• • •
They were like whispers in the wind, surrounding him with their thick, black tentacles. Icy paws reached into his heart, curling around the warm beating, pulsing proof of life. Krishani opened his eyes to a blurry gray sky, tears blocking his view of the land. They hovered above him. The Vultures he had grown accustomed to fighting were curled around his arms and legs, seemingly holding him to the ground. He realized a long time ago that, even if he wanted to be devoured by them, he would have to be seriously damaged for them to be able to do it.
The way their black self-contained storms reached into his body, past his skin, muscles, and bone, the way they held his beating heart in their hands, filling it with ice, told him whatever poison the Horsemen were using was strong. He might be invincible, but the searing, throbbing pain racing through his body made it difficult to think, let alone stay awake.
They gorged themselves on the villagers. The Vultures loved the Horsemen for creating these perfect fresh souls to feed on, releasing them from their grotesque misshapen bodies, letting their pure essence float into the sky. They reached into Krishani’s brain, whispered things to his mind about the hunger, longing, thirst. There were things Krishani wasn’t aware of yet, things he needed to know–salvation and freedom, the way it felt to fly, the way it felt to inhale a soul. The purity of it was amazing. He had to try it; he had to devour a soul himself. He had to become one of them.
But he wasn’t dead yet.
Krishani coughed and forced himself onto his stomach even though that was where the bloody red wound was. He didn’t care about the grit, the sand, the grass, or the dirt smearing into it. He hoped he could leave some of the poison on the ground as he crawled on his stomach towards the bodies of Snorri and Folki. He reached the fat body of Snorri first, but his head had rolled somewhere away from him. He was definitely dead. The Vultures whispered to each other in hushed voices. Krishani could barely understand them but he knew what they were saying.
They wanted to eat this one.
He bent his head and the words rushed to his senses in a cacophonic slur. He tried to get them out but his mouth felt like it was broken. His lips moved but his tongue didn’t cooperate and the words came out all wrong. A gleeful hiss erupted from the Vultures as the wispy smoke rose into the sky. One of them went to grab at it. Krishani watched it inhale the smoke into itself, the protective shield failing to surround the soul. A sudden pain stabbed his spine and he gasped, instinctively moving towards Folki. Krishani tried the same thing–the words, the smoke, the Vultures. He tried to articulate the incantation better this time but it wasn’t perfect.
They were angry.
Krishani was exhausted.
He rolled onto his back as the pain intensified, wrapping around his legs and arms like a blanket and rocking him into a fitful sleep. He couldn’t fight it anymore. As the poison coursed through his veins, the Vultures nipped at his insides and filled him with ice so cold it made it hard to move. Guilt. This village was worse than the other villages because they had been happy and alive when he met them, and like Kuruny had once told him, he brought them death.
And when it counted most, he didn’t tell them to get inside. He didn’t tell them to hide from the Horsemen. He let chaos reign while he watched, unable or unwilling to stop it. As the land tilted on its side and as Krishani slipped into the darkness, he realized something.
Kaliel would never love him for what he really was.
And he would hide it from her as long as he could.
* * *
22 - Nightmares
The dreams about Morgana never stopped. Kaliel slept some nights with the blankets pulled over her head, hoping the little girl permeating her senses wouldn’t be there. But Morgana came, covered in blood, talking about death, laughing like the wind.
One night Morgana showed Krishani to her.
That was the only reason Kaliel suffered the dreams. Sometimes a boy with a hooded face on a white stallion raced across lands she could only see in her dreams. Seeing him made her heart soar and ache like there was no tomorrow. Krishani had been after the Horsemen for weeks. She felt it when he was far away and when he was near again, and she wished he would come home to her.
But he never did.
It hurt every day, doing menial chores to help the villagers, learning things about the land from Klavotesi. He listened to Talina about the strength training, and she was forced to run alongside the walls of the village until she hit the dead end of trees and had to run back again. She was always out of breath and panting when she returned, clothes sticking to her body awkwardly, hair damp with sweat.
