“He sends the souls to the Great Hall. He keeps them away from the Vultures.”
“But you said he was becoming one when he found you,” she said, monotone.
“That’s because you died,” Elwen whispered.
And it was too much—too much to hear, too much to take. She knew it when she was sprawled out on the beach, watching Krishani kill Osvanir. She knew she was the reason he’d become a monster and she didn’t want to hear it anymore. She went to run but stopped in her tracks on the carpet. She turned slowly her mouth open in awe.
Elwen looked amused.
“He never intended to kill the Horsemen, did he?”
Elwen beamed and she felt like slapping the smile off his face. “He left so he wouldn’t become a Vulture.” He reached her before she could leave and grabbed her by the upper arm, his hazel eyes boring into hers. “And you’re stupid to think he could be with you. He’ll leave, and you’ll be alone, married or not.”
Kaliel ripped herself out of his grasp, leaving red marks on her skin as she tore out of the hall. A buzzing sound permeated her ears as she faltered in the cold. The wind went right through her like a thousand spears as she rounded the castle and found the watchtower. She didn’t know where Krishani was. He was probably braving the cold somewhere in the village, trying to help the villagers before the storm hit them head on.
And yet all she could think about was the Valtanyana, the destruction they would bring, the lives they would claim, and the Vultures that would come to feast on their souls.
Krishani would have to fight them, too.
And it was too late to stop any of it from happening.
* * *
40 - The Storm
Klavotesi warmed his hands over the dying embers of a fire he hoped would last longer. The storm hadn’t waned. Day blended into night as sticky flakes of snow plastered the sky, an angry black maelstrom twisting in spirals. He spent the better part of the day starting fires and watching the wood die down. He worried about his stallion and braved the cold four times to check on him. He tried to wade across the sand to let the horse drink, but the wind was so strong he could barely walk. The temperatures continued to drop, and even the cloak over his shoulders wasn’t enough. He peeked out the window only to see that the lake was a sheet of ice.
Klavotesi turned his translucent hands over, idly tracing the outlines of his perfectly contoured cuticles and red fingernails. The fire was nothing but a low purple hum, barely breathing against the cold snap. He shivered and the wood groaned beneath him, another familiar sound. All day the cabin groaned at the cold, creaking, shifting, resettling. A long creak ran across the floor and his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t afraid; he was livid.
The fire snuffed itself out as another groan crawled across the cabin. Klavotesi glanced at the windows. He pulled back the curtains to reveal a bright patch of sunset trickling through the clouds. He didn’t panic but he should have as he withdrew from the windows, reaching the bed, pulling the blanket over himself. He wrapped himself in it so heavily only his eyes were exposed.
The cold air stole the smoke from the air, turning it into nothing as ice cracked along the floorboards and the walls, turning them an icy blue. There was a loud neigh as the burning cold hit the horse and Klavotesi’s heart dropped.
The neigh was cut short by the eye of the storm, by the coldest winds in the center of the funnel. Temperatures were well below average, temperatures on abandoned lands, temperatures only talked about in stories.
The windows popped, glass spiraling into a tornado inside the cabin before the shards hit the frozen walls and slid down them. Klavotesi closed his eyes, waiting for the blast of air to hit him. He closed his eyes, hoping his body could sustain the blast. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he was determined to return to Castle Tavesin to confront Kaliel about what she’d done.
A whirring noise hit Klavotesi’s ears as the wind and frigid cold whipped against the cabin, turning it to an icy shack. He felt frostbite on the edges of his fingers and on his cheeks. His breath made opaque shapes in the air.
He let the Flame permeate his every sense and fill his eyes, his hands, his limbs. He let it explode off his aura. A hand flashed out from under the blanket, sparking a fire. The Flame lit charcoal logs and snaked through ash, its fiery blackness rising into peaks and valleys. He smiled, knowing no matter what the land threw at him, he could compete.
The only problem was that nobody else could.
