The horse lifted its head and Krishani patted it on the neck. “They didn’t tell me your name, so I will call you Tyr.” He pulled the horse back to the cabin and tied it up. It made him think of home. Umber and Rhina had always had their own personalities. Tyr eyed him; the horse had nothing but instincts within it. Krishani couldn’t feel its voice or its spirit. He checked the knapsacks to take stock of his supplies, and caught a flash of Kaliel’s leather-bound journal. He hadn’t read it yet. Reaching for it he took it and went back into the cabin.
“Why did you come?” Tiki asked as Krishani appeared in the doorway. He crossed the floor and sat on the bed, resting the journal on it. He wanted to tell Tiki the truth, he meant to find the Flames and kill them before Crestaos had a chance to take them for himself, but he stopped. Tiki seemed impossibly immortal, and without a physical form, she was an anomaly.
“Kaliel.” He choked on her name. It was the first time he had said it in a long time. “She would have wanted me to protect her kind.”
Tiki glowed brighter than usual. “Thank you.”
“What were you doing with the man?”
The glow slightly faded. “He took me long ago. I never had a home, just fuzzy memories of a life I used to live. He was surprised when I glowed. He had no idea I could speak.”
Krishani frowned and touched his forehead.
“No, he was a human. There was nothing special about Osvanir. He collected me and put me in a bag, and later into a lantern. I was his prisoner, but he wanted nothing more than for me to light his way in the dark.”
“That actually doesn’t sound so bad.” He peered into the lantern and noticed Tiki wasn’t just in a lantern; she was also contained within a small orb resting where the candle would normally rest.
“No, not compared to what the others have faced.”
“Do you know how I found you?”
“The Amethyst Flame told you.”
“Aye.”
“And you don’t know what to do with me. You killed Osvanir so you could own me.”
Krishani looked away as her light dimmed and the cabin grew darker. Winds whipped the rocks and the little wooden domicile shook. “It was an accident. He attacked me.” He paused and then got up and went to the windows. Clouds covered the night sky, making it unnaturally dark. He turned back to her. “And I saved him from the Vultures.”
“What are Vultures?”
“Nevermind.”
“Do you believe I owe you?” Tiki asked.
“For what?”
“For slaying my captor and freeing me.”
Krishani frowned. “Not if you believe I’m another captor.”
Tiki glowed. “No, I don’t feel that way. I enjoy your company.”
“Because I can hear you?”
“Because you don’t act like it is unnatural to hear me.”
He smiled. “Her eyes used to turn amethyst when the Flame was awake in her. And her aura glowed.”
“I have my secrets, too.”
Krishani stretched out on the bed. His limbs felt heavy even though he had spent the day sleeping. He shifted, pulling the chainmail over his head and dropping it beside the bed. The garments Tulsen provided them were scratchy; the gray tunic wasn’t his idea and the black cloak, even though it was the one from Avristar, felt grungy. “What if I had to ask you something?”
“I will answer what I can.”
He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He wanted to ask two questions, but they were almost the same thing. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Krishani grabbed the lantern off the end table. He held it in front of his face, his eyes wide at the gesture. “She could sense all of the Flames.”
“And so can I, but I can’t see her anymore.”
Krishani felt like the land was toppling over again. He set the lantern down and pushed himself back into the bed. He wanted to be sure Kaliel was in the Great Hall, that Crestaos hadn’t taken her, but he didn’t know how to explain the golden stairways and the lavishly decorated courtyards to Tiki. He had never seen them himself, but he heard the stories of the Great Hall in Amersil all the time. The stories were usually coupled with stories about great wars and valiant warriors falling to honorable deaths. He didn’t know what was honorable about his life, his duty. He just needed to be sure this wasn’t for nothing; it would be worse if she were his pawn.
“I can’t see much. I see lights and no lights. There are seven lights right now, and me. Kaliel was the eighth light, but it went out.”
