She didn’t wake up as the dream faded away, however, she felt her eyes open, the scene around her completely changed.
His eyes were different; one shone gold, the other a rich brown. She traced the patterns in the irises, noting their intricate architecture. There was something about him she recognized, but all she could concentrate on were those eyes. A gold band wrapped around his forehead, a headdress attached to it, golden snakes hanging off it. It resembled a chandelier, aside from its obvious use as a crown. He had olive skin and a narrow nose. His mouth was drawn up in a bright smile. His warm hand was on her shoulder. She tried to tear her gaze away from him. Something begged her to look at the sun, but her eyes were locked to his. Nausea kicked in and her heart raced.
Something is wrong! she thought.
Kaliel tried to move, but his grip and his focus on her sharpened. His eyes pleaded with her, imploring her not to look up. She closed her eyes; there was no way she could let it go. She felt the chalice in the other hand. There was water in it. She had drawn this scene over and over in her journal. She fought to lift her head to look at the sky.
“We have fulfilled our purpose.” His voice was even and calm. She feared that he caused the reasons for her distress.
“What purpose?” she asked.
“The war is over,” he said.
Why would that scare her? She fought to gain control of her emotions, but her knees buckled and heat rose up around her feet. It burned, sending pain shooting into her torso. She cried out and tried to pry her eyes open.
“Relax, my love. It will be over soon,” he said.
“Krishani?”
“Nay, they call me the Ferryman.”
“What?”
She tried to fight, but the fire was intense. It wrapped around her body, threatening to crush her insides with its intense heat. There was something else, though, a barrier between herself and the heat, a shield. She felt the violet aura surrounding her. It spiked off the edges of her body in its own wisps of flames, protecting her from the final axe of destruction.
“And you are the Flame.” There was no compassion in his voice.
The flames engulfed her face in their fury and she forced herself to look up. Smoke covered the sky. Flame-laced pieces of molten rock rained down on them. She gasped and tried to fight it, but with his hand on her shoulder, and his eyes on her, they seemed lost in their own world. She looked at him, his body engulfed in flames, only his mismatched eyes staring into hers through the waves of heat. “It’s over.” His smile faded as fire licked away his flesh.
“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 horrendous images that stung. 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 and shook her head. She refused 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 ground.
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 that led 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 still 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. She paused when she reached it and looked down at the sandy beach. Her toes curled over the edge as she frantically searched for another way to the water. The 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. She pushed them away, but they surrounded her, scratching 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 her legs and pulled upwards with her arms.
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 herself 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 tightened. “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 licking at the log and stifled a sigh. Her heart still 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 focused his own eyes on 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 fire. “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. “Thank you. I think I should try to rest.”
Mallorn shot her a stern glare. “Aye. We will continue this conversation later.”
The flame 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 pass into death. 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 was 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 the 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 smiled, 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 let it get to you. 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 racing. 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 rising on the inside.
The Ferryman continued on 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 Krisha
ni.
“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.
SURRENDER (The Ferryman + The Flame) Page 22