Kaliel rolled over and hugged a crunchy pillow to her chest. She wanted to blot out the searing, grinding pain in her heart that was making waiting for him so much harder. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as her hand trailed along the side of the bed where his warm body should have been. She let tears overflow. This life wasn’t the life she wanted to live.
And yet it was the only one she had.
She squeezed her eyes shut and slipped into sleep. Morgana held her hand and they flew through the clouds. “I want to show you something pretty,” the little girl whispered.
Kaliel didn’t say anything. Morgana always had a sticky grip, her palm wet with blood. They flew over green fields with shadows cast by clouds and rose over mountain peaks and careened into valleys. Wet rain stung them as they ambled through a storm, and when the clouds parted there was a series of little mounds and ant-like figures looking like squashed bugs. The mounds were scorched black and dirt left trails of blood.
“My Horsemen make pretty pictures, don’t they?” Morgana asked as she circled, spiraling down and down, closer and closer to the tarred ground. Kaliel tried to close her eyes but realized they were already closed. This was a dream, and she was powerless to stop it. Her eyes flashed open and she caught sight of the piebald horse on its side, black hoof prints speckled across its white sheet of fur. She almost choked as she recognized it. Her stomach plummeted, and all of a sudden she was falling, the ground moving at her like a spear, ready to split her into pieces. She held her hands out and cringed, waiting for the impact. Her landing was soft. Her hands splayed out at her sides, fingers brushing against fingers as she mirrored the span of someone else’s arms, then her arms. She hadn’t realized she fell on top of someone until she lifted her head and saw his lifeless face.
Krishani.
Kaliel bolted out of the bed. She tripped over Pux who was curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed, and yanked the door open. A blast of fresh, dead winter air hit her senses. Midwinter passed a couple of lunar cycles ago, and the frigid temperatures bothered her. She saw snow for the first time, and Krishani wasn’t there. Somehow it made all those times at the waterfall meaningless. He promised her snow, and all he gave her was ice. She backed away from the door, threw on her traveling cloak, then bounded down the steps and pounded across the hardened frozen ground. The hall wasn’t far. Guards were stationed at the doors even in the middle of the night. She nodded to them as she passed by; welcomed to the castle anytime she wanted. One of them wordlessly pushed the door open and she stepped inside.
The hall was different at night. An eerie glow shifted across the small space, torchlight glimmering in faded stretches across the floor. She fled down the corridor. This wasn’t the first time she sought Klavotesi about her nightmares.
She reached his abominably small room and knocked. There was shuffling inside and the door opened, the mysterious cloaked figure standing on the other side looking sleek and fresh as though it were already morning.
“You weren’t sleeping,” she accused, noting his attire and posture.
“I was meditating,” he answered, crossing his arms.
Kaliel twisted a strand of black hair between her fingers and pressed the tip of her toes into the stone. “Krishani is in trouble,” she said, her eyes meeting his abyss for a face. She didn’t have to talk to Klavotesi anymore to know what he was thinking. He
had a way of projecting his thoughts that told her exactly what she needed to know. In some ways, she was learning more on Terra than she ever had on Avristar, but the price for that knowledge was steep. She loved Avristar in a way that made her ache. She didn’t like Terra—it would never be home, not really.
Klavotesi didn’t uncross his arms. “He follows death, and that usually entails trouble.”
“I meant death,” Kaliel snapped. “His death.” Hearing her words she crumbled to the floor and pushed her fist into her mouth. She was so startled by the dream that the thought of Krishani being dead hadn’t even crossed her mind. He looked peaceful, paralyzed maybe, but he didn’t seem dead. He had a heartbeat in the dream, and life thudded through him. Death was only on the surface.
Klavotesi scoffed. “He isn’t dead.”
Kaliel looked up, her eyes full of the same naïve innocence accustomed for her and slowly took her fist out of her mouth. She bit her lip and waited for an explanation. Klavotesi turned to stone. He held his transparent hands out and created a triangle with his thumbs and index fingers. She knew what he was doing. He would often hold his hands that way so he could see things far away. She waited, her stomach doing flip-flops until he dropped his hands and pulled her to her feet by the collar of her traveling cloak.
