Justice (5 page)

6 - Farewell Ceremony

Istar stood at the bottom of the East wing staircase, a hard look on his face. “Desaunius is leaving?”

“Aye, she will not return.” Atara folded herself into his arms for a brief moment. He gripped her, but there was no warmth in him, rigid like stone. Atara pushed away and moved to the staircase. She gave him a wayward glance and motioned for him to follow her. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation. He was still angry with Krishani and couldn’t stop the rage burning the back of his throat.

“There are more pressing matters to be concerned about, Atara,” Istar said. He followed her down the corridor, taking slow strides. She looked so broken, so in need of answers. He wasn’t sure anything he had to say would comfort her.

“Krishani worries me.”

Istar stopped and looked at her,
really
looked at her. Her face was splotched with red blemishes, the soft curvature of her face giving hints to her age. Her green eyes were sunk into her face, faint purple shadows circling them. Her lips were bruised and bitten—she wasn’t okay at all.

“There’s nothing I can do for him,” he said. The gruff sound of his voice surprised him. He glanced down at his hands, wrinkled lines over top of veins. His rings, a simple silver snake eating its own tail symbolized his marriage to Atara, and a golden band, the shape of a tree etched into it symbolized his marriage to the land.

Atara frowned and stepped away from him. She looked confused. “What do you mean?”

Istar pulled his hands down to his sides and sucked in a deep breath. “Avristar will make her decision about his fate. I cannot change it.”

Atara gasped and choked at the same time. “You would subject him to judgment?”

Istar tried not to show the distress in his eyes, but the astonishment on her face hurt. Before the Valtanyana attacked Krishani had been called. He was meant for the Lands of Men. Keeping him in Avristar was dangerous, more so than it had been before, when they thought he was a Child of Avristar. Istar didn’t feel sorry for him in the least. The Great Oak gave him a parable; Krishani surrendered the girl in the end. It was time to fulfill the rest of the parable.

“He caused this fray,” Istar hissed. His stone cold glare bore through her.

Atara looked like a sheet of ice. She took another step away from him. “Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Istar sighed heavily and shifted his weight. “Avred erupted again. And the storm—” He stopped, not wanting to say what he thought. He tried to keep Atara ill informed about Krishani and his reign of destruction. It was peculiar a boy with such unexplainable power would come to Avristar. He didn’t have to wonder where that power came from anymore. Ferrymen were the Ambassadors of Death. They were immortal, almost invincible.

Atara understood. “You think it is his doing.” Her arms fell limp at her sides. She looked like she was in pain.

“Avred is awake. Avristar is angry. Krishani should have surrendered when he had the chance,” Istar said.

“We shouldn’t have forced him to leave.”

“We cannot let him stay! He is not even one of ours.” He wanted to storm away without another word, but after a few paces he turned back. What he hadn’t told her before he had to tell her now. His conversations with Mallorn over the past few summers were always about Kaliel and Krishani. Mallorn hadn’t always been a hermit.

“Mallorn confirmed it. Krishani is the Tavesin’s Ferryman. His kin abandoned him here when he was a child. He was never Avristar’s.”

“I didn’t know, that he wasn’t a Child of Avristar,” Atara said slowly, even though the words were hollow. She uncomfortably rubbed her shoulders.

Istar instinctively moved towards her. He went to pull her into his embrace, but she crossed her arms and shook her head. He stopped, his mind circling around the Valtanyana. He wasn’t sure why they left without executing every last one of them. It wasn’t their style. He desperately wanted to know what happened to Kaliel in those final moments on the mountain. He needed to find Mallorn. The Kiirar knew something about the beacon, what set it off, what forced the shields surrounding Avristar to fall.

He sighed. Kaliel was just as unpredictable as Krishani. He should have seen it earlier. He should have forbidden Atara to train her. He loved Atara, but she was so naïve. How long had she known about them? Why didn’t she tell him? He wasn’t a soft husband, but it wasn’t a reason to shut him out. Krishani was always a danger to Avristar. It was only a matter of when and how he would bring the island to its knees. He never expected Kaliel playing a part in the destruction, let alone be the cause of the war. And he couldn’t punish her for her mistake.

