JUSTICE (The Ferryman + The Flame #2)

by Paille, Rhiannon

  The table bounced as the doors burst open and elephant-like footsteps pounded against the stone.

  “Pux!” Grimand bellowed.

  Pux dropped the bread, his eyes wide at the sight of his elder. He felt like a frightened animal caught in a heavy storm. He scurried from his perch on the bench and scaled the wall. He didn’t say anything as Grimand cornered him.

  “Have you had enough of your shenanigans?” Grimand asked.

  Pux smiled but he wanted to scowl. “Tulsen has been a very good host.” He tried to express disapproval, but the words were caught in his throat and he choked them out instead.

  “I should send you home,” Grimand said, his eyes blazing at the feorn.

  Pux actually felt sad. He worried about Krishani and the battle everyone had been talking about. He knew nothing about fighting, but if it was for Krishani, he would do it. He owed the Ferryman that much. “I don’t want to go back there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I want to help.”

  Grimand paced. “You’ll get hurt. The only reason you were involved in the battle on Avristar was because you transported there and disobeyed the orders of Lady Atara and Lord Istar.”

  Pux cowered against the wall. “I would never sit back and let them hurt my friends.” He closed his eyes, anticipating another outburst from his elder.

  Grimand shook his head. “You’re hopeless, Pux. You heard the words of the Great Oak . . . you weren’t meant for this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his hairy hands.

  Pux felt daggers in his chest. He stood straight, his courage failing, his knees shaking. He neared Grimand, his tone low. “Kaliel wasn’t meant for this either.”

  Grimand gasped. “You would say her name? So cavalier, so brave?” He was clearly being sarcastic. His eyes poured over the feorn and he raised his chin. “Fine, ask Lord Tavesin to fit you with armor.” He pushed his chest out as if trying to show his honor, reform and strength, but Pux clenched his fist. He refused to shrivel back into the scared little thing he had always been.

  “I’ll see you on the battlefield,” Pux said boldly. He stepped around him, Tulsen on the opposite end of the hall conversing with a guard. Avristar warriors in white gold armor marched into the hall. Pux felt like something had smacked him in the face. He turned to Grimand. “When the battle is over, will you tell me how to go home?”

  Grimand shook his head. “Aye, feorn, when this is over you can go home.”

  Pux grimaced. He wasn’t sure if he would be going home after this, but he couldn’t think about the possibility of dying. “Thank you.”

  Krishani pushed his back into the grass and stared at the sky. Above him the stone walls of the castle spread up to the clouds along with leaves from trees growing near the lake. Between all of that were grayish-blue skies. He felt empty, but wanted rest before the battle came. It was there he would let the Vultures have him. Footsteps crunched the ground next to him and he tilted his head to see the feorn’s feet. He looked at the sky again.

  “What are you thinking about?” Pux asked, settling on the grass.

  “Death.” Krishani didn’t care anymore; whether Pux was his friend or not was irrelevant. He couldn’t protect the feorn from what he was anymore than he could protect anyone else.

  “Oh.” Pux was quiet for a long time. “I’m scared.”

  “So am I.” Krishani wanted to stave it off, let the fear stay hidden in the depths of his bones, but it was the truth. He couldn’t imagine what Kaliel had to face, and now that it was his turn to look into the eyes of Crestaos, he couldn’t fathom feeling any sense of calm. He sat and rested his arms on his knees. He didn’t bother to hide the disease. It was part of what he was, something they would all have to get used to when the change happened.

  “Grimand is here. He says we can go home when this is over,” Pux said.

  Krishani glared at him briefly, then turned his attention back to the lake. “He means you can go home. I’m exiled from Avristar, remember?”

  “What will you do after the battle?”

  Krishani shook his head. The easiest answer was he wouldn’t exist afterwards. “I don’t know.”

  “Why did you challenge him?”

  “Because I want to end him,” Krishani whispered.

  Pux let out the breath he’d been holding in. “Do you think it’s worth it?”

  “If we both die, then yes.”

  “I don’t want to pretend to know what that means.”

  Krishani glanced at him. “It means nothing, Pux. After this battle there will be nothing, because there is nothing.”

  “How can you say that? Grimand says Avristar is rebuilding.”

