by Emily L K
“Please,” he begged, acutely aware of how he must look in old battle stained clothes and caked in dirt from travelling hard. “I need to see the Captain and tell him... tell him that the Karaliene is coming!”
The guards looked at each other than one of them shifted uncomfortably.
“The Captain left a week ago,” he informed Quindyn. “Said he had business in the north and didn’t know when he’d be back, if at all.”
Quindyn’s stomach sank. After all that? The battles, the skirmishes, the defeat after defeat of Hearth by the Karaliene and the Captain who orchestrates it all just leaves?
Quindyn backed up until he hit a wall, then he slid down it with a groan. The guards looked on sadly.
“Did he leave any orders?” He asked woodenly.
“Only that we should stay steady on our course.”
Quindyn hung his head. Well, the Karaliene was coming for them now, there wasn’t much else they could do.
Chapter Six - Little One
One hundred and seventy-five years post war | The dragon souls
She’s back, the dragon souls tittered to one another. Back, back back.
They reached their tendrils towards her, drawn by the intense magic she radiated. Human turned Gold Eyes. They could sense her form, waiting at the edge of their realm.
Gold Eyes, they called and coaxed her, Come, come come. Come to us Gold Eyes.
But they were just younglings, and she pushed their advances away easily. They sensed her moving forward. She was almost within the tree line. They tittered excitedly. One more step and they would have her.
Come, come. Pretty Gold Eyes, lovely Gold Eyes. Come, come.
She placed a hand against a tree and they swarmed to her, the connection between her and they suddenly strengthened, a blinding warmth where her skin met theirs. The soul of that tree had the rights to her though. The rest had to wait their turn.
Come, Gold Eyes, the soul teased her. Come play with us.
I can’t. She was misery and pain. The other souls recoiled somewhat. Misery and pain was not fun for younglings. Misery and pain was the meal of the old souls further in. I’m not strong enough.
Little One, The soul connected to her welcomed. The other souls reeled at its deferential tone. What did it feel that the others didn’t? Was this Gold Eyes a special one? Let me shelter you.
The Gold Eyes suddenly withdrew. She moved away at speed.
Come, come! The tried to entice her back, but she was gone. The souls settled back in their shells to wait. She would come back. She always came back.
Chapter Seven - The Karaliene of Crushed Skulls
One hundred and eighty years post war | Orin of Resso
Orin stood before the mirror in his room. He straightened the collar of his shirt and folded back his cuffs. He glanced towards the open archway that led to his balcony. She stood there; the starlight seeming to make her golden hair glow. She faced the north. Always, she looked to the north when she was lost in thought.
His protector, his Karaliene, his dearest friend.
He watched her for a time. She was as young as the day he’d met her, yet her gold eyes held a weariness that spoke of many lifetimes. Orin himself appeared to be a man of forty or fifty with only a dusting of silver touching his temples. If he’d been human, he would have been in his prime, but looks were deceiving. He was an old man now, nearing his two hundredth birthday - old even for a Hiram - and looking at her made him feel every year he had known.
“Come here,” she requested of him when she noticed him watching her. He went and stood beside her. “You always thought I’d killed him.” She looked up at him and her smile was sad. Him. The Karalis. The only way he was ever referred to by her. Orin waited with bated breath. Never had she spoken of that day she’d returned to Bandar Utara covered in blood and without the Karalis. She started to talk now though, telling him a magnificent tale of a cursed forest, a dead building and a mad dragon. A tale of hope and heartbreak and overwhelming loneliness.
When she’d finished she was quiet for a time and Orin let her be with her thoughts as he was with his. Everything Orin had thought of the Karalis over the years had been wrong. Could he still be out there somewhere, even now?
“He was my soul mate,” she whispered, her hand pressed to her chest as it often was when she spoke about him. “Without him here I feel as if a part of me is missing, even now, even after so many years. He knew my heart better than I ever did and sometimes I hated him for knowing what he knew about me. I hated that he could still love me so unconditionally, despite the way I’d treated him, despite the promises I couldn’t keep. I loved him for it too, and I’d give anything to have him back so he can fill the blackness in me, so he can be the better part of me as he always had been. I want him back so I can make up for all the things he needed that I couldn’t be.”
Orin didn’t know what to say. Everything he’d ever thought of the Karalis had been turned on its head. A hundred and eighty years ago when Cori had returned from Hen Goeden covered in blood and severely depleted of her magic, he’d assumed the two of them had fought each other. How Cori had come out on top he had never quite worked out, but he’d harboured an intense hatred for the Karalis ever since.
Now he wondered at her words. He and the others had always struggled to keep Cori in check when she was in a war mongering mood; she was undoubtedly the strongest being in Tauta, and unfairly so. Was the Karalis the balance that the universe had intended to keep her in check? The calm to her storm? He suddenly hoped that the Karalis was out there somewhere still and that he’d come back to Cori before it was too late.
He lifted a hand to Cori’s face, and she leaned against it. She didn’t cry, and he knew her grief was beyond tears. Her outpouring of love for the Karalis reminded him of his wife Yasana. She had died fifty years ago, but he still thought of her and missed her keenly every day. He knew his four sons did too.
