Justice (7 page)

9 - Exile and Death

They listened to the rain in silence, sitting across from one another. Krishani ripped apart a loaf of bread with his hands and stuffed tiny bits of it into his mouth.

Pux grabbed what was left of the meat and gobbled it down. He took another sip of spring water and swallowed hard. He had no idea what to say; it seemed easier to stuff his mouth full of food than to risk setting off Krishani any further. The mess hall was deserted, silence hung around them. Even the servants had gone to bed. It left the castle in its usual quiet. Pux felt dreadful. He wanted to erase the memory of Krishani and Istar encountering each other in the stables. He wanted to forget the rain had come at the moment Krishani’s anger peaked. He knew the elven had abilities greater than his own, being in the Brotherhood of Amersil and all, but he wasn’t used to anger. He sighed loud and broke the silence.

Pux dared a glance at him. “Nothing worse than soggy fields.”

Krishani clenched his fist. “Avristar doesn’t want me here.”

Pux buried his face in his bread. “She wouldn’t exile one of her own.” He didn’t want to be sitting there anymore. Krishani made him feel nauseous and heavy. His grief was so much deeper.

Krishani stopped pulling bread apart and left it on the table. “I’m not one of hers.” He pushed himself up and moved into the hall.

Pux scrambled after him. He ignored the comment. He had never known anyone that wasn’t a Child of Avristar; it didn’t seem possible. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere to think.” Krishani began down the hallway, but Pux caught up to him again.

“Can you tell me why it happens?”

“Why what happens?”

“The rain?”

Pux watched him tremble with grief and guilt. He thought Krishani caused the snow, but he would never tell him. Krishani pulled his hood over his head. “It just does.”

• • •

Krishani quickened his pace and crossed the marble floor in the Grand Hall. He wouldn’t dare a glance at the fountain even though the trickling sounds wafted through the air. He emerged in the courtyard and was immediately pelted by heavy rain. He didn’t care his clothes were soaked in minutes, he needed the waterfall.

He crossed the bridge and turned down the path that led to the falls. Kaliel’s energy lingered and despite the dangers of succumbing to his grief, he needed to feel her. He needed to know what to do about his growing disposition to life.

The ground became muddy and slippery as he trampled across it. Part of him wanted the rain to wash away the land, and another wanted it to stop so the scrutiny would end. His abilities had always been unpredictable, results were unexpected. He had no control over it whatsoever. He feared what more he would cause if he continued to feel so dead inside.

Krishani emerged in the clearing. Stabbing pains hit his gut as he treaded towards the edge of the water and peered into the usual crystal clear depths. It was hard to see with the rain creating so many ripples on the surface. He stared into it for what seemed like forever; lost in the trance of the place he first met her. He let a half-smile creep across his face as he drifted towards the stone stairway.

He shed the soaked cloak when he entered the cave. The familiarity calmed his nerves as he sat and stared at the waterfall. Kaliel would never be there with him again. He tried not to let the pounding sadness take him under, but his back hit the grass. He threw an arm over his face and slipped into nothingness.

• • •

“Another village was ravaged,” a voice spoke.

“Davlin has not returned?”

“Nay, none have seen him in weeks.”

The hall was adorned in warm colors, deep reds and rich golds. Archways lined the sides and shallow stairs led to a platform with a throne resting on it. Draperies hung from the rafters, torches rested at the apexes of the arches. Krishani sat at a wooden dining table on the left. Leftovers sat in the center of the long table, chicken bones.

A brown-haired man in brown robes swept into the room followed by a man in armor. Krishani curiously watched him as he passed the throne and stood at the altar behind it. He shuffled through a bunch of scrolls, pulled one out and turned towards the man in armor.

“The time has almost come,” he said, a stern look on his face.

The man in armor looked confused. “I do not understand, Lord Tavesin, what time?”

“Time for a new Ferryman.”

Krishani felt sick at the words. He scrambled away from the thick wooden planks of the table and scampered out of the hall almost on all fours. As he passed the heavy wooden doors he fell on his knees and choked for air. He closed his eyes and remembered the piercing brown eyes of the Ferryman.

It is your time now
.

It is your time now
.

