Whispers of Heaven

by Krista Rose

  I looked at her legs, trembling beneath her weight, and tried again. “Kryssa, please, you need to-”

  “No, I don’t,” she snapped, her chin tilting dangerously. “I’m not fragile, Lanya. I’m not going to break from five more minutes in the sunshine.”

  I bit my tongue, knowing she would not care that her skin was the color of unflavored oatmeal. I took a deep breath, and prayed for patience. “Fine. Will you at least sit, if you’re going to stay?”

  Her eyes flashed in victory, and she sat without any further argument.

  I felt a twinge of guilt for my frustration. Though Bryonis and I had finally agreed to allow her on walks outside the Infirmary, they were always supervised, and always brief. We watched her like hawks, searching for signs of weakness or exhaustion. She hated the hovering and the confinement, and had grown steadily more waspish as she healed.

  And she was healing. Whether it was blessing or curse, I could not say, but she healed. I had done my best to make it painless, but the memories of the Crone were embedded within her mind like shards of glass, and I could not remove them. I had been forced in the end to push them into a corner and sew them up like stitches, so that she could learn to deal with them in time. It had been difficult, since the Crone had fought me, but I had eventually won.

  I could not help Kryssa’s nightmares, though. I glanced at the dark circles beneath her eyes, and sighed. They haunted her, dead voices chasing her through her sleep, and she woke from them screaming, her eyes filled with ghosts.

  “Stop looking at me like that.” She gestured irritably. “Sit down. Stop lurking.”

  I bit back a grin, wondering if she knew how much she sounded like Kylee. I sank down beside her and tucked my knees beneath me. Kryssa absently reached up to touch my hair as she stared out across the Forest, her eyes lost in thought.

  Long moments dragged by before I finally spoke. “Copper for them.”

  She smiled faintly. “They’re not worth that much.”

  “Maybe. Tell me anyway.”

  She sighed. “I was thinking about the Camp. It was fortunate that we found it when we did, isn’t it?”

  I thought of how close she had been to death. “Yes. Very fortunate.”

  “Do you think it was Destiny?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe. There were a lot of coincidences. What if we hadn’t turned back to the lumber yards? What if the rescue teams hadn’t been patrolling that part of the Forest?” I shrugged. “I don’t know if it was Destiny. I think sometimes things just happen. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad. And sometimes we just get lucky.”

  “Are we lucky now, dear heart?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, a glimmer of her former self.

  “We’ve survived this long,” I pointed out. “Isn’t that proof enough?”

  “True.” She sighed. “Do you ever wish-”

  “Lady Kryssa! Mistress Lanya!” Bryonis appeared in the doorway of the Infirmary, his face exasperated. “You two were only supposed to be gone five minutes! Are you trying to get ill?”

  I winced. “Sorry, Bryonis.”

  Kryssa sighed again, but didn’t fight as we helped her inside. She had been more exhausted than she’d let on; she was asleep before we had even laid her on her cot.

  Bryonis rounded on me as I started to pull off her boots. I silenced him with a look, and he made a face at me before stalking across the Infirmary, muttering to himself.

  I sighed, suddenly tired. I lowered myself to the cot beside my sister’s, and sank into dreamless sleep.

  KRYSSA

  4 Emberes 577A.F.

  I could hear his heartbeat, could smell the scent of sandalwood on his skin. His arms were around me, cradling my head against the warmth of his chest. A gentle breeze brushed across my cheek as my bare toes curled into soft grass.

  I sighed, content, and snuggled closer.

  “Kryssa.”

  I opened my eyes. The clearing was dappled with brilliant pools of sunlight, and brightly-colored butterflies danced within them, basking in the beauty of summer. I lifted my head, and smiled up at Vitric.

  His eyes were the color of molten silver as he brushed his fingers against my cheek. “You’re so beautiful, you know. I never found the words to tell you.”

  Heat crept across my face. No one had ever called me beautiful before. I buried my face into his chest again.

