“Kaliel!” A new voice. “Kaliel!”
Her eyes opened. She was drenched in sweat, her body trembling uncontrollably.
“What did you see?” Mallorn demanded.
She put a hand to her head, trying to shake away the stinging images. Her mouth moved, trying to form words, but her tongue was dry and her throat was scratchy. She longed for water—the waters. She needed to go to the lake. She pushed the covers aside, refusing to explain what she saw, anything to keep him from knowing her dark secrets.
“I can’t stay here,” she said as her feet found the floor.
Mallorn had his hand on her arm, but she wrenched it away and ran out of the cabin into the night. The moon waxed, half full. She took a deep breath and tasted the air. The pulsating waves of the waters lapped against the shore in the distance. She darted to the east, following the thin path leading through the scattered forests towards the lake. On her left were patches of evergreen trees and on the right the familiar young red cedars and birch trees. The ground below her moved from grass to mud, but thankfully it was dry. She traipsed along the land, desperate to get to the lake. It had been so long since her last visit.
She forced the images of the dream into the crevasses of her mind, refusing to listen to anything that could cause her pain. The Flame inside battered around like a banshee trying to overtake her. She fought to keep it suppressed. Her lungs burned as she ran; her mouth parched and sticky. There were no roots in her way, but she skipped along the ground as though they were there, an ingrained old habit.
The moist, fresh scent of water wafted through the air as she neared the shallow cliff. Her toes curled over the edge as she frantically searched for another way to the water. Stars swept across the sky, the half-moon brighter out in the open. She stumbled down the hill on the right as it sloped towards the lake. It curved around the cave and the sand, concealing the beach from the forest. Finally, she heard waves gently lapping against the oars of a boat.
She tumbled on the grass and glanced at the boat. It resembled a canoe, except the stern had a wooden figurine of a woman carved into it. The woman had pearls for eyes. She thought the woman was staring at her.
Ignoring it, she desperately shed her nightgown and moved to the ledge. There were moss and weeds along the edge of the island. She sighed and closed her eyes; the Flame encasing her in her dream wouldn’t leave her mind. Without another thought, she took a few steps and plunged off the grassy ledge, straight into the deep water.
She pulled herself down, not bothering to call to the merfolk. They were never going to return. She kept her eyes closed as she felt the cool waters rush around her body, erasing any memories of fire, Flames, Ferrymen, the Great Oak, the foe. She held her breath as she traveled deeper and deeper. Her arms brushed along the prickly weeds floating through the waters. They scratched at her skin as she fought to free herself.
She sank deeper.
Pressure built as she turned and turned in the waters, trying to escape the weeds. She let out a few bubbles of air. She didn’t have much time before all of it was gone. Her eyes opened as she tried to find her way to the surface. It was so dark she could barely tell which way to go until her body tumbled around and she caught sight of a glimmering light. She lay limp between the weeds, allowing them to float away from her, desperate to get to the surface. When they cleared, she kicked and pulled upwards.
Her head breeched the water and her eyes beheld the horizon in the distance. If she hadn’t been so tired she would have paddled towards it. She thought of the boat, but remembered the foe. She turned to the shore.
Mallorn stood there with an exhausted look on his face. “Please, child, give me the chance to help,” he said as he held her nightgown out to her.
Kaliel swam to the shore and nodded. He really wasn’t like the others. She felt his compassion for her as she pulled herself out of the water. Mallorn turned as she grabbed the nightgown and slid it over her head.
• • •
Kaliel nestled into the big wooden chair in the living room of the Kiirar’s cabin. Her body barely filled the chair, but she was content to feel drowned in it. She stared ahead at the cup in front of her, full of chamomile tea. Mallorn sat across the way, eyeing her carefully. He took a sip of tea and leaned forward, placing the cup on the stump between them.
“You know there are merfolk off the shores of Avristar,” Mallorn began.
