Vulture (21 page)
Authors: Rhiannon Paille
Tags: #juvenile fiction, #Legends; Myths; Fables, #Norse
Animals had been feasting on the carcasses for days. Dead bodies were covered in holes and festering purple wounds slicked across their blackened skin. She knew it was going to be sickening. She prepared herself for that much, but the stench of death carried by the wind hit her with such a feral smell she slid off the horse and buried her face in her hands.
Klavotesi doubled back and grabbed the reins of both horses. He stood on the edge of the gravel path and looked at her tear-covered face. Her eyes filled with questions he couldn’t answer. He held the reins out to her. “She’ll want to flee the moment you leave her,” Klavotesi said, glancing at the horse.
She nodded meekly and pulled herself to her feet, knees knocking together as the stifling heat spread through her chest and limbs. Shaky hands curled around the reins as Klavotesi turned, leading the way through the town, wending around dead bodies. She kept hold of the horse, even when it bucked and whinnied. She realized she had to try to be strong, if not for herself then for the horse because it was more freaked out than she was.
Klavotesi stopped. The white horse was sprawled out, kicked and beaten, bloodied with rage. The Horsemen were merciless. She avoided the image, smell, and feel of the horse she had seen in her dream and continued past Klavotesi, looking for Krishani.
It wasn’t hard to spot him splayed out on the gravel road amidst slightly tanned bodies. His skin was always paler than anyone else’s, no matter where on Terra they came from. Her hands slipped off the horse when she saw him. She tripped over her own traveling gown and fell on her hands and knees. Rocks dug into her palms, creating scratches along her skin as she retched involuntarily. A pool of vomit stained the rocks as she took a deep breath, unable to fill her lungs. Her stomach dry heaved and she choked back tears, wiping her eyes with her hands and bringing herself to her feet. She hitched up her dress and avoided the puddle of puke, blood, and char staining the land. She gingerly knelt beside Krishani and pushed the locks of black hair off his forehead. His face was contorted in worry. His hands gripped his tunic. It was slashed open, showing a red welt across his chest.
Her hand slid down his face, her fingers trailing over his mouth. Breath covered her fingers in a faint wisp. He was alive. She knew it from the beating heart in her dream, the slow steady pulse as the poison trapped him inside his body. His mouth moved, a slight murmur escaping his lips. She shifted her weight and sat beside him, her hand moving to the injury on his chest. She thought about Pux and the gash on Pux’s side and tried to conjure the Flame, but a black hand curled itself around her wrist and carefully moved her hand away from the gash. She only stared at it, realizing it was attached to Krishani. She frowned, assuming it was a side effect of the poison.
He opened his eyes, one green, one blue, staring at her like she was a dream. “Kaliel?”
“I came,” she said. He sat, carefully pulling her face to his shoulder so she could avoid the wound.
“Why are you here?” he asked, the effects of the paralysis wearing off. Questions about the gaping wound on his chest and blackened hand flogged her mind. She didn’t like seeing him this way. Her stomach curled, her body shook with fear, and she wished they were far away from Terra.
“You were hurt.” She said it like it was obvious—if he were dying she would be there. She glanced at his agonized features and regretted saying it. He looked away, but didn’t react to the dead bodies the way she did. He seemed … stoic about it. “What happened?” she pressed.
“It was the Horsemen. They ambushed me,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his pale-skinned one, bringing it to his lips. “That smell is familiar,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist. She closed her eyes, the warm comfort of being near him lulling her into reverie. His lips hovered over her burgundy-covered arm, pulled at the hem of her dress, and kissed her collar bone. He leaned back and was about to cup her face when she frowned.
“Why did they attack you?”
“Because I’m the Ferryman,” he answered, his eyes trailing over her lips, inspecting them like he was trying to come up with the perfect way to kiss them. She put a hand on his chest, not pushing him away but preventing him from distracting her with his lips.
“What does that mean?”
Color drained from his face, and instead of kissing her he pulled her into his embrace and rocked her back and forth. “Don’t make me explain it. If I do, then it’s real.”
