by May Peterson
My eyes widened as she spoke. My lack of memory may not be the same thing, yet what she described was heart-shatteringly similar. She, too, was suspended in the remains of a former identity. A former life.
Her voice continued its gravid march. “It has become a despair, dragging me to the earth. But I endure. So long as I have enough strength to sustain my moment of youth, I will remain. But I need help. If another person links hearts with mine, they can share their fire with me. Their love. Their passion, their pleasure. It returns colors to my heart. Consider it a blood transfusion. If all goes well, the donor loses nothing, and I am revitalized from merely touching their spirit. Sometimes, this gift will strengthen me for months, even years, after it has been given. I feel like my old self again, able to love, and rage, and hope. But it is always eventually washed away by the toll of my magic once again.”
Her demeanor was so calm, so unmoving, as she exposed her burden. I had mistaken this impassivity for some stoical grandeur, an invulnerability given by perspective or age. But it was just numbness. Her own kind of mist, one she must have been walking through for lifetimes. I kneaded my eyes with my fingers. “And that’s why you ask your price of those who come to you. Because eventually your magic must exhaust itself without that.”
“It does.” Her voice bordered on amused, as if in irony at that admission. “And yet it is always a gamble. Recall I said that the donor loses nothing—if all goes well. But the risk remains that the emptiness within me may instead consume them. That they would be infused with despair, instead of me with strength. It depends on how vulnerable their heart is to the gloom in which I live. Yet even those in deep grief have a flame within which protects them. And still others whose lives are happy have fallen prey to the emptiness. I can never be perfectly certain how safe it is. This is why I say the gain must outweigh the danger. My power grows weaker the longer I use it without an infusion, but each infusion risks the very spirit of its donor. I will not do it unless the donor has no doubt. Unless no other choice remains.”
Bitterness was smearing my vision with tears. I could not look at her any longer. No wonder she sealed herself away up here, at the ice-crusted corner of the world. If my sense of void was at all comparable to hers, it would be torment enough to endure without the fear of inflicting it on others.
Something Umber seemed to have no problem with.
“And that’s why Hei came.” My words were bitten out. “Because he felt all the other choices were gone. And I think getting his revenge on Kadzuhikhan was his last task before he was willing to take the gamble.”
We sat in silence for several minutes longer. She hadn’t exactly answered my earlier questions, but she had shed some understanding on Hei’s purpose. An inkling was attaining strength and solidity in me—as to why Umber would want to help him achieve it.
Though I had to wonder at the chances of that happening now.
Realization clawed its way through my doubts, and I stood up, accidentally tipping over the wine cup. Kaiwan ignored it. I looked at her, back at the passage. “I left Hei alone. I... I don’t know. I was frightened. Of what he was doing, who he was.” About the risk I was taking. “But Umber will find out about Kadzuhikhan’s death quickly. I need to find Hei as soon as possible.”
Kaiwan rose, her aura of cold serenity closing back around her. “You will find him. And when you do... I realize I am in no position to ask favors of you. But I want you to pass a message along to him.” I inclined my head to encourage her to go on. She paused to take a breath. “Tell him not to return to me.”
That knocked some of the life out of my thoughts. “What? Why?”
“Two reasons.” A faint smile appeared, haunting in how out of place it looked on her face. “First, I do not believe he has exhausted every choice. He still has you. And you can take him from here. Find a place to hide. He can try to make a new life for himself.”
I balked, but understood her. Hei would lose his chance to resurrect Beniro, but he would still be alive. Hopefully, alive and safe. And I hadn’t missed that she’d included me. She had made this city. If she believed I could still leave it behind, maybe it was the right path.
“Second.” She stooped to pick up the wine cup I’d spilled. “I have already seen one way this can end. Hei has stood before me in another life, another version of time. He had the same goal then. He also targeted your masters with his vengeance.”
