The Telling
Page 32
Overall, it was an event that rivaled the Madness of Endurance and would propel the ninth gate of hell into official urban legend status. Twenty-seven people dropping dead without apparent cause and rumors about wispy humanoid carcasses appearing around town only fueled speculation. The government would come snooping around again, before quarantining parts of Marvale, permanently leveling Camp Poverty, and reconstructing a new fence and barrier at Otta’s Rift. Admissions of their involvement were token and anything but incriminating. However, on this day, the world could not have seemed like a brighter place.
Little Weaver was right—the world was full of tales. And somehow, whether by fate or chance, Zeph Walker had found himself in one of them.
As Zeph drifted in thought, watching the constellation of freckles spreading under the full moons of Tamra’s eyes, the world seemed to go mute. The clucking of the chickens and the distant morning traffic along 395 disappeared, replaced by a cosmic inhalation.
His breath grew short, and his skin bristled with expectancy.
It was the Telling.
“I have a word for you, Tam,” he said. And without hesitation, Zeph spoke it.