Chapter 21 A Braid of Three #2
“Then why am I hearing orders?” I cross my arms, meeting their startled gazes. “Isn’t my word enough? Or is Theron’s word stronger than mine?” My challenge hangs heavy in the air, and I watch as panic draws across their faces.
Their silence already feels like a victory, but I go on. “Then stay here and guard the house.”
They both stiffen, straightening even more, as though I just issued a royal decree.
“As you wish,” one of them murmurs, bowing once more.
Without another word, I turn and stride into the village, my heart pounding in my chest.
Well, that was easy.
The soft thuds of my bare feet on the earth fill the silence as I walk away, leaving the two vólkins behind.
I can’t help the small satisfaction curling in my chest. But it’s fleeting. Their wide-eyed stares and the unspoken tension between us stay. I got what I wanted, but was it too much?
ávera is quiet as I slip through the shadows of the impossibly large trees. Their massive trunks stretch high into the night, their grand branches giving me cover, though I know it’s hardly enough. The fur wrap clings close to my body, shielding me from the cool air as I walk.
They’ll sense me anyway, the vólkins, if not by scent then by sound. I can’t escape that, but I won’t make it easy. Not when I’m this close.
Why do I feel as if I’m doing something wrong?
Theron wanted the guards to be with me all the time. What for? Would other vólkins want to hurt me? That’s unlikely. The two guards listened to me even though they’ve known me for a whole five minutes.
The faint bubbling of water trickles through the air.
Vines draped in dew shimmer under the light of the glowing orbs that hover between the trees.
It’s a breathtaking sight, one that should be calming, but instead, it tightens something inside me.
The village seems to sleep, it’s peaceful.
It’s the perfect moment. If anyone is awake, they’re hidden away.
I glance upward, catching glimpses of the homes nestled high above, their outlines blending into the branches and leaves. Water spills from their edges in thin streams and flows down to the earth like veins feeding life into this place.
So each home has its own water stream.
Alright. Focus. Where was th—
The sacred glade. I feel its pull before I see it—a hum in the air, a whisper threading through the trees. Kael’s words echo in my mind. “This is where we speak to the goddesses.”
I quicken my steps, running between the ancient trunks, my breath shallow but controlled. Quiet, Noel, stay quiet.
If Theron placed guards near the glade, they’ll sense me soon enough. For now, the silence is on my side.
If I don’t do this now, I don’t know when I’ll be able to.
Waiting for permission, for the perfect moment, it’s not an option. There’s too much I need to know, too many unanswered questions. The prophecy. My mother. Why she left me with nothing but riddles and a hollow strength that barely holds me together.
The glow ahead grows brighter, the trees thinning as they give way to a clearing bathed in silvery light. The sacred glade.
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on the fur wrapped around me.
This is why I came. To demand answers. To face whatever power dwells here. To stand before the goddesses, if they’ll listen.
I force my feet forward, stepping into the light.
A massive, ancient stone, its surface etched with carvings. The spirals and symbols feel alive, pulsing with radiance, and yet, there’s no one here. Just me.
My shoulders slump, and I force myself to move closer, then stop in front of the stone. It is so massive I have to lift my chin to see the top. I take a shaky breath, clutching the fur tighter around me. I should say something. I should . . . try.
For my mother.
“I’m here,” I start, my voice breaking the silence. “I . . . I’m here to seek your guidance.” The words feel strange in my mouth, like I’m speaking into a void. “I need help. Please.”
The glade stays silent. The weight in the air doesn’t change. Alright, that wasn’t enough.
I take another step, my voice rising. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t—” I stop, my throat tightening as I try to gather myself.
I swallow hard, my gaze falling to the ground before I force it back up to the carvings.
The lines in the stone look sharper now, and the weight in my chest grows heavier.
“I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know why—why any of this is happening to me.
Someone took her from me. Someone took her.
” My fists clench around the fur as I take a shuddering breath.
“My mother—she was all I had. She was everything to me.” The words pour out before I can stop them. “She . . . she prepared me for everything, but not for this. Not for what it would feel like to lose her. Not for the emptiness she left me with.”
I blink back the tears that sting my eyes.
“You let her die. You let her die without telling me why, without telling me what I’m supposed to do.
