by A. R. Kahler
After tonight, though, I didn’t think Kaira had a choice in that. We’d both been living on borrowed time—something the voice inside reminded me of quite often—and now, it seemed, we were being hit up for payback. I wasn’t going to give in. I wasn’t going to let Kaira give in. But here I was, stuck in my room, with absolutely zero way of helping her.
I listened to Mike gargle and cough in the bathroom, before hocking yet another loogie and rinsing it down the sink. Then he came back in, in his rumpled boxers and ratty T-shirt I don’t think he’d ever washed, and slid into bed without saying a word.
I clutched the sheets and listened to Mike’s breathing slow and then catch as his snoring commenced. Light suddenly danced across the ceiling. At first I thought it was just snow falling against the lights outside. Then the stain of light shifted, and when I blinked, what were once streaks were wings. Another blink, and the glowing falcon stretched its wings out, burned against the ceiling. Feathers peeled from the light as bit by bit the bird coalesced, then dripped down from the ceiling like a gleaming wraith. Every nerve in my body said, Flee. Or hide. I bit back the impulse to pull the sheets over my head. Like I had as a kid.
I’d been running from him since my sister had died. I’d learned how to ignore him. How to trick myself into thinking it was stress or delusions. If I tried hard enough, I could make him go away. I could make him be nothing more than an overactive imagination.
I wasn’t going to run from him. Not tonight. Not anymore.
The bird didn’t move like a normal falcon. It clung batlike from the ceiling, its neck craning around so a single golden eye locked on me. My skin wanted to crawl from my bones. I wanted to hide under the covers, to scream and turn the lights on and make it go away. Because that golden eye wasn’t warm. It was penetrating and cold. It was the darkest part of the sun, the center of a black hole. And it had no care for human life.
“What are you?” I whispered. Mike snorted from his bed and curled over, still sound asleep.
You know what I am, the falcon spoke back, its voice reverberating in my head. It sounded masculine, and old, but I couldn’t be certain—it also sounded like cut brass, like thawing ice. You have always known. I am the one who guards your soul.
“What do you want?”
You know that, too. I am here to take back what was once given.
“Then kill me,” I whispered. Would Mike see this if he woke up? Or would he just see me talking to the ceiling? My parents had never seen it, not when I’d called out and pointed to the creature waiting in the branches, perching on the porch light. They had never seen, and I had stopped trying to make them.
The bird laughed. How can a bird laugh?
Why would I kill you? When I have done so much to protect you. You are needed, Endbringer.
I shuddered at the name; my thoughts immediately dripped with blood, his previous words ringing through my head: Her blood is yours to spill, her blood is yours to spill.
“Why now? What do you need me for?” But I knew. Just as I knew I was never truly alone.
Your counterpart among the Vanir has risen. The field is nearly ready for battle. It is time, Endbringer. Time to kneel before your destiny. Time to destroy the one who desires to end you. The one who wears the skin of Kaira . . .
“I won’t hurt her!” I blurted out. Mike coughed and mumbled something. The bird didn’t move.
But you already have, the bird said. Even with its cold, unmoving stare, I could taste the smile in his words. You have already weakened the Shadechild. She feels for you. Desires you. She would never raise a hand against you. And that is how we have already won. That is why we chose you for this task. You have stolen her heart. Stealing her life will be simple.
It was lying. It had to be. I hadn’t stolen Kaira’s heart. I barely knew her. If anything, she had stolen mine.
You were created for this, the falcon reminded me. You were born for this. It is why I have kept you safe. It is why I have let you live.
I shook my head. I wasn’t born for anything. Especially not this. My sister hadn’t died so I could kill.
Ask your parents, the falcon whispered. Ask them about your birth. Two times have I saved your life. Two times am I owed your debt. And I will take it. You cannot shut me out forever. Not now, when the barriers grow thin. The battle nears. And you, my avatar. You will fight to the death.
