Authors: Rhiannon Paille
He extended his hand. “I need a cure for this.”
Hernadette covered her mouth with her fingertips. “That is a plague.”
Krishani pulled his robe over his hand and shrank away from the kitchen. When he turned around, Mallorn stood in the hallway, staring at him. The Kiirar had a soiled gray robe underneath his cloak, a cord tied around his waist.
“Come to Nandaro with me,” Mallorn said.
“Avristar will sentence me to death.”
“You should leave before that happens.”
Krishani’s face twisted into disbelief. “She loathes me that much?”
“It is the price one pays for that crime.”
It was like knives stabbing his insides as the land he called home turned against him. “Does she blame me for the existence of the Valtanyana, too? Does she blame me for Kaliel’s death?” He sunk to the floor and covered his face with his arms.
“Nandaro was the last place she called home,” Mallorn said gently.
Krishani couldn’t stay. He couldn’t face Avristar’s wrath. Defeated, he glanced at Mallorn and nodded reluctantly.
“Aye,” he whispered. “I will go to Nandaro.”
* * *
10 - Mallorn’s Cabin
A day later the fields were still sloppy. Krishani and Mallorn galloped across them with all the speed they could muster, but the horses slid down hills, splashing mud onto their cloaks. Krishani reluctantly followed Mallorn, slipping away as sunset hit the horizon. The melancholy followed him as the waterfall, orchards and castle faded. He wouldn’t return. There was nothing for him in Orlondir. Istar and Atara followed the advice of the land. Neither of them would understand the depth of his misery. They were mere figureheads of a tradition gone sour, archetypes carrying out tasks they were appointed to perform.
Umber trampled over sodden ground and Krishani glanced up. Nandaro loomed in the distance. He stifled a choke as he thought about what he would find there. He sucked in a breath and whipped the reins, trying to force Umber to gallop fervently.
Krishani should have known Avristar would have no mercy. He was nothing but an injured bird flown from another nest. They would tend to his wounds and set him free. What freedom could be found in following death? He thought back to the demon hovering over the girl and shuddered. He couldn’t deny the Lands of Men needed help. The Ferryman Krishani followed never flinched, never trembled. He did the work with stoic grace, never begrudging the catastrophes surrounding him. He was an honorable man.
Krishani doubted his ability to be anything like him. On the inside he was a dead man, and on the outside he was an empty shell.
Mallorn broke through the trees and the horses slowed. They wound down the thin path avoiding branches overhead. Krishani let his plagued hand brush against a leaf. There was something different about the woods since he had last been to them. The trees cowered, their leaves brown and dark orange. They littered the ground in hoards, obscuring the trails. Worse were the rotted trees, bereft of any life at all. Krishani sighed; even the land had been affected by Crestaos. He let Umber amble back and forth. The closer he got to Mallorn’s cabin the more he felt a foreboding sense of dread. Krishani pulled on the reins to slow Umber as they reached the mound. He slipped off his horse and kept hold of the reins as he watched Mallorn stare at the atrocity with disbelief.
From one end of the mound to the other was an ashen gray trail. Crestaos. Grass resembled white powder, trees on either side hollow and dead. The path descended the hill and moved into the forest, leaving a clear trail behind. Mallorn crossed it, seemingly careful not to step on the ash, and clambered down the hill towards the barn. The boards on the side of it were cracked and gray. Mallorn pulled away the clasp, the doors swinging open. He dropped to his knees and let out a cry.
All of them were dead.
Krishani laid a hand on the elder’s shoulder and glanced into the darkened barn. He smelled the rot, but the souls were long since absent.
“Amenally nawva callen armalta,” he whispered. It was the same blessing he whispered to the Ferryman when he died. The words felt awkward as they rolled off his tongue. He turned to the cabin. Kaliel’s energy was faint, but distinguishable between the destructive energies of Crestaos.
Mallorn stopped. “They were my only friends.”
Krishani knew before they arrived the horses were dead, but he wanted to believe there was still some hope left. The animals were innocent; they didn’t deserve punishment. Mallorn closed the barn doors and pressed his forehead against the wood for a long moment. When he turned to Krishani he had a stern expression on his face.
