"Death has no power th' immortal soul to slay,
That, when its present body turns to clay
Seeks a fresh home, and with unlessened might
Inspires another frame with life and light..."

~~John Dryden, Fables, Ancient and Modern, from the 15th Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, 227-36

***

Selketh swallowed the last drops from the chalice and looped the Cord of Adlorel's Truth between her fingers. "Myrktilhet finishes my 'conditioning'. I'm covered in bruises, my hair snarled to ruin, and every step brings pain. Eleiana doesn't care. Why should she? She blames me for everything. I cling to her arm and hobble to the hovercar. When we arrive home, a custodian unit carries me upstairs.

"Eleiana puts me to bed. She kisses my head and sings me a Hepslovian lullaby--as if I'm still six years old, and she's my adopted Amya. Her touch repulses me. I can barely sleep from the pain of a fractured rib. The burns and scars are even worse. I hope I've atoned, but the The Shadow is never satisfied. There's only one solution. After much thought, I decide to warn Kraelis.

"One afternoon, Eleiana leaves for a business meeting. I disguise myself with a pair of dark glasses and a fedora Holten gave me. It still smells like him--a musky scent of cologne and imported cigarettes. If only things were different. I'd marry him, and perhaps find the contented life I've always wanted. Unfortunately, the worlds are at war, and I'm a pawn in its deadliest struggle. I take a deep breath and activate my wristcom. 

"Kraelis' face appears, his thinning silver hair stretched into a topknot. 'Miloshka, where have you been? I've missed you at the lessons.' He refers to me by the Pruessian nickname for a beloved daughter. 

"'I can't explain now. May I visit you within the next hour?'

"He grins. 'Of course. My door is always open.'

"Minutes later, I cast protective charms on myself to deter the Wraiths. It won't fool them for long, but it gives me some time. I ride the Circ Tram to Kraelis' modest cottage on rural Agri-Ring 12.

"He greets me with a hug. 'Come in, come in. I have fresh traumecht tea just for you.'

"We sit in the parlor, and he pours me a steaming cup. A portrait of Kraelis' late wife hangs on the wall--the Countess Eliset Ardonsia, from one of the oldest aristocratic lines of Celestine. She married Kraelis against her parents' will and lost her inheritance, though the head of the Ardonsia family later acknowledged their son. Johannes then used his inherited fortune to found Jaster Construction. Eliset's straight nose and warm, cinnamon eyes bear a strong resemblance to Holten. Forcing myself not to stare at the photo, I set the tea onto a side table and meet Kraelis' steady gaze.

"'I'm not who I pretend to be, and neither is Eleiana. My true name is Pilistiya Francazti, and I'm a seeker of Myrktilhet. We were sent here to infiltrate The Order for Hir Kaezer.'

"Kraelis' feathered claw earrings quiver as he tilts his head. 'I've already suspected this. The Shadow planted their spies into my Circles decades ago. I've always wondered why they haven't killed me sooner.'

"'They wait until they'll gain the most control.' I kneel before his chair. 'It will be soon. They want me to lure you into their sacrifice, but I won't do it. You've taught me so much. I once believed my power had no purpose, that it only bound me to The Shadow's will. But I'm not one of them. How may I prove myself?'

"He places a hand on my shoulder. The tattoos on his wrinkled forearm seem to dance, a spiraled wolf design surrounded by runes of courage, wit, and mesmerism. 'You don't have to prove anything. I trust you. Myrktilhet's illusions are strong, but I am Ulvargti, the last chosen elder of our Mother Wolf. I see in you a sincere heart--one they have not conquered. Your spirit called to me. This is why I invited you to learn of my secret ways. A great battle comes, and you'll fight with the last seekers of the Old Ways.'

"I blink tears away. 'I'll protect you at the cost of my own life, Basha.' 

"'No, daughter of my spirit, your life is too precious. It's mine they want, and they'll have it. It is my fate.'

"'But how can you let them--'

"The latch at the front entrance clicks. Holten strolls in without knocking, as he always does. 'I'm here, Olfar. I thought I'd stop by for another practice round of that sorcery rite. Hope it isn't a bother.' He sees me and freezes.

"Kraelis looks from me to his grandson. 'Well, now we see who the ancestors call together. So be it. I have something to show you and Selketh.'

"Holten tips his hat and turns his back. 'It's quite alright. I see you're occupied in a...sentimental discussion. I'll come back another time.'

"'Freyir, you're here for a reason.' Kraelis pushes himself to his feet with a groan. 'The Guardians have led you to us. You'll stay if you value their guidance.'

"'Very well.' Holten sighs.

