Whispers of Heaven

by Krista Rose

  Yrisa, Goddess of Life, was a full-figured woman with a wise, gentle face, holding the jar that contained the Water of Life. Beside her was a man calmly holding out a lantern, lit with the Eternal Flame: Sirius, God of the Dead, who used His lantern to guide souls through the mists of death.

  Like my mother.

  I swallowed, quickly identifying the others. Rina, Goddess of Justice and Balance, wore armor, and a hawk perched on her arm, its wings spread as if about to take flight. Palata, the God of Peace, stood with out-stretched hands, his eyes sleepy and peaceful. Vanae was easy to identify; though she wore more clothes than she had in her Temple, her sultry, direct gaze was the same, filling me with hot, heavy feelings I was unsure what to do with. Beyond her waited Armas, God of the Wilderness, his fierce gaze almost irritated as he stared down at the atrium, his greyhound Seath waiting, patient and alert, at his feet.

  At the very end, smaller than the other statues, though still more than twice as tall as I was, rose the statue of Naitre, the Child-Goddess of Love- the most generous of the Gods, and the most feared. Her lovely face was lit with a mischievous smile, and I found myself terrified, Kryssa’s words ringing in my ears. Love makes you lose a part of yourself.

  Whatever compulsion that had prompted me up the stairs to the entrance vanished. I didn’t want to be here. What had I thought I could accomplish in the presence of these effigies? What had I hoped to find? Peace? Forgiveness? Atonement?

  My anger blossomed, and I found myself glaring at Rina. Where was the justice in our mother’s death, or in Janis’, or in Marla’s? Where was the balance to our pain, the hope of something better?

  “The offers of the Gods are worthless,” I muttered, throwing aside the flowers.

  “Can I help you, child?”

  I jerked, spinning to see a woman walking toward me, her lined, ancient face peaceful beneath the hood of her undyed robe. Her eyes were brown and warm, unwavering she stared at me, and I realized that she must be Tamasine, the Temple’s High Priestess.

  “I- I made a mistake.” I swallowed, feeling suddenly foolish. “I was just leaving, Your Grace.”

  “A mistake?” she repeated, her eyes lingering on the flowers I had cast aside. “Are you certain?”

  I faltered, my words fading to a whisper beneath her gaze. “I- I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because-” I hesitated. “Because I’m angry.”

  “And why are you angry, my child?”

  I struggled with the pain and darkness inside me, threatening to rip me apart. My voice, when I finally spoke, was broken. “They ask too much.”

  Her face was gentle as she cupped my chin, lifting my face. “Do you truly think it is the Gods that demand so much of you?”

  “I know it is, Your Grace.”

  Her brows rose. “Our Faith makes heavy demands of us all, child. But if you suffer so, perhaps it is not the fault of the Gods, but some weight upon your soul.”

  I laughed, bitterly, and thought of my father. “There are some things you cannot atone for, Your Grace.”

  “Perhaps. But does that mean we should stop trying?” She smiled at me. “Mercy is offered freely, child. All you have to do is seek it.”

  “It’s not that simple.” I sighed, shaking my head. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Your Grace. Blessings be upon you.” I turned away

  We are here if you need us, Reyce.

  I glanced back, my eyes widening. The voice was somehow familiar, filled with compassion and understanding, but it had been neither my siblings nor Tamasine. The High Priestess was staring after me, her eyes filled with a sadness that hurt to look at, the statues of the deities rising behind her, their marble gazes frozen on the small, frail woman standing in their midst.

  I hurried down the stairs, heading away from the Temple and the Gods and the questions I was not ready to have answered.

  KYLEE

  The wind whipped my hair from its braid into my face, stinging my cheeks. My cloak billowed out behind me as I crouched low over Nightking’s neck, his muscles bunching and stretching between my legs as he flew over the ground. The sky above was blue and brilliant, but I didn’t even bother to look at it as the world blurred around us.

