Vulture (35 page)
Authors: Rhiannon Paille
Tags: #juvenile fiction, #Legends; Myths; Fables, #Norse
40 - The Storm
Klavotesi warmed his hands over the dying embers of a fire he hoped would last longer. The storm hadn’t waned. Day blended into night as sticky flakes of snow plastered the sky, an angry black maelstrom twisting in spirals. He spent the better part of the day starting fires and watching the wood die down. He worried about his stallion and braved the cold four times to check on him. He tried to wade across the sand to let the horse drink, but the wind was so strong he could barely walk. The temperatures continued to drop, and even the cloak over his shoulders wasn’t enough. He peeked out the window only to see that the lake was a sheet of ice.
Klavotesi turned his translucent hands over, idly tracing the outlines of his perfectly contoured cuticles and red fingernails. The fire was nothing but a low purple hum, barely breathing against the cold snap. He shivered and the wood groaned beneath him, another familiar sound. All day the cabin groaned at the cold, creaking, shifting, resettling. A long creak ran across the floor and his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t afraid; he was livid.
The fire snuffed itself out as another groan crawled across the cabin. Klavotesi glanced at the windows. He pulled back the curtains to reveal a bright patch of sunset trickling through the clouds. He didn’t panic but he should have as he withdrew from the windows, reaching the bed, pulling the blanket over himself. He wrapped himself in it so heavily only his eyes were exposed.
The cold air stole the smoke from the air, turning it into nothing as ice cracked along the floorboards and the walls, turning them an icy blue. There was a loud neigh as the burning cold hit the horse and Klavotesi’s heart dropped.
The neigh was cut short by the eye of the storm, by the coldest winds in the center of the funnel. Temperatures were well below average, temperatures on abandoned lands, temperatures only talked about in stories.
The windows popped, glass spiraling into a tornado inside the cabin before the shards hit the frozen walls and slid down them. Klavotesi closed his eyes, waiting for the blast of air to hit him. He closed his eyes, hoping his body could sustain the blast. He wasn’t afraid of death, but he was determined to return to Castle Tavesin to confront Kaliel about what she’d done.
A whirring noise hit Klavotesi’s ears as the wind and frigid cold whipped against the cabin, turning it to an icy shack. He felt frostbite on the edges of his fingers and on his cheeks. His breath made opaque shapes in the air.
He let the Flame permeate his every sense and fill his eyes, his hands, his limbs. He let it explode off his aura. A hand flashed out from under the blanket, sparking a fire. The Flame lit charcoal logs and snaked through ash, its fiery blackness rising into peaks and valleys. He smiled, knowing no matter what the land threw at him, he could compete.
The only problem was that nobody else could.
He grimaced as he clenched his fist and contemplated an ability he taught Pux but never used himself. It seemed easy enough, the schematics, the probability. He could envision the field, see the walls of the Tavesin village. He could disappear from the cabin, leaving the carcass of his horse behind.
He could warn everyone about what was coming.
And maybe he could stop it.
He squeezed his eyes shut and let the Flame encompass every part of him as he thought about the field, the boulders, the dark green grass, and the stone walls. He begged for it to work. Another whipping gust of wind traced along the outskirts of the windows and burst through, snuffing the fire, finishing off the Obsidian Flame.
Klavotesi had no time. He tried harder, hoping beyond hope he could do what his student could not. And then, before the icy tentacles of the storm ended him, he vanished, leaving the blanket in a frozen heap on the bed.
• • •
Krishani opened his eyes to the dim grayness inside the cabin. Everything hurt, and aches ran the length of his arms and legs. He curled under a separate blanket beside Kaliel and cocooned inside it for warmth. It was the coldest night he’d experienced on Terra. He’d spent all day setting fires, gathering fire wood, blankets, and reassuring the villagers it was just a winter storm, the first of its kind for the long season. He grimaced at the thought of spoiled food, unharvested crops, and barn animals. Hyatt and Bethula did their best to shut the barn but it was big, and with gusts of wind racking the shutters every few minutes, there wasn’t much hope the cold wouldn’t find its way inside. He rolled, keeping the blanket to his chin, and stared at the ceiling. His breath came out in little clouds that rose and faded away. He watched a few puffs of air find the ceiling before he shifted a little, his right arm aching. It was numb. He rummaged around inside the blanket, pulling his pitch black hand out.
