“He can hear us,” Meriwa said again after a moment. “I’m sure he can. Talk to him.”
“We’re all here, Dad,” Bowen said softly, the first to speak. “We’re all here with you.”
“We love you,” Amka said, her voice tremulous and muffled—she hadn’t moved at all, her face still hidden in Kallik’s shoulder.
“We’ll be good,” Yuka croaked. “I promise. So you don’t have to worry about us or Mom.”
Kade was silent. How could he figure out what to say when he didn’t even know what he was feeling? With a sigh, he leaned forward, pressing his face into the blanket, all at once overwhelmed. He didn’t want this to be happening. He didn’t want his father to die. He didn’t want to take his place. He wished he hadn’t told Florian to go on without him. He was thankful Florian wasn’t here to see him so weak.
His mother’s small hand rubbed his back, mimicking the comforting gesture of Bowen’s hand on Yuka’s, and somehow it helped him feel a little stronger.
“He knows, Kade,” his mother murmured. “He understands. I know he does.”
Kade nodded, the sheets cool against his too-warm forehead.
The rest of his family continued to murmur soft words to his father, expressions of love and affirmation that Kade wished he could have said. He could barely get his own thoughts into something coherent, though, much less translate them into words. But his father had been the same in that way, and always so patient with him. He would have understood the storm that roiled wordlessly in Kade’s chest, the thick clouds of grief that swept over a dark, churning sea of anger.
Then everything was quiet for a long moment.
“He’s gone,” Amka whimpered, the first to speak. “He’s gone. He’s stopped breathing.”
Kade watched Bowen slowly reach forward and press two fingers to Kallik’s wrist, above the hand Yuka was clutching. He held his fingers there for a moment; his eyes flickered between each of them in turn, but it was only when he looked to his mother that Bowen nodded. Meriwa let out a long, shuddering breath and held Kallik’s other hand in both of hers, holding it up to her face and pressing her cheek into the still palm. Even now, she didn’t cry in front of them.
“No, he’s still warm,” Yuka sobbed, grabbing Bowen’s hand. “Feel him, he’s still warm. He can’t be gone if he’s still warm, can he?”
Bowen murmured something, hugging the boy as he started to cry in earnest again. Amka was crying now, too, though her face was still pressed into Kallik’s shoulder. When Kade turned his gaze, he didn’t think his father looked any different—nothing had changed, but somehow whatever shred of life that had lingered in his features was gone, and the face may as well have been that of a statue.
He couldn’t do this. Kade stood abruptly, pacing out of the room and ignoring the protests of Bowen behind him. He was panting as heavily as if he’d just sprinted in from the other side of the village. He was crying, too, he realized as he stumbled down the hallway, and he swiped futilely at his eyes. Had he cried when Jerah died? Had his chest hurt like this, his heart pounding so hard he thought it could burst?
He couldn’t remember—couldn’t think of anything, except that his father was gone, and now he was the king. The knowledge wasn’t new, yet it weighed on him so heavily that he didn’t think he could stand it. What was he supposed to do now?
Kade didn’t realize he’d sunk to the floor, huddled against the wall with his head between his knees, gasping for breath. His awareness returned slowly, when his heart finally stopped squeezing so painfully, and his breathing slowed to something that might pass for a normal speed. When he stood back up, his hands were trembling and his legs wobbled. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but no one else had approached the room.
Instead of going back in, Kade turned and walked stiffly down the stairs, feeling just a step outside his body, as if he were in a dream. But someone had to tell the doctor, so they could arrange something for Kallik’s remains. And someone would have to alert the rest of the village, so they could gather and mourn. The responsibility of it didn’t feel any lighter, but if he focused on each task as it came, he thought maybe he might survive another day.
His father’s body was cremated the next morning, the fire burning hot through the day and filling the village with the scent of smoke. The coronation ceremony began the following day. Kade stood shifted amongst the rest of the village, some shifted as well, but most in their natural forms. They were gathered around him, bundled up against the snowfall, to watch as Meriwa prepared the ashes with trembling hands. They had already been placed in an urn, and she carefully poured some out into a velvety sachet scented with herbs. When the sachet was full, she tied it closed, looped it through a cord that his siblings had braided together, and strung it around his neck.
It settled against his fur, lighter than he expected, and his mother smoothed a comforting hand over his broad forehead and soft ears, before straightening back up.
There was much less pomp and circumstance to this than there had been at Florian’s coronation ceremony. There was no one to place a crown upon his head—no one to make him speak a sacred oath and swear him to service—no formal raiments to cloak himself with. It was only his family and his people, watching as he leapt down from the platform where the ashes had been prepared, reaching out to place wreaths of flowers and herbs around his neck as he walked.
The burden grew heavier as he slowly padded through the crowd and toward the edge of the village, as they strung more and more wreaths and cords about his neck—representing their well-wishes and their trust in his strength. He held his head high despite the weight, determined to carry it as best he could.
A cold acceptance had washed over him in the day preceding the ceremony; he wasn’t sure if it was a strengthening of his resolve, or just a better compartmentalization of his feelings. Whatever caused it, he now felt far enough removed from his own emotions that the notion of staying shifted for a day and a night wasn’t as daunting as he’d feared. As long as he could spread his father’s ashes, everything else was secondary.
The smells of smoke and wolves faded away as he left the confines of the village and carefully climbed up the hill into the surrounding forest. It was still and quiet here, all sounds dampened by snow. The air smelled icy and crisp, even through the herbal scents wafting from everything hung around his neck.
A day and a night was more than enough time to loop around the perimeter of the territory—enough time even to make the circuit twice, especially in his shifted form. So he set out at an unhurried, cautious pace, ears swiveling as he listened for signs of life within the forest. For a little while, when he was still nearest the village, the only sound he heard was the soft crunch of his own paws in the fresh snow. But as he went further into the forest, the sounds of birdsong began to cut through, then the noises of small creatures rustling in the trees and bushes; it was all muted by the snow, but his canine hearing could still detect the faint sounds.
He could smell the Blight before he could see it, an acrid, bitter scent that pierced the cold air in his nostrils. His ears pressed flat against his skull involuntarily—he’d only had to go this far shifted a few times, but the unpleasant scent always disturbed him. It smelled like something burning distantly, but it wasn’t the natural, smoky scent of a fire. Rather, it had a stinging quality against his nose that he always thought was the latent magic of the Blight, somehow detectable even from here.
Then came the faint hum of the seal that created the magical shield that protected them from the Blight, confining them within its borders. This too he was only aware of when shifted, only perceptible when he focused his senses and the rest of the forest remained silent.
Kade wasn’t sure what had drawn him here to the seal, but when he arrived, it somehow seemed a fitting first place to spill the ashes. Buthowwas he going to do it? With an annoyed huff, he shook himself vigorously, lowering his head to try to scatter the various decorations adorning his neck. The bag of ashes wasn’t particularly heavy, but it smacked into his forelegs as he shook and shook, until he felt it slip forward and thud into the snow.
He held one end gingerly in his teeth and pulled the opening of the sachet wide enough to start scattering some of the ashes. They spilled in uneven increments as he paced purposefully along the border of their territory, as close to the edge of the Blight as he could stand.
The light of the sigil seemed to grow a bit brighter as he poured out the ashes. Curious, ears pricked, he lowered his head to let more fall and watched as it appeared to glow brighter in response.
