“Death is difficult,” Mallorn said.
Krishani scoffed. “Death.”
Mallorn sighed. “You have so much untapped potential. It should not go to waste.”
Krishani was stunned by the words. He chose Kaliel and renounced his duty. There was no life outside of Avristar, only death. And death would be a constant reminder she died. He could face death if it was his own, but to come to terms with hers was impossible. She was never meant to face the foe alone. She was never supposed to lose her life, and he would take the pain to his grave. He wanted the Kiirar to leave, and before he had a chance to say it out loud, Mallorn was gone.
8
Storm Clouds
Krishani stared at Melianna, her melancholy expression, her caramel-colored eyes. He didn’t know how to feel or what to feel. Anguish coursed through him, enough to cripple any fae, feorn or human. His eyes moved to the book in her hands, an anthology on the early days of Avristar. From what he was told, it was full of folk tales about old traditions no longer practiced on the island.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tasted salt on his lips. He couldn’t control what his body wanted to do anymore. He wanted limbo to encompass him, wanted it to hurt until he was numb, until he was dead. He glanced at Melianna, her face buried in the book.
He closed his eyes and tried to pull the blanket of darkness over him, but it was gone. The jarring realization he could no longer descend into reverie hit him. Memories of Kaliel were so crisp and vibrant in limbo, and the searing, burning, clawing torture. Pain he welcomed more than the pain of living. Every muscle throbbed, his heart ached, his blood like poison in his veins. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as heat washed over him. He curiously lifted his sleeve and noted the char marks on the underside of the fabric.
Was the burning more than a dream?
He let his eyelids droop as he recalled the faint memories of Kaliel’s marred face. She had been in his room, but it wasn’t actually her. The memory of the fire rushed to his senses and he looked at Melianna, expecting a look of repulsion on her face. Her features were still mocking pristine, as though she had to force her face not to be contorted in worry.
“Was I . . . awake before?” he asked.
Melianna’s eyes darted up from her book. “Aye.”
Krishani nodded for her to continue.
Melianna dropped her eyes to the book. “We shouldn’t talk about it.”
“I’m sorry . . .”
She looked at him again and mustered a compassionate smile. “You don’t need to be sorry.”
Krishani bobbed his head in response and rubbed his hands along his breeches. He felt dizzy and unsure. Limbo didn’t want him. It wouldn’t play nice with his longing, even with the disorientation of fathoming life, he needed something more.
Proof the Flame hadn’t been a figment of his imagination all along.
He clenched his fist and released it. Despite the battle, physical strength flowed under the currents of his emotions. Strength proved his body was impervious to death. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. He swayed a bit on his heels and Melianna popped up from her stool. The book fell on the ground as she hovered around him, not quite touching him but attempting to brace him.
“I can bring anything you like to the room,” she squealed. She clearly tried to plead with him with her eyes, but he was determined to roughshod her if she didn’t move. “Please,” she said softly.
Krishani shook his head and found his balance. He pushed her arms out of the way and moved to the door. His tight muscles contracted, and he cringed. Melianna would follow, or alert the elders of his wakefulness, both of which he wanted to avoid. He looked at her and tried to muster something close to awkwardness in his expression. “I need the lavatory.”
“Oh.” Melianna blushed and ran her hands down her dress. “Aye . . . you will have to leave the room for that.” She smiled and bent over to pick up the book.
Krishani didn’t waste time. The lavatory was a lie; he hadn’t eaten or drank anything since the coma, but he had no appetite either. He dragged himself along the corridor and turned right. He was no fool to the castle, and at the ninth hallway he turned right again. He sucked in a shaky breath and continued to the end of the hallway.
Kaliel’s room was an empty shrine. He hovered in the doorway for several long moments. A smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he tasted her lingering scent. A sense of comfort briefly washed over him as he realized while parts of her would never return, some things would always remain. None of her belongings were in the room. Most of them had been moved when she traveled to Nandaro to stay with the Kiirar. But herbs were aromatic, and Kaliel had always smelled like a mix of them. Sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter. He loved both.
