Mercy

by Rhiannon Paille

  She went over to the boom box on the dresser and popped in the CD, haunting opera melodies coming to life. The music was sad and beautiful, tugging at her emotions and making her feel lightheaded. Necromancer jumped on the dresser and scratched at the first drawer. Curiously, Maeva pulled it open, incense, tea lights and matches inside. Necromancer meowed in her familiar syllables and she pulled out a stick of incense, placing it in the holder on the dresser, something Grace never would have let her have in her room. She lit the stick, heady smoke spiraling into the room. Snapping the drawer shut she took the cat in her arms and put her in the hallway and shut the door.

  The music was breathtaking. She laid on the bed her feet on the pillows her arms spread out as Emma Shapplin’s mesmerizing opera voice filled the room. Each song was a dark and twisted adventure. Maeva felt like she was inside the music, emerging from a lake and landing on a sandy beach. She passed narrowly through the trunks of two trees growing so close together they touched at the base, and wound down an eerie moonlit path until she emerged in a meadow with thick knee high grass, the sky a blanket of brilliant stars above her.

  She opened her eyes as the song changed, the memory so crisp she felt like she was actually there. She flexed her fingers and took a deep breath, inhaling incense and letting it out slowly, like she had been taught in choir practice.

  She sunk into the trance, letting herself fall until she was in the meadow, staring at the stars. It felt weird; like it was a place she could reach out and touch in her mind. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, if it was a memory or some kind of out of body experience but it felt good and after everything that had happened all she wanted to do was be somewhere that felt like home.

  She sat and quickened her pace through the grass, a large cabin rising in the distance. The thing was massive, three stories high, one block wide, two blocks thick. It seemed to continue forever to a tree line, and there wasn’t anything special about it, brown logs, a wraparound porch, and small steps leading to the front door. The grass fell away in a small circle around the steps and she tested out sitting on them, staring at the stars.

  A loud bang sounded at the door and her eyes snapped open, the four-poster bed around her, and burgundy veneer above her. Everything about the house left her mind and she sat, feeling groggy, the CD turning over to the first song. She wanted to listen more, and explore but the door bounced again and Maeva opened it, looking down at Black Magic, the cat with the smooth tail and yellow eyes. He glared at her like he would have bashed down the door if she hadn’t opened it and unlike Necromancer, when he took off the down the hallway he didn’t trot. She followed, finding Christian at the front door in blue jeans and black shirt, hands behind his back.

  “Ready?” His eyes watched her as she descended the stairs and nodded, following him outside. It was dark, Christian’s house being in the middle of a forest. Spruce and birch trees spaced out against a tangle of leaves beyond the porch. He went around back, leading her to a large fire pit, alive with bright orange flames. She smelled lake water, and it warmed her.

  His backyard was protected by tall evergreens, parting narrowly for a long wooden dock. She thought she saw the outline of a motor boat but wasn’t sure. The ground was dry mud, covered in nettles and crunchy orange leaves. She assumed they were from the previous year. He neared the bonfire and Maeva noticed a rickety set of khaki painted stairs, the porch only a small platform compared to the one at the front of the house. The back porch light was on but when Christian passed it, the light went out, leaving his face cast in the orange glow from the fire. He pulled the pocket watch out and held it out for her, his eyes blazing into her.

  “Are you familiar with rituals?”

  Maeva tried to stay calm but her heart galloped; memories of the day she took Krishani to Big John’s stuck in her head. He was going to end her and it was going to hurt. “No, I’ve never done a ritual.”

  “Take the pocket watch,” Christian instructed.

  It felt cold to the touch the way it always had, and familiar, like it was something from a past long before this life. She looked at him, questions on her lips. He seemed so normal, everything about his house, his life didn’t resemble what she expected. Maybe Rob—Pux was right, the good guys only won in movies. She wasn’t sure what awakening would do to her, and so far the method didn’t ring any bells.

  “Dangle it, like a pendulum.”

