The Sunderlands

by Anastasia King

  “There you are.” She grunts, tugging a large weed out of the soil. She holds it up like a trophy and turns her attention to me. Looking between the weed and me as if we’re the same to her: A problem. “You left again last night.” Not a question.

  “I had to,” I swallow hard, watching her rise to her feet. She’s a great deal taller than I am and lanky too.

  In a couple of steps, she’s at the small fire burning amid some logs in a pit. She throws the weeds she’s uprooted into the fire, a small smirk covering her lips. Her mouth naturally turns up at the corners, so I never know if she means to look so snide. Again, those grey eyes shine in my direction. “You’re not fooling anyone, Keres.”

  I absorb the sight of her standing beside that fire. Her straight, silky red hair matches the thirsty flames in hue. If she were magic touched or a God’s servant… my people would know true fear. I’d never wish it on her, no matter how poorly we get along.

  “Fooling anyone how?” I ask.

  “Oh, come on, Keres. You’re so arrogant. Walking around in your red shawl, back after a long night.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I wave her off.

  “Chamira came to see me this morning,” she says.

  I stop and look at her.

  “She says you refused to perform the rites for Kat and the other eight last night. You agreed to do it when the last of them died, but you went back on your promise. She also said you were in a foul mood.”

  “Foul mood?” I inch closer to her, uncurling my fists. “My best friend just died, and no one understands why I’m in a foul mood?”

  Liriene lowers her gaze. “You act like you care but you run off to Aunt Ivaia. You say you’re helping but nothing is changing.”

  I try to interject but she stops me by raising her voice, “You act so important because you’re Mrithyn’s child, but when your people need you to be who you are supposed to be, to fulfill your duty, you run away!”

  All my possible responses sound like Ivaia so I stay quiet.

  “You haven’t fooled me, Keres. I can see what’s happening to you.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

  “Your soul….”

  I notice her hands are warped into fists also.

  “Your soul is being corrupted by the spirit of Death. This power to kill is doing more harm than good, as all power does. It’s rotting your judgment.”

  “Stop,” I say, “Don’t you think I know I’m cursed?”

  “But you’re not fighting it!” She shouts back, her red hair seems an angrier shade, and her eyes more silver. I think she’s about to cry.

  I choose my words carefully, “I am fighting, Liri… I don’t imagine I’m fooling anyone. Especially not you,” I look between her and the fire. The smell of the weeds burning makes me cough. “Which is why I’m being honest. I had to go. Ivaia was waiting. I was late. Chamira knows how to do the rites and honestly it hurt too much. Did you go to the burial ceremony?” I scratch the back of my neck.

  She smooths her locks behind her long, pointed ears, revealing the elegance of her neck and oval jawline. “No.”

  Her slim face looks gaunter as she purses her lips, distorting their natural rosebud shape. Her sharp cheekbones are more profound with the expression. She lifts her pointed nose and rounded chin. Eyebrows arcing above her gray-green watery eyes.

  “That’s not the point. You say you had to go? You wanted to. Painful or not, you did not want to do right by Kat.”

  “Of course, I did! She was my best friend!” I say. “Which is the exact reason I left, Liri. I killed a Man in her name. All must be balanced and now it is.”

  “Two wrongs do not make any of this right!” She says. “This is all wrong.”

  “He was a rapist. I heard him talking about—” I feel my breathing getting more ragged with rage, my skin flushing.

  “Keres, stop! Your eyes are getting stormy. You know how much you frighten me when you get like this.”

  I force my words back down my throat. She picks at her fingernails, weighing her next words. I see them bubbling up but she’s biting them back behind her lips. Her short temper wins and she throws her hands up.

  “He was a rapist, the other was a thief. They were Human. All these reasons are excuses to live just like they do,” She says.

  “Live like they do? This is not living. We are barely surviving.”

  “And suddenly that’s your problem?” She scoffs, redirecting her attention to her filthy hands. “You know what your duty is.”