“You should have told me earlier,” he said to her. She nodded against his hand but didn’t justify why she hadn’t. He knew these things were hard to talk about.
After a time she sighed and turned towards the north again. He mimicked her and together they leaned against the balcony rail. Below them in the keep’s courtyard they could hear the sounds of revelry, a party Orin should be downstairs hosting.
“What are you thinking about?” He asked her after a time. She sighed and looked down.
“That it’s time for me to leave.”
Orin put his hand over hers. “You know I’d never turn you away, Cori,” he said, though he knew very well that his years were limited, and he guessed that this might be her line of thinking too. He was the last of her friends still alive. It pained him to think of her alone in the world once he was gone.
“I know, and you’ve been generous to have me all these years in your home, but it belongs to your family and I know your sons aren’t impressed to have me around. They think I’ve replaced their mother.”
“They know very well you haven’t replace Yasana,” Orin told her harshly. His late wife’s prejudices towards the Karaliene had rubbed off on their boys. “Where do you intend to go next?” He asked when she didn’t refute his words.
“Back to Hearth. They need shaking up again, I think.”
“Do they really?” His words were half-hearted. Hearth was a problem that none of them had been able to solve. Only Cori had kept the rogue state in check, but the number of casualties she’d left in her wake over the years was phenomenal and it made him uneasy.
“We should get down to this party.” She changed the subject. “It is your birthday, after all.”
“One hundred and ninety-nine years old,” he sighed. “Surely I’ve had enough birthday parties.”
“Never.” she smiled impishly. “And I have a surprise for you.”
“You better not blow anything up,” he warned. They turned away from the balcony to head downstairs. Orin paused. “Will you give me a moment?” He asked. Sh
e gave him an odd look, but heeded his request and left the room before him. He turned back to the balcony, looking towards the north.
The Hen Goeden forest was both a blessing and a curse. It protected the border of his state, but it was also a deadly place. Men went in there and never came out. In fact, Cori was the only person he knew to have survived the place. Now he knew that the trees were dragon souls that lured people in and devoured their minds. Of late, he’d been having bad premonitions, and he’d put it down to the lure of the forest.
What had made him turn back to the balcony now, he wasn’t sure, but he stood for a time looking into the darkness beyond Bandar Utara and relishing the cool night air on his face. There was a flicker above and he glanced up in time to see a massive shadow pass overhead. He started and craned his neck to see the sky, but there was nothing.
A trick of the mind, he told himself, turning away. Just clouds covering the moon.
He felt a niggling feeling at the edge of his thoughts - foreign to him, and as though he’d suddenly stepped to the edge of a great vastness - but he pushed it away and the sensation vanished. He left the balcony and his bedroom. He had a birthday to celebrate.
Chapter Eight - The Stargazer
One hundred and ninety five years post war | Citlali Wiseman
Citlali Wiseman could see what others couldn’t, and yet he’d been blind since the day he was born. Sometimes he only saw the blackness of his eyelids, but when he looked towards the stars, he could see so much more. He could see the future.
As long as he could remember he had been able to read the stars. Most people saw only pinpricks of light when they looked above them. He knew because they talked about it. The stars to them were romantic, a gesture from the universe to make them feel less alone. To him, the stars were like a book. They told the unwritten stories, the tales yet to come.
When he gazed at the stars, he saw the rest of the world. And more. People walked before him, but projecting from them were hundreds of ghosts, each leading a new path to the future based on present decisions. Some ghosts glowed brighter than others and Citlali had learned that these were the more likely futures. They also inevitably led to death, for that was the fate of all mortals.
He could see his own future too, though he had learned long ago that it was wise to ignore his own fate, unless in times of strife, for knowing too much about one’s own destiny could send a man mad.
All people followed a similar pattern through time, though those who called themselves Hiram had more ghostly projections. Hiram lived longer and living longer presented more opportunities to die. Citlali tried not to watch the Hiram too long, they made him dizzy.
When he was eighteen years old, he saw his first Dijem. She was the one they called Karaliene, and he had almost missed her. He’d had to stargaze longer than normal to see her and her ghosts. There were so many, they were like a mist around her.
In contrast, before her stood a man whose ghosts were quickly vanishing. Citlali had seen this a few times before; the man’s options were running out, he was about to die. Citlali stupidly grasped the man’s final ghost and followed it to find the outcome. The ghost burst suddenly and Citlali choked back a cry. Moment’s later, the Dijem’s hands came together, and the man died for real in a spray of blood and gore.
Around him, crowds of spectators gasped in disbelief. Citlali listened to them. They said the woman had just killed the Head of Hearth. She was walking away now and Citlali followed her, curious to know how she had so many ghosts.
Twice more, as he tailed after her through the city, he had to stargaze to not lose her. She was perplexing. How could one person have so many fates? So many untold stories that even the stars struggled to tell her tale. So engrossed he was with her, that he didn’t notice the lads approaching.
“Ho, Cit,” Dorryn said, sounding anything but friendly. Citlali tried to dart away, and ran headlong into Gordyn.