Kaliel shuddered but couldn’t ignore the smell. The stench of death was on his cloak, in his skin, all over him–thousands of bodies, thousands of deaths. “You’re surrounded by dead bodies.” She said it because he acted like they weren’t there.
“I know.”
“Did you kill them?” Her voice hitched as the words passed her lips. He clutched her tighter, and she felt like air was being crushed out of her lungs.
“Worse,” he began. “I didn’t help them.”
“What does that mean?” She tried to unhook herself from their mashed together body parts. She didn’t want to be near him, not like this. He clung to her like she was the last good thing in the lands, and she wanted him to let go because he didn’t feel like Krishani. This was the shell of a boy she had once known, and all she wanted to do was put distance between them.
“Nothing. They’re nothing now,” he said, refusing to let go.
She slumped, letting her body fall on him like a dead weight. Nothing she said would make him tell her what he really was and what really happened to him. All she could do was live in the nightmare with him.
And she didn’t want to.
* * *
23 - Loves Him Not
Pux woke to an empty cabin. His feet were no longer covered by the quilt Kaliel gave him. He rubbed them together from the cold. Winter months were difficult with frost-covered ground, and Pux hated wearing shoes. Even if the blacksmith made something to fit his feet he still didn’t like them. He sat, keeping the blanket curled around his shoulders, a little nest of warmth in the cold morning. It wasn’t dawn yet but Kaliel was gone and the bed she slept on was covered in a tangle of sheets, her quilt trickling onto the floor. He got to his feet, adjusting to the cold, and folded up the blanket. He put it on the bureau and pulled the sheets tight across the thin bed of hay. The quilt barely fit the size of the bed, so he folded that up, too, and put it beside his. He dragged the animal hide to the center of the cabin where it was supposed to be. About the only thing better than sleeping in the rafters of the barn was sleeping on the soft fur.
He went onto the porch and glanced at the village. There was nothing special about it. Triangle roofs scattered the village, all beige with horse hair tying together the bundles. He half expected Kaliel to be out there watching the sunrise, but she wasn’t and that made him worry. He bounded down the steps and winced at the cold ground as he rounded the castle. If she was anywhere else in the village it would be in the barn. She probably woke early and was trying to get his chores done for him. He tried not to complain about his shoulders and his back hurting, but all the physical labor was getting to him. She was nice enough to massage his shoulders but he was still consciously aware she was his best friend. She’d never be anything else to him, and he’d never be anything else to her.
She cried a lot at night, and she was scared a lot. He didn’t know what the nightmares were about because she never told him, but she always woke up drenched in sweat, clutching her blanket, or worse, screaming. That’s why even though Jack, Hyatt, and Bethula thought he slept in the barn, he crept off to sleep in the watchtower.
They didn’t talk about how hard it was with Krishani out there doing something the villagers knew nothing about. Pux refused to tell her more about what he knew. The fights Krishani and Elwen had when they first arrived seemed like a lifetime ago. He didn’t want to scare Kaliel with the details. Krishani wasn’t the same person after she died, and he couldn’t tell her that either.
His eyes followed the ground as he scurried along the fences. It was bone dry, cracked, and hard. When he looked up he saw Elwen standing by the gate, arms crossed. Pux raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?” he asked as he approached. He stopped and pulled his vest down to the hemline of his breeches.
Elwen uncrossed his arms and moved away from the fences. “I thought you might be looking for someone,” he said breezily. He didn’t wait for Pux to respond as he took to the castle. Pux was on his heels, trying to catch up.
“I was looking for Kaliel,” he said without thinking.
Elwen stopped at the foot of the steps and whipped around. “You’d be the first to know she’s gone, wouldn’t you?” He had a challenging edge to his voice like he meant something else. Pux tried not to let his face go red with embarrassment but his skin betrayed him. He clenched his fist.
“I usually wake her for chores.” It wasn’t technically a lie. He couldn’t lie, but he could leave out parts of the truth.
Elwen brushed him off with a hand and backed up the steps, pausing at the top. “And she wasn’t there, was she?”
“No …” Pux said slowly.
