Authors: Rhiannon Paille
Justice (21 page)
27 - The Beach
Dawn slunk over the rocks with ease and precision. The witches and the Ferryman gathered on the shore. Bodies strewn across the sand were gone, but the spilled blood remained. Krishani tightened his fist as his eyes trailed over the blood, burdened by guilt. Nobody knew he fed the souls to the Vultures. Nobody needed to know he cared little for the villagers. They were impish and made this war worse. Housing a Flame was dangerous, letting them take her was careless. If he had it his way, he would prefer all the villagers were dead and the Flame was his.
“Try not to be long,” Krishani said to Kuruny, a snarl on his lips.
Kuruny passed him with a sideways glare and stumbled over the rolling sand to where Kazza fitted the pieces of the seashell together.
“Don’t fail,” she sneered over her shoulder.
Kazza clasped the seashell together and held her hands to the sky. The water in the cove was shrouded by shadows. Beyond the rocks, waves winked with ripples of dawn light. She grasped the seashell in both hands and hummed a sorrowful tune into the verdant morning air. The wind picked up and Krishani idly moved to the rocks underneath the overhanging cliff. Shimma was fiddling with the lantern, attempting to set coordinates. He had Tyr by the reins, but the horse was silent beside him.
Shimma looked up and their eyes met. Krishani felt awkward. “I’ll get us there, don’t worry,” she said, doubt crossing her face. She pushed one of the symbols into place and grimaced at the reaction from the contraption. It whined in a high-pitched lull that seemed too loud for humans to hear. She shook her head in frustration and sat the device beside her. Her gaze moved to the shore, where water roiled.
“Halt!” The shout came from the huts on the south side of the cove. Krishani curiously let the reins go and stalked in the direction of the voice. The shape of the elder Rand emerged from behind the trees, a dagger held above his head, his gait a spring towards Krishani.
“Villain!” Rand swiped the air near Krishani’s head and the boy ducked out of the way. Rand rounded him and Krishani ceremoniously pulled out his sword. They circled each other. Krishani half-expected this to happen, but he kept his mouth shut as Rand lunged. “The blood of the slain are on your hands,” Rand growled, throwing himself at the boy again. Krishani turned, meeting Rand’s dagger with the blade of his sword.
Kazza and Kuruny perched at the edge of the water as the boat came, making the ground shake. It slid onto the shore, crunching sand underneath it. Krishani glanced at the carved statue of the woman on the hull and his stomach lurched. He hadn’t seen the boat since he fled. He faltered, his knees hitting the ground, Rand’s blade grazing the outskirts of his left shoulder. Red blood effused the shallow wound. Krishani tossed the blade to his right hand, punctuating the air with malice.
“You are a plague, Ferryman!” Rand screeched. He tilted the dagger downwards and tried to stab Krishani in the chest.
Krishani growled, grabbed a handful of sand and threw it in Rand’s face. He couldn’t think clearly. He was a child in Amersil. They took him in, trained him, treated him as one of their own. Nineteen years and all he accomplished was destruction, betrayal, abhorrence. He felt cheated of the life he deserved. He didn’t want this life of death and dying. The Ferryman was faceless, nameless. Blind anger coursed through him. Rand staggered back and fell on the heap of ashen branches, the dagger clattering to the sand as he wiped his eyes. Krishani moved to his feet, taking languid steps as he watched Rand writhing. Krishani stalked Rand like a Vulture, waiting for death to take him so he could have his feast.
“What am I?” Krishani asked, acrid poison burning his tone. He clenched and unclenched his fist, blood streaking down his arm, droplets splashing onto the sand.
“Demon … plague …” Rand gagged and coughed, his hands flying to his throat in exasperation. “The man on the white horse brings death,” he whispered. “You are death.”
Krishani moved back and forth in the sand like a tiger, the words sinking into his pores. He was angry and sad, desperate and vengeful at the same time. He had no quarrel with Rand, but a vile menacing grin crept across his face. The elder thought he was death. It was a gruesome and terrifying mistake. He dug the sword deep into Rand’s chest and relished the deafening cry as ribs cracked and blood seeped onto the sword. Rand’s hands dragged along the blade, creating shallow cuts on his rough skin.
“Villain.” Rand maintained eye contact.
