Vulture

by Rhiannon Paille

  The black steed scratched its hooves on the pavement, and Krishani knew what was going to happen. He wanted to throw the girl out of the way, but when the Horseman charged towards her, his sword lowered, the girl didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. The blade sang over her head. It rustled her hair but didn’t touch her, didn’t lay a scratch on her.

  Krishani stumbled back, letting out the breath he had been holding in. The Horseman passed Krishani, and the demonic horse let out a loud neigh. He watched as it tried to buck the rider off its back, and everything happened too fast. Krishani turned to the girl only to see her bright blue eyes locked on him. Beyond her, the three riders finished with the last of the villagers, a mess of bodies under their hooves. With his sword raised, the gray one rode roughshod over the girl. Krishani went to grab her only to hear the whoosh of another rider beside him. The black horse bounded into the fray. A head rolled on the ground, stopping at Krishani’s feet. It was a surprisingly cloaked and concealed head. The gray horse whined in inconsolable pain as it writhed on the side of the road. Krishani had no idea what was going on as the brown rider took a shot at the girl and lost his head, too. It clattered to the ground and stopped beside the girl’s feet. She didn’t scream; she didn’t cry. She held her arms at her sides, her eyes wide.

  Krishani tore his gaze away only to see the black rider with his sword in the air, blood streaked across the blade.

  The Horseman killed the other Horsemen.

  There was a stare down between the red and black steeds. Krishani watched as the red horse blew brimstone at the black horse and turned, holding its sword with fierce determination as it barreled towards the girl. Krishani reached out for her hand but was spun backwards by something cold. It prickled every pore, and he stumbled back, landing on his knees. The cold pressed into his shoulders, incomprehensible whispers ringing out. Frostbite ate the tips of his ears, and frost formed on his fingertips. His insides were ice, the curse spreading across his collarbone and down his torso. He tried to fight it. He had to because in the same instant the red rider was dangerously close to the little girl.

  Krishani panted as the rider slumped forward and fell off the horse, his head sailing through the air and landing somewhere behind Krishani.

  Krishani gasped and clutched his chest, trying to understand. The red horse fell on its side, smoking. The little girl faced the black steed, and Krishani thought for sure she would be dead. Even the Vultures wanted the little girl dead, but the black steed wouldn’t have it.

  A bolt of lightning forked towards the land, striking the Horseman head-on. The horse and its rider began changing. Armor fell off the horse, scales turned to ash, and his mouth contorted, shriveling up and reforming to look more like any other horse. Its black mane was still as dark as night but was no longer littered with vines of dreadlocks. It neighed loudly and this time it wasn’t a snarl or a growl, and it didn’t breathe brimstone.

  The Horseman himself was another story altogether. As ice cut down Krishani’s legs, the ragged strips of black cloak fell off the Horseman. What had always been an abyss became the face of a man. Long, wavy black hair was slicked back behind a tanned face that was hard as stone and chiseled into being. He had a square chin, high cheekbones and a large nose. His eyes were charcoal briquettes, eyebrows a thick knit of hair. He donned a white camisole and black breeches. In his belt he had a modest sword, not the monstrous thing covered in blood. He fell off the horse and seized, his mouth foaming.

  Krishani would have helped him if it wasn’t for the amazing pain coursing through his veins. He couldn’t take this torture anymore. His head was pulled back, arms locked behind his back. The Vultures had never been this forceful before. They were never so desperate.

  He watched in horror as the little girl approached the Horseman and fell to her knees beside him. All she did was touch him once with her little fingers and he stopped twitching. His face broke into a wide smile that reminded Krishani of Mallorn: trustworthy, someone who would take care of her.

  “May I have your name?” the little girl asked.

  “Mythos,” the man forced through gritted teeth. He struggled to sit but the girl put a hand on his chest, her other hand pointed at her own chest.

  “Khryannalin,” the little girl said.