“So you
are
looking for someone?”
Pux gritted his teeth as Elwen grinned. “Where is she?”
“She left last night to find Krishani.”
Pux growled. “And you didn’t stop her?”
Elwen looked pained. “Why would I stop her? She’s not really my charge, is she? Are you?” He turned and entered the hall, but Pux wasn’t going to let him get away without answering him. He followed, glowering at him until he sat on the rickety throne.
“She doesn’t even know how dangerous it is out there,” Pux burst.
Elwen smoothed out his hair and snapped his fingers. Servants trickled in. He whispered something to them and turned his brown, dull eyes on Pux.
“She does now, and we will have the answers I seek.” He sounded patronizing and gleeful as the servant returned with a goblet of wine. He took a sip and gestured for Pux to sit. Pux stood, wary of Elwen’s hospitality. He could just go eat in the mess hall with the other villagers when dawn chores were finished. Elwen nodded his head insistently, and Pux stalked to the table and sat down hard.
“What answers?”
Elwen took a loud slurp of wine and Pux glared. He beamed. “If she loves him or loves him not.”
Pux rolled his eyes. He hated riddles, and that was because he was better at them than most people. Yet, Elwen was going to try to start a riddling competition with him. He wasn’t in the mood. “She loves him more than lands and lore, and feels him when he isn’t near. She knows him from the inside out, and fears what will come about.” He sounded bored as he said it, but Elwen raised his eyebrows. For the first time he looked impressed.
“She doesn’t know anything about him,” he retorted.
“She knows the important things.”
Elwen smiled. “That may be true, but she will know a whole lot more before she returns.”
Pux groaned. He stood, his eyes locking on Elwen. “She died for him.” He turned on the ball of his foot and stormed out of the hall.
Elwen laughed behind him. “We shall see!”
Pux tightened his fist. He didn’t like the idea of Kaliel being out there, seeing the same horrendous things he’d seen when he traveled with Krishani. He hoped she was strong enough, hoped the one thing she did for him meant she would love him forever no matter what.
Elwen didn’t seem so sure of that.
And Pux wondered how grim the life of a Ferryman could become.
* * *
24 - Free
Klavotesi cleared his throat loudly, and Kaliel’s eyes shot open at the sound. He towered above her, staring at her like she was lost in her own little world. She followed his gaze to the sky as big rain drops hit her shoulder. Krishani flinched but his expression said he was still disoriented. “We need to find shelter,” she said, searching his distant and bloodshot eyes.
He lifted a hand to the mountain path. Klavotesi bent halfway and slid his hands under Krishani’s arms as Kaliel backed away, knowing she was too small to brace him. Klavotesi slung an arm around his shoulders and hobbled towards the mountain. Kaliel casually glanced behind her as the sky grew darker, bigger raindrops spattering the ground. One of them hit her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“I tied the horses up, they’ll be fine,” Klavotesi said as he awkwardly pushed Krishani to a cleft in the rock. Kaliel noticed a door etched into the stone. She ran ahead, trying not to trip over her skirts, and heaved the door open. The thick smell of mead and bread hit her senses. Klavotesi had trouble getting Krishani through the door without dropping him on his face, and Kaliel held her hands out, unsure where to put them, until they eased into the large empty room and pushed Krishani against one of the walls. His eyes fluttered, rolling to the back of his head.
Kaliel surveyed the cavern and began poking around. There was a stone counter on the far right side built right into the rock. Behind it was a pit full of ash. This was where they cooked. She looked in clay pots and hollowed out stone containers until she smelled something she recognized. Chamomile might help. She continued until she had a counter full of lavender, chamomile, hops, lemongrass, and saffron. None of it was potent enough for medicinal purposes. She exhaled in frustration and put her hands on her hips.
Klavotesi appeared at the edge of the counter. “They won’t have what you’re looking for.”
“How is he?”
“Paralyzed from the waist down and getting feverish,” Klavotesi said, his tone flat.