  “I wish we could stay here forever,” he continued, his words a soft murmur against my hair. “I would hold you until the world ended.”

  I want to stay here, too- But the words were trapped behind my lips, and would not emerge.

  “I miss you.” He sighed, and his arms tightened around me. Thunder rumbled, and the daylight faded into ominous shadow. “It’s my fault. I saw it, saw what was happening. I should have stopped it. I should have saved you.”

  But you did save me. Why couldn’t I speak? Why was I frozen in silence?

  “Now I can only dream of you.” The butterflies dissolved into ash as his arms tightened around me, crushing me. “Why did you leave me alone?”

  I gasped, trying to pull away. The air was sickly-sweet, choking me as I looked back up at Vitric.

  He stared at me, tears running down his cheeks- but his eyes had been replaced with the Crone’s, black and hateful, and when he spoke, it was her voice that emerged.

  “You’re dead,” she hissed, and his hand wrapped around my throat. “You’re dead, and you don’t even know it.”

  I shot up in my cot, shaking and choking, my fingers scrabbling for the hand at my throat- except there was no hand, no storm, no Vitric. I was in the Infirmary, the Crone was still dead, and it had only been a dream.

  I lowered my face into my hands, trying to block out the dizzying dance of candlelight on the walls of the night-dark room. The sickly-sweet smell of medicine lingered, gagging me, but it was hard to determine if it was real or memory. Something shifted in the depths of my mind, and I shuddered away from it, afraid.

  “Bad dream?”

  I jerked, my head snapping up. “Wha- what?”

  The Darkling Prince sat beside my bed in Lanya’s chair, his face illuminated by a candle on the windowsill. I had only seen him once before at a distance, and he was older than I’d thought him to be, fine lines splaying from the corners of his eyes. A faint smile crossed his face, but the candlelight stripped the amusement from it. “I asked if you were having a bad dream.”

  I glanced around. “Where’s Brannyn? And Lanya?”

  “Your brother is escorting Mistress Lanya back to your quarters. She needs rest.” His eyes gleamed. “I’ve been watching over you while they’re gone.”

  “Oh.” I struggled to relax, and wished I didn’t know he’d watched me while I slept. “Thank you.”

  “Were you having a bad dream?”

  “Sort of.” I shrugged, pushing it away. “It’s over now, though.”

  “What was it about?”

  Vitric. My shoulders hunched defensively. “I don’t remember.”

  He raised a brow. “I see.”

  I jerked a shoulder. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Perhaps.” He leaned back in the chair, his gaze intent upon my face. “Tell me, why does your brother call you ‘protector’?”

  It was not a question I was prepared for, and I gaped at him stupidly before I managed, “It’s what I’ve always done. I’m the eldest.”

  He nodded, as if that were the answer he had been expecting. “It’s difficult, isn’t it? All that responsibility. Like an anchor, holding you down.”

  “I don’t see my siblings as a weight.”

  “Of course you do. I can see the toll it’s taken on you. Why else would you be in my Infirmary?”

  I said nothing.

  “It must be hard, looking out for so many siblings. Watching them all the time, trying to make certain they don’t get hurt.”

  “What are you saying?”


  “Only that I understand. Bryonis told me of how you are pushing too hard to try to regain your feet. Your family is under my protection now, so there is no need to rush your recovery.” He smiled, revealing far too many teeth. “You’re safe here.”

  My chest felt too tight, nerves making it difficult to breathe. “Th-thank you.” Belatedly, I remembered, “My lord.”

  “Of course, Mistress Kryssa.”

  The Infirmary door opened, and Brannyn walked inside, carrying a lantern. He froze when he saw the Prince, his eyes widening in surprise. “My lord?”

  The Prince stood, and tilted his head toward me. “I should let you rest. Until later.”

  We watched him go, the door closing quietly behind him.

