The Raven and the Wraith Book 2 (Completed!)

The Raven and the Wraith 2 Chapter 52

The Raven and the Wraith 2 Chapter 52

I walked on, trying to ignore the faces. Trying to ignore how seeing them all made me feel. Then the wall on my right shifted colors, darkening down until it looked like a midnight sky. I glanced at it, then stopped.

It was a midnight sky. A sky glittering with stars, incomprehensible in their vastness. And walking through that oily blackness, walking across the very stars, was the great, black cat. It moved like a ghost, the shadow of its outline barely visible, its slinking steps as sure and steady as the rolling waves of the ocean.

"Your Path mimics His. You have quite the journey ahead of you."

I looked at Riva incredulously. "I don't know if I can handle any more Path! I've had enough Path to last seven lifetimes!"

She looked at the other wall, the one with the myriad faces, then back to me.

"You do know we're walking a Path straight through your memories, and an actual Path to the place where your life pivoted, right?"

I shrugged as if she had asked if I liked fried eggs for breakfast. I could almost sense her tail lashing in irritation, and had to carefully suppress a grin. She refused to really explain much to me, so I refused to stop provoking her. It was always my way.

The lonesome, empty gray path suddenly seemed to curve, and I nervously watched the walls. I could see the colors, the patterns, the river of blurring images on the one side, and I knew they were visual connections to my past. My memories. And I knew why my life Path had curved here, and I didn't want to face it.

The walls flashed a single, brilliant red, then. A vibrant, beautiful red. The color of blood. And on the wall, in razor detail, was the face of the first person I had killed.

A strained, choking whisper reached my ears, as if from a great way off. My own voice, ravaged by guilt, as I denied the image in front of me. He was so young! Just a boy, not yet even in his teens. Dead, at my feet. Dead by my hands.

Rivas voice pierced my thoughts, a flashing blade of burning silver, commanding my attention, even through the pain.

"Did you hunt and kill this one?"

"No!" The denial tore from my throat.

"Did you enjoy killing him?"

"No!" The denial was full of rage, now.

"Did you kill him because he would have killed you?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Riva spun to face me, her emerald eyes pits of green fire. "Answer me!"

"Yes." It was little more than a whisper. But she heard me.

"You own no guilt. You did what you must."

Tears were tracing lines of pain down my cheeks, my hands were shaking, and I could hardly breathe. "There had to be another way. Why did he have to die? Why?"

She sat very still, watching me carefully. "It is the Way. Life and Death and all that happens in between. He would have stolen the only shelter you had from the killing cold. If he had chose a different Path, he would not have been there that night. He would not be faced with Death by Nature, or Death at your hands."

I winced. Death by my hands. Mine. There was a flash of silver, and then jarring impact to my chest as Riva pounced on me. I felt my breath whoosh from my lungs as I slammed on my back, on the ground, Rivas fangs flashing in my face.

"Understand this, kitten! That boys Path lead to Death. And no one owns the hands of Death except itself! You were no more than a tool in its hands that night! There is no guilt here, no blame, you owe that dead boy nothing!"

The boiling intensity of her made me pause. It made me truly consider her words, truly consider that night so long ago. She was right.

My voice was once again a whisper. "So I'm not tainted. I'm not evil at heart."

Riva's expression grew more coldly murderous than anything I had imagined. "Who ever told you that you were?"

I thought about it. I almost had explained that I myself had thought of myself that way. But then I thought of the dreams. They were still me, still my own self, accusing me of evil. Right?

"Tell me everything."

I heard the warning in her tone. She would accept nothing more than the absolute full truth, along with any speculation or imagined ideas.

"I've always felt that those that killed others without seeking a different way must be evil. And my own dreams confirmed that."

Riva's ears perked up. "Dreams? What kind of dreams?"

I told her about the nightmares. I told her about the haunting list of faces and names that had always been part of my dreams. Part of my daily thoughts.

Her eyes glimmered with something, then. A recognition. It was followed by an aching sadness. She daintily stepped off my chest, staring at me with something close to pity. It made me bare my teeth at her.

"Well?! What? What is it?!"

She sat, her feathery tail gently curling about her, a regal pose. "I believe I know who the wayward Werecat is. He walks the Path Of Dreams. You have been stalked, you have been manipulated, your entire life, by a Master Werecat. It is no wonder you despaired."

I climbed to my feet, glaring at her. I wondered if it was possible to get more confused than I was at that moment.

"Well, I chose Life. I chose freedom. I'm my own creature, no one controls me now."

She nodded, a strange gesture from a house cat. "Yes. But you still must complete this Path, you still must face the time where you made that choice."

At least I could understand that. Kind of.

I brushed myself off, knowing there couldn't be dust here, in this ethereal place, but making a show of it anyway. "Yeah, well next time you need to make a poignant point, you can just use words, there's no need to use my chest as a springboard."