“Immortality?”
Shimma crossed the floor and opened one of the flaps of the tent. She glanced at the setting sun and the other tents that lined the crevasse. She needed to make sure none of the villagers were going to bother them. It was quiet, a few children playing further down the trail. Nobody else seemed interested in them. She closed the flap and turned back to Krishani, her voice hushed. “Kuruny only left because of me. Avristar was the safest place for her since the treachery on Nimphalls.”
Krishani groaned. “She warned me about the corruption.” He seemed exhausted as he flopped onto the cot.
Shimma cringed. “She was only trying to protect you. The people on Nimphalls almost killed her.”
Krishani closed his eyes. “She said I would die.” He sighed. “Death is …”
“Hard,” Shimma said quietly. She picked up the drum and began beating out a low tune, partly to hush their voices and partly to find something to do. She wanted to keep Krishani company because there was more to his melancholy than what she discovered. Kaliel perished in the explosion, but she wasn’t the only thing consuming his thoughts. There were a lot of things Krishani wasn’t telling her, but she wasn’t sure which things she wanted to know. After moments of nothing but soothing music, she stopped. “Why did you leave?”
Krishani groaned and put an arm over his eyes. “I’m the Ferryman.”
The drum slipped out of her hands and clattered onto the floor. There was a noise outside the hut and Shimma stood, the beads around her neck jangling as she ducked through the thick cloth doors. She stepped through the sand, passing by other closed tents as she headed towards the beach. There was a larger tent near the mouth of the crevasse. She ducked inside and nodded at the older, leather-faced woman inside. A clay pitcher of tea waited for her. She took it with both hands and returned to her own tent. She hadn’t bothered to tell Krishani she gave up her bed so he could rest. He looked at her seemingly apologetically as she crossed the animal hide and put the tea on a barrel.
“I forgot about the tea.” She smiled as she handed him a cup.
He blew on it and took a shaky sip. Shimma inspected him, the sharp angles of his narrow face, oblate cheeks and drooping eyelids. Shadows circled his eyes, his mouth permanently downtrodden. He was handsome even though he was nothing but skin and bones. He put the tea down and averted his eyes. “You heard what I said.”
“I have no idea what it means.” She shrugged.
Krishani scratched the back of his neck and ran his hand through his hair. She noticed the black marks staining his hand and let out a small gasp. He followed her gaze, scowling. “Oh, you didn’t notice?”
“It looks like a plague.”
He took a deep breath. “It’s changing me.”
Shimma grimaced and blinked. She didn’t know what to say. Instead of staring at him she picked up the tea and put it back in his hands. “I can’t imagine what it must be like.”
Krishani took a sip. “Kuruny wonders why I wasn’t afraid of death.”
“Kuruny worries incessantly. We barely rescued her, and Kazza’s method was barbaric.” Shimma turned and began sorting through the piles of things in the corners of the hut, putting them in order. She needed to be distracted. Now that he was awake she felt foolish for all the hours she spent watching him sleep.
Shimma wanted to forget the days on Nimphalls. Kazza killed a human to save Kuruny and the burden still hung over their heads. Even if the human deserved death for his crimes, it wasn’t something Children of Avristar did—especially not the Lord’s Daughters. It was no wonder corruption festered in every corner of the lands. Shimma didn’t attribute that corruption to the Valtanyana alone. It was the people; their souls were sick on the inside. It was their fault they fell prey to the deadly evils plaguing them.
The tent flaps rustled and someone else stepped in. Shimma whipped around, recognizing Kuruny’s scent. Her sister scowled at Krishani as he brought the cup to his mouth.
“Rand knows who he is,” Kuruny said, voice carrying an edge of malice.
Shimma glanced at Krishani. He was looking at his hands, the blackness in the right one swirling into his palm, making it thicker and blacker. He looked sadder than he had a moment ago, as though being reminded of his identity was worse than a plague. “Does he know I came for the Flame?” he asked monotone.
“He knows the man on the white horse brings death.” She spat the last word like it was Krishani’s fault and paced the small hut. She turned and placed her hands on her hips. “What have you done, Krishani?”