He froze.
He stared at it, stealing a glance at Kaliel to find out if she was awake. All he saw was the top of her head, black waves of hair flowing into rough curls. He was supposed to be cured. The Horsemen were dead, Morgana wasn’t around. The bad dreams stopped, and he was free. His stomach curled in knots as fear crept into his heart. He shook his head, trying to shake away the thoughts of the missing Flames.
They weren’t his problem. They weren’t in danger of death anymore. They were locked in the puzzle box; whoever found them would suffer the consequences. He shifted, untangling himself from the blanket and stood, a chill racing through him as his bare feet hit the cold cabin floor. He tiptoed across the floor and sunk into the wicker chair. He glanced at the candle on the desk and, without touching it, reached out. It flickered to life. Shadows danced across the deep black tattoos crawling up his arm.
He recoiled, stifling the urge to vomit. It was growing, inching across his skin like vines. It began at his wrist, twining and winding past his elbow and into his biceps. The longest tendrils reached his shoulder. He drew a shaky breath. It didn’t take a genius to know what was going on. People were dying again, thousands of them, and the Vultures were devouring them.
Unnatural deaths.
He pulled on his boots and hastily crossed the floor, hoping Kaliel would stay asleep. He couldn’t let her see what he was becoming, couldn’t let her know about the Vultures. She’d faded since he left. She was reserved, worried, quiet. She hadn’t laughed in days, and it bothered him. He found a long sleeve tunic and pulled it over his shoulders, knowing even though it was made of itchy wool it would protect against the cold. He threw his cloak over the ensemble. Reaching the front door, he glanced at Kaliel. His heart swelled with guilt at the thought of leaving her again. No matter what he wanted, he would always have to leave her.
He ducked out of the cabin and stopped on the porch. The sky was a thick blanket of gray clouds stretching as far as the eye could see. And snow. His stomach tightened as he tried to control his breathing. He gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. This storm wasn’t his doing. He tried to slow his heart rate, forcing the words Elwen had said into his mind. These storms were natural; they happened on Terra all the time. The villagers spent yesterday talking about their experiences with snow, snowmen, snowballs, and snow faeries. They used the snow for snow forts and tents. They used it for water and sustenance. They use it to preserve their food until they cooked it. They celebrated the Winter Solstice outside around the giant hearth fire.
He liked the idea of their traditions being similar to Avristar, but he missed the Fire Festivals. He missed Samhain and Beltane and couldn’t even tell when they came and went on Terra because the people treated them like any other day and the climate didn’t give him any clues.
He turned from the spectacle of snow, looking at the door and squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t go back to that dark place, a place without her. It was too hard for him to say goodbye again and again. He fought the urge to show her the snow and clambered down the stairs, rounded the castle, and took the steps with fierce determination.
Krishani burst through the double doors. “Elwen!” he called.
The dim lighting made it more ominous than it had seemed before. He waited, listening to the utter silence after the echoes died down. They were whispering in the wings, voices hushed so low he barely heard them.
“Elwen,” Krishani said, moving to the sound. When he got closer he saw not one but two of them standing opposite one another, a stare down. Elwen had his arms across his chest, his thumb inside his mouth, and his eyebrows pulled together. Across from him was the statuesque vision of the Obsidian Flame. Krishani didn’t know he returned, and his senses heightened.
“You didn’t find the enemy. You didn’t find the Flames,” he accused, pointing at Klavotesi as he approached them. He stopped a few feet away, and when Klavotesi removed his hood he gasped and stopped in his tracks.
The red eyes glowered, but they were full of regret. Krishani couldn’t believe the sallow white features, the slicked back white hair. It was hard to look at him like this.
“I didn’t find the Flames,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “But I did find the enemy, and it’s too late.”
“How can you say that?” Krishani shouted through clenched teeth. He held his hand up as proof of what was going on. “You’re going to tell me nobody is dying?”
