Page 4 of To Free a Soul (Duskwalker Beginnings #2)

Black feathers tickled up and down the edge of Lindiwe’s jaw as the high altitude billowed around her. She pulled her raven cloak of feathers tighter over her shoulders, adjusting the material so it sat more comfortably.

More snow was expected to fall for a minimum of another month, but at least it would begin to taper off in the coming weeks as the world in the northern hemisphere warmed. The southern hemisphere would only grow colder now.

Her white dress robes did little to keep out the wind, but she couldn’t feel the cold with the Anzúli talisman tied to the inside of her cloak. To her, the snow cushioning her seat upon the tallest tower of the Demon Hunter Incorporation was nothing but a soft place to rest.

She couldn’t say the same for those below.

“They really do look like Demons from up here,” Lindiwe mused, as she watched those waking up to begin their morning routine of exercise and training.

Each member wore their uniform, including the mouth covering and hood.

Many shrouded themselves temporarily in thick black cloaks, while others had donned white ones to match the snow as camouflage.

That was the only spot of colour for now, although in the warmer seasons, they often shrouded themselves in thin brown or green cloaks to match their environment.

She swept her gaze over the many collecting in the courtyards or outdoor training areas, some of them weary-eyed and bleak as they rubbed their tired faces. Once their overseer of training yelled, many of them promptly stiffened in alertness.

“I’ve told you before that they appear like Demons,” Weldir responded, his voice distant as always, but no less husky and inviting.

“Yeah, I know. I just keep forgetting until I see them from afar,” she stated. “If I wasn’t well familiar with their uniforms, I wouldn’t be able to decipher the difference.”

She’d trained with them many times over the past two decades, to the vexation of most guildmembers. Being an honorary Demon Hunter, not in name or rank, ruffled a lot of pride-hurt feathers.

She’d been an outlier; someone who’d trained with them but lacked a position within the guild.

It still amazes me how often humankind will evolve similar ideas, even when they’re worlds apart. The Demon Hunter Inc., Knights of Shadow, Night Stalkers, and Demonslayers, were all names of different organisations that were created to hunt Demons.

Most wore very similar black outfits, choosing to fade into the shadows like their enemies by wearing tight-fitting, quiet material. Then again, I think the Anzúli – who all spoke to each other through scrying tools – have been guiding them.

Their outfits resembled each other’s just a little too closely for coincidence, as did their ranking system. Even their strongholds were similar no matter what part of the world she travelled to, although this could be due to history having a hand in it.

Since she was from Austrális, she considered them all Demonslayers, but in this country, they were controlled by the Demon Hunter Incorporation.

I don’t like how they force trade here for protection, though.

In most other places across the world, their assistance was free or trade was appreciated, but Unerica still had a rather unfair bartering system.

The Knights of Shadow – or Shadow Knights – were more like religious templars .

Their god of worship? Somehow, they’d taken Uxos’ partner, Yavol, as their leader.

Then again, Yavol was the god of war and destruction, so Lindiwe found that to be rather fitting.

Just further proof the Anzúli are guiding them...

She searched the soft pinks and lilacs of the dawning sky.

Fluffy clouds glowed with orange, like the very edges of their minuscule droplets had caught fire.

She’d flown through many clouds and had come to discover they were nothing but puffs of water, each time leaving her feathers damp.

When she’d flown for too long, she often tried to gulp at the clouds for refreshment.

Maybe it’s time I change my feathers, she thought, wondering if the horizon could give her an answer on that matter. It’s been over a hundred years since my cloak was first created.

She often pondered on whether or not her monstrous children would react to her differently if she didn’t appear like the very creatures they fought against.

But I love my raven form, my cloak. She had a deep attachment to them, as they offered a sense of freedom. And I wouldn’t know what other kind of bird to pick.

An eagle? If so, she’d rather choose the wedge-tailed eagle, as it was larger than the one in Unerica, and much more ferocious. Most of their feathers are brown. Which, for Lindiwe, was just too close to a raven’s dark plumage and could easily be mistaken.

I could choose a rainbow lorikeet or a parrot. Then again, she wasn’t inclined to be too colourful either.

There are many species of owls... And she did like their meaning: wisdom. Many cultures considered them a warning, while others saw them as spiritual protection. I guess an owl would be a good choice.

“Hey, Weldir,” she started, pulling her satchel closer to her lap. “I’m ready to leave now.”

“I was wondering why you had that thoughtful look upon your face.”

Her brows furrowed deeper. “I didn’t have a look on my face. This is how my face always is.”

“Then you must always look thoughtful.”

She’d spent nearly eighteen years here, and it was the longest she’d spent anywhere. It was understandable that she was forlorn. But it couldn’t compare to the yearning in her heart to find that home in Austrális, the place in which she was born.

“Are you going to say goodbye this time?” he asked, with a hint of curiosity in that rough voice of his.

She almost shivered in delight at it, knowing what would come after she left this place.

“No. I’ve never been great at goodbyes, and I told the Anzúli when I first arrived that I may just up and disappear. The elders will explain it to the others.”

It was time to withdraw from society and life, and be Weldir’s semi-obedient servant once more. Wholeheartedly.

“Before you take me to your realm, I want to thank you for allowing me to stay here for as long as I saw fit. I obtained a lot of useful knowledge that will help us, and it was nice immersing myself amongst people again after so long.”

“Of course, Lindiwe. I trust your judgement.”

She smiled. His trust was not unfounded, and she’d long ago begun to tentatively trust him in return.

