She shot him a warning glance. “I do.”
“How did Desaunius react?”
“I’ve never seen her more disappointed.”
“So you won’t go back then?”
Kaliel took a deep breath though her heart was breaking. “No.”
• • •
Kaliel stared at the ceiling for what seemed like forever. The rest of the day had passed quickly. She saw Desaunius for another lesson and ate dinner in the mess hall with the other kinfolk. When the sun slipped over the horizon she sat outside in the meadow staring at the stars until Luenelle motioned for her to take to her quarters. Her heart was heavy as she tried to resist the urge to see the merfolk again. They were the only reminders that what had happened in Orlondir was real.
She rolled onto her stomach and stuffed her head into her feather pillow. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself enough to sleep. Time dragged on for what seemed like an hour but was probably only a couple of minutes. She opened her eyes. Sleep wasn’t possible; her mind was clouded with thoughts of Krishani. She sat up and put on her slippers. Maybe she would sit outside under the stars and listen to the crickets and play with the fireflies in the clearing. She opened her door and shuffled quietly across the floor. When she reached the top of the stairs she saw light from the hearth fire still burning. Carefully, she placed her foot on the step in front of her. It creaked, she winced.
“She told me you wouldn’t listen to her tenet,” Luenelle said from the rocking chair in the common room.
Kaliel’s heart sank. “Did she also mention that I can’t sleep?”
“No, but I knew it was so.”
Kaliel descended the remainder of the stairs. Luenelle had a manuscript across her lap and she was situated right between the door and the hearth fire. She was a few years older than Kaliel, her elongated ears awkwardly poking out amidst her long brown hair. Her blue eyes didn’t move towards the girl as she came and took a seat on a log near the fire.
“What’s on the other side of the lake?” Kaliel asked.
Luenelle took a deep breath and let it out, obviously impatient. “The Lands of Men.” She put the manuscript on the log beside her.
Kaliel sighed. “I mean, what are the Lands of Men like?”
The House Master grimaced and shifted her eyes to the fire. “They’re full of dangerous things.”
“Like what?”
“Left over chaos caused by the Valtanyana,” Luenelle whispered.
Kaliel shuddered. She had heard of them before, always in the cautionary tales, but they were locked away in Avrigost, they were never coming back. High King Tor and the Flames had defeated them, she had nothing to fear. She noticed the embers in the fire dying down. She picked up the poker and opened the gate to the wood. She poked it gently, moving around the ashen pieces. The fire blazed at the motion. She wasn’t satisfied with Luenelle’s answer. If the Lands of Men were so dangerous, why were they expected to go there? The prospects of seeing Krishani again grew bleak and all that settled her soul was the adventurous pursuit of beauty, of wonder. She paused and held the poker in the fire, staring absentmindedly into the flames. They reminded her of her dreams. She shuddered.
“What troubles you, Kaliel?” Luenelle whispered.
The other girl was pulled out of her stupor, turning and looking at Luenelle’s blue dress and the beige quilt on her lap. It fell to the side and landed on the floor. “I want something I can’t have.”
“The merfolk aren’t something you can possess.”
Kaliel shook her head. “Not them. The Lands of Men. I don’t want to go.”
“Relax, the Great Oak will give you clarity.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
She smiled wistfully. “I’m in no rush to find adventure. When I go, I’ll be prepared for my journey. Nothing will scare me.”
Kaliel put the poker away and sat on the log again. “I can’t imagine life outside of Avristar.”
“You won’t need to for a long time.”
Knots formed in her stomach. She knew no matter what she wanted in her heart, the land would decide her path, its will was something she couldn’t alter. Up to this point in her life she thought the land wanted very peculiar things from her: to listen, to heal, and to hurt. It wasn’t just the bruises that speckled her body—it was the aching in her heart that hurt the most.
“Maybe you should try again,” Luenelle said.
Kaliel’s eyes lit up. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she envisioned her body gliding through the waters. “Really?” she asked, unable to hide the excitement.