Krishani stayed quiet for a long time. Kaliel had seen the lights, too. If she wanted to she could reach out and touch them. Her light went out. It meant she was dead and not with Crestaos, but it also meant she was in the place he couldn’t go to for ten thousand years. The Great Hall was a place for souls—human, elven, feorn, centaur, shee. It wasn’t a place for Ferrymen. He blinked and tried to pull his thoughts together. “Will you tell me where the other Flames are?”
“Why?”
“I need to find them.”
Tiki’s light went almost completely dark. She retreated within herself and cast the cabin in shadow. Krishani sat on the floor beside her. He knew it came out wrong. He meant to say he wanted to protect them and to do that he needed to find them.
“Please, they can’t face the foe,” he said.
“I can’t . . .” Her light glowed faintly.
“I won’t harm them.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“I want to help.”
“Then stop asking questions.”
The light dimmed to nothingness and Krishani shoved himself backwards. He sat there in the dark for hours, waiting for Tiki to show herself again. After a long time he pawed through the dark, picked up the lantern and put it on the end table. He made a fire, and sat by it, pouring over the journal, all the things Kaliel never said to him. He hummed a folk tune from Avristar, went outside and checked on the horse twice, letting it drink twice and letting it eat once. He scavenged the cabin for Osvanir’s effects. He found a few more weapons, daggers and an axe. He rummaged in his knapsacks for the last of the bread. When he saw dawn creeping over the horizon he worried he would have to go without any idea where he was going. When morning fully showed itself Krishani took the lantern in his hands.
“We can’t stay here, Tiki.”
She didn’t glow.
Regret washed over him as he left the cabin and packed her into the knapsack. As he closed the top and went to secure it he saw a faint glow emanating through the fabric. He curiously lifted the top and peered into the orangeness.
“Too many Flames in one place is dangerous,” she squeaked.
Krishani glowered at her. “What do you want me to do then?” Tiki went dark again and he growled. “I can’t wait until the Valtanyana has them!”
“You can’t open vortexes to retrieve them either.”
Krishani hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t something they talked about a lot in Amersil, but the art of leaving Avristar on the boat was like opening a vortex. There were ways to get to all the lands scattered across the stars, but he needed to know coordinates, incantations, permissions. He slumped against the wooden steps. His strength was back, but his will was defeated. Without his quest for the Flames he had little to live for, biting frost of Vultures and hundreds of people fleeing from unbeatable Horsemen. He hated the idea of letting himself become a Ferryman, and though the idea of becoming a Vulture seemed quick and painless, it was useless. He wanted neither end.
“I will stay with you,” Tiki said.
“And what good will it do?”
“I will tell you one of my secrets.”
Krishani gritted his teeth. “What is it then?”
“Take me out of the lantern.”
He opened the chamber and carefully lifted the orb out of it. A current ran up his arm as he touched her. It was subtle, and uncomfortable. The pain the Vultures caused was worse, and so he cu
pped her between his palms.
Tiki shone brighter than she had before, and the light was so intense that he had to close his eyes. Calm, soothing feelings pressed into him, the constant throbbing attacking his heart subsided incrementally. It was as though Tiki built an imaginary dam and his emotions were building up on the other side of it, barricaded. When he opened his eyes Tiki was a pale, sickly orange. He shook his head in disbelief and put her back into the lantern.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I will bear some of the burden sitting on you, if you promise not to harm the Flames.”
“I promise.”
“Then we need to get to the shore. I fear something is wrong. The Citrine Flame is nearby.”
Krishani mounted Tyr and galloped towards the lake.
21
Talina Tavesin
Mallorn skillfully led the horse through the woods and spotted the main path. Gates hung in the distance; stone walls disappeared behind tall elms surrounding their protected village.
“Come now, almost there.” Mallorn nudged Pux and he flinched, sitting straighter. He murmured something unintelligible as the doors opened and the guards stood aside, bowing to greet them.
Mallorn trotted along the wide road. The villagers paid no mind to them. They looked away and whispered to each other. He led the horse to the stables and left it with the stable man. Pux slipped off the horse with a thud and Mallorn caught him by the wrists. Pux slumped onto the ground, almost too weak to stand. Mallorn grimaced. He looked so small, his scrawny body limp.