Even after all this time, astonishment always filled Lindiwe when she materialised in Weldir’s realm. It wasn’t Tenebris, as she’d never been fully eaten by him, but it was his world, his place, his empty darkness.

For over a hundred and fifty years, it remained unchanged.

As did its owner – mostly.

He was still just swirling fragments, as if all the souls he consumed never truly added to his lacking solidness.

His growing mist stops him from obtaining any semblance of a real form. Over the decades, she’d seen those tiny black granules reach further and further, swiping through forests, mountains, and meadows. Sometimes it feels like a waste to give him souls when it does little to grow him.

For once, just once, she’d like to see him in completion, rather than as ribbons of chalky, globby outlines, or like layers of black see-through frayed cloth – like now. It depended on how his tangible parts were made up that day.

“Hello, little raven,” he greeted, his voice louder and no longer echoing now that he was before her.

The urge to needle him and call him spirit of the void pestered her, but she kept that to herself.

“Hello, Weldir.” Lindiwe shifted into her Phantom form, the one that was tangible to a deity of spirit, and dug into one of her side satchels. “I have much to give you today.”

“I can sense that.”

Tiny flames hovering and twirling inside a vial began to empty before she’d even retrieved it.

As if the glass itself was meaningless, the white flames exited through the very sides.

What were barely the size of her thumb now sparked to life and grew to the size of her palm as they floated towards his outreaching hand.

Multiple souls rotated around his upward-pointing claws, and enough of his face coalesced to reveal a proud smile.

“You’ve brought me eleven this time.”

Lindiwe rolled her eyes as she pushed the magically re-enforced vial to the side to obtain other items. Of course that’s all he truly cares about.

Yet, the moment she pulled out one of her many journals, the blunt end of a black glittering tendril tipped back the spine like how one might pull it from a shelf. It brought it to him, and he folded his legs as the pages quickly flickered open.

He was reading them, committing them to memory, even as the pages turned so quickly it was nearly indiscernible to the human eye.

A pattern followed with the seven others he took, and each one furrowed his brows, until his head completely disappeared to reveal his thinly muscled shoulders and chest.

“So many spells. Most of these look unhelpful,” he muttered. “How does magic detection assist you? Or changing your eye colour?”

Lindiwe shrugged as she pulled out her final journal. “I thought they were good to memorise at the time. I may need to detect magic in the future, and learning how to change my eye colour is the first lesson they teach children to produce a glamour.”

“Why would you want to produce a glamour?” His headless torso moved as if he looked up at her pointedly, not that she could bloody well see his expression. “You’re lovely as you are.”

Her cheeks warmed due to the unprovoked compliment, and her eyes shied away. He didn’t often offer them, as he could be rather rough around the edges.

She took them at face value, rather than assuming anything substantial. Weldir probably found beauty in her, in the same way he’d see it in a tree or a precious rock. Just something that was pleasing to his eye, but in the grand scheme of his heart – nothing.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Your magic doesn’t allow me to glamour myself, so some of the spells I’ve written down are a tad pointless.”

She pulled pouches of seeds from her bag, some crystals, and then a bag with a grainy powder. Tendrils collected all of them and dragged them through the ether. He opened each item, noting the contents with curiosity, only to pause at the final one.

“Why do you have a bag of salt?” he asked, pinching a few pieces.

“Hey! Be careful with that.”

Swaying her hands to push herself forward, she closed the distance between them as though they were floating on the surface of water. She cupped what solid parts of his hand she could, making him drop what he’d pinched back into the small satin bag.

“That salt is blessed,” she stated, pulling the drawstrings shut. “Just a pinch is enough to bless a five-kilo bag. I can’t replicate the protection spell, so I’d rather not waste a single bit of it.”

He absentmindedly tossed it behind him into the ether of his world using a tiny tendril wrapped around the neck of the pink bag.

“There are more important things I can focus on.” Hands formed, and they brushed over the feathers of her cloak covering her biceps. “You’ve come over to me, which is very unlike you.”

The tips of her ears heated. He was right; she’d put herself almost against him.

Her heart betrayed her and picked up its rhythm, stammering in her chest because she knew what was coming next.

It also fluttered shyly because Weldir, somehow, had learned to be rather sultry and teasing with his words.

It was surely a fabrication, all designed to entice her for sex, and Lindiwe was unashamedly drawn to it.

She didn’t care if it was fake and forced, not when she found it arousing all the same.

His husky, rich, and sinful voice was perfect, and it added a layer to his words that could easily soften her into needy putty in his barely existent hands.

“First, though, you did bring me a meal.” He lifted his chalky left hand, and the eleven souls of deceased humans came from seemingly nowhere and twirled above it.

Then they shrank for ease of consumption.

Lindiwe once thought she’d be unnerved by watching him eat souls. Turned out she wasn’t.

He leaned back, so she wasn’t in his way, and placed one in his mouth. Weldir didn’t chew, his fangs likely capable of destroying them to pieces, but merely swallowed it whole. His face, neck, and chest seared with white light before it dissipated into darkness where his stomach was – Tenebris.

With each one he ate, he gained a mere millimetre of growth to his form, but it would still allow him to better touch her and vice versa. Her body thrummed in preparation, and with the anticipation she’d come to cherish in his presence.

It was the only reason she ever came here.

“ Now I’m ready,” Weldir playfully rumbled, wrapping his arms around her waist.

He pulled her flush against him, but much of her sunk through where his body should be. What was solid allowed her to not fully meld into him.

A mischievous smile curled her lips as she pulled on the tie of her feathered cloak. It floated off her shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

I want to try something different.

Her body thrummed with excitement at her plan.