Girl of Myth and Legend

by Giselle Simlett

  O’Sah said the other Thrones are here to witness my kytaen’s arrival, probably to reduce their uneasiness about our alliance. Looking at how sharp this thing’s teeth—or fangs, or whatever you might name them—are, I’m starting to feel uneasy, too.

  The beast stops, its head towering over what now seems like my puny, twiggy body. I want to look away. God, I want to look away from those eyes. I don’t, or maybe can’t—I’m not sure which. I hold its gaze.

  ‘So, this is the beast,’ I hear Dad say, and I’ve never been so glad of his presence. ‘Not as inspiring as I was told it would be.’ I cringe. Yeah, thanks for that, Dad. I’m only a couple of feet from a creature that can bite my head off as easily as popping a balloon, but sure, you go ahead and aggravate it.

  ‘Get up, Leonie.’

  I scramble onto my feet, backing away from the kytaen and towards Dad and the Thrones. I notice that the other kytaens’ black eyes stare at the creature in front of us, their forms shrinking as it meets their gaze. I know where they’re coming from.

  I remember that there are four kinds of kytaen. Those beside me are earth. I don’t have to guess what the one in front of me is—those eyes are made of fire.

  ‘Greet the Pulsar appropriately,’ O’Sah orders the beast.

  The kytaen’s gaze returns to me, unflinching, unwavering and scorching a hole right through me. If there was a look that could burn you alive, this would be it.

  ‘They warned me stubbornness might be a symptom of your idleness,’ says O’Sah. ‘Do you need reminding of your place?’ He stretches the fabric of his glove in a menacing way, and I’m guessing I’m about to see some magic. I want to tell him that I don’t need the kytaen to bow to me; I’d rather this be over with.

  I look back to the kytaen, whose eyes still bore into me. It is… deliberating. Yes, deliberating whether or not to obey the command. When I saw the Thrones’ kytaen, I thought they were like a well-trained Pegasus, and so I assumed kytaens’ intellect was on the same level as a dog’s. Woof woof, tail wagging and all that. But when I look at this one, its eyes blazing like tongues of flame, I realise that I was wrong: kytaen are not mindless; kytaen are not pets—they are just as sentient as me.

  It makes its decision.

  It allows one of its front legs to bend while pushing the other forward. Its head stoops low, and it stays like this for a moment. Heat rises on my cheeks; the thought of anything bowing to me is just embarrassing. Its eyes never let go of mine, and in that moment, I understand that, though it is bowing to me, it does not acknowledge me, and that this display of allegiance is a pretence.

  O’Sah begins to tell me about the soul-binding that will happen in a few days. I nod, having heard about it all morning at breakfast. Seriously, these people have a tendency to over-explain, like they think I’m so dazed by this sudden reality thrust upon me that I’m not understanding or something. Sure, it’s a reality that consists of magical people and beasts who protect them, and a whole other world full of wonder and danger where I am the last Pulsar, meaning it’s my sole duty to live and breathe and exist for the wellbeing of the Imperium and its people. Oh, and I have to make a soul-binding wherein all my emotions are shared, and I have to do it with something not even human and who I don’t even know… OK, maybe I am a little dazed.

  ‘…concludes the beginning of the arrangement,’ says the old man, bringing me out of my thoughts. ‘Remember, the Imperium will endeavour to protect you and keep you safe. That’s why we bestow to you our strongest kytaen.’

  ‘Well done, Leonie,’ says Dad, putting his arm around me.

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ I say. ‘Just stood there looking gormless.’

  ‘It’ll be bothersome to walk around with you in your kytaen form,’ I hear O’Sah say to my kytaen. ‘Change to your human form.’

  But it doesn’t do as he commands. He grimaces. With how I’ve heard him speak about kytaen, as if they’re objects, tools, I know this kytaen is going to suffer.

  ‘Don’t get into a temper tantrum, O’Sah,’ I say, ‘that’s my redeeming quality.’

  I turn to the kytaen, my body going rigid. ‘I-I’m guessing it’s a bother for you, but if you could do it, it’d make this a lot easier. Sorry.’

