“And yet you wanted to teach me,” Kaliel reminded him, swinging her legs back over the stone bench and grabbing the cup again.
“I had to stay. It’s unbearable to see you like this,” he said evenly. He took another sip and Kaliel looked away, back at Krishani. He was sleeping.
“Like what?”
Klavotesi took a deep breath. “You’re very innocent, naïve, unintelligent. You were never those things before.”
“Before what?” He had her full attention. He knew things about her she couldn’t even remember, and she wanted to know what those things were.
“Before the Valtanyana were imprisoned.”
Kaliel hung her head, staring at the patterns of lines between the stone. “I try not to think about it.”
Klavotesi let out a breath through his nostrils. “But you remember it?”
Kaliel shook her head, forcing away the images of Krishani burning, the sky full of fire. She drew her hands into her lap and bit her lip.
“I know you sketched it. I’ve seen glimpses of your journal.”
“They’re nothing, just sketches.”
“Of a prophecy you’ve seen before. You know much more about this than you let on. You seem to think you’re incapable of great things, but you are. And it pains me to see you deliberately hold yourself back.”
“I don’t want to kill everyone again!” she snapped, pushing the table away. She paced the floor in long strides and went to check the door. She opened the door a crack and was pelted with what seemed like a thousand drops of rain. She closed it quickly, her dress spattered with a fresh dark line of water. She groaned and sat on the steps, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin in the palms of her hands.
Klavotesi looked at her, sitting backwards at the table. “You defeated the Valtanyana. It wasn’t Tor.”
Kaliel put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know.”
“You were the only one who still had an effect on Crestaos when he came for us.”
“Krishani killed Crestaos,” Kaliel said dryly, not wanting to talk about Crestaos because she didn’t want to remember that Klavotesi looked exactly like him.
“You made him flee. And in the First Era you weren’t fazed by their presence. You waltzed into the center of the battlefield, and you took care of it. I was there. I watched you.”
“You watched me make everything burn?” Kaliel spat back at him, the rotten taste of his words rolling around on her tongue. She couldn’t accept it as truth, and she wouldn’t. This was some alternate reality. She wasn’t great. She was exiled. She caused a volcano to explode, and while it made Crestaos leave, it left her home broken, maybe beyond repair. It left the elders who raised her afraid of her, made them exile her and the boy she loved. How any of that could be seen as greatness was beyond her.
“You’re not thinking straight again. Millions died, yes, but you stopped a worse tragedy from happening. And you don’t want to admit it.”
Kaliel looked up from her makeshift turtle shell. She had the base of her palms pressed into her eyes, trying to avoid his words, but it was like she was tumbling down a hill, gaining speed, hitting boulders. Every one of them hurt a different spot on her body, and she couldn’t stop until she reached the bottom.
“What tragedy?”
“What if Tor had joined them?”
Kaliel felt faint. She gritted her teeth and looked at him. He stared at her, gripping the table hard with the edges of his fingers, and she knew he wasn’t going to stop until she gave him an answer. “We would be their prisoners. They would use us to wipe out anyone who stood against them. They’d have absolute power.”
“And absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Klavotesi finished. She nodded, feeling like she’d heard it somewhere before but couldn’t remember where. “And what are we when Tor is High King?”
“We’re free,” she whispered. Her hands caught the tears that bubbled over and she wiped her palms on her thighs.
“Do you understand now why I said you’re the best of us?” Klavotesi asked.
Kaliel nodded, and she didn’t want to argue with him anymore. She didn’t feel better, but she was exhausted. She moved so she was next to Krishani and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think I understand,” she said, not wanting to admit she would never understand because she’d never stop hating herself for the mistakes she made in the past.
* * *
25 - Everything Changed
Morgana floated around low-lying clouds. Her skin was gray, a light drab hue, the same color of the nightgown that fell to her ankles. Her hair swirled around her, its straight, midnight black making spirals in the sky. Kaliel watched from the hill, knees pulled to her chest. She chewed on her fingernails, tasting the grit of the land caked underneath.
