Page 46 of To Free a Soul (Duskwalker Beginnings #2)

She trusted Orpheus. He knew his own strength – knew he could harm easily. Everything he did on purpose was gentle. It was careful, hesitant.

“There.” She let him go and stepped back, then turned to the side to look upon the village gates. “All you need to do is follow me inside and heed my directions.”

“What if I hurt?” Orpheus asked, and brought both hands to his abdomen nervously. His orbs morphed to white when his bony snout lifted towards the village.

“Orpheus.” She let out an exasperated huff. “You’re forgetting who and what I am.”

He pointed a grey finger at her. “Witch Owl.”

Her annoyance deepened, enough to make one eye twitch, but she didn’t correct him. He knew her name, but apparently this title was what he, and fucking Katerina, had decided she would be called.

“If you go into a rage, I’ll be here to stop you.” Pushing her bangs back, Lindiwe sighed. “Just... let’s go.”

The hard dirt of the forest changed to soft grass of a cut meadow – leaving no shade for the Demons to hide in – as they headed towards the village.

Spear-wielding soldiers at their posts on either side of the gates lurched forward upon seeing them and immediately ran inside to inform everyone of their approach.

And yet the gates remained open.

Lindiwe peeked over her shoulder at Orpheus. His hands were up near his chest in such a sweet, yet unconfident way. Her child, as monstrous and scary as he was, felt fear.

Of himself. Of failing. Of hurting those they were about to meet.

How anyone could see him as evil when he could behave this way was beyond her.

The entrance to the village was remarkably vacant. She’d expected to be greeted by a throng of gawking stares. It appears they’ve told everyone to remain inside their homes.

In the middle of the town’s entrance were eight humans.

Six soldiers clad in iron armour, the mayor in a well-tailored navy suit, and a woman whose skirts were white with a brown overdress.

The ninth person bore a white mask with one side painted lime green, and their white Anzúli robes, etched with purple symbols around the seams, fluttered in the wind.

The masked Anzúli, who the humans called either a Priest or Priestess, bowed their head to Lindiwe with respect. They were the only reason this was happening at all. Her friendship with the Anzúli people had garnered so much trust that mattered in this very moment.

She could never have guessed this was where it’d all been leading towards.

Where her request, her favour for all the good she’d done for them, would be at the cost of a sacrifice.

Despite the pang of guilt, she kept her features cool and indifferent as she tipped her head in return.

Harry, the mayor, fiddled with the bottom button of his vest as he looked over her shoulder with wide eyes. Perspiration dotted his tan forehead, and the sickly pallor of his face informed her that he was terrified of the tall creature casting a shadow over her.

The woman at his side – middle-aged, perhaps in her late forties or early fifties – hadn’t shifted or flinched at all.

Her lightly tanned face sported an array of sparse wrinkles, and her short, straight blonde hair had a sprinkling of grey throughout.

Her brown eyes held nothing, remaining emotionless.

She’d found purpose in the role she was about to take on. At least, Lindiwe assumed this woman was the offering, considering there was no one else here.

“So it’s true,” the Anzúli said, tightening his arms behind his back. “You truly befriend the Duskwalkers.”

“Yes,” she confirmed without hesitation, before waving to her side. “This is Orpheus.”

He grunted at the attention upon him, and his right hand came forward a little to... twitch his fingers at them? Is he attempting to wave? If so, she found that rather cute.

“This is Lydia,” the Anzúli said, waving towards the woman.

She pinched the sides of her skirts and curtsied. “Hello.”

“Are you willing?” Lindiwe asked, meeting her gaze directly when she lifted her head.

Taken aback, her eyes fluttered, and she halted. “Y-yes. I know of everything and agreed to it.”

Lindiwe’s tone darkened and became firmer. “But were you coerced?”

“No.” Harry stepped forward with his hand placed upon his chest. “We spoke about this in the village hall, and Lydia offered herself.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Lindiwe snapped, and he started in response and stepped back. “I want to make sure she understands what this entails. That she won’t be returning here and will go to the Veil with Orpheus, and there is a chance she may die.”

Lydia’s lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I understand all of that.”

“Are you sick?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m a very healthy forty-eight. I chose to do this because I have no family. No children, no husband, no one but friends who will miss me. It is for their children that I do this.”

“So you are willing, you are informed, and you are pure of disease.”