Krishani returned his gaze with a portending smile. “Wait,” he whispered as he held the sword in his chest. They came with blinding speed, rising over the cliff and descending from the sky. Krishani laughed as they swarmed the bonfire, their masses of swirling black storm clouds engulfing them both. Krishani felt the biting cold slither up his feet and crawl along his back. It gnawed into his fingers and scraped at his cheeks. The Vultures whispered in gleeful tirades. They were happy. He brought death to them, and they would devour it at his will. Tentacles of darkness curled around the sword and crawled up Rand’s face as he blanched, trying to flinch away from it.
“What is this?” Rand bellowed, his fingers flailing against the dark wisps of Vultures.
Krishani’s blue and green eyes blazed with fiery impetus. “Death,” he whispered with a shocking sense of guiltlessness. The Vultures clamped against his legs and Krishani smiled at Rand. He wanted to show the elder there were worse things than him to fear.
“Please!” Rand cried. “Make them go away!”
“Beg for it.”
A hand clapped his shoulder, someone digging their fingers into the wound. Krishani broke eye contact with Rand. Shimma braved the blackness surrounding them, her face streaked with tears. The Vultures whipped against her body but she was immortal; they couldn’t have her.
“Please … I beg you, make them go.” Rand’s cries were crisp and clear as the Vultures curled around his bloodied hands and skirted up his shoulders. Krishani clamped on the hilt of his sword and slowly twisted it, causing Rand to guffaw.
“Let him go!” Shimma shrieked.
Krishani stood, his hand on the blade—turning, turning—torturing the man for his treacherous humanity. Rand had done nothing wrong, but Krishani wanted him to hurt as much as he hurt. He wanted Rand to see he was a prisoner to the Vultures, that they were the true plague.
Stop!
Kaliel’s voice ripped through the piercing darkness and Krishani faltered. Warmth spread into his heart. It was both foreign and familiar. He let the hilt go and grabbed his chest. He fell backwards as the Vultures swarmed them, anger peaking as death lingered in the air. Krishani convulsed as a soft hand grazed his brow.
I missed you.
Kaliel’s voice made Krishani forget where he was and who he was. Hot tears streaked down his clammy face as he fought to find his way through the waves of confusion surrounding him.
“Krishani!”
Shimma’s panicked cry pierced him. He pushed at the wisps of darkness. Rand was strung up against the sticks of the bonfire, grasping at the last breaths of life.
Krishani’s eye widened, seeing the atrocity of what he had done. He grabbed the sword and pulled it out, whispering the blessing, allowing Rand safe passage. He didn’t want to think about why Rand was dying. The Vultures screeched in anger as they followed the wispy white smoke into the sky. As quickly as they had come, they disappeared into the thin air, leaving nothing but blue skies behind. Krishani fell on the sand, opening his eyes only to see Shimma standing over him, shaking and crying. His eyes widened as she fretted over the wound. “Go away,” he said, his voice rough and ragged.
Her eyes went wild with reproach, but she drew away. Krishani followed her feet to the frozen expressions of shock on Kuruny and Kazza’s faces. He never wanted them to know he’d become a monster, but he couldn’t deny it anymore. The disease crept away as the warmth in his heart spread. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to lapse into the reverie of Kaliel’s words.
This and nothing else.
He missed her more than ever. She wasn’t strong enough to face Crestaos, but he wasn’t strong enough to face this endless nightmare. He missed the sweetness of her voice and the taste of her lips. He wanted to go back to Avristar, to the cave behind the waterfall, and listen to her hum as they drifted to sleep.
“Krishani,” Kazza snapped.
The boy shook his head and coughed, tasting blood in the back of his throat. He rolled over and spat as he pushed himself to his knees. Kazza stalked across the sand and glared at the body against the bonfire.
“We need to leave.” She sounded angry and afraid.
“Light the bonfire,” he said. His eyes trailed to Rand. He wanted to erase what he had done.
“I’ll do it,” Shimma said quietly as she crawled over to the branches. She held her hands out and whispered something. A small blaze began in the corner of the bushel and she drew away, kneeling on the sand and wiping her face with her apron. Kazza turned on her heel and stormed toward the boat. Her eyes said she wanted to know more, but she wasn’t stupid enough to ask what just happened. She helped Kuruny into the boat and followed afterwards. The craft glided into the serene waters of the ocean and headed toward the morning sun.