  It flinches. I gather ‘sorry’ isn’t part of a Chosen’s vocabulary, especially when it comes to saying it to a kytaen. It might not even know the meaning of the word.

  After a moment, the shadows that blaze around it become ropes of fire. Its body shifts, bones shrinking, molecules breaking apart and re-joining in a different way.

  ‘Leonie,’ says Dad, ‘look away.’ I glance at him, and though he’s not looking at me, he’s not looking at the changing beast either, almost as if he were embarrassed.

  Of course, I don’t look away. Before us now stands some-thing akin to a human, but inhuman, too. It is beyond a human’s conception of beauty, a glorious, mythical beauty that doesn’t, and shouldn’t, exist in the real world. It is tall with bronze-coloured hair and eyes, and looks around twenty years old. It isn’t buff, though isn’t small or meek by any means, and its arms are taut with muscle and—my eyes travel down and heat blossoms across my cheeks—and it’s naked. Any composure I might’ve been able to muster crumbles, my face reflecting my horror and awe at what I’ve just witnessed. I’ve never seen a naked man in person before, and though the creature doesn’t seem bothered, I can’t help but feel way over the line of awkward, seeing it like this. No, not it. Definitely, unquestionably, it is a he, and he is looking at me with such coldness that I feel his icy glare more than I do the cold, blustering wind.

  O’Sah throws him some clothes. The kytaen stares at them for a moment, as if they’re an unwelcome gift, but his body gives way to a shiver and he puts them on. Why didn’t I bother to ask why O’Sah had brought clothes with him? To be fair, not many people would envisage that, during the course of the day, they’d be standing in a snowy forest in another world with a naked, otherworldly monster-turned-guy in front of them.

  I remember to look away from the kytaen as he changes into the clothes, which are slightly too big for him. O’Sah didn’t even bother bringing him a coat or shoes. I ‘tsk’, wishing more that I had known he would be naked. I shake off the weirdness of the thought.

  ‘Do all kytaen have a human form?’ I ask.

  ‘Certainly,’ says the old man, looking to his kytaen. ‘Show her.’

  The tree-like creature grows, its body creaking like that of a falling tree, and the vines and roots pull until they snap and collapse onto the snow. Standing before us now is a thin teenage girl with tanned skin. Some of the roots are still attached to her body, concealing her indecent parts.

  We begin to walk back to the temple in a solemn progres-sion. I look back at my kytaen a few times, always meeting with his profound glare. It’s strange: although we’ve just met, and although he seems to hate me, there is something between us, something impalpable but existent. It leaves a chilling sensation in my bones. Whatever magic is stirring in the space between us, I can’t sense that any good will come from it.

  KORREN

  FATE’S SENSE OF HUMOUR

  Plain, below average; they are the first words that come to mind when I look at the girl. Nothing outstanding. Feeble. She has copper-coloured hair specked with white from the snow, ivory skin, irises a burgundy colour—common among Pulsar—with an expression of surprise and wonder. She wears a duffle coat, leggings and brown boots, so different to a Chosen’s usual attire. She looks normal enough, and yet…

  Between the girl and me is nothing but wind and snow, and yet there is something, an unseen something. It’s as if resilient chains are linking us together, binding us to a fate we cannot escape, and yet there is more to this something than these shackles: a feeling, a force, a pull. I have felt this before, assuming it was to do with that intangible magic that brings a kytaen and their keeper together, weaving their souls into one being, one power, one strength. She and I will be bound by
a physical impossibility, but should not that dreaded something come after the soul-binding?

  The soul-binding—I will not let it happen. The remaining fragments of free will I have will not be collected by the Imperium. They have appropriated our very souls, the magic within us. But that is how things were, not how they have to be now.

  The wind billows the girl’s wild knots of copper hair. I remind myself of my resolution: if I can make her loathe me so much that she’d rather have a lesser kytaen protecting her, then I will be sent back to Aris, incurring some kind of a punishment, but why should I care? If I can make that happen, I will never have to protect a Pulsar again. Perhaps, even, this seed of rebellion will bloom into a revolution that will shake the foundation of the Imperium, the Imperium that was built upon the backs and blood of the kytaen.