My heart raced and I flung back the sheets, ready to throw something at the bird to get it to shut up. But when I looked up again, it wasn’t there. Just the light streaked through the darkness. Just the echo in my head, the one whispering that I was going insane.
It wasn’t loud enough to drown out the falcon’s laughter.
• • •
It was two when I finally decided I couldn’t take it anymore. The night had stretched on and the falcon had grown silent and all that was left was the irregular cadence of Mike’s snoring. I wanted to claw my skin off. I wanted to run.
I had to see Kaira.
I knew it was stupid. I knew I’d get caught. But I was going to go insane if I stayed in here.
More insane than I already was.
Before I could convince myself to stay inside, I slid from the bed and slipped on my clothes and coat. Then, boots in one hand, I tiptoed to the window and carefully propped it open. Cold air flooded in. I slid into my boots as fast as possible. Mike snorted and turned over, but otherwise there was silence. No alarms from my impending escape.
Grateful to be on the bottom floor, I crawled through the window and hopped outside, my landing muffled by the thick blanket of snow. Then, leaving a sock in the frame so it wouldn’t close entirely, I slid the window shut.
I stood there and waited for a moment, my ears straining in the silence. For anything. This couldn’t be so easy. Someone had to have heard me. Mike had to have woken up. But no—as I crouched there, the night air slowly sinking through my layers, I realized this would be that easy. I almost laughed. We spent the entire year playing by the rules, or finding our way around them. Turned out the greatest rule of all—mandatory sign-in—was just another joke.
Your time is ticking, I thought. The humor stilled in a heartbeat.
Kaira’s dorm was a bit separated from mine, and as I snuck across the back of my dorm toward hers, it struck me just how far it actually was. My heart stayed lodged in my throat, and even though my fingers were numb, I was covered in sweat. Every single step felt like walking on a landmine.
The absolute silence of the night made it worse.
Not even my footsteps made a sound.
I made it to Kaira’s dorm without anyone noticing. There was a moment, when I neared, that panic flared up again. What window is hers? How do I even know? But when I arrived, I realized there was no reason to worry.
Kaira’s was the window the ravens were watching.
Where the rest of the campus was barren of birds, the fir tree outside Kaira’s window was covered in crows and ravens, great black birds in all sizes. All silent. All staring at the same window. More birds crowded the windowsill, looking in.
My blood froze the moment I saw them.
Because, as one, they all turned their beady black gaze to me.
I considered yelling them away. I considered throwing a snowball at Kaira’s window. They were just birds. Just birds.
Before I could do either of those things, they cawed.
It wasn’t a normal bird sound. It was a scream, guttural and grinding and dragged from the pits of the Underworld. And the moment they cried out, they took flight.
I didn’t have time to think. My body kicked into survival mode and ran.
I stumbled forward, lurching through the snow that sucked at my feet like quicksand. Birds flew past me, black shadows laced with razors, their caws endless—the screams of the damned. They slashed at my coat, left gouges in my skin. They clawed my closed eyes, pecked at my lips. I couldn’t even cry out as they swarmed me, as the world turned black with their fury, as the s
now bled red.
So much of my blood. So much warmth.
Light flashed. Brilliant and golden. The ravens’ screams became pained as they fled, disappearing back into shadows, dissolving to night.
And there, in the snow, was a figure I’d only seen in nightmares.
He was roughly my age, glowing gold as the sun and clothed only in the falcon perched on his shoulder. Three pairs of wings spread behind him like a scarab, and a halo of daggers crowned him. The snow around him glimmered gold. Despite the brilliance, I didn’t need to squint.
“You will not die here,” the figure said. “Not when you desire to save the one you’re meant to kill.”
I cowered back. He was familiar, even though his voice was not. Familiar like a shadow. And that made him worse than the ravens. Worse than the threat of being caught.
He’d already caught me.
“I—” I began.
