JUSTICE (The Ferryman + The Flame #2)

by Paille, Rhiannon

  “I have no home,” she whispered.

  Krishani gulped. He remembered the morning he had woken up with Kaliel in Nandaro. She said the same thing. Even with melancholy making the girl look distinctly unlike Kaliel, it was still a biting thought.

  “I know the feeling.” He went rigid and watched the salamanders dancing in the flames. He tried to let his thoughts drift away from the girl and her similarities. As the silence ensued, he slipped back into the dark thoughts that kept him occupied every other moment of the day since the attack on Avristar. He loathed the idea of facing off with the Daed a second time. He needed to see the cold terror of the one who had taken her life. He shuddered unexpectedly and felt a hand on his leg. He glanced down, Aulises’s hand on his thigh.

  Wild anger rushed into his body. He glanced at her, an apologetic and suggestive young girl with bright green eyes bored into him. It took no time at all to know what the girl wanted. He was disgusted and appalled. He ripped himself off the log and drew his sword.

  “Harlot!” His eyes went wide and she turned fearful. Krishani held the sword at her throat, his entire body pulsing with debasement. “Look at me that way again and I won’t think twice about cutting your throat.” His voice was low and uneven. It hurt to get the words out.

  Aulises scrambled backwards and fell in the sand. Her eyes flashed with the same murkiness as her family. “You like me,” she said with a sneer, her lips twisting into a devious smile.

  Krishani stepped over the log, his lips turned up in disgust. He clenched the sword tighter and pushed it to her throat. “You’re a thief’s daughter. I feel nothing for you. I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  Aulises dipped her head back and let out a sob that sounded more like laughter. “End me. I have no family and nowhere to go.” She said it slowly, her bare neck exposed, the sword pointed at it.

  Krishani froze, blinked, heat rushing into his extremities.

  “Krishani!” Shimma called from the cabin. She ran across the sand, pausing when she was close enough to the girl. “What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes panicked.

  Krishani hung his head. Deep down he knew he couldn’t kill her, not when she looked so much like Kaliel. It would be like ending her himself, and he could never do that. He blinked and pulled the sword away from Aulises’s throat. He fumbled with it and eventually shoved it back into the scabbard. Shimma knelt beside Aulises as she sat up.

  “He looked like he needed comforting.” Aulises sounded meek again, nothing like the devious girl Krishani faced moments ago. He made a guttural noise with his nostrils and stalked towards the cabin.

  “Keep her away from me.”

  Shimma watched him go and helped Aulises to the logs around the fire. She eyed the girl as they sat. Traces of her family’s treachery etched along her face, inherited by blood. She sighed. “He will never be with you.”

  Aulises crossed her arms. “He seems so miserable.”

  Shimma saw her for exactly what she was—a lost little girl with a sorted past. That came with certain traits, things that would never go away.

  Shimma half-smiled. “You’re too young to understand.”

  “My father always took what he wanted.”

  Shimma nodded. “Krishani was in love. He has been hurt deeply by it.”

  Aulises stole a glance at the cabin and looked at the lake. “I heard them talking about Kaliel.”

  Shimma hung her head. “Aye, we all feel gravely about her death.”

  “She died?”

  Shimma nodded and brought a hand to Aulises face. She pulled back the locks of curly hair and tucked them around her ear, showing off the girl’s elven heritage. “It isn’t a crime you resemble her in some ways.”

  Aulises ducked away from Shimma and let her hair fall over her face. “He hates me, then.”

  “No, Krishani hates himself for not being able to save her.”

  “Oh.”

  A cold gust of wind rippled across the rocks. Pounding hooves neared them as Klavotesi returned in a huff. He descended the horse and stalked over to Aulises and pulled her up by the arms. He smacked her hard across the face and she caromed onto the sand, yelping. Shimma leapt to her feet and backed away, afraid of what he would do.

  “Liar!” He kicked sand in Aulises’s direction.

  Aulises growled back as she slithered across the sand, putting distance between them.

