Justice

by Rhiannon Paille

  “All of them are here …” Tiki said from the knapsack.

  Krishani swiveled, pulled her out and rested her between his legs. “Who?”

  Tiki brightened then dimmed like she was breathing. “The Flames … the Daed are their masters. They know how to use them.”

  “What?” Krishani said.

  Tiki dimmed. “We were created as weapons.”

  Krishani’s heart plummeted. He realized too late what the yellow orb was—the Citrine Flame. He understood what could have happened to Shimma. He turned to Tiki. “How dangerous is this?”

  “Don’t let me close to them. Don’t get too close, either,” Tiki whispered, alarm in her chime-like tone.

  A holler from the centaurs sounded and they bounded into the fray. Krishani shook as the ground vibrated. He scanned the fields. A line of Mithronians appeared through the trees. Mithronians were something talked about in legends, their tall, scaly forms and thick-horned heads the things of childhood nightmares.

  He gripped Tiki harder. He never thought of Kaliel as a weapon, but the word lanced across his temples as he fought to understand the danger inundating him. “What can the Flames do?”

  Tiki dimmed like this wasn’t something she wanted to answer. He thought of shaking her, but then her quiet voice reached his ears. “Kaliel made the mountain explode.”

  He tried to organize his thoughts, but all he could see was haze. Kaliel was dangerous. The thought was incomprehensible. He fought to see the field clearly—bright amulets, yellow, green, red, rose and indigo hung from the necks of the Daed warriors. They were the only bright things against the wave of black-skinned creatures and gold-armored Avristar warriors.

  Tyr lifted his hooves in anticipation for the fight, but Krishani held him still, backing away and pushing him towards the gates.

  “Patience, Tyr.” He patted the horse’s mane.

  Kuruny yelped loud enough to make Krishani jump. He scanned around himself and found her darkened form. She was in the iron death grip of a Daed warrior, the indigo orb hanging around his neck. The Emerald Flame is dead, Krishani thought, a reminder of the dream that almost killed Kaliel. He wanted to slip off Tyr and help her, but he couldn’t risk it.

  She wrenched the warrior’s arm off her neck and spun to face him. Bright red welts puffed on her face, her coal-like eyes wide with shock. She turned, taking another blow to the face. Tattoos slithered along his face as he neared Kuruny. She crab-crawled away, grasping at the beads around her neck, looking for something to help her.

  “Run!” Krishani hollered as the Daed warrior drew the thin blade from its scabbard and stalked Kuruny. She didn’t act like she heard him, but flipped onto her stomach and raced to her feet, narrowly missing the blade.

  Krishani recognized him. They had fought on the beach.

  The Daed Warrior lithely followed Kuruny. The indigo-tinged aura of the amulet ringed his hand as he touched an Avristar warrior on the shoulder. The warrior fell, clutching his chest, sputtering on the ground until he lay still. White smoke billowed out of him. Krishani glanced at the Daed warrior and gasped. He had only seen fire like that in the eyes of one other.

  Kaliel.

  He looked at Tiki. “Isadora … the Flame of Death,” she tried to explain, even though there was a sigh behind her words. Krishani had heard that before, Klavotesi calling himself the Flame of Justice. It made him wonder what they called Kaliel. He tucked Tiki back into the knapsack, unwilling to hear anything more about the Flames.

  He had no time to think as another crack of lightning sounded. Krishani whipped his head to the right as another flash of ruby-red lightning streaked across the battlefield, knocking someone in gray robes with long whitish hair to the ground. Mallorn. The Ruby Flame. Krishani didn’t think. He kicked Tyr into action and sped across the land, dodging boulders and fallen bodies, and skirmishes between creatures and warriors.

  He slid off Tyr as he neared the elder. Tyr slipped on the mud and fell on his side, sending the knapsacks careening to the ground. Krishani looked back. The horse let out a high-pitched whinny. His heart thudded in his chest as Tyr lay stunned for a moment.

  “Tyr!” Krishani called, not willing to let the horse succumb to the creatures. Tyr lifted his head and got to his feet. Krishani narrowed his eyes at the animal and pointed at the gates. “Go!” If it had been Umber or Rhina, they would have understood and retreated immediately. Tyr wasn’t an Avristarian horse, he wasn’t used to this. The horse slowly turned and trotted off, limping on one of his hind legs.

