Page 11 of To Free a Soul (Duskwalker Beginnings #2)

Burying her face in thick shagginess, Lindiwe nuzzled her nose into the blue-black feathers as hard as she could muster. The large, magnificent creature below her, reaching a little under eight feet, made a harsh, bird-like bawk, but the sound was muffled through their forcefully closed beak.

Autumn chilled the air, but she soaked up their near-scorching heat rather than use her talisman. She moved away from between their shoulder blades to bury her face into a nape of glossy feathers.

The deadly, frightening being struggled against the magical bonds she’d threaded around their legs, and those that strapped their arms and great wings against their body.

Their caribou antlers, towering and large, brushed over her, but their head was trapped enough that they could only minutely shake it.

Against her magic, she perceived them trying to open their owl beak, gaining a sliver of room before it clacked shut.

“Mmm, I’m going to miss you!” she exclaimed, hugging their back with her arms and legs.

“I think you’re distressing our offspring,” Weldir rudely told her.

“Oh, they’re fine!” she yelled, planting her hands against the base of their wings and lifting up on straightened arms. “I never get to cuddle them when they’re all big and scary, and I never usually get to say goodbye.”

“I don’t think Ookpik appreciates your goodbye hug.”

Lindiwe parted her lips to say something, accidentally sucked a curl into her mouth, and quickly swatted it away. She narrowed her eyes and pouted.

“Well, I deserve to soak up a few seconds before I leave. I don’t understand why you even care.”

The warm, decadent, masculine chuckle that radiated throughout her skull instantly had her stomach tightening into knots. Instead of letting her shiver of delight win, she dived her arms back in Ookpik’s feathery back and hugged them from behind as Weldir spoke.

“I don’t. I just find enjoyment in teasing you.”

With her face hidden so he couldn’t see her scrunch it up, she would have poked her tongue out if it weren’t for the fact that she’d taste feathers if she did.

Ookpik was face down against the ground, offering her little snarls and bird-like barks through their shut beak. Each one vibrated through their muscles into her, and as much as she knew she was distressing them, she savoured it.

They’d forget this stress within hours anyway.

The name she’d chosen was the native word in the area for snow owl, which she found fitting with the skull she’d chosen for them.

They were rather... pretty, with a neck and back of long black feathers that glistened with a blue sheen in the light.

The rest of them was shaggy fur like a caribou, and the combination of their animalistic features made them rather striking.

When her Duskwalker child gave a whimper, Lindiwe sighed as she let her body relax on top of them. She likely weighed absolutely nothing to them, but she conceded and let herself roll off. Then, with autumn leaves crunching below her, she jumped to her feet.

She crept behind them, ready to turn incorporeal, and released the magic keeping them bound. They were freed.

As if she were a terrible being and something to be frightened of, instead of spinning around with razor-sharp claws bared on their humanoid hands, Ookpik let out a yelp.

They scrabbled in place as they struggled to gain purchase on the muddied ground, then finally bolted into the forest. She threw her arms up against the dirt, rocks, and debris they kicked up as they fled from her.

The moment was bittersweet.

Although a smile teased her lips, her eyes crinkled with the same anguish as when one of her children finished forming from a juvenile into an adult. Ookpik’s scent stained her arms, and she rubbed her nose against one to try to commit it to memory.

Then she brushed her caribou-skin dress of dirt and closed her eyes while lifting her face to the rich light, letting it cascade over her to combat the chill that came from Ookpik’s disappearance.

“Well?” She cocked a brow playfully. “Are you going to take me or not?”

“I didn’t know if you were ready.” The world came out from under her.

There’s no point in me staying , she thought as her arms lifted above her head due to the inertia of falling before she slipped into the comfort of weightless darkness. I’ll return when they’ve achieved more humanity to teach them what I can.

She’d stayed long enough that they understood the worst of the dangers.

“Hello, Lindiwe,” Weldir greeted, floating upright – or it could have been sideways, who knew with his realm – a few metres from her.