Luenelle shot her a glare. “To sleep.”
Kaliel’s face dropped. She nodded and trudged back up the stairs to her room.
* * *
5-Nightmares
Krishani followed the elders through the over-trodden paths, his head hung in defeat, his cloak soaked with the memories of his failure. They passed a familiar fork in the trees, cold wind whipping their robes with unusual force. He caused the rain that drenched them in buckets of water, and topped it off with stinging wind. Both were unintentional, but after sixteen summers and countless moons of folly he should have known better.
At least he avoided the lightning this time.
They broke into the clearing and the eight of them, one by one, came around the center of the hearth, singing songs under their breath as the rain slowed and ceased. Logs sat around the hearth in an octagon pattern, the ground dry with remnants of sand, dirt and pebbles, reminding Krishani how close the lake was.
He waited as one of them removed their hood and long brown hair fell around aged features, sallow skin and a narrow face. Adoron’s eyes were dark with power as he rubbed his hands together and sparked a fire. Flames came to life as the others took off their cloaks and sat.
“Step forward, boy,” Adoron said, his dark eyes on Krishani. He gulped and removed the soaked cloak. A sea of agony festered in his gut, but he forced himself to step over the log. He went to sit, but Adoron shook his head. “You have failed the second rite of passage,” the elder said. “Again.”
Krishani gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. His eyes bore into the orange-white flames of the fire. Their tentacles twisted into the sky, smoke painting the canopy above him.
“Apologies,” Krishani muttered.
The others grunted in response, all of them agitated beyond normal recollection. Adoron raised his hand to silence them, his gazed fixed on Krishani. “Tolemny was a sacred site. You destroyed it.”
Krishani was unsure if he wanted to hear more. That was the first time he had tried to pass the second rite; the destruction was catastrophic. “Apologies.”
Adoron kept his eyes hot on him. “Beonwyn was a place for reflection. It too is destroyed.” The others grunted in contempt.
Krishani liked the Beonwyn tree. It was bigger than the others, but not as large as the Great Oak. He often sat by it, brainstorming recipes. As an apprentice, he was responsible for kitchen duties, and most of the other adepts yielded to his cooking skills.
“Larna was a place we assumed you could not destroy, but the meadow lies in ashes,” Adoron said.
Krishani disliked the third attempt the most. It was the middle of summer, there was barely any moisture in the air. The moment he began to engage his senses, a spark hit the grass and flew through the meadow. The elders had narrowly escaped.
“Yerbia was the final chance you had to pass the second rite, and you have failed.”
Krishani hung his head. Yerbia flooded, and the elders spent the evening wading through knee-deep water. His heart sank. There was no reason for him to be there, pretending to be a prodigy when he had only shown potential twice in his life. The first time was at the palace in the royal city of Orlondir. The second time was at the waterfall. He tried to hide his smile as the elders exchanged wary looks between them.
Krishani focused on the fire and let his senses dig into it. There was fire in Kaliel�
�s eyes and sweetness in her smile, and something he couldn’t place about her. Something different.
She was all he ever thought about.
“I hereby denounce my title as mentor of Krishani of Amersil. Will any other accept the challenge?”
The other seven elders whispered among themselves, but all of them shook their heads, their eyes too wild with bewilderment and fear. Krishani was nothing but a boy with uncontrollable power. None of them were willing to risk the wellbeing of the land for his training. Adoron began to look sick as his comrades each declined the invitation.
Krishani waited in silence, his eyes fixed on the flames, thinking of trees, floods, skies and eyes. Her eyes, the eyes of the girl he met in Orlondir. He longed to see the green in her eyes again. He felt energy building up in him, power racing through him. The wisps of fire went bright white and began settling into greens. There were deep greens like the evergreens, and brilliant emerald greens like her eyes. One of the elders gasped while the others smirked and Adoron let out a laugh. It was an unpleasant sound.