  She did as she was told and Christian knelt, his hands behind his back.

  “Speak in an even, soothing voice.”

  “What am I doing?”

  He blinked and she knew he was thinking about how novice she was. She blushed, giving him a sheepish smile and dangled the pocket watch like he told her to. “You’re putting me in a trance, which is what I will do to you when I awaken you. It’s only fair I demonstrate first.”

  “Oh.” She thought it was nice, seeing as how she was trying not to be scared out of her mind, or broken into a thousand tiny shards from losing Krishani. No matter what she did to distract herself, the heaviness on her chest wouldn’t go away. It was a constant dull throb inside her, held at bay by a makeshift dam. Hit the trigger and it would come crashing down, reducing her to nothingness.

  “How do I do this?”

  “Continue speaking, talk about the pendulum, talk about feeling tired. Don’t change the tone of your voice.” He put his hands behind his back and focused on the pocket watch rocking back and forth.

  Maeva felt funny. “Watch the pendulum …it’s gold and smooth, and comes with a long chain, and has weird looking symbols on the inside, and I got it in the hospital when I was in a coma, when I was really tired, and I couldn’t wake up.” She stopped, Christian seemed mesmerized. It was something about the way he seemed stoned. She’d seen kids at school with that look and it usually meant they were tripping on something. She didn’t know there was another way to achieve that affect. Christian didn’t really tell her what to do once he was under and didn’t give her instructions on how to bring him back so she stared at him for a while, keeping the pendulum swinging back and forth.

  “Who are you?”

  “Tor, the former High King of the Lands of Peace,” he answered, monotone.

  She narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Who are Cossisea and Klavotesi?”

  He kept staring at the pocket watch. “The Ruby and Obsidian Flames.”

  She frowned, not knowing what a Flame was, but feeling that sinking feeling in her stomach. Krishani said she wasn’t otherkin but she wasn’t human. During all her research she never found a thing on Flames. Suspicion clouded her. “What am I?”

  “A Flame.”

  Maeva dropped the pocket watch. She blinked a few times, embers from the fire crackling into the air and wafting towards her. She bent to pick up the watch, noticing the glassy look in Tor’s eyes fading. He slumped forward and came to realization.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “What are the Flames?”

  Tor smiled wide. “Ahh … you are asking the right questions.”

  “Are they—?” She meant to ask if they were her kin but the word sounded funny in her head. It was from an old way of speaking, reminding her of Shakespeare and Dickens.

  “Yes.”

  “And they work for The Powers That Be? They’re … against me?”

  Tor hung his head and glanced at the porch, the light flickering on. “I never said remembering would give you solace.” He held his hand out, gesturing towards the back door. Maeva froze. “We need to continue this in the Sanctuary.”

  Maeva’s eyes widened. She envisioned the small white door and beyond it, a creaky set of stairs and some kind of torture chamber in the basement. Pain lanced across her temple and she bolted, her legs taking her around the house and crashing into the forest. She didn’t care if night surrounded her, she’d find the road, call for help, hitchhike home. Lake of the Woods was big but it wasn’t that big, and while the roads weren’t populated wi
th a lot of traffic, she’d find someone. She’d go home to Kenora and tell Grace she was involved with some crazy people and got in over her head and all she wanted was to hide and grieve and pretend the world didn’t exist for a while.

  She couldn’t go back to Tor and all of his truth. He wasn’t nice, he was one of them—he admitted it. She wanted Krishani’s arms around her, his warmth and safety and waning strength. She was nothing without him—and Pux. Her heart caved at the thought of Pux waiting for her in Thunder Bay, worrying about where the hell she was and why she never came. She’d hitch a ride with a trucker or something, truckers were better than Tor, anything was better than the weird house and black cats. It was too serene, too comforting. She felt like a numb empty shell, all the pain of losing Krishani eclipsed by whatever magic Tor cast.