He lingered for moments longer, paralyzed by the force of her imprint. Memories stacked upon each other flooded into the back of his mind, creating both dizziness and discomfort. The longer he stayed, the more he chanced another breakdown. He absorbed what pieces of her he could. When the room was no longer soothing he drifted back to the room he had been stashed in after the battle.
He paused at the hallway and peered down its length. He had no desire to talk to Melianna. He couldn’t say anything about Kaliel. Avristar felt like a facade, the dead calm of a brittle truth as fragile as his sanity. He drifted into the servants’ hall. It was empty, full of echoes of the past. The blood had been mopped up, but the stench of war remained. Krishani walked to the archway and paused, pressing his hand against the stone. He closed his eyes and saw a glimmer of the boy running in from the stables, screaming, “They are coming!”
He moved through the courtyard and past the stables. The air was cool, dusk approaching. White clouds drifted overhead as he scanned the field. It was littered with patches of white, green and red. The snow had melted, blades of grass springing up from underneath. Amidst the grass were bloodstains. Krishani felt sick with grief as he warded off the memories stinging his eyes.
Flecks of ash mixed into the haze appearing at the edge of the horizon, the sun giving way to night. Krishani quickened his pace as he stumbled in the direction of the mountain. The single worst memory wrapped itself around his mind. Istar stopped him. It was a past that would haunt him forever. He stared across the field, the tree line too far to make out from his vantage point. The wind fiercely blew across the fields, threatening to bring the clouds above into a maelstrom, another outbreak of snow. He trailed along the ground until he stepped on a small mound and crashed into the earth, his cheek colliding with the soft soil. His hands found the ground as he pushed himself up and looked at what he had tripped on.
A tiny grave.
He had carelessly scattered a pattern of stones on top of the grave. Startled, he picked up the stones and placed them precariously on the mound. Krishani shook his head and tried to focus.
Along the west side of the Elmare Castle was a makeshift graveyard. Rows and rows of little mounds of mud sprouted from the ground, each of them decorated with a pattern of stones. Some had offerings, crafts, herbs, flowers, while others had nothing. The Farewell Ceremony. Krishani vaguely remembered mention of it when he lived in Amersil. He hadn’t been alive long enough to attend one, and his stomach lurched thinking about this one.
Krishani wended through the rows, his heart feeling heavier with each mound he passed. He tripped over his own feet as he tried not to step on the mounds. When he found the edge of the graveyard he almost breathed a sigh of relief, but there was one last grave, in a row by itself. He fell on his knees in front of it.
A violet flower rested on top of the stones.
They made a grave for Kaliel.
The last rays of light tinted the land, the moon waxed towards full, growing more than a crescent. He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurry. The flower looked like water-colors smeared across canvas. Vengeance crept into his heart as he clenched and released dirt.
“I couldn’t listen to the farewell ceremony,�
� a voice interjected.
Krishani flinched away from the voice and slumped into the mud. The hairy feorn loomed over him. He recognized Pux as Kaliel’s friend from Evennses. He shot Pux an expression, a mix of contempt and bewilderment.
“They bid her farewell?”
Pux nodded and gestured to the others. “And everyone else.”
Krishani pushed himself to his knees and looked in the direction of the mountain. The elders mourned her death, which meant they accepted her death. Sickness threatened to twist his insides into knots. “It hurts.”
Pux hung his head. “Aye.”
Krishani closed his eyes and sunk his fingers into the ground. Pux was considerably easier to deal with than the others. The feorn cared about Kaliel; he was her best friend. “She meant everything to me.”
Pux shook his head. He paced around in a circle and looked at Krishani. “It should have been you,” he blurted.
Krishani looked at him with vacant eyes. Pux sighed and lifted his vest to show the huge scar on his side. Krishani looked dumbfounded, confused. Pux shied away, shame contorting his face. The feorn sat in the grass and buried his face in his hands.