  Hands gripped Krishani’s forearm and the boy remembered where he was, what he was doing. He avoided the face of the elder as he searched for the Daed warrior carrying the Ruby Flame, but he was nowhere in sight. Heat crept into his infected arm as Mallorn’s grasp tightened on him.

  Krishani brought his eyes to the elder’s. Mallorn’s eyes were watery, his tunic burned through, his chest bright red. Krishani gritted his teeth in frustration. “You’re dying.”

  He was angry about it. This couldn’t happen. Mallorn couldn’t die, not now, not like this, not at the hands of a Flame. An ache hit the Ferryman’s chest and spread into him, burning his insides. It was the opposite of what he wanted. He tried to blot out the memory of Kaliel’s liquid amethyst eyes. She would never hurt anyone, she wasn’t dangerous. He glanced at the damage to Mallorn’s chest and gagged. The giant red welt simmered with flecks of what looked like tiny ruby snowflakes. It was making quick work of the flesh, burrowing holes in it, sinking into muscle, attacking his heart.

  Mallorn shifted his hand into Krishani’s, the stony-blue eyes bereft of strength. “Do it,” he said, a hiss escaping his clenched teeth.

  “Do what?” Krishani was confused. He couldn’t do what Kaliel could do, he couldn’t heal him. He wanted to, though, and needed to find a way to prevent Mallorn from dying, but Talina was inside the compound. She was being kept away from the battle by Elwen.

  Krishani pulled his cloak off and balled it up. He lifted Mallorn’s head and placed it underneath. Mallorn’s hands touched the side of his face. His skin burned at his touch, his body pulsating with fever. Krishani jerked away. He grabbed Mallorn’s hand and put it on his stomach just underneath the festering wound.

  Mallorn coughed. It turned into a deep hacking. The elder’s body curled. He brought a fist to his mouth and howled between fits of coughs. His hand was stained with blood when he pulled it away from his lips. Blood dribbled down his chin and leaked from his nostrils. He opened his eyes and looked at Krishani. They weren’t just bloodshot, they were jaundiced.

  “Do it,” Mallorn said, his voice drowned out by another fit of coughs. Krishani inched back as more blood spilled out of the elder’s mouth.

  “You can’t die.” Krishani raked his hands through his hair, his eyes wide, his heart beating erratically. Mallorn had been Kaliel’s last mentor. The elder helped him escape Avristar. He cared for the boy more than he was willing to admit or accept. Guilt lanced across his chest as warm feelings intensified.

  Mallorn tilted his head towards him, his blue eyes fixed on his. “Don’t let them have my soul.”

  “What?” He couldn’t think save to recall the battle on Avristar—Mallorn approaching from the west, Krishani knocking him to the ground, taking Umber across the field. He hunched into himself, tears welling in his eyes.

  The Vultures.

  Krishani caught their mass of black storms churning above him. They touched down like a tornado and he suffered the biting cold like a sword piercing the top of his head. Ice rushed across his temples, spreading into his cheeks, his lips, his ears. Sounds around him dulled as the tendrils bit at his eardrums. Frostbite obscuring his vision, he patted his hands on the ground, trying to find Mallorn’s body. He touched something squishy and traced the outlines of fingers, a palm, a wrist. He pushed his fingers into the palm and felt the faint beat of a pulse. Mallorn was paralyzed, but he wasn’t dead yet.

  Elwen’s instructions flooded the on
ly functioning part of his mind as he fought to grasp at the straws of the blessing he knew he had to say. He tried to work his lips, but they were already numb, words impossible to form. He pushed his chattering teeth together.

  He wanted to be a Vulture, but he didn’t want Mallorn to die. It couldn’t end like this, a simple whisper hanging between his own life and death. He had to face Crestaos, he had to avenge Kaliel.

  His numb fingers found Mallorn’s shoulder. He pressed his hand into it, trying to get his footing, and kneeled down, his cold forehead finding the scratchy fabric. “Amenally nawva callen armalta,” the Ferryman said.

  Mallorn let out a breath of relief as the force of the Vultures knocked Krishani on his back. He peeled his eyes open, blurry shapes appearing in front of his eyes, swarms of black ribbons intertwined with grayish-white puffs of smoke. Mallorn’s soul rose from his body and drifted into the atmosphere, fading against the backdrop of stars.