• • •
Shimma watched them leave, her bottom lip trembling. She held the lantern in front of her, too afraid to stand, too afraid to walk. She gazed at the horizon and waited. Wind whistled through the cove. She tried to pull Krishani away from Rand and he pretended like she wasn’t even there. Biting cold surrounded him, but she didn’t know why. Behind them the bonfire roared, its blaze covering the body in flames. She hung her head and said a silent blessing.
“Do you know how it works yet?” Krishani said monotone, his cold eyes knifing into her. She gulped and shifted the lantern. Krishani had Tyr beside him as she flipped the last of the symbols into place and waited. A little blue orb grew from the inner chamber. It whined as it encompassed them. Tyr jerked around in discomfort at the noise. When it had all of them within its massive blue bubble it suddenly pulled inwards, and they disappeared from the beach.
* * *
28 - Amaltheia
Shades of gray appeared as the orb exploded in the middle of a cornfield. Krishani rolled onto his back and stared at the clear sky, blinking and rubbing his eyes. Still feeling dizzy and numb from the event on the beach, he sat and glanced around. Tall stalks of corn surrounded him and all he could hear was rustling and nickering. He pushed stalks out of his way and found the horse caught between stalks. Tyr frantically jerked around trying to free himself. Krishani cooed, trying to calm him down, trying to calm
himself
down. He pulled at the dark gray straps of the once-brown reins and looked for Shimma. Pulling Tyr through the stalks, he tried to make the horse more comfortable as footsteps approached them. Wary of danger, he crouched, expecting an attack.
Shimma burst through the stalks carrying the lantern. Her hair was a ghostly white, her eyes light gray. She seemed both elated and exhilarated. Her expression changed when she caught Krishani looking at her, she gulped. “It works.” She sounded as chirpy as Melianna in the morning.
Krishani looked at the sky again. “Do you know where we are?”
She almost beamed. “Amaltheia.” She took off ahead of him.
“What’s wrong with …”
Shimma skipped ahead of him, peering back and forth as she ambled through the corn. “They have no color.” She glanced over her shoulder and caught him scratching at the wound on his shoulder. “It has to do with the blue sun.” She turned in circles, her face to the sky until she stopped and pointed at something in the distance.
Krishani followed her gaze and saw the bright blue white hues of the blistering sun. It was the only thing that had any color in Amaltheia. He turned back to the labyrinth of corn and waited for Shimma to continue leading them. She frowned and kept on turning in circles.
“What is it?” he asked hesitantly.
Shimma shot him a wry smile and winced. “I had no control over where on Amaltheia we landed. We seem to be far from anywhere in particular.”
“You mean we could be traveling for days without any luck?” He ran a hand through his black hair. He rested his head against Tyr’s muzzle and tried to stifle a sigh. He wasn’t fond of aimlessly wandering in the hopes of finding something. Regret crept into him. “Set the coordinates again. We’ll return to Terra and ask Elwen for help.” Part of him wondered whether Shimma intended to have him lost in a realm alone with her, away from her sisters?
Shimma stormed through the stalks. She had the lantern in hand and wasn’t letting it go. Krishani waited, refusing to go with her, but when it seemed like she wouldn’t come back he mounted Tyr. The land stretched out for acres. A tiny break between the stalks marked where Shimma was and he pulled Tyr after her. As they weeded through the labyrinth of corn he finally spotted a thin dirt road.
Shimma was the first to reach it and she tumbled onto her hands and knees, her body heaving with thick breaths. The lantern fell but with it being a fortified iron chamber it didn’t break easily. She rolled onto her side and grasped her stomach.
Krishani frowned, dismounted the horse and assessed the damaged witch. He tried to think of something to say, but decided to remain quiet. He peered down the long road, its gravelly dust trailing into the horizon, lined by cornfields. He turned, trying to see if the other way was better, but the same end retreated towards the horizon behind him. Shimma sat on the ground, a hand on her stomach as Krishani rounded Tyr and mounted. She glanced at him. “I might ride and you might walk,” she said pointedly.
Krishani groaned and slipped off the horse. She passed him with a guilty look and clumsily swung onto the horse. He looked back and forth down the straight road and turned to her.
He shrugged. “Your choice.”
“That way,” Shimma said as she pointed behind them. Krishani took the reins and carefully led Tyr down the road. He would have hopped on behind Shimma, but the idea of being so close to her made his skin crawl. He didn’t trust her or her sisters. He was also aware the cornfields were deceiving and he was unsure who or what to expect on Amaltheia.