"We follow our teacher down the hall and out a tattered screen door. Being a horticulturalist, Kraelis keeps a meticulous garden. A brick tool shed occupies the far corner of the yard. Kraelis unlocks it and slides the door aside.

"Holten bows to me. 'Ladies first.'

"I step through, ignoring his glare. Once we're inside, Kraelis lights a lantern. The flame illuminates a stunning collection of bone arrangements mounted to the walls and ceiling. Various skulls mingle with ribs and limbs in intricate patterns. Spirals and sunbursts branch toward a single human skull hanging above. It's a devotional space to the Guardians and ancestors, where power magnifies a thousand-fold. I gasp at the sight.

"On the central altar lies a heap of Runknostar. I'm not fortunate enough to possess a set of these rare oracle bones. They're only passed down through the most elite shamanic families of Pruessia. Myrktilhet bestows them to favored seers, but I don't want to advance far in their ranks."

The Runknostar--Selketh spoke of the very set which I now possessed. I tried to focus on the drum and my song, but my heart pounded. Mother watched Selketh with a distant expression, her arms still crossed over her chest. Her stance evoked no acceptance of Selketh's innocence yet.

Selketh continued. "Kraelis kneels before his altar. Holten and I settle on the opposite side, though he keeps a discreet distance from me.

"Holten points to a random pile of bones beside the altar. 'Are these bone sculptures part of the lost Rite of Baugknost?'

"'They are.' Kraelis smiles. 'I'm the only keeper of this ancient knowledge in the colonial Circles, and I'll share it with you.'

"Baugknost must be exclusive among the elders of Myrktilhet, as they've never mentioned it to me. Learning the Old Ways is one of the rare joys in my life. I collect myself to rapt attention for this lesson.

"Kraelis closes his eyes. His voice drones deep and low, a summon to the Guardians and ancestors. He selects a pair of bones from a pile beside the altar. 'Now you'll see why I must surrender my life.'

"Holten's jaw drops. 'Surrender your life...what do you mean?'

"'You'll see soon enough. Watch and learn.' Kraelis rocks in a trance and sings to the spirits in old Pruessian. 'Baugknost tormante il mig, invidelset min fortidne, vidnet ocgarsten yenom mig.'

"I hear whispers from the Otherworld. Unseen beings gather to witness the ritual. So many voices. The Runknostar speak. What strange power do they hold?

"After several minutes of invocation, Kraelis sets the bones upon the altar. They settle against each other, their natural grooves and curves aligning in a cross. Kraelis pauses, brow furrowed as he studies the pattern, then takes two more bones from the pile. The whispers intensify with each one he places on the structure.

"Kraelis looks at me. 'Do you hear them, Selketh? Your clairaudience is unequaled.'

"'Yes. They sing through the realms. It's beautiful.'

"He grins. 'They sing of what's to come, and what I must do. This is the purpose of Baugknost. When you build the bones into a mirror of your visions, they reveal your future.'

"Kraelis puts a vertebra on top of the arrangement. It now resembles an abstract pyramid of death, about two feet high. I hear the plea of the spirits, of the lives which once animated these old remains.

"Still chanting, Kraelis gathers the Runknostar. 'We need more power. A young man and woman, equal in esoteric skill--such is the magic of life itself. Dance, young ones. Dance the spiral of creation, and the ancestors will manifest through the runes. Perhaps their message will be different this time.'

"Holten and I stand and face each other. This dance is familiar to us, a power-raising ceremony we've practiced in Kraelis' private lessons. I splay my left palm in the traditional gesture of Skalda, goddess of winter. Holten answers with the salute of the sun god, Vilnur. Locking our raised hands, we step toward each other, turn at the center, and move out to the opposite point, a three-beat rhythm symbolizing sunrise, noon, and sunset.

"Around the circle, east to west, we pace the cycle of day and night across the floor of Kraelis' sacred space. Holten's touch thrills me. His resentful expression wavers each time we come together. Closer, my heart drums, his breath a sigh like fire in the wind. He slips an arm around my waist and presses against me. I lay hesitant fingers along his neck.

"We're startled when Kraelis throws his head back and howls like a wolf. He spills the Ruknostar over the altar. Some scatter across the floor, others land on the meticulous sculpture. Kraelis squints as he studies the pattern they form. 'Look here.' He points to the oracle bone at the top of the arrangement. 'This is the crown of the issue, the message I decipher every time I've performed this rite. Smertod--death. In the position of my own future. My time in the living realm grows short.'

"Holten scoffs. 'You must be mistaken. Smertod can be interpreted as symbolic transformation, not just physical death.'

"'Not this time. My visions always lead to the same conclusion. I'll be the sacrifice Myrktilhet requires, and you'll help Selketh raise my spirit in the Otherworld.'