“Will bend to my will,” he said. His voice was cinders and snapping sap, a harsh contrast to the falcon’s simmering tones. He stepped forward. His bare feet hissed in the snow. “Your time is coming, Endbringer. The time to fight. To use your gifts. You will not squander them here.”
“Who are you?” I asked. Because I knew him. Knew him like the blood in my veins. But I’d never heard his voice. Never heard his name.
“I am your other half,” he said. “Your god. Your rider. And you, my vessel. You may call me Heru.”
He reached out then and grazed my bloodied cheek with his hand. It burned like hell, but my body curled into his touch. Like it knew its master.
“Together, we will destroy the Vanir and nourish the Tree. But first, you must give me what I desire.”
“What do you want?” I asked. My voice was so breathy. I wanted this. Wanted him. So badly.
“You. Give yourself to me, and we will make the world weep.”
My pulse was fire. My skin burned. And it felt like Heaven, like sex, like every thread of me was pulling toward this presence, this light. This god.
I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, into the touch that promised infinity.
And there, in the darkness of my mind, I saw her. Kaira. Surrounded by ravens. Her hand outstretched as she called my name.
“Her life is yours,” Heru whispered, his words vibrating in my bones. “Give yourself to me. We shall kill her together. And in that victory, we both will reign eternal.”
I jerked back. His spell shattered.
“No,” I said. “I’ll never hurt her.”
He just smiled. Like he knew better. Like he knew I was destined to give in.
“We shall see,” he said. “I can be very . . . persuasive.”
He stood and stepped back.
“When the war comes, you will be my steed. You have no choice in this, Endbringer. You owe us your life. And the gods always take their dues.”
There was another flash, a swirl of golden feathers and blades, and when I blinked again, he was gone.
He was gone, and so was I. Back in my room, back under my covers, back in my pajamas.
I bolted from the bed and looked outside. No footprints in the snow. No birds in the trees. No cuts on my body.
I stared at my arms in the pale light.
I was going insane. I was literally going insane.
But when I turned toward my bed, my heart as fierce in my chest as the thoughts in my head, my doubt dropped away.
There on my pillow was a single golden feather.
“He will take you,” Mike muttered behind me. I jerked to look at him. His eyes were closed, his head pressed into the pillow. He snored.
I shook my head, even though he wasn’t watching. Even though he was fast asleep.
“I’ll never hurt her,” I whispered.
It was the only thing I knew to be true.
So why the hell did it feel like a lie?
Morning came with a gasp at the sound of my alarm. I hadn’t thought I would sleep, not after what had happened, but apparently I had. And whatever I’d been dreaming, it clearly hadn’t been good. My sheets were knotted around my legs and my pillows were on the floor and my bed was matted with cold sweat. I was suddenly grateful I couldn’t remember my dreams.
I turned off my alarm and closed my eyes, trying to get my heart to slow down as I tried to retrace my dream. No, I could remember something. Something about water. Water and darkness and my sister, screaming. Being pulled down into the depths by something. Something with my face . . .
“We’re having an assembly.”
Mike’s words pulled me from my thoughts with a shiver. I couldn’t tell if he sounded different from what he’d uttered last night.
“When?” I grumbled.
“Nine,” he replied. “After breakfast. About that guy who died.”
“Oh.” Like there would have been any other reason.
And then he left, banging the door behind him.
I turned my bleary eyes back to the shadow-streaked ceiling. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to think about what was waiting on the other side of that door. Another assembly. Another life lost. Another attempt at moving forward when I knew there was no such thing. There had already been rumors the school would shut down. Jonathan’s death would cement it.
I thought of the last time we’d had an assembly, when Kaira had convinced Ethan to take us off campus for sushi. When she’d run to the bathroom in a panic. Had she seen something then? Had she known what was coming for her, what the coming days would spell?
Then another thought triggered, one that vainly tried to pierce the heaviness of my mind. She would be at breakfast. We could talk after eating, before the assembly. I could figure out what the hell was going on. We would figure this out. Together.