And now, I’m here. Alone. And I don’t even know if I’m strong enough for this.
” Anger and desperation take over as my tears finally break free to streak down my cheeks.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please, I’m begging you. Just let me know what happened to her. Tell me who did this to her. Tell me why. Tell me something. Anything.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my voice breaking as I speak again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fulfill your prophecy. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just . . . just let me do this one thing for her. Please.”
I stand, my chest tight, my tears falling freely, staring at the ancient stone and its silence. I wait. But nothing comes. It’s not fair.
“Most souls do not know who they are.”
My eyes snap open. I turn around, my heart pounding. An elder vólkin female stands at the edge of the glade, her figure slender and quiet against the luminous orbs floating in the air.
My stomach drops. I’ve been caught.
The silver of her fur gleams, streaked with white, a clear sign of her age.
Her eyes, white and without pupils, are unnerving yet strangely wise.
Crystals adorn her forehead, white as well.
She is unlike anything I’ve seen. She’s not like Mina, nothing like the vólkins I’ve met so far.
There’s something about her, something .
. . timeless. The other vólkin females didn’t have crystals.
Though her crystals seem larger than Theron’s.
“I am Noel ársa,” I manage to say, trying to steady my voice, though I feel small under her scrutiny.
“No,” she replies, her tone firm and calm, as though correcting a child. “These are just names. Two words. That is not who you are. That is what you are called.”
Her words confuse me, and I frown. “What do you mean?”
“When someone says their name, their status, their role, it means they do not know who they are,” she says, her presence growing more commanding. “My name is A?na, but that is not who I am. Your name is Noel because your parents called you that. But it is not you.”
I blink, caught off guard by the statement. My mind scrambles to process what she’s saying. She lifts a paw and gestures to herself. “You could say I am a vólkin, that I have fur, fangs, claws. But that isn’t me. It is my body.”
She moves closer. I find myself frozen, unable to look away. “You do not say, ‘my fur is hungry,’ do you?” she continues. “You say, ‘I am hungry. I am sleepy.’ So, tell me, who is ‘I’?”
I can’t find an answer. My lips part, but nothing comes out. She watches me, and then, slowly, she lifts her arms. The floating orbs that light the glade gather near her paws, drawn to her like moths to a flame. They hover, pulsing as though listening to her.
“We are spiritual creatures,” she says. “And we must seek the answer to this question: Who are we really? We have physical bodies, but because we lack awareness of who we truly are, our minds remain trapped in the physical world. We let what is outside of us—circumstances, fears, others—control us.”
The orbs float from her paws to circle around my body. The glow feels warm, like sunlight kissing my skin, and something inside me burns. It’s not just warmth, it’s . . . A hum. A vibration.
“Most earthly souls are simply reacting to life, not living it at all,” A?na says.
What is she saying? What does she mean?
Before I can find the words to respond, she takes another step forward, her gaze locked on mine. Her tone softer now, gentler, when she asks, “Do humans still wear braids?”
The question takes me by surprise, but I nod. “Yes. Most girls start wearing them at seven. It’s a tradition in Tárnov, the village I come from.”
A?na’s white, pupilless eyes hold mine. “And do you know why?”
“Not really.”
She hums, motioning for me to turn.
I hesitate but comply, feeling her claws brush through my damp hair.
“May I?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Her paws move slowly, delicately gathering the strands.
Her claws don’t snag or scrape my scalp but glide through my hair as she begins to braid it.
It’s so soothing. It is strange, this feeling.
Mother used to braid my hair when I was a child.
Once, she even wove blue roses from our garden into the braid, complimenting how thick my hair is.
It hurts so much to remember that.
“In a braid, there are three parts,” A?na begins, her voice low and gentle, like the hum of the glade itself, “woven tightly together. It is a symbol of balance—body, mind, and soul.”
I glance down at the ground, moving my toes.
“Each strand alone is weak,” she says. “Fragile. But together, they become something strong. Whole. Complete.”
“No one ever told me that,” I admit.
She hums again, this time even quieter, almost amused. “Most do not know. They follow tradition without understanding its purpose. But you are not like most, Noel. You carry the weight of knowing. And that weight can break you, or it can guide you.”