Vulture

by Rhiannon Paille

Kaliel thought about the birthstone, every time she held it, every time it glowed. She never thought about the potential of her Flame, what it could do. The things she was used to were benign or destructive. Curiously she picked up the dasavatara chips to her left. They were circular, red, some type of thick parchment, almost like wood but softer. On the back they were plain, but on the front they were hand painted in gold, silver, black, red, and green. She thumbed through them, pushing the vast majority of the five hundred pieces out of the way. She picked up one with a beautiful black horse and a rider with a golden crown on his head. The chips were too small for elaborate drawings, but they had dots in patterns on them, symbolizing different things. To Kaliel they looked like splotches of paint. She pushed the piece into her palm and let the Flame flare. There was so much energy in her hand that the piece vibrated and levitated, surrounded in the Flame’s light. She pressed more and more of her energy into it, wondering what would happen if she tried to pour herself entirely into the piece. Could she be trapped in something so small? So inanimate? She closed her amethyst eyes and focused harder, wanting to instill the piece with as much energy as she could.

  A bone white hand gripped her wrist hard, and she dropped the piece into the pile. She went to pick it up again but Klavotesi held her tightly.

  “I don’t think you should be creating charms or talismans yet,” he warned, his voice shaking slightly.

  Kaliel let the Flame dissipate. It was always dangerous like this; the Obsidian Flame mixing with the Amethyst Flame made her nauseous. Klavotesi let go and the wisps of energy stopped. She widened her eyes. “I wasn’t trying.…”

  “You need to be more careful. I’ve avoided telling you how precious what you possess is. You don’t see it, but humans can’t generate the kind of energy you have naturally.” He sucked in a heavy breath and let it out slowly. Kaliel noted the disappointment in his tone; she didn’t want him to continue.

  “It’s not wise to go around leaving pieces of your energy everywhere. It can be used for anything. Energy can be manipulated, guided towards the intentions of the caster or invoker.” He gestured to the chips. “Any human can pick up that chip you instilled and use it to destroy an entire land.”

  Kaliel self-consciously began picking through the chips, trying to find the one she instilled with energy, but they all looked the same to her. Some had three black horses, others two, others six; it was confusing. She couldn’t find the one with the one black horse. She’d have to go through the entire pile.

  “What’s done is done. Your energy will stay dormant in the item until it’s invoked. The point is to leave it hidden. The Flames have always been like that—hidden. It’s not a lie that greed will always follow, no matter where we go.”

  Kaliel didn’t want to hear the lecture. She didn’t want to be told that, no matter where she was or what body she occupied, she would always be hunted. The only person who wasn’t greedy about possessing her was Krishani, but she wanted him to possess her from the beginning. There was nothing wrong with belonging to him; he had her heart, Flame, soul, everything. He had it because he was the only one who didn’t want to use it for his own good fortune. She took in a deep breath and pushed up from the table.

  “You said something about fire manipulation the other day,” she said breathlessly, surprised at how airy her voice sounded. She braced herself on the edge of the table in an attempt not to wobble and fall over while Klavotesi rose to his feet and nodded.

  “I did. We should head further into the village, it’s the only place that has a hearth big enough for what I want to show you.” He didn’t bother to clean up the items as he stalked out of the hall, Kaliel on his heels.

  Her eyes traced patterns on the ground as they passed the stables and descended into the clusters of cabins. The village was a simple place, even though streets stretched out in spokes. Once past the mess hall, it was easy to navigate, and fields stretched out endlessly to the edge of the stone walls. They grew everything themselves, enough to feed the hundreds in the village. Klavotesi picked up the pace as he dodged younger children in dresses and breeches. They had a thing for playing with sticks. Kaliel listened to the soft clattering of wood against wood and glanced at the clear blue sky. There hadn’t been a drop of rain since the dust, and the air smelled like apples. Klavotesi reached the village center, a small circle of cabins facing the giant pile of stones. This was where the village dignitaries lived. Kaliel had no interest in meeting them. Technically they were part of the Tavesin lineage and related to Krishani, despite him being born decades before them.

