Page 66 of The Heartless Archer

“Exactly.” Noora turned slowly, her boots surfing the mixture of snow and gravel beneath her feet. There was not a single sound in the forest. “Where are all the animals? Owls, squirrels, birds, or even hawks. They should be marking their territory.”

“Maybe because it is getting dark, they are probably going to sleep.”

She raised a brow at Raphael’s ignorant answer.

“Do you sleep when the sun goes down and your mighty king goes to rest?”

“Of course not but that is different. I am his royal guard.”

Noora shook her head at him, dread crawling inside her veins. “The forest is their castle, Raphael, if some strangers were to infiltrate the castle they would attack.”

The same happened when the prince pretended to be Kai and ran from the bear. Not only was he looking for prey but someone invaded its space and it was making sure that it did not happen again. In their world, only the strongest would be the survivors.

“Well, what does this mean then? Where are they?”

“I don’t know and we better not find out.”

Now it was Raphael’s turn to look around suspiciously and Noora could tell that he was growing concerned.

“Let’s just bury it at that tree and get the devil out.” He pointed over to a measly-looking oak, its branches almost hanging downward, the ridges in its trunk looking like a sharp grimace, opening its mouth wide in a wail.

Noora blanched. “Are you mad? We cannot just bury it anywhere, come on.”

Just for good measure, she protruded a small knife out of her right boot and they continued throughout the silent forest until Noora spotted her destination.

The forest opened into a wide circle, the ground was free of snow, protected by the tree and its branches that formed a protective tent over the circle. Small brown mushrooms littered the circle like a border, the scent of mint and rosemary tickling Noora’s nose.

“There it is,” she whispered and her steps turned hurried as if the tree was drawing her in, attached to her by an invisible string.

The crown of the tree was as narrow as the circle around it and in contrast to the leafless trees this one maintained theirs. They resembled the shape of feathers and were approximately fifteen centimetres long, sitting alternately on the branches.

When Noora was close enough her hand shot out and came into contact with the gray, almost smooth texture of the trunk.

Though it resembled the colour and melancholy of the other trees, this tree felt different as its life rushed through its trunk and right into Noora, bathing her in a feeling so overpowering and glorious one could not form it into proper words.

It was as if she could see right inside it, the many colourful lines that ran through the bark, connected to every single leaf, down into the roots embedded into the ground. She furrowed her brows when she felt something nagging—“Is this suitable to your liking?”

Jumping back, she cut the connection and turned to look at Raphael.

“For the burial?”

“Oh, right. Yes, this is good.”

Not a moment later, Raphael dropped the body onto the ground without care and Noora glared at him, which he did not notice as he was busy driving the shovel into the ground.

Instead of berating the guard Noora took her shovel to the ground and began to dig.

Spending the next fifteen minutes in gruesome silence, they both dug a hole into the ground, the cold seizing their limbs and making them inflexible.

The earth was frozen as well, making it hard to infiltrate the ground.

Clenching her jaw, Noora kept digging, despite the growing pulsing in her injured hand. When they dug deep enough according to her instructions, red splotches bled through the gauze.

“That is enough,” she gasped and threw the shovel aside. “Help me get the remains out of the cloth. We will not need the material, it will only separate the soul further from earth. Kekoa has done enough damage.”

Raphael threw her a critical gaze at her words but still followed her instructions. After the remains were situated accordingly, Noora gripped the end of her braid taking a small bundle of white hands into her hand. Without remorse, she cut a few strands with the knife and littered them into the hole. Raphael watched her and she shoved the dug earth back into the grave until it was covered. She started to pat the earth smoothly until she was certain it was enough. Dirt collected under her nails and along the lines in her skin, painting her once-white gauze a dirty black.

“Frigga, I call you in sorrow and pain, a life has been wasted for the purpose of horror and disdain. Proving that the mortals may divert from their humane ways. Its soul has departed, and its body rests. I beg of you, let the soul thrive through the earth and combine in the weaving of life to its rightful place. Alt ended i for begynnelsens skyld, hvil i fred.”

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