“Fire manipulation is for the twelve-year-olds, Krishani,” he snapped. He glanced around the grove and narrowed his eyes. “Will none accept the challenge?”
“I will,” a voice said, but the voice didn’t come from one of the seven, it came from behind Krishani, in the trees. All of them gasped and Adoron stumbled backwards, his feet finding the log and his body sitting with a thud.
Krishani had no idea who they were staring at until his gray robes came into view. His white beard hung to his torso, his silvery-white hair falling in waves over the folded hood of his cloak. He held a staff in his left hand; half the size of his body and made from an oak branch. It was covered in symbols. Krishani felt words catch in his throat as Istar, the Lord of Avristar, approached Adoron with a strong look in his stone blue eyes.
“I think the time for forests is over,” Istar stated, glancing briefly at the boy.
Krishani hung his head and waited for Adoron—for anyone—to speak. There was nothing but silence. He let out a breath and wrung his hands out along his sides. Istar smirked at Adoron and turned to face Krishani. “You have until Beltane to prepare him for my trials,” he said, inspecting the boy.
Krishani looked down at his plain garments: a cream-colored tunic over black breeches and shin-high boots. Istar looked into his mismatched eyes, and Krishani knew that despite his failure, Istar planned to turn him into a champion.
“Your trials?” Adoron stuttered, still gaining his wits about himself.
Istar glared at him. “Yes. He will come to Orlondir at Beltane, and I will train him.”
The elders gasped and Krishani felt sicker inside. Being chosen to train with Adoron in Amersil was an honor he could accept. After countless summers of nothing but small triumphs he was unprepared to face something as big as Orlondir and Istar, the Lord of Avristar himself.
“This gathering is over,” Istar said. He tapped his staff on the ground three times and the green fire turned to smoke, showering the elders and Krishani in nothing but the eerie glow of stars.
• • •
The river bank was sloppy and full of muck. Krishani watched as clumps of mud eventually fell into the river, washed downstream. He never knew where he was when he dreamed, but they always began like this, in the dead silence, or in the din of places he had never been before. The only place he had ever seen rivers were in his dreams, and the only time he heard about rivers was when the brothers talked about the Lands of Men. This river was no exception. He waited for the other thing he would see, the things he had seen since he woke up a child in a forest, abandoned by the men. They had smelled like sweat and firewood. It was a musky male smell that the elders on Avristar never possessed no matter how blistering hot it became in summer.
Water babbled as it rushed over the rock bed, little pools of ripples fluttering across the surface. Krishani grew anxious. He hung there, seeing nothing but clumps of mud let go of the banks and follow the ride of the winding river. He peered downstream and saw it curve and curl as it cut through tall spruce trees on either side. Part of him wanted to wake up, but part of him hated the reality he would wake up to. Days of careful planning, of menial tasks, nothing like what he endured during the rites; this was much more intense.
He was always aware during his dreams, as though he was really there, watching from the shadows. He turned his attention upstream. There was a body floating face down, moving towards him. A white shirt swished around the body and clung to tanned skin underneath. Sandy blond hair covered its head and bared ankles floated up out of the water. Krishani moved instinctively, throwing off his cloak, planning on diving in after the body, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
Krishani looked to his right and a tall man with his back turned came into view, plodding along the banks with body language that said he was equally disappointed. The floating body belonged to a child, maybe nine or ten.
Krishani hung his head and watched the body float downstream, knowing there was nothing he could do to help. The boy was already dead.
• • •
Krishani wrestled with the quilt as he tossed and turned in the hammock. He pushed it out of the way, his heart thudding, his senses making him crazy. He smelled river water, and it reminded him of the boy. He pushed the quilt off his legs and lay back in the hammock. He threw an arm over his eyes and tried to blot out the images of death cluttering his mind with unnatural abhorrence. That was the secret he never told Adoron or any of the elders in Amersil. He bottled up the dreams and made them seem far away because the man that appeared in them reminded him of a place he could barely remember. He had no idea where he had spent the first six years of his life. The dreams were like memories, or at least they seemed to be. The smell reminded him of a home he never knew he had.
