Girl of Myth and Legend (13 page)

But this creature standing in front of me with eyes like hell itself is definitely not a pet—not a pet, and not like any animal I’ve ever seen. When O’Sah told me about kytaen, he made it seem like they were tools, and
hell
, what a tool this kytaen is! So big that it fills my vision. I hadn’t been expecting something so large to just
poof
in front of me. I don’t really know what I was expecting, just not this. Then again, neither was I expecting to be a magical being from another world. I guess this life has no predictabilities in it and I just have to keep up.

I realise that, in my shock, I’ve fallen backwards into the thick snow, making it look like I’m prey to this beast. My instincts tell me to run, run far and run further, but I stay where I am. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself. I can handle this. It’s not a big deal. It’s just some giant otherworldly creature… that’s now moving towards me, talons sinking into the snow-blanketed ground. I’m sure it can hear my heart hammering against my chest, so I hold my breath as if to slow its beat.

O’Sah said the other Thrones are here to witness my kytaen’s arrival, probably to reduce their uneasiness about our alliance. Looking at how sharp this thing’s teeth—or fangs, or whatever you might name them—are, I’m starting to feel uneasy, too.

The beast stops, its head towering over what now seems like my puny, twiggy body. I want to look away. God, I want to look away from those
eyes
. I don’t, or maybe can’t—I’m not sure which. I hold its gaze.

‘So, this is the beast,’ I hear Dad say, and I’ve never been so glad of his presence. ‘Not as inspiring as I was told it would be.’ I cringe. Yeah, thanks for that, Dad. I’m only a couple of feet from a creature that can bite my head off as easily as popping a balloon, but sure, you go ahead and aggravate it.

‘Get up, Leonie.’

I scramble onto my feet, backing away from the kytaen and towards Dad and the Thrones. I notice that the other kytaens’ black eyes stare at the creature in front of us, their forms shrinking as it meets their gaze. I know where they’re coming from.

I remember that there are four kinds of kytaen. Those beside me are earth. I don’t have to guess what the one in front of me is—those eyes are made of
fire
.

‘Greet the Pulsar appropriately,’ O’Sah orders the beast.

The kytaen’s gaze returns to me, unflinching, unwavering and scorching a hole right through me. If there was a look that could burn you alive,
this
would be it.

‘They warned me stubbornness might be a symptom of your idleness,’ says O’Sah. ‘Do you need reminding of your place?’ He stretches the fabric of his glove in a menacing way, and I’m guessing I’m about to see some magic. I want to tell him that I don’t need the kytaen to bow to me; I’d rather this be over with.

I look back to the kytaen, whose eyes still bore into me. It is… deliberating. Yes, deliberating whether or not to obey the command. When I saw the Thrones’ kytaen, I thought they were like a well-trained Pegasus, and so I assumed kytaens’ intellect was on the same level as a dog’s.
Woof woof
, tail wagging and all that. But when I look at this one, its eyes blazing like tongues of flame, I realise that I was wrong: kytaen are not mindless; kytaen are not pets—they are just as sentient as me.

It makes its decision.

It allows one of its front legs to bend while pushing the other forward. Its head stoops low, and it stays like this for a moment. Heat rises on my cheeks; the thought of anything bowing to me is just embarrassing. Its eyes never let go of mine, and in that moment, I understand that, though it is bowing to me, it does not acknowledge me, and that this display of allegiance is a pretence.

O’Sah begins to tell me about the soul-binding that will happen in a few days. I nod, having heard about it all morning at breakfast. Seriously, these people have a tendency to over-explain, like they think I’m so dazed by this sudden reality thrust upon me that I’m not understanding or something. Sure, it’s a reality that consists of magical people and beasts who protect them, and a whole other world full of wonder and danger where I am the last Pulsar, meaning it’s my sole duty to live and breathe and exist for the wellbeing of the Imperium and its people. Oh, and I have to make a soul-binding wherein all my emotions are shared,
and
I have to do it with something not even human and who I don’t even know… OK, maybe I am a little dazed.

