• • •
Kaliel saw Cassareece pacing the sand, the moon casting faint light on the surface of the lake. The woman looked too confident, like something sinister was hiding behind her sapphire eyes. They snapped, challenging her to approach. Kaliel shook, thinking about the others, names she’d heard while stuffed in Mallorn’s cabin. She never expected them to threaten her existence forever. She took a deep breath. Only six of the Flames were in the box, so somehow she’d have to negotiate Clamose’s, Klavotesi’s, and her own freedom. No matter what it took, right? She couldn’t fight them; this war, it had to end before it began.
Her black hair waved in the wind as the mare tarried down the thin, rocky path and landed clumsily in the sand. She slipped off the horse with the box pressed tightly to her palms.
Cassareece smiled viciously, her eyes on the box. “You didn’t lie to me.”
Kaliel stiffened. She didn’t feel sick anymore but she did feel nervous and unsure. The entire ride she played with the puzzle box, twisting the compartments back and forth until she knew how the box opened and how it closed. She lifted a shoulder, trying to appear confident.
“I brought them.” She snapped the lid open for a moment, then closed it, hoping Cassareece saw eight and not six. Cassareece salivated and Kaliel smiled, her eyes blazing a fiery amethyst.
“You don’t disappoint and neither do I,” Cassareece said. She stepped away from the shore and revealed four stone jars curved against the waterline.
A wave of nerves washed over Kaliel as she glanced at the jars, afraid of their contents. Cassareece gazed at them, a serendipitous expression on her face. Kaliel twisted the box into the puzzle. She didn’t trust Cassareece, and the idea of the jars made her regret her decision to bring the Flames in the first place. “What are those?”
Cassareece beamed. “You asked me for two things, and there are four jars. Two of them will give you the two things you asked for, and two of them will give you other things you didn’t ask for.”
“You didn’t say anything about games,” Kaliel shot, taking a step towards the mare.
Cassareece glared at her. “And you didn’t say anything about puzzles.” She pointed at the box.
Kaliel turned white, her stomach plummeting. She shook her head. “I don’t want to play.” Her mouth watered against her will, knowing one of those four jars could ensure Krishani would no longer be a Ferryman. And a land like Avristar tickled her with nauseating glee. Ending the war slipped to the back of her mind, ensuring Kalvotesi’s and Clamose’s safety was something she didn’t care about as much as she cared about Krishani.
Cassareece put a hand on her hip. “You know what’s at stake if you don’t.”
“War.…Death,” Kaliel whispered. She hated this. Krishani would be forced to follow death forever. Not only that, but the Valtanyana wouldn’t stop bringing death to his doorstep. They’d destroy every living thing and turn the Lands Across the Stars to chaos. He’d never have a chance to be free, never have a chance to be the boy he used to be. Her palms got sweaty and the box dropped into the sand.
“You can end it, Kaliel,” Cassareece said, her voice high pitched. She looked behind her at the jars.
Kaliel paused. “What about me?” She left the Obsidian and Azurite Flames out because maybe Cassareece wasn’t as smart as she seemed.
Cassareece’s sapphire eyes cracked with a single bolt of lightning, and Kaliel almost jumped out of her skin. She stalked to the girl and grabbed her by the arm, her eyes knifing through her, making her feel transparent. Kaliel couldn’t help but think about Crestaos, how when he was this close to her all he wanted to do was discard the shell and trap her inside a little orb. Kaliel leaned back as Cassareece licked her perfect pink lips.
“You won’t stop us. When Tor comes to you for help, you’ll decline. Run away to Avristar with your Ferryman.”
“I thought—” Kaliel cut off, unable to speak with Cassareece’s eyes cutting into her. She wrenched her arm out of the woman’s grip.
“I can’t control the others. You can stop the war from finding you, but you can’t stop it from finding Tor. If he doesn’t join us this time, we will destroy him.”
Kaliel felt faint. She didn’t know Tor, and if she did in the First Era, she didn’t remember him. She trembled, thinking in her darkest hour he wasn’t there. Despite what Klavotesi said about being free, she couldn’t face them again. He might be able to fight for freedom but she couldn’t, not after Crestaos, Krishani, and exile. She crossed the beach and dropped to her knees in front of the jars.
