Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I’d slept all night.
Dismayed, I scrambled to check on Jasher—no change—then hurried to the door. I peered through a crack between wooden slats. Thank the Lord. No workers approached.
Returning to Jasher’s side, I knelt and looked him over with a more discerning eye. My head hung. The metal hadn’t softened or thinned.
“I’m out of ideas,” I croaked.
How much time passed as I searched a mental filing cabinet for inspiration, I didn’t know. My concentration broke only when door hinges squeaked.
An ocean of light flooded the barn. Stomach a mess once again, I tossed the tarp over Jasher, leaped up, and crouched behind a massive tractor wheel, chanting. Don’t notice us, don’t notice us, don’t notice us.
I didn’t see who entered, but I heard footsteps. Darkness returned as the door closed with a snick. My ribs clenched around my heart, squeezing out worry.
“Oracle?” a woman asked, unsure. “Are you here?”
I knew that voice. My body reacted before my mind caught up, lungs locking, pulse skidding. Momma. Here. Now.
What should I do, what should I do? Continue hiding, hoping she wouldn’t uncover the tarp? Present myself and deal with the consequences?
Considering I hadn’t faded into the ether or exploded yesterday, presenting myself might be the only route with a (possible) happy ending. But oh, this was gonna rip me open, wasn’t it?
Inhale. Exhale. I slipped from the shadows and slowly approached her, my heartbeat echoing inside my ears. And there she was, the woman with two identities. My mother, Sandra Shaker. Queen Sandrine Ori’Emet of Hakeldama.
She waited near the entryway, wringing her hands exactly as I was doing. I gobbled up the sight of her, one detail at a time. In her twenties. Delicate features. A fall of glossy dark hair. Sparkling hazel eyes. She wore comfy gray sweatpants and a white shirt, the fabric strained over her very rounded belly. A belly she now clutched, as if the baby—me—had just started kicking with a vengeance.
Did I sense myself?
On her feet were rubber rain boots with cat faces painted on the toes.
I wanted to run to her. Wanted to disappear. How many times had I dreamed of hugging her good morning? Kissing her goodnight? Telling her about my day and hearing about hers? Or hearing the four words I’d needed more than breath.
“I love you, Rye.”
Even now, my heart cried out with a response. “I love you too, Momma.”
My eyes stung, just for a moment. Just as a warning about the future formed my tongue. But I shut that down. Not yet, not yet. No reason to frighten her with an event that wouldn’t take place for years to come.
“It’s you.” She rubbed her temples, her gaze sharp and assessing. “I didn’t recognize you yesterday, but I do now.”
I swallowed. “You recognize me…as what?” A daughter who’d time-traveled?
“You are Rye, the Oracle Great and Terrible.”
Blink, blink. “I’m not an oracle.”
She scrunched her nose and rubbed her temples harder. “Aren’t you? This morning, I remembered a conversation we had months ago. You told me to meet you in the red barn, today, July 20th, at eight a.m. sharp.”
My stomach dropped. I’d never said that. At least, not yet.
“Forgive me if I’ve forgotten other conversations. My memories were erased,” she admitted quietly. “Some have come back. More arise each day. Others remain hidden in a shadowy place I can’t reach.”
I flattened a hand over my heart. I’d had no idea she’d ever experienced memory loss. “What happened?”
“I wish I knew. But since yesterday, I’ve had flashes. Most revolve around you.” Mom gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, as if reliving one right now. “Yes, yes. You are the Great and Terrible. You saved my life.” Her shoulders rolled in. “My dear husband did not survive the war, however.”
Never mind that Mom recalled a history I hadn’t lived. Never mind that the only explanation involved my return to Hakeldama—and further back in time. Her anguish hit hardest, shredding me. Her husband, King Ahav, was my biological father. A man I’d never gotten to meet.
Treading carefully, I asked, “Are you sure you spoke with me and not someone who just looks like me?”
Her brows lowered, pity filling her eyes. “Were your memories erased, too?”
“In a way,” I replied, because what else could I say?
She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “You told me to bring an elixir of life to free your friend from a cage of metal.”
A cage of metal. My gaze flicked to Jasher beneath the tarp. That had to mean this. Hope flared. “Did you bring it?”
“Is that him?” she asked, ignoring the question and peering behind me. “The executioner?”
“Yes.” My ears twitched. Did I hear… muted growls seeping through the tarp? “I’d love to hear everything we spoke about—after I give him that elixir.”
Back to wringing her fingers. “There’s not much to tell. Our interactions were always brief. You spoke more with Ahav.” Her chin trembled. Until her lids narrowed to slits and fury frosted her features. “You’ve seen the damage the monstra inflict. I locked up the elixir. Your pet doesn’t deserve to be free.”