"'What's Myrktilhet got to do with this?' Holten's voice cracks. 'A sacrifice...Olfar, you've gone mad.'

"'All seers are mad. It is our way. I've told you about Myrktilhet's presence before. Be vigilant, for the enemy is among our Circles.' Kraelis beseeches me with a piercing stare. 'Selketh, he should know your identity.' 

"Until now, I've hidden everything from Holten, hoping his ignorance might protect him. But Kraelis is right. I can't withhold any longer. I lift my eyes to Holten's, and my facade crumbles. 'It's true. Eleiana and I are seekers of Myrktilhet, but I'm not loyal to them.'

"The color drains from Holten's face. He steps away from me. 'You're one of them? All this time...the strange excuses you've given me, the diversions, the cold emptiness you've never let me reach. All lies.'

"Kraelis stands between us. 'Believe her, for we must stand together. Your sister is too volatile to know of Myrktilhet's schemes at this time. I need you, Freyir. The ancestors show the vital roles you and Selketh will play after my death.' He gestures toward the Runknostar. 'Interpret the runes yourself, and tell me what you see. Consider it your next test in the path of sorcery.'

"Still bristling, Holten straightens his shoulders and kneels before the altar. His dark eyebrows knot in concentration. Within minutes, he falls into a trance. 'Smertod points to these two lower Runknostar--the Offering and the Void. A transformation through sacrifice propels the seeker into the Otherworld. Next is Completion. The absolute cycle finishes with a journey.' He grasps the edge of the altar, knuckles white. 'These three connect in a row--Ancestors, Fate, Rebirth. From the ashes, a new being rises. At the core are the runes of War, Illusion, and Shadow. And surrounding are runes representing four important people. Two women, two men.' His eyelids flutter, pupils dilating. 'A masked priestess, a vengeful queen, a thief of the dead, and a loyal defender. They'll initiate the transformation from death to life.' His breath shudders. 'Blessed Fenvolvna speaks to me...I'm the thief. Selketh, you are the priestess. Cyrilio will defend us. And the queen, Verthandis, leads the fray into an uncertain future. So much fear. Screams. Pain. Of these four champions, who will survive?'

"Kraelis utters a quiet prayer. 'The spirits speak true. I've seen this same vision. It's unchanged, absolute. I must die, and you, my four disciples, will destroy our foes, but at a great cost. We must thank the ancestors and Guardians for their wisdom.'

"Holten's vision ends. He leans against the altar, knocking several bones to the floor. 'Olfar, the ancestors call for your sacrifice, and I think I understand. But what about the rest of us? Why do you say Verthandis is too volatile if she's to be the leader of our offense?'

"Kraelis sighs. 'If Verthandis learns of The Shadow and Selketh's charade, she'll carry her vendetta too soon. She must remain ignorant of the true purpose until we are strong and ready. The secret remains with us until the battle draws near. It may be weeks, months, even years, but you must be silent. When the time is right, my spirit will return to guide you. Only then will you tell Cyrilio and Verthandis what is afoot, and you'll unite the last of the faithful seekers under a new Circle. Swear this to me, both of you.'

"I bow my head and obey, though my heart sinks beneath the weight of this ominous task. Holten follows suit. Whispers from the Otherworld murmur breathless approval, and I pray to my beloved Guardian, Olenhesch, for courage.

"A shrill keening from the spirits startles me. Erratic fragments of vision flash before my inner eyes. Eleiana's angry shout echoes in my skull. Myrktilhet's branded runes sting my skin in warning. The Wraiths hunt for me.

"'I must go. Our enemies know I'm away.'

"'Of course they do,' Kraelis says. 'They'll never release you until you destroy them, miloshka. Before you go, take this.' He grabs a small, splintered bone from the altar and places it in my hand. 'This is a piece of our Baugknost rite, charged with the power we've sealed here. Grind it to powder, consecrate it, and keep it hidden until the sacrifice. You'll be there, and they'll force you to kill me. Before you do, coat your hands with the dust. When you touch my face for the last time, our power will flow unhindered. The Shadow won't thwart my soul's return.'

"'I'll do it. Walk with the ancestors, my Basha.' I embrace him and hurry out the door.

"'Wait.' Holten follows me. 'I'll drive you to the Circ terminal.'

"'You mustn't. It's too dangerous.' I turn away.

"He strides after me and grabs my arm. 'Phyllis, listen to me. I understand, now. You've avoided me in order to protect me, but let me protect you in return. My car is warded at all times, and so am I.'

"Holten...'

"'I insist.' He lays a hand on my face and kisses me. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of both of us.'

"My dearest love--if only things could change. He winks and casts a camouflage ward over himself. He's skilled in such techniques, and he blurs even before my trained eyes. 