The words seemed to drag me to the ground, fix me with suddenly overwhelming weight. “I don’t follow.” Her magic was fascinating in theory, but I couldn’t gauge the consequences of it already having been applied here. “Why did you change it then?”
Her gaze did not waver from mine. “This Hei also came bearing a heart full of fiery intentions, asking for a miracle. I was happy to give it to him. But he was killed before I had the opportunity to try.” She waited, my stunned silence filling the gap. “You asked what I knew. Why it mattered to me. Because I have saved you once already. You were there with him as he fell. Lord Umber was victorious, and your memory of these events he stole once more. I could not bear it. My strength was already fading, and with no new infusion to restore me, I had only one choice. I used my remaining strength to turn back time to before Hei came to this place. I feared any reversal less complete would be too tenuous not to lead him right back to his doom, as I had no power left to answer what may come of it.”
Shock was spreading cracks through me, my thoughts spilling into the gaps. I sat back down on the seat, cradling my face. Was that why Hei seemed so significant to me—why I had a sense of knowing him? Because I had literally walked this path with him before? “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Warning others of the future often fails. Even for those who believe in my power.” She touched my shoulder once again, an attempt at comfort. This time, it felt cold. “Time is never fixed absolutely. Seers frequently do not agree on predictions. Reversing a stretch of events may not result in it occurring again. But many times have I tried to move others to change what I had seen, only for them to repeat their steps in the end. In an age past, I swore a vow to confine my alterations to the act of time-mending itself. Beyond those changes, I would not interfere in the way history flowed. But here...” She shook her head, biting her lower lip. It made her look, just then, entirely too much like Hei, the shared atmosphere of desperation. “I cannot uphold it. That’s why I ask you. Turn him aside from this path. It leads only to ruin.”
My breathing was like an animal straining in my chest. The urge to run swelled up in me again, but I forced myself to be still. “But you don’t know for sure if his heart would have endured the link, do you?”
“No. He died before the attempt. It may well be that his heart has strength enough for us both. But—” Her voice broke, like a cleft opening in the air itself, unexpected grief gleaming through. “Why gamble with it? Why not take the moment he has? So many moments pass that they seem to be infinite. But I know they are not. You, immortal, know they are not. He can find a way that will not expose him to this...destruction.”
On impulse, I reached up and clasped her hand. She gripped it back. It seemed strange that I could connect with someone as vast as her. I had imagined her greatness would make me and Hei seem small. But maybe it was the opposite—in her sprawl of emptiness, fates such as ours became precious.
“I’ll save him.” The promise felt thick and dangerous on my tongue. “I’ll find a way.”
That seemed to be enough for her. She nodded, as if in relief, and let me go.
As I passed through the door, she stopped me one last time.
“Ari. There is one other thing you should know. Recall that I said events are not fixed?”
At my nod, she gulped and went on. “One thing is different this time. When he came to me before to ask his wish, he was alone.
“You were not with him.”
Chapter Nine
&nb
sp; I didn’t bother returning to the site of Kadzuhikhan’s defeat. Hei would already have fled it, and probably disposed of his prey’s head. My visit with Kaiwan couldn’t have taken much longer than an hour—and that was plenty of time for everything to start tumbling down around me.
There were too many places to search. If Umber got to Hei before me, it would be my fault. I had abandoned him, and most likely to his death. The future Kaiwan had experienced might not come to pass again, but the ingredients were all there. Hei was throwing out so many dice it was like he was trying to number infinity—but the rolls could easily fall short.
My gut said to go home. I could prepare there, at least.
Who are you, Hei? What are you avenging?
The sight of my spire hit me like an omen. A light burned in my window. Someone was there. Umber might have already heard of my involvement in Kadzuhikhan’s death and decide to dispose of me, but to send an assassin to my home seemed an odd move for him. Especially an assassin that announced their presence.
My urgency persuaded me to abandon caution. I scrambled onto the perch, opening my wings inward and readying my talons to fight.
There were no wings or claws to greet me. Only the tender sound of weeping.
