Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 593(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Osiris was a babe, innocent as the fresh-fallen snow.
Relieved by the reminder of the seer’s refusal to give fortunes to the very young, she settled into the visit and into the pride of being a new mother. Ojewo was so gentle with Alexander, so careful in how he touched the boy’s little fists.
Opening them out, Alexander gripped at the seer’s finger.
Ojewo’s teeth flashed bright, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, you will be a strong one.” The slightest shift in his voice toward the end, a certain tone that made the hair on the back of Gzrel’s neck prickle.
She’d heard that tone before, knew what it heralded. “Ojewo.” She went to pluck her child from the seer’s arms . . . but it was too late.
“Wings of silver,” Ojewo murmured. “Such wings. Such strength. Silver fire.” A sudden blinking, then the feeling of a wrench, as if the seer was pulling himself out of the vision with force.
Gzrel swallowed, waited. Her gut was ice, her spine cold iron.
But Ojewo’s smile only deepened. “Oh, I’m sorry to startle you so, Gzrel. This one is adamant in his path—and it will be a glorious one.” Lifting the child he yet held, Ojewo pressed his lips to the babe’s forehead. “He will shine like the stars.”
Gzrel gasped out a breath, her hand on her chest. “Goodness. I thought you were going to tell me something awful!”
“And all I’ve said is that your babe will be glorious.” Ojewo laughed again. “Do not all parents believe so of their children? It is a law, yes?”
Gzrel was still smiling hours later as she related the story to Cendrion, who’d had to miss the visit due to already having plans with a fellow scholar who was about to leave the Refuge for many years.
Cendrion laughed that quiet laugh that was her touchstone. “Ojewo is right,” he said afterward. “It is a law.” Taking Alexander from his crib, he said, “Oh, my love, an angelic courier handed me a letter from Osiris as I was coming home. It’s in my bag.”
“Oh! It’s been too long since we’ve heard from him.” Unable to wait till after dinner, she found the letter and read it aloud while Cendrion played with Alexander.
Their firstborn was a man of study and innovation, though his work was more hands-on and experimental than theirs. She and Cendrion both agreed that Osiris was a brilliant scholar, one who’d long eclipsed them—and they couldn’t be more proud to be so eclipsed.
In this letter, he’d sent them copious notes on his latest projects.
Gzrel’s chest burst with warmth. “I wonder what discoveries Osiris will make in his lifetime. He’s so far along already.”
“I can’t wait to hear more on his project,” Cendrion said, and they spoke on that for a while as Alexander watched them with eyes that had begun to change from an infant’s fuzziness to a gray so striking it was heading toward silver.
He already had hair as gold as Gzrel’s and per Ojewo, his wings would be silver, too. She could already see the shape of the boy he’d become, so beautiful and intelligent and the apple of their eye.
“What discoveries do you think our vocal younger son will make?” Cendrion said at one point during their conversation. “I’m certain he’ll do the wildest experiments of us all!”
That Alexander, too, would be a scholar seemed a self-evident truth. Every angel in his maternal and paternal line as far back as memory could reach had chosen that life. No deviations except in specialization.
Of course Alexander would be a studious child.
* * *
* * *
As the years passed and their boy grew, Gzrel and Cendrion forgot about Ojewo’s words except as a happy confirmation that their child would be all they believed children could be.
The sole person who didn’t forget what he’d seen that day was Ojewo himself.
As he walked the ice-crusted pathways of the jagged mountains beyond the Refuge, he thought of the visions that had erupted into his mind with such brutal force that they couldn’t be contained: the glory of an archangel of molten power, the choice he would one day have to make against the blood of his blood, the murmur of a fog of black hovering on a horizon so far in the future that even Ojewo’s mind couldn’t reach it . . . and the awareness that Alexander would experience both great happiness and great sorrow in his time.
His life would be one writ large and it would leave a permanent mark on the world.
“I wish you well, little one,” he whispered to the ice and the snow, his breath puffs of white in the air. “And I hope that I am awake to witness your ascension.”
Ojewo had long ago understood that to give a child a fortune was to weigh them down until they drowned, so he never spoke of what he saw.