“Come, I have something to show you.” He didn’t wait for Krishani to respond as he bounded up the mound and circled the cabin. “Krishani!”
Krishani traced the ashen path, a dreadful pit clawing at his stomach. Part of him couldn’t fathom seeing proof that the foe existed. Crestaos hadn’t even touched Orlondir. He knew all along she was in Nandaro, tucked away in the Village of the Shee. Krishani shivered and hugged his arms to his chest. Could he hide in Nandaro with the Kiirar until Avristar was ready to forgive him? How long could he stave off becoming the Ferryman?
Wither in desolate loneliness and bring the forests to their eternal slumber. Triumph in faithful patience and bring the forests to their eternal summer.
The thick words of the Great Oak flooded his mind and he grimaced. He tried to forget all about that awful tree at the border of Amersil and Evennses, but its words were fused to the back of his mind. He refused to surrender. He would find a way to cheat his own immortality.
Mallorn appeared on the mound moments later and narrowed his eyes. “The tragedy will never fade,” he said. “You cannot allow yourself to become a monster because of it.”
Krishani looked at him with an empty expression. His thoughts were miles away, contemplating the words of the Great Oak and whether or not he could destroy the tree altogether. Mallorn’s eyes moved to the boy’s hand and Krishani lifted it up. It didn’t hurt, but the black wisps wrapped themselves around his fingers, trailed along his thumb, swirled into the middle of his hand. The stench of dead horses heightened as a gust of wind blew through the trees and over the cabin. He tried to think of something to say to Mallorn, but his mind was too full of regret and worry to form thoughts.
“Aye.” He followed Mallorn and climbed down the ladder. Whatever the old man had to show him was unimportant. He was more interested in the cabin upstairs. He knew Kaliel had never been in the cellar.
Mallorn took a scroll off the table and thrust it into Krishani’s hands. He paced around and waited for him to open it.
Krishani gulped. “What’s this?” The parchment buzzed in his hands as he unrolled it. Before him was nothing but a family crest. In the center was a faceless man on a white horse, around it, symbols that to Krishani meant protection. At the bottom was the name Tavesin, scrawled in symbols he didn’t understand. It looked like it came from the Lands of Men. Krishani resisted the urge to tear it in half. If these were the men that abandoned him at birth, why did they want him now? He noted other symbols in the crest; the only one he recognized was the symbol for Terra.
“The Tavesin Family,” Mallorn answered. He took the parchment from Krishani and stretched it out on the table, placing a stone on each of the corners to hold it open. He pointed at the man on the white horse. “That is the Ferryman.”
Nausea crept into Krishani’s stomach. He swayed on the balls of his feet and took a deep breath. It
was
the man who died, he was sure of it. He gripped the clammy mud wall beside him and tried to grasp what Mallorn was saying. The Kiirar knew more about the Ferrymen than Lord Istar had let on.
Krishani felt dizzy, but he had to admit it. “He’s dead.”
“Then that man represents you.”
Krishani turned green and scrambled up the ladder. “No!” he stepped across the creek and the ashen path and moved towards the horses. He couldn’t look at it in black and white on parchment. There was no recollection of the Ferrymen in the Great Library, their existence was obscure. Krishani had been hanging onto hope, maybe none of it was true.
Kuruny told him the Lands of Men were dangerous.
If you take this path you will never see Kaliel again.
Kuruny’s words reminded him of the night he was about to climb Mount Tirion and speak to the Gatekeeper. He was going to marry the land and accept whatever fate Avristar handed to him. All because of the death of the Ferryman. A fact neither Istar nor Atara let him ignore.
Seeing proof of his heritage made him want to face Avred himself. He desperately needed to know what happened to Kaliel, why she had to sacrifice herself to the mountain.
Why did Avred require so much of her?
Mallorn crossed the creek, his eyes digging into him like flaming arrows. Krishani gulped and his hand slackened on the reins as he collapsed into the jaundiced leaves. There was only so much strength he could muster before he felt the world falling apart again.
Mallorn stopped when he reached the horse. He extended a hand to the boy, but it hung there. “Her effects are inside the cabin. We can talk about the Ferryman later.”
Krishani nodded and took the Kiirar’s hand.