“Tell me my future, Cit,” Gordyn said, grasping Citlali’s arms so hard it hurt.
“Your mother was a whore!” He gasped before he could stop himself. Gordyn shook him so hard, Citlali felt his brain rattle inside his skull.
“That’s the past you prick! Tell me the future!”
Unable to do anything else, Citlali latched onto one of Gordyn’s ghosts, the brightest one, and followed it.
“There’s a woman coming for you,” he said. Gordyn and Dorryn chortled.
“Is she a pretty thing?” Gordyn asked. “Will she warm my bed?”
“She’ll spill your blood.” Citlali watched Gordyn’s ghost fall under the hands of the woman. He thought the woman might kill him, but she let him go. Citlali was disappointed.
“Spill my blood?” Gordyn shook Citlali again. “When? Where?”
“Now. Here.”
Gordyn was suddenly wrenched away from Citlali with unnatural force.
Citlali didn’t know how she’d done it. He’d only been following her moments ago and now she’d appeared behind them. She slammed Gordyn to the ground where his nose smashed against the cobblestones. Blood spurted forth. Dorryn yelped and ran, leaving Gordyn to stagger groggily to his feet, clutch his nose, and follow.
Citlali turned to the woman. Already she had almost vanished from his sight. He rolled his eyes quickly skyward, seeking the words in the stars. When he looked straight again, he could see her clearly. Her gold eyes pierced him so intensely that, for a second, he thought he’d gained true sight.
“Why are you following me?” She asked him. One of his own ghosts suddenly sprang bright before him. He didn’t need to follow it to know that if he said the wrong thing, the woman would kill him. He quickly latched onto one of her ghosts instead, following it for what seemed like an eternity.
“You need a song,” he told her. His own ghost faded a little. Good. She was listening. “For saving me from those lads, I will tell you where to find it.”
“How do you know that?”
He gave a sweeping bow, “Karaliene of Crushed Skulls, please let me introduce myself as Citlali Wiseman.”
She paid no heed to his gesture, instead repeating, “how did you know?”
“The stars told me. I will show you.” He plucked another of her ghosts, looking to the immediate future, then pointed to an empty doorway nearby. “Let’s go here. In only a moment, your enemies will come this way, looking for you.”
Citlali moved to the doorway, hoping that she would follow. He breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stepped off the street after him. No sooner had she stepped into the shadow of the doorway, then a small band of Hearthian soldiers came down the street. The Karaliene watched them pass in heavy silence. Citlali took the opportunity to follow yet another of her ghosts.
He couldn’t see the past, but sometimes he could glean it from the future. This ghost showed him a future conversation with another Dijem man. One she seemed close to. The man and the conversation didn’t interest him, save for two words.
“Cori Cook,” he said aloud.
“What?”
Careful, he told himself as his own ghost flared brightly again.
“Your name, is it not?”
She was silent for a long moment.
“You’re a curious person, Citlali Wiseman,” she muttered. He exhaled slowly. She was fading again. He quickly turned his eyes skyward to reignite the stars.
“Tell me about the song,” she requested.
“Say please.”
“What?”
“Say. Please.”
She stared at him with an incredulous expression. Her arms lifted slowly to cross over her chest. “Please.”
“The Temple of Umur is a pretty place in the summer.”
“You’re making no sense. Tell me where to get the song.”
“I am.”
Citlali couldn’t help the way he passed on his predictions. He saw them so clearly, yet when he told people, they always seemed so confused. “The dark man would relish your company.”
&nbs
p; Cori slapped him so hard his ears rang. “You’re wasting my time,” she growled and started to turn away.
“Two deaths!” He blurted. She stopped. “I will tell you two possible deaths for yourself.”
Cori hesitated. They always did when he offered this information; no one wanted to know their own demise... and yet they did.
“Go on,” she said finally, “and in plain words. Please.”
“The first is by the rope,” he told her, following that particular ghost. He saw rain and crowds and kings. “But it is a death that you have complete control over. You can take it or leave it.”
“Why would I take it?”
“I’m more curious as to why you wouldn’t.” That ghost was becoming faint, almost as if it were changing already. Someone else must be involved in that one, someone whose own fate was yet to be determined.
“The second, then?”
“Will be your song. You will win, but you will lose.”
Cori was quiet and Citlali thought she may hit him again for his vague words. But she surprised him.
“Good,” she said. Citlali quickly tried to follow that ghost again. Did she know something he had missed? He couldn’t find it though, she had too many. Suddenly she was walking away from him.
“Wait!” He called. He wanted to study her further. She was fascinating. All these possible deaths, and yet none of them natural.
“Thank you, Citlali,” she called over her shoulder. “You’ve been very helpful.”
As she vanished into a group of merchants, he quickly grasped one last ghost. It led on and on, through pain and misery, but it ended with a man. That same man he had seen in the earlier conversation. The man was important. Very important. Not just to Cori, but to Tauta. Citlali felt sick. He’d been too hasty, he should have told Cori about this man, not the song. The future would be very different if he had given her the right information.
He sagged down in the door frame, letting the starlight leave him and his blind darkness take him. What had he done?