Mercy

by Rhiannon Paille

  Maeva looked at him, feeling really stupid about trying to drive all the way to Thunder Bay in the middle of the night in the climax of a full-blown panic attack. “I was um … on my way to Thunder Bay … to see a friend.”

  “In the middle of the night?” he pressed, his thin lips turned down, his eyebrows furrowed. Maeva thought he was being awfully parental, but for someone who looked to be in their forties, she half expected it.

  She looked at her food. “My …” She didn’t know what to call Krishani. He was so much more to her than just a boyfriend, he was everything. She dragged in a breath trying not to cry all over again. “My boyfriend died.”

  Christian stuffed a piece of quesadilla in his mouth, and spoke while chewing. “Sorry to hear.” He got up, taking his plate to the sink.

  “Is there a bathroom?”

  He nodded and pointed down the hallway beside the stairs. She swiveled on the chair and tiptoed down the hall, pushing the door open. It was small, nothing but a toilet and a sink. It was painted entirely pink with stenciled roses along the walls. She closed the door, happy for a small amount of privacy. Sharing wasn’t her forte. She didn’t like talking about herself with people like Steph, whom she knew for years, let alone someone who scared the crap out of her by picking her up off the highway and taking her to his house. Everything about last night was a blur. She put her head in her hands, feeling broken on the inside. She had to push through it. She knew all along it was going to happen, that the chances of him going into remission were scarce. She watched him waste away, and took pleasure in all the time she had with him, but it was always limited. He told her so many times it would end.

  And she didn’t listen.

  She fell in love with him anyway and didn’t really think about what she would do after. Everything she did was an effort to keep him alive for one more day, one more week, one more month. And despite all her efforts … he didn’t make it. She let out a shaky breath, sobs clogged in her throat. Her heart felt like a cauterized wound.

  Pulling up her jeans she turned on the sink and splashed water on her face. Her hair was a frizzy mess, skin feeling slick with grime, and she desperately wanted to pour her aching muscles into a hot bubble bath. She stretched, not feeling any kinks in her shoulders, only heaviness pressing on them like gravity was against her. She dried her hands and tried not to think about what she was going to do when she got back on the road. She hoped Christian hadn’t touched anything in her car, like her backpack, her phone. She needed to check it for all the crazy calls and texts she’d likely gotten. She’d never be able to explain this to her mom.

  She left the bathroom and noticed a door underneath the stairs, leading to either a cubbyhole or a basement. She shuddered at the thought of unfinished basements, cold cement floors, and open ceilings. Down the hall she saw a small atrium and a back door. Clutter crowded the atrium, everything from firewood to hack saws and orange garbage bags were back there. She headed back to the kitchen, expecting to see Christian sitting there but dishes were neatly stacked on a rack on the side of the sink, drying. The island was wiped off, cutting board replaced, knives put away. She heard a television, and curiously padded past the front door, stopping at the foot of the living room.

  The hardwood flooring was traded for thick brown carpet, and a flower print chesterfield sat in front of a television in one of those big entertainment systems. Bookshelves lined the walls, knick knacks intermingled with books, giving the room that museum feel. She recognized pyramids, miniature head from Easter Island, carved elephants, faery and dragon statues, crystals. There were things she didn’t understand like the handful of rock, gold lined goblets, dragon shaped blowgun, and pretty daggers on plaques. A plain desk pressed against the staircase, a laptop open on it.

  There was a bay window, with a wide ledge on the other side of the front door. She had a perfect view of the wraparound porch, faded yellow paint splashed across the corner pillar. Christian sat on the couch watching some old movie, his arm draped across the back. He glanced at her and she felt transparent. He held the remote out to her and she took a few steps until she was at the back of the couch, on the opposite end.

  “You want to watch a movie? I don’t really watch a lot of television.”

  “I should go. I appreciate the help but …”

  Christian’s eyes went dark, and in a flash they were the same lightning gold she’d seen the night before. “Maeva …”

  She stumbled, tripping on her own foot and almost landing on her butt. She found her balance and righted herself, scrambling to get to the door, locked. She slipped, banging her chin on the doorknob and sunk to the floor, trembling, burying her face in the circle of her arms.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Christian said, his voice the epitome of calm. She heard his footsteps as he rounded the couch.