His memories were faithful reminders time moved forward whether or not Krishani was frozen in it. The stone below his cheek dissolved into mud and alarmed shouts rang out nearby. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but the worn mucky path hastily traveled by fleeing villagers. He raced to his feet and tried to wipe the muck off his face, smearing it down the side of his breeches. He glanced at the remnants of the village. Skeletons of straw huts blackened by fire surrounded him. He turned and turned, taking in the severity of the damage. He looked to the western sky, the outline of mountains in the distance. He recoiled and averted his gaze. To the east were endless skies and plains. He took a step, his boots squishing in the mud. There was no Ferryman to protect the people. Nobody to help them fight against whatever enemies plagued them. He closed his eyes as flashes of the midnight battle in Avristar flooded his eyes. This was a slaughter compared to that—houses lit on fire, people screaming, running, fighting, failing. Death lingered in the air like the icy chill of winter. Krishani shivered and pulled his cloak around his shoulders. He wanted to forget everything he had seen and race back to the comforting sounds of the waterfall, but as he passed the twelfth hollow hut his stomach lurched. He fell to his knees, vertigo setting in. His heart weighed a thousand pounds as the ground swayed. He slowly turned his head towards the hut. There, poised in the air above the ravaged body of a beige-skinned woman was the outline of the enemy. A pitch black void hovered against the canvas of the decaying realm, humanoid, but devoid of physical matter. Thick wisps of black energy created a swarm of layers around the being darker than the night sky. It was its own maelstrom, an individually contained storm.

Krishani didn’t think as he pulled himself to his feet and ran until he tripped over himself and tumbled down a hill, his face colliding with the ground.

• • •

Drops of water stung Krishani’s face as he came to. He groaned, shifted his weight and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. All he could see in his mind’s eye was the storm cloud surrounding the beast. The crashing sounds of the waterfall were enough to make him realize he was back in Avristar.

He blinked and stared at the mouth of the cave. His stomach tensed as he recalled the dream.
Lord Tavesin is waiting for me,
he thought bitterly as the pain coursed through his heart. Avristar hated him. He could feel it in the beat of the land, his foreignness fighting against his will to appeal to its mercy. Avristar was no longer a merciful land. It was no longer anything desirable. It was broken beyond repair.

Krishani huffed and ripped up a patch of grass. He tossed it into the bushes on the side of the cave and drew his knees to his chest. He let out a shaky breath as he contemplated his next move. Crestaos and the Daed were still out there. They were still hunting the Flames. Worse yet were these unknown enemies, the ones burning the village, and the ones hovering over the maimed girl. A deep chill rested in his bones at the thought of the demon.

He put his hands on his knees, so much pressure and responsibility on him. Maybe limbo refused to take him because it couldn’t take him. He grimaced as he inhaled another sweet mouthful of Kaliel’s scent. He spent countless nights with her in the cave. It would always be their place in Orlondir.

He brushed his fingers along his breeches, trying to clean the dirt from his fingertips. He hadn’t bothered to rinse his hands after digging them into her grave. His heart was so heavy with grief it felt numb as it thumped steadily in his chest. The dirt seemed to be caked into his fingers. He sighed and left the cave, running his hands under the waterfall. The first time he touched the water he formed ice. He could still imagine her body curled against the frame of the cave entrance, staring at him with a perplexed look on her face. It was comforting and crippling at the same time.

Krishani pulled his hands out of the water and stared at them. The left one was bereft of dirt, but the right one had blackness fused to his fingertips. It crept across his fingernails. He put his hand back in the water, spreading his fingers, letting the water wash over them. When he removed his hand he expected to see the dirt gone, but the blackness remained, like a mark etched into his skin.

Panic swept through him as he wiped his hand on his cloak and looked at his fingertips again. Nothing changed. Krishani sucked in a breath as he fled towards the Elmare Castle. He finally had something he actually wanted to talk to Melianna about.

• • •

Krishani pushed open the heavy doors and wandered across the marble floor. He tried to wash his hand in the fountain, but it was no use—the mark was intrinsically attached to him. He paused, the cloud of a memory almost forcing itself into the fore of his mind, but footsteps in the hall distracted him.