“Tell me what’s in them,” Kaliel said furrowing her brow.
Cassareece paced the sand behind her, stealing a glance at the puzzle box every few seconds. “The original dust of the lands. Didn’t Klavotesi tell you?”
Kaliel felt sicker. Cassareece knew everything about her life, her past, and even her future. She reached for one of the jars, prepared to spill its contents into the sky, but stopped.
“No, I didn’t want to know,” Kaliel said.
Cassareece hummed. “It would have helped you. My word is my bond. If I deceive you the dust will destroy me.”
Kaliel felt a pinprick of relief. “Which jars do I choose?”
“That is up to you. One of them will restore the lands, one will change Krishani, one will curse you, and the other will turn the land to ashes,” Cassareece rattled off.
Kaliel gritted her teeth and took a deep breath. She picked up the jars one by one and put them down again. Her violet eyes reflected off the lake as she considered the jars in an attempt to use the seer abilities Klavotesi taught her. She stopped on the second jar from the right. Before Cassareece could say anything to change her mind she slid off the stone lid and threw the green sparkling dust into the sky.
Cassareece clapped her hands. “That one will restore the lands.”
Kaliel narrowed her eyes. Not what she wanted most. She blinked back tears as she analyzed the others, trying to feel them out with her senses. This one was more important; she had to save Krishani from the monstrous thing he had become. Her hand hovered over the middle jar, but she shifted to the left and back again, unsure. The energy signatures were so close it was hard to decipher. One would curse, one would save, the differences minute. She finally chose the middle jar and tossed the lid, spreading the dust along the water. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of the thick, black dust.
“I picked the wrong one,” she whispered in disbelief as Cassareece clapped a hand on her shoulder.
“No you didn’t. That dust will ensure he is no longer a Ferryman. Black represents death.”
“What color represented the curse?”
“Red, of course,” Cassareece laughed. “You’re silly, Kaliel. Do you feel better?”
Kaliel pushed herself to her feet and turned, her expression lethal. “I’ll feel better as long as I never see you again.”
Cassareece smiled and drew away, skipping through the sand and grabbing the box. “You don’t want to stay until I figure out the puzzle?” A coy smirk rested on her lips.
Kaliel shook her head and glanced at the sky. The stars sang, and the sound shocked her. She hadn’t heard them sing like that since the day she went to the Great Oak. It was the first sign that what Cassareece had done worked. Kaliel brushed past the woman and mounted the mare.
“Farewell,” she said with a strong nod as she left Cassareece in the sand.
The land was alive as Kaliel cut through the thin, vein-like path and got lost in the trees. They whispered, mumbling sweet nothings as she breathed in the heady scent of the land. It was like the blossoming season all over again as white flowers appeared on branches and wind rustled the leaves the way it used to. A warm wind made Kaliel smile. She felt a heartbeat under her feet, a beat she thought was lost forever.
• • •
Cassareece picked up the puzzle box, smirking to herself as she walked to the cabin, expertly pushing the pieces into place and twist
ing them around so they fit back together. She was a master with games, and Kaliel was the same as she remembered her–a naïve girl pushed to her limits and made innocent by fear. She played the girl well and got exactly what she wanted. Admittedly Cassareece didn’t care about the Flames. They were pretty jewels, ones she might wear as necklaces or earrings, but as far as their usefulness as weapons, she was lost. Only one of the eleven Valtanyana understood the Flames, and he was trapped in the box with the rest of them. She had no idea how to extract his energy from the Carnelian Flame, but she needed to.
She smiled as she locked the last piece into place. There was a sudden whoosh and a tornado erupted from the sky. Cassareece stopped in her tracks and frowned; this wasn’t right. The cyclone of rapid air threw her hair into a tizzy and forced her to gasp for breath. She tried to lift the lid, but it was sealed shut. She solved the puzzle, so it was supposed to open. Crestaos was locked in there, and she had to retrieve him. Without him she didn’t know how they were going to destroy Tor and take back the lands.