  She sighed and kicked a stray rock on the ground. It wasn’t getting any easier waiting for him to come back. She hoped he defeated the Horsemen and was free of being the Ferryman.

  Klavotesi stood in front of the hearth, his arms raised above the stones. It was hollow in the center, which seconds later was ablaze. She joined him when he beckoned and watched the flames worry at the dry wood. The fire was a vibrant orange with wisps of white and yellow flickering through the centerpiece. She half smiled at it. Krishani could make fire like that. It was one of the things the Brotherhood of Amersil taught him, one of the things that stuck even though he was exiled from their ranks.

  Klavotesi shot her a sideways glance. “It’s not that hard. Rub your hands together, think about flames, release a spark.”

  “And things burn?” Kaliel asked, though she wanted to stuff the words back into her mouth. A lump formed in her throat as she thought about what Cassareece said about Kaliel making the stars fall. She didn’t mean to trigger something from the past. Klavotesi tensed considerably and she dropped her hands to her sides.

  “You need to think about fire, specifically want things to burn. Otherwise the Flame would burn right through you. You wouldn’t be able to hold a physical form if you wanted to.”

  Kaliel wished she had kept her mouth shut because when Klavotesi began ranting he had a hard time stopping. She was tired of enduring long afternoon lessons and was hungry and needed to sit in the loft with Pux, talking about nonessential things.

  “The Flame is a light. It can burn, yes, but it can also give light without burning. If you knew Isadora, you’d know her Flame is cold. The Flame is pure energy, it can be anything, do anything, but your will must guide it.”

  Kaliel raised her eyebrows. It was like he was speaking another language. “You’ve spent a long time trying to sort this?”

  Klavotesi let out an exasperated sigh. “Clamose helped. Being only nine of us makes drawing similarities among us almost impossible.” He seemed more agitated than usual, which was new for him. She wondered if he knew about the Valtanyana, if he knew they were mounting another attack. If he had a plan, she didn’t expect him to tell her. It was a subject they didn’t bring up, along with the Flames. She still felt awkward in his presence, like there was some combustible boundary line she shouldn’t cross. “What do the Flames have in common?”

  Klavotesi let his hands hang out of his cloak and began moving them in circles, not answering her but creating whirlpools in the fire. She glanced at it, noticing the way the flames mimicked water. An intense weight landed on her chest from the energy he exerted and again, the same way it always was when he was near, she felt sick. It wasn’t the same sickness she felt near Crestaos, but it was unnerving. Klavotesi told her briefly about Tiki, about how she wasn’t in a human form and how that made her more dangerous than the others. He warned her to stay away from the box, not to touch them at all because of the volatile effects of trying to merge the Flames. It was the only thing that seemed to scare him.

  Klavotesi stopped messing with the fire. After a long silence he groaned. “You. We had you in common because … you were the one who …” he faltered and she raised her hand, letting it hover over his, careful not to actually touch him. After what Cassareece told her about the past, she didn’t want to hear more of it. Klavotesi seemed conflicted about the disaster. She knew everything she wanted to know about the First Era
, about her existence and part in the first war. She was with Krishani, she made the stars fall, and everyone burned. That was enough guilt to put on her shoulders, not to mention that any second the Valtanyana could attack. At least Clamose was safe in Nimphalls. She didn’t have the heart to let him be a part of the fray. In the end this was going to be her fight.

  “Don’t talk about it. Show me what you can do with the fire.” She let go, unwilling to admit there was a fire raging inside her body, her bones feeling the Flame whispering off her, trying to escape from the crevasses of her soul. Klavotesi lifted his hands. The fire turned black and Kaliel dropped her jaw. It was such a sudden change there was no time for shock to register. She had gone all the way to awe and clung to some form of her sanity when she found herself sink to the ground.

  “I don’t think I can do that,” she muttered, hoping Klavotesi hadn’t heard.

  He crossed his arms. “Your turn to try. Project the Flame. The way it turns your eye color, it can turn the fire the same color.”

