Into The Crooked Place

by Alexandra Christo

  She wondered how their worlds—their nightmares—took shape.

  It started as a smudge on the air, like a piece of the world was damaged, moved irreparably into the wrong place, but then it severed completely and floated toward them. The closer it got, the more it twisted into something else. An outline that stretched to Karam’s height, and then sprouted arms and broke apart into legs and focused into a face.

  It stopped floating and started walking, coming to a halt a few meters beyond them.

  Saxony blinked and the conjured man blinked in return.

  His eyes were the color of tree bark and when his skin turned from gray to deep brown, Saxony had the sense that she’d seen him somewhere before.

  When he finally spoke, she realized why.

  “Karam,” the man said.

  And Saxony knew that the place she had seen him was in Karam’s eyes. In her face. Her straight mouth and her strong jaw.

  This was Karam’s father.

  Karam closed the gap between them.

  Hardev Talwar was small and thin, with muted clothing adorned with beads and gray gems. He wore the holy Wrenyi symbol around his neck that Karam now had mirrored around her own, and when he looked at his daughter, he thumbed it pensively.

  There was no fighter in him. He wasn’t a warrior and when Saxony met his gaze, she could only think about how at peace he seemed, believing that whatever was not good could be made so with time.

  Around him Granka took shape.

  It spilled into the world like paint, coloring the space above them to sky and brightening the ground to sand and cobblestone. The air was warm, and if Saxony listened, not even very hard, she could hear the temple bells chiming in rhythm with the warm breeze.

  Saxony savored it. The peace before the inevitable pain.

  “You cannot take this path,” Hardev said.

  Karam sniffed.

  From where Saxony stood, it sounded a lot like she was trying not to cry, which struck Saxony as the strangest thing, because if there was one thing Karam did well, aside from killing, then it was being very good at not crying. Only when Saxony looked closer, she realized that it was not so strange after all, because the person in front her wasn’t the Karam she knew. It was not her beautiful warrior, but a small girl she barely recognized.

  A fourteen-year-old Karam, even shorter, if that was possible, stared into her father’s eyes with an equal mix of fear, which Saxony had never seen, and stubbornness, which she had seen more times than she could count.

  “Pehta,” Karam pleaded. “I want to be a warrior like Pehti Jal and Meta Jil. They fought to save the Crafters. I want to fight and protect Arjun.”

  “That was a time of war, dila. We are beyond that now.”

  Karam turned back to Saxony and she could see the conflict in her eyes. The childlike desire to please her father coupled with the adult knowledge that he was gone and this would be the last time she saw him again.

  Karam would have to use this second chance to break his heart all over, because the alternative would be to abandon this war and live forever in a dream. And if Karam stayed, Saxony wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to leave without her.

  “It’s okay,” Saxony said. “I’m here now. We’re in this together, right? Always.”

  Karam squared her jaw, newly resolute, and took in a breath before she returned to her father’s gaze.

  “We will always be at war,” Karam said. “No matter what you and Mete say, the fighting is not over and the Crafters will always need the Rekhi d’Rihsni to protect them.”

  Hardev bowed his head in disappointment. “If you choose to go against peace, then you should leave and never look back. Flee Wrenyal. Go to the likes of Uskhanya or some other awful realm.”

  “Pehta,” Karam pleaded.

  But she knew what was coming. Even Saxony knew.

  This was the moment Karam left her old life and ran to Creije to meet Wesley and climb the ranks of the underrealm. To meet Saxony and light a spark inside of her like she’d never known before.

  How awful that the worst moment of Karam’s life was somehow the best of Saxony’s.

  She felt like a terrible person for even thinking it, especially knowing what had become of Karam’s father, but Saxony couldn’t imagine going through this war, this life, without Karam by her side.

  “Hei prytehn,” Karam said.

  Saxony knew enough of Wrenyi, of Karam, to know what that meant.

  I love you.

