Justice

by Rhiannon Paille

  “Who’s Tavesin?” Pux asked.

  Mallorn didn’t skip a beat. “Elwen Tavesin is Krishani’s ancestor.”

  Pux had nothing to say.

  Krishani tried to fight the growing nausea. This wasn’t what he wanted. He thought if he ever agreed to heed the call, it would be with Kaliel by his side, not Mallorn. The big wooden gates grew in the distance until they were like giant statues towering over them. Mallorn glanced at the guard towers.

  “Ho there!” the old man called, using an unfamiliar language.

  Krishani fidgeted as the doors opened and guards at either side of the entryway ushered them into the village. Dull-looking straw cabins sat askew along the dirt roads. Further up the road on the left was a big barn with a fenced-in courtyard. Chickens and pigs were separated, pecking at oats and snorting in their troughs. Men on the other side of the road hammered and heated steel in a smithy. Barrels and small wooden boxes lined many of the cabins. People milled about, paying attention to their daily routines. The villagers were human, and most of them had their eyes on Pux.

  Krishani, Mallorn and Pux followed the guards along the main road towards the castle. The few trees that had been salvaged poked out of the ground at various intervals, their roots knotting against the dry, cracked mud. Chickens scuttled across the ground out of the corner of Krishani’s eye, pecking at kernels of corn scattered across the dirt.

  The entire scene was dismal. Everyone wore drab, ill-kempt garments that were mismatched or colorless. He shuddered, there was nothing beautiful or lifelike about Terra; it was a disdainfully mundane land that seemed to harbor nothing but bitterness and distress. When they passed the last of the dirt roads, they came to see Castle Tavesin in all its glory. Unlike the Elmare castle there was no moat, only a gray stone staircase that led to a wide porch and into a hall. The guards stood aside and opened the thick oak doors.

  Krishani gasped when he saw the bright red carpet, high-arched stone ceiling and the drab wooden table to the left. He had seen this hall before, the man in his dream—It was Elwen.

  “Lord Istar!”

  Krishani stiffened and ducked his head as the gruff voice of his ancestor pierced the silence. Elwen had a lilt to his voice, accentuating different syllables, making familiar words sound funny. He clenched his fist and sucked in a breath between his teeth. Mallorn wasn’t Istar; Istar was a traitor that wanted him dead.

  “My you are looking old!” Elwen said.

  Krishani glanced at him. Mallorn shook hands with the man who was about a foot shorter than him but taller than most humans. He had wavy shoulder-length brown hair and strong hazel eyes. His face was slightly wrinkled, but smooth other than the beard he sported. He wore long brown robes with gold embroidered edges and had too many rings on both hands.

  Mallorn laughed. “I suppose you would mistake me for the Lord of Avristar, however, I am not him.”

  Elwen’s expression changed to show a hint of alarm.

  “I’m Mallorn.”

  Elwen’s eyes darted to either side of the hall. Krishani thought he heard someone shuffling around in the wings, but the sound faded. The doors to the hall shut and Krishani suddenly felt like the air had been sucked out of the room and he was suffocating. He drew a forceful breath through his teeth, tasting the stench of rotting food on his lips. He glanced at the table; at the far end was a silver platter with what looked like chicken bones strewn across it.

  Elwen turned back to Mallorn, his expression less than welcoming. “Why did you leave Avristar?” The accusatory tone to his voice made Krishani nauseous. Elwen paced towards the wooden throne and carefully sat down.

  Mallorn flexed his eyebrows and slowly strode towards the throne while Krishani and Pux trailed behind. Krishani thought Mallorn was trying to choose his words carefully, deciding whether or not to tell Elwen of the atrocities on Avristar. They didn’t leave by choice. They escaped. Fear brimmed in his heart as he thought of Kaliel. Mallorn wouldn’t tell Elwen about her so carelessly, would he? There was no way he could tell Elwen the story of the Ferryman and the Flame. He pushed away the memories of Kaliel and tightened his jaw. He went to reach for Mallorn, threaten him not to say anything, when Mallorn spoke.

  “Lord Istar has more pressing matters to attend to in Avristar.”

  Krishani dropped his hand and let out a breath. Mallorn wasn’t as stupid as he thought he was. Elwen nodded and looked at the stone pillars forming the foundation of the castle. His stare was vacant.