  I urged him on, my heart thundering in my chest. I hoped, foolishly and unreasonably, that if we went just a little faster, a little farther, we would somehow outrun the memory of white, glowing eyes that chased me down alleys I couldn’t escape from.

  Why didn’t I use my lightning? The question ate at me. I could remember lifting my hand when the creature had appeared, grotesque and terrifying- but then it was as if my mind had gone to sleep. I had simply stood there, frozen, staring into those glowing white eyes as it had crept toward me. I couldn’t summon my lightning, couldn’t call out to the others. I couldn’t even think of anything except my fear.

  After facing down five men in the Camp, it was humiliating to admit how afraid I had been of a pair of eyes.

  “I need a rest, Skylily,” Nightking whinnied as he slowed, breathing heavily, his shoulders damp with sweat despite the coolness of the air.

  I sighed and sat up reluctantly, glancing around for landmarks. We had stayed on the dirt road that led back to Fallor; a plain, wooden signpost had been pounded into the earth beside it, a little way ahead of us. Slowly, Nightking made his way toward it, his head hung low as he struggled to catch his breath. The signpost pointed back toward Fallor, proclaiming we’d run for almost three miles.

  I stroked Nightking’s neck. Will we never find a place where I feel safe? I wondered. Will I always be forced to live in crowded, choking places, where nightmares stalk me?

  I tried to cling to the resolution I’d made in the Temple of Vanae, to view my situation from the others’ point of view, but whenever I closed my eyes I saw that twisted, terrible face and its empty eyes. Even with Lanya’s teas and Kryssa’s endless patience, I still couldn’t sleep.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  The smell of a campfire caught my attention, pulling me from my morose thoughts, and I looked around, frowning. There was nowhere in the flat land around us to hide a fire except for a thick copse of beeches about a hundred yards ahead, and I quietly urged Nightking toward it, my curiosity piqued. Who would choose to stay out here in the open, when the inn was only a few miles further down the road?

  The trees were clustered thickly together, but a narrow path had been cleared through the underbrush, so that we could just barely squeeze through. The heart of the copse was free of both trees and underbrush, and a large, exotic-looking tent had been erected on the soft grass. A magnificent white mare was tethered nearby, quietly grazing, her liquid brown eyes uninterested as they looked at us. A cheerful fire blazed in the middle of the clearing, ringed with heavy, blackened stones.

  And, kneeling beside it, was an Elf.

  He looked up as I drew Nightking to a halt, my jaw dropping open in shock. His features had a fine, foreign cast to them, sharp and angled, and his skin was the color of worn gold. His hair and brows were dark and thick above vivid, violet eyes, expectant and unafraid as he stared at me.

  And his ears were long and pointed, tapering to a delicate tip, just as they did in every story I’d ever been told.

  After long moments of enduring my stare, he sighed, and gestured. “Come, join me. It’s almost ready.”

  I swallowed, and swung out of the saddle. Nightking murmured that he would wait for me, and I made my way on unsteady legs to the fire, sitting heavily opposite him.

  “I am Vanderys of Cedralysone, First Valariel to Prince Sotiris.” He raised a brow when I said nothing. “And your name is?”

  I blinked. “Ah-” I cleared my throat, wondering if I was dreaming. “Sorry, what?”

  “Your name,” he repeated patiently, his strange eyes amused.

  “Oh.” I flushed, feeling brain-addled. “I’m Kylee. Kylee Rose.”

  “Welcome, Kylee Rose.” He bowed his head to me, stirring the fl
ames with a long, sharp stick. “I thought you might come today.”

  “You- you were expecting me?” I wondered if perhaps Nightking had thrown me and I had hit my head. Maybe I was lying face-down in a field somewhere with my skull split open. “How?”

  “The stars. Do they not tell you things as well?”

  “Not lately, no.” I stared at him. If this was a dream, it was a fascinating one. “What did the stars tell you?”

  “They told me I would meet someone here. Someone who would assist in my hunt of the moret’ethla.”

  “The who? What? Who are you?”

  “I have already told you. I am called Vanderys.”