  She fetched up against a tree her lungs bursting, her legs tired. She wasn’t an athletic girl; her arms stronger than her legs with all the canoeing she had to do. She slunk down in the dry underbrush, wiping the sweat off her neck, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her head throbbed like it might explode.

  She wasn’t ready to know. Krishani was a part of her in every way that counted and knowing he knew her, seeing the way his face darkened when she pushed him, it scared her. She got up, walking a bit, smelling the lake and knowing it was somewhere near. She crunched through leaves and pushed through bushes, and emerged on the ledge of the water. Thick black waves lapped against the rocky shore. She glanced over the ledge, a steep jagged drop. It was too warm for May, the sky too bright, the moon a blob in the sky, not half or full or slivered. She hugged her arms to herself, torn between staying out there all night looking for a highway and letting Tor awaken her.

  She slid down, piling her hands in her lap and waited for a long time, listening to crickets, birds, and water thunking against the shore. Footsteps crunched the ground and she tensed, knowing Tor would coax her back to the house, give her time to remember on her own. She’d ask him to get some of her things, even though the closet was actually full of clothes her size; she didn’t feel right wearing them. She wanted her own clothes, the blue t-shirt with the stick people holding broken hearts out to each other, the purple one about monsters under her bed, and all the other shirts she’d worn when she was with Michael. She wanted her cell phone so she could flip through pics of him, the ones she didn’t develop in photography class. She had those tucked into her mirror on her dresser, all odd angles she made for herself, not for the assignment. She wanted her life back, wanted to go to work and apologize to Rachel for all the crazy.

  She brushed her hair out of her face and pushed herself to her feet. “I’m sorry … I’m—I need time.” She turned, and thick hands clamped onto her neck, pulling her into the air and slamming her hard against a tree trunk. Air left her lungs as she struggled, staring at the glowing black eyes of the Obsidian Flame.

  His expression was livid and she let out a whimper unable to stop the slashing, burning pain in her head. It felt like he was digging into her mind with thin needles, uprooting memories and spinning them on a carousel. Shock rippled over her, threatening to throw her into the cold embrace of death. She choked, and clamped her hands over his fingers, desperately clawing at him to release her.

  He tossed her aside like she was a ball jointed doll and she hit the forest floor with a crack. Frostbite poured into her bones, fighting against fire in her brain. Ice pressed against her skin like the winter lake, her insides like tiny briquettes. Bitter, salty tears streamed down her cheeks and landed on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut as a maddening carousel of memories tortured her.

  Something eclipsed the pain, something bright and uncontrollable. She rolled onto her back, exploding in a shower of Amethyst Flames. On the inside it was like her veins were replaced with rivers of pure liquid fire. It traveled down her arms and pinched her fingertips, streaming into every part of her. With it came the crushing revelation of who she was and what she’d done.

  And it hurt more than watching Krishani die.

  She closed her eyes, every detail of their first kiss, the waterfall, awakening Avred, dying in a crescendo of Flames, waking up against him, exiled, exiled, exiled. The weed, the weed, the weed. The deep baritones of the Great Oak pulsed through her, as she dropped the golden box in the sand and spread the dust in the air. She scrabbled at the ground with her hands, clawing at the Vultures surrounding her. She felt Krishani’s lips against hers as he transformed, becoming something deadlier and scarier than she ever thought possible. The memories of her life as Maeva hit her like a battering ram. He hated her and loved her, and died in her arms, and died again and again. She killed him, subjected him to the worst form of torture, and he never stopped loving her.

  She didn’t understand why he came back.

  Why he cared.

  But she understood with unwavering hatred why he didn’t help her remember. She struggled against the weight of the Flame, forcing her eyes open as the light snapped out. She rolled onto her side, the pain excruciating as it dulled, leaving behind all the knowledge, and suppressing all the crisp, vivid memories.

  She didn’t know why she was alive.