‘…concludes the beginning of the arrangement,’ says the old man, bringing me out of my thoughts. ‘Remember, the Imperium will endeavour to protect you and keep you safe. That’s why we bestow to you our strongest kytaen.’

‘Well done, Leonie,’ says Dad, putting his arm around me.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ I say. ‘Just stood there looking gormless.’

‘It’ll be bothersome to walk around with you in your kytaen form,’ I hear O’Sah say to my kytaen. ‘Change to your human form.’

But it doesn’t do as he commands. He grimaces. With how I’ve heard him speak about kytaen, as if they’re objects, tools, I know this kytaen is going to suffer.

‘Don’t get into a temper tantrum, O’Sah,’ I say, ‘that’s
my
redeeming quality.’

I turn to the kytaen, my body going rigid. ‘I-I’m guessing it’s a bother for you, but if you could do it, it’d make this a lot easier. Sorry.’

It flinches. I gather
‘sorry’
isn’t part of a Chosen’s vocabulary, especially when it comes to saying it to a kytaen. It might not even know the meaning of the word.

After a moment, the shadows that blaze around it become ropes of fire. Its body shifts, bones shrinking, molecules breaking apart and re-joining in a different way.

‘Leonie,’ says Dad, ‘look away.’ I glance at him, and though he’s not looking at me, he’s not looking at the changing beast either, almost as if he were embarrassed.

Of course, I don’t look away. Before us now stands some-thing akin to a human, but inhuman, too. It is beyond a human’s conception of beauty, a glorious, mythical beauty that doesn’t, and shouldn’t, exist in the real world. It is tall with bronze-coloured hair and eyes, and looks around twenty years old. It isn’t buff, though isn’t small or meek by any means, and its arms are taut with muscle and—my eyes travel down and heat blossoms across my cheeks—and it’s
naked
. Any composure I might’ve been able to muster crumbles, my face reflecting my horror and awe at what I’ve just witnessed. I’ve never seen a naked man in person before, and though the creature doesn’t seem bothered, I can’t help but feel way over the line of awkward, seeing it like this. No, not
it
. Definitely, unquestionably, it is a
he
, and he is looking at me with such coldness that I feel his icy glare more than I do the cold, blustering wind.

O’Sah throws him some clothes. The kytaen stares at them for a moment, as if they’re an unwelcome gift, but his body gives way to a shiver and he puts them on. Why didn’t I bother to ask why O’Sah had brought clothes with him? To be fair, not many people would envisage that, during the course of the day, they’d be standing in a snowy forest in another world with a naked, otherworldly monster-turned-guy in front of them.

I remember to look away from the kytaen as he changes into the clothes, which are slightly too big for him. O’Sah didn’t even bother bringing him a coat or shoes. I
‘tsk’
, wishing more that I had known he would be naked. I shake off the weirdness of the thought.

‘Do all kytaen have a human form?’ I ask.

‘Certainly,’ says the old man, looking to his kytaen. ‘Show her.’

The tree-like creature grows, its body creaking like that of a falling tree, and the vines and roots pull until they snap and collapse onto the snow. Standing before us now is a thin teenage girl with tanned skin. Some of the roots are still attached to her body, concealing her indecent parts.

We begin to walk back to the temple in a solemn progres-sion. I look back at my kytaen a few times, always meeting with his profound glare. It’s strange: although we’ve just met, and although he seems to hate me, there is something between us, something impalpable but existent. It leaves a chilling sensation in my bones. Whatever magic is stirring in the space between us, I can’t sense that any good will come from it.