Cassareece tried with all her might to open the box but it began glowing, symbols appearing across it that hadn’t been there before. She recognized them immediately because they were in a language only Tor spoke. She let out a thundering cry as the box lit up like lightning, so bright white Cassareece had to shield her eyes. Her hands slipped off the box but the wind kept it buoyant, twisting in the air as the wind whipped her.
The pain of a thousand deaths hit Cassareece in the span of thirty seconds. It was so intense she didn’t have time to scream. She fell on her knees and gripped her throat, wanting to skin herself alive it hurt so much. Her mouth opened in a silent O as the tornado gained speed, landing the killing blow. Cassareece disintegrated, returning to the dust she had been made of, a glimmering blue streak against the endless white sand.
The wind threw sand over the box, creating a dune around it, concealing the Flames. What Tor had said was true–only he who defeated Crestaos could open the box. The damage was done.
* * *
31 - Mythos
The wind howled, even though the land was in full bloom. Krishani stood in the middle of a village. Lining the path were straw huts, merchants with their wares, and barrels and baskets full of supplies for clothes and cooking. A hut next to it had buckets filled with apples–bright reddish pink apples that made Krishani salivate. Nobody looked at him, his hand shoved into his pocket to conceal the stone. He carefully pulled his hand out and twisted the cloak around his shoulders. A woman with a beige wrap on her head whisked past him, skirts dragging along the ground, an armful of garments in her hands. Krishani glanced behind him, noting a stone cairn with weaponry spread across the slab. He idly reached for his sword and realized too late he had dropped it in the forest and hadn’t picked it up. The people rushed back and forth, afraid of something, but then, everyone he saw was either scared or dead.
These days he preferred scared.
He sauntered over to the weapons, taking his time, picking out something to fight with. He glanced into the shadows of the domicile, expecting a blacksmith’s fire or someone inside working on something. It was empty. Krishani picked out a broad sword and a dagger, tucking the latter into his boot, and turned to survey the land. He was in a valley tucked between mountains, the ground flat and rocky, grass spreading across the expanse of the ravine. Straw huts speckled the land on the other side of the road, with squat roofs visible as far as the eye could see. Humans had a tendency to hollow out the ground for their homes. He sometimes wondered why they didn’t live completely underground but never had a chance to ask anyone.
Krishani glanced down the road, left, and then right. There was nothing coming, not yet anyway. He made the mistake of getting to know the villagers once, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He needed to be ready. He clenched his fist and glanced at the sky, realizing with a smirk why the villagers seemed alarmed. Clouds gathered above him, blotting out the sunset and pouring smoke over the stars. He managed to survive off his weather abilities, creating fire when necessary, making rain when he was thirsty. He was much better at foraging for food than squirrels. He was never hungry around villagers. Imagining what they would look like frozen-faced, wounded, and dead was enough to make him lose his appetite.
He stood his ground, clutching the sword in his right hand, ignoring the pain stitched to his back. His only regret was failing to locate any arnica flowers to rub on the wound before transporting. He wasn’t a master at healing himself, but he was invincible. He could spend lifetimes chasing after enemies like the Horsemen and it would do nothing. Something worse would come, and he’d never have another spare moment with Kaliel to enjoy the life she stole.
Maybe what the land was trying to give him by giving her life was a reason to live, but sometimes the gift felt like a curse. He felt her sorrow when he barked at her. He never treated her that way before. Not once in all of his time on Avristar had he told her she was a useless, careless girl obsessed with fantasy. He used to think that about the other girls in Avristar, the ones from Araraema, but never Kaliel. She was so much more than what she seemed, strength bound in her innocent form, an embodiment of magic so strong she could light up the earth like her own star in the sky.
He was deaf to the shouts around him as they pitched high in the air. Louder wails, mumbles, and sharp tones blended into a cacophony. Villagers gathered in the streets, thunder rumbled above them, and rain smattered the ground. People knocked into Krishani’s shoulders as they passed him, stumbling on the dirt and pulling themselves up. A woman scooped a child into her arms and hid her face in the crook of its neck. She began scurrying towards the far edge of the valley. Something swooped in, something Krishani was prepared for, something he had been waiting for.
A whoosh of flames raced across the first straw hut at the east end of the village. Even with the rain the fire blazed, turning straw huts to char in seconds. Villagers cried out. He would have to reach them before the Vultures came, before they tried to devour the souls in haste.