Hei was kneeling at the foot of my bed. His jacket hung on his shoulders, and cat’s blood stained his skin. He looked ragged. With arms wrapped around himself, he was rocking himself and crying.
I almost rushed to him, gathered him in my embrace, begged forgiveness. The desire clashed with the need to demand the truth, to finally solve the riddle that was Hei. My home was designed to be hard to enter, and yet here he was. This must have been the first place he’d come after I left him.
It all stopped when I saw what he was crouched over. My box of letter scraps, pulled out from under my bed. Flaps of the paper were scattered at his knees, a few pieces in his hands.
“Hei.” My voice shook. Those were mine. They might have been all that was left of me. And yet he was crying over them. “Hei.”
He turned his tear-ravaged face to me. I expected anger, because I’d left him, or more mysterious hints and oaths.
Instead, he smiled, brokenly. “I’m surprised he let you keep even these.”
I watched him. Saw the cloth still bound around his slender chest. The vulnerable planes of his shoulders and abdomen under his jacket. His hands trembled. His hair a mess, ruin and ashes in his eyes.
Oh, god.
I knelt down, my heart racing so fast I almost couldn’t hear over it. Gently, I took the scraps from his hands, placed them back in the box. Maybe it was to hold on to some fragment of my dignity, my control over the little of me I did still possess. “I don’t know how I got these. But they’re the only things I’ve ever seen with my name written on them. That seemed to come from...before.”
Hei’s nod was tenuous. He wiped his eyes and nose. “I know. And Umber was the one who tore them apart. I thought he’d burn them. I never expected he’d be cruel enough to let you remember that someone had sent them to you at all.”
I wanted to cry. The mist was opening up, thrusting me into the world I had asked for. The world in which I knew what had happened. And I was afraid.
I raised one hand to Hei’s face. He flinched as if by instinct, and I waited until he stilled before trying again. Carefully, I cupped his cheek.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Who am I to you?”
This was it. My gamble.
A tear slid down Hei’s face. He laughed, the sound jagged and frayed. “I wish I still had the medallion you wore. Because I had written your name on it for you. Just like you did for me.”
He didn’t need to add: Beniro.
I crushed him to my chest, enclosed him with everything I was. Beniro. The truth at last rushed through me, shattering every faded mirage I’d clung to. I just held him close, felt him pulsing like fire against me. And let it break over me.
He had come to resurrect me.
His cries became sobs, flowing freely. Before I knew it, my own tears joined him, soft in accompaniment. But I did not let him go.
I gathered the composure to speak. “Then it really was Ari. That was my real name.”
“It was.” Hei’s nod brushed my chest. “And it still is. I wrote these letters to you. It took over a year to find out where Umber had taken you after you died. He didn’t expect your quickening. But when you became a dove-soul, he took you with him. When I finally found out where, I investigated a way to get messages to you.” His head tilted up, finding my eyes. “I thought I could help you remember. That if I told you stories about yourself, kept sending letters, eventually you might find yourself. And that you would know me when I came for you at last.”
My eyes widened. Hearing even these details about my mortal life was a shock. As much as it jarred me, my hunger for it was growing. “And Umber found out? How did you know?”
“My messenger told me she’d been caught. That the letter had been destroyed. The rest was just logic—I knew there was no way he’d allow you to know who I was. Anything about yourself.”
I smoothed hair away from Hei’s brow. So Umber could have been reading these letters when I’d still been receiving them. Or, easier still, just recalled their contents from my thieved memories. No wonder he’d known to anticipate Hei.
Questions vied for my voice, but something had to come first. “Are you hurt? I should never have left you. I just...” I puffed a strand of hair away from my brow. I was probably a mess, especially after having cried so much. Kadzuhikhan’s blood had to still be on me. “I panicked. Somehow, it didn’t seem real to me. Like we surely wouldn’t be able to kill him. When we did, all the things you said, the way I’d handled this...everything stopped making sense.”