  Khryannalin helped the Horseman to his feet, her hand firmly clasped in his. His eyes found Krishani briefly as the Vultures let go and he pitched forward, hugging his stomach and pressing his forehead into the mud. Krishani took a deep breath, and in an instant the little girl was atop the black stallion, the Horseman mounting behind her, grabbing the reins. He neared Krishani, but there was nothing lethal in his expression.

  “Zanthos, Pronose, and Cronose are dead because none may harm this girl. Tell the story to all you know, for you will not see me again.” He turned the horse and gingerly trotted between carcasses of villagers, disappearing into the rainy night.

  Krishani fell on his back, breathing hard, his mind a mess of incomprehensible thoughts. What he witnessed was by far the single greatest thing he had seen in his life.

  The Vultures started screeching. Krishani watched as the sky plucked them from the ground and seemingly flung them into the stars. One moment they were feeding on the wispy smoke of fresh souls and the next they were drawn up by the sky itself and tossed into the black abyss. His head swirled with dizziness as he clutched the stone and thought hard about home.

  * * *

  32 - The Watchtower

  Kaliel didn’t need Pux to sleep with her to ward off the nightmares anymore. What she had done buzzed in her ears and sang through her veins like wasps in the jars Cassareece kept handy. She clutched the pillow tight and tangled the blanket around her feet, cocooning her in its heavy warmth. Everything was growing. When she returned to castle Tavesin, warmer temperatures budded and green, nascent apples formed on the boughs of trees in the village. She never thought of them as apple trees, mostly because they didn’t look anything like the apple trees in Avristar, but there they were, bearing fruit like it was something they were used to. She didn’t share the good news with Pux, keeping the secret to herself, even if it killed her.

  Pux was too busy with Jack anyway. She found them lounging in the barn soon after she returned, not touching, but sitting in the loft, their backs pressed against the hay. Jack had a strand sticking out of his mouth, and Pux rested his hands on his breeches, gazing intently at the boy about the same age as him. Kaliel announced that she was heading to bed and lied about the fact she left the village a second time and hadn’t been caught. The second trip was much shorter than the first, and Pux hadn’t noticed she was gone.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for sleep, but titillation laced through her veins, making it impossible to drift off. There was so much danger. She had no idea how Cassareece’s dust was going to defeat the Horsemen, keep the Valtanyana at bay, and change Krishani. But those things would have to happen if he were to come home. Cassareece couldn’t double cross her and let the Valtanyana attack head-on, could she? Tremors washed over her, ending in little bursts at the edges of her fingertips. She sat abruptly and went over to the bureau, took the birthstone, the last piece of Avristar she owned, and cradled it in her palms. The familiar violet color erupted from the stone and she fell back into the bed with a sigh, staring at its luminescent light. She wasn’t a flower or a weed; she was a Flame.

  Guilt triumphed over excitement as she clamped her hands around the crystal, hiding the light and dropping her clasped hands on her chest. She’d have to leave before Tor came for the Flames–not back to Avristar, but somewhere safe. Nimphalls maybe. Clamose could conceal her and Krishani in the catacombs. Cassareece may have told her to decline Tor, but Kaliel didn’t want to know what he was like when angered.

  The staggering truth was that he was one of them, and while most respected him, she didn’t want to underestimate him. When Tor came and asked for the Flames, she wouldn’t tell him she handed them to the Valtanyana. The pri
ce for treason was high; Kaliel was aware of the consequences that might fall on her. But Cassareece was clear: she was bound by her words, Krishani wouldn’t be a Ferryman anymore, and the lands would be restored. In return, the Valtanyana were given the Flames. The fight with Tor wasn’t her fight. She didn’t remember enough about the First Era to understand the wrath of the Valtanyana. She saw their darkness in the white lightning of Crestaos’s eyes, in the blue sapphires of Cassareece’s eyes, and in the murky blackness of Morgana’s eyes. They had the power to defeat Tor; she wasn’t going to stand in the way.

