Riordan throws his hands up, leaning his weight back onto one leg; a bony hip brandished in her direction. She folds her arms across her chest. The glance between them reminds me that only a diamond can cut another diamond.
“The crown has come to Hero prematurely.” Ivaia relents, “The armies will not follow a little girl in the wake of a Queen who ruled them for nigh twenty years.”
“She’s hardly a little girl, so that can’t be it,” I scoff. “She’s a few years older than me, nearer to Liriene’s age. I’m sure she’s enough experience— or at least studied well enough under her mother.”
“We do not have time for this now.” She swats my interjection away. “You must go out tonight, Keres, and hunt. Alone.”
Riordan flinches. “What?” He opens his arms towards her, and I know he thinks she’s gone mad. It seems to be a running theme in the family. “Ivaia, darling.”
“It’s been three days,” she holds up a quieting hand. “And I know why she was late in coming here but the task is still at hand.”
“Alone?” I ask. “I’ve never gone out there without you. Why now?”
Riordan crosses the room and sits face to face with his wife, shutting me out of their conversation.
“Ivaia, you know this is a fool’s errand. She’s grieving and doing an exercise alone will be too much for her. The amount of discipline she needs under these circumstances… She’s bound to lose control and you’ll be the one who set her up to fail.”
The rational part of me agrees with him, but the grieving part is growling objection. It’s not the dark out there that scares him or even the beasts— Human and animal alike, I know it. It’s the dark within me that worries him.
“Riordan, my love,” she smiles, thinking he’s as crazy as he thinks she is. “This is the best time for Keres to prove what she’s learned. Most often, in difficult times we must exercise our faith in the Gods.”
She turns back to me, inviting me to join her side of the argument. I clasp my hands behind my back and look between her and Rio.
“I respectfully disagree, Ivaia.” Although I’m dying to do something, she calls me to act despite my grief. To humble myself and behave as an example of piety. To be the cold-hearted Coroner. I don’t think doing this for the Gods is the reason I want to go out there and risk… everything. I’d be doing it for the nine, not the Pantheon. For myself, too. “Let us drink their blood,” The Death Spirit howls in my head.
“If I go out there alone and I lose control, there will be consequences,” I say
Ivaia’s smile flies off her face as if I’d smacked it across the room. “Exactly. Don’t lose control.”
“An army marches into our land,” Riordan takes her limp hands in his, taking her attention off me. “For many moons, you and Keres have gone on these hunts. Seeking justice, seeking balance. But while our numbers dwindle, more of them come from the North!”
Now he has a point that subdues even my lust for blood.
She yanks her hands back and rises to her feet. “For many moons, we have gone. Together. It’s time she does this alone.”
He follows her, keeping steps behind her as she busies herself with packing up my belongings. She loads my bow onto my shoulder and pushes my rucksack into my arms. She ignores my desperate expression and Riordan’s protestation.
“You or Keres or both of you. It doesn’t matter. See the bigger issue, Keres and her self-control aside. The few we are and what power we have, we are not affecting our cause. Your actions are like throwing grains of sand at a wave,” Riordan says.
She growls her annoyance at him.
“Who are you even doing this for anymore, Ivaia? You say it’s the Gods, but I fear it’s yourself. This isn’t for the people anymore. What are you trying to prove?”
I freeze at his words. The temperature in the hut drops several degrees when Ivaia looks at him.
She takes one heavy step toward him.
“You cannot understand what it means to uphold a responsibility given by the gods.”
Another slow meditated step, and he watches her feet move closer.
The bells at her ankles tinkle.
“You cannot understand the power or the weakness one must overcome to wield such a divine gift. To battle selfish desire and carry out the will of the Gods. That is the true fight Keres must endure. This is not a skirmish with Dalis warriors in the dark, this is what Keres must do to defeat the darkness in herself. To prove herself worthy and in control of her power!”
Riordan rakes a hand through his hair, and drops her gaze, shaking his head.
She turns to me, jabbing a finger toward my chest, “You know why you came here tonight. Mrithyn came to you, didn’t He?”