  The Vultures followed and Krishani pressed his head between his hands, a scream ripping from his lips. He gasped; his brain on fire, ice torn from him, the disease retreating. He saved Mallorn and the only thing that stopped the Vultures from taking him was doing the work of a Ferryman.

  He never thought accepting what he was would hurt this much. He rolled onto his side and crunched his stiff legs to his chest. Fire poured through his veins. It felt like lava as it avalanched into his heart, catapulted into his stomach and crawled along his muscles. He tried to lift his head, but it was a river of confusion. His temples screamed with agony, his lips tingled, his ears throbbed. His eyes watered, tears spilling onto his frostbitten cheeks.

  “Ferryman,” a voice said.

  Krishani coughed, blood spattering onto the back of his hand as he pushed himself to his feet and looked into the white lightning eyes of Crestaos.

  * * *

  37 - Crestaos

  There was no strength left in him. Anger boiled in Krishani’s veins, but his muscles were wasted. They throbbed, begging him to collapse and succumb to death. He tightened his fist as Crestaos smirked. The Lord of the Valtanyana was striking up close. Translucent spots smattered across wrinkled decayed skin, white hair slicked back, hanging to his tarnished cloaked shoulders. Krishani bristled, flexing his shoulders, craning his neck back and forth to work out the kinks. He unsheathed his sword, but stabbing pains hit his shoulder as he tried to hold it up. His arm drooped towards the ground, forcing the point into the grass.

  Fury flashed through Krishani as he dove, trying to land a blow. All his pent-up violence exploded at the seams. This was the reason Kaliel was dead. Seeing Crestaos in the flesh made Krishani’s blood curdle. Heat swept across his forehead, making stars appear in front of his eyes, but he blinked them away. The Vultures might have had the first round, but he wouldn’t give up. Crestaos was too important. There was no way he would let him live.

  Crestaos shifted and Krishani collided with the ground, getting a mouthful of grass. He turned in time to see the sleeve of a cloak as he was hit square across the jaw.

  Dazed, he tried to lift his head, but another blow struck from the right. Krishani scrambled to grab his sword and backed away as quickly as he could. He glanced at the sky, but even the Vultures refused to intervene. Fear gripped him as he squeezed the sword hard. He wanted the icy numbness of the cold. He wanted their help. He rubbed his chin, no doubt a deep bruise forming along his jaw line.

  Krishani lunged at Crestaos with blinding hatred. Spots dotted his vision. Poison burned his throat, constricting it, making it impossible to breathe. He parried and dug the sword behind him, hoping to wound Crestaos, but the enemy was too swift. Krishani tried again and again to land a blow, but each time he came at Crestaos he missed and slammed to the ground. Krishani rolled onto his back and narrowed his eyes. Disorientation made it impossible to concentrate, but electricity built in his extremities. He tried to hang onto the energy, the power he had on Avristar diluted by the vastness of Terra.

  Krishani coughed as something hard hit him in the chest. He careened backwards and saw blots of white starbursts. Stitches of pain lanced through him, making his muscles protest. His knees wobbled, his legs threatening to give out underneath him. He wanted it to stop, but he couldn’t give in. This was all he had: this battle, this pain, this stand.

  Mallorn shouldn’t have died. Everything was ruined because of it. The loss hurt. He wanted the Vultures to descend, change him, force Crestaos to his knees. They swarmed the battlefield, avoiding the Ferryman, gleefully devouring souls of the Avristar warriors. They betrayed him with their refusal to flood him with icy tendrils of frostbite. Nausea crept into his gut as he took another blow to the head. He rolled away from Crestaos, his face smacking into a rock. Blood poured from his nose as he slung his arm around the rock. He was exhausted and sick. He closed his eyes, Kaliel’s amethyst enflamed irises looming in his mind. Flares of pain ripped into his chest. He opened his eyes and coughed, vomit rising in the back of his throat. He pushed himself up as it burst from his mouth, staining the rock with blood and bile. He choked; the energy in his extremities twitching with false power. He couldn’t control it. If he let it loose he didn’t know who would suffer. He swung around, catching sight of the battlefield slanting underneath him.

  They were losing.

  Crestaos ruled the Flames.

