There is an urgency in the air as darkness surrounds Onmai, the Sage Ruler. The drumming of her temples matches the pounding of her heart as she meditates on a dilemma that has haunted her for thirteen months. Housed in the towering oak tree known as the Elders’ Villa, Onmai looks for guidance on the fate of her people and the land of Zodia. The fire is cool as its embers beg to be fed as wax from the candles threatens to drip to nothingness. Its flickering glow is the only source of light amidst the unlit night. Not even a lone star shines in the skies to guide weary travelers through the night. There is nothing to chase away the darkness that keeps worried souls up until the break of day.
Sitting on the stone balcony floor, she tries to connect with nature and the heavens. Inside felt too confined, when all her soul desires is to be free. Free of the images of fire, death, and Talia’s menacing glare. But outside does not bring freedom; it stirs tormenting reminders. Squeezing her eyes tighter, she resists the temptation to look upward into the night, where the timer of calamity becomes more visible.
Fluttering, burning eyes open as she turns to the skies, the outline of the Crimson Sun slowly becomes transparent as daylight approaches. A whimpered groan catches in her throat. The Crimson Sun appears to be days from eclipsing the Rising Sun. When that happens, will destruction unleash and ruin our land, like the prophecy foretold? Or has the force been with us all along, waiting to turn?
A tear falls from Onmai’s eyes—she can sense the pain and anguish on the horizon. Though she is not sure if these are her own feelings or insights from the ancestors. For months she has called to them, but they only send reminders of the dream she had thirteen months prior—a tormenting vision of Zodia consumed with fire, death-begging screams, and the figure of the one she considers a child.
“Talia,” the sage murmurs as her lips taste fresh tears.
For months, the sage could not understand the vision of Talia’s fingers wrapped around her throat. She shudders as the ancestors pull her back into the vision.
“Look at me,” Talia demands.
Onmai shakes her head feverishly, casting tears across the scorched land.
“Look at me!” she demands again. “You owe me that, Mother.”
The word lingers like a brutal curse as Onmai turns to the pain and anger behind Talia’s eyes. Eyes that once carried love and hope.
“Talia, dear one. Follow the stars back to the light.” The sage urges, but Onmai’s words abruptly end as Talia squeezes her neck.
“No more prophecies. No more lies. I will make my path and destroy everything in my way.”
Talia’s fingers increase their pressure against Onmai’s neck.
The popping sound of cracking bone shakes the Sage Ruler from the vision of her death.
Tears flow like waterfalls.
Sage Onmai has been like a mother to Talia, but she did not birth her, nor has Talia ever called her such. Talia manipulates water and struggles to build a blazing flame. So how can she be the destroyer of fields and mountains?
“You know what it means, but you refuse to see,” echoes a voice in the ether.
Onmai is not afraid. She welcomes the voice and the visitation from the Elders living in the after realm—a place she senses she will walk among soon.
“Tell me what I refuse to see!” she calls back, welcoming the scent of lavender and honey. Her soul becomes more at ease the deeper she seeps into the after realm.
Afraid her eyes will draw her from the moment, she closes them and listens intently to their voices. She can feel their presence; too many to count—spanning the time since the beginning of the Elders.
The same one who spoke before speaks again. “You refuse to see.”
The words echo and sound more painful. Like a scolding to a pupil who has disappointed their master.
“I have seen the prophecy of old, like all of you of the past. I have felt the pain and chaos that are supposed to engulf our lands. Seen the vision of the faraway land from which the Chosen One has come. I accept that the one I cherish like prized gold will be our destruction. What do I refuse to see? Please tell me. Please tell me why this new vision makes the former feel wrong?” Onmai begs, but the voice is silent.
The scent of lavender and honey remains strong, like the most vibrant of fields. Her body feels the touch of lavender petals against her potter’s clay red skin, so she knows the Elders remain present.
“Why do you refuse to speak? Why does my ignorance offend you so much?” Her voice, usually strong and warm, trembles with overwhelming grief.
It stirs the voice to speak, “Because we saw too late and you still have time, albeit just days.”
The scent of the after realm dissipates, and she can feel the electric pulse of Zodia. Coastal waves perfume the land, and the sweltering heat of the humid day dampens her brow. The Elders’ consuming power has vanished, leaving her with emptiness and a haunting reminder that her time in this world is drawing to a close.
Eclipse is book 3 in the trilogy. In this fiery conclusion, new beginnings take shape and deadly realizations about the true enemy come to light.
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