I close my eyes and nod my head, remembering the hooded figure in my tent doorway.
“He wanted you to perform your duty to the dead. Did He not?” She asks.
My eyes spring open as she inches closer to me, those little bells sounding more ominous than they should.
“And you, little rebel, told Him no.”
No, Chamira. I hear my harsh words replaying.
“You ran off into the forest. Shirking one duty for another. Don’t pretend you’re not roaring inside.”
“I am! It’s just, I mean, why are we doing this, Iv? Rio has a point. If it’s useless—”
“Useless?” She flashes a wicked smile at each of us. “You know why we do this, attack after attack. Keres, just because Riordan doesn’t understand what we do for our Gods and our people, doesn’t mean you should forget what it feels like to be out there doing something right. Use doesn’t matter if it’s all for the glory of our people and the Pantheon.”
She turns to Rio, “You think we do this to exercise our pride, to cope with our grief? Well, let me enlighten you.”
Riordan and I exchange nervous glances.
“Keres is not here to grieve.” A bitter laugh drops off her tongue as she turns back to me.
“You want vengeance. Katrielle was a victim.”
I flinch at the burst of adrenaline her words give me.
“All nine of them and countless others.” Her eyes search mine for the same understanding she has always shown me.
Something inside me wants to agree with her, wants to echo her words with a wide, hungry grin. But I swallow the growl in my throat and straighten my spine. My inner monster paces with quick, heavy steps behind my rib cage. Riordan is stirring up a riot, but Ivaia will watch my emotions consume me.
“You and I and every Elven Child of Aureum, we are all victims of the Human terrorism. But you are a victim who has the power to claim vengeance. For us all. You must learn to trust your God-given abilities. You ran from one task tonight; you ran to this one. This one engenders change and you know it. Order and balance. We must balance all things. Blood for blood.” She shoots a disdainful look at her husband.
“Maybe Rio is right, Ivaia. They killed nine. Maybe it’s too soon.” I try to hold the lamp of logic against my blackened emotions. Maybe they’re both right! I feel so confused.
“Too soon? You’ve delayed this already! Life will never give you enough time,” She snarls, “Death will not wait for you to be ready. And neither will our enemy.”
“Keres, you may choose,” Riordan stretches his disapproval over Ivaia like a net.
“But you will never make peace with the monster inside unless you let it out and face it,”
Ivaia speaks in my direction but throws her attitude in his. “And that monster is raging.”
I pause at the top of the steps and stare out over the banister. From this height, I am equal with the mighty trees. The wind blows, bowing the trees at my feet. Despite the hour, the darkness deepens. Promising fealty to me before the dawn comes for me. My blood races, my palms sweat. That familiar, unearthly thing crawls along my bones, gnawing at my muscles to move. Ivaia’s hand alights on my shoulder, and I tear my eyes from the tree line.
“Meet me at the Shrine when it’
s finished,” She says, and I follow her down the stairwell.
I don’t say goodbye or even mutter an agreement as she bids Riordan a goodnight and goes her own way. I thunder down the steps. My bow knocks against my leg and the crescendo of a drum of war beats somewhere deep within me.
3. DARKNESS
“According to our history, the world began with love.
The God of Death, Mrithyn, encountered the Goddess of Life, Enithura.
He loved her for her vibrancy and creativity.
She loved him for his serenity and honesty.”
Katrielle and I were children when we met. We sat next to each other one day in school. It was a tedious lecture, and we both struggled to stay awake in the back of the class. So, the teacher forced us to sit at her feet. To test her, the tutor told Kat to recite a verse about the Pantheon of Gods:
“They created our world, Aureum, to be their kingdom.
Thus, in a world born of Life and Death, everything that lives must die.
From the Principalities come Creation’s Powers and Laws.
The Children of Life and Death are those Who comprise Aureum:
Adreana, Goddess of Night. She is the Dark and Secrets.
Oran, God of Day. He is the Light and Revelation.
There are the twin Gods, born between the day and night:
Taran, God of Earth. He is Phenomenon, he is Disaster.