The ability to sleep evaded him. He grumbled to himself and slipped off the hammock. His was one of the highest in the cabin; he slept with eleven others, all chosen for the Brotherhood, all showcasing their potential in ways he never could. His feet landed hard on the floor, but everyone remained asleep. He quickened his steps to the front of the cabin, descended the stairway and followed the trails through the trees to the hearth fire in the woods.
It might have been forbidden, but the way the flames turned the green in Kaliel’s eyes made him anxious to distract himself. He knew it was wrong to think about her. His life was so full of incoherence and secrecy and mishap he could never imagine someone liking him for those qualities. And there were always the dreams of death. Somehow it seemed too morbid and out of place for him to live in a land that was impervious to war and death. Avristar was a land of thoughtfulness and bliss.
He broke through the trees and came upon the hearth. Krishani rubbed his hands together and let them loose, a spark igniting the flames and bringing them to life. He smiled. That trick wasn’t part of the rite. Fire was much easier to manipulate than land. The flames built up, their whites and oranges shooting up past the height of the trees.
All he wanted was another glimpse of those eyes—those wide, green sparkling eyes that ignited an immense desire within him. Krishani felt his entire body shake with tremors the first time he touched her, and that had been an accident. He knew he was too close, it was too much. He was taking liberties with his limitations, both personal and bound. The brethren forbid him to speak with others, most of the time it didn’t matter because he wasn’t interested in knowing the kinfolk from other parts of Avristar.
She was hard to forget.
The fire continued shifting colors, slower now, first moving to yellow then a yellowish green and finally settling into the emerald green he found mesmerizing. He watched the fire as he let the coils of death unravel and break off, the chains of his existence allowing him freedom for a few moments. He closed his eyes and focused on her—soft white hair, elongated ears, heart-shaped face and pink lips.
Krishani blinked and stared at the fire. It was blazing a vibrant whitish vio
let hue, streaks of blue and purple mixing with the hot whites. There was something familiar about the color of amethyst. He shook his head and his concentration on the flames broke. It was as though they were sucked out of the sky as smoke rose and wisps of it drifted to the stars.
Krishani heaved a sigh and stood, willing himself to go back to the cabin. He would have to go to Orlondir soon, and this time he wouldn’t be leaving.
Leaves crunched under Krishani’s feet as he moved towards the path through the trees. He paused. There were other footsteps. He backed up and casually sat on a log, tense, waiting for whomever it was.
Benir emerged moments later and Krishani relaxed. Benir stretched. He didn’t have his cloak, only a loose-fitting pair of brown pants and a tunic. He had sandals on his feet and looked uncomfortable and tired.
“You seem to think I don’t hear it when you wake,” Benir began, sitting on the log across from Krishani and rubbing his hands together. He let them loose and the fire sparked up again, orange.
Krishani grimaced. Benir held the cot under him, but never bothered to follow him in the past. “I assumed you were a deep sleeper.”
Benir shook his head. “Not lately.”
Krishani frowned and went to ask why but shut his mouth. He knew why. Benir had seen fourteen summers. It was almost time for him to go to the Great Oak and learn his parable. “The Great Oak isn’t scary.”
Benir traced patterns on his pale hands, shadows dancing across his face. “Its words are scary.”
Krishani shook his head, unsure what to tell him. He had been to the Great Oak moons ago, and his parable was confusing. Being a warrior still seemed wrong, especially when he was such a failure to his elders.
“Stop worrying about it.” He wanted to forget about his parable and the fact he was expected to join the armies of Avristar in some distant and unforeseeable future. He went to leave Benir to his thoughts when the younger elven glanced at him, his blue eyes full of concern.
“You were having nightmares again.” It wasn’t a question.
Krishani shrugged. “They were just dreams.”
Surrender Page 5