“As I said, when he wakes, he must face the Gatekeeper,” Istar said.

Atara took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then I hope he never wakes. I couldn’t bear it, knowing what his life has become.”

Istar grabbed her by the upper arms and tried to stare into her eyes, but she tilted her head towards the floor. “Do not wish him death.” He let go and turned to see Pux standing in the hallway behind him, a mangled expression on his face. Istar turned and shot a look at Atara. “I will see you at the farewell ceremony.”

“Aye,” Atara said as he stomped away.

• • •

Pux watched Istar turn the corner. “I came to say I wouldn’t be present at the ceremony.” After the episode with Grimand he went to the kitchen, forced down a chunk of bread and a cup of water and went back to his cot. More staring at the ceiling, more fading in and out of sleep. He wasn’t even tired; he just didn’t know what to do anymore.

Atara sighed. “Not you, too. Please don’t tell me you’re leaving. You haven’t had time to heal.” She sounded exhausted and weary. She clasped her hands together and held them at her waist. “I need you to be strong.”

Pux shook his head. His brown eyes were distant and tired. He had bathed, but his reddish brown fur was prickly and unkempt. Locks of dark brown hair fell past his small pointed ears and it was littered with cowlicks. He knew he looked about as horrible as he felt. He wasn’t the strong type.

“She was my best friend, and I was the last person she saw before she died.” Pux moved to the balcony, his fur-covered hands gripping the railing hard.

Atara placed a hand on his shoulder. “You were more than her best friend, Pux, you were her kin.”

Pux smiled to himself, the perfect image of Kaliel emblazoned in his mind, heart-shaped face, sparkling green eyes, muddy white dress. “I saw how much she loved him. I wish she had a chance to say goodbye.” He gulped and tried not to think about the village, the blood smearing onto the sand. He had known her for so long it was hard to see her like that: crazed and scared.

Atara nodded. “She did, in her own way, I know it.”

Pux stared at the Grand Hall, tracing the outline of the fountain. “Aye, whispers in the wind. She used to speak to everything so quietly when we were children.” His eyes met Atara’s. She looked just as distraught as he did, and guilty. He didn’t know why she felt guilty, though.

“You’re still young, and naïve. I’m sorry we couldn’t prepare you for what was—is–out there.” Atara leaned her head against the stone. He didn’t want to interrupt her while she thought of the Valtanyana so he turned back to his hands on the balcony and tried to let the heaviness in his heart subside. After moments in silence, Atara moved to the corridor.

Pux turned around and leaned against the balcony, crossing his arms. “She was so strong. Scared and strong and determined. She knew everything about who she was and what her parable meant.” Pux rambled more to himself than to Atara; it felt less awkward to say it out loud. He had to say something to comfort himself. He had to believe good would come from something so bad. Everyone was still alive; the enemies were gone, but it didn’t seem good enough. Losing Kaliel made the victory incomplete.

Atara smiled. “She would have been the youngest apprentice to solve it.”

Pux frowned. “Can you tell me something?” He didn’t know where to begin. Atara said nothing. “I thought I saw her eyes change color. She said she was a Flame, but I’ve never heard of them before.”

Atara hung her head. “The Flames are what the Valtanyana want. They are unlike any other being Across the Stars. Each one is created differently. Kaliel was the Amethyst Flame, one of the most important, from what lore has to say about her.”

Pux’s eyes widened. “You mean there are volumes about her?” He never ventured into the library in Orlondir. He never had a reason to read, but if there were books about her, he would read every day for the rest of his life.

Atara shook her head. “Their lore is kept in the Great Library with Kemplan. Even I was not aware she was a Flame. Not until it was too late.”

Pux’s heart dropped. All memory of her was being erased and there was nothing he could do to hang onto the pieces of her that lingered. One day she would be distant in his mind. He feared what life would be like years from now when he was an Elder, and she was still dead.

“I think I’ll go to the orchards,” Pux said. He drifted down the corridor towards the courtyard and Atara didn’t follow him.

“Seek Grimand. He will be leaving for Evennses soon.”

Pux gritted his teeth and turned to face Atara. “I don’t need him to return to Evennses.”

