Prism Cloud (Harbinger, #4)

by Jeff Wheeler

I love each one of them. And while I hope to endure to a full head of white hairs and to dandle grandchildren on my knee, I would sacrifice myself to see them safe. I would suffer any privation to help them. To see them living up to their individual potentials. My hand trembles writing these words. My heart is full. This, I realized, is how the Knowing feels about each one of us.

Was there an inherent right and wrong way to use the Mysteries? She could sense the power in the poisoner school just as she had at Muirwood. It was a different kind of song, but music nonetheless. Was there room enough in the world for both kinds, or must one always be in conflict with the other, just as she was in conflict with herself?

Mysteries, a power that connected her to all living things. A power that transcended worlds, that connected them to one another and her to them. An awareness of infinity exploded in her mind. She was at once part of the universe and an insignificant speck, a mote of dust amidst trillions. Yet she had value, she had a purpose. The Knowing was aware of her and her need.