• • •
Mallorn pushed open the front door and stepped into the house. The water basin in the kitchen was stale, a musty smell wafting through the living room. Krishani glanced at the stacks of manuscripts laying everywhere, some unbound and others bound by strings. All of them were full of uneven pages of parchment.
He scrunched up his nose in disgust as he glanced at the stump. Two tea cups rested on it. His breath caught in his throat. It was such a natural thing to see, proof of her life. Krishani instinctively drifted towards the tiny bedroom. He fell into the cot. The pillows smelled like her, a smell he would never forget. She was so used to traipsing around in the forests that the lingering herbs made sense to him. He breathed in the pillow: honeysuckle.
“Her things are in the corner,” Mallorn solemnly said.
Krishani pushed himself up and glanced at the corner. He pulled the bag onto the bed and riffled through the items, ivory maiden dresses and a couple of festive gowns. He pushed the bag away and held his hands in his lap. There was nothing more than this. She would always be locked in his memory because her things were just things; they didn’t fill the void in his heart.
“This also belonged to her,” Mallorn said, still standing in the doorway. He reached for the small box on the end table beside the lantern and handed it to him.
“I remember this,” Krishani whispered. He lifted the catch and opened the box. Inside was the simple egg-shaped birthstone. It had a milky white translucency to it. Krishani hoped it would glow violet. He held it in the palm of his uninfected hand and waited. Mallorn left, picking manuscripts off the floor. Krishani pleaded with the stone to do something extraordinary. He closed his eyes and waited. There was a rushing sensation, like being thrown around by ocean currents. Krishani felt like he was swaying back and forth, the darkness playing games with his mind. He dared a peek at the stone.
What he saw made him gasp. He dropped the stone and it landed with a hollow thud. Fear crept into his heart. Was there no escape to who he was? The stone shone black, an aura of darkness encompassing it. Krishani choked on the dryness in his throat. He coughed and sputtered, stood and grabbed the stone. Regardless of its reaction to him he wanted to keep it.
“Something to drink?” Mallorn asked from the kitchen.
Krishani stopped in his tracks and put his hand on the big wooden chair. He glanced at the stump, but the tea cups were gone. “Aye,” he answered slowly. He sunk into the chair.
“It’s Jessamine,” Mallorn answered as he set the cups down.
“For insomnia?”
The old man took a sip and set it on the stump. “For many things.” He moved towards the small fireplace. After striking the flint along the bricks he lit a fresh piece of wood. He closed the gate and turned to Krishani. “Elwen Tavesin is your ancestor. He should be able to help you with that.” He pointed at Krishani’s hand and the boy drew it into his sleeve.
Krishani hadn’t expected to be speaking of Ferryman business so soon. He glared at Mallorn and took a sip of tea. “Why does that matter?” he grumbled.
Mallorn sighed. “Elwen is a unique man. He has lived for thousands of years and has seen many Ferrymen rise and fall.”
“Again, I don’t care.”
“Elwen was chosen by Tor.”
Krishani choked on his tea. He gulped down the hot liquid and it burned the insides of his throat. “High King Tor?” He coughed.
“Aye.”
He gritted his teeth. “Why hasn’t
he
faced the foe?”
Mallorn’s expression turned forlorn. “I do not believe he is strong enough to do that anymore.”
Krishani stared at the fireplace, waiting for the salamanders to appear in the flames. He heard what Mallorn wasn’t saying. Crestaos would ravage the lands until he possessed every last Flame. He would kill thousands of innocent people until he achieved his goal.
Unless someone stopped him.
“Where is Elwen?” Krishani hesitantly asked. He had no intention of becoming a Ferryman, but he also had no intention of letting the foe triumph.
“Terra,” Mallorn answered.
* * *
11 - The Other Flames
“Krishani, I saw another one,” Kaliel said.
Krishani buried his head in her shoulder. Her bed in the Elmare Castle was much more comfortable than the grass in the cave. He enjoyed wrapping his arm around her, pressing himself to her side. The blanket provided cozy warmth, satisfying compared to their cloaks.
“Go to sleep,” he murmured in her ear. He wanted her to fall asleep so he could spend the rest of the night listening to her heartbeat and steady breaths.
