Girl of Myth and Legend

by Giselle Simlett

  ‘Which is where?’

  ‘He’s in the temple, underground.’

  ‘Ah. He’s in the crypt.’

  ‘Yup. And I’m going to see him.’

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting to break him out of there.’

  ‘…No, of course not.’

  ‘You are, aren’t you?’

  ‘No! But say that I was, what’s so bad about that?’

  ‘For one thing, you’ll be breaking the law. You may be a Pulsar, and you may even escape a death punishment, but you won’t be exempt from other penances.’

  ‘So no breaking Dad out. OK. Well, as long as I can see him and talk to him, and as long as I can find a way to get Sebastian Crato to free him, then I’m fine with that. Are you coming?’

  I give him a coat and scarf to wear and turn to leave. He could bear it if I returned to the temple, but for me to go further than that, even underground, would be agonising, so I know he’ll follow me as I walk out into the flatland towards the temple.

  We walk without speaking. I know I need to say some-thing, though. I can’t ignore what happened, what I saw, what I felt, but I know that whatever pain he hides in his memories, he’s unwilling to share it, to remember it. Nonetheless, it’s useless to pretend I haven’t experienced his suffering.

  ‘Korren,’ I say eventually, ‘it’s not my business, but…’ I think of the tears that trickled down his face that night of the soul-binding. ‘Korren—’

  ‘So you’re training with O’Sah. I didn’t think you’d resume it so soon,’ he says.

  ‘Huh? Oh, no. I’ll start again when I’m better rested. We’re just going to study history today since I know hardly anything—scratch that—nothing about the Imperium,’ I say, and lose all confidence to pursue my topic. I stare out to the plain. ‘It’s winter here, but Dad told me the Eastern Shores where the Imperium is are in a constant summ—’ My foot slips on an ice-glazed rock rooted in the snow, and without having much time to think, I grab Korren’s coat and pull him down with me. He ends up head-first in the snow, whereas I land on my hands and knees, and my right wrist cracks.

  ‘OW!’ I yell. ‘Holy crap! Ow ow ow ow!’

  I move so I’m sitting upright, observing my throbbing wrist. Korren takes his head out from the snow, growling as he does, and moves onto his knees. I can feel the anger and frustration rippling from him, and even a bit of humiliation.

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ I say. ‘I’m sure kytaen trip over aaall the time.’

  ‘I didn’t trip, you pulled me down!’

  ‘Technically, but I thought you’d be a strong enough grip for me to hold myself up.’

  I notice his cheek is red from where he hit it, and I reach out for it, not realising I’m doing so. It’s a small action, maybe insignificant, but as soon as my hand touches his face, it doesn’t feel so insignificant. He freezes like a statue and his gaze engulfs me. His reaction makes me pause, my fingertips lingering on his cheek. Since I’ve met him I’ve tried to be his friend, but I’ve also looked at him as something beyond human, something conjured from magic and old stories and, yes, even fairy tales. But touching him, even at the tips of my fingers, I’m suddenly mindful of his solidity, that he is not a character from a book, that he is made up of all the things that I am, and that he has a heart that beats and thumps and feels and yearns. All I can feel from him is confusion and surprise, and, at his response to what I’m doing and to what my heart is doing, my cheeks flush. My hand drops and the moment unfreezes.

  I say, ‘C-come on, I don’t want to freeze out here,’ and I stand up and begin walking again, rotating my wrist. I stare at the ground, heart thumping against my chest. I feel… angry, yes angry, angry that I allowed myself to get so close to Korren like that. He always looks at me so intensely, like he’s trying to swallow me whole. Why? It puts me on edge. I don’t like it. Urgh. Stupid. I’m so utterly stupid. I’m a contradiction; part of me wants Korren to know me while the other part wants to hide from him. On top of all these problematic emotions—which I’m hoping are just annoying symptoms of puberty—I have his emotions bombarding me. As if I need this hassle!

  He looks at me with an annoyed expression as we walk. I stare back at him with an unflinching gaze. I think I’ve pretty much mastered the Unflinching Gaze.