  Hardev shook his head, thumbs still pinched against his necklace. “Do not do this,” he said. “No daughter of mine will live as a war bringer.”

  Karam’s hands shook to fists and Saxony could see everything unspoken forming on her lips. The regrets and apologies threatened to spill out and for a moment, when Karam’s mouth parted, Saxony thought for sure that she was going to fold into her father’s arms, relenting, sobbing as she promised to stay by his side and protect Arjun’s Kin the way she couldn’t in the real world.

  Instead, Karam looked to the ground and said, “I suppose I am no longer a daughter of yours.”

  And then she ran, fast and straight into Saxony’s arms, knocking her back a few steps.

  Saxony squeezed Karam tight against her, letting her warrior finally do the very thing she had spent years trying not to.

  Karam cried until the world shifted, creating itself anew, returning her as she was. But Saxony didn’t let go. Even as the skies darkened and the air grew cold and she felt the sand turn to soil beneath her feet.

  Saxony didn’t open her eyes.

  She didn’t want to see the regret that waited for her.

  She didn’t want to stop touching Karam.

  “Who is that?”

  Karam’s voice was muffled on her shoulder.

  Reluctantly, Saxony pulled away and took in the world with an aching breath.

  They were surrounded by a forest that wound into clouds, with arms of vines and purple holly hugging together at the sky to create a makeshift roof.

  This was home.

  Saxony was finally home.

  Not that awful place in her grandma’s vision, but her true home. The place she had grown up learning to craft and where her Kin found shelter from the world.

  In Rishiya, the buildings were as grand and tall as these trees, stretching in beautiful curves that were amassed with greenery. After the war, the city was nearly destroyed and nature sought to take it back. Now it was a striking coil of once-grand manmade architecture and the forestation that encompassed it, too beautiful for even Schulze to try to change. The rivers that ran through the city were narrow and filled with sleek trains, hordes of people on the street banks who were waiting to be spirited away.

  It held a certain kind of charm. But it was not the forest.

  The forest held magic.

  In this place, in Saxony’s home village, the waterways were wide and surrounded by high arches of trees. The streams acted as pathways and the rocks that enclosed them glistened with magic that sprinkled into the water, propelling the lantern-lit boats forward. It was an oasis, and the quiet absence of the world soothed the forest into hums, its branches swaying in song and the wind calling to the Kin, delivering messages from one Crafter to another.

  The spirit of this forest protected them, protected the land, protected the wondrous magic within.

  They’d built a home here. An entire village in and among the trees, from the mossy trunks to the tallest branches. Saxony spent her childhood running along the collective arms, from one part of the forest to another, each of her steps rich in moonlight.

  She’d forgotten how many good memories were hidden behind all the awful ones.

  “Saxony,” Karam said. “Look.”

  She held out a finger to the distance and Saxony followed her stare with a racing heart.

  She knew who she was about to see.

  She’d spent fourteen years praying for this day.

  Vea Akintola was beautiful.


  Her arms were a maze of staves, and her closely cropped hair drew attention to the severe edge of her jaw and the sprinkle of freckles across her forehead that were the same copper as her eyes. She looked ethereal and strong, with a purple dress that moved like the wind against her dark skin.

  Seeing Vea was like looking into a mirror. There was so much of Saxony in her mother’s smile and her small freckles, which Karam had always loved. Even the way Vea walked, strong and ready to face whatever the world threw at her.

  She carried little Malik in her arms and Saxony couldn’t hold back the tears.

  Her brother. Alive and smiling as Saxony’s mother hugged him tight, like she couldn’t bear to put him down. He looked so tiny that Saxony was struck once more with the grief of losing them both.

  This was the worst day of her life.

  They’d just finished celebrating Malik’s fifth birthday and though Saxony was only a year older, Amja let her make him a charm for his stave bracelet. It was a custom until Crafters came into their powers, though Malik could already conjure small hallucinations.

  He was already so good at getting inside people’s heads.