He chuckled, a faint smile on his lips. He closed his eyes. Kuruny’s fiery gaze bore into him. “I didn’t ask to be who I am,” he said.
“He’s … the Ferryman,” Shimma whispered.
Kuruny recoiled. She looked at Shimma briefly, then back at Krishani, letting out a cry that sounded like fear. She pushed her hands down the length of her arms, like she was trying to brush bugs off her skin. Staggering backwards, she caught the cloth door in her hands. Shimma watched as Kuruny held it against her face, her fingers knotting the canvas. Shimma thought she must be thinking about her own death, but she didn’t say it out loud.
“They want you gone before nightfall.” Kuruny choked.
Krishani looked at her, but Kuruny couldn’t stop staring at him like he was a disease. He glanced at Shimma, a pleading expression on his face.
“Give him another day. He isn’t strong enough,” Shimma said.
Kuruny grumbled something unintelligible and stumbled away from the hut. Shimma moved to her feet and went to follow her. She stopped at the doorway and looked at Krishani. She scrunched up her nose.
“Don’t … leave the hut. I may not know much, but I know what they have in the cave isn’t a good thing. It isn’t something you can take.” She tucked her head to the ground and followed her sister.
• • •
Dark figures moved through the fields with precision and grace. The four of them stretched across the land like an impenetrable wall of riders against thousands. Hooves hit the ground, leaving marks with spiked horseshoes. Nostrils flared, smoke billowing out, rising into the sky. They hit the trees and forged a path of ashes through it, trees catching fire. The riders had no souls; they were remorseless creatures traipsing through unconsecrated lands, destroying everything they came into contact with. Their faces were covered in darkness, hidden beneath long flowing cloaks draped over the backs of the giant beasts. Their hands were covered with shiny armor concealing their flesh. One of them gripped the reins and made a sharp right. The others followed in succession as they found the east shore. There were thriving lands across the channel. The riders wanted to bring nightmares to their children, burn their houses, hear the cries of women as they devoured the towns in haste.
Their minds were full of nothing but blind hatred and hunger for blood. There was no sense in reasoning with them. Death came swiftly by their hands, and when it came, so did the Vultures, and when they came, the souls were silenced.
The Horsemen thrived on silence.
It was far better than the screeching noises filling their ears. No matter how far they traveled, it wouldn’t stop. The constant agonizing sounds followed them, and when the souls were devoured, the screeching ceased. It remained quiet until the beating hearts of souls in the distance caused it to start again.
And then they hunted them.
To silence them.
Their horses were beast-like, with sharp teeth, red eyes, scales. Their armor covered what little bristles of prickly hair they had. Their hooves were covered with sharp spikes. They breathed fire. Only their riders could control them, because there were no words for what these beasts were.
Krishani watched in horror as they hit the shores and led the beasts into the foamy waters of the ocean. He watched until their forms disappeared under the waves, and shuddered as one of them turned back and glanced at him. Krishani averted his gaze and saw a little girl. She had beautiful midnight blac
k hair that fell to her ankles. Her skin tinged blue, her lips bruised purple. She had coal colored eyes, full of hatred. But she was under four feet fall. A pale blue nightgown fell to her bare feet. She pointed at the sand and he followed her gaze. Blood lapped up against the shore, covering his boots in a thick red paste.
The sight of the blood made him jolt. He wrenched out of the cot, a fierce ringing in his ears. He clenched his fists to the sides of his head and tried to quiet his urge to scream. He was alone in the hut, on the west shores of an island on Terra. He closed his eyes, but the image of the girl clouded his vision, a little girl, one that called the Horsemen to do her bidding.
She was one of the Valtanyana.
* * *
23 - Hopeless
Krishani rubbed his eyes and waited for the ringing in his ears to die down. Every time he squeezed his eyes shut, the Horsemen turned and looked at him. The little girl with her full black eyes pointed at him. He shuddered. Fear knotted his stomach. The hut had been dark since Shimma left. She hadn’t bothered to return and he was too afraid to face the villagers.
