My Song's Gift (Duet of the Gods Book 2) by Poppy Minnix

Author:Poppy Minnix [Minnix, Poppy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781648983085
Publisher: City Owl Press
Published: 2023-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

I wake at the smell of fire, and dim, blue light filtering through my achy eyelids. The world bombards my bones, but not as before. It’s putting on a weighted coat instead of standing inside a pressure cooker. The fur under my palm is the deepest ebony, each hair sleek and rigid.

Yesterday was real. I’m disconnected from the Earth, shut out along with Moros where we belong. Two monsters living among the darklings. I turn my face into the coarse pelt. No more tears escape, probably from lack of eating or drinking over the last day.

Sound trickles in: pitter-pattering water in a corner and the pops of a fire with logs of crackling, sappy wood. A breeze rustles a dried-up bush at the misshapen cutout entrance of thin purple rock. The beige pods on skeletal branches clack together like a natural wind chime, calming my heartbeat. Maybe this home won’t be so terrible. The blue light creeps across the translucent floor, making a sparkling path wherever it moves. It draws me, and when I brush the line between shade and luster on the chilled stone, the glitterlings branch out from each finger in a swirling dance. A pulse thrums in my chest. The taste of metal but with floral notes coats my tongue, then replicates into smell. The flecks adhere and drag me closer. I sit up with a start, ripping apart the attachment. The glassy purple cave gives a slow rotation. When I ball my fingers, the glitterlings return to me, slip into a pattern, and stay still as I twist my hand back and forth to study each inch. What are you?

On wobbly legs, I wander the small cavern. Two piles of stacked pelts and rudimentary tools sit scattered in a corner. The rocks fixed inside wood, makeshift knives, and sharpened spears would look fitting in a primitive museum. Most are coated with deep rust of absorbed, dried blood.

The stream of liquid trickling down the wall leaves the same taste in my mouth as the phantom flavors when I touched the odd stone. Is this water? It hits my stomach and sears, but I can’t stop bringing cupped handfuls to my lips. So thirsty.

Trotting thunks approach from outside and Moros takes up the entrance, blocking the light as he steps inside. “I see you found the hell water.”

“It’s safe?” A little late now.

Moros’s head misses the ceiling by an inch in the center. “You’re a deity. You could drink acid and it would hurt, but you’d sustain.” His lips purse at my expression. “It’s true. Accepting that will help you as the sustenance we’re forced to live on here is equivalent to such.”

“So there’s no furniture or diners in the hell realm?”

“It’s a primitive planet. There are leaves, wood, rocks, and animals. I trapped beings. Gathered food. Sought escape.” He pivots and strides outside.

After a last handful of metallic floral juice, I follow. The rising sun is dark magenta and chases two faint moons to the horizon, one blue, one gray.

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