Kaliel stirred. She rolled over and faced him. “I saw another Flame.” Her green eyes met his and he gulped. She was adamant about the situation with the Flames, and so scared of what was happening to them. He sighed and pushed himself onto his elbow.
“Another dream?” His mismatched eyes bore into hers and she dropped her gaze.
“Another one in danger, but—” She seemed confused. “I think she was in a lantern.
Krishani smiled. “If it wasn’t like the Emerald Flame, you shouldn’t worry.” He pressed his cheek into the pillow and put his hand on her side, drawing circles on the fabric. He wanted her to relax about the ordeal with the Flames, about her journey to see Mallorn.
Kaliel unwound her hands from his and pushed herself up. She hugged her knees and stared at the place on the embroidered rug where the moonlight illuminated it. “I know she may be next.”
Krishani sighed. He feared there was more to this story about the Flames than one being captured and killed. Even though the Brotherhood of Amersil executed him from their brethren, he still felt bonded to them. The same way Kaliel was bonded to the other Flames. What made no sense was how a Flame could be locked in a lantern and not corporeal like Kaliel.
“You need to sleep.”
Her expression remained serious and unchanged. “I can’t explain it. We were both orbs of light. I wasn’t me, I was …”
“Dreaming. Kaliel, you were dreaming.” He said it gently, but even from her expression, it made her upset. The moonlight cast shadows on her face, making her skin seem darker. He tugged at her hand, trying to get her to settle into his arms. “Please? Sleep?”
Kaliel eventually nodded and eased into the covers. “I suppose Mallorn will figure it out.” She let Krishani pull her closer and tilted her chin towards him. Her lips found his unexpectedly, but he eased into them. She pulled away, her eyelids drooping, but Krishani shifted so he was covering her, and pulled her more urgently towards him. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He moved his lips down her neck, kissing her collarbone, his hand cupping her breast. He tugged down the neckline of the nightgown and continued trailing kisses lower. Kaliel breathed hard. She caressed the lean muscles in his back, running her fingers over the smooth white skin.
“We need to be quieter. Melianna sometimes checks on me at night,” she whispered.
Krishani stifled his disappointment and pushed himself up so he could stare into her eyes. “It’s so hard not to want you.”
She pressed her lips together and sighed. He knew she felt the same waves of emotions coursing through her, but she let out a deep breath. “I want you, too.” Krishani went to kiss her but she sat up and put a hand on his chest making him lie flat. Nervousness washed over him as she idly moved her hands to the hem of his tunic.
He eyed her carefully as she pushed it up and he obliged, sitting up so she could pull it over his head. She shifted so she was on top of him, her pelvis digging into his. He eased into the bed, uncertainty flitting through him. He tried to stave off his desire but she leaned forward, placing light kisses on his chest and he gripped her upper arms, a question on his lips.
“What are you doing?”
She shot him a teasing, seductive expression and tingles ran down his thighs. “Do you like what I’m doing?”
She didn’t wait for an answer as her lips moved south, claiming his clenched stomach muscles, and the hair on his navel. Her hands found his hips and the hem of his breeches and he let out a gasping breath, unable to control himself. “Yes,” he said, his voice ragged. Whatever she wanted to do to him he was powerless against her. She glanced at him, a daring look in her eyes and slipped a hand into his pants, gripping him hard. Krishani couldn’t think, the sensation overwhelming, he arced his back, rocking his hips as she moved her hand back and forth against him.
“Where can I kiss you?” She asked, her eyes on his.
Krishani faltered, trying to find words. He stared at the grooves in the ceiling, pure exhilaration ricocheting through his body. He fought for control as she pressed her hand tighter and then something warm, wet and soft closed over him and he tensed, unable to hold it in.
“You have to stop,” he rasped, his hands finding her shoulders. She looked up, the pressure coming off him and he relaxed.
“You don’t like what I’m doing?”
He smiled and pulled her towards him, kissing her long and deep, his tongue caressing hers. She settled next to him her hand on his stomach. “I like it too much.” Kaliel laughed. He kissed her lightly on the lips and held her more tightly to him. “One day when this is all over, I will marry you and not the land.”
She mumbled something in response as she ran her hands along the protective arm he draped around her torso.