She sighed. “You cannot walk alone, it will take you days.”

His emotions unwound as he became angrier and sadder at the same time. “Kaliel would understand. How can I return to the forest when every tree reminds me of her? When we lived in the same house, ate the same food, played in the same trees? Knowing she was alive and well in Orlondir was all that made it bearable. Even the Great Oak thinks I’m invalid. How do you expect me to return without her?”

Atara hunched her shoulders. “Be patient.”

Pux stared at her with disbelief. For all of his new found knowledge she still treated him as though he was completely unworthy. His mouth dropped open, but he had no words to say. He clenched his fist tight and thought about the orchard. “If all I am to you is useless, I’m better off invisible.” He turned and vanished.

• • •

The cold wind made the fur on the back of Pux’s neck stand on end as he crossed the bridge and turned to the path on the right. It led into the rows and rows of apple trees creating the orchard. He noticed the leaves on the trees were frostbitten from the cold, and the remaining apples were covered in a layer of frost. He ran his hand along the skinny trunk of one of the trees and tucked his frozen hand under his arms to warm them up. As he let out a breath he could see it like smoke in the air. He shivered, aimlessly ambling through the rows, pretending not to feel the farewell ceremony.

Part of him wanted to make a grand entrance, end the way they thought of him as useless and stupid. If he appeared, they might believe he was smart, but if he disrupted their grieving, they would only be angered by his presence. He picked a frozen apple off a tree and stared at it. It was a deep blood red. It made him think of the battle. He drew a deep breath and blinked. The apple turned to a bruised purple color, like an eggplant. He sighed. He wanted it to be a brilliant violet hue, like the one he had seen in Kaliel’s eyes, but instead it was murky.

He rested his shoulder against the trunk of a tree next to him, then pressed his back against its coldness, sinking to the ground. His thoughts were muddled. He couldn’t just say goodbye to Kaliel and forget she had existed. He spent fourteen summers with her; there were too many good memories for them to be wasted. He closed his eyes and thought back to one of his earliest memories of her.

He had been sitting on the steps to the porch, carving out a wooden toy with his paring knife. He wasn’t paying attention to the others, they all looked the same to him—hairy feorns, pale elvens, glass-like fae—and none of them wanted to speak with him because of how knavish he was. He barely noticed it when Kaliel hopped up on the steps and sat down.

“You never talk to anyone,” she had said.

Pux looked at her with a grimace. “No, I’m busy. Go bother someone else.”

She rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin with her hands. “I don’t even know your name. The others say you’re mute.”

“They know I can speak.” Pux had only seen nine summers at the time, and by the size of her, she looked like she had seen five. He was later surprised she was only two summers younger than him.

Kaliel raised an eyebrow. “Which is why I’m here,” she chirped.

Pux shook his head. “I’m not that good at it.”

She shrugged. “You seem fine.”

Pux stood and began walking through the tall grass in the meadow. He could walk and carve at the same time and wasn’t much for speculation. He hoped she wouldn’t follow, but she did, and it annoyed him. He stopped when he was in the middle of the meadow and turned to face her. “What do you want?”

Kaliel poked her toe into the ground and gave him an awkward look. “I always lose,” she said. The other kinfolk were known for their games, but they never invited Pux because he never played the game right.

Pux stopped carving, a spurious frown crossing his face. “I have no idea how to win.” He shrugged.

Kaliel smiled. “I’m not interested in winning. I just thought since you don’t play, you might not be keeping score.” She inspected the bruises littering her arms and Pux sighed.

“I could teach you how to carve.”

Kaliel frowned again. “Desaunius won’t let me touch a knife.”

He smiled and laughed. “You’re that clumsy?”

Kaliel glanced at him hesitantly. “Most of these bruises weren’t from the games.”

“Oh.”

“Big roots …”

Pux laughed out loud.

“I should have known you were just like them.” Kaliel sighed and stalked towards the House of Kin. Pux thought she looked cute in her ivory maiden’s gown. She carefully paced through the tall grass, like she didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of him.

He stopped laughing. “Pux!” he called. He followed her, and she stopped, turning to face him.

“What?”

“Pux is my name.”

“Oh.”

“What’s your name?”