She cringed and tried to push away her fear. There had to be something she could do to help him. This was what Atara spent years training her for. Memories of Desaunius flickered across her mind, and she rested her elbows on the counter, putting her head in her hands. “Sassafras, ginger, bloodroot, or dragonroot–that’s what I need.”
“Dragonroot doesn’t grow on Terra,” Klavotesi answered immediately.
Kaliel shot him a withering look. “Anything else?” She sounded terse.
Klavotesi shook his head. “Sassafras is common. We can get some after the storm.”
Kaliel picked up one of the flat stones lying on the counter and began crushing the chamomile into powder. “I sincerely hope this is enough for now. Can you locate some water?” She suddenly realized she was giving orders and he wasn’t barking at her like he did during their lessons. She tucked her head to the counter and curled a strand of hair around her ear. “Please?”
Klavotesi disappeared for awhile as she finished crushing up herbs. It wouldn’t actually heal the wound but it would have to do for now. She shook her head and wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve, tired and stressed from the ordeal. She was trying to keep a level head. He was alive, she was alive. These were the pitfalls of his duty. They had these kinds of days on Avristar when he trained with Istar. Back then they could escape to the cave, and practically everything that grew on Avristar had healing qualities, even apples. She scooped the dusty herbs into her hand and crossed the floor to where Krishani was propped against the wall. She used her free hand to ease off the cloak. She would have shucked it off but she didn’t want to lose the herbs. His tunic was torn open so she worked her fingers around the tattered edges of the fabric, pushing it out of her way as she licked her fingers and stuck them in the herbs, making the powder stick. She pressed the dust right into the wound and tried not to wince at the stickiness of it. She finished doing what she could. His eyes darted back and forth behind his eyelids in a deep sleep, likely having nightmares.
The sound of something being set down on a table jarred her out of her reverie. Watching Krishani always did that to her. She was concerned about the slick sweat on his angular face, bags under his eyes, and colorlessness of his lips.
“I found water,” Klavotesi said, nodding to the cups on the table. She grabbed one and brought it to her lips, taking a long sip. It tasted disgusting but she forced it down, stifling the urge to gag.
Klavotesi crossed his arms. “The lethargy should wear off soon.” He sunk into the bench beside the table and rested his translucent hands on it.
Kaliel sat on the other side, eyeing the dark red fingernails. Her mind was a massive swirl of thoughts, mostly focused on Krishani’s steady in and out breaths. She tossed a sideways glance at him, her eyes on the angry wound. She had so many things to be thankful for; she didn’t understand why a hole was burning through her heart.
“He won’t die,” Klavotesi said as though he was trying to help.
Kaliel didn’t take her eyes off Krishani and his dirty breeches, glistening pectoral muscles, and black-skinned hand. Finally convinced he was fine, she looked at Klavotesi. She took another long sip and nodded at the cup in front of the other Flame. He reluctantly drew the cup into his hood and took a sip.
“Why have I never seen your face?”
Klavotesi put the cup down calmly and pulled the sleeves back from his hands. His skin was a scary translucent white. She could see the lines of blue veins running under his skin and it made her curious. Klavotesi wound his fingers around the hood of his cloak and pulled it back so she could see his face. He had his eyes closed at first. His face was chalky white, cheeks spattered with gray spots, eyelashes, eyebrows–everything white. Even his hair was white, slicked back, hanging just past his long earlobes. She gaped at him. He opened his eyes, and she stumbled backwards, pulling her legs over the bench and scrambling to her feet.
His eyes were red. Not dark red, but bright red, streaked through with flecks of white and gray. The whites were putrid, almost yellowish, and they had a piercing, unintentionally menacing look to them.
Kaliel’s heart pounded so fast she thought it might explode out of her chest. He looked at her mournfully, or supposedly since he still looked deadly. She brought her fist to her mouth, curling her lips around her knuckles. Her head wobbled back and forth as knots pooled in her gut and she fought against the memories flashing across her mind.
Crestaos.
Klavotesi looked a lot like Crestaos without the white lightning eyes. He pressed his hands together until the entirety of his red eyes filled with inky blackness. It was more comforting to see them filled with the Flame’s fire, and she moved closer but was still afraid until he pulled the hood over his face. The familiar buzz in the air evaporated as the Flame dissipated. “That’s the reaction I expected, which is why I never show anyone.”