  “Who accompanies you?”

  “The Ferryman.”

  Krishani wanted to vomit. He swayed back and forth, trying to resist the urge to collapse.

  “And another!” Elwen hissed. His eyes knifed into Pux, who was shuffling his feet back and forth. Elwen raised his arm and pointed a finger at the animal. “You brought a Child of Avristar with you.”

  Mallorn glared at the feorn. “By no fault of my own, yes, he is with us.” He crossed his arms and turned back to Elwen.

  Elwen pressed his lips into a line. “He won’t be allowed to leave the village.”

  “Aye.”

  Elwen smiled wide for a moment before it slipped off his face, his eyes on Krishani. He stroked his beard as Mallorn pushed Pux towards the table and forced him to sit down. Mallorn perched himself beside one of the wooden support beams, and Krishani felt his gaze digging into him. He tried to avoid eye contact with Elwen, but the equally menacing stare of his ancestor bore into him.

  “How long have you followed death in dreams?”

  Krishani tightened his fist, refusing to answer. It took excruciating strength to raise his head and look at Elwen. He did it reluctantly, knowing there were more questions. He couldn’t hide the truth; he knew it was written all over his face and sunken into his eyes.

  Elwen nodded. “Have you performed the first act of a Ferryman?”

  Krishani gave him a quizzical look, but something gnawed at his gut. He should have known the answer, but it was too painful to remember. Flashes of a dream flickered under his eyes. He watched the Ferryman pull an arrow out of the man’s chest, and the enemy stabbed him.

  It is your time now.

  It is your time now.

  Krishani coughed, doubled over, instinctively moving his hands to brace his chest. He gagged, choked, and wanted to fall on his knees, but wouldn’t give Elwen the satisfaction. He forced himself to raise his head even if it hurt. Elwen turned towards the throne, hiding the grief-stricken expression Krishani caught behind his half-lidded eyes.

  “So Davlin is dead.”

  Krishani cleared his throat, the coughing fit ceasing. He straightened his spine and looked at Elwen. The Ferryman never told him his given name, but he had heard it before, in the last dream.

  “You received the call?” Elwen seemed disenchanted about it like all he cared about was Davlin’s death. Krishani noticed the continuous unflinching pattern of the red carpet. Elwen whispered something barely audible, but Krishani knew the rhythm of the whispers well enough. It was the blessing Davlin used to whisper all the time in his dreams.

  Krishani cleared his throat. “Aye.”

  Elwen strode forward and grabbed Krishani’s hands. He scanned the contours of the black mark twining around Krishani’s right hand and his jaw tightened. “That’s all I need to know. Welcome home.” He said it flatly as though it was nothing to be happy about. His lips stretched into a wide smile.

  Krishani felt sick more than relaxed. He didn’t expect Elwen to know anything about the disease on his arm, but as it turned out, Mallorn was right. Elwen would be able to help, only he didn’t look like he would. Awkward silence hung between them as Krishani flexed his fingers, feeling for the shattered shards of himself. The dull ache in his heart intensified, making him lightheaded.

  “What still mystifies me is why Krishani was raised on Avristar,” Mallorn said. Krishani looked at him. His vibrant blue eyes seemed dull in the torchlight.

  Elwen nodded, like he expected the question
. “Avristar was the best hiding place. I knew they would treat him as their own. I also knew Lord Istar would return him to us when the time came. Life here has been difficult. The past almost two hundred years since Krishani was born have been increasingly dark.”

  Krishani gaped at the words. It had been nearly twenty on Avristar. He was still a child by their standards. “Two hundred years …”

  Elwen raised his eyebrows. “Aye, time moves differently on Terra. We took you to Avristar to hide you and prolong the timelines, initiate you during a less war-torn time. Another hundred years to Davlin was nothing.”

  “Yes, well, you did not succeed in the second task,” Mallorn said.

  “You’re right. The Vultures are rallying worse than ever. Enemies are sweeping across the lands, burning villages at random. We cannot identify them.”

  Krishani recalled the vision of the burned village, and the black lifeless thing hovering over the body of a young woman. He shuddered. He knew why the chaos was spreading—it was clear Crestaos had returned. Elwen had been spared the horror of facing off with that unstoppable beast.

