Whispers of Heaven

by Krista Rose

  “He’s sleeping.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Other than that, it’s hard to say.”

  “Was it really a dragon?”

  “That’s what Brannyn said.”

  “Sweet Naitre. Do you think that’s what got Baedon?”

  I remembered the creature in the alley, our first day in Fallor. “No. I think that was something else.”

  He shuddered. “I didn’t even like Baedon, but no one should die like that.”

  “No.” I swallowed. “No one should.”

  Elias talked to me for a few more minutes, then headed out for his shift on patrol, leaving me alone with my brother.

  Brannyn began to have nightmares in the late afternoon, and I eased the tension from him, leaving him dreamless once more.

  Draining his nightmares left me edgy, and Kryssa found me pacing when she arrived home at noon. She raised a brow, waiting, and I made a face at her, wishing she couldn’t read me so well. “It could have been him.”

  She sat at the table, her face serene. “But it wasn’t.”

  “But it could have been.”

  She nodded. “Yes. It could have been. But it wasn’t, and he’s fine.”

  “Is he?” I laughed, but it sounded bitter. “Are any of us? How can we ever be fine, Kryssa, with all that’s happened? Do you not see how damaged we are?”

  “I see.” Her eyes were dark, like liquid emeralds. “I also see how strong we’ve become. We have faced worse than this, dear heart, and survived it. If we face worse yet, then we will overcome that as well.”

  I stared at her. “How can you believe that? You nearly lost your mind. Twice. In one year. The others live in terror, and I spend so much time draining the ugliness away, trying to keep us calm-”

  “You’re not supposed to do that.” She frowned. “We agreed not to use our gifts on each other without reason.”

  “I have plenty of reason!” I threw my hands up, frustrated. “If I didn’t, we would never have made it out of the Camp! Brannyn was so heartsick he could barely function, and you were all but dead. The fear was so thick I could have drowned in it.”

  Her eyes widened, just a little, and I realized I was shouting. I had bottled up this anger for months, and it all came rushing out, things I had never meant to say, nor even knew I felt. “You try so hard to protect us, but you forget to protect yourself. You forget we need you. You went into the Crone’s mind to protect us, and I understood that. But what did it help, going into the Prince’s mind? Who did that protect? He barely noticed you doing it. It didn’t stop him from killing Marla. And then you were just a body on the floor, another weight we had to carry. It scared the others, scared me because we didn’t know if you were going to come back, or if you were going to be someone else when you woke up.” My breath hitched. “I had to make all the decisions, to hold the family together. And you- you were

  just-”

  A tear slipped down Kryssa’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, dear heart,” she whispered, and I could feel her regret. “I didn’t think, I just reacted. I was so afraid he would hurt you.”

  I sank to the floor, and buried my face in her knees, weeping out my fear and heartsickness until the storm inside me had passed, leaving me hollow. I was tired of being strong, tired of holding in my fear. How long could I survive under this strain, trying to keep us from giving in to despair?

  Kryssa stroked my hair gently, and I sighed. Minutes passed, the aches in my heart slowly soothing in the quiet.

  I finally glanced up at her. “Kryssa?”

  “Yes, dear heart?”

  “Do you think we really are chosen?”

  She stared past me, into the flames of the fireplace. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Our mother was the one who claimed it, but there was never any proof. She told me heaven whispered to her. I thought it was just madness, in the end. I cannot say that I understand the Gods, or Destiny, though, so perhaps she spoke true. Certainly, we seem to be marked by something.”

  “Reyce and I talked about it once. He said that all the horrible things that keep happening to us are to make us strong enough to face whatever they chose us for.”

  “That sounds like him.” She smiled, looking back at me. “What do you believe?”

  “I believe the Gods enjoy our suffering,” I muttered darkly, then sighed when she raised a brow. “I think Reyce is right. It just doesn’t make any sense otherwise, so much death and pain following us. But if we’re being made into a weapon against the enemies of the Gods, shouldn’t there be some hope in the end? How will we even know when it’s over?”