  Krishani rubbed his forehead in frustration. “But they will always be missing the most important thing.”

  “Oh.” Pux seemed to understand. “There is nothing to lose then, is there?”

  “Nothing at all.” He stood and left the feorn to his thoughts.

  35

  The Field of Boulders

  Krishani rounded the castle and stopped in his tracks. The loud braying of the battle horn sounded, sending prickles of anticipation up his arms. The enemies had been spotted.

  Krishani glanced at the late afternoon sky and imagined black-skinned bodies scampering across the land, leaving a path of destruction in their wake. He watched with idle fascination as the warriors arranged themselves into legions and marched towards the gates. Once upon a time he was supposed to be one of them, adorned head to toe in glimmering white gold armor, wielding a sword and shield. A weight pressed against his chest. Istar wanted to make him a champion. He wanted Krishani to lead those armies. Instead, he hung back, lingering by the steps to Tavesin hall. This was his fight, not theirs; he had no intentions of wasting the remainder of his waning strength.

  He wanted Crestaos.

  Mallorn grasped Krishani by the cloak and dragged him across the dirt, his feet slipping underneath him. “You should be at the front of the line, boy. Get on the white horse.” He threw him towards the stables.

  Disoriented, Krishani fell on his hands and knees. He scrambled to his feet and straightened his cloak, trying to hold his pride and make it seem like he hadn’t fallen. He reached the stable doors and pulled them open. Tyr was in the second stall on his left. He said nothing to the stableboy about Tiki and the lantern. It seemed irrelevant at the time; nobody would notice she was a Flame. Tyr was fitted with a normal riding saddle and no traveling packs. Krishani drew a breath, panic lancing through him. The knapsack sat in the corner of the stall, the lantern still inside.

  Krishani grabbed it. Tiki glowed in response.

  “I feel him. He’s near,” Tiki said.

  Krishani nodded and mounted Tyr. Tiki rested in front of him and he grimaced at the thought of balancing her, the horse, his sword. He dismounted and threw the traveling packs over Tyr’s quarter hind. Numbness spread through him, Tiki’s healing effect forcing even the faintest of emotions onto the other side of the barrier. He wasn’t sure what would happen when the Vultures came for him, but he didn’t want to think about that until it was happening.

  He tucked Tiki back into the knapsack and secured the lid. As he backed out of the stable he caught a flash of Clamose on top of a brown horse and Klavotesi atop his midnight stallion. Kuruny, Kazza and Shimma stood by the gates, while the rest of the Avristar warriors waited on the field.

  Krishani pulled Tyr towards the gates and caught a flash of the black-skinned creatures breaking through the trees. They were as clumsy as ever. Scurrying across the land in droves, they covered the patches of green with their deformed black bodies. Someone called to the archers, feorns crouched, sending a slew of arrows into the sky. It was like fracturing an ocean wave in half; creatures fell, others trampled them, and they roiled on the field like parasites.

  “Savages,” Kuruny said.

  Krishani looked down; she stood beside Tyr, her blackish purple eyes on the battlefield. He glanced back at the village—u
pturned deserted dirt roads, barren smithy. Chickens tarried across the path, looking for stray corn kernels. Krishani’s chest squeezed as Tulsen quickened down the path, completely ignoring him. He couldn’t hear what Tulsen was saying to the guard, but moments later the gates closed, sealing in the compound, the villagers, and Tulsen. Krishani’s mouth hung open. The rat wouldn’t even fight beside him. He wouldn’t even let the guards join the battle. They were there to protect the villagers when the Ferryman lost.

  He glanced at Kuruny. “Crestaos is close.” He gazed across the field as the swordsmen moved ahead of the archers and began fighting a sword-and-shield battle against the creatures. There was nothing new about the way the creatures fought. In the fading daylight it was messy. Krishani sat upon Tyr, numb, as the Avristar swordsmen wasted the creatures in staggering numbers. Centaurs, the few that accompanied the armies, lined up against the stone walls. They chuckled in deep baritones as the screams from the battlefield continued in peril for the creatures.