  We enter the temple, going down the twists and turns of the hallways. Several Thrones pass by us, bowing their heads to me and trying to make conversation. I indulge them, not wanting them to be suspicious. I will meet no resistance as long as I seem like I’m just walking around.

  ‘Through here,’ says Korren.

  We go down a small passageway and through a few doors.

  ‘Hide, quick!’ I say.

  I conceal myself behind a curtain, and Korren stands behind a statue as a Magen walks by. When he’s gone, we uncover ourselves. He takes me a little further along until we come to a door with two statues beside it, both of them wearing veils.

  ‘Hmm,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing.’

  I raise an eyebrow and then grab the handle of the door.

  ‘Come on—’ I begin to say.

  I’m hit by a wave of force that pushes me back into Korren.

  ‘What the bloody hell was that?’ I shout after I’ve com-posed myself.

  ‘A rebuff, as I thought,’ he says.

  ‘A re—? Hey, hold it, you knew that was going to happen?’

  ‘I thought maybe there was a force field, or that you’d get an electric shock, but a rebuff is better. That way, you don’t really get hurt.’

  ‘Um, and, why exactly didn’t you share this info, kytaen of mine?’

  ‘I wanted to make sure.’

  I frown. ‘You’re so lucky my magic hasn’t shown up yet, but when it does, I’ll make sure it says hello.’ I turn back to the door. ‘Now what? How can we get in?’

  ‘We can’t. This is the only entrance, at least, the only one I know of.’

  ‘You’re saying we have to abandon my dad?’

  ‘I’m saying it’s pointless to try to get in.’

  ‘I can’t leave him!’

  ‘You can’t get him out, either.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I know you want to see him, I feel your desperation, too.’

  ‘You do?’ I shouldn’t act surprised.

  ‘I feel like I have to help him,’ he says, thinking of the right words to say, ‘as if he were my family and if I don’t help him, I’m at a loss for what to do.’

  ‘Yeah, exactly!’

  ‘Regardless of what you think, little lion, I’m on your side—reluctantly.’

  ‘Could’ve left out the “reluctantly” part,’ I mumble.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do. Unless your magic decides to manifest, we’re not getting in there.’

  ‘Can’t you break it down in your other form?’

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not willing to die so you can talk to your father.’

  ‘You know what’s annoying? If I had been like O’Sah, you’d have no choice right now. Have you ever been so un-kytaen with any other keeper of yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thought not,’ I grumble.

  ‘Why not be like them, then?’ he asks. ‘If you want me to open that door, why don’t you order me to? You’re desperate enough. So why not?’

  ‘You wouldn’t listen even if I did, and I don’t want to order you around. I don’t want to be like O’Sah or any of them.’

  He’s about to speak when we hear a noise.

  ‘We’d better go,’ he says.

  I nod and turn back to the door, placing my hand just over it so I’m not making contact. ‘I’ll find a way, Dad, I promise. I will get you out of here.’

  We head back towards the arux, outside into the cold.

  ‘You can go back to your shed if you want,’ I say, resigned. ‘I won’t go far.’

  ‘I’ll stay with you,’ he says.

  ‘Hmm?’r />
  ‘Not for any reason other than I’m tired of feeling sick from being away from you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought otherwise.’

  I go towards the open field, Korren following. Snow crunches beneath our shoes, the wind tugging at our hair. I bury my hands into my pockets, eyes downcast.

  ‘You’re still thinking about your father,’ says Korren.

  ‘What, the soul-binding help you out there?’

  ‘It’s obvious.’

  ‘I was being sarcastic.’

  ‘You do that a lot.’

  ‘Sarcasm?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Teenage privilege. Anyway, what d’you think I should do?’

  He hesitates.

  ‘Korren?’

  ‘You shouldn’t make a habit of asking me for my opinion.’

  ‘Because you’re a kytaen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh shut up and answer me.’

  He gives me a fleeting glare. ‘You shouldn’t be thinking of how to get him out of confinement.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You should be thinking of how to talk to Sebastian Crato when you arrive at the Imperium. If you’re going to get him to listen, you have to have a persuasive case. Whether you like it or not, according to the Imperial Laws, Orin Woodville did commit treason.’