"Once we're on the road, Holten grows solemn. 'I want to ask you something. Though the visions demand Olfar's death, I can't shake the feeling that there must be a way around it. Will you help me?'

"'The ancestors require his life. It's perilous to oppose their will.' I glance at him sidelong. 'But I agree. If there's a way, we must look for it. I'll do what I can.'

"When we reach the Circ Tram terminal, he parks the car behind a quiet support pylon. He reaches for my knee, fingers tracing an insistent caress along my stocking. That strong, delirious touch--I'm starved for it. I hesitate and project my senses to detect any hostile presence. Nothing. The Wraiths chase an old trail I set months ago, to elude them when necessary. We're safe for a short time. Right now there's only my love, and I want him. I move into his embrace, and his kiss brings me home, back to my sweetest dream--a friend I can trust, a place to belong. It's the last time we make love. A brief memory, yet it lives forever in my mind. Eighth talon, you leave me here, at my final moment of joy. Henceforth, only darkness lives within me."

Selketh huddled on the floor, face buried in her hands. Sobs crippled her into a pitiful slump. With the long beaded skirts of her gown tousled around her she resembled an anguished bird, exotic feathers trembling, wings broken long ago. I finished my drumming with three gentle beats to ground the power.

Mother stepped forward. She raised her arms in a wide arc of supplication, dark eyes rolled to the heavens. Long strands of jeweled trim trickled down her pale skin. "Eight talons have pierced illusion. The eyes of Adlorel see all and discern truth from falsehood. Selketh av Dodsneret, Lady of the colonial Circles of The Order of Sacred Skulls...I, Verthandis, Seer and Healer of the ancient Jaster lineage, have heard your confession. And I accept you from this day forward as an ally, a sister, and a loyal seeker. Thus ends this exalted rite. May the Circle be ever open, never broken."

Selketh knelt at Mother's feet. Her tears dripped in small, wet circles upon the stone tile. "Thank you, my Lady Verthandis. I vow to always serve you. The time your Olfar foretold has arrived. His spirit has returned to us, as we witnessed in Senever's Rite of Passage." She glanced over her shoulder at me with wide, glistening eyes. "Weignaryok draws closer. Freyir has forsaken us, but we have brave new companions at our side. Senever, Maeve, our hope is renewed in you, and in other young seekers who remain true. Elifas and Cyrilio can be trusted. But I warn all of you, beware of Abraxos, our Lord Interpreter. He's a Myrktilhet spy and will do whatever he can to sabotage us."

"I'll fight The Shadow any way I can," Maeve said. She helped her aunt to stand before Mother. "Just tell me what to do."

We gathered around the altar, where the ancient skull of Fenvolvna rested in reverent stillness. An uncertain tremor stirred in the pit of my soul. Soon the great battle of Weingyarok would unfold. The Shadow loomed in our midst. A new Circle was about to emerge, but it would surely tear the existing Circles apart. Selketh and my uncle had once been lovers. Were they now enemies, driving Uncle Holten away when we needed his aid most? So many questions flurried through my mind, in spite of the revelations I'd just heard.

Mother placed the Cord of Adlorel's Truth and the empty chalice on the altar. "Thank you for your sincerity, Selketh. Everything you've told us ties perfectly into my understanding of what happened, and what's to come. I have a confession of my own to make, but let's return to the savanna garden for some fresh air. Sometimes the wind and moonlight make better companions than the weathered bones of our dead."

Selketh placed an arm around Maeve's shoulders. "Lead the way, my Lady. I'll follow you anywhere, from this day forth." 

For the first time, Mother and Selketh embraced as true friends. They kissed boldly on the lips and stared into each other's eyes. I sensed the bond of power between them, solidifying new-found convictions across the realms.

Maeve moved closer to me and brushed my fingers with her own. A subtle grin played across her face. The sweet warmth of her skin comforted me at that moment. Fetching spots of color rose in her cheeks when I didn't pull away.

We climbed the stairs to the garden hand in hand, back to the everyday world. I could only offer Imogen my friendship, as my love for Tamsin ruled my heart. But as the war of flesh and spirit closed around me, I needed every friend I could get.

***

Author's note: Finally finished with the Rite of Talons...this part was also a challenge. I had to restart it three times. But the home stretch is in sight! Our next segment will be the final part of the Season Finale. What went through Selketh's mind on the day of the sacrifice, and why did no other alternative to Kraelis death arise? How did she and Freyir drift apart? What was the notorious Jaster scandal, and the true reason Octavia was held prisoner by the Kaezer?  This and more will be unveiled in our last installment. May you walk with the blessings of the Guardians and ancestors, dear seekers.

***