Krishani took a deep breath and turned to the demonic horses. It was the black one, its rider concealed, sword hanging by its side. Krishani raised his sword and crouched, wanting to knock the horse off its feet. Instead the Horseman changed course and made a wide circle around Krishani, dragging his sword along the huts in the marketplace, scattering fabric, apples, and weaponry everywhere. The horse rode roughshod over the huts, its legs kicking up wood, making the flimsy domiciles fall apart.
Krishani glanced over his shoulder and frowned. He was certain the Horsemen wanted him dead, as they wanted everything dead.
He sucked in a breath and prepared to go after them, but when he brought himself to his feet he couldn’t move. All of the squat huts in the fields were on fire despite the torrents of rain. They sizzled and burned until they were skeletons, the rain washing the flames out.
The villagers were screaming, being blocked off by the red horse, its rider pushing them back to the center of the village. The steed trampled people under its hooves as it rose on its hind legs, the rider slashing at people pushing and shoving each other while trying to get out of the way. Krishani watched in mock horror as the black horse appeared again. The red horse was flanked by the gray and brown one. Krishani was used to their snarling mouths like snapping turtles, scaly fur, and shiny armor. He watched them kill thousands and hadn’t been able to touch them. He’d never be able to stop them from the disastrous ends they created for anyone they encountered.
The black horse turned to face Krishani, and he thought this was the moment they would end this abominable battle for good. He readied his sword and pushed the cloak off his face. He wanted them to know exactly who he was. His mismatched eyes felt like lightning as they gazed into the dark abyss of the rider’s hooded face. The black steed made a sound as the other riders stayed back, hunting down villagers trying to escape. Wispy white smoke lifted out of the bodies as they died and with each one he wished he could be holdin
g their hands, whispering the blessing, giving them safety. His only saving grace was that the Vultures hadn’t shown up yet.
Krishani narrowed his gaze and invited the Horseman to attack him. But the Horseman didn’t budge. His eyes were on something in the skeletal huts off the path. Krishani followed his gaze to the little girl climbing out of a hut. Her tanned white hands clutched dirt as she pulled herself out of the hollow ground. She had long, brown hair and sky blue eyes, the kind of color that illuminated the dark. The front of her beige nightgown was covered in wet, sticky mud, and she was barefoot. Krishani looked her over for signs of injury but there were none. She had been trapped inside a burning hut but there wasn’t a scratch on her.
He watched with idle fascination as she rubbed sleep from her eyes and rain fell into her palms. It seemed she couldn’t hear the screams or the crackling fires or even the hooves pounding the ground. She stumbled forward holding her hands out to brace herself as her knees hit the edge of the dirt road. She pulled herself over the mound and walked into the center. She turned to Krishani, her bright blue eyes full of questions.
Krishani had nothing to say. All he saw behind her were the shapes of three Horsemen killing off every person the girl had known and the one black steed pulsing, huffing, and waiting for the moment its rider would dole out the final blow. Krishani hadn’t saved anyone before, something he felt guilty about, but there was never any time. People were always alive one moment and dead the next where the Horsemen were concerned. Krishani felt a dead weight in his chest, an instinctual aching and longing as the little girl stared at him. She had rosy red cheeks, a small mouth pressed into a line. Her nose was made of smooth, curved edges. Long eyelashes framed her delicate face.
His heart almost stopped when he glanced at her ears. They poked out, little barely-defined points, proof of her elven heritage. He had no words for what she meant to him in that instant. He never thought of a normal life. Normal to him was marriage to the land and duties in the Lands of Men. It was solitude; it was responsibility. It was never a family, but staring into her eyes made him long for castle Tavesin and Kaliel and all the things a life on Terra could bring him. A life bereft of the Ferryman, stripped of the responsibilities that brought him nothing but darkness. He envied the villagers and their way of life. He never found pure corruption in those souls, only fallibility, naivety. The villagers were betrayers and liars because they didn’t know better. They didn’t know how to have peace without argument. Krishani wished he had more time with them, time he could use to tell them about Avristar, to show them how to work in harmony with the land. Even if he hadn’t been that good at it before, he could teach others the lessons he had been taught.
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