He grimaced as he clenched his fist and contemplated an ability he taught Pux but never used himself. It seemed easy enough, the schematics, the probability. He could envision the field, see the walls of the Tavesin village. He could disappear from the cabin, leaving the carcass of his horse behind.
He could warn everyone about what was coming.
And maybe he could stop it.
He squeezed his eyes shut and let the Flame encompass every part of him as he thought about the field, the boulders, the dark green grass, and the stone walls. He begged for it to work. Another whipping gust of wind traced along the outskirts of the windows and burst through, snuffing the fire, finishing off the Obsidian Flame.
Klavotesi had no time. He tried harder, hoping beyond hope he could do what his student could not. And then, before the icy tentacles of the storm ended him, he vanished, leaving the blanket in a frozen heap on the bed.
• • •
Krishani opened his eyes to the dim grayness inside the cabin. Everything hurt, and aches ran the length of his arms and legs. He curled under a separate blanket beside Kaliel and cocooned inside it for warmth. It was the coldest night he’d experienced on Terra. He’d spent all day setting fires, gathering fire wood, blankets, and reassuring the villagers it was just a winter storm, the first of its kind for the long season. He grimaced at the thought of spoiled food, unharvested crops, and barn animals. Hyatt and Bethula did their best to shut the barn but it was big, and with gusts of wind racking the shutters every few minutes, there wasn’t much hope the cold wouldn’t find its way inside. He rolled, keeping the blanket to his chin, and stared at the ceiling. His breath came out in little clouds that rose and faded away. He watched a few puffs of air find the ceiling before he shifted a little, his right arm aching. It was numb. He rummaged around inside the blanket, pulling his pitch black hand out.
He froze.
He stared at it, stealing a glance at Kaliel to find out if she was awake. All he saw was the top of her head, black waves of hair flowing into rough curls. He was supposed to be cured. The Horsemen were dead, Morgana wasn’t around. The bad dreams stopped, and he was free. His stomach curled in knots as fear crept into his heart. He shook his head, trying to shake away the thoughts of the missing Flames.
They weren’t his problem. They weren’t in danger of death anymore. They were locked in the puzzle box; whoever found them would suffer the consequences. He shifted, untangling himself from the blanket and stood, a chill racing through him as his bare feet hit the cold cabin floor. He tiptoed across the floor and sunk into the wicker chair. He glanced at the candle on the desk and, without touching it, reached out. It flickered to life. Shadows danced across the deep black tattoos crawling up his arm.
He recoiled, stifling the urge to vomit. It was growing, inching across his skin like vines. It began at his wrist, twining and winding past his elbow and into his biceps. The longest tendrils reached his shoulder. He drew a shaky breath. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going on. People were dying again, thousands of them, and the Vultures were devouring them.
Unnatural deaths.
He pulled on his boots and hastily crossed the floor, hoping Kaliel would stay asleep. He couldn’t let her see what he was becoming, couldn’t let her know about the Vultures. She’d faded since he left. She was reserved, worried, quiet. She hadn’t laughed in days, and it bothered him. He found a long sleeve tunic and pulled it over his shoulders, knowing even though it was made of itchy wool it would protect against the
cold. He threw his cloak over the ensemble. Reaching the front door, he glanced at Kaliel. His heart swelled with guilt at the thought of leaving her again. No matter what he wanted, he would always have to leave her.
He ducked out of the cabin and stopped on the porch. The sky was a thick blanket of gray clouds stretching as far as the eye could see. And snow. His stomach tightened as he tried to control his breathing. He gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. This storm wasn’t his doing. He tried to slow his heart rate, forcing the words Elwen had said into his mind. These storms were natural; they happened on Terra all the time. The villagers spent yesterday talking about their experiences with snow, snowmen, snowballs, and snow faeries. They used the snow for snow forts and tents. They used it for water and sustenance. They use it to preserve their food until they cooked it. They celebrated the Winter Solstice outside around the giant hearth fire.
