Death's Awakening (Eternal Sorrows, #1)

by Sarra Cannon

  She was hovering on the edge of consciousness now, the crushing heat and the hunger in her belly begging her to awaken and seek food and shelter. Water. But something deep inside the earth drew her down, back into the depths below.

  She fought against it, but the pull was too strong. It crashed over her like a wave, rolling and rolling, until finally, it dragged her under.

  Her awareness seemed to fall and fall, deeper and deeper into the ground until suddenly, it all stopped. The pain, the noise. The heat of the day was replaced with a refreshing coolness.

  She lifted her head and opened her eyes, slow at first, then wide.

  What was this place? Was she dreaming or awake? She couldn’t be sure anymore, but the goose bumps that rose across her flesh told her this was real.

  She pulled her cloak tighter, shivering as the air grew colder. She was on her knees in a small chamber. The walls here were frozen, blue ice coating the stone in a thick, solid layer.

  The witch’s eyes were drawn to a block of ice in the center of the room. The sight of it sent chills down her spine. Her breath came fast and heavy, turning white like smoke as it crossed her lips.

  “Come to me.”

  The voice was inside her head and her eyes widened. Even though it filled her with fear, she couldn’t turn away from the block of ice. She had to obey the voice in her head.

  The witch stood, her legs weak and wobbly.

  Each step pained her. How long had she been lying in that field? Days, maybe. Her stomach groaned and her head throbbed. Her bones creaked and the muscles in her legs protested. She wanted to lie down and sleep, but the voice drew her forward. At first, her body shivered terribly, but as she approached the stone, she began to warm. Slowly, raw heat trickled into her blood stream, each drop giving her renewed strength. Her heart raced. Her lips parted. Her cheeks flushed.

  What was this place?

  She straightened, moving faster.

  A form appeared inside the ice and the young witch gasped and clutched her chest.

  A woman. Her body thin and frail and her lips blue with cold. The woman’s eyes were closed. Thick ice crystals formed on her lashes as if she’d been asleep for centuries. The young witch stepped closer, her eyes locked on the woman’s pale face. She looked so peaceful sleeping there. How had someone so beautiful and warm ended up in this cold, hard place?

  A rush of sadness flooded her heart. She ached for this frozen woman. She loved her without knowing the first thing about her. Tears welled up in her eyes and fell across her cheek, freezing in an instant and falling to the icy ground where they shattered. The witch lifted her trembling hand to the ice near the woman’s face, wanting to caress her. To find out why she’d been hidden away in this frozen dungeon. But instead of the cool slick feel of ice, her hand began to burn as if she’d placed it directly in a blazing fire. She tried to pull back, but she couldn’t move. Some invisible force held her there.

  Panic flashed through her. She thrashed and crouched, throwing all her weight against it as she screamed in pain.

  Then, the ice woman’s eyes opened with a pop.

  Red as the purest ruby, but filled with a fiery purpose.

  The young witch stopped moving, paralyzed by those red eyes. Her heartbeat throbbed against her ribs and her throat closed in fear.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice a frozen whisper.

  The woman’s lips did not move, but her words were strong inside the witch’s head.

  “I have many names,” the frozen woman said. “I am the Dark One. The First. The Necromancer. The Twin. I am the one true fear of our people. And the one true hope.”

  The witch’s palm burned and she nearly fainted from the pain. Her eyes closed and she fell to her knees, her hand finally breaking free of the ice. The skin on her palm was blistered and raw, damaged beyond repair. She curled her legs toward herself and rocked back and forth, cradling her injured hand like a baby in her arms. Tears streamed down her face in a frozen waterfall.

  She fought against the agony, struggling to stay conscious. Every muscle in her body tensed and she clutched her head between her forearms.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” she cried.

  There was no answer at first, but when she lifted her eyes to the woman’s face, she saw that the figure in the ice was staring back at her. Studying her. Her blue lips turned up into a small smile.

  “I had to prove to you this was real and not a dream,” she said. “You have no idea how long I have been waiting for you. You are special, my young one.”

  The witch sobbed and shook her head. “No, you’re wrong,” she said. She swiped at the frozen tears on her cheek. She couldn’t think straight against the pain. All she could do was hear the memories of past voices, telling her she would never be special. “I am no one.”

  “You are everything to me,” the frozen woman said.

  The voice was soft in her mind. Sweet and delicate like a mother’s final whisper before sleeping. Only, the young witch was being lifted out of sleep now. She became aware of the warm ground beneath her body and the heat of the sun against her cheek. She fought against the waking, wanting to stay with the Dark One where she was special and wanted. But there was work to do.

  And someone was shaking her.

  Her eyes popped open to find a man staring back at her. He was young and strong. Handsome. He smiled.

  “Hey,” he said in a gentle tone. His hand was warm against her arm. He glanced back at an older woman standing there in the field. “Momma, she’s awake.”

  The witch attempted to sit up, but her head spun in circles. Hunger tore at her stomach. She fell back toward the ground, but the handsome man caught her in his arms. She collapsed against him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice was gritty against her throat.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. He stared into her eyes like he’d never seen a woman before. Like he was entranced with her. “I’m gonna carry you, if that’s alright.”