  She treads on silent feet toward the running brook that cuts through the garden plot. It irrigates the soil well. She stoops to rinse her hands. Her eyes lock on mine once more, the shimmer in them like that of sunlight on water. I always thought that her eyes held the same gray swirling depth of the river. Fitting, since her name means ‘daughter of the River Liri.’

  When we were children, our mother used to take us to the River Liri. It runs some distance behind our campgrounds. She’d bathe with us there. Floating on her back and letting the current carry her. We usually paddled beside her, clinging to her buoyant legs when we got tired. Her hair was so golden, I imagined the sun gave it to her when she was born. It splayed around her face in the water as she watched the clouds roll over us.

  “Keres,” Liriene hisses, snapping me from my thoughts.

  “What?” I spit back.

  Her lips press into a thin line as her eyes spring open wider, darkness boiling within them. “No more.”

  I give her an incredulous glare, hands landing on my hips. She stands and mimics my pose. Fire and Ice, the two of us are. I roll my eyes away from her stare and proceed toward the harvest tent. I don’t hear her footsteps, but as I reach the entryway, she pulls me backward. Her hand tightens around my wrist. I grimace at her wet hands on my skin.

  “No more.” Something like a plea touches her wispy voice. It startles me. I tear out of her grip and push into the tent. She follows. Of course.

  Using my shawl to form a makeshift basket, I start picking various root vegetables and legumes out of harvest baskets. Mushrooms are my favorite, so I grab those too. Liriene occupies herself with organizing some of the stock. No doubt contemplating her next words. Wanting to escape the tent before she can harass me further, I clutch my little bundle of veggies and quicken my steps. I cast one final glance in my sister’s direction.

  She doesn’t reciprocate it, but she asks, “Did Katrielle say anything when she died? Anything…”

  I suddenly remember. “Yes.”

  Liriene spins toward me, eyes glistening.

  “She wanted me to tell you something, actually.” I narrow my eyes. “But she died before she could say it.”

  Her eyes fall to the ground, her shoulders crumple. I await an explanation for her sudden interest in Kat’s death.

  “She was a good friend to you,” she says.

  I hug the bundle of food in my arms. “She was.” Liri turns back to her vegetables and I turn to leave.

  I collide with something hard. Honey-brown eyes, shaded by sandy blond hair, meet mine. My meal probably squished after walking right into his muscled chest. His arms float at my sides as if he meant to catch me. I step back, mouth open to speak but no words forming.

  “You,” he says as if to apologize.

  “It was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention,” I say.

  A sudden smile. My eyes go to his mouth, my cheeks flushing. He presses a hand to the bundle of food between us.

  “Allow me,” He takes it without breaking eye contact.

  I look back toward the tent to see Liriene standing there, observing us.

  “Silas,” She addresses him. He moves only his eyes toward her.

  “You’re late.” She quirks her brow at him. She is his Ivaia: bossy and expectant.

  I take my food back before he can protest. Tilting my head toward her, I order, “Go on.”

  His smile fades.r />
  “I’ll see you.”

  He clasps his hands behind his back. His biceps tightening with the movement. We move in an awkward dance around each other and leave a conversation on the ground between us.

  Their footsteps retreat into the tent as mine hurry back toward my own. Her laugh in the distance bounces off the trees. Birds squawk in reply. They’ve been close since birth. They’re around the same age, and some few years ahead of me. She could go from wanting to burn me at the stake, to forgetting I existed if he was around.

  Breezing through the heavy beaded curtain, I hurry toward the small table in the near corner of the tent. Vegetables roll across the surface as I shake out my shawl.

  Fire sparks with a snap of my fingers and leaps onto the small pyre laid out in a shallow ditch at the center of the room. Smoke billows up through the round hole in the roof of the tent. I drag a cauldron, still filled with the broth from last night’s soup, toward the fire; and slam it onto the cooking rack. Brandishing a knife, I begin ripping the skin away from the potatoes.