He liked the idea of their traditions being similar to Avristar, but he missed the Fire Festivals. He missed Samhain and Beltane and couldn’t even tell when they came and went on Terra because the people treated them like any other day and the climate didn’t give him any clues.
He turned from the spectacle of snow, looking at the door and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t go back to that dark place, a place without her. It was too hard for him to say goodbye again and again. He fought the urge to show her the snow and clambered down the stairs, rounded the castle, and took the steps with fierce determination.
Krishani burst through the double doors. “Elwen!” he called.
The dim lighting made it more ominous than it had seemed before. He waited, listening to the utter silence after the echoes died down. They were whispering in the wings, voices hushed so low he barely heard them.
“Elwen,” Krishani said, moving to the sound. When he got closer he saw not one but two of them standing opposite one another, a stare down. Elwen had his arms across his chest, his thumb inside his mouth, and his eyebrows pulled together. Across from him was the statuesque vision of the Obsidian Flame. Krishani didn’t know he returned, and his senses heightened.
“You didn’t find the enemy. You didn’t find the Flames,” he accused, pointing at Klavotesi as he approached them. He stopped a few feet away, and when Klavotesi removed his hood he gasped and stopped in his tracks.
The red eyes glowered, but they were full of regret. Krishani couldn’t believe the sallow white features, the slicked back white hair. It was hard to look at him like this.
“I didn’t find the Flames,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “But I did find the enemy, and it’s too late.”
“How can you say that?” Krishani shouted through clenched teeth. He held his hand up as proof of what was going on. “You’re going to tell me nobody is dying?”
Elwen glanced at Krishani’s hand and his arms fell to his sides, worry lines appearing on his forehead. He moved to Krishani, and Krishani backed up, sensing his intentions.
“How far has it spread?” Elwen asked. There wasn’t any malice in his voice, only more regret.
Krishani pulled back the tunic to show Elwen the vines of black creeping across his collarbone. “It’s everywhere.”
Elwen glanced at Klavotesi. “What can we do?”
Klavotesi shrugged, turning his palms upright. “Nothing. The storm was raised by magic.” His voice was laced with despair.
Krishani looked at him. Even though his eyes were a freakish hue of red, they were filled with intense sadness. Something hurt him, emotionally, which was impossible. Maybe it was that the Flames were still missing, but he’d never seen Klavotesi so broken.
Elwen’s eyes widened. He turned his attention back to Krishani. His mouth opened and closed again, saving whatever he was going to say for another time. Krishani stumbled to the table across the hall and landed heavily on the bench. He buried his face in the circle of his arms and heard the footsteps of the others as they neared him.
“How am I supposed to fight this?” Krishani muttered.
Someone settled onto the bench next to him. He smelled the musky scent of incense on his robes. It was Elwen. “You’ll always be too late.” Krishani closed his eyes, not wanting to hear more. “Natural disasters aren’t usually a feeding ground for Vultures. Natural deaths aren’t part of a Ferryman’s tasks. No Vultures, no Ferryman. Magic changes all of that,” Elwen lamented.
There was a swishing sound of robes nearby. “The storm is formidable, unlike anything I’ve seen. It froze the cabin I sought refuge in. It even snuffed out my fire.”
“He’s right. He was telling me about it before you interrupted,” Elwen said.
“The worst of it is in the eye of the storm. I was attacked by winds so strong they broke the windows,” Klavotesi continued.
Krishani felt the blackness digging into him, heard their whispers from far away; he knew they were coming. He listened to their shrieks as they swept across the land with glee, pulling wispy white smoke into their self-contained voids of night.
He groaned, his thoughts turning to Kaliel. How would he tell her? What he would tell her? He didn’t want her to be a part of this. He promised he would protect her, keep her safe from everything out there. He couldn’t lose her again.
He banged his blackened fist on the table. Pulling his head up, he swiveled on the bench, facing Klavotesi. “How did you return?”
“I transported.”
Krishani wiped his hands on his breeches, his mind looking for answers, any answer. His thoughts trickled to Shimma. She was somewhere in the castle. She had the seashells.
