Torment (Soul Savers Book 6) by Kristie Cook Page B

My hopes for
what I’d find in this room had soared even higher than I
realized, and as disappointment came crashing down, the feeling of
abandonment overwhelmed me.
    “Isn’t
there anything I should know? Isn’t there anything you
can tell me?” I asked aloud, pleading with the Angels or my
ancestors or whoever might be listening to me. “I’m weak,
and inexperienced, and ignorant about way too much. You’ve
chosen the wrong person. I’m not equipped or prepared to serve
in this way. Please …”
    I turned in another
circle, my gaze sweeping over the hundreds of book spines. And then,
finally. A book slid out of its spot completely on its own. It lifted
into the air and floated over to my outstretched hands. I opened it
hurriedly, turning the pages greedily. But they were all blank.
    The urge to throw the
book on the ground and stomp on it like a two-year-old nearly
overpowered me. If I didn’t have a special soft spot in my
heart for all books in general, I just might have done so. But right
when I was about to send the worthless thing back to its spot on the
shelf, black marks started appearing on the first page. Swirls and
lines, some heavy and some thin, that looked a little tribal and a
little Celtic at the same time.
    “What good is
this if I can’t understand it?” I demanded aloud. My
inner tantrum-throwing child pushed harder against the surface. I
stared at the drawing, beautiful in its own way, and as I did, the
meaning began to clarify in my mind. The swirls and lines spelled my
name: Alexis.
    More marks started
showing, as though bleeding through the page, and I plopped to my
butt on the floor while watching them appear. I didn’t know how
long I sat there, possibly hours, but the symbols themselves taught
me how to read them. And I learned this language was personally for
me. Every matriarch had her own, and the books in the Sacred Archives
were filled with messages they’d received from the Angels.
Nobody could read them, not even other matriarchs … unless the
Angels deemed it necessary.
    Some books contained
their histories, just like my own book Rina had shown me when I’d
first arrived on the island. It floated down to me, and now, I saw,
was filled with much more than it had been originally—all of my
personal thoughts on my experiences had been added in this language
only I could read. And, of course, all of the events since I’d
first seen the beautiful book. I stared at the last page that had
filled in my history book, hoping to see a glimpse of what would come
next, but nothing more appeared. I sent it back to its place.
    The other book lay open
on my lap. The symbols in it had also stopped coming. I placed my
elbows on my knees and dropped my head into my hands.
    “I know nothing
more than I did before,” I muttered. Nothing useful, anyway. I
still felt as lost as ever. “I have no answers. No preparation.
Nothing to equip me for this awful task you’ve put in front of
me. How could you choose me without preparing me?”
    “ Oh, He has
been preparing you, child. But know that He does not choose the
prepared and the equipped. He prepares and equips the ones He has
chosen. And you have been chosen.” Cassandra’s voice,
I was sure. It sounded clearer than it had the other times, when it
seemed like Rina and Mom were in the background.
    “What does that
mean? How does that help me now? We’re at war, and I don’t
have the slightest inkling of what to do.” I lifted the book—my
new book with the messages from the Angels—up in the air.
“Please tell me!”
    “ The Angels
only send messages when you need them. They only interfere when
necessary. ”
    I groaned with
frustration. Rina had told me this numerous times, but I certainly
felt like there had never been a more appropriate need for them to
talk to me. To give me direction. To interfere and set us on the
right course of action.
    But since they didn’t
…
    Realization dawned on
me. The Angels interfered when I,