  “This is your family,” Karam said.

  She laced her fingers through Saxony’s and they watched from a distance as Malik conjured a ball of light in his tiny hands over and over, while Amja approached and whispered something in Vea’s ear.

  “She looks like a warrior,” Karam said, regarding Saxony’s mother. It was the nicest thing she could have said. “And Malik looks like trouble.”

  She laughed and Saxony did too.

  Her brother was too big for his tiny boots, even at just five, and with large brown eyes that could charm anyone into doing anything. Saxony had no doubt he would’ve grown up to be the most annoying younger brother ever and that she would have loved him for it.

  She would have loved him regardless of what he became.

  She imagined Malik teasing her mercilessly whenever he mastered a spell before her and how she would have scolded him, while trying to hide a proud smile. Zekia would’ve played peacekeeper between them, with their mother looking on.

  So many memories they missed making.

  So much time, stolen from them.

  “Malik was born with the ensi stave on his heart,” Saxony explained. “He was the first Crafter in our Kin to have powers from birth. It’s why he was destined to become Liege. Amja said he’d command with wisdom, but I always thought he’d run riot once he took charge.”

  But they never got to see which would be true.

  It took everything Saxony had in her, every ounce of strength and magic, not to surge forward and scream for her mother and Malik to go, run from the danger and escape this day before it was too late.

  But she couldn’t. Saxony knew she couldn’t.

  If she did, she’d be stuck in this place forever, repeating the day over and over, and Zekia would die knowing that her sister had abandoned her for a dream.

  Saxony would not let Zekia down again.

  “I thought your sister was your Liege,” Karam said.

  Saxony swallowed. She had to keep talking. If she didn’t, her grief was going to drown her.

  “Malik was chosen first,” Saxony said. “The day he was born, everyone in our Kin wept. He was so strong. It wasn’t until years after he died that Zekia was chosen to take his place.”

  “You never told me that.”

  Nobody outside their Kin spoke of it. It was the worst thing to ever happen. Worse, Saxony sometimes thought, than the war. Because at least her Kin had survived that, whereas Malik’s death had nearly destroyed them all.

  “In Rishiya, the first baby born after the death of a Liege is meant to take their place. While they age, the old Liege’s adviser temporarily takes charge, intuiting their wisdom and training them to be a worthy leader. Malik’s death changed that. After the fire took him, there were no newborns in our Kin,” Saxony said. “Not a one of our Crafters could conceive. It took seven dark years until we realized that it was a sign. Our new Liege was already here and the Many Gods wouldn’t let another child come until she was chosen and had fulfilled her destiny.”

  Saxony pushed away a tear.

  Malik let out a laugh as a ball of conjured light bounced from his hand and onto the ground.

  Keep talking, she told herself. Don’t move. Don’t go to them.

  “Zekia was born a few months before Malik died,” Saxony said. “The last child of the Rishiyat Kin. Nobody believes there will be another until her death. It’s how I know she’s still alive, somewhere.”

  “That is a lot for Zekia to bear,” Karam said.

  Saxony nodded. “Lieges have their entire lives to come to terms with their destiny. They’re trained and taught from birth, but Zekia had someone else’s fate thrust upon her when she was seven. The Kin think Malik’s essence was transferred into her when he died because they share the same blood and the same gift.”

  “Malik is an Intuitcrafter?”

  Saxony paused on the word.

  Is.

  It was such a small thing, but for fourteen years she’d only ever known was. But here, right now, in this place, her brother was alive. Her mother was alive. Her family was whole. They weren’t memories or ghosts, but real and smiling and so, so alive.

  In the distance, Saxony’s mother gave Amja a solemn nod and they headed into the spell shed together.

  Malik was still clutched in her arms.

  And suddenly Saxony was running.

  It was like she didn’t have control of her body. It propelled her forward so quickly that she barely felt the ground beneath her feet.