Kaliel glanced at him, her chest tightening. “Not anymore,” she said softly as she turned her attention to the fireplace. She closed her eyes and tried to put the idea of fire out of her mind. The merfolk in Evennses were something she never talked about anymore. The last time she tried to go to the lake was the first time she bloomed the weed.
Mallorn frowned, seeming not to understand what she meant. “They came centuries ago, when Avristar was rebuilding. They are the protectors of the Avristar Stones that grow at the bottom of the lake.”
Kaliel groaned. “Those stones belong to the merfolk.” She thought about the nights she swam with them. That was long before the Great Oak sent her to Orlondir, long before she had been with Krishani.
“Istar has an agreement with them. They give us one stone for every kinfolk.”
She grabbed her tea, took a long sip and fell back into the chair, staring into the fire again. This conversation was much more unnerving to her than he could imagine. “The merfolk are dangerous.” Those were the same words of her elder Desaunius.
Mallorn sighed and put his tea on the stump. “That they are, which begs the question of why you would go diving into the lake at such a late hour?” He shot her a stern glance, his eyebrows pulled together in disappointment.
Kaliel sighed. “Old habit, I suppose. The water calms me.”
“You’ve been in the lake before?”
She kept her gaze on the flames devouring the log and stifled a sigh. Her heart clenched from the images in her dream. She tried to push them away, but watching the fire made her think of Krishani covered in flames. “Aye, many times when I lived in Evennses.”
“Did no one mention the lake is forbidden?”
“I’ve heard that.” She glanced at him. He sat back in his chair and followed her gaze to the fire.
“Why did the dream make you go there tonight?”
Kaliel looked at the tea cups, closing her eyes she tried to imagine the forests, the merfolk that went away, and the stone she almost stole from them. “I was burning.” She licked her lips, trying to moisten her mouth, but it was no use, it remained dry and scratchy.
“You are a Flame, flames burn.”
The dream frightened her, but what Mallorn said was amusing at the very least. She glanced up to see him smiling and turned her attention to the stump between them. “Bloom the weed of temptation and expire the great garden of life.”
“A parable? From the Great Oak?” he assumed.
Kaliel could almost hear what he wasn’t saying. She was troubled and he wanted to help. He was also afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it in the time allotted. Besides, in the end, all this came down to was more time away from Krishani. She didn’t know if she could stand that.
“What does it have to do with the dream?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Krishani was burning, she thought. If Istar hadn’t told Mallorn about Krishani, she wasn’t about to either. She wanted to pull away from The Kiirar’s gaze. Something about him said he was trying to understand, that he wouldn’t be as harsh as the other elders, but she was afraid of how he would react if he knew the entirety of the truth about her.
“Something makes you very different, Kaliel.”
She scooted forward on the chair and took hold of her tea. She took another long sip, finishing it. She set it down and yawned, arms stretching above her head. “I think I should try to rest.”
Mallorn shot her a stern glare. “Aye. We will continue this conversation later.”
* * *
24-Your Time Now
The fla
me flickered and the man gripped the cot below him even tighter. The Ferryman Krishani followed in his dreams glanced at the flame, then back at the man on the cot. He was covered in blood, breathing in spurts, seizing from the pain.
The Ferryman bent his head as the candle flickered again, almost snuffing out. He heaved a sigh and took the man’s hand. He gripped it and waited. Another tremor shot through the man’s body. The Ferryman gripped tighter, the flame flickered again, and the man on the cot screamed.
Krishani floated by the man’s feet. He watched the scene for too long, waiting for the man on the cot to die. It took forever. Krishani cringed as the man kicked and let out another agonizing roar. The Ferryman tried to sooth him using a language Krishani didn’t know. He repeated the words over and over until the man went limp, wispy smoke rising from his body. Krishani watched it with wonder, and turned towards the Ferryman.