  “Vanderys,” I repeated, wrapping my arms around my knees. “And you’re an Elf.”

  He gave me a pained look. “Cedrani.”

  “What?”

  “Cedrani. The name Elf is a derogatory term for my race, a bastardization of our language.”

  I blinked. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “It is derived from the word ell, which means self in Y’ken’ohl, the language of the ancients, which only the Cedranin still speak. Men came up with the name eight hundred years ago, to make us less than them. There was almost a war over it.”

  I winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Nor do I. Forgive me. It’s been five hundred years since I last had to deal with humans, and I am a bit out of practice.” He pulled something from the embers with the stick, and busied himself on the far side of the fire with it.

  When the silence stretched on, I shifted, uncomfortable. “So, what are you doing out here? Aren’t El- Cedrani- supposed to stay in their cities? That’s what all the stories say, anyway.”

  “I’m a Valariel.” He didn’t look up. “The First.”

  I gritted my teeth, reminding myself that five hundred years was a long time. “I don’t know what that means.”

  He glanced up at me, surprised. “Your people no longer have Valariel? Then what do you use to hunt down the creatures of the Darkness?”

  “I- I don’t know.” I frowned, thinking about it. “The legions, I guess. That’s what soldiers are for, right?”

  He muttered darkly to himself. “The Valariel are not soldiers. They are what you might consider knights, though there is more to it than just a sword and armor and the ability to look good on a horse. When one of the creatures of the Darkness threatens the Cedrani, it is the Valariel who hunt them down.”

  “Ah.” I had perhaps a thousand questions, and all of them sounded foolish, so I bit my tongue rather than ask.

  Vanderys lifted a plate and handed it to me. “Careful. It’s hot.”

  I frowned at the strange food. It resembled a potato, but it smelled of baked bread and roasted chicken, and my mouth watered helplessly. “What is it?”

  “Albeline,” he replied, gesturing for me to eat. “Cedrani way-food, for when we travel far from home.”

  I picked off a piece of it, wincing as it burnt my fingers, and blew on it before putting it in my mouth. It was still too hot, but the flavors… I nearly moaned as a thousand heavenly tastes exploded on my tongue, glorious and indescribable. It was the best of everything I’d ever eaten, bread and meat and thick brown gravy, and I ate the rest of it without speaking, heedless of the temperature. I resisted- barely- the urge to lick my plate when I had finished, and set it aside, sighing in contentment.

  Vanderys watched me, his eyes amused as he ate his own albeline more sedately. “Forgive me if I offend, Kylee Rose, but you seem very young, even for a Vadrani.”

  “For a what?”

  “Vadrani. A human.”

  “I’ll be fifteen this winter.” I wanted to bristle, but I was too full, and had to settle for frowning at him. “That’s a grown woman by common standards.”

  “Indeed.”

  I felt that he was laughing at me, and was suddenly reminded that Elves- Cedrani- were practically immortal. Embarrassed, I changed the subject, asking the first question to jump to my lips. “So, why is a Valariel all the way out here in Fallor?”

  “I am hunting a pack of creatures. We call them the moret’ethla. They killed one of the Cedrani in Cedralysone, a woman who was a friend of mine. It is my duty to hunt them down.”

  “Moret’ethla?”

  “It does not translate easily to your common tongue. The Soulless, I think, would be the closest I could come. They are hideous, foul creatures, cursed for the sin of immortality to forever live without souls. It creates a void inside of them, a need, if you will, to seek out the soul of another and feed upon it.”

  I could all but feel the blood drain from my face. The Crone. “Wh- What do they look like?”

  “They look like the rot of death.” His violet eyes had darkened, and I saw the faint lines of anger as his jaw tightened. “Their skin is like parchment, stretched too tightly across bone. And their eyes glow white- the mark of being without a soul.”

  I began to shake, and I heard rushing in my ears, deafening me. My vision darkened; all I could see was that looming presence in the night, the knowledge that it would take me, kill me, its eyes cold and empty of humanity. Empty of a soul.