  _________________

  I’ve never liked the Temples of Elswyr, and in particular the temple of Nu perched higher than the rest. With the wall that encloses the temple and its lack of windows, I realise I’m the punchline of one of Fate’s jokes, because why not? Why not place a kytaen who yearns for freedom in a setting so overwhelmingly free: forests and greenery and an openness that goes on for miles resting all around, only for him to live within a place that resembles a prison, a cage?

  The girl’s father, who I gather is Orin Woodville, glances back at me. He’s a middle-aged man with dark hair, heavy eyebrows and a prominent chin. He steps inside the temple, the other Chosen following with their kytaen. I hesitate, glaring at the threshold.

  I feel someone push into me. I flinch and turn around, jaw clenched. The girl is looking up at me.

  ‘S-sorry,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t concentrating on where I was, um, going.’ Her accent is intermingled with others, so I can’t place it.

  I hurry, just to lengthen the distance between us.

  We go into a chamber decorated with art and candles. I glance at my keeper-to-be, and she’s staring at me uneasily. I can tell from her eyes that she continues to picture my other form.

  ‘I’ll… I’ll say bluntly that I’m not, well, y’know, um, experienced when it comes to mingling with other… other species,’ she says, rubbing her neck. I can’t understand why she’s trying to make conversation with me. Chosen don’t usually do this. They accept the kytaen and then pretend they’re not there, just how you ignore your shadow, though you may occasionally glance at it.

  ‘You handled this very well, my Lady,’ one of the Thrones says. ‘You were exceptionally dignified.’

  The girl purses her lips. Strange. Shouldn’t the compliment please her? The expression on her face suggests she’s far from pleased.

  ‘There’s some business to attend to,’ another says.

  ‘O’Sah, do we have to?’ the girl complains. ‘I’m already exhausted.’

  ‘Not business for you, my Lady,’ says O’Sah. ‘The kytaen—Sebastian Crato would like to deliver a message to it.’

  ‘Ah well, if our great leader wishes it, we can hardly refuse,’ says Orin, and I notice how stiff his words are.

  O’Sah bows his head to the girl. ‘My Lady.’ He turns his back on us and walks out of the door. I have no choice but to follow.

  He takes me through an antechamber and then outside. The wind billows his crimson cloak, which looks like ribbons of blood amidst the snow. He stops and swivels round to face me.

  ‘The importance of Leonie Woodville’s existence is to be acknowledged by you.’

  So, that’s the name of my enemy.

  ‘Her survival is imperative. A Pulsar hasn’t lived in this world for a very long time, and we intend to make her prosper.’ He softens out his clothing that is being blitzed by the snow. ‘If I had the choice, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near someone so valuable. However, despite being on the Council, I don’t get to make the decisions, and you were the victor in the arena.’ His eyes fill with hatred. ‘After all you’ve done, to be the only kytaen strong enough to protect her is surely Fate’s joke.’

  Pain pulsates throughout my body as if the blood running through my veins is on fire, as if the magic inside of me is breaking apart. I fall onto the snow, wincing, unable to make a noise as I spasm. As soon as it comes it goes, and O’Sah stands over me.

  ‘That was for the ones lost by your idleness all those years ago,’ he says.

  The pain shoots through me again, tearing at me like claws digging into my flesh. When the pain ends, I manage to breathe, blinking the haze from my vision.

  ‘That? Well, that was just for my own satisfaction,’ he says.

  He walks by me. I remain sprawled on the ground, heart beating fast. I put an impassive face on, though. None of this is new to me. Chosen sometimes hurt us for their enjoyment, or watch us hurt each other; the Beasts’ Fighting House is a favourite among them. What are we kytaen against them? Even in my other form, I wouldn’t have been able to stop O’Sah.

  I manage to sit up, pressing my back up against the side of the temple.

  So, here you are, Korren. Liking it so far? The falling snow burns as it lands on my skin. I look up to the sky, the colours of the sun spreading a soft red across the powder blue. I can hardly believe I’m here, a kytaen serving once more. I don’t want to bid welcome to the world I left long ago, but the stargods’ plans differ from mine. Why, why did the stargods decide to give birth to another Pulsar? What will her purpose be for this world? Maybe there’s not a purpose. Maybe the stargods don’t even exist, but if they do, I wonder why they would want this, why they would want me here. They would know I would be the one to protect her; they would know that. So why would they do it? Punishment? Is that what this is—punishment for what I did and for what I did not do? They know well what I lost and how that tortures me every day. Isn’t that enough to quench their vengeance?