“And so you visit me again, young one,” the Ferryman said. He grabbed a rag from the bottom of the cot and exited the tent into the wastelands outside, the ground wet and mucky. It was windy, shouts hitting the air from every direction. The Ferryman’s boots squished with every step as he went to the next tent to find the next fatally-wounded warrior. Krishani floated along the ground, following the Ferryman.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Krishani said. He would rather leave the man alone than watch him tend to the dead. The Ferryman stopped in the middle of the mucky field, and looked at him. It was nightfall; behind him a fire burned brightly in the distance, a village. He turned his thoughts to the smell of smoke and gazed towards the blaze far away.
“Oh, that. There’s a war in these parts. You like death?” the Ferryman said. He looked at the ground and continued towards another tent.
Krishani knew the smoke wasn’t caused by the fire alone. He smelled souls rising into the air, seeking to escape the mortal plane. He shuddered and continued to drift behind the Ferryman.
“Ignore those sounds. They’ll corrupt your heart.” The Ferryman ducked inside. A woman in armor lay on a cot, blood leaking out beneath her and onto the floor. Her blue eyes trembled, but her body lay still. Her hands piled on her stomach as if she were already at her funeral. The Ferryman gazed into her eyes and she relaxed. He whispered something to her in her native tongue and she grimaced, nodded. The Ferryman began muttering an incantation under his breath.
Krishani watched from the doorway and felt sick as the woman’s body began to convulse. Despite trying to look away, he couldn’t. He had to see what was happening.
The Ferryman’s words spilled out of his mouth quicker, his voice louder. Krishani wanted to close his eyes, but they were glued open by the intensity of the vexatious energy around them. The woman was quiet, even though her body violently seized.
The Ferryman continued, and Krishani heard voices outside the tent. They were coming closer. He didn’t need to look at them to know they were enemies coming to finish off the job. He knew from their cries they wanted to savor every last bit of bloodshed. He stiffened as the Ferryman raised his voice, almost screaming the words. And then the woman’s hand dropped. Her body went limp and it smoked like all the others, thin wispy white smoke rising towards the roof. The Ferryman bent his head and recited what sounded like a blessing.
When he stood, he grimaced. “Don’t let the work get to you. Marry the land, take the journey. You’ll find similar sorry sites, I’m sure. You have to surrender everything you are for this work. But don’t worry, you were born for it.” He turned towards the back of the tent and lifted the side flap to escape the enemies on the opposite side. Krishani followed and trekked across the battlefield towards a lone tree in the distance.
“What is this work?” Krishani asked. His heart dropped at the word ‘surrender.’ All his life he had been told the same thing. Now the Ferryman said it, too. He listened to the commotion around, his heart thrumming. There was another person near death by the tree. He felt them squirming in agony, about to die.
The Ferryman laughed while Krishani looked at the muck on his feet. “The work of a Ferryman, the lands need them at all times. I thought I would always be one, except you’ve been following me, which means I’m probably going to die soon.” He talked about death like it was a righteous part of living, like he wasn’t afraid of it in the least. He walked towards a patch of trees on the field. The men who caused the bloodshed were close by.
“What do you mean I was born for it?” Krishani choked as he tried to ward off the sickness he felt.
The Ferryman continued without an answer. He reached a grassier patch of land, the mud from his boots smearing onto the emerald blades. A warrior was within the trees, spread on the ground, an arrow sticking out of his chest. He quickened his pace, knelt at the man’s side, and whispered a few words in his ear. The warrior clasped his hands around the arrow protruding from his body. The Ferryman gently moved his hands away, replacing them with his own. He closed his eyes and pulled, blood gushing out of the wound.
Krishani staggered back, dizzy. He watched the wispy smoke curl around the branches. No matter how many times he saw death, it still left him shocked and frightened. He looked at the Ferryman, who recited a similar incantation as the one in the tent. When he was finished, he pulled the man’s eyelids closed and looked at Krishani.
“You’re a Ferryman.” His tone was blunt, unwavering.