  My head was shoved roughly between my knees, and I gasped, deep gulps of air burning as I sucked them into my starved lungs. Slowly, the dizzying, sick feeling faded, and Vanderys eased his grip on my shoulder, allowing me to sit up. He crouched beside me, his face concerned and intent.

  “You have seen them.” It wasn’t a question.

  I responded anyway. “Yes.” Then I shook my head. “Well, no, not them. Just one. Last night. My brother killed it.”

  “Your brother killed a moret’ethla?” It was hard to tell, but I thought he was impressed. “Their eyes paralyze those who look upon them, so that they can feed without a struggle. How did he manage to kill one?”

  “He set it on fire.”

  “Interesting.”

  I swallowed. “Does- does this mean there’s more than one of those things?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Moret’ethla only travel in packs, like wolves, or perhaps like bats. They feed off of a town or city for months, building up the fear within, before finally moving on. So far, I have been unsuccessful in finding their nest.”

  “Why would anyone ever want to become one of those things?”

  He shrugged, a graceful gesture I wished I could imitate. “People become moret’ethla for many reasons.”

  “Such as?”

  “First, because it is the only way for mortals to gain immortality. They will never die, unless they are killed. Second, because it makes them stronger, faster, more powerful. It is not uncommon for a moret’ethla to tear apart a stone wall with its bare hands, or to outrun a horse at full gallop. And, because they have given up their souls, they no longer feel pain. Not the kind that truly matters, at any rate.”

  I shuddered. “I hate them.”

  “So you should. So should all natural things, created by Destiny.” He rocked back on his heels, looking at me and sighed. “Dione, et fellgora ra e’ve.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Nothing.” His violet eyes were contemplative. “The stars sent you to me for a purpose, lyssen. Perhaps you are meant to help me find these creatures.”

  “Find them?” My eyes widened as I stared at him in alarm. “I don’t want to find them! One of them almost killed me!”

  “They will kill a lot more, if left unfound. But you are wise to have caution.”

  Outright terror would have been more accurate, but I saw no reason to correct him.

  “I will still require your services, however,” he continued. “As a Cedrani, I cannot wander through the towns of Men without garnering a bit of… attention.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” I muttered, glancing at his ears.

  “Even so.” He nodded. “I need you to map the town and surrounding areas for me, tell me which buildings are abandoned, where any dry wells may be, and so on.”

  “But-”
I blinked, dumbfounded. Such a task was daunting- it would take weeks to determine which houses were occupied, to explore empty farm buildings and find old wells. To do it alone, when I knew there were more of those things out there-

  “I- I have to get a job,” I managed weakly, my gaze dropping as I forced out the piteous lie. “I have to help my family. I can’t just-”

  “I will pay you, of course, if that is your only concern.” He waved away my excuse. “I would not expect you to take on such responsibility without some compensation.”

  I swallowed. Could I really take on such a dangerous task? There was the chance that in helping to hunt the creatures, I would find them. Did I dare take that risk? I remembered the feeling of being stalked, the harrowing knowledge that I would die, and realized I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t allow my siblings to be killed by those Soulless things.

  At least I won’t be forced to work with people.

  I took a deep breath, and looked up at Vanderys. “Alright. I’ll help.”

  KRYSSA

  8 Driel 578A.F.

  I emerged from the tavern around noon, more enlightened about the geography and workings of Fallor after my time spent asking questions of the gossiping barmaid, though I was famished, since the only food offered by the tavern was the stew, and I’d had no wish to risk it twice. I made my way down the vendor carts of the market, and blinked with surprise to find Reyce patiently waiting in line for one that sold meat pastries.

  “Reyce?” I joined him in the line. “I thought you were helping the others.”

  He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “I was in the way, so I went exploring instead.”

  “You shouldn’t wander around alone,” I cautioned automatically. “It could be dangerous.”

  He frowned, and rolled his eyes at me, and I realized how ridiculous my warning sounded. He had spent almost a year in the Siriun Forest alone, while we had lived in what basically amounted to a bandit camp. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was Reyce.