  Karam called out her name, but Saxony ignored it.

  She ran until her fingers slammed into the glass of the shed window and it splintered into her skin. She pressed herself against it, watching desperately as her grandma lit candles in a circle around her mother and Malik.

  Some kind of protection charm, she’d always thought. But seeing it now, through grown-up eyes, Saxony wasn’t sure what it looked like. She wasn’t sure what Amja was doing and she’d never thought to ask.

  “Saxony.” Karam was breathless as she caught up with her. “You cannot go in there. Whatever happened needs to—”

  “I know,” Saxony said.

  Her cheeks stung with tears.

  Was she really going to have to watch this?

  It didn’t feel possible for Saxony to be in this much pain and still be alive, breathing and standing while she broke into pieces.

  She wanted to look away, at least, but she could barely blink.

  Saxony waited for the blinding flash of light that would propel her backward through the forest. For the smell of burning and screams of cinder. She waited for this spell, whatever it was, to go wrong and swallow her family.

  “You are not your past self,” Karam said. “I thought we had to relive our regrets as we were.”

  Saxony turned from the window and when she looked at Karam, she realized it was true.

  Saxony was not a child, watching with curious eyes, desperate to know what spell her mother and grandmother were doing, and jealous that Malik was at its center rather than her. Malik was always at the center of things.

  Instead, Saxony was tall and grief-stricken and she felt the weight of her Kin as heavy as ever. She hadn’t been made into a child again, like Karam.

  Saxony looked back to the window, ready to steal one last glance at her family, but she barely had time to take in their faces—to try to make sense of why they were all suddenly crying, as if they somehow knew what was coming—before the world ruptured.

  The entire forest was blinding white.

  The force of the explosion threw Saxony and Karam back until they crashed onto the soil and splintered the roots of a tree. The pain was new and fresh and much worse than Saxony remembered. But the blaze was smaller.

  It didn’t engulf the forest like her memories told her. It was just that shed, brandished
in black flame that looked like shadows clawing and scratching, smashing the windows and crumbling walls to ash.

  It didn’t move from the building or touch the surrounding trees.

  It didn’t tarnish the grass or the soil.

  It didn’t crackle and spit.

  But Many Gods did it burn.

  Saxony felt the heat of it in the air, like the very fire that tore through her veins.

  The Kin screamed.

  Saxony screamed.

  The forest wailed in grief.

  Karam clutched on to her tightly, anchoring Saxony to the ground.

  And then she recoiled, shouting in pain.

  “Spirits.”

  Karam crawled back a couple of steps, nursing her new burns.

  Saxony’s skin was on fire, but she couldn’t even look at Karam or blink as her eyes pierced the black flames, watching them engulf her family.

  Saxony shook with magic and anger and resentment and thirst.

  It erupted within her.

  This was it. The first time the Kingpin destroyed her family.

  It was Ashwood’s fault they were here, shielding their magic and themselves from the world. If it weren’t for him and the war he helped create, Saxony’s mother and brother would be alive. Her grandma wouldn’t have needed to help them cast some kind of protection spell. They could have been living in Rishiya, free and revered.

  Malik could have been Liege. Saxony’s mother could have watched her grow up and when she met Karam—which Saxony knew, in any life, she would—her mother would have led the ritual to welcome her as an official ally of the Kin.

  Instead, Amja lay singed on the ground, watching in silent horror as the Crafters gathered and threw magic on the flames.

  The world was ending all over.

  Saxony’s skin hissed and she knew then, with such sudden clarity, that her regret wasn’t what she had done.

  It was what she hadn’t done.

  Avenge her family.

  It had all started here, in the fire, and when Saxony found Ashwood, she’d make sure to end it there.

  She’d set the world aflame, one enemy at a time.

  WESLEY WAS SPAT BACK into the realms with Tavia in his arms.

  Or rather, her head cracked against his arm and the rest of her sprawled on top of him in a way that made it hard to breathe.