  “I imagine they’ll tell us.” She shrugged. “Isn’t that what they do in the stories?”

  “But those are stories, Kryssa. This is real.”

  “I know, dear heart.” Her eyes were sad. She leaned forward, and kissed the top of my head. “I know.”

  We sat in silence for a long time afterward, until the others finally joined us.

  KRYSSA

  The streets of Fallor were dark and deserted. Lanterns guttered in their holdings, the only light in the moonless night. Mist crawled across the ground, playing ghostly fingers against locked doors and shuttered windows. It swirled around my bare feet, filling my nose with the damp smell of decay.

  He’s dead. The voice was a whisper in my mind, harsh, rasping, familiar. My arms broke out in gooseflesh as I slowly turned.

  She stood in the shadows behind me, where the lantern light barely reached. Her hooded cloak was drawn up, but I knew her without seeing her face. If I lived to be a thousand and the sun fell from the sky, I would always know the Crone.

  He’s dead. Her thoughts cut into me, piercing through my heart like a blade. His blood is on your hands.

  No. I shook my head in denial, but when I looked down at my hands I saw they were dripping red. He isn’t dead. He can’t be.

  You killed him. The lanterns behind me sputtered and died, leaving us in darkness. I was frozen in place, paralyzed by frantic fear as she drew closer, so close that I could smell the rot of her dead flesh. Beneath her hood, her eyes began to glow, white and inhuman and burning with hatred. Murderer.

  I couldn’t argue, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her hands wrapped around my throat, strangling me.

  Die with him.

  I woke, soaked in cold sweat, my shirt twisted tightly around my neck. I clawed free of it, and scrambled away from my pallet on my hands and knees, gasping. Shudders wracked my body, icy terror swimming through my blood as her voice echoed on and on inside my head.

  Killer, thief, murderer-

  Kryssa? A soft golden light touched my mind, concerned and drowsy. Are you alright?

  I took a deep breath, steadying myself before I looked at Lanya. Her face was deathly pale by the light of the single candle, dark circles etched beneath her sapphire eyes. She looked seventy, not seventeen. My heart clenched at the burden she carried. She drained our emotions, but who was left to drain hers?

  I shielded my mind, carefully, protecting her from the remnants of the nightmare. I’m fine, Lanya. Go back to sleep.

  I could feel her weariness, just as I could feel her fighting it to comfort me. I bottled up my anxieties, the leftover tremors of the dream, and sent her calm I didn’t feel, reassuring her. I’m fine.

  She sighed, too tired to argue, and curled back beneath the blankets, her exhaustion pulling her back down within moments.

  I sighed, and sat back on my heels. My hair had escaped from its braid, and I scooped it back from my face, twisting the length of it into a knot at the base of my neck. My hands were still shaking when I lowered them again to my knees, and I fisted them to hide their trembling.

  The stars outside the window were distant and cold, brilliant diamonds in the dark sky. It would be hours yet till dawn, but, though fatigue beat against my bones, I knew that sleep had abandoned me.

  I sighed again, and quietly left the room.

  The fire had been banked for the night, but I add
ed logs and prodded at it until the flames flared up again. I curled up in front of it with my knees pressed to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. A log burst in the fire’s heart, sending up a shower of sparks, and I jumped at the sharp sound.

  Get ahold of yourself. I rubbed icy fingers against my eyes, struggling to slow my racing heartbeat. My nerves were strung as taut as harp strings. The Crone is dead.

  And whose fault is that? Her voice scraped against my skull, filled with hate. Thief.

  You- you’re dead. I swallowed, my skin beading with cold sweat. I had heard her voice before, but always in dreams. Now I was awake. Was this a return of my madness? I curled into a ball and whimpered. Go away.

  Go away? Go away?! I can’t go away, you stupid girl. You trapped me here.

  But- you’ve been dead for a year. Why are you talking to me now?