  Streaks of brilliant fire scampered across the battlefield. Crestaos used them as weapons. He stripped away everything innocent about them, everything real. Krishani knew why Crestaos wanted Kaliel, what he wanted from her. It wasn’t her amethyst eyes or her snow-white hair—it was her Flame. Crestaos wanted to turn her into his weapon. He wanted the thing that made her magical, enchanting, unexpected and turn it into something deadly.

  Destructive.

  The Flames were weapons, but not just any kind of weapons—they were magic. Not manipulated by it, not instilled with it, they were it. They were the embodiment of magic itself. That was why she was unlike anyone he had ever met.

  The horizon tipped as Krishani slipped. A bony hand grasped his throat, pulling him into the air. White lightning eyes cracked with unparallel force; brimstone blew out of Crestaos’s mouth. Krishani glowered, trying to hang onto the last of his strength. This was it, the end he had been seeking since he left Avristar. Everything moved slowly and he was aware of it all—Mallorn’s body on the ground, Pux, the witches, the Flames in the fray, the masses of dead Avristar warriors, Vultures lapping them up like water. He knew he wasn’t strong enough to defeat Crestaos or the Valtanyana. He knew he would lose and they would bring Tor to his knees. He writhed, unable to look away from the eyes of the foe.

  Crestaos smirked as Krishani struggled to free himself from the iron grip. He thought about how helpless Kaliel must have felt, how impossible it was for her to fight. Guilt laced through him as the memory of the explosion mushroomed across his temples. He cringed, awaiting the fatal blow.

  “Surrender or I will take everything from you,” Crestaos hissed.

  Krishani fell limp, every bit of strength abating him. Chills ran up his spine, the one word the Great Oak had said throwing him into paralysis. He stopped struggling against Crestaos’s weight. Fiery lacerations ribboned down his arms and legs; his pulse beat in his ears. The battlefield faded as the one word he had tried to escape slashed at his heart. He gaped at Crestaos, seeing the insatiable hunger for Kaliel reflected in the black jagged lines flickering across his irises.

  “You already have.” Krishani huffed.

  Crestaos reeled, thrusting him to the ground. His feet touched the grass, ash snaking through it where he stood. He looked stricken, like Krishani’s words injured him. Crestaos shot him a lethal glare. “It was you,” he said with disbelief. “You loved it?” He growled. His mouth worked, like he tasted the words on his lips. “You’re the reason she’s not mine.”

  Crestaos lunged for the boy.

  Krishani backed away, his hands finding the knapsack. Tiki. He had forgotten all about her.
He needed her. She could numb the pain, make it go away until he found the last of his strength. He only needed enough to bring Crestaos to his death. Krishani pulled the lantern out of the knapsack and Tiki bounded to life, her light illuminating the night hanging around them. Crestaos stopped in his tracks at the sight of the Flame. Krishani held the lantern with both hands, his eyes fixed on Tiki.

  “You need to give in,” Tiki whispered.

  “What?” Krishani asked, bewildered. He twisted, bringing himself to his knees, and drew his eyebrows together, stifling a sob.

  “There is nothing left. Hand me over to him,” Tiki said.

  Krishani fumbled, his hand slipping off the lantern. It jostled as he fought to keep it in his sweaty hands. He didn’t understand what Tiki was saying. How could she believe Crestaos had won? How could she want that?

  “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself,” Krishani whispered. Desperation welled into him. She couldn’t do this, she had to heal him, she had to make it stop hurting.

  “I told you I have been waiting for him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to be on his side,” she hissed.

  Krishani shook. Betrayal crunched his heart into pieces. Everything was wrong, like the land was upside down and he was falling into the sky. Tiki couldn’t want this. There was no way she could have wanted it all along. He moved to his feet and turned to see Crestaos approach him. The rock he had smacked into before stood between them.

  “If that’s what you want,” he said to the Flame, though he hated himself for it. He growled, swung the lantern launching it into the air towards the rock. The lantern slammed into it as Tiki exploded. Light touched the sky, illuminating the entire battlefield in shades of orange.

  Krishani fell back onto the grass as the dams broke and everything she had held at bay attacked him.

  Crestaos neared the rock, grasping at the blinding light of the Flame, but something was wrong. His hands turned to dust, then his arms, his shoulders. The dust gravitated towards Tiki as she drew his dust into the depths of her Flame. Crestaos let out a thunderous cry as his body crumbled and disappeared inside the Flame. Tiki dimmed to a murky orange.