“You should have been the last one to see her before she died,” he choked.
Krishani heard his pulse ringing in his ears as he realized what Pux was saying. He tried not to let the stab of envy hijack his mind, but it was there, gaining ground. He lowered his voice. “Why are you telling me this?”
Pux shot him a wan smile. “I never would have made it out of the battle alive. It was an accident. I transported, she was there, she healed me.” He paused. “She was worried about you. I promised I wouldn’t let you die.”
Krishani stood abruptly, letting the dirt fall from his hands. He looked at the grave, bleary eyed and weary. Vertigo set in; he was weak, malnourished. His lips formed a straight line, an attempt at a smile, a false sense of pride filling him. Kaliel defended everyone, but herself. That was what Krishani was supposed to do, but he failed. Pux sat on his hands, gazing into the horizon. He looked as lost as Krishani felt. Krishani tried to think of something encouraging to say but nothing sounded right.
“Why did she have to die?” Krishani asked, his question not directed at anyone.
Pux remained lost in his own thoughts. After moments of silence he stood. “Have you eaten?”
Krishani shook his head. “No.”
“Bread would be good, at least have that.” Pux moved away from the graveyard.
“Aye.”
Pux rounded the outskirts of the graveyard instead of trailing between the mounds of dirt. He waited until Krishani trudged forward, following him into the stables.
Krishani looked past Pux only to see Istar approaching in his traditional white robe, a scowl on his leathery, wrinkled face. Jaw tight, Krishani clenched his fist, waiting for his mentor to speak.
“You’re awake,” Istar said. His cold blue eyes locked on Krishani. Istar felt a mix of regret, fear, and anger. He feared Avred; the mountain would usurp his control of the land. Seeing Krishani only brought back a reminder the boy had caused the fray. Istar would be subjected to humiliation and tyranny at the hands of the male spirit of the land. Avristar was so gentle in comparison and yet he feared the moment he would face her, too.
Krishani folded his arms across his chest. “I shouldn’t be.”
Istar sized him up. He wore the chainmail, cloak, tunic and breeches he had since the battle. The cloak was charred. He furrowed his brow. “Your stupidity astounds me.”
Krishani turned vile. “I chose her. Life or death, I chose her.” He spit in his elder’s direction and stormed towards the servants’ hall.
Istar turned. “She was never yours to be with!”
Krishani stopped in his tracks. “Take those words back, old man.” He had a fire in his eyes unlike anything Istar had ever seen before. The boy clenched his fist and locked his gaze.
Istar kept his eyes steady on Krishani. The boy was something he would need to deal with sooner or later, and death or not, he wouldn’t allow Krishani to succumb to bottom feeding. The boy would be punished, and he would leave Avristar. It was simple. Istar crossed his arms. “She chose her fate. You both did.”
Krishani closed his eyes and Istar tensed. He hadn’t seen Krishani angry like this before. It was always apologetic and withdrawn. Even then he caused the land so much damage. Part of him knew he was being too hard on the boy, but another part was afraid of what would happen to Avristar. He couldn’t let it go. He could see in Krishani’s body language how broken he was. His shoulders slumped forward, he was thinner, the cloak hanging off him like rags—he hadn’t even removed the armor.
“You were too cowardly to face the foe. She was alone,” Krishani snapped.
Istar stepped back, offended, the accusation repulsive and rancid with truth. He shot Krishani a reproachful look, but it didn’t help. Krishani wasn’t going to calm down; he wasn’t going to listen anymore. He carefully withdrew towards the fields and shook his head. “You will always be my biggest mistake.”
“I will always be nothing!” Krishani shouted. The boy fell to his knees, exhausted. There was a loud crack of thunder outside the stables and as his shoulders shook, rain poured like a waterfall from the sky.
Istar stopped short, staring at the sheet of rain like a slap in the face. He glanced at Krishani. Pux approached him slowly, a warning eye on Istar.
