Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 28: Truths Within Lies

Dry laughter springs out of my mouth, a broken dam of madness. I ignore all the signs that I know, everything that points to the truth. "Really? A necromancer?" I say sarcastically, barely managing to hide the tremor in my voice. "I'd suppose that you'll say I'm a dragon next."

Abner snorts at me. "Be a sceptic if you like, but even you cannot ignore the signs."

"What signs?" I ask, maintaining false causticness.

"You have the ability to wield Miraterciel. That's enough proof."

The statements shocks my mouth open. "You're saying that Miraterciel is real?" Abner confirms the point with his silence. "But—but it's no more than a legend! Tales of childhood! A myth woven by the imaginations of bards!"

"And where do legends come from? A truth. Myths are mere derivations from a single, solid fact; like the tree growing from the root, extending its branches to the corners of the earth. Granted, some of the legends surrounding Miraterciel have been exaggerated through time, but if you care to take a closer look, you'll find that it actually runs in accordance with the origins of our world," says Abner. His words make my head spin.

"Are you implying that I'm the only one who can wield Miraterciel then?" I suddenly feel the sharpness of the blade keenly pressing against my leg, as if it's stirring in response to our conversation about it.

"Of course." He snorts once more. "I gather that your mother had passed you the knife roughly a month ago?"—I incline my head—"That's the passing of her powers to you. The Giving of Inheritance."

"The what?"

"The Giving of Inheritance. It's a ritual where the mother passes her abilities down to her eldest daughter. For a price—she will lose her own forever. The new wielder of Miraterciel will take up the mantle of the Deathslayer, who is tasked with putting errant necromancers in their place. Only the Deathslayer can use Miraterciel to its full extent, its main purpose being its ability to slay ghosts, hence the title of the wielder." Somewhere in the middle of Abner's explanation, I must have drawn Miraterciel, because the obsidian blade now gleams at me, a strange anchor for my racing heart. "Your particular Giving of Inheritance ritual was spectacularly short. And then again, hard times have fallen on Gaiatea. The seer Fabienne—your grandmother—was right about everything, you know?"

What am I supposed to do? I stare at the knife settled in my palm. Apparently I said the thought out loud unconsciously, as Abner answers my question, "Simple: You embrace your identity, let your fate slowly unfold before you, and accept whatever comes."

I shoot him a cynical look. "You make it sound so easy," I say ruefully.

"That's because it is easy. Unfortunately, mortals have a ridiculous tendency to twist and warp every single problem they encounter until the structure of the actual cause is hardly visible anymore." Unexpectedly, I find myself agreeing wholeheartedly with him. However...

"Can't you just give me a clear explanation of what I should and shouldn't do?" Frustration is beginning to seep into my voice; fatigue is a dauntless lion refusing to give up the chase.

"No." I'd expected that answer from him. It doesn't ease my irritation though. "It would be against a particular code of ethics that the Pietists have set. In fact, I am already walking on the very fine line of abiding versus breaching the code by telling you part of your ancestry."

"All right," I grumble reluctantly. Then without a polite goodbye, I exit the vision.

******

The night hums gently in my ears; my head buzzes. I mull over everything that I have just learnt from Abner. It makes me want to scream and dash away from everything like a maniac. Yet I'm sure that there's so much more that he hasn't told me.