“Come, we must ask Tulsen for aid.” He pulled Pux up the stone steps and to the doors of the hall.
“Tulsen has requested privacy,” one of the guards said.
“I have a matter he must hear of.” Mallorn locked eyes with the guard, his expression cold and unforgiving. He didn’t really care what Tulsen was doing.
The guard looked at the stone. “He asked that none enter the hall until the sun has begun setting.”
“And what could occupy him for that length of time?” Mallorn asked, bewildered.
“I believe he is performing divination.”
Mallorn scoffed.
Pux sunk to the ground and curled himself into a ball. He moaned as tremors shook his languid frame. The guard glanced at him, a spurious expression on his tanned face. “What’s wrong with the animal?”
Mallorn shot the guard a hard glare. “You will refer to him as a feorn. We were attacked.”
The guard gulped and straightened up. He turned to the doors and then descended the stairs like a coward. He stopped at the foot of the path. “I need to check the gates. Please remember you have been warned.”
Mallorn set a watchful eye on Pux as the guard fled. He contemplated the position of the sun in the sky and noted it would be almost an hour until sundown. Lest the villagers could provide information on a healer, he would need to interrupt Tulsen.
“Mallorn?” Pux asked.
“Yes?”
“I feel sick.” Pux coughed and sputtered vomit onto the stairs. It dripped down the steps as Pux’s head fell against the stone. Mallorn bust the doors open. It was dark, the hall lit by hundreds of candles resting along the floor. They lined the bright red carpet and dotted the stairs leading towards the throne. There was a thick haze of sandalwood in the air. Tulsen knelt on the carpet in front of the throne. As Mallorn approached his head snapped to attention. His brown eyes widened at Mallorn.
“I asked for privacy,” he barked.
Mallorn stopped in his tracks. He shook his head in disbelief. “Exactly what are you doing, Tulsen?”
Tulsen rose and dusted himself off. He waved his hand at the haze of sandalwood as though he was trying to dismiss it. “I was requesting the aid of the Tavesin ancestors.”
Mallorn chortled. He found the ritual barbaric and inept. He flexed his eyebrows and noticed the seriousness in Tulsen’s expression. “Aye, things are done differently on Terra. So I can see.” He tried to be diplomatic about it, but he thought Tulsen was a fool.
Tulsen took hold of a metal rod with a small brass cup on the end of it. He used it to snuff out the candles. Mallorn crossed his arms, watching the embarrassing spectacle. There was no proof Tulsen had any magical capabilities and this only showed more of his incompetence. Mallorn was wary of what real guidance he could provide Krishani. Tulsen extinguished a single row of candles and Mallorn was getting impatient. He held his hands at either side then drew them together, being careful not to touch his fingertips. He sucked in a deep breath and performed the action again, this time, when he opened his hands a gust of wind blew in through the doors, extinguishing most of the candles along the red carpet. Nothing but torches remained lit around him. He might have been an elven warrior on Talanisdir, but lorekeeping wasn’t his only talent.
Tulsen looked at him, alarmed. He continued dropping the small cup over the other candles. When the last one was out he thrust the rod into the corner. “Has my Ferryman returned? Have you changed his mind?”
“No.”
“Where is he?” Tulsen sat on the throne and smoothed out his brown robes.
“On his own. We came upon some trouble. The feorn is hurt.”
Tulsen narrowed his eyes. “What kind of trouble?”
Mallorn took a step forward, his robe dragging along the floor. “I believe the kind you might call Horsemen. They burned the trees around our campfire and,” he paused, taking another step forward, “they injured the feorn.”
Tulsen’s face turned to stone. “Bring him to me.”
Mallorn turned on his heel and found Pux lying on his side on the steps. He lifted him into his arms and carried him into the hall, laying him on the ground at Tulsen’s feet.
“These Horsemen have nothing but malice in them. They will destroy everything on Terra if they must,” Mallorn said.