The tension in Lindiwe’s shoulders eased. The last thing she’d wanted was for someone to be forced into this role or be ill-informed of the potential terrors they may face. She also didn’t want the humans to pass off the sick, and for them to die before Orpheus could gain their trust.

They may not even survive the journey.

“Then alright.” She gestured for Orpheus to come forward, and he tilted his head at her waving hand before doing as instructed. Lydia came forward upon request, and they came face to face with each other. “Hold each other’s hands.”

Lydia’s hands shot to her chest when Orpheus’ came forward, and she hesitated. For the first time, she looked unsure, but then gingerly placed her own in his. His touch was gentle as he wrapped her hands in his much bigger ones, and Lydia’s posture unstiffened.

Lydia laughed dryly. “It feels like I’m getting married to a Duskwalker.”

Lindiwe appreciated her attempt to unravel the awkwardness they obviously both felt. It also made her heart twist. I like her a lot. She could only offer the woman a sad smile. It’s unfortunate that she’ll likely die.

She may have been perfect otherwise.

The Veil was far, and Demons loitered above the surface and in it. How Katerina had made it alive to the house Orpheus had built was purely luck, bad luck, and Lindiwe was sure fate would rear its ugly head once more.

“You’d be a very pretty bride,” Lindiwe said to play along.

“Bride?” Orpheus asked, tilting his head as his orbs shifted to dark yellow in curiosity.

“It’s what we call a woman when she’s about to bond with her future husband. They’re always beautiful, and often in a lovely dress.”

“I... see.” His tone came across pensive.

“Do you remember how to do this?” Lindiwe asked, and he nodded in answer. “I think it’s best if you breathe through your mouth.” Then she met Lydia’s gaze. “This may hurt a pinch.”

The woman’s eyes widened right as Orpheus’ claws shot forward. Two slipped beneath the thin skin of her wrist, and she gasped in shock and yanked her hands from his. But it was enough.

A few drops of blood touched the dirt, the bargain for the spell was given, and blue light shone from it. Within seconds, his magic spread across the ground as shimmering, sparkling blue made the air swirl around them. A protective dome began to form over the village.

Lydia, holding her nicked wrist, gasped softly as her eyes lifted to follow the magic’s path.

The soldiers, Harry, and the Anzúli also looked up, the azure light highlighted upon their faces.

The initial brightness dulled when it was complete, enough to show it was there, but it wouldn’t be overly distracting.

“The bargain is complete. In exchange for this offering–”

“Bride,” Orpheus cut in. “She is my bride, yes?”

Lindiwe paused and gave him a perplexed frown before continuing. She hadn’t expected him to say that, nor to speak over her.

“–your village now has a protection ward that will last ten years. He may, or may not, return to place a new one here, or upon the other village and town nearby.” Lindiwe brought her gaze to the black mesh eyeholes of the Anzúli’s mask.

“Now that you’ve seen the truth, and what his power can do, I expect you’ll share this information with the other mayors? ”

“Why will he not return here?” Harry asked, his light-brown eyebrows furrowing. “We are happy to continue this arrangement if it keeps the Demons from attacking us.”

Because expecting Orpheus to remember which village, when they’re so close together, is asking too much. If he forgot, or mistook which one he was supposed to approach, Lindiwe had prepared all three.

“This is what has been agreed upon,” Lindiwe stated. “It’s also not up for discussion.”

He grumbled and folded his arms, but remained quiet, and that’s all she cared about.

It was unwise to remain for too long, especially as she could see a few heads beginning to poke from windows and doors, all curious about the new protection ward. She ushered Orpheus and Lydia from Staton Village as quickly as she could.

The gates closed behind them with a boom when they’d traversed halfway across the meadow. When they made it into the tree line, Lindiwe stopped them.

“This is where I leave,” she announced.

“Y-you’re leaving?” Lydia darted her gaze to Orpheus before stepping to the side. “I thought you’d be remaining with us.”

“Orpheus will take you there by himself. I can’t join you on this journey.” Then she turned to Orpheus, who dipped his skull to greet her gaze. “This is also where my help ends. This is the last time I will intervene. From now on, you will do this on your own.”

Lindiwe wouldn’t be here to watch human after human die, and for her son to be hurt over it time and time again.

He wanted a companion, and hopefully she’d done her best to facilitate that for him one day, but this was where she had to stop.

Where she had to protect her own heart, shield herself from guilt, and step back.

Orpheus had to make his own choices, his own mistakes, and learn on his own.

The most she would do was grow the garden.