  Tyr scuffed the ground and whinnied as Krishani tightened the reins. Klavotesi and Clamose hung near the wall, watching the swordsmen desecrate the black-skinned creatures. Krishani hadn’t learned any of their secrets and was wholly unaware of the magic they possessed or how it would help them in the battle. He briefly thought of Kaliel at the top of the mountain and wondered what she had done. Krishani blanched as a bright blue aura flared off Clamose, a similar black aura spiking from Klavotesi. In one hand Clamose held a sword, the same blue aura encompassing it. Krishani squinted, but the aura gathered, a shimmery blue crown upon Clamose’s head. The Flame’s eyes filled with liquid azurite as the Daed filled the field.

  Krishani scanned for familiar faces. Mallorn and Pux were on the field to his right, fighting off the black-skinned creatures with the same skill they had on Avristar. He grimaced. They wanted to do their part, but this was unnecessary; the Avristar army was strong enough to protect them. Krishani didn’t know how Tulsen knew about the war, but was grateful for his ancestor’s help. He thought he was going to have to face everything Crestaos brought by himself.

  Krishani watched, tension making him want to cave in on himself. The battle poured on until glimmers of the sun’s rays were so faint it was hard to see what was happening. The witches and the centaurs hadn’t moved, each of them waiting for their moment to strike. Krishani froze atop Tyr, his stomach doing flip-flops as more of the creatures emerged from the trees. It was like a plague, the blackness covering the fields, staining it with blood. He dared a glance at his blackened hand and pressed his lips together.

  He hadn’t seen a single Vulture yet.

  He watched the sky, waiting for their midnight colors to erase the grayish blue, but as the sun slipped over the horizon, the deep gray granite of gargoyles blended into the night. Their leathery wings flapped against the wind as they dove at the creatures, digging their talons into flesh and climbing into the sky.

  Krishani followed their flight to the tree line.

  The Daed strode down the well-worn dirt path towards Castle Tavesin, precision in their steps, arrogance in their strut. Their long robes billowed around them, but their faces stayed concealed by their vast hoods. They pushed creatures out of the way, knocked Avristar warriors on their backs, but never drew their weapons. Krishani squinted, trying to get a better look. One of them touched an Avristar warrior, a swordsman, and he twisted around, cracking his head on a boulder. Krishani stiffened as white smoke trickled out of him. Tyr cried, a reaction to the commotion and Krishani tightened his grip on the reins. He checked the sky again, slithering black tentacles forming above the body. Terror struck as the white smoke floated into the hand of the Vulture. There was no way to stop them. They could hover in the sky and wait for the smoke to find them. They didn’t need to swoop in and take them.

  Tulsen was right: there was nothing the Ferryman could do to fight against the Vultures. Nothing but the thing he refused to do. He looked at the Vulture, begging it to stay. The black-skinned creatures were dropping like flies, but smoke didn’t rise out of them. Krishani shuddered, realizing they had no souls, nothing to offer the Vultures.

  Stabs of the disease reached his thigh. He sucked in a breath, refusing to grab Tiki and ask for help. This was like the darkness he faced in his coma on Avristar. He let the curse rake over him like claws ripping flesh until he was one of them. Warmth spread through his heart; Pux would be there when he changed. Mallorn, the Flames, the witches, Tulsen. Everyone that cared about him would watch him change, if they didn’t die by the hands of the Daed first. He couldn’t take off, find somewhere alone to die, it had to be right here, right in the midst of the battle he forced them to fight.

  Tyr bristled. The witches had taken off. He caught Shimma’s blonde hair waving in the wind as she faced one of the Daed. She dodged blows, sidestepping and parrying as the Daed warrior stalked her. His hood fell off, silvery hair tumbling down his face. He hastily pushed it away with his free hand, and lunged at Shimma with his sword. She moved in time, elbowing him in the back. He fell and rolled over, a yellow light shining from an orb around his neck. Shimma ran before a bolt of lightning shot into the sky, causing a loud crack to sound across the field.

  “All of them are here . . .” Tiki said from the knapsack.

  Krishani swiveled, pulled her out and rested her between his legs. “Who?”

  Tiki brightened then dimmed like she was breathing. “The Flames . . . the Daed are their masters. They know how to use them.”

  “What?” Krishani said.

  Tiki dimmed. “We were created as weapons.”