Someone pounded the thick cloth door and Krishani jumped. Nobody came in, but he moved from the bed and carefully pulled away the cloth. A bowl of steaming food sat in the sand. He pulled it inside. As he sat there half drinking, half scooping the stew into his mouth, he spotted a soft glow emanating from the knapsack against the wall. Krishani set the bowl down and moved to the bags. He lifted the lid, light exploding into the room. He shielded his eyes and Tiki immediately dimmed. He pulled the lantern out of the knapsack and sat it on the bed.
“Are you going to take the Flame?” Tiki asked.
Krishani sighed. He was going to slip out of the cabin and avoid the eyes of the villagers as he explored the cave, but what Shimma said before stuck with him. “Shimma …”
Tiki dimmed. “I tried to ask the Flame why she came here.”
“You can talk to her?”
“Yes.”
“And what was her answer?”
“Silence. I sense …” Tiki faded to the familiar rusty orange and he pushed himself onto the bed. He looked at the ceiling of the hut and waited.
“Hopeless. Laurelin is hopeless.”
So this Flame had a name, too. It was probably within a body. He stared at the glowing light, his mind full of questions. “Shimma said something is wrong with her.”
“She shouldn’t be here. She was from Sallas.”
Krishani frowned. He only knew the names of the seven Lands of Men. He hadn’t memorized the names of the lands in Avrigard and Avristyr. Sallas sounded like somewhere far away and mystical. Chills ran up his spine at the thought of finding her in the cave. Beholding another Flame in a body made him afraid. “Should I go to her?”
“I think they’re right.”
“Where are the others?”
“He has them. Four of them.”
Krishani took a sharp breath. The number seemed high. If Kaliel was the fifth and Tiki was the sixth, then Laurelin was the seventh, and it left only two other lights Tiki could see. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“I thought it might help.”
“How?”
“For when you try to rescue them?”
Krishani laughed. For the first time in days he found something amusing. He stopped. Tiki was quiet; she was serious. He averted his eyes. “I can’t rescue a soul once a Vulture has taken it.” He repeated Elwen’s words because Crestaos couldn’t be worse than a Vulture, and the Flames were no more than souls within his grasp.
“You won’t find a way to get them back?” she asked.
Krishani raked a hand through his hair. He never meant to keep them in the first place. He only meant to save them from the torture the Valtanyana would inflict on them. He realized it was another of those things he didn’t want Tiki to know, but he didn’t have another way to explain. “I never sought to possess the Flames. And I wasn’t there to kill Osvanir.”
Tiki dimmed. Krishani felt guilty.
“I expected a girl.” He shook his head. “Not like Kaliel … but a girl.”
“You came … to kill me?” Tiki’s words fell slowly. They stung the air.
Krishani stood, pacing the length of the hut. “We hid Kaliel in the forest. The shee were supposed to protect her, Mallorn promised. Crestaos found her anyway.” He crossed his arms, pushing them into his ribs. It hurt to remember. He wanted to shove the words back into his mouth because Tiki wasn’t shining at all. He picked up the lantern. “Death was her only escape. I came to protect the others.”
“By killing them.” A faint flash of orange erupted from the lantern.
Krishani gulped. Becoming the enemy wasn’t the answer to defeating the enemy. He put Tiki on the floor and stretched out on the cot. Silence ensued, nothing but lost squalls of wind rattling the tent. He closed his eyes and he was in the forests of Avristar again. He was being thrown from Umber, hitting the ground, screaming out her name … being devoured by darkness. He shouldn’t have left her side. She shouldn’t have faced Crestaos alone.
Tiki went dark, leaving him in pitch black night.
“I didn’t kill you,” he muttered.
Tiki had nothing to say.
Krishani gasped, spluttered, fighting to sit up. He grabbed his heart, poison dissolving it, turning it into liquid mush. Spasms rippled across his muscles as the barrier Tiki created broke. Emotions spilled out, knifing through him. He rolled onto his side and crunched his legs to his chest, shaking from the intensity of the pain. He couldn’t feel it before, but he felt it now. The disease that infected his entire arm with blackness throbbed. Tendrils of the disease curled around his shoulder and crawled down his torso. It stretched across his chest and stung his heart. He gaped; tendrils laced with tiny spikes burrowed into his heart.