  That thrice-curst sister of yours kept me bound too tightly. But you’ve loosened it, haven’t you? Worried at it. Her voice lowered to a sibilant hiss. You know you’ve forgotten something.

  What? Her words were creeping along my skin like gooseflesh, and I shivered. What did I forget?

  I’m not going to tell you! Stupid girl. You trapped me here. Why would I help you?

  You killed my mother, I reminded her, and turned my father a monster.

  You murdered me!

  I winced at the shrillness of her tone. You deserved so much worse. If I could kill you again, I would.

  What a little monster you’ve become! So ready to deal out death, so sure who deserves it.

  Shut up.

  You shouldn’t argue with ghosts, you know. Her laughter echoed in my thoughts, mocking me. It invites madness.

  The dead shouldn’t talk, I countered, and wondered if I was already mad. Especially if they have nothing to say. I shoved her back into the cage where I kept her memories locked away, deep in the corners of my mind. Now leave me alone. And stop interfering with my dreams.

  Someone knocked on the back door of the apartment, saving me from talking to the dead woman in my head. I frowned, wondering who would be calling on us so late, and went to open the door.

  Garyl Moon was standing on the other side.

  I hadn’t seen him since that first disastrous encounter, though I knew Lanya had visited him several times. He looked exhausted, soot ingrained into the lines of his face, weariness pulling at the stiff pride in his shoulders.

  Years of manners beaten into me by Janis were all that kept me from slamming the door in his face. “Can I help you?” I managed, my voice cold.

  He shifted, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “I just wanted to see how your brother was getting along,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I was told he was the young man I treated, the one who pulled most of those people from the fire.”

  “Brannyn,” I supplied grudgingly. He had helped my brother, so I could at least make an effort to be polite. I opened the door a little wider. “He’s still sleeping, I’m afraid. Would you like to come in?”

  “Thank you.” He stepped inside, his face reflecting the same unease I felt. The doors to the bedrooms were open, and he glanced in them as I shut the door behind him.

  “Where are your beds?” he asked quietly, his brow rising as he looked back at me.

  I shrugged, but didn’t see a reason to answer, and led him to the great room. The fire crackled cheerfully as Garyl sat at the mismatched tables and looked around our tiny kitchen.

  “Tea?” I asked, determined now to be civil.

  “Whiskey, if you have it.”

  I pulled the bottle from the shelf and brought it over, setting it between us as I sat across from him. The silence stretched out, loud and uncomfortable.

  “It was a brave thing he did,” Garyl said finally. “Your brother. Brannyn.”

  “Thank you,” I responded automatically, then winced. “I mean, I- Gods, that was the wrong thing to say. I meant-”

  “It’s alright.” He raised a hand, reassuring me. “I understand. You take a lot of pride in your brothers and sisters.”

  “Yes.” I wished I had shut the door in his face, so I could have avoided this awful awkwardness. “I do.”

  “Lanya talks about you.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “When she comes to visit. She calls you the protector.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “It made me wonder what you’ve protected them from.” He reached out and opened the bottle, taking a long pull. “She worries about you.”

  I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you?” He sighed, took another drink. “You know, I always worried about Malachi. He had such a temper, these black rages. Adelie was the only one who could ever calm him down. There was so much anger in him. When Adelie- when she left-” He took a deep, shaking breath. “I always prayed he would grow out of them.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I see Malachi in your brother,” he murmured as if he hadn’t heard me, staring at the whiskey bottle in his hand. “It’s there- the same eyes, same build. The same rage. You can all but feel it radiating off of him. And I see my Adelie in Lanya, the sweetness, the compassion. But when I look at you-” His eyes were dark as he raised them to mine, his voice dropping to a whisper. “When I look at you, I see me.”

  It was an apology, the most I would ever get from my proud, broken grandfather. I swallowed the lump that rose to my throat. “I- I understand.”

