The two of them ate in silence, arguing throughout. Wenyanga picked apple slices out of a fruit bowl as Thula buttered two slices of bread. They exchanged dishes, ate, and kept their eyes low as the conversation went. This deep in the desert, fresh food was the height of ceremony, and Tello's home town bowed under the solemn kind.
Wenyanga conceded by pouring out two cups of tea.
"It's okay," Thula said, sighing. "I haven't been sleeping much either."
"It's not quite the beach, is it?"
"The heat doesn't help."
Wenyanga felt a smile rise then fall. "Funny enough, he always slept better in the winter. Some desert kid."
"He said it was the humidity on the coast, it dampened Flame aura in the summers. I suppose a Firemage could feel the difference."
Flame aura, fire magic, it's all the same in the end, Wenyanga thought. Heat and light. Thermal expression.
Tello would disagree. He studied the divine arts with a reverence Wenyanga reserved for studying him. Once, he called their approach to magic cynical, and they spent the rest of the day locking horns over the definition of scientific.
The memory melted too quickly, like ice in the sun, and all that was left was Tello's scream, and the weight of his mangled soul in their hands.
A soft hand brushed grey locs from Wenyanga's face.
"You scowl when you think," Thula said.
When had she pulled her chair closer?
Where Wenyanga was long and lean, Thula was short and heavy. She had a round face with soft features, the kind that gold studs sat beautifully in. Wenyanga's face was made for grieving. The only thing they shared was greying hair, though Thula pinned her braids up with a pair of silver needles.
Tello had forged them by hand.
Wenyanga sighed. "Beloved, I have to--"
Their eyes locked on the door. Two heartbeats later, a knock came from the other side.
"Probably a well-wisher," Thula said. "I'll deal with it."
Thula walked across the bedroom, yellow silks brushing the wooden floor. The door opened. Wenyanga flexed their fingers.
"Thank you," Thula said. "We'll be there shortly."
She shut the door and turned, uneasy.
"We've been summoned by the chief."
Anger rose in Wenyanga's chest, hot as volcanic gas. "He can't force me to attend the funeral."
"He's not," Thula said. "We're being summoned to his house, and it's urgent. He's sent two... escorts."
Wenyanga opened their stoneiris, sneered, and closed it again. Peaceful souls were mild and quiet. The Firemages standing beyond the door had burnt a pair of rings in their third eye.
"What does he want?" Wenyanga said, still seated.
"We only have orders to bring you both," said a voice from the hallway.
"Good for you." Their soul turned faster along its axis. "You do that."
Thula wrung her hands. "Beloved..."
A second voice piped up behind her, this one less abrasive. "Chief Sanele requested you and Doctor Thula for your expertise on a delicate matter... and your discretion."
"Define delicate."
"We were only given instructions, Soul Seer, but I heard mutterings about an untethered soul."
The blood drained from Wenyanga's face. An untethered soul... No.
The torment in Tello's final breath echoed in a vacuum.
No.
YOU ARE READING
Earthwitch
FantasyAnele is dying, but that's nothing new. As an Earthwitch with a shattered soul, she's spent most of her life trying not to, but lately, the void eating through her keeps growing. And now, she's caught the attention of something worse than death -- a...