Hours passed in the dim glow of the blue sun as they tarried down the endless road. It never turned, but was always a level, straight line leading through the lands. Shimma shifted her weight and fell asleep as Krishani continued walking. He tried not to think about the pending battle and the prospect of his death, but fear seeped into him as thoughts picked at the back of his mind, making him remember no matter where he went, he would always be what he was.
Trees appeared as fuzzy lines in the distance, growing as they got closer to them. It seemed like they had found a bit of civilization in an almost-deserted land. Krishani put a hand on his sword as he passed the perfect row of trees. They created three inner sides of a square. Within was a large wooden cabin, raised off the ground by a few feet with wooden stumps. A wide porch wrapped around it and three triangle roofs linked it together. There was a barn farther to the opposite row of trees and what looked like a stable to the right of the house. Sharp blades of trimmed grass lined the flat stone walkways, and a small fountain rested in the middle of a flower garden. He was too tired to question the potential for danger as he led Tyr across the flat stones.
Shimma woke when she heard the door to the cabin swing open and a stout shabby man with salt and pepper hair and gray beard stepped onto the porch. “Where are we?” She slid off the horse and glanced at the farm. Krishani looked over his shoulder, but didn’t answer. He didn’t know where they were; she was supposed to be the guide. She let out a sigh of relief. “That was a long walk.” She looked at the human who was gaping at Krishani.
She passed him and bowed to the human. He nodded and glared at the boy. She waved her hand in dismissal and gestured to the cabin. She looked back at Krishani and gave him a blank look. “Wait here.” She ascended the stairway and entered the cabin behind the shabby man.
Krishani walked back towards the thin road. He was definitely not going anywhere without Shimma. Tyr bent his head and began drinking from the fountain. When he almost lapped up enough to make it bone dry, he pulled the horse away and let him graze. Shimma appeared from the house without the human on her heels.
“He’s mute,” she said.
Krishani nodded. “And so we’re still lost?”
“No, I understood him. Havelir is nearby and he’ll help us.”
He took a deep breath and mounted Tyr. Shimma crossed her arms and gave him a look. “You don’t look ill,” he said, wanting his turn to ride.
She looked away. “No, he had the tea.”
He ignored her. “Lead the way?”
Shimma grabbed the reins and pulled them in the direction they’d been traveling for hours. Krishani let out a huff.
• • •
The sun didn’t set.
Krishani grew tiresome of the ever-present glow of the blue sun. Tyr got tired and whinnied in protest as they headed down the road in impatient agony of ever finding anything. The land never changed, the cornfields never waned.
Shimma scuffed her feet along the trail. She yawned, but didn’t stop. Krishani thought it should be nightfall, but with the defiance of the sun it was hard to tell when to sleep and when to stay awake. Shimma had her eyes to the ground. They ran out of things to talk about a long time ago. Each took turns on the horse; right now Krishani was perched on it, his hands clenched around the reins. “What is that?” he asked, seeing something blurry in the distance.
Shimma followed his gaze. The sky was deceiving; it rose against jagged zigzags of deep grayness. He squinted to get a better look but his mind failed him as he fought against the urge to fall asleep. “I don’t know,” she said.
They neared the zigzags minutes later and it was clear it was a wall. Large gray tree trunks stuck out of the ground and pierced the sky with their jagged ends. Krishani blinked. A set of gates sunk into the wall.
“Oh, King Telper’s Court,” she said as though she was in a dream.
Krishani perked up at the name; it sounded familiar. He slid off Tyr and looped the reins around the horse’s head. He grasped them underneath the muzzle and led Tyr until they stood at the gates. The compound was remnant of Castle Tavesin. Krishani stifled the knots growing in his stomach.
Shimma stumbled towards the gate and ran her hands along it as if looking for something. She crouched, running her fingers along the bottom half of the gate. Something slid open and she stood and peered into the little hole. She said nothing. The gates opened and he followed her into town.
The ground was sand when they passed the threshold. The whole town was built on cracked ground bereft of vegetation. There wasn’t a single tree. Large canopies created a marketplace. In the center children dressed in scant, striped garments, batted a ball around the courtyard with sticks. Shimma kept to the sidelines and rounded the tents. Some were gray, others were black, all of them displaying wares—clothing, pots and pans, tools, weapons. He tried to avoid attention, pulling Tyr along and noticing most of the humans had graying or black hair. Shimma was the only one with bright white hair; she seemed self-conscious about it.