  “Illusionist!” Klavotesi roared. He towered over her as she stopped by the edge of the lake, her hands up in protest. He bent down and grabbed her by the wrists, peering deep into her green eyes. When he let go she slumped to the sand. Shimma heard him mutter something about the differences between blue suns and yellow suns as he stalked towards the stallion.

  He glanced at Shimma. “Keep a watchful eye on her. She is a thief, too.”

  Shimma nodded and cast a watchful eye in Aulises direction as the girl got to her feet and hung her head.

  “You know I had no choice,” she hissed at Klavotesi.

  He turned, and Shimma imagined his glassy stare beyond the folds of his hood. “You could have escaped. King Telper would have helped you. When we return to Amaltheia, I will see to it that you are executed.”

  Aulises gasped and fell to her knees. She sobbed and buried her head in her hands. She shook, words rising from her throat. “I never meant . . . to hurt anyone.”

  Klavotesi mounted the horse again. “I will be on lookout.” He pounded into a gallop.

  Shimma stared at Aulises. The girl hugged herself, refusing to open her eyes. Shimma clasped her own hands together. “I’ve done bad things, too.”

  30

  7000 BCE

  The heels of the tailored leather shoes clicked along the ground as Tor walked with a precipitant gait across the fields, the tails of his topcoat flapping in the wind. Interrupted from his evening, he traveled from another time and place to arrive at the ancient Tavesin compound. Of all the tricks he could perform, time travel was his favorite. He wore loose-fitting black trousers that fell over the low-cut shape of his shoes, a top hat and tight black gloves. When he reached the gates he tipped his hat to the guards in the tower and swung the cane in his right leather-gloved hand. He cinched his grip on the golden box under his left arm. The gates opened without the aid of the guards, leaving their mouths gaping open. His lips twitched a smile, the hairs of his moustache tickled by the gesture.

  He looked straight ahead as he passed the barn, the smithy and the stables. His shoes click-clacked as he ascended the stone stairway and burst into the hall. He strode across the red carpet, placing the box on the wooden throne.

  “Tulsen Tavesin,” Tor boomed. He didn’t look in the lord’s direction, but felt his presence from the wings of the small castle.

  Tulsen emerged from the darkness, stumbling on his robes as he approached the strange man. He looked afraid as he regarded Tor’s polyester garments, vest and stylish white shirt underneath the topcoat. Tor had an eye piece dangling from a gold chain squished into his right eye socket, but it was hardly for seeing that he used it. He reached a gloved hand into his left pant pocket and pulled out a small golden pocket watch. He flipped it open and listened to it ticking. He glanced at the strange symbols and snapped it shut.

  “You disappoint me, Tulsen Tavesin,” he said.

  Tulsen fell to his knees and brought his head to the carpet. “Forgive me, my lord.” He was clearly in awe of Tor’s stature and composure. Tulsen glanced up and it seemed like he was tracing the contours of Tor’s pristinely long face, sharp-pointed ears, perfect placement of facial hair, baby-soft skin. Tor ensured his eyes were the most glorious shade of gold. Tulsen gulped as his eyes trailed over the thick sideburns protruding from the top hat.

  Tor stepped out of the way and let Tulsen lay eyes on the gorgeous puzzle box. Made of pure gold, and embroidered in jewels of all the colors of the rainbow. Tulsen’s jaw dropped; Tor smirked.

  “First you will tell me of your triumphs.” Tor pulled the
glove off his hand finger-by-finger. It, too, was pale white and covered in gloriously jeweled rings.

  Tulsen rose, having trouble taking his eyes off the box. Saliva trickled out of his mouth as he seemed to fight to find his tongue.

  “Drooling is rude,” Tor interjected coolly.

  “I—” Tulsen stopped. Then, “I have been meaning to ask your counsel, my lord.” He shook with apparent fear as he tried to bring his eyes to Tor’s.

  Tor gracefully stepped down from the stairs and neared him. He cocked his head to the side, listening for the sound of something far in the distance. “You have a problem in your lands.”

  Tulsen gulped and nodded. “Nothing has gone as you planned,” he whispered. Tulsen should have known better than to include Tor in his sentence.