  ‘Have you ever met him, this Crato guy?’

  ‘Of course not. I’ve been confined since before he was born.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘He’s the Head of the Council, though, and he has to stay firm to his decisions. He’s already changed his mind once, and doing it again might make him look feeble and unassertive.’

  ‘Don’t use words like “feeble” and “unassertive”,’ I say.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They make you sound like some middle-aged guy.’

  ‘I’m sorry my vocabulary isn’t as limited as yours.’

  ‘Hey! You did it!’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Sarcasm. Sort of. Actually, it was more of an insult, but whatever.’

  He gives me an indifferent look.

  ‘So,’ I begin, ‘I have to give Sebastian Crato a reason to absolve my dad while making sure he doesn’t look weak.’

  ‘Yes. You need to do it properly, not in a rush. As the only living Pulsar, you could have a lot of sway over Crato’s decisions, but you need to make sure to be calm, not aggressive. You’re overly hostile, and that’s not a good thing. Pulsar, especially, are very controlled in their emotions.’

  ‘So I’ve been told,’ I mutter.

  ‘They’re like water: elegant, neutral in all feeling. You, though, you’re like fire: blazing, belligerent, existing on all feelings—so unsuited to being a Pulsar.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why we clash so much, you and me, because we’re fire on fire.’

  He says nothing in response to that. ‘You need to be diplomatic.’

  ‘Fat chance I can be that.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘How about some encouragement now and then?’

  ‘There’s nothing about you to encourage.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered: you’re a lost cause, little lion.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re unprepared for a Pulsar’s duty, you lack their natural serenity and emotional stability, and besides the fact that your magic hasn’t actually surfaced yet, you’d probably have no idea how to control it anyway. I’ve never met a worse Pulsar in my life.’

  ‘Wha—? What?’

  He turns his back on me and walks forward.

  I stare at him, jaw hanging open, and then grit my teeth together, hands balling into fists. That smug, belligerent parasite! He thinks he knows what it is to be a Pulsar? He may have been soul-bound to them, but that doesn’t mean he knows what it’s like. And how dare he talk like he’s a shining example of a kytaen, the pretentious moron? Rebellious. Uncontrollable. Offensive. As far as I know, these are not qualities of a kytaen, yet he lectures me on not being how a Pulsar should be? He thinks he has the right to tell me to give up? Kytaen, Chosen or frickin’ stargod—no one tells me when it’s time to give up.

  I scoop up a lump of snow and, being as accurate and forceful as I can, throw the snowball towards him. It crashes onto his head, causing him to stop and crane his neck to look back at me, eyes narrowed.

  ‘You’re right!’ I shout. ‘I don’t belong in this world! No matter how many times I tell myself I do, no matter how much I want to be, I don’t belong in a world with magic. I shouldn’t be the Pulsar. I shouldn’t even be a Chosen! But I am, and you know what? I’m going to make it work, and I’m going to free my dad.’ I bend down and scoop up more snow. ‘And you know what else?’ I throw it at his face, and bend down and make another snowball. ‘I’m tired of you whining like some dog about being treated nicely!’ I throw it at him, but it misses his face and hits his arm. ‘I’m fed up of being mocked for being me!’ I grab more snow. ‘I am me. I am never going to change. I am not water. I am fire.’ I throw it at him. ‘And I won’t’—I grab more—‘let anyone ever’—I throw it at him—‘ever ever ever’—I scoop some more—‘try to crush that out of me, not even you!’

  As I go to throw it at him, he catches my wrist, and I realise I’ve been slowly closing the distance between us. He’s looking down at me, snow and water dripping down his face, and though he doesn’t look impressed, he’s not glaring like I thought he would.