The little girl touched down, her feet hovering above the grass on the pathless side of the hill. She levitated to Kaliel, who eyed her with curiosity.
“You’re not afraid of me,” Morgana said, sticking out her bottom lip.
Kaliel froze, unsure how to react, and chose to continue her expressionless gaze at the things at the bottom of the hill: thick green grass, a couple of rocks. The land stretched out farther than the eye could see, in the distance were mountains, the gray blue of the sky scattered with clouds. It wasn’t raining anymore, but the clouds remained. They always seemed to be there on Terra.
“You should be,” Morgana continued. She moved so, even though she was only four feet tall, she towered over Kaliel. Her sad, black eyes scowled at the girl.
“You’re not like the others,” Kaliel said nonchalantly. She meant the dreams she had before–the ones that made it hard to breathe and the ones she died in. She no longer felt the same fear she used to feel towards Crestaos. It had been moons since the battle. The memory haunted her because of all the other things it caused, but actual fear of him wasn’t there anymore. A dead, empty space rested in her heart where fear was supposed to go because really, he had done his worst, and she was alive.
Morgana sat beside her, looked at the expanse, and sighed. “You didn’t listen to what I said before.” She seemed disappointed.
Kaliel turned her head and noticed Morgana slumped forward, her legs stretched out straight in front of her. Hair fell over her features so she couldn’t see her face, and her little hands hugged herself tightly. Kaliel couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
“You’ve said a lot of things,” she said calmly. She wanted to take the small girl’s hand in her own but she stopped. Morgana started crying, bloody tears staining her gray dress. Kaliel remembered when it was blue, but it faded like she’d gone in the river too many times and water had washed away all the colors. Thick, red tears spread into the fabric, creating deep crimson welts.
“You never listened to the most important thing,” she sobbed.
Kaliel wasn’t sure how to react, as Morgana had never cried before. Her hand hovered over the girl’s back but she didn’t put it down, didn’t pat her or try to console her. The little girl’s words sunk in, and it was like she was running down the hill, kicking up dirt as she went.
“What important thing?”
Morgana didn’t answer right away. More tears hit the same spots and spread creating even darker spots of red, like bull’s eyes. She whipped her head in Kaliel’s direction and their eyes met. Kaliel felt a shock of fear hit her chest and spread into the rest of her bones. The little girl’s hands were fists at her sides. Her mouth foamed and little perfectly aligned rotten teeth showed–her incisors sharp. Her cheeks flared, encrusted with blood from all the crying, and her eyes—swirling orbs of lightning black, reflected Kaliel’s horrified expression.
“Ro tulten ho,” she seethed.
Kaliel heard it—this time in a language that terrified her, Morgana using her native tongue. That was probably why she missed it the first time, but the words were the same. Ro tulten lye, Ro tulten ho, the words that had haunted her for summers on Avristar now made sense. She fell bac
kwards head over heels, rolling down the hill, landing tangled up. She crashed into a rock and laid there, her head pounding with dizziness.
Morgana stood over her, hands straight to her sides, a calm expression on her face. “Are you afraid of me now?” A little satisfied grin spread across her face.
Kaliel’s head throbbed. Her limbs felt buried under her like she crushed them the wrong way, but she dug around and righted herself, aligning her spine with the rock, taking long, deep breaths. She shook her head, answering no, and opened her eyes enough to see Morgana fading in and out of her vision, blurred together in circles and lines.
“You can’t have him,” Kaliel said breathlessly. Even though there wasn’t a challenge in her voice, Morgana turned vile.
“My Horsemen will have him! And the Vultures will take him!” She turned on her heel and disappeared into the clouds, gray melding with gray.