Nerissa, Goddess of the Sea and Air. She is Discovery, she is Mystery.
The Dominions of the World are Elf, Man, Monster, and Spirit, as well as all between them.
To the Deities and their Dominions, came friends and rivals:
Imogen, Goddess of Peace and Order.
Ahriman, God of Chaos and War.
Elymas, God of Magic and Wonder.”
My muscles tense at the memory, as my bare feet glide over the familiar ground. The mist parts ahead of my every step and curls around the roots of the towering trees. I push aside draped vines of crawling plants, scattering the moonlight beaming through the leaves and gilding the fog with silver. Insects buzz and chirp; an orchestra set in the balconies of branches. Memories consume me as the smells and sounds of the ancient forest permeate my senses.
Katrielle had worshipped the Goddess of Night above all others. She found comfort in a Higher Power who could see you at your darkest and not judge you. The memory of the first time I saw Katrielle is now polluted by the memory of the last time she looked at me. Her eyes wide with humor— her eyes wide with the fear of dying.
“Very good child!” The teacher said as she passed Katrielle something sweet to eat. A reward for pulling off the impossible— making the teacher believe we cared about her boring lessons. I watched as she crumbled the cookie between her teeth, and she smiled until some fell out of her mouth. I laughed at her. Her brown curls were wild around her ecstatic face, her mouth so full she could not retort.
The image of her losing crumbs through her smile is stained by the memory of blood dribbling from her mouth. I wipe away escaped tears and spit the image into the dirt. My tears are futile. Prayers proved useless too. Still, I can’t help but look at the sky and question the Gods. My eyes search the space between two clouds, a doubting devotee staring out my temple window.
Mrithyn. He stalks my every step. Anticipation gnaws harder at my stomach the further I wade into shadow. My eyes flit to the moon. Adreana. The God of Death and the Goddess of Darkness plague my existence. One God to incite the inner riot that is grief, the other to watch silently as it consumes.
Katrielle used to look to Adreana as a guardian of secrets; she swore she felt safer knowing nobody could see her fears and desires in the dark. I see Adreana now as the only God who shows us the truth. Who reveals our fears and desires. During Her hours, the universe reflects what we all are: darkness scarred by starlight. I see myself in the face of the night sky, through the branches, and am glad I’m alone to face that.
I’ll miss Katrielle every day, and every night I will remember what she taught me about the Dark Goddess. A beautiful being, although useless to me now. Is this what the Gods are good for? When you need them, they are here and far away at the same time. Are the Gods untouchable as your other self in the mirror, only present when they want to show you something silently? Our teacher always insisted they loved their creation, desiring an interactive relationship with us. I don’t believe it.
“Teacher, which of us is like Adreana?” Katrielle had asked.
Our teacher folded her hands behind her and chewed on the question. Her long nose pointed toward me, blue eyes glinting with mischief.
“Oran is a juvenile God. He toddles across the heavens; his mirth is the rays of the sun. Daily, he beams upon creation and is content with what he has.” Our teacher raised her arm and fluttered her fingers.
“Adreana is a fierce and wise being, eldest of the Hallow-children. She sweeps Oran up in her arms and hides him under her veil like a babe when the monsters come out to play. She dims the world to keep its secrets hidden for sake of his innocence and our shame. She turns his face beneath her long black hair and grants us our repose.”
“Keres, with her long black hair, then. She is like Adreana,” Katrielle pointed me out in class.
“And you are like Oran, Katrielle.” She enjoyed our reactions: me scowling and Kat giggling.
“So, I have to protect her from monsters?” I jerked a finger at Katrielle. “She can’t even chew her food properly.”
The teacher’s hands landed on her hips and her eyebrow cocked. Katrielle’s lips puckered and then trembled. She wiped her hand across her face, scattering the crumbs. I looked at her and frowned right back.
“I can’t protect a blubbering fool like her.”
“Now, Keres.” The teacher said, “Imagine what Liriene will say….”
My sister’s name rings through my head like a bell. I realize where I am. I’m not too far now, the trees are sparser here.