“I know. Their desecration of the land is total, and they remain as ghosts. None have ever lived to tell me what they look like.” Tulsen looked at the shivering feorn.
“I believe the wound might be tainted.” He couldn’t recall actually seeing the Horsemen’s faces himself, but he was glad to be alive.
“Lady Talina will help.” Tulsen stepped into the shadows and disappeared down a hallway. Mallorn closed his eyes and waited for what seemed like forever. He sat on the steps free of candles and looked at Pux. He worried about the feorn, but moreso he worried about Krishani. The Daed were out there, too, searching for the Flames, and there was no telling when they would cross paths again.
Tulsen appeared alongside a tall slender woman with long caramel-colored hair and pointed ears. Her eyes shone a golden hazel and her mouth was rosy red. She wore a flowing golden gown with a sash around her waist.
“Bring the feorn to my quarters, please.” Her voice was soft but commanding. Mallorn stood and bowed to her. She nodded her head in acknowledgement of their similarities and looked at Pux. Mallorn regretted treating Tulsen as though he was impish. He had no idea there was a woman of her stature present in his court. Tulsen eyed her with reverence as Mallorn lifted the feorn and carried him down the hallway to a larger room. In the center of it was a four-poster bed concealed by ivory satin drapes. The walls were stone, but the floors were made of interlocking smooth wooden panels. Candles flickered from the end table and from brackets on the walls.
Lady Talina wasted no time. She floated towards a long wicker cot pressed against one of the walls and gestured for Mallorn to lay the feorn there. He followed as she disappeared and returned moments later with a paste and a cloth. “I need time.”
22
Man on the White Horse
The mountains were deceiving. Krishani slumped against the rock, wincing at the stab wound on his side. He hadn’t tended to it after the fight with Osvanir and it made him breathless. It wasn’t the type of pain Tiki could manage for him. Emotional pain was one thing, but this physical pain . . . . He ran his hand underneath his tunic and chainmail, feeling for t
he puncture. It was tender. He let out a heavy breath and slunk down the rock. His legs splayed out in front of him as he stuttered in a breath and laid his head against the rock.
“It’s not safe here,” Tiki said.
Krishani rolled his head back and forth against the rock and moaned. He wanted to continue, but Tyr was losing speed and he was losing his wits. Days had passed since they left the cabin, and if the mountains weren’t ominous enough they were elusive. They tripped over solid paths and found numerous dead ends that led them to hours of back tracking. When they did find paths through the peaks they were longer than they looked, the falls and rises creating unseen distances. Krishani was tired, and more than that he was hurt. He shoved his shoulder out from under himself and pulled up the sleeve. The blackness circled his forearm and crawled up his shoulder. He eyed the disease and traced the vines of darkness threatening to change him. He didn’t let the Vultures take Osvanir because of the guilt. It wasn’t justice.
“I need a moment,” Krishani said. He lifted the tunic higher and scrunched up the chainmail covering his form. Osvanir had stabbed him below it, near his hip. He blanched as he tried to steal a glance at the wound. It was nothing more an inch wide, and two inches deep. He grazed over it with his fingers and gulped at the stitches of pain covering his muscles with heat.
“You need a healer,” Tiki said. She sat next to him, glowing bright in the middle of the night. Parts of the mountain pass made it almost pitch black and it was one of the reasons Osvanir found her so useful. She was a permanent light not created by fire. He thought she was a magical item.
Osvanir had no idea she was a weapon.
Krishani smiled and pulled the tunic taut over his exposed skin. He struggled to his feet and used his toe to bring the handle of the lantern to his fingers. He mounted Tyr and placed Tiki in front of him. She shone brightly as he continued into the valley.
They traipsed through jutting rocks and avoided ravines and edges of the narrow mountain passes. Though it was night, he saw enough to know where he was going. He wended around rocks, hills and steep downgrades. Tyr almost lost his footing at the edge, but Krishani forced him to deal with the tumbles of rocks obscuring their way.
JUSTICE (The Ferryman + The Flame #2) Page 16