Kaliel opened her eyes halfway and immediately felt Krishani’s warmth beside her. She melted into him, knowing he was safe, healing. She knew other things, too. Morgana was one of the Valtanyana, and Krishani had lied. He told her they were gone, that all the enemies were dead or locked in Avrigost, but they weren’t.
And it stung.
• • •
Krishani woke to the heady smell of herbs lingering on him, and for a few brief seconds it felt like home. He went to rub his eyes and his hands brushed along rocks under him, proof he wasn’t home at all. Someone exhaled beside him, someone he was sure was only a dream, but as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes he knew he wasn’t dreaming.
“Krishani,” Kaliel whispered. He felt her shoulder leave his infected one and immediately flinched at the coldness. Self-consciousness coursed through him as he shrugged away. The smell was all over, covering him in a sticky paste. His hands trailed down his torn tunic and he touched the gash that was nothing but a red line across his chest. He tried to remember where he was, but the lights were low. He vaguely remembered the village and the villagers, faintly remembered a conversation between someone named Folki and something named Snorri, but they were all dead now. That was always certain when he was around. People died.
“Why are you here?” he asked, expecting to see her white hair. Instead, a girl that looked like her with black hair and forest green eyes met his uncomfortable stare. It smelled like the same girl, sounded like her, and she remembered all the things the right girl remembered, but it was locked in a different shell. Like a hermit crab. She worried away at the edges of her dress, picking at stray threads, untwining them, making them longer, pulling them out, snapping them.
“I came to help you,” Kaliel said, hanging her head. She touched his shoulder, and he knew she wanted to melt into his embrace–except Vultures had taken an entire village of souls and he hadn’t stopped them. He was aware of the disease creeping up his shoulder, folding into his collar bone, threatening to stretch across his neck. The place where she usually put her head would be pressed against cold, black, diseased skin. He couldn’t let her see him that way. He drew his knees up and angled his body towards her but didn’t invite her to touch him.
“I didn’t need help.” There was a hint in her eyes that it was the wrong thing to say. She sighed loudly and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She almost cried, only she didn’t. She stared at him and at his blackened hand which he forgot to hide.
“That plague isn’t healing; it’s spreading,” she said absentmindedly. She ran her fingers along it and Krishani gulped and pulled his hand away, running it through his hair.
“Elwen knows how to cure that,” he muttered, not thinking about what he was saying. A black shadow moved across the darkness. The shape of Klavotesi reached the stairs where the light illuminated his black robes. He ascended the stairs and disappeared into the blinding light of day, leaving him alone with Kaliel.
“You didn’t come alone,” Krishani said, letting out a breath of relief. If she had gone anywhere on Terra by herself, with the types of things out there, he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself. Without her this life of death and dying wasn’t one worth living. He hadn’t forgotten about Morgana or the coming storm of Valtanyana wanting to reclaim their lands. He hoped he had more time, time to kill the Horsemen and Morgana and stop her from awakening the rest of the Valtanyana. An image of the blue bulbous flame burned the back of his mind, down in her beautiful cave of vines and mud, where she would call them forth.
“Klavotesi,” Kaliel began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at him with desperation he’d never seen before. She wasn’t afraid for herself but afraid for him. “Will you come home?”
Krishani shook his head. “The Horsemen—I have to end them.”
“But they almost ended you!” she shrieked, tears tumbling onto her rosy cheeks. He noticed her eyes were puffy. Maybe he imagined her strength because she was crying before he woke. He extended his left hand, the one unmarred by the Vultures, and touched her cheek. She pulled away and stood, pacing the length of the cavern. She stopped in front of him and frowned at the disease on his right arm.
“You need to come home with me so Elwen can tell me how to cure that.” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the ground impatiently as he stared dubiously at her.
“He told me how to cure it,” Krishani said slowly, recalling the words Elwen threw at him, the words that smacked him in the face and made him feel physically sick.
Kaliel uncrossed her arms and a hint of a smile found her lips. “Then give me the names of the herbs and I’ll go find them.” He could tell she felt triumphant, and he found it amusing.