Krishani nestled himself into her. He wanted to stay there forever, but as she drifted off to sleep, she faded from his arms. He tried to pull closer to her, but she was no longer in the bed beside him. He sat and looked at her empty room in the Elmare Castle. His dreams always took him back to her, but they always turned into nightmares.
He tossed and turned in the cot he was in and tried to conjure her again. Despite his grogginess he felt her essence surrounding him.
He settled into the cot and drifted back to his dreams.
A deafening sound pierced the silence.
An Explosion.
Death.
He came for her.
Krishani shot back to consciousness, his breathing heavy.
There are more Flames somewhere,
he thought. He pushed the blanket off and stumbled to his feet. Careful not to trip over something, he ambled to the door, trying to catch his breath.
He pulled open the door and clambered down the hill towards the lake. His feet shuffled across the dry cracked ground as he trailed along the unnatural path the foe made through the forests. His thoughts were a muddle of worry and anguish. Those moments of happiness were all he had left of her, but the truth was she told him everything she knew about the Flames.
He coughed, doubling over hacking and wheezing. He wrapped his arms around his chest and coughed deeply. A spatter of blood splashed onto the ground and he stared at the little red droplets. He bent down and touched them with his fingers, curious of what it meant. The aching on the inside turned to stabbing pain and he collapsed. His head hit the soft grass of Nandaro, the land belonging to Avristar, and drew an exasperated breath. The coughing ceased as he grabbed at the grass and pulled his body off the path. He lay there, allowing the symptoms to pass.
The waters calm me.
Kaliel’s voice pierced his thoughts and pushed himself to his feet, stalking towards the lake. When he broke through the trees he stopped. His knees fell onto a grassy patch above the gargoyle’s cave. He looked at the sandy beach below. The sky was unpleasant. Black clouds drifted across it, obscuring the stars. He wanted to see it the way she had, but all he saw was that nothing was perfect anymore.
His face fell into his hands as he realized no matter what happened next, she would never come back to him. He let the grief wash over him as his heart enflamed with pain. He failed her, and she
saved
him. She wanted him to live so badly she was willing to do anything to make it happen. A cool breeze ran across the lake and escaped into the trees. Krishani shuddered as he moved his gaze to the boat. The carved woman with pearls for eyes seemed to be staring at him. He closed his eyes and remembered their last conversation.
You can’t come with me. You have to go to the Lands of Men.
He tried to force away the words, but she was so hard to ignore. “If it’s what she wants.”
It is.
Krishani hung his head. He glanced back at the trees towards Orlondir, guilt and regret eating away at him.
I can never return,
he realized. What Mallorn said was true. Istar wanted Krishani to leave without saying goodbye to Kaliel, wanted him to renounce his love and answer his calling as the Ferryman.
He looked back at the boat and sighed. “I never thought I would leave Avristar without you.”
“I suppose that means you’re ready to go?” Mallorn said from the trees.
Krishani turned to him and gulped, surprised by his presence. He frowned, wanting to be angry with the old man, but headed towards the cabin. “It was the last thing she wanted me to do,” he grumbled.
• • •
Mallorn was in the cellar too long. Krishani sat on the mound, chilly night air against his face. He wanted to tell Mallorn he would never be ready to go to the Lands of Men, but it was too late. Mallorn was packing, and he was content to leave the logistics up to the old man. He had no idea where on Terra the Tavesin family was, or how they would arrive. Another gust of wind blew across the mound, ruffling Krishani’s cloak. He hugged it to his shoulders, cursing his lanky frame, and looked at the sky above the trees. He wondered if Avristar would ever be perfect. He had to relinquish those thoughts. It was no longer his concern.
“I need you down here, boy,” Mallorn called.
Krishani heaved a sigh and followed the old man down the ladder. The cellar was lit by a single torch, shadows flickering against the walls. Another scroll stretched out along the wooden table, showing an island larger than Avristar, and far more foreboding.
“This island sits to the North of Avristar, but the Tavesin Castle is on the opposite shore.” Mallorn pointed at a part of the map, but Krishani yawned.
“Why does it matter?”
Mallorn cleared his throat. “The Lands of Men are different.”