“I cannot stave it off any longer, Atara.” Istar’s haughty voice wafted through the corridors. Krishani glanced at the lower east wing, remembering the rain. The sky responded to his every whim and command, something he tried to achieve for moons. Anger triggered it, and somehow pain channeled his abilities fluently. He closed his blackened hand into a fist and tried not to recall the vile words Istar spoke.

“You cannot give him time to heal?” Atara’s meek voice pierced the silence.

Krishani gulped; she understood.

“We have no choice. Avristar is in ruins. It will be destroyed if we let him stay!” Istar’s hiss wafted through the halls. Their footsteps drew closer, but he didn’t try to conceal himself. He wanted to speak with Atara, but another confrontation with Istar would prove unpleasant.

Krishani listened to the clicking sounds of his own foot tapping against the floor. He looked at the fountain, his fingertips grazing the sacred waters, the blackened marks congealed to his fingers.

“Krishani is not to be blamed for his actions. He’s innocent.” Atara’s voice wavered as her feet clicked across the floor, trying to stay in step with Istar.

“Innocent?” Istar snarled. “Innocence doesn’t cause mass destruction. Innocence doesn’t bring the enemy to our doorstep!”

Krishani hung his head. He tried to pull himself to the west wing. How was he supposed to talk to anyone that knew Kaliel? Sitting in the mess hall with Pux had been hard enough; the feorn’s brotherly love for her was enough to make him vomit.

Atara’s footsteps stopped. Krishani envisioned her crossing her arms and staring Istar down. “You are impossible. Compassionless. Do you realize what we have lost?”

Istar stopped. Krishani imagined him staring into Atara’s eyes. “How am I to repair the damage done to our land?”

“How am I to repair the damage done to our people?” Atara said. Her voice shook. “Can you not see the heavy burden we must bear? Why do you care about the land alone?” She squeaked as though she had no breath in her to speak and Krishani listened to the long pause. He quietly dragged his heavy boots along the floor as he waited for their conversation to continue.

“What are you doing here?” Mallorn hissed. He grabbed Krishani’s blackened hand and dragged the boy up the steps to the west wing. Mallorn’s eyes found the mark on Krishani’s hand. He threw it away, a ghastly expression on his face.

Krishani met the gaze, confusion clouding his expression. He tried to find his tongue. “I may have a battle scar.” He lifted his hand and stared at its peculiarity. The blackness spread to the second knuckles in his fingers. He went to lower his hand, but Mallorn caught him by the wrist and held it up in the air.

“That’s no battle scar,” he said. He sized up the boy, focusing on his hand. “You’re turning. This is because of your calling.”

Krishani regretted returning to the castle. Not more talk of Ferrymen. He wrenched his hand out of Mallorn’s grip. “I don’t want to be the Ferryman.”

Mallorn scoffed. “You can deny it all you want, but you cannot escape it.”

Krishani went down the hallway. He knew Mallorn would follow him, but he needed air or relief, something to help clear his head. “I’m nothing.”

Mallorn grabbed his forearm and pulled up his sleeve to show him the black marks. “You have no choice. This will spread until you are no more.”

Krishani half-smiled. Mallorn meant it as a deterrent, but it made Krishani happy to know there was a way out. After all he had been through there was a way to die.

“The end of me,” he breathed.

Mallorn whacked him across the back of the head. “Stop it. The Ferrymen are important.”

Krishani let his head throb. He didn’t raise his hand to rub the spot Mallorn struck. From the dream he knew just how important the Ferrymen were. People died by the thousands in the Lands of Men and no one protected them. He stopped at the sixteenth corridor. “I have nothing to live for.”

Mallorn’s forehead creased in tight wrinkles. “Death. You must live for that.”

Krishani wanted to smack him for his answer. Instead, he balled up his fist and descended the stairway, heading towards the kitchen. “Hernadette!” he called. There had to be another answer, a cure for his condition or something to alleviate the aching he felt throughout his body. He passed the archway and paused at the mouth of the kitchen. A plump woman in soiled linens appeared in the doorframe.

“You’re well!” she exclaimed.

Krishani shook his head. “Alive.”

“Which is well. Do you need something?”