Sharp Flowers

Part 13

Home, Kisomen's castle, whatever they want to call it, is peaceful. Everyone's resting like things has gone back to normal. I can't help but feel the same familiarity and the ease it brings, too. I hear Peter's footsteps coming this way.

"Morning, sleep alright?" he calls in.

"Just fine, you?" I ask.

"For the most part. Hey, I thought we train a bit?" Peter suggests, gesturing for me to follow. I head out, tie up my hair as we trek outside into the woods. Early morning birds tweet and call out to one another. Morning sun sprinkles across the forest floor through the canopy above.

"Why are we out in the woods?" I wonder.

"Do you feel it out here? The guardian spirits, the kitsunes?" he asks me. What should I be feeling? I gaze around the woods. "Our family found favor with them ages ago. They are ancient allies," Peter says, breathing life back into the stories mother and father would tell us. I miss them. There, not far from us, sits a large orange fox. It stares, quietly watching us talking. "Remember when mom would pray?"

"Of course, who doesn't? Mother was always praying," I scoff at him. Peter takes my hands, then a knife from his back pocket. My breathing hitches, my heart racing as he cuts my palm. I follow his lead as my brother bows his head, "Mother had a connection with the spirits like none other. Her prayer gave strength, courage, and guidance," Peter murmurs. "It is our sacred duty to pray for the dead souls. To clean the air of the dead, purify it," he tells me, "Build on your connection. What gives you strength? What gives you hope and clarity?" he suggests. Clarity? What is there to hope for? Our home burned to the ground. The people we knew and loved died. My heart throbs. Elfie. Felicity. Peter. Henry. Volker. Sebastian. Tears run down my cheeks.

"Raven," My eyes snap open. That fox is here, close. Its many tails hold rigid.

"Peter," I whisper. The fox bears its fangs, growling low. "Peter, Peter, what do I do?" I blurt out.

"Easy, accept the spirit unto yourself," Peter says.

"I don't even know what that means," I snap at him, backing away from them. The spirit comes closer, standing up on its long hind legs. It offers its paw, stretching into something more human-like with fingers.

"It is our responsibility to carry on our family's traditions and responsibilities," Peter advises, "Take it," he tells me.

"I- I don't understand," I stammer, staring into the fox's narrow eyes. It stares back without a sound or any hint of emotion. What could it be thinking or waiting for; am I supposed to say something?

"Our family has a unique ability to withstand the presence of demons. Where others would succumb to the stress, our bodies do not tire by the mere presence of a demon," Peter explains, "When a demon offers power, we take it," he explains.

"Like the demon sword," I realize.

"Just like the demon sword," Peter confirms.

"But at what cost?" I wonder, unable to break away from the fox's gaze. Answer me, Peter, please, someone has to give me some answers.

"At the risk of your very soul. It's not the presence of the demon. It's letting it in, that power and malice. Will the human body give out to expending the demon's vast power?" Peter warns me. I shudder in wonder, how many times have I put myself at risk then? "There is also the chance of becoming possessed. Expending energy is tiresome, and even a demon must eat," Peter adds.

"And you want me to take its hand?" I scoff at him.

"Take its hand, take control of that power. Those that control the demon's power that hold their human sanity have the strength of armies," Peter offers, "You can do this. Take its hand. Let it in."