“Come, I’m famished,” Pux said, pulling Krishani to his feet and moving into the castle.
9
Exile and Death
They listened to the rain in silence, sitting across from one another. Krishani ripped apart a loaf of bread with his hands and stuffed tiny bits of it into his mouth.
Pux grabbed what was left of the meat and gobbled it down. He took another sip of spring water and swallowed hard. He had no idea what to say; it seemed easier to stuff his mouth full of food than to risk setting off Krishani any further. The mess hall was deserted, silence hung around them. Even the servants had gone to bed. It left the castle in its usual quiet. Pux felt dreadful. He wanted to erase the memory of Krishani and Istar encountering each other in the stables. He wanted to forget the rain had come at the moment Krishani’s anger peaked. He knew the elven had abilities greater than his own, being in the Brotherhood of Amersil and all, but he wasn’t used to anger. He sighed loud and broke the silence.
Pux dared a glance at him. “Nothing worse than soggy fields.”
Krishani clenched his fist. “Avristar doesn’t want me here.”
Pux buried his face in his bread. “She wouldn’t exile one of her own.” He didn’t want to be sitting there anymore. Krishani made him feel nauseous and heavy. His grief was so much deeper.
Krishani stopped pulling bread apart and left it on the table. “I’m not one of hers.” He pushed himself up and moved into the hall.
Pux scrambled after him. He ignored the comment. He had never known anyone that wasn’t a Child of Avristar; it didn’t seem possible. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere to think.” Krishani began down the hallway, but Pux caught up to him again.
“Can you tell me why it happens?”
“Why what happens?”
“The rain?”
Pux watched him tremble with grief and guilt. He thought Krishani caused the snow, but he would never tell him. Krishani pulled his hood over his head. “It just does.”
Krishani quickened his pace and crossed the marble floor in the Grand Hall. He wouldn’t dare a glance at the fountain even though the trickling sounds wafted through the air. He emerged in the courtyard and was immediately pelted by heavy rain. He didn’t care his clothes were soaked in minutes, he needed the waterfall.
He crossed the bridge and turned down the path that led to the falls. Kaliel’s energy lingered and despite the dangers of succumbing to his grief, he needed to feel her. He needed to know what to do about his growing disposition to life.
The ground be
came muddy and slippery as he trampled across it. Part of him wanted the rain to wash away the land, and another wanted it to stop so the scrutiny would end. His abilities had always been unpredictable, results were unexpected. He had no control over it whatsoever. He feared what more he would cause if he continued to feel so dead inside.
Krishani emerged in the clearing. Stabbing pains hit his gut as he treaded towards the edge of the water and peered into the usual crystal clear depths. It was hard to see with the rain creating so many ripples on the surface. He stared into it for what seemed like forever; lost in the trance of the place he first met her. He let a half-smile creep across his face as he drifted towards the stone stairway.
He shed the soaked cloak when he entered the cave. The familiarity calmed his nerves as he sat and stared at the waterfall. Kaliel would never be there with him again. He tried not to let the pounding sadness take him under, but his back hit the grass. He threw an arm over his face and slipped into nothingness.
“Another village was ravaged,” a voice spoke.
“Davlin has not returned?”
“Nay, none have seen him in weeks.”
The hall was adorned in warm colors, deep reds and rich golds. Archways lined the sides and shallow stairs led to a platform with a throne resting on it. Draperies hung from the rafters, torches rested at the apexes of the arches. Krishani sat at a wooden dining table on the left. Leftovers sat in the center of the long table, chicken bones.
A brown-haired man in brown robes swept into the room followed by a man in armor. Krishani curiously watched him as he passed the throne and stood at the altar behind it. He shuffled through a bunch of scrolls, pulled one out and turned towards the man in armor.
“The time has almost come,” he said, a stern look on his face.
The man in armor looked confused. “I do not understand, Lord Tavesin, what time?”
JUSTICE (The Ferryman + The Flame #2) Page 6