  BRANNYN

  8 Emberes 577A.F.

  There is a great comfort in routine, though I hadn’t realized it before we made our exodus from the farm into the unknown of the world. During our desperate search for a healer for Kryssa, I had found myself longing to return to the normalcy of tending the fields, the calming tedium of working the ground in mindless repetition beneath the burning sun. It was only in the Prince’s Camp, once the exotic, foreign feel of it had worn off, that I realized I wanted more than our previous life had offered.

  My days were no longer monotonous, and that, more than all else, appealed to me. I still rose before the sun, and arrived at the retrieval team’s headquarters before first light. But from there my days would differ: on one, we would ransack foodstuffs from the lumber yard’s supply wagons; the next, we might assist the rescue teams with liberating slaves, bringing them quickly back to our camp; and on yet another we would waylay wealthy travelers, relieving them of their gold.

  We did not kill unless we were forced to; we were not rescue after all, as Tanner liked to point out, where it was rumored the most bloodthirsty and vengeful were placed. Our purpose was simple, and motivated only by necessity. I was grateful to the Darkling Prince, for somehow knowing that death and violence would have ill-suited me.

  Not that I was any less angry than I had been before. If anything, my rage had increased, fueled by nightmares and helplessness and heartache, and it pricked at me like a numbed limb regaining feeling, paralyzing me at unsuspecting moments. I heard my father’s voice in my head constantly, voicing my doubts, and my dreams were filled with the smells of charred earth and blue flames. It made me short-tempered and irritable, lashing out at those around me. My fire began to burst from me at unsuspecting moments; I still am not sure how I managed to keep it hidden from the Camp, though I frightened more than my share of travelers.

  I started to avoid my brothers and sisters, afraid of accidentally hurting them.

  For their part, they seemed to understand. They had adapted to the Camp with ease as far as I could tell, taking to their new duties like fish to water. I worried sometimes that we were becoming too comfortable; our stay was only supposed to be temporary until Kryssa was fully healed. But I didn’t know what to do about it, so I pushed it off for another day.

  Lanya at last returned to the seamstresses. Kryssa’s mind was as healed as she could manage; the rest, she said, would take time. The old women had understood her absence as easily as they now accepted her presence, and set her once again to making bandages and blankets. She took to the task with grace, working in silence amid the rhythmic thrumming of the looms. I was thankful for the tranquility she found there; even I could sense her emotions were in upheaval, and she needed the time to herself after weeks of tending to our sister’s madness.

  Kylee, after the first week, mentioned nothing else of the Camp or her feelings for it, so I assumed that she had finally adjusted, accepting her duties like the others. Alyxen remained irritated with the tinkers, who continued to treat him like a child, but the joy of his ideas seemed to balance out his frustration. He showed me his designs every evening, and, though they made little sense to me, I praised him enthusiastically, grateful for once to know exactly what he needed and to be able to give it to him.

  Reyce was given a bow, and assigned to the hunters; Marla told me later that even the Prince was impressed with his skill. He seemed happy, though it forced him to spend most of his time away from us. There were nearly a hundred people in the Camp, and food was always a primary concern.

  Kryssa remained in the Infirmary, under Bryonis’ watchful eye. The fever had ravaged her, costing her much of her weight; she spent most of her time trying to regain it, hating the feeling of being trapped in her cot. She was impatient and short-tempered; in the days that followed the midnight visit of the Prince, she began to pick fights with Bryonis, squabbling about petty things and refusing to listen to his orders.

  I finally asked her about it, after a particularly nasty little battle with the healer over taking her tea. She had finally hurled the cup out the window, smugly satisfied when he swore and threw his hands up in defeat. I watched her with a frown, her strange behavior confusing me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m worried about us staying here.” She was careful that none of the healers could overhear us. Since her madness, she had worked hard to keep up her shields, and so we spoke aloud rather than in our minds. “This place is dangerous. He is dangerous.”

  I did not need to share her mind to know she was referring to the Prince. I merely shrugged. I did not want to burden her with my own concerns. “It’s not that bad.”