  She took a shaky breath and remembered what Mallorn had said on Avristar. Crestaos will not stop until every last living thing on Avristar is dead. She believed him because of her dreams, because of the way Crestaos captured, tortured, and killed the Flames without remorse or regret. He turned them into his pawns, trapping them in orbs like they weren’t beings but things, weapons to be used at his disposal. He never had any intention of giving them lives.

  Kaliel let the guilt burn its way through her, knowing even though they’d spent most of their time locked in orbs under Talina’s floorboards, Tor taking them to the Great Hall was the best choice. He couldn’t give their lives back when the Valtanyana were mounting an attack. Forfeiting them to stop the attack seemed like the only solution.

  Kaliel rolled onto her side and let the birthstone slip from her hands. Cool air touched her shoulders and she was suddenly asleep.

  In the dream she pawed through a field of rose bushes without roses. The brambles pricked her skin and drew blood, bright red drops appearing on her palms. She swiveled, ducking under the brush, thorns scraping across her back. She found herself in the ivory maiden’s gown she was so used to wearing. An eerie, high-pitched laugh hit the air. Something hissed and slithered across the ground. A garden snake traveled over her slippers, leading the way. She glanced at the night-covered sky and followed.

  They walked for a long time. The brambles didn’t let up, but the snake knew where to go that caused less damage to Kaliel’s fair skin. She let out deep gulps of air as the sky filled with mottled sand clouds, haze hanging over the sky in a big, rusty orange bubble. Kaliel couldn’t make sense of her surroundings as the snake finally broke through the rose bushes and her feet landed on soft plushy grass. A four foot tall stone wall with a spiraling cobblestone sidewalk led into the ground.

  The snake disappeared around the corner and she followed it, down, down, down into the depths of the earth until she heard voices speaking in hushed tones and a blue light flickered off the walls, trailing up the tunnel as far as it could go. She paused at the mouth of the chamber, her mouth hanging open. Morgana stood in front of a stone pillar, a blue flame floating on top of it. Morgana had her head down, and her arms were covered in thick red blood from the elbow down. It was like she reached into a barrel of blood and came out sticky. Blood smeared her cheeks, wet her lips, and caked her hair.

  Morgana didn’t look at Kaliel as she whispered the incantation and sprinkled bloodied herbs into the flame. There was a loud crack and scarab beetles erupted from the pillar, pouring out in hoards like parasites, crawling up the walls. They conglomerated in spikes like the spires of the sun. The scarab beetles melted into a sticky paste, shaping and forming until each spire was no longer a scarab beetle but a being. Four of them were beasts, humanoid in shape but resembling a spider, griffin, kraken, and dragon. Two of them were Immortals with tall, elongated ears and pristine, unbreakable faces. Morgana and the other three were human, but their grayish skin and lightning eyes didn’t fail. Kaliel had trouble focusing with all the shadows in the room. They cracked out of the dirt walls one by one and landed on the smooth stone floor. Morgana smiled at each of them, her teeth outlined by rot. The dragon-like beast took her bloodied hand and kissed it, pulling the little girl to her feet.

  Kaliel didn’t need to see more to know what this was. Cassareece wasn’t lying when she said they returned; she wasn’t lying at all because she was there, standing on the opposite end of the room, glaring at Kaliel with her lightning sapphire eyes.

  Kaliel fled up the spiraling sidewalk but it never ended. She couldn’t escape the Valtanyana, not if she sold the Flames to help Krishani, not if she sacrificed herself, not if she promised to be their pawn–never.

  She would never have a life of her own, no matter how much she wanted it.

  • • •

  Crunching footsteps crossed the sand near the cabin, near the lake. Dilapidated clouds painted the sky, the sun hiding behind them. Tor came this way to avoid the wind, but it picked up, whistling against shale rock and smacking him in the face. He didn’t like it when the land didn’t obey him. With a hand up, he silenced it.