  Silas and Liriene have always been inseparable. It wasn’t any different when we were children. There was a time before I was born when they were all each other had. When I was born, more children came to Ro’Hale. Thaniel, Darius, and Hayes came from Massara. They became fast friends with Liri and Silas. Someone told them to, “Go pick berries,” and they would scurry off, swinging their baskets at each other’s heads. At seven years old, I still followed my mother’s skirts down to the River Liri. The other children wandered haplessly into adventures and trouble I’d never know. I was meant for a different kind of trouble.

  Some things changed when I became a warrior, but Silas and Liriene still ran in different circles than me. Katrielle was the common denominator in our friend groups.

  Nowadays, Liriene has Silas working with her in the gardens by day. He guards our walls at night. It’s an unfortunate lapse in availability since we’re getting married in two days. With the attack and loss of the nine, I haven’t spared a thought for wedding gowns and ceremonies. How could I?

  After I finish supper, I scrape all leftovers out of the pot with my fingers into a large wooden bowl. Father will be home soon, and it’s best that supper be waiting for him.

  For the first time in what seems like ages, I look at my bed across the room. Warm and inviting, seducing me. I’m instantly sleepy. I wash my hands in the basin and pad off toward the welcoming heap of pillows. Falling onto the furs and blankets with a heavy thump, I can’t help but let out a groan of relief.

  “Long day?”

  I jump up, startled by my father’s voice. He chuckles as he walks over to the bowl of leftovers. He points at it, eyebrows raised in my direction. I nod and watch him as he leans over the bowl on his elbows. Lazily, he drags the utensil I left beside it through the stew, looking for a mushroom. He takes a bite and closes his eyes, mumbling something in approval. He scoops the bowl up and sways a bit as he takes another bite. My father loves my cooking.

  “You know, Keres,” He says with a full mouth, pointing his utensil at me, “Your mother was very fond of long days. Days of work spent problem-solving and debating. She loved it.” He laughs, choking a little. “But not because she loved to work. She thought a hard day of work made a bed feel better at the end of it.” He laughs again, turning toward the chair lined with furs by the little fire.

  “Did she love food as much as you do?” I smile.

  “Mmhmm,” He utters in agreement. “Wild Salmon. That was her favorite. With tomatoes. I never understood it. She ate tomatoes… what was the other thing.” He waves his utensil in thought. “Ah! Lemons. She ate tomatoes and lemons like they were apples. Boggled me.”

  I snort at him. Guess that’s why I love lemons so much. Can eat them like apples too. Liriene used to bribe me with lemons to do her chores. It’s pathetic how protective I am of the few lemon trees mother had planted in the gardens. She got the seeds from a traveling merchant named Luc. I get lost in the mouthwatering memory of eating lemons in summer.

  A few moments go by, filled only by the sounds of him chewing and humming with satisfaction. I get up to fetch him a bit of water to drink. As I pour what’s left of our water from the pitcher, his humming gets louder. I steal a sip before passing him the glass.

  “Keres,” His pleasant demeanor cracks. “I’m aware the last of the nine passed away this morning just before dawn.”

  I wring my hands and nod.

  He frowns, his giant nostrils flaring, and puts the empty bowl down between his feet. He swallows all the water and then continues analyzing me with pursed lips. “Keres.”

  “Katrielle.” Plopping down on the floor beside the fire pit, I poke at the burning wood with a metal rod. I watch the sparks float up toward the darkening sky. Moonlight is leaking into the room in silvery droplets. “She’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry. We are all feeling this loss. As we do with them all.” I look at him, but his eyes are far away, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Have you visited Lysandra or any of the other families?” He asks.

  “No,” I say. “I haven’t been able to bring myself to. It’s just— As the Coroner… it’s just so much responsibility.”

  He nods, closing his eyes as if to hear me better. “Must be especially taxing since we’re talking about your friends, Ker bear.”

  I thrust the rod into the fire, awakening more flames and sparks. I look at him from the corner of my eyes.