  ‘Very unsuited for a Pulsar,’ he says. I’m about to snatch my wrist back, when he says, ‘But maybe that’s why you’re the last one, maybe that’s why the stargods decided to bring you into our world, because you’re not indifferent and you’re not mindless. You’re someone who can’t be crushed or tainted. Or at least, you’re not someone who will be so easily. Maybe in these times, it’s not water we need, but fire. Maybe that’s why we’re together. Fire on fire, as you said.’

  I blink, confused. ‘Are you… wait, are you being… nice to me?’

  ‘I’m… what was it you said? I’m encouraging you.’

  ‘…Why?’

  ‘Because I’m your kytaen, whether I like it or not.’

  ‘…I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t need to say anything.’

  ‘It’s kind of awkward, though.’

  ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘You—nice, it’s awkward and it’s scaring me. Seriously.’

  ‘It’s scaring me, too.’

  ‘Let go of me.’

  He does.

  And I push the snow in my hand into his face.

  This time, he does glare, and I laugh. I can’t help it; it’s funny to see the sullen idiot with snow covering his face.

  ‘I’m not supposed to attack the Pulsar,’ he says, wiping the snow from his face and bending down.

  I back away.

  ‘But…’ he begins, forming a ball of snow with his hands, ‘I’m sure this won’t constitute an attack.’

  He looks up and grins, and that scares me.

  ‘L-look. About the snowballs,’ I say, ‘I was just angry.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘You look wicked more than anything.’

  ‘Prepare yourself.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  And thus begins our snowball battle.

  _________________

  Ten minutes later we’re both wet from the snow. The wind has turned fierce, and snow begins to fall, but neither of us is willing to concede first. I’ve built a small fort, though it’s not tall enough yet to protect me. I have to keep bending down behind it every time Korren throws a snowball, one of them skimming the top of my head. I peek out and throw some back at him, discovering he’s making his own fort. As he collects more snow for it, I take the chance to come out of my hiding spot and scoop a lump of snow, only for Korren to turn with that kytaen quickness of his and throw a snowball at me. I gasp, bend my knees, and hol
d out my arms as if I’m about to get tackled, and then I throw my whole body to the side. I’m supposed to be rolling effortlessly in the snow—some cool kind of snow queen ice dodge. I’m supposed to be finding my feet and jumping back up in a graceful way. Instead, as I leap to the side, I fall into the snow and… that’s it. I just land in the snow with an oomph and can’t move, my legs in the air as if I were a turtle.

  I hear the weirdest sound ever: Korren laughing. It’s not a mocking laugh, not a forced laugh, not a quick laugh, but a full-on laughing fit, a true laugh, his true laugh.

  What. The. Hell? I’m so dazed that I remain sprawled on the ground, staring at him. His usual grim face and dead eyes have completely dissipated into brightness, an expression so unknown to me, an expression of happiness. Happiness. That word is one I’ve used lightly over the years, though I of all people should know how fleeting that feeling is. But Korren’s kind of happiness isn’t a simple throw-away word, but a liberated, heartening, brilliant happiness. It’s like watching sunlight pierce through shadowed clouds, and I don’t want to blink, thinking that, if I do, this foreign and uncanny moment will be broken.

  A moment passes before he comprehends what he’s doing, and he cuts himself off. He looks just as surprised as I feel. Then, something rises in me and I end up laughing. It escapes from me so easily, no hesitation, no thoughts behind it. His smile returns and he begins to laugh again, though in a more controlled way. He helps me to stand, and we continue our snowball fight for a while longer.

  ‘Give up yet?’ I say from behind my snow fort.

  ‘Not a chance,’ he says, from behind his own castle of snow.

  ‘Whoever gets this hit wins the game. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  We glare at each other, snowballs in hand. I watch him, ready for him to make his move. Korren, I’ve realised, is better at defence than attack, so if I were to make a move first, I’d inevitably lose. I stand my ground, waiting patiently.

  His arm rises fast, and I hide behind my fort before the snowball hits me. I grin. Stupid Korren. By the time he’s scooped up another snowball, I will have made my attack. I jump out of my fort, about to release my snowball—

  When one hits me in the face.

  ‘What the hell?’ I shout, wiping the snow from my face.

  ‘Huh, I won,’ he says.