  She nodded.

  He lifted her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight to him. Her right hand ached with pain. Something from a dream, she thought, but she was too weak to remember.

  As they walked, she closed her eyes and listened to the steady thrum of the man’s heartbeat.

  He and his mother talked quietly as they made their way back to their farmhouse. They had found her on their land. A farm far from the nearest city. They had no idea how long she’d been there and were debating whether to drive her to the distant hospital or give her time to recover in their home. The hospital would be expensive, though, and they didn’t have much extra.

  The older woman commented on her dress and cloak, wondering why a young girl would be wandering around out here in such strange clothes.

  The young witch had no answers for them. Only silence.

  By the time they reached the farm house, the man’s mother was coughing and the young witch was drifting off to sleep, dreaming again of the girl with purple eyes.

  Parrish

  Parrish stared at the woman by the buffet table. Her eyes were ringed with dark, bruise-like circles. Her lips were dry and cracked. The woman looked like death warmed over.

  And she was coughing all over the shrimp cocktail.

  Parrish dropped her shrimp onto her full plate, then dumped it into the trash can and scanned the crowd. Standing near the back door, Madelyn Sorrows looked straight at her.

  Crap. Eye contact. Parrish ducked behind a man in a blue suit, but she knew it was too late.

  “Where in the world have you been?” Her mother’s voice had that talking-through-gritted-teeth sound to it.

  Parrish shrugged. “Talking to some friends,” she said. A bold lie. Parrish never had friends over and almost everyone at this party was middle-aged.

  “You know how important tonight is,” her mother said, already looking away, barely paying attention to her. As usual. “Don’t embarrass me, please.”

  Parrish held her br
eath. And her tongue.

  Why did her mother even want her out here? She would have been much more comfortable hiding in her room listening to music and playing video games than out here. Her mom had insisted she put on this stupid dress and uncomfortable heels and come out here to keep up appearances of a happy family. But now that she was out here, she was an embarrassment?

  She couldn’t win with this woman.

  Anger trickled through her and she felt that tug. That familiar, rebellious pull that made her want to kick off her shoes and run screaming into the pool in front of everyone. What would her mother have to say then?

  But her mother had already turned her attention to a man Parrish recognized from Zoe’s music lessons.

  Parrish stepped away before the awkward introductions began. She was going to scream if she had to hear one more person say, ‘Wow, I never realized Zoe had a sister’ or ‘What instrument do you play, Parrish?’

  Having to explain just how little musical talent she possessed was never the highlight of her day. Being the firstborn child to a famous opera singer and a professional cellist, she was supposed to have been a musical genius. It was part of her birthright. Or so everyone thought. By the time she was six her parents had ushered her to every kind of music lesson imaginable. Piano, violin, voice, even trumpet. The result was always the same.

  Parrish was no prodigy.

  So they tried again.

  And Zoe? Zoe was a different story.

  The cling of silver against glass sounded over the crowd and everyone gradually turned their attention toward the back deck. Parrish moved to the back of the group and leaned against the wooden fence, watching.

  Her father stood on the deck with a glass of champagne in his hand and a wide, proud smile on his face.

  “My wife and I would like to thank you all so much for coming tonight,” he said. “As most of you know, we are here to celebrate our daughter’s amazing talent.” Several people cheered and her father slipped his arm around her mom with a smile. “Tomorrow morning, Zoe and I will be flying out to New York City where she will play a series of concerts with the New York Philharmonic. Then, in two weeks, we’ll be heading to Paris for the start of her first European tour!”

  Parrish crossed her arms as the crowd broke out in excited applause.

  Zoe stood beside their parents, a well-trained smile on her angelic face. Parrish swallowed back the bitter taste of jealousy and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It wasn’t Zoe’s fault she was born to play the violin.

  “This is a very important event for our family, and we are just so touched that you have all come out to see Zoe off,” her mother said.

  “As a special treat,” her father continued, “Zoe has prepared a special piece just for this occasion.” More gasps and cheers of delight.

  Parrish bit the inside of her bottom lip.

  “If you would all make your way to the formal living room, you’ll see that an intimate concert hall has been set up for you,” her mother said with a laugh. She grabbed Zoe’s hand and patted it. “The concert will begin in just a few minutes.”

  Everyone rushed toward the French doors, eager for the best seats. Parrish grabbed a discarded flute of champagne and disappeared into the shadows around the side of the house. She slipped out of her shoes and stepped into the cool, damp grass. It squished under her feet, climbing up between her sore toes as she made her way through the gate and onto the front lawn.

  She downed the champagne and tossed the plastic flute on the ground.

  Earlier, as they were setting things up, Parrish had cracked open the windows in the formal living room. Now, she found a soft spot in the grass just below the open window and lay down, happy to be alone and away from the judgey eyes of her parents and their friends.

  Her long dark hair fanned out behind her. She spread her arms out to either side, as though she were trying to make a snow angel in the green summer grass. It felt good to stretch out. To be herself without worrying what anyone thought of her.

