On that day, they lost something formerly important to them. But as they looked upon the peaceful city, then to their body, and the mage standing beside it, they smiled.
"Thank you, Wraithvine. You freed me. And in my next life, for I believe I will be allowed to keep these memories, I will be able to have the strength to to free others from the curse I once bore." -- Anon Guest
There's only so many things that will keep a soul trapped in the mortal realm. Undeath, denial of death, and unfinished needs. All three are differently vile to Mistress Dark, the goddess of death, for different reasons. Each life has its threads in the gigantic knots of fate, and defying both those and the will of the Mistress is bound to catch the gods' ire.
They can plead all they like, but Mistress Dark begins with seething anger at the supplicant. Especially if they bound their soul to the world of their own free will.
This one was one of the accidental ones who had never meant to haunt the mortal plane. A soul's need to see something done, undone, preserved, or destroyed. Screaming as loud as they could about the lack of ability.
Wraithvine took out hir black feather, the token of hir patron goddess. Mistress Dark, the goddess of death. Ze held it as if it were a wand. Touched the curve of the feather to hir eyes. The quill to hir earlobes, and the fluff near the quill to hir lips. All so ze could see, hear, and speak to the lost soul.
Even then, their voice sounded like they were a very long way away. Because technically, they were.
"I see you," ze said. "I hear you."
The vaguely humanoid figure turned. Faceless, misty, and losing the memory of their original shape. If left any longer, they might have become a curse on the area, an object, or the next unlucky soul to risk traveling through the area.
"...what happened to me?" said the memory of their voice. "...why can't I fix it? I need to fix it..."
"You died," that information was more of a shock to some lost souls. This one seemed to accept it with what passed for a level head. "I can try to help you fix it. If you will let me."
They were under a geas, which was what held their soul in the mortal plane. Tasked with seeing a box and all it held into the hands of someone in their bloodline. The last soul Wraithvine had soothed had only wanted their body found and decently buried. A task that took some effort, an array of winches, and a team of spelunkers to accomplish. The task of taking a box and its contents to the next heir wasn't any easier.
It was a long and troublesome road, and a lot of spellwork to find the heir to the box and its contents. A quest some years in the working. Guarding it closely. Keeping it closed until, finally, it arrived to the hands of a young maiden in the middle of nowhere.
The soul sighed in relief. Purposely not passing on the geas. "Free at last," they sighed. "I accept the wrath of the queen of all creations."
A bauble passed from the dead to the living. An inheritance that could change a life, and an onus left at the last to hold it.
All that fuss for a little gewgaw that wasn't even magical.
[Photo by Sterling & Wilde on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends! Or visit my hub site to see what else I'm up to.
Send me a prompt [20 remaining prompts!]