Bereft: Foretold

8 | A Question of Hubris

I dragged a hand through my wet hair as the phone on the other end of the line continued to ring.

"Come on...." I muttered with frustration, pacing from the hall to the dining table and back again in an endless circuit. Cage's eyes, wrinkled at the edges by his unsettling amusement, followed me all the while. "Answer!"

"Perhaps she's indisposed?" the black mage offered with no small amount of amusement as I took the phone from my ear and dialed again. "Or ignoring you. I imagine that's not a new development."

The phone continued to ring and I continued to pace. Why wasn't Amoroth answering? Did she know what an Absolian's descent felt like? Had she already vacated the realm? I couldn't remember when the last Absolian had come and if she had been alive for the event. My thoughts were in such a chaotic jumble, my heart racing in my chest as I trod wet footsteps throughout the house. Did Amoroth know what to do?

Every muscle in my body bunched and coiled with the singular urge to run, but I had nowhere to run. I didn't need to escape. It wasn't after me.

Her answering machine received the call again and rattled off an automated response.

Though I was near oblivious to his presence and hadn't deemed his snide comment worthy of a response, Cage continued to speak. "You know, before you went gallivanting off into the rain like some possessed hippie spirit, I wanted to ask you a bit about that day, about what happened out on the moors in England."

I knew he spoke of the day I'd died. What other day of interest was there to be found out on those wretched lands?

"As I said numerous times before, I do not know what happened," I seethed, squeezing the side of the phone until my fingertips ached. Why wasn't she answering? "I was dead."

"But you didn't see anything afterward? No sudden light? No...darkness?" 

"You don't seem to understand what it means to be dead." I turned to the man and glared, wishing I had the ability to flood my eyes with power still. "If you want to know so badly, why not experience it firsthand?"

He sighed with careless exasperation and draped his arms upon the sofa's back. "Such drama, Darius. I'm simply curious. You shouldn't fault me for that."

"I can certainly find fault in your timing." I forced myself to sit down and hold the quiet phone steady. She knew what to do. I had to tell myself that, simply because I couldn't remember if she really did. I didn't care for Amoroth. For most of her life, I've vacillated between total indifference and frothing fury for the woman. Had I still been a Sin, I wasn't sure I would've cared if she survived an Absolian incursion—but Amoroth was now the last competent Sin alive. She needed to stay that way.

"You lived with Lust for some time after...that day."

"Yes." The phone was slick with sweat from my palms and couldn't keep my eyes from the window. The rain struck the glass with tremendous force, as if the sky itself were beating a war drum to signify the oncoming slaughter. The signs and the feeling in my veins pointed toward there being only one Absolian, but how far behind were the others? When would the rest of the Wandergard disembark?

"Tell me; is it true you helped Sloth return her to life as a Sin? I read a cipher once in the Itherian records reporting the rebirth, but the author couldn't rightly decide if it'd been you or your brother." He framed his own face between his poised fingers. "It's that uncanny family resemblance. It's been wreaking havoc on mage historians for centuries."