  Tor turned from him and nimbly skipped away. “I gave you my advice and you followed it. I’m not responsible for unforeseen circumstances.” He shot Tulsen a reproachful glare.

  “But you said he would be the strongest,” Tulsen stammered, as if trying to hold his ground. Tor kept his face firm. “I apologize.” He took a step back, folded his hands behind his back and hung his head.

  Tor was crestfallen at the insult. He glanced at the box and the attitude returned. “He is the strongest,” he stated plainly. He sniffed the air. He smiled, pleased. “Ah, Lady Talina,” he whispered, a hint of reminiscence hitting him as she floated into the room. Her seamless beauty wafted through the air like a summer dream and she immediately gravitated towards him. He recalled the last time he had seen her, and from her golden hair, to her hazel eyes to her smooth skin and elongated ears, she had not aged a day.

  “Tor,” she breathed, sliding her hands into his.

  He dropped a kiss on her cheek, then pulled back and stared into her eyes with amour. “How have you been my dear?” Tor slid an arm around her waist and led her down the stairs. He let go of her for a moment as he lifted the box off the throne and gestured for her to sit. She crossed her legs and looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. “A rightful place for a queen,” he added.

  Talina rested her arms on the rough wooden armrests and continued staring at him. “I have seen better times.”

  Tor bowed his head. “All of that will soon change, my dear.” He lifted her hand and brought his lips to the back of it; she lovingly smiled at him. He kept the box tucked under his arm and glanced at Tulsen, who was still salivating over the enchanted box.

  “I have come to present a gift from the land,” Tor said. He held the chest with his palms on both sides of it and faced Tulsen.

  Tulsen bowed his head. “I am honored.”

  Tulsen glanced at Talina with a smirk. “Is he always this pigheaded?”

  Talina smiled widely and her eyes flashed. “He is an old fool.” She looked at Tulsen with evident fondness.

  Tor turned back to Tulsen, his expression hard. “This is no gift for you, Tulsen Tavesin. You, have failed me.”

  Tulsen took a deep breath and nodded. “I apologize, my lord.”

  Tor smoothed his face into amusement as he warded off the disgust for the human he had chosen to turn immortal. “I disagree with the will of the Great Hall regarding this gift.”

  “Oh?” Talina said. She coughed lightly and shifted her perch on the throne.

  Tor stole a glance in her direction, his eyes filled with woe. “This is not a gift I would give, but it is not my choice.” He thought about what was in the box and the smooth enchanted parchment accompanying it. The Great Hall defied him, giving away his personal property. He wasn’t sure if the prophecy Kemplan had tried to burn would be safe in the hands of Tulsen, but the Great Hall had been adamant. He firmly pressed the box between his palms and narrowed his golden eyes. “A promise made by the land will never go unfulfilled.”

  “I will abide by your wishes,” Tulsen said.

  “Be silent,” Tor snapped, instilling fear in the human. Tor twisted his lips into a smile. “I can take back your immortality with a touch, and you will shrivel into a pile of dust at my feet.”

  Talina drew a sharp breath. She leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do not be rash.”

  Tor patted her hand as she drew away and leaned back in the throne. He let his other hand fall to his hip as the box stayed suspended in the air. “He will not think twice to cross me.”

  “Aye,” Talina said.

  Tor smiled to himself. He knew how much she admired him. She was lost in the din of his radiant glow and his epic eloquence. It was so easy to manipulate her. And he knew she loved his style: never shabby, preferring the finer things in life, and he spared no expense on drawing them to himself. The very creation of the puzzle box was a testament to that. Tor fixed his eyes on Tulsen. “You will present this to he who defeats Crestaos.”

  Tulsen fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands. “Do not speak that name. It brings me pain.”

  “That name brings me anger.”

  Tulsen glanced at him. “How will I know?”

  Tor glanced at Talina, who had a worried look on her face. He closed his eyes and bowed his head to her, taking her hand in his. “All will be well, love.” He kissed her hand again. She nodded, the creases in her forehead smoothing out. Tulsen lost his footing as he tried to stand, caught himself, then straightened.

