Salvation: Saving Setora Book Seven by Dark Raven & J. Knox Petra

Author:Dark, Raven & J. Knox, Petra
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

When the Savior Speaks

In an instant, what had just happened hit me like a battering ram to the chest.

Pretty Boy was leaving the Legion, whether a week from now or months, he was leaving his Brothers, his friends. Me. Unless I wanted to go with him, he’d said. Maker, there were no words that anyone could possibly say to help me understand what had just happened. The pain in Pretty Boy’s eyes was all I could see in my mind, his heart breaking.

“Come, Kitten. Let’s go.” Hawk’s gentle touch on my arm grounded me as he led me to the door. “Doc, Steel, we’ll talk later. Let me get her to bed.”

I didn’t hear what the others said, only followed Hawk’s lead to his hut. His warm hand pressed against the small of my back, keeping me both upright and anchoring me to the present moment. I barely felt my feet taking any steps.

A few paces from Hawk’s door, that’s when it happened.

A single image flashed across my mind. My garden filled my vision, and as I’d seen it once before, it burned, consumed in flames. I wobbled, pain knifing through my head. I heard myself gasp. Then I saw the image more clearly as the flames covered the whole land. There were houses and castles, buildings and cities running across it in miniature. I even saw a severely dwarfed Grotto, surrounded by its mountain walls.

This wasn’t my garden. It was the world.

I was seeing the entire world through a bird’s eye view, so that it spanned before my vision in a single vista. I swore I even saw what could only have been Crite, its huge icy mountain ranges, its men covered in thick furs and riding horses.

Ivek’s people.

Except that the men weren’t riding the horses. The men were dead, lying scattered across the land, their mounts either fleeing or lying dead.

Everywhere I looked, in Crite, here, Delta, in the Grotto, men lay lifeless. Their bodies sprawled and torn apart like wooden dolls burned and ripped as if by some cruel and heartless child who had thrown a world-shattering temper tantrum.

The Grotto’s men, the Yantu, they were all dead. Warriors lay in their black or red silks, eyes staring.

And among the wreckage of the Grotto, Hawk stared up from a pit, unseeing. Steel’s eyes were closed, and he had his arm torn off. Pretty Boy’s neck was twisted at a horrible angle. And Sheriff.

Maker, Sheriff was lying on a pile of skulls, his head turned toward me. His eyes were dead but also white as bone. He’d died, still without sight.

Mother. My mother lay dead in Mayhem’s lifeless arms.

And under a pike of rubble, a bleach-white hand protruded from volcanic rock. Red locks draped over the ash covered arm. Terror seized me and I looked closer at the image. Green eyes stared out from a beautiful but dead face.

Cherry. Oh no, Cherry.

Dead.

My Four, my mother, Cherry, all of them, gone forever.

How I knew, I had no idea, but I understood why I was seeing this, and more importantly, I understood how to stop it.

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