Page 74 of To Free a Soul (Duskwalker Beginnings #2)

“This human has lasted much longer than the others,” Lindiwe muttered to herself, as there was no one listening.

No one watching.

Weldir had been asleep for quite a few months, after exerting all his energy into growing his mist.

“It’s already been two weeks since Orpheus brought her to the Veil. The most someone has lasted was eight days, and he eventually ran off into the Veil to be eaten.”

Lindiwe’s faith in Orpheus’ newest offering was justifiably... non-existent.

She’d likely die like all the others. Lindiwe was aware this made her callous, but her heart couldn’t take hoping, only for it to be squashed. For Orpheus’ attempts to be squandered and unappreciated.

Sitting on her bed in her little hut in the middle of the Veil, she hugged her upright knees with her back against the wall. With her cheek upon her knees, she kept her other hand out below the scrying spell so she could watch the pale woman run at Orpheus with a short sword.

She swung so confidently, yet her stance was pathetically unskilled. With his arms crossed, the wolf-skulled, impala-horned Duskwalker easily evaded the human’s swings as she grunted and screamed through clenched teeth.

Is she learning so she can try to kill him? Did that make Orpheus a fool for trying to teach her something he didn’t know how to do himself? She’ll probably try to escape again, just like before.

How she didn’t die after being taken by the arachnid of sorrows, a rather nasty Demon with much Elven magic, was beyond her. She did protect his unconscious body and drag him inside the protection charms for his safety afterwards, though.

Reia was a mystery to Lindiwe.

Then again, she’d seen what people would do in the name of survival and self-preservation. This woman had survived two weeks, but someone else had survived five years.

The sun was dim behind collecting grey clouds, and the muted light reflected off the woman’s sword. They stopped and discussed teaching her how to wield it.

Then Orpheus made a sound, and her chest felt a little lighter.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before. A small smile curled her lips as she looked at him with motherly affection.

“You won’t be able to hurt me, my little human.

You will not be quick enough, nor strong enough.

” With his arms folded, he stepped in front of her so they were facing each other.

“I will carve you a wooden sword if it looks as though you might, but until I do, you will train with this. I will make sure we are careful.”

It’s been so long since I saw his orbs be anything other than blue or red. It’s nice to see them joyful for once.

The woman, short and of average physique, blew a few strands of her long, straight blonde hair from her eyes.

“You’re awfully arrogant for someone who has never seen me fight.” She stepped back and pointed her sword up at his bony snout brazenly. “I was pretty effective at killing those Demons to protect your sorry butt while you were unconscious.”

His chuckle deepened, and Lindiwe found herself laughing along with him. “I’m sure you were, but let’s make you better.”

Okay. So maybe she isn’t too bad.

Orpheus seemed genuinely content with her, and she didn’t appear to harbour any ill-will or resentment.

Reia swung carelessly as she chased Orpheus in a circle.

She tried with all her might to cut downwards, and the point hit the dirt and became lodged. Her green eyes widened, and she failed to remove it no matter how much she wiggled it up and down.

Orpheus wrapped one of his palms around the hilt of the sword, which so happened to encompass her small, nimble hands, and helped her to dislodge it. She didn’t gasp and shy away from his touch, nor did she swat it away with disgust.

They resumed the poor lesson.

She said something that did make Lindiwe feel a little better. “Wouldn’t it be better if you had your own sword so that I could attack it? It might help me learn.”

She doesn’t want to go out of her way to harm him, even if it’s an accident. That was a welcome change. Although her movements seemed careless, it looked like she was holding back from hurting him.

Orpheus turned his skull upwards, and Reia followed his gaze.

“That is a good idea, but something we will have to try tomorrow.” Grey clouds, which had already started thundering above Lindiwe, finally shaded the clearing out the front of his home. “It is going to rain.”

That’s true. She listened to the rumble of thunder. Her wooden shutters were closed and rattling against the wind, but her talisman kept her warm even without a fire. She’s been there a long while. Her food resources will be low.

It was lucky that Lindiwe was nearby. She always had this anxiety whenever she knew ten years had passed and it was time for Orpheus to find a new offering.

After a hundred and eighty years, Lindiwe tired of this. She tired of his sadness that would inevitably come once Reia was gone. She worried that this momentary contentment would only bring on a deeper sorrow than usual.

Lindiwe often regretted having put Orpheus on this path, but she also knew this hope was what kept him going. Like a puppy chasing his tail, he didn’t care if he got hurt, so long as he eventually obtained his prize.