  Kaliel eased up and brought herself back to her feet. “Okay,” she said, standing in front of the fire. She let the Flame loose and felt her eyes change color. In an instant her irises were burning and her hands felt like they were on fire, and when she clicked her eyes open the fire was amethyst. Her heart rate slowed and she let out a breath. It was actually anticlimactic. She could do the same thing with the birthstone.

  She spun, Klavotesi staring at her. He looked satisfied, perplexed, and amused. “I see you’ve already mastered this skill.”

  Kaliel thought of Mallorn and the night she showed him she could talk to trees and bloom flowers. “It’s not the same thing.” She stalked away, not caring if he followed her.

  “You need to stop hiding your gifts from us, Kaliel!” Klavotesi called after her, a mocking tone in his voice.

  She shook her head, smiling to herself about the small triumph.

  * * *

  34 - Home

  Pux huffed, balancing an armful of logs as he plodded into the mess hall, dropping them on the ground at Hyatt’s feet the moment he crossed the threshold. Hyatt paced in circles, surveying the tables and the mulch making up the dance floor. He looked up when he saw Pux, his tanned face cast in shadows. There wasn’t much light inside the mess hall, other than what they created by lighting a fire in the evenings. During the day, squares of sunlight illuminated the whole place but died off around the edges, shadows hiding in corners. Hyatt’s graying hair was matted across the top of his head, his face gruff with gray stubble, his blue eyes hard. He flexed his fingers, lacing them together and stretching them out.

  “Thank you, Pux,” he said.

  Pux bowed the way he would have in Avristar to Grimand or Desaunius, but when he caught Hyatt’s eyes he stood and pulled his vest taut. “I’m pleased to help,” he answered, trying to seem older. He spent most of his time on Terra conforming to the villager’s traditions and standards. They didn’t treat him badly. The girls were fond of him but unattractive, and the boys were good comrades. Some of the elders were excellent storytellers while others were great when the little ones got sick or fussy. Pux found human children perplexing and weird. The children at the House of Kin were quiet, playful, and always laughing. Human children wailed, screamed, and fidgeted too much. He felt more at ease with the adolescents. Most of them were learning things like spinning, smithing, farming, cooking, crafting, or playing. He found it fascinating. Even though there were so many of them they all had a place. It wasn’t like that in Evennses. With under a hundred kinfolk everyone stood out like a sore thumb, everyone had a specific purpose. He liked that he didn’t have to be anything more than Pux. Nobody cared if he could transport or transmute things; he was one of them, hairy or not.

  Hyatt was still pacing, a shadow crossing his face. “Will you be at the feast tonight?”

  “Maybe. Aulises is back, so we might not make it down to the mess hall.” He made sure to refer to Kaliel as Aulises whenever in front of the villagers. She was self-conscious about the villagers knowing her real name. Humans had a tendency to forget things, and though Pux didn’t talk to Bethula, Hyatt acted like Kaliel wasn’t a Child of Avristar. The only person who did was Jack.

  Hyatt narrowed his eyes. “You’re not sweet on her, are you?”

  Pux laughed. “No.” He cleared his throat. Humans were funny with the way they saw things. It was true Pux was always with her but it was like old times back home; he didn’t love her in that way. “Aulises is my best friend.”

  Hyatt’s expression didn’t change but he shook his head. “I worry about that girl.”

  It was Pux’s turn to be bewildered. “Why?”

  “Do you know what she is?” he asked, and Pux heard it in the inflection in his voice. Kaliel was a something, an unacceptable something. He shuffled back and forth, clasping his hands behind his back. He thought of Kaliel being a Flame and the first time he had seen her eyes full of liquid amethyst. A dull ache grew in his heart for Avristar, but he shoved it away.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Pux answered slowly. He kept eye contact so Hyatt wouldn’t think he was lying, he hadn’t told them it was nearly impossible for him to lie. He noticed that about humans—they accused each other of lying far too often, and there were telltale signs of it. He tried to make himself as truthful as he possibly could.