“There’s something wrong with you isn’t there?”
Klavotesi shrugged. “That’s why I stayed on Amaltheia. They have no color, and since I was born without color, I fit in there.”
“And yet you wanted to teach me,” Kaliel reminded him, swinging her legs back over the stone bench and grabbing the cup again.
“I had to stay. It’s unbearable to see you like this,” he said evenly. He took another sip and Kaliel looked away, back at Krishani. He was sleeping.
“Like what?”
Klavotesi took a deep breath. “You’re very innocent, naïve, unintelligent. You were never those things before.”
“Before what?” He had her full attention. He knew things about her she couldn’t even remember, and she wanted to know what those things were.
“Before the Valtanyana were imprisoned.”
Kaliel hung her head, staring at the patterns of lines between the stone. “I try not to think about it.”
Klavotesi let out a breath through his nostrils. “But you remember it?”
Kaliel shook her head, forcing away the images of Krishani burning, the sky full of fire. She drew her hands into her lap and bit her lip.
“I know you sketched it. I’ve seen glimpses of your journal.”
“They’re nothing, just sketches.”
“Of a prophecy you’ve seen before. You know much more about this than you let on. You seem to think you’re incapable of great things, but you are. And it pains me to see you deliberately hold yourself back.”
“I don’t want to kill everyone again!” she snapped, pushing the table away. She paced the floor in long strides and went to check the door. She opened the door a crack and was pelted with what seemed like a thousand drops of rain. She closed it quickly, her dress spattered with a fresh dark line of water. She groaned and sat on the steps, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin in the palms of her hands.
Klavotesi looked at her, sitting backwards at the table. “You defeated the Valtanyana. It wasn’t Tor.”
Kaliel put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know.”
“You were the only one who still had an effect on Crestaos when he came for us.”
“Krishani killed Crestaos,” Kaliel said dryly, not wanting to talk about Crestaos because she didn’t want to remember that Klavotesi looked exactly like him.
“You made him flee. And in the First Era you weren’t fazed by their presence. You waltzed into the center of the battlefield, and you took care of it. I was there. I watched you.”
“You watched me make everything burn?” Kaliel spat back at him, the rotten taste of his words rolling around on her tongue. She couldn’t accept it as truth, and she wouldn’t. This was some alternate reality. She wasn’t great. She was exiled. She caused a volcano to explode, and while it made Crestaos leave, it left her home broken, maybe beyond repair. It left the elders who raised her afraid of her, made them exile her and the boy she loved. How any of that could be seen as greatness was beyond her.
“You’re not thinking straight again. Millions died, yes, but you stopped a worse tragedy from happening. And you don’t want to admit it.”
Kaliel looked up from her makeshift turtle shell. She had the base of her palms pressed into her eyes, trying to avoid his words, but it was like she was tumbling down a hill, gaining speed, hitting boulders. Every one of them hurt a different spot on her body, and she couldn’t stop until she reached the bottom.
“What tragedy?”
“What if Tor had joined them?”
Kaliel felt faint. She gritted her teeth and looked at him. He stared at her, gripping the table hard with the edges of his fingers, and she knew he wasn’t going to stop until she gave him an answer. “We would be their prisoners. They would use us to wipe out anyone who stood against them. They’d have absolute power.”
“And absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Klavotesi finished. She nodded, feeling like she’d heard it somewhere before but couldn’t remember where. “And what are we when Tor is High King?”
“We’re free,” she whispered. Her hands caught the tears that bubbled over and she wiped her palms on her thighs.
“Do you understand now why I said you’re the best of us?” Klavotesi asked.
Kaliel nodded, and she didn’t want to argue with him anymore. She didn’t feel better, but she was exhausted. She moved so she was next to Krishani and rested her head on his shoulder. “I think I understand,” she said, not wanting to admit she would never understand because she’d never stop hating herself for the mistakes she made in the past.
* * *