Elwen glanced at Krishani’s hand and his arms fell to his sides, worry lines appearing on his forehead. He moved to Krishani, and Krishani backed up, sensing his intentions.
“How far has it spread?” Elwen asked. There wasn’t any malice in his voice, only more regret.
Krishani pulled back the tunic to show Elwen the vines of black creeping across his collarbone. “It’s everywhere.”
Elwen glanced at Klavotesi. “What can we do?”
Klavotesi shrugged, turning his palms upright. “Nothing. The storm was raised by magic.” His voice was laced with despair.
Krishani looked at him. Even though his eyes were a freakish hue of red, they were filled with intense sadness. Something hurt him, emotionally, which was impossible. Maybe it was that the Flames were still missing, but he’d never seen Klavotesi so broken.
Elwen’s eyes widened. He turned his attention back to Krishani. His mouth opened and closed again, saving whatever he was going to say for another time. Krishani stumbled to the table across the hall and landed heavily on the bench. He buried his face in the circle of his arms and heard the footsteps of the others as they neared him.
“How am I supposed to fight this?” Krishani muttered.
Someone settled onto the bench next to him. He smelled the musky scent of incense on his robes. It was Elwen. “You’ll always be too late.” Krishani closed his eyes, not wanting to hear more. “Natural disasters aren’t usually a feeding ground for Vultures. Natural deaths aren’t part of a Ferryman’s tasks. No Vultures, no Ferryman. Magic changes all of that,” Elwen lamented.
There was a swishing sound of robes nearby. “The storm is formidable, unlike anything I’ve seen. It froze the cabin I sought refuge in. It even snuffed out my fire.”
“He’s right. He was telling me about it before you interrupted,” Elwen said.
“The worst of it is in the eye of the storm. I was attacked by winds so strong they broke the windows,” Klavotesi continued.
Krishani felt the blackness digging into him, heard their whispers from far away; he knew they were coming. He listened to their shrieks as they swept across the land with glee, pulling wispy white smoke into their self-contained voids of night.
He groaned, his thoughts turning to Kaliel. How would he tell her? What he would tell her? He didn’t want her to be a part of this. He promised he would protect her, keep her safe from everything out there. He couldn’t lose her again.
He banged his blackened fist on the table. Pulling his head up, he swiveled on the bench, facing Klavotesi. “How did you return?”
“I transported.”
Krishani wiped his hands on his breeches, his mind looking for answers, any answer. His thoughts trickled to Shimma. She was somewhere in the castle. She had the seashells.
“Call the villagers to the hall. Call everyone,” Krishani ordered, jumping to his feet and jogging to the doors. Elwen and Klavotesi didn’t move. Krishani glowered at them. “We need to tell the villagers this isn’t a regular storm. Warn them to stay inside,” Krishani said. He bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs.
Elwen nodded, and Klavotesi threw his hood over his face, following Krishani.
“Tell them to meet here at dinnertime,” Elwen instructed.
Krishani opened the doors and was met with a blast of the cold. He grimaced but forced himself into it head down, a hand on his hood to keep it from blowing off. He nodded to Klavotesi to take the west half of the village while Krishani took a left to the east. They didn’t have a lot of time before the frost-laden ground, the few stray flakes in the sky, and the gray clouds turned to clear blue skies and winds so cold they’d freeze a man alive, turning the land to sheets of ice.
When he was done with the villagers, he would find Shimma and go to Avristar, exile or not.
* * *
41 - Judgment
Pux sat on the floor in Hyatt and Bethula’s house. He hunched his animal legs to his chest, shivering. He was as close to the fire as he could get without falling in it. Jack sat across from him. He kept glancing at Pux, his eyes full of passion Pux couldn’t return. All he felt since he’d left Kaliel in the loft was fear, regret, and uncertainty. He watched the fire lick at the logs and another shudder washed over him. Jack put a hand on his knee, shooting him a compassionate smile.
“It’s only a storm,” he said.
Pux nodded, closing his eyes, trying to think about easier things. All he saw was the fields of Orlondir covered in thick sheets of snow. He couldn’t help but be afraid of it. This wasn’t any regular storm; this was retaliation. It was the land getting back at Kaliel for being so selfish. She tried to control Terra, but it was dead and untamable, a vile, vicious land.
