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Vil was jolted out of an uncomfortable nap as the car turned off the main road and rumbled over the pot-holed gravel. He sighed and tried to look out the window, but saw only his dishevelled, tear-streaked reflection. He attempted to straighten his hair and wipe his eyes.
“Mon cher, let me help. You will smear it even more.” Rook gently took his chin in his hand and turned him to face him. “Here, close your eyes and I will remove it and re-apply for you.”
“Thank you, but no. Just remove. No make-up. And no jewellery, except my wedding ring and these earrings. Will you help me with the rest? Please?”
Rook nodded and Vil settled back: it was nice to be tended to.
The last few days had been surreal, to say the least. 72 hours ago he had everything – fame, fortune, a successful career, an unbreakable bond and the best husband he could possibly have asked for. Now here he was, a widower, riding without fanfare through the dark Pyroxene back roads to a ceremony that may well sever that bond for ever. He felt the emotion welling up again and tried hard not to gag with the stomach-churning sobs. Rook was immediately solicitous.
“Are you OK, mon cher? Do you want something to take the edge off?”
“NO! Sorry, that was harsh. No, thank you. That’s what led us here. If I hadn’t, then we wouldn’t have argued, and I wouldn’t have said what I did, and he wouldn’t have run and then he wouldn’t have…” He sighed deeply. He was so tired. Physically tired, emotionally drained, empty. He leant his head on Rook’s shoulder. “I need to do this with a clear head.”
Rook nodded. “I know you need to do this by yourself, but I’ll be there if you need me. Now, sleep, or at least rest. It’s been a long day.”
It had, indeed! A long-haul flight half-way round the world, followed by what seemed like hours in the car. He was shattered. He felt like his soul had been ripped from his body. He finally fell into a light sleep, to be awakened by the car stopping and the driver’s announcement of their arrival.
**********
They had to duck in order to navigate the low entrance, and found themselves in a small, dimly-lit cave. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light value. Set into the back wall of the cave was an alcove on which stood a cowled figure – a priest or shaman, Vil guessed. In front of him stood the coffin containing - he faltered - the lifeless body of the only person he had ever really loved. The only other people in the room was the small family trio gathered at the foot of the coffin. He’d known that there would be no mourners, as such: for wolves it was immediate family only. But it still seemed wrong that someone so kind, so generous, so good should not have all those who knew him present to farewell him.
“You are expected, Vil Schoenheit.” The shaman’s voice echoed around the space.
“Howl,” Vil corrected quietly. That voice! He looked up, straight into the glowing yellow eyes of “Idia?”
Idia inclined his head. “Are you willing?”
Vil nodded, but something was bothering him, nagging at the back of his mind. He looked around the room again, and it struck him! Three family members? Where was his father? Why hadn’t he told him that he’d lost his father?
“You were too busy, Vil Schoenheit.” Idia was reading his thoughts. “Too busy celebrating your latest success to take his call in the small hours of the morning. When you eventually called him back, you were so happy about your achievement that he didn’t have the heart to burden you with his sorrow.”
Vil gasped as he choked back his tears. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry,” he sobbed.
“I ask you again, Vil Schoenheit – are you willing to do this?”
“Howl,” Vil repeated with a sob. Then he gathered his breath enough to declare clearly, if a little unsteadily, “Yes, I am willing.”
“Very well! We shall begin.” The torches in the cave flared as Idia intoned sombrely “Vil Schoenheit…”.
Vil’s head shot up and there was a momentary glimpse of the old Vil: proud, defiant, confident as he met Idia’s stern gaze with welling eyes. “Gods damn you, Idia! Don’t call me that. My name is Howl. Vil Howl.” He lowered his gaze and let the tears fall freely as he whispered, “I was his husband.”
The remorse and abject despair in Vil’s eyes unexpectedly moved Idia and he continued more gently. “Vil, it is time. He does not wish to stand in your way and will accept your decision. If you wish to break the bond, place your ring on his heart. You may meet again, you may even interact again, but you will not love each other again.” He held up his hand as Vil opened his mouth to speak. “If you do not wish to break the bond, place the coins on his eyes. I cannot guarantee when your partnering will recur, but I promise you that it will.”
Vil nodded. He bent over the coffin and let his tears fall on the face that he had looked down on and up into so many times. “I’m so sorry, my love. For everything. You didn’t deserve me. You didn’t deserve all the shit I put you through.” The small congregation held its collective breath as his fingers played with his wedding ring. “But I promise that next time I will make it better. And the next time. And the next. Until I am your true kahu.”
“Make sure you do not make promises you cannot keep, Vil…Howl.”
He glanced at Idia and nodded. Then removed his earrings and placed one on each of Jack’s closed eyes.
“Anoint him with your lips and repeat after me. My thoughts.”
“Anoint him with my? What?” He was very much out of his depth.
Jack’s brother stepped forward next to him. “Let me guide you,” he whispered. “Kiss his forehead and repeat the shaman’s words.”
Vil kissed Jack’s forehead. “My thoughts.”
“My words.”
“His lips.”
He kissed the lips that he had kissed countless times before. “My words”. He whimpered softly. Rook took a step forward as Idia held up his hand.
“Your loyalty and love do you credit, Rook Hunt, but this he has to do by himself; you cannot help him now.” He turned back to Vil and nodded. “My love.”
Vil nodded briefly to indicate that this one he understood. “My love”, he repeated as he kissed Jack’s chest.
“My body”.
“His sex,” Jack’s brother explained. “As his husband, you did…?”
Vil hesitated briefly and blushed. “Of course,” he mumbled. He felt strangely self-conscious as he kissed Jack’s groin. “My body.” He stifled another whimper as the rawness of his loss washed over him in waves.
“My power.”
“The gem?” He asked softly and got a nod in response. “My power,” he whispered as he kissed the blotted gem hanging at Jack’s hip. He was exhausted, empty, vulnerable.
A red glow emanated from the coffin, suffusing the dim cave and clearing the blot from the gem.
“It is done.” Idia’s voiced echoed around the small space. “He has accepted your pledge. Be careful you did not misspeak.” Noting Vil’s evident anguish, he added more gently, almost as a friend, “Despite his bravado, he is fragile. And the bond makes him more so. He is also more aware than most of his fate, and his wolf nature makes him reckless. Take care of him, Vil Howl.” And Idia disappeared in a swirl of blue vapour.
Jack’s sister slipped her hand in Vil’s. Jack’s mother put her arm around his shoulders. “Come, Vil, join us for wine and honey cakes – with pear compote. Your friend is also welcome. Rook, right?”
He nodded. “Thank you, madame, but Vil has…”
“It can wait. Yes, we’ll join you. Thank you.” He turned to Rook. “I need to do this. I need to be Vil, to be his Vil. For once, I need to put him first. I have chosen this bond, and I need to honour it; to honour him. I need to find that red string and draw it tight. I will not lose him again.”