Crawling off her bed, she mentally prepared herself for the journey, feeling remarkably empty inside. She threw her cloak around her shoulders, tossed her hood over her head, and stepped into the encroaching storm. She shifted into an owl before lifting off to battle the winds.

It didn’t take her long to arrive at Orpheus’ home situated in the middle of a large clearing. The rain had already come, wetting her feathers, but she was warmed by her talisman radiating a mild heat throughout her body.

She landed on the outskirts of his salt circle.

Demons loitered around Orpheus’ home whenever he had a human there, lured by the promise of meat from his past failures. When one rushed for Lindiwe in her owl form, she curled a tentacle around its neck, snapped it, and tossed it into the forest.

She waited for her opportune moment: when Orpheus was at the back of the house.

Then she started the annoying dance required to summon her growth magic.

She bounced side to side, hopping from one taloned foot to the other, while lifting her wings up and down slightly.

Reia was seated in a chair on the porch, showered in a glowing light that came from within as she ate from a bowl.

Lindiwe had no qualms about making her presence known.

It wasn’t the first time she’d shown herself to an offering, and she doubted it would be the last. She just hadn’t spoken to any of them since Lydia, the first.

She also hadn’t spoken to Orpheus since then, either.

What’s the point of getting to know them? She refused to intervene anymore, unless it was to be a silent waking hell when others touched things that didn’t belong to them. So long as I’ve done my part, helped in this small way, that’s all that matters.

Just before she was almost past the side of the house and near the garden, feeling the call of magic that tingled in each raindrop, she turned her head to Reia. Their gazes met momentarily.

“Orpheus!” Reia screamed, backing away towards the safety of the doorway.

It only took a moment for him to rush to her, and his gaze followed the direction she was pointing.

“It’s the Witch Owl,” he explained, as Lindiwe hopped away and continued her dance.

The Witch Owl. That was all she was to him. All she was to any of them. Even those far away in distant lands called her something similar, although never those exact words. Just owl , in some form.

It was like they saw her as some strange entity. Not their mother. Not their friend. Not someone they could trust.

Orpheus went on to explain what she was, much of it incorrect. She only ever approached him in her owl form, and he was quick to vent what had triggered his temper or agony at a silent bird.

Once she was in the middle of the garden, she threw her wings up and bounced in a circle. The turned soil began to glow around stalks and hidden seeds, and little sprouts flourished in the embrace of her and the rain.

“I believe she is the one who gave me the amulet circlet, but I am not sure. She has only spoken to me once when human.”

Lindiwe faltered a step. Once? I have spoken to you hundreds of times, Orpheus. Realising she’d stopped dancing, she picked up her pace to make up for the lag. Maybe he saw all those moments as a collection of one time, or his memory was partially broken from the years of mental and emotional pain.

Perhaps he’d tried to forget all those moments with Katerina that involved Lindiwe to escape the hurt. He didn’t understand how the passage of time worked, and perhaps his suffering made him feel that forever had passed, as if it had all dragged out slowly.

His humanity was low back then. His obsession with a cruel woman could easily dismiss Lindiwe’s presence while under the thumb of emotional manipulation and torture. He remembers his name because it was called out to him a hundred times. Remembers her face, as it was there for thousands of days.

She finally stopped dancing when the earth glowed bright green on its own. Orpheus came past the fence of the garden and paused mid-stride to stare at her. He was quick to snort out a huff and continue patrolling.

There was no greeting. Just nothing.

This hurts. Doing this hurt. Being forgotten hurt. Being considered untrustworthy, when she’d poured all of herself into her children, hurt. Why does everything have to hurt?

All her love was ignored. Her love was never returned.

She found herself growing emptier, especially in the wake of her choice to put space between her and Weldir.

I tire of always hurting. It was slowly breaking her beyond repair. It was eating her from the inside out. It was ruining her, desensitising her, twisting her.

Lindiwe pulled back her hood, then transformed into a human and lifted her face to the cool rain. It’d been a long time since she’d cried; after beheading Leonidas eight and a half years ago, in fact.

I feel like I’m all out of tears. How many had she shed? Enough to fill an ocean and drown in it?

Despite it all, Lindiwe reached into her cloak as if nothing was the matter and began planting seeds. I wonder if this human would like a lemon tree. Something sweet and bitter.

She picked an empty spot in the garden while it was still infused with magic and used her bare hands to make a hole.

Then she planted the seed and waited for a lemon tree to grow.

Lindiwe stayed there for a little while, watching it grow, while raindrops splattered against her head, her nose, her shoulders, and her sorrow-filled chest.

I miss you like an ache, Weldir.

And she wished that didn’t hurt either.