  No, never. Never. My sins are too terrible for redemption. I’ve already been judged unworthy of mercy, and that… that is a sentence not even I would dispute.

  LEONIE

  SPLINTERING SHIELDS

  After O’Sah and the other Thrones say goodnight and leave, I walk through to the antechamber where O’Sah took the kytaen. Dad follows me. I glance around but don’t see the kytaen, and then I notice that the door to the temple is open. I go outside and find him sitting in the snow, leaning against the wall.

  ‘Hi there,’ I say. He doesn’t look up at me. ‘Hellooo?’ He gives me a brief glance that says, ‘Die.’ OK, so he’s not a conversationalist—I can relate. ‘Um, wanna come inside? I should tell you it’s pretty cold out here, since you don’t seem to have noticed.’

  He stays silent.

  I purse my lips. ‘You can’t just stay out here all day.’

  His defiant look tells me he probably could.

  ‘All right, well, I guess I have no choice but to freeze out here with you,’ I say, sitting beside him and feeling as if I’ve sat on top of an ice cube.

  ‘Leonie, that’s really unnecessary,’ Dad says. ‘You’re giving it too much consideration.’

  ‘What am I supposed to be giving him? Inconsideration?’

  ‘You’re supposed to be giving it a direct order to come inside if that’s what you want it to do.’

  ‘Meh. I’m not really a “giving orders” kind of person, and I don’t think ordering him around is a good start to our relationship.’

  ‘Relationship? There is no relationship.’

  ‘I mean as friends. Duh.’

  He does one of those long sighs that trip the ‘upcoming lecture’ alarm bells in my head. ‘I thought you understood what kytaen were.’

  ‘I do! They protect the Chosen they’re soul-bound to.’

  ‘Yes. Exactly. That’s all they do. They’re not like us.’

  ‘I didn’t realise how racist you were, Dad.’

  ‘It’s not like that. I don’t hate kytaen at all. It’s just… take Pegasus; you don’t treat him like a human.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a dog.’

  ‘And this kytaen is the same
. They’re just shields. Some-times they falter, splinter, or break, but they’re expendable.’

  ‘You make them sound like they’re an iPhone.’

  ‘Well, they are.’

  ‘An iPhone?’

  ‘No, like a product.’

  ‘But he looks—’

  ‘It can take on a human appearance for camouflage, and it’s convenient for those few Chosen who’ve been granted a life in the human realm, like I was. Don’t you think it’d be a bit odd if you were walking around the streets of London with a beast at your side?’

  ‘Odd, sure. Also cool.’

  It had been this morning at breakfast that Harriad had told me about the link between the human realm and Duwyn. Apparently, there was a time in history when ordinary humans knew of the Chosen, before kytaen existed. He told me that when the first Chosen crossed into the human realm they were adored as gods by the ‘powerless’ ones. Then came the Plague. Underfens, demon-like beings, sprung from the cracks of the earth in a vapour of nightmares and scattered their darkness across the globe. The humans blamed the Chosen for the despair and famine, and revolted against these godly beings. The majority of Chosen were not powerful, and the humans slaughtered most of them. Then the Pulsar fought back, only to bring more destruction. The humans didn’t stand a chance and were almost purged from the world.

  Then a particular Chosen, who Harriad told me is known only as the ‘accursed’, used all of her power to destroy the underfens in the hopes it would stop the massacre, and many, though not all, of the plagues vanished. What she didn’t realise was that she had actually sent the underfens to Duwyn. That’s what I call ironic.

  The massacre continued between the Chosen and the humans. Knowing there would never be a peaceful existence between their kinds, a Pulsar called Imperi Atum used his power to open the doorway to Duwyn, which had closed on the Chosen when they ventured into the human realm, and that’s where the Imperium stands today. Shortly after, they decreed that the existence of Chosen must be kept secret from humanity. Such a primitive race, they declared, were not ready to know the secrets of the world.