  Krishani’s heart plummeted. He realized too late what the yellow orb was—the Citrine Flame. He understood what could have happened to Shimma. He turned to Tiki. “How dangerous is this?”

  “Don’t let me close to them. Don’t get too close, either,” Tiki whispered, alarm in her chime-like tone.

  A holler from the centaurs sounded and they bounded into the fray. Krishani shook as the ground vibrated. He scanned the fields. A line of Mithronians appeared through the trees. Mithronians were something talked about in legends, their tall, scaly forms and thick-horned heads the things of childhood nightmares.

  He gripped Tiki harder. He never thought of Kaliel as a weapon, but the word lanced across his temples as he fought to understand the danger inundating him. “What can the Flames do?”

  Tiki dimmed like this wasn’t something she wanted to answer. He thought of shaking her, but then her quiet voice reached his ears. “Kaliel made the mountain explode.”

  He tried to organize his thoughts, but all he could see was haze. Kaliel was dangerous. The thought was incomprehensible. He fought to see the field clearly—bright amulets, yellow, green, red, rose and indigo hung from the necks of the Daed warriors. They were the only bright things against the wave of black-skinned creatures and gold-armored Avristar warriors.

  Tyr lifted his hooves in anticipation for the fight, but Krishani held him still, backing away and pushing him towards the gates.

  “Patience, Tyr.” He patted the horse’s mane.

  Kuruny yelped loud enough to make Krishani jump. He scanned around himself and found her darkened form. She was in the iron death grip of a Daed warrior, the indigo orb hanging around his neck. The Emerald Flame is dead, Krishani thought, a reminder of the dream that almost killed Kaliel. He wanted to slip off Tyr and help her, but he couldn’t risk it.

  She wrenched the warrior’s arm off her neck and spun to face him. Bright red welts puffed on her face, her coal-like eyes wide with shock. She turned, taking another blow to the face. Tattoos slithered along his face as he neared Kuruny. She crab-crawled away, grasping at the beads around her neck, looking for something to help her.

  “Run!” Krishani hollered as the Daed warrior drew the thin blade from its scabbard and stalked Kuruny. She didn’t act like she heard him, but flipped onto her stomach and raced to her feet, narrowly missing the blade.

  Krishani recognized him.
They had fought on the beach.

  The Daed Warrior lithely followed Kuruny. The indigo-tinged aura of the amulet ringed his hand as he touched an Avristar warrior on the shoulder. The warrior fell, clutching his chest, sputtering on the ground until he lay still. White smoke billowed out of him. Krishani glanced at the Daed warrior and gasped. He had only seen fire like that in the eyes of one other.

  Kaliel.

  He looked at Tiki. “Isadora . . . the Flame of Death,” she tried to explain, even though there was a sigh behind her words. Krishani had heard that before, Klavotesi calling himself the Flame of Justice. It made him wonder what they called Kaliel. He tucked Tiki back into the knapsack, unwilling to hear anything more about the Flames.

  He had no time to think as another crack of lightning sounded. Krishani whipped his head to the right as another flash of ruby-red lightning streaked across the battlefield, knocking someone in gray robes with long whitish hair to the ground. Mallorn. The Ruby Flame. Krishani didn’t think. He kicked Tyr into action and sped across the land, dodging boulders and fallen bodies, and skirmishes between creatures and warriors.

  He slid off Tyr as he neared the elder. Tyr slipped on the mud and fell on his side, sending the knapsacks careening to the ground. Krishani looked back. The horse let out a high-pitched whinny. His heart thudded in his chest as Tyr lay stunned for a moment.

  “Tyr!” Krishani called, not willing to let the horse succumb to the creatures. Tyr lifted his head and got to his feet. Krishani narrowed his eyes at the animal and pointed at the gates. “Go!” If it had been Umber or Rhina, they would have understood and retreated immediately. Tyr wasn’t an Avristarian horse, he wasn’t used to this. The horse slowly turned and trotted off, limping on one of his hind legs.

  Hands gripped Krishani’s forearm and the boy remembered where he was, what he was doing. He avoided the face of the elder as he searched for the Daed warrior carrying the Ruby Flame, but he was nowhere in sight. Heat crept into his infected arm as Mallorn’s grasp tightened on him.