  “We can only rely on the others for so long,” Elwen said after a long pause.

  “What others?” Krishani asked.

  “Ferrymen. There were four families chosen in the Avristar quadrant. More exist in the Avristyr and Avrigard quadrants, but we rarely converse with them.” Elwen rattled off the information as though it was something else Krishani was meant to know.

  Krishani glanced at Pux, wondering if in the midst of all of this he could count on him to come to his aid. The feorn had his head on the table and seemed to be either bored or in pain. “Who are they?”

  Elwen gave him a wistful look. “Jenima Markesh of Nimphalls, Ambrose Telper of Amaltheia, and Noelle Yessenia of Matakasha.”

  Krishani recognized the names of the other Lands of Men. On Avristar they taught the children there were seven Lands of Men. Apparently there were only four Ferrymen to protect them.

  Pux perked up and glanced at Mallorn. “Aren’t those the names of the Lands of Men?”

  Mallorn grumbled something unintelligible and waved his hand for Pux to be quiet. “I have only seen the one family crest. I have a copy of it in my vault in Avristar. I assumed there were others, but what about their histories? Why are they so concealed?”

  Elwen scratched his head and moved to the altar behind the throne. He shuffled through the papers and pulled out a single scroll. He handed it to Mallorn. The Kiirar stifled a gasp and handed it back to him. “So that is why the knowledge is forbidden.”

  Pux’s stomach growled so loudly Krishani flinched, startled by the noise. He too was famished, but hadn’t said a word since they’d broken for lunch hours ago.

  “Will there be food?” Pux asked, his voice meek.

  Elwen narrowed his eyes, snapping his fingers. A servant appeared in the wings. “Fetch the others. We’re in need of a feast.”

  * * *

  14 - Ten Thousand Years

  Krishani sat on the end across from Pux, while Mallorn and Elwen took space further down, facing each other. The servants brought in a few trays of food: turkey and various yellow and orange vegetables. Pux chewed on a turkey leg as Krishani carefully ate slices of the orange misshapen food. It tasted horrible, like a mixture of sweetness and rottenness at the same time. He swallowed and took another wary sip of the brown liquid Elwen called mead. Avristar was accustomed to serving spring water or tea. The mead smelled atrociously like honey, but tasted nothing like it.

  Elwen stood and announced with his gestures they had consumed more than their fair share. Pux finished a last bite while Krishani moved to the big wooden doors. He wanted to escape into the fresh night air and find a place to be alone. He wasn’t ready to face the truth about what he was. His nightmares had taken on a macabre tone he never thought he’d have to face. He never expected his life to be that nightmare.

  “There are things you must know about being a Ferryman,” Elwen said before he could leave the hall.

  Krishani turned, pain mushrooming across his chest. His heart felt like a dead weight, heavy and black. Adoron taught him to mind his manners in front of the elders, but Elwen Tavesin didn’t carry the demeanor of an elder of Avristar. He was human, incapable of manipulating the tides or forging the forests with his mind. The Brotherhood of Amersil wouldn’t have accepted him and Krishani wasn’t ready to accept him as his flesh and blood either. Anger flared up inside of him, a hot searing pain shot through his chest like a thousand flaming arrows. He staggered along the red carpet, his shoulder bumping into a wooden pillar. He put a hand to his shoulder and made eye contact with Elwen.

  “You mean, how I can die?” Krishani spat. He wanted nothing to do with the stodgy man before him. He reeked of sandalwood and mold; his brown robes clearly hadn’t been washed in weeks. Krishani made a guttural sound to show his disgust. He pulled his black tunic taut.

  Elwen shot him a bewildered glance. “Nay, you need to know about the Vultures and how to fight them.”

  It was like Elwen had rammed him with a solid oak tree. He fought to keep his balance, but dread crept into him, making it difficult to see. Elwen must have been talking about the black thing with the self-contained black storm circling its shapeless body, the thing that seemed a void of the world itself. Elwen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “You’ve already seen the Vultures.”

  Krishani’s anger reached the boiling point. “Tell me why Davlin died,” he hissed.