  “When I became clan leader, I confided in your mother.” He stares up at the moon. A smile breaks over his face, but he pretends to cry, “Resa, I can’t do this.” He feigns hysteria. “They want me to perform the rituals, train the armies, feed the people, teach the youth, rally the old, and lead with a smile.”

  I huff at his theatrics.

  “And you know what your mother said to me?”

  I shake my head.

  “She said, ‘Kaius, it’s your duty, honor, and privilege.’ And that really struck me.” He smiles again, “And then she said, ‘you aren’t weak. You’re so strong. And wise. And handsome.’”

  I squint my eyes at him. “Did she really say that?”

  He laughs again. “Well, maybe not all those nice things at once. Your mother was a woman of few words. She’s where you get your broodiness from.” He nudges me with his foot. I open my mouth to protest but he’s got a point. Being a servant to the God of Death makes one broody.

  “Daughter, I think… for someone of the lesser sex, with your education and skill level, you’re doing fine. Maybe now you’re just truly realizing the weight of a man’s work like your mother did in that moment.”

  “What are you talking about?” I flinch.

  “Duty, honor, privilege. A man knows these words in his bones.”

  “That a female reminded you of,” I interrupt.

  “Well, there’s never really been female servants to the Gods. Mostly males all throughout history, especially never a female servant to Mrithyn. His is a particularly difficult responsibility to cope with. I’m just saying, I think you’re doing fine. You’re realizing your limits and that’s okay— good, even. There’s nothing else you can do anyway.”

  Ha! He doesn’t know about my hunts with Ivaia. Nobody but Liriene does.

  “So, because I’m a female, there’s not much more I can do? I’m supposed to just excuse myself from the particularly difficult responsibilities?” My own words hit me in the face.

  “Why are you getting so upset?” He rubs a hand over his black hair, smoothing the wispy curls down. “What are your thoughts?”

  I shake my head, let out a deep sigh and lie, “I don’t know what to think anymore.” My dad is an ass sometimes, but his diseased thoughts just helped me clarify my own.

  Am I just going to excuse myself from the struggles of being what I am? To be mediocre, to be genteel and safe, to be static? Fuck no.

  But is there really much more I can do? If I delve deeper into thi
s dark power and dire responsibility, will it consume my soul like Liriene thinks it will?

  I don’t even know where to start. I feel lost. The apparent purpose of my power is disheartening. What else could there be?

  He stands and walks over to his corner of the tent. He searches under his pillows and blankets until he finds his smoking pipe. A cloth pouch of herbs rests on the small table beside his bed. He stuffs his pipe with the heady smelling flowers and lights it in the firepit. He begins blowing O’s over my head.

  “There’s a new Oracle in the kingdom,” Kaius says.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Another child went blind for the Gods?” I scoff.

  He opens his hands like ‘what do you want me to say,’ and shrugs. “I do not question the Gods or their methods.”

  I sigh. “How old is she?”

  He inhales and puffs out two rings which cross over each other. I shift my position on the floor, awaiting his next words.

  “Not sure. Young as they usually are, I’d assume.” He fiddles with the mouthpiece of his pipe. “When Resa was born, your grandfather presented her and her sisters to the Oracle in the kingdom. I always wanted to make the trip to take you girls, but you know how busy I am.”

  I smile and recreate his moping expression, “So busy!”

  He laughs, choking on a smoke cloud.

  “Anyway, go see the Oracle sometime. On your own. She might be able to help you define your beliefs.”

  “You mean like a pilgrimage?” I ask.

  He throws his hands up. “I guess, if you wish it. Your wedding is in two days. The Veil Ritual started in the kingdom today, so you have some time,” He reminds me, earning my scowl.

  “I will go after the wedding.” I blow a smoke ring out of the air, jump up to my feet, and plant a kiss on his cheek.

  “Going to the war tent?” He asks sleepily.

  “As usual,” I say as I replace my scarlet shawl around my shoulders. I kick a pebble across our threshold and follow it out into the twilight.