He’d die faster in the snow, and he hated the idea of fighting in the maelstrom, limbs freezing, hands having rigor mortis set in long before he was dead. His teeth chattered and he stopped them, pressing his lips together. Jack let his eyes linger over his lips, and Pux felt the last bits of warmth on the inside. He didn’t know what to tell Jack about the coming apocalypse, his mind drifting to the night behind the barn. There was dancing the way there was always dancing, only when Pux wrapped his arm around Jack’s waist, the shy boy he had come to know pulled out of his grasp and left the hall. Pux had frowned, checking to make sure nobody noticed the minute gesture and followed Jack. He found him leaning against the side of the mess hall, hands stuffed into his pockets, hazel eyes downcast. Pux neared him until they were face to face. He didn’t say anything until Jack felt him there and looked up, his eyes saying more than his lips. The other boy was upset, scared and embarrassed, but Pux was Pux, he never pried. Pux left his hands at his sides, his eyes drifting to Jack’s dry lips. Jack looked away.
“I should stop dancing with you,” he said.
Pux didn’t move. “Why?”
“Cause it makes me feel weird.”
Pux wasn’t sure how to react. “Good weird?”
Jack let out a sigh and closed his eyes. “Alive weird. Like all those stories about you Children of Avristar are true.”
Pux didn’t have words this time, and he wasn’t sure if he needed them. His body crashed forward, capturing Jack’s jaw in his hand as he pulled him closer, their lips meeting in a tangle of tongues and teeth and lips. Jack kissed him back with all the ferocity of an animal and Pux felt his heart thud through the fabric of his tunic. It didn’t last long enough, and when Pux pulled back he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for the way Jack looked at him, scared, excited and sad. Pux pressed his forehead against Jack’s, his hand caressing the other boy’s throat, feeling his elevated pulse.
Jack seemed to catch his breath, his words coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Father won’t like this.”
Pux tried to quirk a smile, feeling like his own heart might explode. He never understood before Jack what Kaliel was so obsessed with, and now, with his hands on Jack, all he wanted to do was press his lips against every part of him. “Do you like it?”
Jack smiled that same rueful smile Pux had mastered and Pux laughed. He didn’t need to say anything for Pux to know exactly what he was thinking.
In the present, Jack squeezed Pux’s knee, pulling him out of his daydream.
“I’m sorry,” Pux mumbled.
“Don’t be. I think it’s endearing,” Jack said.
There was a loud knock at the door. Pux snapped his attention to the banging, but it was Bethula who wiped off her apron long enough to answer it. She was met with the striking figure of the Obsidian Flame. Pux caught the apprehension on her wrinkled face. Her drab brown hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore a long beige tunic made into a dress by the apron that held the loose fabric to her hourglass figure. She put a hand on her chest as Klavotesi spoke. Pux didn’t catch all of his words.
He moved to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor, stitches of cold pressing into his fur. Jack scrambled to his feet next to him, mimicking his look of concern. Klavotesi turned on his heel and disappeared from the threshold as Bethula closed the door behind her, hanging her head.
“Mom?” Jack asked. She looked stressed.
Bethula shook her head. “We need to meet at the hall at dinner. They have some thoughts on the storm and what to do,” she said it slowly, her voice catching between the words.
Jack rubbed her shoulders. “It’ll be okay, Mom.”
She threaded her hands together, and it looked like she was trying not to cry. “But the animals … I don’t think they’ll make it.”
Jack gave Pux a look and he nodded, knowing it was time to go. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. I’ll go to the meeting for you. You need your rest. I’ll see what I can do about the animals.” He led her to a darkened part of the cabin.
Pux braced himself and opened the door, descending the steps, trailing across the frozen ground. His bare feet stung and he winced as he neared the watchtower and pulled himself up the steps. He knocked on the door once and waited. There was no answer so he knocked again. No answer. He pushed the door open, finding Kaliel curled into a ball on the bed, a blanket wrapped tight around her.