  Mallorn groaned and turned away, his gray robes scraping along the ground. Krishani went to say something about Mallorn’s blind trust in Elwen but stopped.

  “Are you asking because you saw him die? Because you are afraid of your own death?” Elwen’s tone was acidic. “I can assure you that your death is not your concern.”

  Krishani lowered his infected hand, his shoulder throbbing. He tried to keep the fury in his eyes as Elwen strode forward, nothing but three feet between them. Krishani met his hazel eyes, noting their flecks of deep brown.

  “There isn’t a way to change it. You will be the Ferryman until your successor gives you passage to the Great Hall. You’re immortal until that happens, unless … you become a Vulture.”

  Krishani flinched, the heat that burned through him turned to ice. Shivers ran the length of his spine. He wanted Elwen to stop staring at him, memorizing his black hair, mismatched eyes and elongated ears. He wasn’t Istar’s champion and he wasn’t Elwen’s. He was nothing. He tore his eyes from Elwen’s scrutinizing gaze and found Mallorn. With a sudden pang he realized what the black marks meant.

  The curse was turning him into a Vulture.

  His breath came in short gasps as he fought for sanity. “How long did Davlin wait for me?” he said. Fear circled his heart, its beat ringing in his ears.

  Elwen choked. Krishani stared at him for a long moment, thousands of years of hard truths written on his ancestor’s face. The Ferrymen weren’t like other creatures. Krishani understood why the kinfolk on Avristar wanted to live forever. He couldn’t fathom how long he would have to do the job. Nineteen years and all he had suffered from were nightmares.

  Elwen looked at him like he’d broken some unspoken code and should be thankful for the help. He set his lips in a line, and Krishani feared he wouldn’t answer. He couldn’t take the pressure. How long would he have to endure the pain of living? Every breath made him want to claw at his insides.

  Elwen took a deep breath. “Ten thousand years.”

  Krishani snapped. Anger flashed through his limbs and he moved with alacrity towards the stone pillar. He snatched a torch and slammed it on the ground, flames scorching the carpet, fire rising between him and his wretched ancestor. Ten thousand years without Kaliel, was all he could see, a life of nothingness, a life of tragedy. He ran his hands through his hair and stalked the hall. He was a million miles away, lost in the darkness he sought comfort in. He couldn’t stand the stif
ling heat in the hall, the night sky beckoning him to its vast emptiness. The pain of losing Kaliel pulsed throughout his entire being, a bitter burning sensation raking over his limbs worse than the disease that was trying to change him.

  “If I take this path I will never see her again,” Krishani said to himself. He turned to see Mallorn reciting an incantation, the flames turning to smoke. Elwen seemed confused and Mallorn looked ashamed. His eyes blazed at Krishani with nothing but disappointment. He turned to Elwen and muttered something Krishani couldn’t hear beyond the buzzing in his ears. He put his hands in his hair and grabbed clumps of it. Elwen turned white as gray smoke rose between them. Krishani flinched, moving backwards, reminded of a thousand dreams of death and thousands of wisps of white smoke. Beyond the smoke Krishani saw Elwen’s crystallized brown eyes, frozen and unyielding.

  “Being a Ferryman changes you. Even if you found her again, I doubt she would recognize you.” Elwen’s words weren’t gentle.

  To Krishani the sound was like an avalanche, pressing on his eardrums, pulling him under thick blankets of snow, making him deaf to anything but the roar of the mountain. His heart beat so fast he thought it would explode, each beat sending poison through his veins. His muscles tensed, stiff as rock. He couldn’t listen to anything else Elwen had to say. He gulped, trying to fill his lungs, but his throat was constricted. Daggers attacked his gut and he wrapped his arms around his torso in an attempt to hold himself together.

  Elwen watched him with hard eyes.

  Mallorn betrayed Krishani; he told Elwen about Kaliel. In that faint whisper, he unleashed all of his dark secrets and made a mockery out of his grief. He’d never forget what had happened on Avristar. He’d never let it go. He’d never be the Ferryman Elwen wanted. It wasn’t like he hadn’t betrayed everyone else for Kaliel already. Losing her was the bittersweet revenge for betraying Avristar. Krishani mustered the strength to stand straight and face Elwen. The smoke was gone, but the menacing look in both their faces remained.