  Maeva pivoted, brushing her hair out of her face and trying to seem brave. “But you’re one of them.”

  Christian’s gold eyes looked sad and worn. He looked too normal, blue jeans, legs crossed at the ankle, casually leaning against the couch, arms across his chest, head bowed in admittance. “Yes … I am one of them.”

  She tried to stand but she felt like a fish flopping around sand, unable to get a breath. She pressed her hands to the floor and bent her knees up. Bitterness filled her mouth and she resented him. She hated everything he was and she didn’t even know him. He was so unthreatening, so accommodating and she didn’t understand why. “Why haven’t you hurt me?”

  He reached into his pocket, and took out something she’d seen a million times before. The chain dangled from his fingers, the perfect smooth roundness ticking back and forth like a pendulum. The last time she saw the golden pocket watch it was in her bedroom, in the little box on her dresser. Fear cascaded through her, too shocked to say anything.

  “Because I’m the one who gave you this thirteen years ago.”

  O O O

  Tor steadied the pocket watch, gathering it in his hand and shoved it back into his pocket. She looked afraid, disheveled, and broken but all the waiting and watching was over. Krishani was right about one thing, he had to do something, even if that something was going to hurt a lot. She eyed him, her hazel eyes sharp, her mouth pulled into a pout. She fidgeted with her sleeves and flexed her heels against the floor. He needed her to trust him, and from the look in her eyes, it was last thing she was ready to do.

  The Valtanyana were a formidable force. In the past she betrayed him, letting the full breadth of their power fall on him. He ran, took as many different identities as possible, blended into society, influencing it from the inside out. Over time their popularity faded. They became Titans and later The Powers That Be, most of their lore locked in the minds of civilizations they all but wiped out. The Atlanteans, Aztecs, Babylonians, Egyptians, Mayans. They destroyed anyone who got too close to realizing they were the enemies.

  Tor didn’t want to admit that despite all the good he tried to do, he was an enemy too. Humans referred to him as a demon, devil, and shadowman. Corruption twisted history and turned his reign over the Lands of Peace into a mockery, his own Lords turned against him out of fear.

  He wanted to be angry with her but he couldn’t feel emotion anymore. She was a means to an end, a way to bring back the old ways, restoring the Land to its former glory. And he couldn’t deny needing her. Being trapped in an immortal human body limited him. He didn’t have access to the kind of power he used to possess. Cut off from the Great Hall, unable to break into his vault. Necromancer was discreet, bringing him small things, but there were other things … Flames he couldn’t find, swords he didn’t have access to, dust he didn’t have enough of. All he had was her, a waif of a girl who didn’t know the first thing about what it meant to be a Flame.

  He didn’t know what to expect when he gave her the pocket watch. Amethyst enflamed eyes told him the possession took, and she didn’t whittle away the body the way Krishani did. He blinked, trying not to think about the
thousands of other bodies he tried to stuff her into, all of them dying within seconds of her possession. Maeva was unique, her heritage stretching to the Lands of Immortals. She wouldn’t crush the life out of the body when the Flame awakened, her DNA ensured that.

  She moved into a crouch, keeping her eyes on him, and rose to her feet, dusting herself off. “Am I a prisoner?”

  “You’re a guest,” Tor said, watching her carefully.

  “Can I go home?”

  “Do you really want to go home?” He wasn’t stupid; he knew what kinds of humans she grew up with. The last time he saw Gord, the man was by himself at Big John’s, fishing like he didn’t have a missing daughter.

  The girl seemed at a loss for words. She looked at her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Tor uncrossed his arms and rounded the couch. “Cossisea and Klavotesi will find you.” He glanced at her alarmed face. She was disappointed that he knew what he was talking about.

  “Michael.…”

  “Krishani,” he corrected, gesturing to the couch. “Sit, we have a lot to talk about.”