Beyond the marketplace rested a labyrinth of clay homes. The land looked nothing like it had in the cornfields. Krishani marveled at the short, perfectly-lined domiciles and the flat tops of houses. Even in Avristar people were partial to triangular roofs and circular towers. He had never seen anything like these. They moved swiftly down the road until they came to the largest tent he had ever seen. Multiple peaks smoothed over the baby soft bright white canvas.
Shimma nodded to the guards standing at the entrance, and without a word they pulled back the thick curtain and ushered her inside. Krishani paused and glanced at Tyr, who seemed too afraid to enter the tent.
“Leave it with us,” one of the guards said with a gravelly voice, taking the reins.
Krishani narrowed his eyes and tried to read his intentions. He hadn’t tried to use any of his abilities since he left Avristar and his skill for metaphysics was low-grade. At the very least the sky didn’t fill with clouds when he glowered at the man, but the gesture was understood. “We’ll care for the animal,” the guard said.
Krishani reluctantly let go and ducked into the tent, Shimma waiting for him. His boots squished against the beautifully embroidered rug. It was long and narrow and it stretched to a raised platform in the center. On either side of the rug were more things he had never seen before: short tables with pillows strewn around them, people talking, laughing, and indulging in delicacies. Krishani failed to recognize any of the food, but the people seemed pleased by the tastes. He missed feeling gleeful and carefree and wondered just what these peasants had to pay for their freedom. He passed the clusters of tables in silence as he neared the stairs and the silken semi-transparent veils covering the outlines of furniture on the other side Shimma passed the veils and sat on a black settee on the platform.
“Here he is,” she said brightly as Krishani pushed the veneer out of his way. The black platform seamlessly stretched on and Krishani noted another small rectangular black table, luxurious furnishings on either side of it, things he hadn’t seen even at the Elmare Castle in Avristar.
A barefoot man in long black pants and a white tunic sat on the settee across from Shimma. Two cups of tea rested on the table between them. A servant swept in and another cup appeared. Shimma shifted over on the settee and allowed Krishani to sit. The man in black smiled. “I haven’t been to Avristar in a long time.”
Krishani stared at the tea. He closed his eyes. All he could hear were explosions and all he could see in front of him were thick white pellets of snow. That life was so far behind him it was almost a dream. “This is Krishani,” Shimma said. She sounded uncomfortable.
“I’m Havelir.”
Krishani opened his eyes, but said nothing. Havelir glanced at Shimma with a questioning expression.
“We have come only for your help,” she said.
Havelir nodded. “King Telper has been busy in these lands. The thieves have been rankling and we are becoming increasingly worried.” He took a sip of tea and glanced at Krishani. “Amaltheia was in peace.”
“So was Avristar,” Krishani whispered.
Havelir set his tea down. His face was a mix of concern and abashment. He sported a small black beard, his dark oily hair slicked back. His face was smooth and white, and if it wasn’t for the pointed ears, he would have looked mostly human. His eyes were gray storms of indecision, nearly shifting moment to moment.
“I need to find the Flames,” Krishani said. His voice was raspy and rough, barely recognizable.
“And for what grave purpose do you seek them?” Havelir asked, his tone registering shock.
Shimma gulped. “Please, Havelir, we know the Obsidian Flame is here.” She fixed her gaze on him.
Havelir met her stricken eyes. Krishani looked at Shimma. She had bruises under her eyes and her face was pale and tired. Krishani felt like the same melancholy had sunken into his cheekbones. His entire face contorted in grief.
“What danger has come?” Havelir snapped. There was only a hint of alarm and the servant stepped forward but Havelir waved him away.
“The Valtanyana,” Shimma whispered.
“Balk!” Havelir ran a hand through his hair. Nervously glancing around, he stood, pulling the veneer taut around the platform, and sat down again. “My apologies. King Telper has been more than careful. I stay to my business and he stays to the affairs of his kingdom. We don’t speak of outside places nor we do we teach the people about The Lands Across the Stars.”
Krishani was speechless. All his life he had known about the Lands of Men, the places he would have to travel to as an ambassador. Originally that was as a member of the Brotherhood of Amersil, but now … he didn’t want to think about what he was now or what he was doing. Living a sheltered life without the knowledge of the vast ends of the stars seemed dismal, especially with the gray. It made longing for Avristar, its lush green grasses and smell of apple blossoms deeper than ever.