  He flexed his gloved fingers as he approached the streak of blue dust. It was too out of place to be inconspicuous. He twirled his cane once and kicked up the wind enough to make it cut through the sand dune, spreading grains along the ground and out of the way. He lifted a lip and it curled into a frown. He crouched, his gloved hand brushing off the remaining sand.

  He recognized the box.

  He hummed to himself and picked it up, pressing the latch and letting it fall open. Six orbs rested comfortably against the velvet, glowing a faint red, orange, yellow, green, indigo, and pink. He snapped it shut, turned on his heel, and vanished, the box tucked neatly under his arm.

  * * *

  33 - Small Triumphs

  Kaliel sat across from Klavotesi as he shuffled the cards. The entire table was covered in what Klavotesi called ‘divination tools.’ Whittled sticks, painted dasavatara chips, bones, runes, crystals, seashells, dehydrated body parts, candles, and incense stretched from one end of the table to the other. Klavotesi shuffled what he called ‘the tarot.’ He set the stack of cards on the table and motioned for her to cut the deck. She raised an eyebrow. She spent the afternoon throwing bones, crystals, and runes and touching or arranging other items into patterns. It was exhausting. Days had passed since she’d cast the dust, and while the land responded better to her touch, summer dwindled towards autumn.

  Klavotesi explained that even if she wanted to invoke the land, during winter it would be nearly impossible to get a response. That’s why most humans turned to divination. When the land couldn’t give them the answers they sought, the charged items assisted.

  Kaliel’s thoughts wandered to Krishani every time she touched the cards. Klavotesi seemed disappointed. She reluctantly cut the deck and watched him lay out the cards in a pyramid pattern. He flipped them over, showing images drawn on the back. They had numbers at the top and names at the bottom but were in a foreign language. She kept trying to find correlations between Terra and the things in the Tavesin village, but Terra was underdeveloped as far as the Lands of Men were concerned. Most of the things Elwen owned and taught the villagers came from one of the other six lands. Klavotesi kept saying that one day it would become one of the most powerful civilizations across the stars. He also kept referring to the land as Scotland, though the name sounded awkward on her tongue. She yawned as he turned over a card with a young girl on it dangling a scale from her hand.

  Kaliel perked up. “What does that card mean?” She pointed at the little girl, unnerved at the striking resemblance to Morgana and the scales.

  Klavotesi exhaled. “It’s the Justice card. In this case it’s showing us an act of injustice has been committed and it must be brought into balance.” He smiled under the heavy hood. Kaliel had grown accustomed to feeling him smile rather than actually seeing it. They kept what happened in the cave a secret but she didn’t want a repeat of the incident. Her stomach filled with knots at the mention of justice. She had been really careful around Klavotesi, blocking her thoughts, making sure to project other thought patterns. He was a master at reading minds and knowing the future, among other skills like combat and mind manipulation. She didn’t want him to see what she had done. She was still waiting for the final effects of the magic to take shape.

  She p
ointed at another card with a young boy on it. “And this one?”

  “It’s inconsequential. This is the Page of Staves, and in this case it represents a young and foolish friend.”

  Pux.

  Kaliel smiled. Things had been really good with him again. They did chores together, had lessons separately with Klavotesi because Pux was learning different things. She and Pux often sat by the lake and talked about little things, funny things Jack had done, or stories Bethula told him. He talked about other villagers but Kaliel didn’t pay attention to them. There were so many names and thoughts floating around her head she found it hard to concentrate on anything but Krishani coming home.

  “You think this is boring,” Klavotesi said.

  Kaliel glanced at him, pulled out of her mass amount of thoughts. She chewed on her lip and laughed out loud. Klavotesi didn’t move but she could imagine him pulling his eyebrows together. She swept a hand across the stuff on the table, indicating everything, even the stuff she couldn’t reach. “Why do I need any of this? I’m made of magic, aren’t I?”

  Klavotesi cleared his throat. “You can instill your energy in these items. Store it there for later.”