  “Do we have an accord?” Tor asked.

  Tulsen shook his head. “I’m afraid.”

  “You have the strongest Ferryman in the history of time.”

  “He left!”

  Tor was unconcerned by his outburst. “He will return.”

  “After what has happened on Avristar?”

  Tor almost flinched at the mention of Avristar. He shifted his weight and pulled his vest taut over his spry features. “That problem has been rectified.”

  “My Ferryman is ruined,” Tulsen mumbled.

  Tor stared down the immortal ancestor of the Tavesin family. He pressed his lips into a thin line and glanced at Talina. Her expression was well-mannered.

  He turned back to Tulsen and took a few steps towards him. “I have done you a favor, Tulsen.” His face was only inches away from his. Tor smelled fear on him; it was stronger than it had ever been before. He almost believed Tulsen was afraid of dying.

  “Wh-what favor is that?”

  Tor threw a hand into the air. “I have gathered the armies of Avristar for you. They will arrive in two days’ time.”

  Tulsen gagged. “Why do I need an army?”

  Tor eyed the beauty of Talina with reverence and pride as he neared her and thought of running his hands through her hair. He stopped short and turned to face Tulsen. “You will meet Crestaos soon enough. Your Ferryman challenged him to a duel.” His lips broke into a wide smile. The bravery and the defiance pleased him to no end.

  “He would never—”

  Tor coruscated. “If he has a death wish, he would.” He pulled his cane out from behind the throne and twirled it in his hands, then tossed the box down the stairs where it landed on the last step, looking radiant. It emitted its own glow. Tor felt a pinprick in his chest as he thought of what was inside the box. In truth, he loathed the idea of giving up something so important to him, but he couldn’t argue with the voice of the Great Hall and Avristar. In this instance, they were in agreement. He brushed the thoughts of catastrophe from his mind and tipped his hat to Tulsen, who still looked mortified. He skipped past him and headed towards the doors. He swiveled and stopped short. “I forgot something.” He cocked his head to the side.

  “Yes, my lord?” Tulsen grumbled. He seemed happy to see Tor leave.

  “If any other tries to open the box, they will be cursed with the curse of a thousand deaths.” It was his favourite curse, and seemed only fitting. He took a deep breath. “The contents of that box are precious, mark my warning.” He strode toward the doors. He pulled out the pocket watch and turned back to the throne. “Talina, darling, it was a pleasure to see you.”

  She gracefully rose from the t
hrone and flitted across the floor towards him. She gently embraced him and kissed him on the cheek. “Where will I find you?”

  He pulled back and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I must return to eighteen-seventy-three. I have a fondness for a blonde that sings at the most fabulous Opera House in London.”

  Talina frowned, confusion clouding her hazel eyes. He didn’t bother to explain. As far as Talina knew there was no such place as London, no such thing as Opera Houses. He kissed her on the cheek again, remembering when he was. London wouldn’t exist for a few thousand years.

  “Be well,” she said.

  Tor glanced at the pocket watch and vanished from the hall without as much as a puff of smoke.

  31

  The Azurite Flame

  Krishani woke to the staggering realization he wasn’t alone. Methodical breathing flushed above him, the shadowy form of the Obsidian Flame standing over the bed. He jolted off the bed, startled by the Flame. He forgot about last night. His legs ached, every bend causing his muscles to contract. He grabbed the back of the rocking chair and hung his head, trying to catch his breath. He passed out from fatigue after the ordeal with Aulises; not even Morgana could visit him he was so deep. Pangs of anxiety raced across his chest as he thought of Crestaos and the impending doom.

  Klavotesi didn’t say anything. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the cabin, leaving the door wide open, gusts of cold wind zipping through the doorframe. Krishani sucked them in, his head swirling with irrational thoughts. He had three of the Flames, and could beat Crestaos if he also had an army except he didn’t know where to get an army. He fell on his knees and raked his hands through his hair, oily black strands between his fingers.

  He needed Kaliel.

  Crestaos wouldn’t face Tor without her. Klavotesi had been clear about that. Even if everything they talked about around the fire was a blur, that stood out.