Journey onto the Storm (BOOK 2)

Chapter 25

FENRER

Moonlilies floated in the rock ponds in freeflight, open to their namesake's twicefold embrace. In reflection of his own crimson splattered failure, he tread down the dark oak steps, where nary a creak disturbed the quiet hush over the garden of death and life. Near the base of the trunk, the purifier basins before the gate into the unmarked graves, wrapped in beautiful yet tough straps. Each one had a single bell to twinkle in the wind to remind the dead of their peace. He stopped in front of the carved basins full of essence to cleanse the impurity of the soul and flow of magick. He dipped his fingers inside. Dense, but soft, he counted four times, four candles, and four Ancients whose masked likenesses hung over the basin. Four times he ran it over his hands, with the fifth to mark his own soul with a touch to his lips. Magick responded and gave him the strength to move forward.

In the focal center of the runestones for the Ancients, he took a seat in front of the grave tucked into the core of the tree, never impeding on its strength. He brought out the doll he promised to deliver to a sanctuary of peace, for the owner to find their way home. Wind dinged the bells along the graves with no names, a temporary respite for wandering spirits who needed a sense of peace, but with no remaining business to settle before moving on. He placed the doll next to the grave within the heart of the tree. Hands over his brow, he lowered them in front of his eyes before bowing in deference to the Gatekeeper's truth.

Ojain — deliver unto those of the crimson nights as we seek salvation and find peace in your echo. Give us the path of the Traveller, who once flew across space and time. He switched his bow to the runestone with a wyvern who breathed white fire onto the gemstones at the peak of the rock. Evyriaz, guide us to the stars, to home. For it is darkness we are, and darkness we return. He settled his hands between his legs and kept his head lowered, a fleeting hope for a single prayer to be heard on the lips of a child.

"Little Wolf." The familiar voice sent a chill through his spine, and he frowned when Kon came from around the bend of the runestones to take a seat between Ojain and Evyriaz, his tail tucked around his massive paws. Fenrer avoided the gaze of his Aeoniir when he came closer with precise, affirmed movements. "Morning comes soon, and the dead shall find their way, this, I know." A soft expression filled the blank blues. "You need not sit with them through the night, your compassion echoes through."

For what price I paid for my empathy.

Fenrer clasped his hands and held his breath, bringing them to his nose. "I could not deliver them the pain life wrought them. The most I could do is deliver the words." It wedged a rock into his throat when he allowed his exhaustion to sink into his legs. "I'm sorry if I disturbed your hunt across the echo, Kon."

Kon shook his wide head. "You need not apologise, Little Wolf. My duty as your Aeoniir takes precedence over all, for as long as you need me. Your despair. Your pain. I am your guide through it until you no longer need it." He gave a bow, but his size continued to engulf Fenrer in a shadow full of arrows whizzing through war. "You need not call me out loud, I am here because you called nonetheless."

To the Ancients, to deliver the lost souls I cannot help.

"Thank you." Fenrer sighed. "I think I made a mistake."

He raised an eyebrow when a shake overtook Kon's chest. "Oh, Little Wolf," he said with a chuckle to his deep growl. "You are yet young with a whole world to witness — you have plenty of mistakes yet to make. As long as you stay true to yourself, it will be overcome time and time again. Learn." Kon shuffled closer until his muzzle loomed over his head. "You need sleep. You cannot stay awake for the ages you have yet to live."

Fenrer bit on his tongue before a scoff left his lips at his Aeoniir's age-old wisdom. "Little easy for you to say, Kon. You don't need sleep, and I can only imagine the things you've seen as a spirit." On his feet, Kon stepped out of the way. "I shall try, though. If only to get moving." Moons waxed along the grass of the circumference, its silver touch warmed his skin in its promise of flames to come. "Thank you, once more for your counsel." He bowed to his Aeoniir, who shielded him from the wave of flames carried by arrows to strike down giants. He caught Kon going into a circle, and flinched when his tail swatted across his face. It struck no pain into his cheeks, a gentle, but firm reminder when he failed to dodge it.