without sound.
Through the torment, she thought she heard the Lord’s voice, deep with wonder and respect. “Ah, no love like that of a mother.”
“Give. Me. Back. My. Baby,” gritted Cenda, writhing.
“Quickly, my Lord,” said the Lady. “If we are to do this, let it be done quickly!”
Cenda was wrenched away, to tumble down, down, down, until she jolted into the cage of rib and muscle and tendon that was the body on the bed, arching in a paroxysm of pain and grief, her bones cracking, tears streaming down her face, her nose running.
And she’d turned her head to see no more than a child-shaped husk on the other bed.
Empty.
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