Page 2 of To Free a Soul (Duskwalker Beginnings #2)
The soft candlelight illuminated a well-polished Blackbutt desk scattered with an array of thickly bound leather books.
Its orange radiance shone along the thin nib of a feathered quill pen, and the glass vial of ink refracted just enough to cast an orb of muted light against the pages of an open journal.
Bookshelves situated against every wall gave the room a musty aroma.
The scent tingled her sinuses, occasionally making her nose wiggle as she tried to ignore the irritation mixing with the pleasant frankincense that wafted from every nook and cranny of this temple.
The wooden floor was cold, allowing a draft to creep underneath the skirt of her long robes, ensuring she shivered.
Lindiwe straightened and sat back from the book to glance at the dying fireplace safely tucked away from all the flammable material. With just a twitch of her face, a shadowy tentacle glittering with sand formed.
The magical limb curled around a log of dried firewood and gently placed it atop the smouldering embers. New flames licked at its fibres, and before long, the chill in the air subsided.
She was able to concentrate on her studies peacefully.
Autumn cooled this part of the world. Snow collected upon the windowsill in front of her, partially obscuring the view from the tower in which she sat.
The creeping shadows of late night made it even harder to ascertain the outside world, but the strategic sprinkling of firelight glowed a path to a stronghold opposing this temple.
Guild members trained well into the evening tonight, and she only watched in pensive thought or to relax her tiring eyes. They were there, and she was here in a different stronghold, but it often seemed like her current life swayed and pulled between both.
It’d been that way for eighteen years.
The length of time passing may have been long and strenuous for humans, with their finite number of years, but for her.
.. it was merely a time which she spent in the northwest of Unerica, a country so large it only outsized Austrális by a fraction.
Although she’d been staying in this city for that long, she’d been living in Unerica for over twice that.
She could be here for another eighteen years, and it wouldn’t matter to her as someone undying.
She’d given birth in Unerica two times already and had let her monstrous children roam free to hunt Demons.
After spending a year or so with each of them, guiding them to make sure they didn’t drown before they knew better, or helping them against predators, there was no reason to visit them when they were mindless and easy to enrage.
Once they understood life, she returned to hole up in this large city, studying and training as if the minutes ticking by didn’t matter. It had long become a hobby she threw herself into with tenacity and unbending will.
Slipping the shaft of the quill from its ink, she waited for the excess to drip back into the bottle before scribbling down a note in her journal. Lindiwe copied the words from the temple book, so she had the knowledge for her own safekeeping.
This journal was one of many she owned, which were scattered between her room within this stronghold, and the world she’d only visited fleetingly in the past eighteen years to create life.
A place of beautiful nothingness, of comforting weightlessness; somewhere so vast it could hold all the knowledge she wished to retain without the evidence of time withering it away.
Somewhere in the ether, she had her own library. Most of it was filled with books she’d scribbled her notes into, many taken from dilapidated buildings before they could be fully destroyed.
Her haven. And her home, considering she still lacked one in the real, living world.
After slipping her quill back into the ink jar, she raised her arms above her head and stretched to relieve the tension from slouching over the table like a prawn.
She tilted her head to the left until the muscles in her neck screamed in protest, then moved it the opposite way before arching over the book in front of her once more.
“Hello, Lindiwe,” a familiar, depravedly decadent voice rumbled in the back of her mind.
Her youthful features, still twenty-two and unageing, twitched in surprise before falling into a nondescript, unbothered expression.
“Hello, spirit of the void,” she answered.
“Ughhh,” he groaned out. She could almost imagine those chalky, dark lips pulling back in disgust to reveal glossy black fangs. “I’ve always hated being called that.”
A laugh almost slipped out, but she skilfully twisted it into a hum. “You only hate it because he gave you that name.”
He, being Jabez, someone who Weldir had never hidden his dislike of.
“Sure, but why must it be spirit?” he argued. “I’m more than that. Could it not be god of darkness, or god of the void?”
“Demi-god,” she corrected, unable to quell the small, playful smile that curled her lips.
“A god is a god, no matter their status. The only reason I’m not a fully fledged deity is due to my lack of a form.”
Lindiwe pouted. “It’s only a title.”
“An unbefitting one. It’s equivalent to me saying, ‘The human that sits in that chair.’ It has little meaning.”
“If it has little meaning, it should mean little to you.”
A soft growl enveloped her, one that had her insides quivering with delight. “You, raven, are starting to become irksome in your teasing.”
An outright laugh escaped her, and she leaned back in her chair.
“What else would you have me do? I can’t say your name freely, and I do love the way you pout at being called ‘spirit of the void.’” She surveyed the cosy library and its bright and flaming fireplace.
“You shouldn’t have given away how much it vexes you. ”
“Perhaps not,” he grumbled.
She leaned her elbow on the table and placed her chin in her awaiting palm. Her smile of humour softened. He complains that I’m not forthcoming, and then still complains when I tease him. Over the many years, she’d learned it was rather easy to ruffle Weldir’s mist.
And of course she took every ample opportunity to do so.
They’d found a comfortable push and pull between them. He’d become her friend in the longevity of her life, and she often leaned on the rare and infrequent moments their disjointed relationship shared.
She needed that light, as her life was often shrouded in darkness. Weldir was Weldir; his ability to share deep emotions was as stilted as ever. He was capable of understanding, but he lacked the ability to share in anything real or truly empathise.
It didn’t help that they were worlds apart.
He was there, Lindiwe here, and no love had ever blossomed between them. Just a fondness in the quiet foreverness. She was still his servant, and he her master. She was still a human, and he a god from another fantastical realm.
It was doubtful their hearts would ever align.
Least of all, from his side. And without true nurturing, never from hers.
“You have yet to tell me why you’re bothering me on this fine evening,” she stated playfully.
“All you do is study your little spellbooks. I hardly believe I can ‘bother’ you during such a task.”
“They’re not spellbooks, and you know it.” She picked up a round spectacle and hovered it over the lines within the book. Words of another language shifted to English under the glass, while the surrounding lettering remained foreign. “I’m grateful the Anzúli are allowing me to study their work.”
“Pertaining to spells. Hence, spellbooks.”
Lindiwe rolled her eyes. “And alchemy, history, and all the other tidbits of knowledge I’ve discovered in this library.”
Her lips pursed, and she narrowed her eyes at the line she needed to read twice. Although she understood Anzúlean, the language of the Anzúli, there were a few words that still escaped her.
They often blended together to create a conglomerate of confusing adverbs for Anzúlean, with little added stars and swishes that required context to understand.
She’d learned most of them, but having her translation spectacle, which resembled a magnifying glass with a chain instead of a handle, made it comfortable sitting in this library for long periods of time.
By the will of her mind, she could shape the words to translate into English. And with just a little more thought, she could also shift the translation to any Earthly language. The translation spectacle was a much needed and very beloved tool.
“You could always steal these books and study them in my realm,” he offered, his deep voice devoid of any emotion that should have accompanied such words.
“I’d rather not steal from these kind people. And secondly, Earth is where I belong. I can’t live in your realm.” She almost ended her words with ‘Weldir’ to ensure her point was well made, but she couldn’t say his name here. “Must I point out that you have yet to tell me what you need of me?”
When there was a small pause, she pulled away from viewing through her spectacle to wait patiently.
“It has been many years, Lindiwe. The land you currently reside in is vast, and I would like more of our offspring there. Especially north of your location.”
The delightful shiver tore down her spine and collected as a heating pool between her thighs, making her squeeze them together. More offspring meant more sex , and Lindiwe found that titillating and body-thrumming at just the mere mention.