KORREN

FATE’S SENSE OF HUMOUR

Plain, below average;
they are the first words that come to mind when I look at the girl.
Nothing outstanding. Feeble.
She has copper-coloured hair specked with white from the snow, ivory skin, irises a burgundy colour—common among Pulsar—with an expression of surprise and wonder. She wears a duffle coat, leggings and brown boots, so different to a Chosen’s usual attire. She looks normal enough, and yet…

Between the girl and me is nothing but wind and snow, and yet there is
something
, an unseen something. It’s as if resilient chains are linking us together, binding us to a fate we cannot escape, and yet there is more to this something than these shackles: a feeling, a force, a
pull
. I have felt this before, assuming it was to do with that intangible magic that brings a kytaen and their keeper together, weaving their souls into one being, one power, one strength. She and I will be bound by a physical impossibility, but should not that dreaded
something
come after the soul-binding?

The soul-binding—I will
not
let it happen. The remaining fragments of free will I have will not be collected by the Imperium. They have appropriated our very souls, the magic within us. But that is how things were, not how they have to be now.

The wind billows the girl’s wild knots of copper hair. I remind myself of my resolution: if I can make her loathe me so much that she’d rather have a lesser kytaen protecting her, then I will be sent back to Aris, incurring some kind of a punishment, but why should I care? If I can make that happen, I will never have to protect a Pulsar again. Perhaps, even, this seed of rebellion will bloom into a revolution that will shake the foundation of the Imperium, the Imperium that was built upon the backs and blood of the kytaen.

_________________

I’ve never liked the Temples of Elswyr, and in particular the temple of Nu perched higher than the rest. With the wall that encloses the temple and its lack of windows, I realise I’m the punchline of one of Fate’s jokes, because why not? Why not place a kytaen who yearns for freedom in a setting so overwhelmingly free: forests and greenery and an openness that goes on for miles resting all around, only for him to live within a place that resembles a prison, a cage?

The girl’s father, who I gather is Orin Woodville, glances back at me. He’s a middle-aged man with dark hair, heavy eyebrows and a prominent chin. He steps inside the temple, the other Chosen following with their kytaen. I hesitate, glaring at the threshold.

I feel someone push into me. I flinch and turn around, jaw clenched. The girl is looking up at me.

‘S-sorry,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t concentrating on where I was, um, going.’ Her accent is intermingled with others, so I can’t place it.

I hurry, just to lengthen the distance between us.

We go into a chamber decorated with art and candles. I glance at my keeper-to-be, and she’s staring at me uneasily. I can tell from her eyes that she continues to picture my other form.

‘I’ll… I’ll say bluntly that I’m not, well, y’know, um, experienced when it comes to mingling with other… other
species
,’ she says, rubbing her neck. I can’t understand why she’s trying to make conversation with me. Chosen don’t usually do this. They accept the kytaen and then pretend they’re not there, just how you ignore your shadow, though you may occasionally glance at it.

‘You handled this very well, my Lady,’ one of the Thrones says. ‘You were exceptionally dignified.’

The girl purses her lips. Strange. Shouldn’t the compliment please her? The expression on her face suggests she’s far from pleased.

‘There’s some business to attend to,’ another says.

‘O’Sah, do we have to?’ the girl complains. ‘I’m already exhausted.’

‘Not business for you, my Lady,’ says O’Sah. ‘The kytaen—Sebastian Crato would like to deliver a message to it.’

‘Ah well, if our great leader wishes it, we can hardly refuse,’ says Orin, and I notice how stiff his words are.

O’Sah bows his head to the girl. ‘My Lady.’ He turns his back on us and walks out of the door. I have no choice but to follow.

He takes me through an antechamber and then outside. The wind billows his crimson cloak, which looks like ribbons of blood amidst the snow. He stops and swivels round to face me.

‘The importance of Leonie Woodville’s existence is to be acknowledged by you.’

So, that’s the name of my enemy.

‘Her survival is imperative. A Pulsar hasn’t lived in this world for a very long time, and we intend to make her prosper.’ He softens out his clothing that is being blitzed by the snow. ‘If I had the choice, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near someone so valuable. However, despite being on the Council, I don’t get to make the decisions, and you
were
the victor in the arena.’ His eyes fill with hatred. ‘After all you’ve done, to be the only kytaen strong enough to protect her is surely Fate’s joke.’