“Call the villagers to the hall. Call everyone,” Krishani ordered, jumping to his feet and jogging to the doors. Elwen and Klavotesi didn’t move. Krishani glowered at them. “We need to tell the villagers this isn’t a regular storm. Warn them to stay inside,” Krishani said. He bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs.
Elwen nodded, and Klavotesi threw his hood over his face, following Krishani.
“Tell them to meet here at dinnertime,” Elwen instructed.
Krishani opened the doors and was met with a blast of the cold. He grimaced but forced himself into it head down, a hand on his hood to keep it from blowing off. He nodded to Klavotesi to take the west half of the village while Krishani took a left to the east. They didn’t have a lot of time before the frost-laden ground, the few stray flakes in the sky, and the gray clouds turned to clear blue skies and winds so cold they’d freeze a man alive, turning the land to sheets of ice.
When he was done with the villagers, he would find Shimma and go to Avristar, exile or not.
* * *
41 - Judgment
Pux sat on the floor in Hyatt and Bethula’s house. He hunched his animal legs to his chest, shivering. He was as close to the fire as he could get without falling in it. Jack sat across from him. He kept glancing at Pux, his eyes full of passion Pux couldn’t return. All he felt since he’d left Kaliel in the loft was fear, regret, and uncertainty. He watched the fire lick at the logs and another shudder washed over him. Jack put a hand on his knee, shooting him a compassionate smile.
“It’s only a storm,” he said.
Pux nodded, closing his eyes, trying to think about easier things. All he saw was the fields of Orlondir covered in thick sheets of snow. He couldn’t help but be afraid of it. This wasn’t any regular storm; this was retaliation. It was the land getting back at Kaliel for being so selfish. She tried to control Terra, but it was dead and untamable, a vile, vicious land.
He’d die faster in the snow, and he hated the idea of fighting in the maelstrom, limbs freezing, hands having rigor mortis set in long before he was dead. His teeth chattered and he stopped them, pressing his lips together. Jack let his eyes linger over his lips, and Pux felt the last bits of warmth on the inside. He didn’t know what to tell Jack about the coming apocalypse, his mind drifting to the night behind the barn. There was dancing the way there was always dancing, only when Pux wrapped his arm around Jack’s waist,
the shy boy he had come to know pulled out of his grasp and left the hall. Pux had frowned, checking to make sure nobody noticed the minute gesture and followed Jack. He found him leaning against the side of the mess hall, hands stuffed into his pockets, hazel eyes downcast. Pux neared him until they were face to face. He didn’t say anything until Jack felt him there and looked up, his eyes saying more than his lips. The other boy was upset, scared and embarrassed, but Pux was Pux, he never pried. Pux left his hands at his sides, his eyes drifting to Jack’s dry lips. Jack looked away.
“I should stop dancing with you,” he said.
Pux didn’t move. “Why?”
“Cause it makes me feel weird.”
Pux wasn’t sure how to react. “Good weird?”
Jack let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “Alive weird. Like all those stories about you Children of Avristar are true.”
Pux didn’t have words this time, and he wasn’t sure if he needed them. His body crashed forward, capturing Jack’s jaw in his hand as he pulled him closer, their lips meeting in a tangle of tongues and teeth and lips. Jack kissed him back with all the ferocity of an animal and Pux felt his heart thud through the fabric of his tunic. It didn’t last long enough, and when Pux pulled back he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for the way Jack looked at him, scared, excited and sad. Pux pressed his forehead against Jack’s, his hand caressing the other boy’s throat, feeling his elevated pulse.
Jack seemed to catch his breath, his words coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Father won’t like this.”
Pux tried to quirk a smile, feeling like his own heart might explode. He never understood before Jack what Kaliel was so obsessed with, and now, with his hands on Jack, all he wanted to do was press his lips against every part of him. “Do you like it?”
Jack smiled that same rueful smile Pux had mastered and Pux laughed. He didn’t need to say anything for Pux to know exactly what he was thinking.
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