I’d tell him about what I’d learned from Kaiwan. Later.
He swept a glance down his own frame, at the bloodstains on his clothing. “You healed my injuries. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it.” His brow wrinkled. “I also wasn’t expecting you to help me. I think it seemed like...if I couldn’t do this, maybe I’d deserve it. But I’m glad you were there.”
The meaning of Kaiwan’s story struck me with sudden force. She hadn’t said how Hei had died before she mended time. Only that I hadn’t accompanied Hei in that version of time. Maybe that was it. He’d gone up against Kadzuhikhan—and I hadn’t been there to help him.
“I made the decision not to tell you who you were.” His gaze fell, and that endearing lip-worrying began. “That, I’m sure, didn’t help. I... I didn’t know what to do. If I told you everything, there’d always be the risk that Umber would wipe your mind, and I’d be back where I started. I decided not to make you relearn your identity over and over, in case it came to that. And that way, if I failed...you wouldn’t have to think about what you’d lost. The plan has been, for ages, to get to Umber. If I can take him out, you’d become a lot safer, and Kaiwan can work her magic without fear. But now.” His frown crumpled, tremors overtaking. For a moment, he seemed to be restraining sobs. “It was Kadzuhikhan there instead. God knows he deserved death. But Umber will lose whatever patience he had for my presence here. It’s all been ruined.” Tears lit up his face. “I made my move, and now I’m wide open. It’s all ruined.”
He collapsed into my arms again, heaving with his grief. Each new violent surge forward uncovered more of the ground under me. Showed me more of the picture.
Hei had been...my beloved. And apparently, my death had heralded an unexpected resurrection. One which had given him a chance for a new life with Beniro—with me, Ari—except for Umber’s interference. And Hei had been planning for at least the entire period of my afterlife.
I fingered the paper scraps under us, my name written there—by him. Emotion condensed into a hard ball in my throat. “No. It’s not ruined. There’s still a chance.” I let him calm down while str
oking his hair. “I thought revenge against Kadzuhikhan was what you wanted. You seemed to hate him so...personally. Why?”
I hadn’t meant it to challenge him, but his expression was stunned. “It’s strange. I keep having to remind myself that of course you don’t remember.” He sniffed, straightened himself. “Kadzuhikhan was the one who killed you.”
My mouth dropped open. The idea thudded through me, leaving a trail of disbelief. “H-he did?”
The image I’d had of him—less threatening than Umber, almost a brother, a partner, a guide, the person who’d talked to me on those first ragged nights when I couldn’t sleep. The person who’d taught me how to be living-again. That had already been scraped raw by the realization of his violence. But he was my murderer too.
Hei swallowed audibly. “I need to tell you everything.”
I nodded, dazedly. Maybe if I just kept going, the final picture would be possible to bear.
Hei went on. “The orphanage you and I lived in...some of the older children would stay and become helping hands, if no one adopted us. It was either that or join a mafia family as a soldier, or take to the streets ourselves. The sisters held places for us to stay, as long as we pitched in. But the orphanage was a favorite harvesting spot for a flock of crow-souls and their band of followers who would occasionally visit the city.” He looked at the floor. “Their leader was never referred to by name. Only ever as ‘Lord Umber.’”
My numbness was changing, becoming a current of sorrow, tenderness. But I closed my eyes and listened to Hei’s story falling over me.
“He had a deal with the orphanages, other places like that in the city. They handed over children, people no one would miss, whenever he demanded—and they wouldn’t burn down the orphanage. How were the sisters supposed to refuse? By the time I was a teenager, more children had been carried off by the flock than adopted by new parents. Umber didn’t come every year, but when he did come, the people he brought were terrifying. Everyone feared the omen of their massive wings, the hunger in their eyes. Even I knew they were blood-drinkers. I suspect most of the children he took were groomed to be lackeys, maybe paid muscle, maybe blood-donors, but it wasn’t as if they had much choice.”
