Six Souls and a Blue Ribbon (2/2)

Rowan made his way on foot to the home village of the novice from the market stand. He always kept his promises, even when no one would really appreciate it. Rowan had only passed through the village once or twice, but he was surprised by how close it was to his garden.

He'd barely walked for a half hour before the wooded trail emptied him on a dirt road, a ramshackle arrangement of houses and shops within eyesight. He glanced over his shoulder at the shadows of the forest. It seemed impossible that he'd arrived at his destination so quickly.

As usual, people in the streets began to whisper as he passed. He walked with his back straight and chin high, radiating the calm that came from years training in the Order. Most people could recognize an adherent or higher by their carriage alone. But his hair was unusual, and combined with the freckles and the magical aura that radiated from anyone who had attained enough skill, people could guess who he was even if they'd never seen him before.

Murmurs of "Caretaker" and "don't touch" drifted to his ears as people scattered before him like leaves in the wind of his footsteps. Rowan had learned his lesson with the children. He wouldn't make the mistake of letting anyone touch him ever again.

Every village had a graveyard outside of the boundaries of human habitation. Rowan didn't need to ask where the one in this particular village was. He could feel the energy of the dead, still and cold, and it pulled him through the streets like a magnet.

On the other side of the village, opposite of where he'd entered, he found the graves. A low, stone wall separated the living from the dead. Grave markers dotted the grass. Their plain appearance matched the plainness of the village. A few willow trees grew here and there amidst the graves, leaves sighing as they brushed against the ground in the breeze.

He shifted his vision to rest in the liminal space between the worlds and searched for new graves. Unless properly absorbed, death energy remained in a body to slowly dissipate as time passed. As far as he knew, Rowan was the only person with the ability to absorb death energy, but he typically avoided it because of the pain and because it was closer to Disorder than he cared to be.

It was better to sing out the soul and release it, as he had done with the kitten. If he could do that, then the body would vanish, taking the death with it. But souls could only be released if they still dwelled within the corporeal form. Eventually they dissipated on their own.

Sometimes it took days, occasionally it took months. But with a human with no magical training, the soul typically flew within hours.

In the shimmering haze of his vision, he sensed two bodies that had been buried recently. Energy evaporated from both of them, rising in the air in a transparent wave tinged with black that distorted the view around it. A few lonely violets grew around the grave marker of the one closest to him, and he touched a blossom with his fingertip.

The novice had said her sister died two months ago. He could tell by the energy of the violet that the flower had been growing for longer than that.

Rowan knelt by the other grave. He closed his eyes and slid his fingers through the cool grass, pushing his spirit down through the dirt in search of the body beneath. He could feel the shape of it there in his mind's eye. A young woman, barely more than a girl. The death energy congealed in her abdomen around what he believed to be a fatal injury. The novice had said her sister was killed from an accident with a cart. This had to be the novice's sister.

As he expected, the soul was already gone, but he'd promised to do something for the girl. He'd already taken in more death from those creatures in the last few days than he ever thought he'd be able to, and he wasn't broken yet. What was a little more from a human such as this?

He began to sing, and his spirit stirred in response.

"What are you doing? That's my daughter's grave."

Rowan straightened and glanced over his shoulder toward the woman's voice. The rattle of having his work interrupted sent an prickly feeling down his spine. He replied with a practiced smile. "Is your other daughter a novice of the Order?"

The woman blinked, apparently deciding if she should talk to him or not. Rowan knelt patiently, smile in place.

"Yes," she said eventually. "Her name is Mara."

"That's it. Mara." Rowan remembered Alaric had mentioned the young woman's name when he was berating him to Ciprian. "I promised her that I would would see her sister off on her journey. Is this her?"

She stared at him with glossy eyes. "Mara asked you to do this?"

"She didn't ask. I offered." He waited for the woman to tell him to leave.

Instead the woman nodded once and quietly dropped to her knees in the grass some distance behind him. Well, that was unexpected. With the recent exception of the children who didn't know any better and occasionally Ciprian or Alaric, Rowan had never had a willing audience. Most of the time, he didn't even think Ciprian and Alaric were willing.

He turned back to his work, her gaze heavy on the back of his neck. With his song, he drew the remaining death from the young woman's body, pulling it up from the ground in a tendril of spirit. It came up easily, letting go of the body with barely a flicker of resistance. The energy merged with his and sent a slight pang through his arms to his chest. Sure enough, his freckles darkened from the death, but he didn't break.

Rowan let his melody climb and fall as he transformed the energy and released it back into the ground. A flurry of blue flowers erupted over the grave, and he anchored them there with his final note. Because they were made of spirit, a parting prayer only, they wouldn't last long, but he thought Mara would be happy.

The woman behind him cried out. Rowan stood and turned to see her wiping tears from her eyes. He'd told himself he was done with trying to explain his magic to people who preferred to fear him, but this woman seemed different. Was he a fool for thinking so?

"It's okay," he said. "I didn't sully her. She's free now, body and soul."

"Blue...Helena's favorite color was blue. How did you know?"

Rowan shook his head, just as surprised as she was. "I didn't."

The woman pushed herself to her feet and took a step toward him before bowing her head. "Caretaker...thank you."

Rowan's mouth fell open, but he quickly fixed it with his usual, tiny smile. "You're welcome." He could barely get the words out.

"Wait here. Please. I'll be right back."

He stared as she hurried away, unsure of what to make of the situation. People rarely spoke to him, let alone do things like ask him to wait or say please. While he waited, he cleared the death from the other grave, this time covering the ground with orange. He wondered if the person he'd just released liked that color the most. He never knew before now that he could do such a thing.

The woman returned with a container tied with a blue ribbon. She laid it at his feet like an offering. "Lemon shortbread. It's not much, but I wanted to show you my gratitude."

"Thank you."

"You can keep the ribbon. It was Helena's."

He nodded, understanding that the ribbon was the greater gift. It didn't even bother him that the woman had kept her distance, only skirting close enough to give him the container.

Rowan went back the way he came through the village, but this time the whispers felt different. Almost like in this one small way, singing for a girl he'd never met, he'd had a fleeting glimpse of what it would be like to be reborn himself.