  Why after all this time, all this torture. She pushed herself to her feet and ran. Water—she needed to find the lake, the only thing that calmed her. Her legs stung and her throat burned and her lungs burst as she ran, but she pushed the body to its limits, need overcoming fatigue. She twisted her ankle and tumbled down a cliff, her head smacking against a jagged rock as she hit the shockingly cold water. She flailed as she sank, realizing with blinding panic she was going to pass out. She felt something slick and sticky press itself against her leg as air bubbled out of her lungs and she dragged in a deep breath of lake water, blackness encrusting her in thick frozen arms.

  ***

  Chapter 35

  105 Main Street

  Kaliel woke, curled into herself, fingers scraping along the thin fabric of a fitted bed sheet. She had a blanket tossed over her shoulders, a sheet tangled at the base of her feet, and a flat squishy pillow under her cheek. She recognized it, everything about it, and fisted the bed sheet in her hand as silent tears stained the pillow.

  Krishani.

  It was his bed and his room, the last he occupied, in an apartment with Elwen of all people. She remembered everything about the evenings they spent together, all his dark looks, weak smiles, fear hidden behind strength. She remembered the way he held her against him, the way he kissed her like she was fragile, the way he stopped when she didn’t want him to. Of all the places she could have woken up, this had to be the worst. It was every reminder of the worst thing she’d ever done.

  The door opened a crack and she sat. Elwen stood in the doorway in trousers and a polo shirt, his shorn brown hair combed over. He had a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. She glanced at the end table. The pills and dagger weren’t on the nightstand anymore, just a cup of water. She reached for it and took a long sip, glaring at him. She lowered the cup.

  “Are you okay?”

  “How did I get here?”

  “Christian pulled you out of the lake and brought you here.”

  “Why?” She didn’t want to be there, she didn’t deserve to be alive. Suicidal thoughts clouded her vision as she stared at his flat brown eyes. She hated herself, and not in a way that other people hated themselves. She hated herself so much she was willing to pour acid over her body and set herself on fire. She wanted to endure a million hours of torture for the thousands of years of pain Krishani endured.

  “Maeva …” Elwen took a step into the room and put the soup on the end table. Kaliel gritted her teeth.

  “Elwen … my name isn’t Maeva.”

  His eyes tightened as he reached the door, realization dawning on him. “You remember?”

  She gulped. “I remember—I remember everything.”

  ***

  The Guide

  Timelines

  First Era (Circa, 250 million years ago—65 mill
ion years ago)

  The Lands Across the Stars were in their birth and growth stages, the Valtanyana was forming and gaining more and more power. The Flames were created by Toraque (Tor) of Avrigost, the final member of the Valtanyana. Aria, The Amethyst Flame and the other eight Flames fought against the Valtanyana and won, locking them away in Avrigost.

  Second Era (Circa, 65 million years ago – 5000BCE)

  Toraque (Tor) of Avrigost takes over as the High King of the Lands of Peace, ruling a Golden Age. Factions of Daed warriors rise up to oppose High King Tor, but without the rest of the Valtanyana backing them, they are nearly powerless. High King Tor gives Aria, The Amethyst Flame and the other eight Flames new lives. Aria is reborn as Kaliel of Evennses.

  Third Era (Circa 5000BCE – Present Day)

  The Valtanyana have taken power over the Lands of Peace and own everything from one end of the sky to the other. Toraque (Tor) of Avrigost is trapped in a human body and on the run with the only piece of leverage that still exists – The Amethyst Flame. He gives her new life in the body of a mortal child, and hopes she will become the catalyst the Lands of Peace need to vanquish the Valtanyana once and for all.

  People

  Kemplan (kemm-plan)

  The Great Librarian

  High King Tor (toar) aka Christian De Luca

  High King of the Lands of Peace, born in Avrigost as the twelfth member of the Valtanyana.

  Kaliel of Evennses (kal-ee-elle) aka Maeva Jonsson

  Aria, The Amethyst Flame from the First Era. She’s been reborn as a Child of Avristar, a second chance after all of the destruction in the First Era

  Krishani of Amersil (krish-aw-nee of am-er-sill) aka Michael Norton