Krishani looked at the map and frowned. “How do you mean Avristar is to the south of this island?”
Mallorn shifted his gaze to the other scrolls. “You’re thinking linear again. Avristar is … unique. The gateways provide access to everywhere in the lands. On Terra it is a hidden island.”
“Meaning it is physically in the Lands of Men?”
“And it is not.”
“At the same time?”
Mallorn pulled out another scroll and looked at the boy’s features. “Istar said you read a lot in the library. You should have learned this by now.”
Krishani smirked. He ducked his head to the floor to avoid Mallorn’s penetrating glare. “He assigned me the task many times …” It had been a long time since he thought of lessons. He used to skip library time for Kaliel. He never bothered reading a single volume. It was antiquated knowledge and Istar told him it was unimportant. If he needed to focus, Kaliel was better for that than any book.
Mallorn shook his head. “The knowledge is lost on you.”
“Aye.” Krishani’s mind circled around other truths, things he would miss in Avristar, like the fire festivals and the changing seasons. Those things would always remind him of home.
“We will need to travel light, and not make a spectacle of ourselves until we reach the Tavesin Castle.”
Krishani frowned. “Why is that?”
The old man sighed again. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed I’m not human, and neither are you.”
“Will that be a problem?” Krishani asked slowly.
Mallorn gathered up the scroll, and grabbed the one of the family crest. “The Lands of Men are facing war. They won’t look kindly upon strangers.” He moved towards an old chest pressed against the wall and pulled out a folded beige canvas and some cloths.
“How did they ever manage with Kuruny?” Krishani grumbled, more to himself than to Mallorn, but he wondered where she was after the battle. He didn’t want to berate her for what happened, but sparring with her might make him feel better. She was the reason he went to Kaliel that fateful night. It was a wonder she had to intervene. He shouldn’t have trusted Istar in the first place.
“Kuruny is more human than you are,” Mallorn said.
Krishani scoffed. “Istar isn’t human.”
Mallorn let out a slow breath as he wrapped the scrolls in the cloths and secured them with twine. He pulled a large bag out of the chest and began filling it. “Nay, but Atara isn’t their mother.”
Krishani gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about Istar. The more faults the Lord of Avristar had the more he wondered how he ever came to respect him. “There are things inside the house I need to take with me.” He climbed out of the cellar.
“Be sure to bring the bread!” Mallorn called after him.
Krishani entered through the front door and went to Kaliel’s old room. The box was on the end table. He seized it and paused. The end table had three drawers. Pulling them open he found the only other belonging she cherished—her journal. His hands fretted over the leather-bound parchment. He wouldn’t read it. He sat on the bed and felt her energy. It was strong. He went to the kitchen to find the bread. When he emerged from the cabin moments later Mallorn stood on the mound with two bags fully packed. Krishani held up the bread, the box and journal in his other hand. Mallorn wrapped the bread and found a place for it at the top of the bag. Krishani stuffed the box and journal into the top of the other bag and drew the strings.
“I took these from Talanisdir. Very good for traveling.” Mallorn slung the bag over his shoulder and secured the strap along his mid section. Krishani copied him. “Do you need any of your affects from Orlondir?”
He shook his head. “I’ll manage.”
Mallorn gave him a wayward glance and took towards the lake. He avoided the unnatural path, forming his own through the trees. Krishani brushed his hand along the trunks, remembering how Kaliel could talk to them. Crippling sadness seeped into him as they trekked across the land. Even the heaviness of the bag on his back didn’t burden him so much as the thought of her. He tried to push the thought of the Ferryman out of his mind. Mallorn was taking him to Elwen Tavesin. Beyond that he had no idea of the old man’s intentions. It seemed unfair Mallorn would be able to return to Avristar whenever he wanted, while Krishani would have to resolve his differences both with Lord Istar and Avristar herself before being permitted to live in the paradise he had known all his life. That is, if the life of a Ferryman didn’t lead him to his death before then. He smiled. At the very least Kuruny said this path was self-destruction, and of the multitude of ways he could end his life, this seemed like an honorable one. He glanced at his hand as Mallorn descended the mound and skidded towards the boat. The woman with the pearly eyes stared at him as he shuffled along the grass.