Krishani felt like he had been stabbed in the chest. “I’m a Child of Avristar.”
The Ferryman ignored him, pulling a pocket knife from his breeches. He turned to the enemies. The Ferryman pierced one of them in the gut as the others continued running across the field. The man fell and then scrambled to his feet to flee. Krishani turned to see the Ferryman stagger and fall backwards. Blood poured from a wound on his side. Krishani drifted to him. Feeling a mix of confusion and anxiety, he dropped to his knees. His eyes surveyed the wound and the blood, the soul inside restless to escape the body. He trembled as he took the Ferryman’s hand in his own and stared into his eyes.
“It’s your time now,” Krishani said.
“It’s your time now,” the Ferryman repeated. His head slumped into the grass, his eyes frozen. Krishani let out a sob as the wispy smoke began rising out of the Ferryman. He hung his head and recited a blessing from his childhood. Everything happened too fast; he was unprepared. Shaken with grief, he wanted to return home, stay on Avristar, but he knew the chances were slim.
He opened his eyes and saw sheets below him. He sat and glanced around the room, making sure none of the enemies had followed him. There was nothing but silence, no wispy smoke, no battle cries. He exhaled and tossed the blanket aside and buried his head in his hands.
The Ferryman is dead … and I’m the next.
His body ached as he stood and paced the room. He felt flush with fear, resentment, and anger for the carelessness of the Ferryman. He put his hands behind his head and squeezed his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. First Kaliel and now him? His life was unraveling before he had a chance to live it. He let out a long exhale and looked at the bed. He could try to rest and pretend it didn’t happen, but he was afraid he would be brought back to the same place. He shook his head and fled into the corridors, moving quickly towards the orchards.
The moon hung above the trees, showering the apples in silvery moonlight. His heart thumped as fast as a rabbit as the depth of the dream hit him. He walked through the rows and rows of apple trees, stretching his fingers out to brush the leaves as he passed. He paused beside one of the trees and reached down to pick up an apple. He couldn’t organize his thoughts enough to speak, so he stood there with the jumbled mess of words in his head. He glanced at the moon.
“It was only a dream.” He tried to convince himself, but he knew it wasn’t true. There had been so many of these dreams, each one following the same Ferryman, the same work. He barely understood the reason he was chosen, but he knew what the work entailed. He shuddered at the thought of it.
He hung his
head and looked at the grassy path at his feet. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness washed over him as he reluctantly turned back to the castle. He looked at the widened path between the trees and saw a figure standing on the main road. She was a silhouette under the night sky, but Krishani knew who it was. He begrudgingly dragged himself towards her as she crossed her arms and waited.
• • •
“It’s too late to be out, Lady,” Krishani said.
Atara sighed. She had sensed his grief from her quarters and came to find out what the matter was. There had been plenty of other nights like this one since Kaliel had gone to Nandaro, but this was the first time she planned on confronting Krishani about it. Their relationship was something she didn’t want to prevent. It was so easy to watch the feorns fall in love, easy to watch the fae play their games, but the elvens with their stoic attitude and attention to detail and duty? It wasn’t forbidden as much as it was unheard of. She might have been arranged to marry Istar because of their sovereignty to the land, but the heart was complex. Krishani’s connection to Kaliel went further than his physical form—she was in his soul. “Aye, too late,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“Only a nightmare. I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said.
Atara took a deep breath. “Istar says you have many of those. Tell me, what are they about?” She eyed the boy and felt guilty for sending Kaliel away. In the weeks the girl had been gone, Krishani had grown melancholy. She worried about him and the overwhelming grief leaking off his aura in bright flares.
Krishani shook his head and tried to step around her. “I watched someone die.”
Atara shivered, partially from the cool air, and partially from the words of her partner’s apprentice. She turned and watched him quicken his pace. “Stop,” she called after him. There was something behind his eyes; a different sort of sorrow he had been struck with, like an arrow to his heart.
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