  He ran his hands over his face. “I’m not good at this. Never was. Yara was always the one-” He broke off, took another deep breath. “Lanya comes to visit me sometimes. Perhaps the next time she does, you’ll come with her.” He glanced down the hallway. “All of you.”

  “I think we’d like that.” I hesitated, then reached out to take his hard, wrinkled hand. “Thank you, Grandfather.”

  He stared down at my hand for a moment, then gripped it. A smile eased the harshness of his face. Then he sighed. “I should go. It’s been a long day.”

  I nodded, and walked him to the back door, watching as he headed down the darkened alley toward the torches that lined the street. Then I quietly closed the door and returned to the fire, and waited for dawn.

  BRANNYN

  16 Llares 578A.F.

  Three people died in the tavern fire, trapped in the upstairs rooms that the flames had first claimed. I hadn’t looked for them, hadn’t even known they were there. In truth, they had probably died before I had even reached the building, though that didn’t stop my guilt. Two more had died of the smoke, one of which was the serving woman I had carried outside. I still didn’t know her name.

  I sat on the cobbles of the street, staring at the rubble, and wondered why the Gods had given me this gift if they were just going to let people die anyway.

  It didn’t seem fair.

  Someone had built a shrine were the door of the tavern had been, and the townspeople had covered it in flowers. They looked small and pathetic amidst the blackened beams, their petals stirring in the breeze that sent ashes dancing up toward the sky. I wanted to weep, looking at them, for what I knew they meant.

  I had failed.

  “I always thought it was strange that people honor where someone died.” Unnoticed, Tanner had walked up beside me, his cloak drawn tight around him to ward off the late spring chill. “I mean, it makes sense to place flowers where they’re buried, right? But where they died? Seems morbid.”

  “I think it’s supposed to appease their spirits.” I shrugged. “Comfort them so they don’t haunt the place when they rebuild.”

  “Why flowers, though? It’s a tavern. Wouldn’t they be more appeased by ale?”

  I smiled a little despite myself. “That does seem more appropriate.”

  He pulled a bottle from beneath his cloak. “How about it, then? Want to go drink with ghosts?”

  “Did you really bring a bottle of whiskey out here just to ask me that line?” I stood, brushing the dirt from my breeches.

  “Of course. It’s a good line, a
nd I don’t get to use it often.” He jerked his head, and we wandered into the burnt-out shell of the tavern. The smell of smoke hung in the air, as thick as the ashes beneath our feet. I imagined ghosts clustering around us, and pulled my cloak tighter.

  Tanner took a swig from the bottle, then poured a libation on the ground before offering it to me. I took a gulp, wincing at the burn as it slid down my throat. I poured out another drink for the ghosts, then passed it back.

  “They’re saying you ran in here without even hesitating.” Tanner looked around at what remained of the charred walls. “They’re calling you a hero.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not.”

  “They say you pulled thirty people out of the flames.”

  “Fourteen. It was late.”

  “And you don’t think that makes you a hero?”

  “Five people died.”

  “Could’ve been more.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You can’t save everyone, Farmboy.”

  I thought of Marla. “Shouldn’t I try?”

  “People die, Brannyn.” His eyes were focused, lacking their normal amusement. “Sometimes they deserve it, sometimes they don’t. But everyone dies. You can’t change that.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Who told you it was fair? It’s a game, played with loaded dice. Some days you get to hold the dice, but most of the time you’re gonna lose.”

  I made a face at him. “If that’s meant to be comforting, you’re failing miserably.”

  “You want comfort, get a dog.” He took another pull from the bottle. “I’m your friend, so I’m going to tell you the truth.”

  “Are we friends?” I took the bottle when he offered it, then held it by the neck. “I mean, after everything that happened at the Camp-”

  “The Camp.” He sighed. “You know, I worried about that, too. If we could be, after. I didn’t think you’d want me to be, once you found out about the Prince.”

  My throat tightened. “He killed Marla.”

  His face went white, his eyes widening with shock and sympathy. “Gods, Brannyn, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I never thought- Gods.”