Chapter 21 A Braid of Three #3
As A?na finishes the braid, she drapes it over my shoulder. Her paw stays there for a few moments before she steps around to face me. She looks at the braid, sleek and smooth under my fingers, then into my eyes.
“This is who we are. And when we begin to understand that,” she says, taking my hand in her paw, “we begin to understand that the world knows only one word. Yes.”
I glance down at our hands . . . and paws, then back at her face. I stare at her, then at the orbs still circling me, their glow reflecting in her pale eyes. “My mother used to say that I must master my body, mind, and soul.”
A?na tilts her head, her expression remaining calm, though her white eyes seem to sharpen. “She knew that?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding as I look away, my fingers still brushing the braid.
“She used to say it when she worked in our garden. She always seemed to know so much, more than I ever realized. And now . . .” My throat tightens.
“Now I’m only beginning to understand how much she knew, and she’s not here anymore. ”
“It is rare for humans to hold on to such wisdom. Most of your kind lost their connection to spirit long ago.”
“She did. She knew so much,” I murmur. “But she never told me everything. She always spoke in riddles or gave me pieces of things I didn’t understand. And now it’s too late to ask her why.”
A?na studies me, her gaze searching. “Perhaps she knew you would need to find the answers yourself.”
I swallow hard, shaking my head. “It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like she left me with more questions than I can handle.”
“Tell me, what did she teach you, aside from this wisdom?”
“She taught me how to fight,” I say. “She taught me to be strong, to defend myself. But she never explained why. She only said I’d need it one day.”
A?na nods, her eyes narrowing as if she’s considering my words. “And what of the spirit? Did she teach you how to nurture the soul?”
The question catches me off guard again. It seems like I can never expect her next turn.
“She . . . taught me to trust the goddesses,” I say. “But it was always in riddles, never direct answers. She focused more on my body and mind than anything else.”
“That is because she knew the soul is something you must awaken on your own,” she says with a hum, combing her claws through her mane. “But it is clear to me, Noel, that your connection to spirit is . . . faint. Like a thread barely holding. Do you feel it?”
I look down, shame prickling at my chest. I don’t like not being good at something.
“I tried to speak to the goddesses,” I admit. “Here, in this glade. Just before you came, I begged them to give me answers, but nothing happened. They didn’t respond.”
“Do you know why?”
I shake my head again, swallowing the lump in my throat and whispering, “No, why?”
“Because the goddesses do not answer to the mind alone, nor to the body. They speak to the soul. And until you learn to quiet the noise within you—your fears, your anger, your grief—they cannot reach you. The connection is there, Noel, but you are the one who must strengthen it.”
My chest tightens with frustration. “How am I supposed to do that?” I ask, looking up at her, desperation creeping into my voice. “I don’t know how. I don’t even know where to start.”
“You start by understanding that spirituality is not something you do, but something you are. It is in the way you breathe, the way you listen, the way you open yourself to what you cannot see or control. It is not about forcing answers but allowing them to come to you.”
“But . . . it worked for Theron,” I say after a moment. “When he called to the goddesses, they answered him. A white dove appeared and gave him a blue rose petal.”
A?na tilts her head. “Theron is different from you. Vólkins are inherently spiritual beings, tied to the land, the sky, and the energy of life. We see what humans often cannot, feel what they are unable to.”
Her paw touches my braid again, as if to ground me. “Theron is unique. His spirit is deeply attuned, more so than even most vólkins. He does not seek the goddesses with doubt or fear. He simply listens. That is why he was chosen to be mated with the leader. With you.”
“So . . . what does that mean for me?”
“It means that you must walk a different path,” A?na says.
“Theron’s connection is natural, instinctual.
Yours will be harder won, but no less powerful.
You are human, Noel, and humans have lost their connection to spirit over thousands of years.
You must rebuild what was broken—piece by piece, step by step. ”
With every passing day, I get more confused. More things come my way and nothing resolves. I . . .
“That is why you are here, to reclaim what has always been yours. The strength of your soul, the wisdom of your bloodline, and the balance your kind has long forgotten.”
“Your Majesty, Elder A?na.”
I turn toward the voice and see three vólkins standing between the trees, their immense forms bowed low, paws pressed to their hearts.
They call her Elder A?na.
“What is it, ívar?” Elder A?na asks, half turning to face them, her tone firm and calm. She exudes authority effortlessly. If I didn’t know they meant me when they said Your Majesty, I’d think they were speaking to her.
ívar steps forward, his gray fur swaying with the breeze. “We’ve been sent by Theron, Elder A?na. He requests that you accompany us to the border. There are matters requiring your expertise.”
Elder A?na arches an eyebrow, and I’m not quite sure if it is a good thing or a bad one. “Theron couldn’t solve it himself?” she remarks, though there’s a hint of humor in her tone. “What has him so rattled this time?”
The corners of ívar’s mouth twitch, though he quickly stifles any sign of mirth. “It is . . . unusual,” he answers, choosing his words carefully. Is it because of me that he’s so uncomfortable? “He believes your insight is needed.”
I look between them. The border? What could be so important that they’d summon Elder A?na so late at night?
As if sensing my thoughts, she says to me with a soft smile. “We’ll speak of this tomorrow, Ethereal Leader. For now, you need rest. We’ll begin working on your spirit in the morning.”
I nod, though unease moves through me at the mention of “working on my spirit.” Her tone leaves no room for argument, though, so I swallow my questions for now.
With a grin, she walks toward the vólkins, and I notice her crystals pulse with white light. “Let’s not keep him waiting then, shall we? Knowing Theron, he’s probably rearranging rocks in a straight line.”
The smallest vólkin lowers his eyes, a quiet chuckle slipping out. The others remain stoic, though their ears flick, betraying their amusement.
As they prepare to leave, ívar glances at me. He exchanges a quick look with his companions before stepping in my direction. “Your Majesty,” he begins, his rumbling voice hushed. “Would you permit us the honor of escorting you to your chambers before we depart?”
For all their size and strength, there’s a gentleness in the way they address me.
Approval glints in Elder A?na’s eyes as if she, too, is curious to see my response.
I hesitate before offering a small nod. “Thank you. That would be . . . kind of you.”
The vólkins bow deeply again. As they lead the way, I notice how their gazes flick to me from time to time, not with suspicion or distrust, but with curiosity. It’s as though they’ve never seen someone like me before. And perhaps they haven’t.
Four centuries trapped behind a barrier. It’s impossible to imagine what that must feel like.
I know what it’s like to feel caged, to long for something more. My years in Tárnov were nothing compared to their centuries, yet I understand the ache of it, the way it wears on you.
These warriors, strong though they are, are just as vulnerable as I am. I decide, then and there, that I won’t make things more difficult for them. For any of them. They’ve endured enough.