  Hyatt seemed defeated. He spread his hands out and looked at them, sighed. “I think she’s making a mistake, that’s all.”

  Pux tried not to get upset but the villagers never talked to him about Kaliel before. They didn’t notice all her bottled magic, her wonder, her mystery. They seemed too busy with their own hardships to bother with something they couldn’t comprehend. Yet, a nasty response to everything Kaliel was, was the last thing Pux expected. Hyatt may as well have taken all the joy out of him for good.

  “Mistake?” he echoed, not even sure he could find his tongue. It felt like it had fallen out of his mouth and was flapping around like a dead fish.

  Hyatt sighed. “We all saw her with the Ferryman. I hoped once she saw what he could offer her she’d get her head straight and pick someone like Jack.”

  Pux tried to resist the urge to strangle Hyatt. This time the words really wouldn’t come. He gaped and backed up, shaking his head, not knowing where to begin explaining. It wasn’t even possible without revealing too much. He closed his eyes, thinking about Jack and his fair hair and blue eyes, all the conversations they had in the loft. Kaliel would never be interested in someone like Jack. She’d never look at anyone else; it wasn’t even possible, was it?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Pux, but she needs to get her head sorted. The villagers have been talking about it. They want her to choose one of the boys. Can you talk to her about it?”

  Pux hardened, his hands gathering into fists at his sides. “She belongs to the Ferryman.” He didn’t wait for an answer; he stalked across the mess hall to the opening on the other side, passing Hyatt, who didn’t say anything. Once Pux was outside in the dying afternoon sun he crossed the village, passing the castle and traveling down the path to the barn. He would have called out to Jack, but after what Hyatt said about courting he didn’t want to know what Hyatt told Jack about choosing girls. He climbed up the rungs of the ladder and fell against one of the hay bales.

  “Kaliel?” he asked, not sure if she was there yet.

  “I made fire turn violet today,” she responded, her voice sounding dreamlike.

  Pux started searching for her. She was farther back in the loft than usual. He wended around the stacks of hay bales and found her curled up in a bunch that created a chair, her legs slung up on one end, her black dress hiked, showing off her calves. He wanted to pull it down because if the other boys saw, they might start liking her. He raked a hand through his hair. “Was Klavotesi impressed?”

  She shrugged, a lazy smile crawling across her face. “He seemed distracted by something.” She shifted so she was sitting in the crux o
f the hay bales. Her arms rested on the tops of the bales. Pux slid to the floor and pressed his back against one of the bales beside her.

  “Have you seen Jack?” He didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t want her to know, but he didn’t want the villagers telling her themselves. The last thing Kaliel needed was an angry mob. He kept so much of it away from her he wasn’t even sure how she’d take it.

  “No,” Kaliel answered absentmindedly. Pux glanced at her forest green eyes and realized her mind was on something else, someone far away. He sighed. She followed. “It wasn’t the same.”

  Pux frowned. “What?”

  “When I made the fire, it wasn’t the same as blooming flowers. The land responds to my touch but it, the reaction …I don’t think it’s a good sign.”

  “I know what you mean,” Pux said, happy they had something to talk about besides villagers and Ferryman. “I tried to turn a brown bird blue and it didn’t work.” He shrugged.

  Kaliel raised an eyebrow. “What color did you get?”

  “I don’t know if there’s a name for that color. Squashed berries? It was dark, not the blue I wanted,” Pux said.

  “It’s because the land is dead inside.”

  Pux looked at her, a nervous expression on her face. “Summer isn’t so bad. Winter is coming, but the villagers think of it differently.” He checked to make sure she was listening. Sometimes she was so up in the clouds he wondered if she heard anything he said at all. She was picking at the hay, twisting strands of it around her fingers.

  “They say it’s part of the cycle of life. Death and transformation. The land has to die so it can be reborn again. Something like that. Sholto told the story, something to do with the stag.”

  “The one they kill and eat?” Kaliel asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yeah that one.”

  “What were you doing listening to stories like that?” She sat up taller, her hands bunched in her lap. She bit her lip, worrying away at the chapped bits caked along the edges.