He clutched his chest, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He writhed, fingernails digging into his tunic. Balancing on his elbows, he ripped it off, fingers splaying across his chest. He let out a growl and fell on his back. Heels dug into the cot, his shoulder blades pressed down, his neck muscles tight. Sweat trickled down his forehead, fingernails dug deeper into his flesh. He stopped breathing, his eyes widening as realization hit him. The disease was doing this to him, first his skin, then his blood, then his bones. It was etching through him and he was powerless to stop it.
Helpless without Tiki.
He reached for the lantern and knocked it over. He let out a growl and tried again, this time catching it by the handle. He pulled it towards him, barely able to find his tongue.
Make it stop, he thought. He fixed his eyes on the boxy chamber. Nothing happened at first, but then it lit up like a bonfire, light exploding off it so strong and bright he fell back onto the cot.
“Your eyes show remorse.” Tiki sighed.
Waves of comfort washed over Krishani as she replaced the barrier she had originally created. He coughed, choked, fought against the last remaining wisps of pain as it dwindled to a dull thud in the back of his mind. He took a long breath and let it out slowly.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry,” Tiki said.
Krishani put the lantern next to him. His muscles twitched, everything was numb again, a welcomed feeling. He couldn’t withstand the pain if that’s how intense it had become since Tiki began helping him. “Is it really that bad?”
“It’s worse.”
Krishani groaned. He couldn’t talk about it anymore. There wasn’t much time before the disease took him completely and he had to find the Flames. “Where are they?”
Tiki paused, her light growing dimmer. “The Azurite Flame is on Nimphalls, and the Obsidian Flame is on Amaltheia.”
“How do I get there?”
“You can’t open vortexes.”
Krishani sighed and stood. His muscles were stiff. He rubbed his brow, paced back and forth for a while until he stopped and hung his head. “I might need to ask Mallorn for help.”
“Where is Mallo
rn?”
He groaned. He didn’t want to go back there, but he didn’t have a choice.
“With Elwen.”
* * *
24 - The Citrine Flame
A deafening scream rang out. Shimma feigned interest as the Flame struggled against the weight of the shaman, but Rand forced her to her knees. Shimma looked at her sand covered dress and heaved a sigh. Rand bound her hands behind her back and shoved a piece of cloth in her mouth. He tied it around her neck.
The bonfire blazed, the cove an eerie quiet other than the girl’s whimpering shrieks. Threads of blonde hair fell around her face as tears streaked her splotchy red cheeks. Rand held his hands to the sky and glanced at Shimma and her sisters. He was a wall—thick-chested, wide-armed, and short. Graying hairs moved in the wind, his wrinkled face a mask of disgust. Shimma bowed her head. Kuruny and Kazza followed suit. Kuruny held a raven’s feather; Shimma, a bowl of water; and Kazza, a smoking sage. Around them, distinguished members of the village stood, each of them silent, each of them ignoring the cries of the girl.
Rand thrust the girl to the fire and stepped into his place amidst the circle. He raised his hands to the tall bonfire and shouted at the cloudy sky. The sisters broke out of the circle, silently closing the distance between themselves and the girl. Shimma whispered words under her breath as she watched her sisters do the same. Ritual work between them was always like this: serious, silent. Shimma’s limbs buzzed, proof the energy weaving worked.
The girl wriggled and cast her murky yellow eyes at Shimma as she passed. They were flecked with specks of black. Shimma stole a careful glance at her sisters as they approached. Kuruny dipped the feather into the heady water and knelt down in front of the girl while Kazza created a smaller circle around her, waving a burning sage bushell. Shimma held the bowl and waited as Kuruny covered the girl in sticky liquid.
Rand began chanting in a low tone. The fire sizzled and cracked as they raised the energy necessary to cleanse the demon from the girl.
She was a Flame after all.
Not only that, but she was the Flame of Hope. The villagers believed in her.
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