“He’s been poisoned,” he said, his tone flat and dry. He expertly passed her, sweeping down the hallway as Kaliel stumbled after him, resisting the urge to cry out, flail against the walls, or act like a silly girl in general. She kept her calm as Klavotesi entered the main hall and went straight to the guards.
“I need my stallion and provisions. Tell Talina where I have gone, but breathe a word to Elwen and not only will I know it but I will make sure you rip your own throat out,” Klavotesi spoke in double time but didn’t trip over his words. The deep smoothness of his commanding voice made Kaliel believe he was better suited as leader of the Flames, not her. She wasn’t half as skilled as he was, nor as knowledgeable or tame. She crossed her arms and leaned against a pillar. Klavotesi turned. “No lessons until I return. Continue your strength training and chores.”
“I’m going with you,” Kaliel said. It wasn’t a question. She could tell he didn’t want her along for the ride, but he knew where Krishani was. Even though Klavotesi planned to retrieve Krishani and bring him back to the castle, it wasn’t good enough.
Klavotesi sized her up in the dim torch light and crossed his arms. “Terra is a dangerous place.” He didn’t skip a beat. A second later he turned to the guard. “Lace up a horse for her, and find her a riding gown.” His shoes clacked along the stone floor as he stormed out, leaving Kaliel standing there, dumbfounded. She huffed and crossed the floor, throwing herself on the bench of the wooden table. She flung her arms across the wood and buried her face in them. It wasn’t bad enough she had been having nightmares for weeks, but Krishani was gone during the day, too. It wasn’t like Avristar, where she could wake and he was there, tortured by fear but physically there with her. These nightmares didn’t haunt her dreams; they haunted her days and choked the life she stole to be with him.
One of the guards tapped her on the shoulder and held out a folded heap of garments. “You can dress in the room down the hall.” She glared at him but nodded, taking her wiry frame into the room and pulling the black dress over her head. She quickly shimmied into the burgundy traveling gown. Even in the candle light it looked like blood. It had a black sash that ran around her waist. She tied it into a bow at her back and let the rest of the dress fall all the way to the floor. She didn’t know what they meant by riding gown but this was it–long sleeves with poufy shoulders and a velvety hem that scratched her skin. It wasn’t wool like some of the tunics; it was a heavier material. Another red sash sat on the bed and she assumed it was for her hair. She drew it up into a ponytail and tied the sash tightly around the mess of curls. Her hands were clammy as she smoothed out the dress, thinking about Krishani, wondering if there was enough time before the poison did its work. She named herbs and counted them off on her fingers, recalling the way the plants looked, with bruised leaves, white flowers, scraggly roots. She didn’t have time to ask Elwen for herbs, so she would have to improvise and scour the land for the ingredients she needed. There was a paste she could make to sooth the ailments, depending on what type of poison it was. She was afraid. She had never actually used her knowledge of herbs to help anyone before.
But there was a first time for everything.
• • •
Klavotesi waited for her in the stables. He chose a docile brown mare for her, saddled in leather, reins resting on its mane. The dress she wore scraped along the dirt road, picking up specks of dust as she walked. It annoyed her, getting dirty when she wasn’t even trying. He didn’t say anything as she eyed the horse, and before she knew it he lifted her onto it, putting her foot in the stirrup. Instinctively, she swung her leg over the other side. She thought about exposing her legs, how awkward it would be to ride in the ivory dress. She half expected them to have a carriage, cart, or something for women to travel in, but Klavotesi wasn’t yielding to her feminine wiles. She realized what the dress was for. He unfurled it around her, making it drape over her legs and the horse’s hind so it looked like she was riding in a dress. Rather clever.
Klavotesi stopped. “You’ll stick close to me. You’ll obey every command I give you. You’ll die if you don’t,” he said. She looked into the mask of his face and shuddered. She still didn’t know what he looked like. She gave a slight nod and he swept away. She heard clanking of reins behind her, his black stallion letting out a deep neigh before trotting to the gates. She clucked at the mare and kicked its side and it began moving–slower, but it moved. Klavotesi waited for her at the gates.