  She looked like she was about to fall over and he wanted her to sit down before her strength gave out. Reluctantly she rounded the couch and sat on the far end. He turned to the bookshelf and took a Phoenix Egg in his hands, trying to seem casual about something so powerful. He neared the other end of the couch and stopped.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Maeva shook her head. “I don’t know where to begin.” She let out a breath. “Am I crazy?”

  “No.”

  “Do you live here alone?”

  A faint smile touched Tor’s lips. “I have my guardians, Black Magic and Necromancer.”

  “Do you … do you work with the others?”

  His eyes tightened. Krishani was one of their pawns, the Vultures being controlled by Darkesh. He didn’t want the boy anywhere near Maeva but the moment he saw her, the damage was done. Tor wasn’t going to stop the prophecy, even if the way things were made it impossible for it to come to pass.

  “They want to imprison me just as much as they want to imprison you.” He didn’t need to tell her what else they planned to do, with her fragile mental state she was bound to react the wrong way.

  “Why?”

  “Because …” He thought about the First Era, when she was a very different kind of girl, with a sort of inherent capability. She didn’t have a doubt about who she was, or what she had to do. She gathered the Ferryman, the crowns and the chalice, facing the Valtanyana and their hordes of beasts. A shower of amethyst meteors preceded her where she walked, and when she joined hands with the Ferryman, a supernova erupted. Tor hid on the other side of the lake until it was over, and while Tempia suffered, the Valtanyana were reduced to dust and ashes, ashes he kept in the shimmering white stone palace on Avrigost.

  Maeva frowned. “It is one of those things you can’t tell me because I have to remember it on my own?”

  Tor tilted his head to the side, curious about who had told her that. He could divulge all the secrets of her past to her, but none of them would make any sense unless she remembered them. “No, it’s not like that. I imprisoned them once and they want revenge.”

  “Can—can they … die?” She looked terrified, all self-contained. Tor was surprised she didn’t ask how or why she ever became part of this war. All she wanted to know was if she could win. The look on her face said she knew she couldn’t.

  “No. But things change.”

  “Why are you being so upfront with me?”

  “Don’t you want these answers?”

  She bit her lip and glanced at the television, the picture a bit too dark to make out amidst the sunlight outside. “I do … but Mich—Krishani … he didn’t tell me a lot.”

  Tor stared at her, her worst mistake clouding his own judgment. The Second Era was a tragedy, what happened to her, what she did to the former Ferryman. Betrayal was the highest evil. They called it treason on Earth, and punishment for it was severe. But her betrayal hurt her most. Krishani, despite his fate, was the strongest Ferryman he’d ever known. He didn’t completely lose himself in the hatred and the hunger Vultures suffered from.

  “I suppose Krishani had his reasons for not helping you remember.”

  She met his eyes, something incomprehensible in them. “And you?”

  “I’m not so kind.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Are you really going to help me?”

  Tor moved from the couch, heading down the hall and grabbing his keys. “I’m going to awaken you. I don’t know if you’ll consider it help.” He pulled the door open effortlessly and stepped onto the porch. Maeva was right behind him, grabbing the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  Tor gave her a funny look. “I told you, I work at Big John’s.”

  Maeva let out a breath and a laugh at the same time. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

  Tor winked at her and closed the door, locking it with a snick so she couldn’t escape. He glanced at Black Magic, a silent agreement passing between them as he headed to his Tempo.

  O O O

  Pux couldn’t get a hold of Elwen. He stayed up all night eating almost everything he had in the fridge, dialing Elwen’s phone every five minutes. He couldn’t go get Kaliel and she didn’t show up and he was suffering a full-blown panic attack when the phone finally rang and he dived for it, practically ripping it off the kitchen wall.

  “Hello?” Elwen sounded confused.

  “Elwen!” Pux exclaimed, thankful that some form of technology worked. Talk about boring, the computer didn’t work, television, video games, cell phone. The longer he stayed in feorn form, the more things went on the fritz. He was lucky the landline still worked.

  “Pux?”