  “But it is.” She leaned toward me, and lowered her voice even further. “At least once a week someone is injured in these raids. I don’t believe in slavery any more than you do, but surely there’s a better way to free them than dying.”

  I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “They’ve done a lot for us here, Kryssa.”

  “I know. And I’m grateful for what they’ve done.” Her eyes burned into me. “But you don’t owe them your life for saving mine.”

  My head jerked up. “I don’t-” I broke off, then sighed. Even I hadn’t been able to define how I had felt, but somehow she had known, as she always did. “I’m sorry. It’s just- I was so worried. I thought you were going to die, and he helped us…” I hung my head. “It sounds stupid now. I’m sorry.”

  “We can’t stay here, Brannyn. How long before someone finds the Camp and takes justice into their own hands? We’re little better than bandits hiding in the trees, no matter what the Prince says.”

  I stared at my hands. Even if I could forfeit my own life in the name of an imagined debt, I had no right to make the others share in my eventual fate. I knew what Kryssa feared most was the destruction of our family, and I owed her more than I did the Prince. More, she depended on me, as she did with none of the others. I was the only one she allowed herself to lean on, the only one she let see the cracks in her mask of self-assurance.

  “Alright.” I nodded and looked up, half-reluctant, half-relieved. “We’ll leave.”

  She smiled and sat back, her gratitude nearly overwhelming me. “Thank you.”

  8 Emberes 577A.F. - 11 Syrthil 577A.F.

  Understanding Kryssa’s concerns did not mean we could simply vanish from the Camp in the night, however. There were still months yet to her healing, and I would not risk a return of her madness or fever over our suspicions.

  I realized, belatedly, that we had missed my birthday and Kryssa’s, and forgotten Lanya’s as well. Though the twins’ birthday was still some months off, we decided to celebrate anyway, unsure when we would have another opportunity. There was no mention of cake. That memory would continue to haunt all of us for some time.

  The heat of summer began to cool. I watched Kryssa carefully, looking for signs of a relapse, though she complained that I made her feel helpless with my hovering. I ignored her, praying that soon she would be strong enough to take back the responsibilities thrust upon me by her illness, and my worries would diminish.

  For I did worry, almost perpetually- over her, over my siblings, and, most of all, over what I saw in the Camp itself.

  The encampment was never give
n over much to women; other than Marla, I never came to know any of them personally or even by name. The few I saw quickly disappeared, other than the wizened seamstresses that worked with Lanya. When no one remarked on it, I thought it to be normal, assuming those women wanted real homes and families, not a fortress of brigands and vigilantes hidden high in the trees. But as the summer faded into fall, I noticed that the number of women dwindled even further, and yet the abundance of men only grew. Often it seemed that new faces vanished as soon as they arrived.

  It was midautumn when Tanner made a comment in passing that he had been offered a place among the rescue teams, and he found it nearly as tempting as the Prince’s offer to women. I didn’t understand the joke, but Rigger gave him an ugly glare and told him to silence himself, so I didn’t dare ask what he meant. Instead, I waited a few more days until none of the teams were being sent out, and went looking for Marla.

  I found her outside the armory, sharpening her sword on a grindstone. She saw me approach and smiled, but I was reluctant to shout my questions over the noise. I waited for her to finish, ignoring the fluttering sensations in my stomach that her presence caused as I looked out over the Forest. It was dressed out in an impressive display of fall colors, reds and golds and greens, and danced with the playful breezes like waves upon an ocean.

  At last, Marla stood, testing the edge of the blade with her thumb. Satisfied, she wiped it clean with an oiled rag before sheathing it, and came to stand beside me. “Was there something you needed?”

  “In a way.” I gestured to the bridges, wanting to be out of earshot of the smiths before I said anything. “Walk with me?”

  She nodded, her dark eyes curious as we strolled casually in companionable silence. When I judged we were far enough not to be overheard, I finally gave voice to my concerns about the lack of women in the Camp, and told her of Tanner’s comment.