“Grasp the reins tighter and holler at it if you must.” His tone was gentler. The guards pulled the gates open with a creak and a whoosh from the lands outside the village hit her senses like a thousand stabbing needles to her eyes. She tried to ignore the sensation as she kicked the horse to life and followed. Klavotesi went from cantering to galloping. Before long they zigzagged through trees, flowed alongside rivers, and dodged mountain passes by taking the low lands. Her hands slipped on the reins, palms sweaty, everything sweaty. She stuck by his side, knowing in the wee hours of the night there was much more to be afraid of on Terra than during the day. Even with the wind whipping her hair and making tunnels of her ears it didn’t blot out the roar of a bear or the nickering of beavers, raccoons, and squirrels. Owls counted out beats, hooting in a steady rhythm. None of it comforted her. These sounds weren’t the sounds of her forest at night. Not the winds rustling the leaves on the tall red cedars, the salty smell of the lake nearby, or the scuttling woodland creatures shying away from her.
And the trees.
The trees that talked to her.
These trees would never talk to her.
Klavotesi pulled to the edge of the shore and Kaliel almost careened into him, pulling frantically on the reins and shouting at the horse to stop. She pulled the mare’s head up to avoid hitting Klavotesi’s stallion and stared across the expanse of black, choppy waters. It looked dangerous, impossible to cross. She rounded Klavotesi and stood beside him, her horse bending over to eat strands of grass as their feet. She glanced sideways at him as he turned to her and glared.
“Do you remember when I told you to obey my every command?” he asked. Kaliel gulped, her heart pumping wildly in her chest as she tried to control herself. “The ocean is frozen,” he stated, and before Kaliel had a chance to look back at the waters he slipped something over her eyes–a blindfold. “The ocean is frozen,” he said again, his tone calm and smooth. She looked in the direction of the water, but all she could see was the black fabric in front of her eyes. She reached out with her mind, remembering things he taught her about connecting to the land, being able to understand its language even if it was foreign. She saw the lake as a block of ice, and before she knew what was happening a loud crack soun
ded and her horse bolted off the ledge and skated across the icy ocean. Klavotesi was behind her, shouting into the air like they were on sleds. Her horse tripped over piles of snow and slid across patches of clear ice and Kaliel never looked. She didn’t take off the blindfold or try to tell herself the ocean wasn’t frozen, the ocean couldn’t freeze. The logic that told her the sky was blue and leaves on trees were green wouldn’t help her now. She thought about Pux and his pink sunsets, puke colored leaves, and orange squirrels and laughed. She wasn’t scared anymore.
The horse slowed, climbing a steep incline that almost tossed her off its back. Klavotesi was beside her atop his black stallion. The blindfold fell away from her eyes. She blinked and let go of the reins to rub her eyes. She glanced behind her at the moonlit waves tossing against the rocks. Not only was the ocean not frozen, but she was at the top of a cliff. Worry streaked across her face as she turned her attention to Klavotesi.
“You can do things like that, too. You don’t remember it yet, but you can,” he said, taking off into the forests. This land was plastered with evergreen trees and treacherous slopes. Kaliel found herself teetering on the ledge of a mountain pass until they broke into a valley and found the main road, the one she recognized from her dream. The sun had risen out of the east by the time they entered the desecrated village with the burnt mounds and the scattered bodies.
Animals had been feasting on the carcasses for days. Dead bodies were covered in holes and festering purple wounds slicked across their blackened skin. She knew it was going to be sickening. She prepared herself for that much, but the stench of death carried by the wind hit her with such a feral smell she slid off the horse and buried her face in her hands.
Klavotesi doubled back and grabbed the reins of both horses. He stood on the edge of the gravel path and looked at her tear-covered face. Her eyes filled with questions he couldn’t answer. He held the reins out to her. “She’ll want to flee the moment you leave her,” Klavotesi said, glancing at the horse.
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