  “Where the hell have you been? Krishani died and Kaliel was on the road somewhere and I have no idea what to do and I needed you and you wouldn’t answer the phone.…”

  Pux heard the keys hit the counter; a briefcase fell on the floor. “I was working.… He’s really dead?”

  “I promised him … she was on her way here. I talked to her late last night.” He twisted the phone cord around his arm squeezing it tighter until his fingers went fuzzy. He couldn’t break a promise, it was actually impossible as a feorn, but he couldn’t go running around Earth either.

  “Where is she now?”

  “I. Don’t. Know! That’s why I called you, I told her you’d go get her.” He didn’t want to scream at Elwen but he seemed so calm and Pux wasn’t calm. He was full of stupid human food with preservatives and he’d thrown up three times. He was hungry and sweaty and shaking. He couldn’t stop thinking about Cossisea and Klavotesi. What if they showed up? What if they took her? He had no way of knowing and it scared him so much. What would they do to her?

  “Calm down, Pux,” Elwen said after a long pause, his voice deathly quiet.

  Pux wanted to scream more but he stopped and unwrapped the phone cord from his arm, resting his forehead against the wall. “I can’t be calm. She’s my best friend.”

  “She’s with Tor.”

  Pux’s eyes widened. “High … King … Tor?”

  “Yes.”

  Pux couldn’t think straight. Morgana used to laugh about it, like it was some silly joke. She had another name for Tor.… Merlin, someone that helped the fallen King resting in Evennses. He blinked, shoving away the past. “I don’t understand.…”

  “You don’t want to go against him do you?”

  “No … but …” Pux felt so small. He slid down the wall, his animal legs curled to his chest. Tor stood against everything the Valtanyana was, but what was he doing with Kaliel? He blinked, thinking about what she was—not the girl he knew, but the Amethyst Flame.

  Fear hit him.

  “Go home, Pux.”

  “He’s going to—”

  “Tor can do whatever he wants with her. She’s no longer your concern.”

 
; “But …”

  “Go home.”

  Pux gulped, and pushed himself to his feet, looking past the kitchen at the coffee table. He didn’t want to watch Kaliel cause another apocalypse. It was bad enough having to watch it the first time. Apocalypses weren’t pretty. They took away everything in existence and buried it under sheets of snow or rivers of fire. It made everything ache with incomprehensible pain, and if you lived, you lived to see the ashes it left behind and the corrupted world that rose from those ashes. Living in post-apocalyptic times were the worst he’d ever suffered, scrounging on scraps while the Land repaired itself. The only thing he learned from apocalypses was that nothing came back beautiful.

  “Fine.” He slammed the phone onto the receiver and crossed the floor, swiping the pendant off the table and disappearing from the apartment.

  ***

  Chapter 34

  The Past

  Christian owned a lot of music Maeva didn’t listen to. After he left, Necromancer returned, perching on the back of the couch, her green eyes following the other girl everywhere. She skimmed through the bookshelves, hordes of science fiction and fantasy novels, nothing newer than the eighties. He had a small stack of CDs on a shelf by the laptop, artists she didn’t listen to. She thought about contacting Grace, but she didn’t know what to say. Her life was upside down. She was being hunted by The Powers That Be, all because they wanted revenge against her … and Christian.

  She thought about Steph, but talking to Steph meant talking about Michael—Krishani, and thinking about him hurt. She didn’t know what Tom was going to do, if they would hold a funeral, if people at school would show up. Would Tom do a eulogy? Krishani didn’t like hospitals or graveyards, or churches, what kind of funerals did Vultures have? She ran her hand along the shelf, frowning at the Celine Dion, Enya, Bon Jovi, and Billy Idol assortment. She missed her Ani DiFranco cassette, Adele, Florence and the Machine. She stopped on an artist she’d never heard of, Emma Shapplin.

  Krishani wasn’t dead.

  He was, but he wasn’t. Whatever he was, icy cold tendrils whipped her cheeks, sending shivers through her as the Vulture stumbled out the door. She couldn’t breathe and forced herself to stop thinking about him. She pulled out the Emma Shapplin CD and took it upstairs, Necromancer on her heels. Christian stocked the room with everything she might need, and it was creepy.