  Parrish closed her eyes and breathed deep, waiting for the rich sounds of Zoe’s violin to flow through the window and fill her up. Instead of music, she heard footsteps rustling through the grass.

  “Parrish?”

  She sat up so fast it made her vision blur. Her heart lifted into her throat and she tried to swallow it down. She blinked, a tall frame towering over her. “Noah?”

  He stepped forward into the light streaming from the porch, and Parrish’s breath hitched in her chest. His hair was freshly washed and damp blond curls fell across his forehead.

  “Hey,” he said. He hooked his thumb toward Karmen’s house next door. “I was about to head over to Karmen’s party, but I thought I saw you here in the grass. What are you doing out here in the dark?”

  Parrish glanced over at the neighbor’s house. Of course, he was going to Karmen’s. Parrish hadn’t even had any idea Karmen was having a party tonight, and she certainly hadn’t been invited.

  Not that she wanted to go anyway.

  Just then, the first clear sounds of her sister’s violin streamed through the open windows. Parrish looked up at him and he smiled. She motioned toward the window, then raised a single finger to her lips.

  There was something truly magical about the way Zoe played. How someone so small could do something so impossibly complex and beautiful was a complete mystery. It had to be a God-given talent. Zoe had been playing since she was just five years old and she’d taken to the violin like a fish to water. As if the instrument was just an extension of her self.

  Parrish had never taken to anything like that.

  She expected Noah to head off toward the party, but instead, he sat down in the grass beside her. Close.

  Her heart beat faster.

  She stretched her legs out onto the grass and crossed one over the top of the other. She propped her hands against the grass to keep them from trembling.

  What was he still doing here? Did he need something from her? Or was he just wanting to hear Zoe play?

  “Who is she playing for?” he asked in a whisper. His eyes swept over the line of cars down her driveway and along the street.

  She nodded and picked at the skirt on her pink dress. She never wore pink. She was more a black kind of girl. Weird how a color could make someone feel so vulnerable.

  “My parents invited all their music friends. It’s sort of a going away thing for Zoe,” she whispered back. “She leaves on her world tour tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” he said. “I bet you’re really going to miss her.”

  Parrish rolled her eyes, then caught herself. She covered her mouth with her hand and immediately wished she could take it away.

  Noah narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re not going to miss her?”

  Parrish ran her hand through her hair, then twirled a strand around her fingertip. “It’s not that,” she said. She sighed. She hated telling people how she felt about her family. The older sister being jealous of the younger prodigy was so boring. She didn’t want to be that person. “It’s complicated.”

  Noah nodded. “I understand.”

  She turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “You do?”

  He shrugged. “It’s family. You’re supposed to love them and hate them at the same time.”

  A laugh escaped her lips and she clamped her hand over her mouth again.

  Noah smiled and looked at her with those sky-blue eyes that seemed to see right down into her soul. “You have a nice laugh.”

  A shiver ran through her body and she looked away. The warm fingers of a blush crawled up her neck.

  He didn’t look away, sending butterflies fluttering through Parrish’s stomach. She bit her lower lip. She didn’t like not being in control of her emotions. She liked it better when people kept a safe distance.

  She let herself fall back onto the grass. Maybe if she pretended to be listening, he would leave.

  But he didn’t.
/>   Instead, he lay down beside her.

  Together, they let the music of Zoe’s violin wash over them. Parrish’s took a deep breath in, held it as long as she could, then slowly let it out, feeling her heartbeat finally calm as she sank deeper into the ground. She spread her fingers out across the spiked blades, willing herself to concentrate on the feel of the earth beneath her body instead of the boy beside her.

  His head turned toward her, the scent of his soap fresh in the air. She didn’t dare turn toward him. She wanted to run away. To never feel like this again.

  But at the same time, she wanted to be someone else. She wanted to be the kind of girl who knew how to handle this.

  Noah’s hand brushed against hers and she sucked in a shallow breath. She froze, an unfamiliar warmth deep in her stomach. She was drawn to him. She wanted to turn to him. She wanted to know what it would feel like if he kissed her.

  “Parrish,” he whispered.

  Her pulse racing out of control, she swallowed and turned her head toward him. Just as their eyes met, a loud groan sounded from the street.

  Noah jerked up and Parrish scuttled backwards, fear rising up in her chest. The sound scared the crap out of her. It was unnatural. Pained.

  Her eyes quickly scanned the dark pockets of shadow in between the street lamps. From between two houses on the right, a man emerged, limping toward them. He groaned again and clutched his stomach.

  Noah stood and stepped in front of her, arms out as if trying to protect her. “Who is that?” he asked. “Do you recognize him?”’

  Scrambling to her feet, Parrish peered around him and watched as the man moved closer. “No,” she said. “I’ve never seen him before.”

  The injured man had made it across the street, and just as he stepped on to Parrish’s front lawn, he bent over and began to throw up.

  Parrish winced and turned away. She would have paid not to see that. Her stomach turned and she shuddered, but then she looked back at him again anyway, curiosity getting the better of her. “Should we go check on him?” she asked, taking a step forward.