Suddenly heartened, I slid out of bed and changed into clean clothes, skipping a shower because I hated showering in the morning and I didn’t want to risk missing Kaira at breakfast. It was already eight. Breakfast had been going for thirty minutes. She was probably already there. I glanced in the mirror on the way out—I didn’t look nearly as put together as I would have liked, but it would have to do. Jeans and a Henley and a bad case of five-o’clock scruff that made my sideburns and goatee look more like a beard. That wasn’t what made me stare, though. My eyes were different. A bags-under-my-eyes sort of thing, yes. But that couldn’t be what was making my irises look so much . . . lighter. It’s just stress, I thought, as though that could be any sort of explanation.
Before I could freak myself out, I stepped out the door and jogged down the hall toward the lobby.
Islington was always subdued in the mornings. The kids here didn’t seem to function until after breakfast, or at least until after their first coffee, and I wasn’t much different. But today felt off. Emptier. The few students walking to the cafeteria had their heads down, their conversations muted. It wasn’t until I’d trudged down the front steps and gotten halfway to the cafeteria that I realized why it felt like a funeral.
The birds were still missing. The sky was heavy and gray and empty—no black shadows swirling or cawing or fighting. It was one flat silver mirror, and the dullness of it reflected on the world below. No ravens in the trees. No crows on the power lines or perched on the eaves of the buildings. Their absence was like a presence in itself. Save for the kids, nothing moved. Nothing was alive. Everything seemed caught in a pallid photograph.
Which was why I nearly yelped when something moved atop the cafeteria roof. I’d thought it was just a mound of dirty snow. Then it twitched, and golden eyes blinked. Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear the owl watched me the entire way to the front door. Even when the door closed behind me, I could still feel its gaze.
At least it wasn’t the falcon. He had been strangely silent this morning. Normally, this was the ideal time for him to try to sneak into my thoughts. When my guard was down. When coffee hadn’t helped me build the necessary walls.
The scent of coffee and burnt eggs wafted through the room, somehow
comforting in the wake of everything else. This was a normalcy I could embrace. I paused by the door and looked around the room. Most of the round tables were occupied. There was noise and movement and occasionally laughter. The vibrancy was jarring after the silence outside. It seemed like an affront, almost. Like Jonathan’s life wasn’t worth mourning.
Or maybe we were all just too scraped out to feel anything.
I made my way through the food line, skipping the eggs for some pancakes and a banana and coffee. I had to play it cool, even if every nerve of me wanted to run over to the table and drag Kaira away to talk. That wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work.
Especially because a small voice inside me kept saying that I was the only one who’d seen anything strange last night. Kaira’s quiet plea for help on the phone had just been in my imagination. Like everything else. There was another fear, too: that Ethan had changed his mind and turned me in, that he—always on the side of “justice” or whatever—had decided I wasn’t safe. At any moment, I expected a faculty member to pull me aside. Tell me that I was a suspect, because I’d been in the room with Jonathan last. I was seen on a security camera, or some shred of my DNA had been found on his body.
That was when I heard the falcon’s voice. And for once in my life, it was soothing.
Fear not, Endbringer. Your fate is not tied to the man’s.
I didn’t want to admit that his words were comforting.
I shook the thoughts away and focused on the room. But something was off. My classmates weren’t just talking and mingling. They were yelling.
Someone jumped from her chair to my right, punching the girl beside her before she got to her feet. Another group erupted in front of me, the whole round table flipped on its head, food and coffee flying everywhere. My eyes went wide as the fighting grew. A dancer boy in front of me was tossed onto his back, the leg of a chair immediately pressed to his neck as his breathing turned to a wheeze. A painter beside me stabbed her friend’s hand with a fork, the tines piercing into the table below. I blinked, tried to force away the violence, but when I opened my eyes, it was still there. It was worse. Blood was dripping from the tables now, gushing around my feet, and above us, falcons dripped from the ceiling like curses.