I wade deeper and deeper into the dark blue of the night, its colors saturate my skin and flow into my blood. Only those who know their way should walk this far into a night in the forest. I am not the sole danger walking between these trees. Mrithyn walks freely in the land of the living, and Adreana oversees our dreams, but it is War that took my comrades from me.
My skin prickles at the cool caress of the night. The knot in my stomach unwinds, and my nipples perk up at the chill licking my neck. A pair of golden eyes tracks my steps. When my emerald eyes meet their stare, they disappear.
Once, I overheard a Dalis soldier telling his comrade to beware the wolves in these woods. He should have warned his friend to fear those who walk among the wolves instead. Still, I'm thankful for the rumors, the stories tossed into campfires. The lies that burn into impressionable minds. They stay there, glowing like embers in the back of their heads. Those are the thoughts that will keep them away and us alive.
When I’m not around, it’s true, the wolves are the most dangerous predators lurking behind these trees. So, let the humans stay in their beds, jumping out of their skin every time we howl. They may be here, but they are not home like we are.
I’ll have to reach my destination before sunrise if I want to avoid the same mistake the nine made. They fucked up and collided with a Dalis patrol. However, my chances of survival are much higher than theirs was. I wonder, if I had been with them, could I have saved them?
That’s a thought I don’t want to entertain.
I determine the hour by the position of the stars and moon, referencing the slant of shadows cast by the trees. Sunrise is in a handful of hours. The thought of orange and red streaks painting the sky hastens my steps.
Not only does Mrithyn charge me with the responsibility of guiding souls, He grants me the power to take them. The only problem is I’m cursed with an unslakable bloodlust.
Each attack makes me more restless, hungrier for justice. Sometimes, I worry that it’s not peace I want at all. Sometimes, when I was alone with Katrielle
and we told Adreana our secrets, I prayed for war. A war so brutal and earth shattering— a war to end all wars. I prayed for bloodshed, propitiation for those lost to us. And Katrielle did not bat an eye. She bowed her head and uttered an agreement. Adreana knows what horrible things my soul craves, but no matter how I pray she proves useless every time.
4. THE HUNT
Green looks otherworldly in the dark. Life blossoming from shadow. A chill runs up the spine of a tree ahead of me, making its leaves shiver. Trembling in and out of the moonlight, the undersides of the leaves take on a sickly color. The grass and moss garnishing the ground roll out like a verdant carpet toward my prey’s hiding place. Even the fog takes on a bluish green haze, interrupted by the black stalks of the trees. Silver starlight bounces off the caps of enormous white mushrooms. The air smells of fire and pine.
Hesitation haunts my every step. I resent Ivaia for making me come out here alone. For insisting I wanted to take justice into my own hands. For being right. She looked at me and saw a monster waiting to come out to play. She played on the sinister thoughts running through my head to persuade me. Rio looked at me and saw a girl mourning her childhood friend. As a knight, he understands the impact of losing a comrade. They both know how pain can be a motivator. Riordan understands how it’s dangerous. Ivaia sees only how it’s useful. He sees pain as blinding; a weakness. She sees it as cleansing oneself of weakness.
To prevent the arrow from grazing my skin as it launches off my bow, I wrap my hands in leather strips. Riordan prays with a strand of glass beads wrapped around his fists: one bead for each god of the pantheon. Ivaia wears hers as a circlet taming her wild blonde hair. I lost the string of beads they gave me, and it would have been useful right about now. I hope Riordan, at least, is somewhere praying for me. One strong hand wrapped in beads, the other gripping a dainty teacup.
The forest adopts a burnt hued glow as I approach an unnatural clearing. Walls of gnawed down trees stretch toward the sky as if in one last attempt to grow, curving into a full circle around the human encampment. Their wood is slammed together and bound by arms of iron. My home camp aims to live in peace with its neighbors, trees included. Here, these damned creatures destroyed everything to make room in a place they do not belong. Burnt earth, their destitute clearing. Mountains are the backbone of their encampment, which faces the shadowed forest. Scarred territory, stricken with a disease that goes by the name, Men.
The Sunderlands Page 3
