Page 22 of On Burning Paths

She told me my parents were at rest. That she was certain of it.

I had believed her then. I believed her still.

But looking out at the small shapes moving between the headstones, I know with the same certainty that these children are not. They are trapped here, in the cold and the wrongness of this place, neither living nor dead nor free, never allowed to pass into whatever warmth might be waiting for them. They died frightened and alone and were never released from that state

My feet move before I've made the decision, crossing back into the graveyard.

Behind me, suddenly I can hear Thorian and Fenric calling my name. I can feel Talon's gaze on my back, and the stillness of the other teams, as if they’re holding their breath, confused and watchful, unsure what I'm doing. I'm not sure I can even explain it.

I only know I can't leave them here.

“Hi, sweetheart,” I say to the first Ashen I come across. Holding my hand out and swallowing my fear, I try to run my hand over his hair, but I can’t feel him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge the attempt, just stares at me with wide, sorrowful eyes.

I stand still, and they crowd around me, their shapeless forms giving way to details. Plaid pajamas. A stuffed teddy hanging by a thread. Scars and wounds and horrors that no child should be subjected to.

"I'm sorry for what you've been through," I tell them softly, when I have their attention. The children stretch out for what feels like eternity, and I keep going.

"You've been here a long time. Longer than you should have been. You died before I was born, before even my parents were born. You've been holding on for so long, and you must be so tired."

The shapes are still around me, that terrible wanting radiating off them in waves, and I breathe through it and keep going.

"Your families missed you every single day. I want you to know that. There was not a morning they woke up and didn't think of you. Not a meal, not a season, not a quiet moment that didn't carry the shape of you in it. That kind of love doesn't stop. It never stopped." I have to pause, pressing my nails into my palms to keep my voice steady. "But they wouldn’t want this for you. I know that as certainly as I know anything. If they could see you here, trapped and frightened and unable to rest, it would break their hearts all over again. What they want, what they have always wanted, is for you to be free of this. To pass onto the afterlife. To be with them. The only way you'll find them again, in whatever comes after, is if you let go of this place."

I turn, trying to meet as many of their dark hollow eyes as I can. They’re eyes that hold so much wanting it makes my chest ache.

"You have permission to let go. Of the fear. Of the pain. Of the loneliness of being here, stuck in this inbetween place." My voice breaks on the last word and I don't try to stop it. "You’re allowed to leave. Take whatever love I have to give and go find your afterlife. Go find your rest. You’ve been here long enough. You have suffered long enough."

The wind stills. The night darkens.

"It's time to go home."

For a moment, nothing happens. Then, the dark forms in the distance turn light. They morph from injured, bleeding children into bright smiling children. The versions of themselves before the gods used them as fodder.

One by one, they disappear. Lights melt into the ground, leaving flowers across the graveyard in their wake.

The last little girl raises a repaired stuffed teddy to her chest, cuddling it before she fades, and mouths, “Thank you.”

When they’re gone, the field returns to how it was before. The fog still swirls, and the headstones still dot the landscape, but there are no longer souls trapped here. And bright flowers illuminate the ground in every direction. That distinct weight of grief, of distress, is gone.

“Nyx!” I hear Thorian yell, but the sound is distant, like it’s coming from a different world.

Instead of turning back to my team, I drop my head into my hands and cry with a bittersweet happiness. Those poor babies lost their lives, but at least now they can finally rest.

The thunder that was only in the distance before sounds right above me, and when I lift my head to look, there are angry gray clouds hanging heavy in the sky.

“Nyx!” This time it’s Fenric, and I’m present enough to hear it.

Time to go.

I turn back to them, running and meeting Thorian and Fenric on the edge of the cemetery just as the sky rips open and a torrential downpour comes flooding down.

But my heart feels too full to even care. Their souls are finally free.

8

Fenric

Valtor is furious.