Due to his orientation, she felt as though she was lying on her back on top of the ocean’s surface. She waved her hands to change the way she floated, mimicking his upright position until their gazes could meet each other’s properly.

“Hello, spirit of the void,” she sang.

The right side of his face cringed and flaked off, joining his pointed ear to make that more visible. She laughed at his instantaneous dislike of the term, which was exactly why she adored using it.

“I should punish you for that,” he stated with a growl.

A cruel smile pulled at her lips. “Only if you want to upset me.”

He came closer, his mist lagging behind the spiralling streaks of his visible physical form. Then he circled her, much like one would when assessing someone from head to toe and front to back.

“You’re lucky I find your teasing preferable to your everlasting ire.

” He came to her front and grinned, and it was too large to be natural as he flashed his chalky black teeth and demonic canines.

If she didn’t know better, it would have come across as menacing.

“Any new artefacts to unload from your person?”

The crook of his elbow moved, revealing he likely had his hand out, even if she couldn’t see it. She opened her satchel and offloaded a few drawstring bags and a new journal.

His hand formed when she reached out with the bags, and he wiggled his claw tip at one of their necks to peek inside.

Once his curiosity was sated, tendrils attached themselves to the four small bags and disappeared with them, and he took the book from her awaiting hand.

He flicked through it, and although the pages turned quicker than she could blink, she wondered if he’d committed every line she’d written to memory.

“Do you want me to change your cloak now?” he asked before he’d finished with the journal, momentarily peeking up at her with only the bottom of his left eye down to his chin visible.

She pulled at the ties at her throat and handed her black raven-feathered cloak to him. “If you could.”

He took it and brushed a thumb through the weathered and damaged feathers. The way he peered down at them came across as odd, and perhaps sentimental, but her heart had already said goodbye to the garment.

She was ready for change and had been for a while.

“I’ll inform you once it’s ready,” he said, letting it go, and a tendril attached to it kept it tangible to him while dragging it away.

Placing her hands behind her back and holding her right wrist, Lindiwe swayed back and forth on the heels of her feet – hoping it didn’t look odd in the ether she floated in. “Actually, I was wondering if I could stay this time?”

His face disintegrated entirely when he reared back, his head becoming just a cloud of mist. “You want to remain here?” he asked, a frown evident in his puzzled tone.

“I was hoping I could read through my journals and check what items I’ve left here.” She tried to muster an understanding smile. It was the first time she’d offered to remain in his presence, so it had to be strange to him that she wasn’t trying to flee. “I thought I could do this while I wait.”

“It might take me some time, though.”

Rather than the conversation running in circles, she lowered her eyelids in annoyance and hiked her thumb over her shoulder. She’d already spelled out her desire to stay rather clearly, if she were being honest. “You can send me back to Austrális if you don’t want me here.”

“No,” he said immediately. “I would welcome your presence here.”

A grin of triumph parted her lips. That’s what I thought.

Lindiwe didn’t realise she was moving through his realm – or was the realm moving around her?

– until the items scattered in the distance came closer.

There was no rush of air, no rustle of hair or clothing, as if the nothingness was utterly empty of perceivable movement.

Even when she swam through the ether, it felt like brushing through still air.

Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment at just how much she’d amassed.

Dozens of small pouches filled with seeds, dried herbs, interesting bone fragments, and blessed salt created a substantial pile.

A neat collection of precious or beautiful crystals glittered, with a large egg-shaped fire opal in the middle.

The odd pebbles that she liked the colour or shape of surrounded it in a star shape.

Her journals lined the entire space in a ring, with books placed together in sections, and upon closer inspection, they were separated into their contents.

A section for all the things she’d learned at different Anzúli temples, another for the flora and fauna of every land she’d visited over the many years.

Another section was of her personal diaries, which lacked any emotions and were just retellings of what she’d done during different periods of her life to help pass the time.