He smirked, but it was full of vengeance. He pushed his back to the rock and held up his black hand so he could see it. “I’ll need a couple dozen people on the brink of death and time,” he said sarcastically. His mismatched eyes flicked to her green ones, and his heart dropped as she sank onto the floor.
“You’re delirious,” she said, worry streaking her face. She went to touch his legs but he instinctively bent them up to his chest and gave her a look that said ‘don’t touch me.’ She didn’t listen, inching forward and reaching across the expanse of space between them. She took his left hand in hers. The buzz of energy wafted off her as the Flame filled every pore of her body. She had her eyes closed, but violet colored light encompassed her aura, and when she peeked at him her eyes were that same violet hue he’d fallen in love with on Avristar.
He laughed low and maniacal as she shared her energy with him and nothing happened to the disease. It didn’t retreat, flinch, or fight back. It nestled to his skin like a scar, and there was nothing the Flame could do about it. He glowered, not hating her for trying, but hating himself for being what he was.
“You can’t change me. I’m this or I’m one of them.”
“One of them?” Kaliel asked. She squeezed his hand tighter, taking his words for delirium and fought as hard as she could to work the Flame into his bones. It pulsed through him, tickling the wound on his chest, searing it shut, erasing the red line. When he showed her his right hand, it was still black. She looked at him, confused.
Krishani gulped. “Nothing.” He hoped she didn’t hear it in the same way he hoped she didn’t hear what the Great Oak had told him.
“I don’t understand,” she said, sweat making her palms slippery. He pulled it out from the sandwich of her fingers and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes bore into hers, blazing with fire, regret, worry, and anguish.
“When you were dead …” he hung his head, avoiding her reaction, letting his hands slide off her shoulders as he slumped against the rock, the paralysis making his legs feel loose. He felt like the land was crushing him with enormous weight. It took every bit of strength he had to tell her, to see if she could accept it.
“You lied to me,” she said.
He wasn’t expecting her to say that, and as he sat there letting the land crush him, he responded. “About what?” Maybe Morgana, maybe the Vultures, maybe the Horsemen.
>
“Change. You said you didn’t but you did. Everything is different. Ruined,” she said, rustling the fabric of her skirts and repositioning herself on the cool rock.
“I know,” he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. This wasn’t what he wanted her to know.
He heard her stand and pace, the hem of her traveling gown dragging along the floor. He hunched his legs to his chest, pressed his fingers to the floor, stretched them out, and stared at the pasty white skin on the back of his rough knuckles. He fought so hard against what he was, rescued Flames, killed the foe that sought to possess her. He did everything he could to make the land safe, give her a life worth living. It wasn’t enough, and it wasn’t over yet.
“I can’t watch you turn into something I can’t recognize.” Her voice was shrill and cruel. It knifed into him the way Elwen had, Istar had. If there was someone who wouldn’t hurt him, it was Kaliel. She was everything.
He didn’t look at her. “Then go away!” he roared. “Let me do what I must do.” He didn’t care about the menace in his voice. “I can’t be what you want.” He covered his face with his hands. He couldn’t bear to test her reaction, but he heard her sniffling and he knew what he said was harsh enough.
“I will abide if it is your wish,” she said, the bitter edge of her voice sinking into his heart. He went to open his mouth, went to say she should go, but her footsteps on the stairs told him she was already gone.
* * *
26 - Belonging
Klavotesi stood outside. The sun beat down on them like it could explode but there wasn’t any heat radiating from it. Cool wind whipped Kaliel’s face and she remembered it got cold on Terra. They had real winters, not the type Avristar experienced. She stormed past him, stifling her disgust at the rotting fleshy bodies scattered along the ground. What Krishani did with them once they were dead was his business. She didn’t want to know more about what he was or what he was doing. She wanted to put as much distance between him and her as she could.
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