“Kaliel,” he hissed. He put a hand on her back and shook her, hearing her soft mumbles as she tried to shoo him away. “Kaliel,” he tried again. “They’re calling everyone to the hall.”
Kaliel pulled the blanket down around her face. There were bags on her red, splotched face, and her green eyes were storms of seasickness. “I’m not going.”
Pux cross his arms. “Did you tell Krishani?”
She shook her head. “I can’t,” she said, tears pooling in her eyes.
Pux sighed and sat on the edge of the bed his head in his hands. “Kaliel … I miss Avristar.”
“Huh?” The bed creaked behind him as she sat, the sheets still pulled around her shoulders. He glanced at her and nodded.
“I said I didn’t want to go home, but I do. I miss the creek and the forests and the apples, and I miss you.”
“But I’m right here.”
Pux shook his head. “No, you’re not. Do you remember when we were kids?”
Kaliel frowned. “You used to turn birds orange and green.”
Pux sighed. “And you swam with merfolk and talked to trees and squirrels and deer and rabbits.”
The blankets shifted, and Pux let out a deep breath, the pain in his heart too heavy for him to explain it all. He didn’t know how to tell Kaliel who she was, how to make her remember that girl. He hoped since she possessed Aulises she would be the girl he used to know, the girl he lived with in Evennses. But no matter what he tried to do, the games he tried to play—the dances, the songs—nothing rejuvenated her spirit. She was always a shell of the person she used to be.
And he hated what she had done because of what she had become. He didn’t know how to return the favor and heal her when she needed it most.
“What about it, Pux?” she asked, a sharpness in her voice.
He hung his head. “You never did anything dangerous on Avristar.”
She hiccupped and her eyes were full of anger. Pux turned.
“Yes I did.” She jumped to her feet, gasping at the cold and hurrying to find something warmer to wear. Pux buried his head in his hands as she pulled drawers open and stripped, putting on the thick black dress Aulises had worn. She rounded the bed and pulled Pux’s hands off his face. He glowered. He didn’t want her to believe she was a bad person. She was a good person who made a mistake. It didn’t matter how big the mistake was; it didn’t change the fact that she was Kaliel. She was enchanting, brave, curious, peculiar, mysterious, and pure. She was innocent, even when she was guilty.
“I almost drowned in the lake once.”
“What?”
Kaliel crossed her arms and looked at the door. “You said I never did anything dangerous but I did. I went to the lake. I fell in love with Krishani. I caused an apocalypse and made a volcano explode. I can’t avoid what I am, or what I mean to the Valtanyana. They will
always
be after me.”
Pux shook his head. He didn’t want to listen to her tear herself apart. It was one thing for him to berate her for her mistakes but another for her to be so sure of her own faults. “It’s not true.”
“Why didn’t you ask me why they were coming for me?”
“Huh?”
“In the Village of the Shee. I told you I was the Amethyst Flame and you didn’t ask why they wanted me.”
He smiled and almost laughed. “I didn’t have to ask.” His eyes were shining with tears. He turned his hands back and forth on his lap, inspecting the hairs on the backs of his hands. “I always knew you were special.”
Kaliel scoffed and kicked the door. She growled. “I set the volcano off.”
Pux gave her a blank stare.
Kaliel pressed her forehead against the door. “Don’t pretend you know everything.”
Pux shrugged. “I only wanted to know why you did it.” He didn’t know what to think about the volcano. He remembered the blast vaguely, but he was unconscious. He never expected her to lose her life in the process of escaping the Valtanyana. He felt dizzy and sick at the same time, and he desperately needed her to believe in herself. He needed her to come back to the person she used to be.
She looked at him, her expression lethal. It said a lot more than her words. “You don’t know what Krishani is,” she whispered, her eyes hardening into hatred.
And then Pux did understand. He rubbed his hands on his breeches and stood. She slunk away from the door and folded herself into the wicker chair, burying her face in her knees. He put a hand on the doorknob, still staring at her. “I’m sorry I came,” he said, ripping the door open and fleeing into the cold.
• • •
Kaliel stayed in the cabin all afternoon. She didn’t move off the wicker chair, knees hugged to her chest, teeth chattering, shoulders shaking with sobs. She cried until there were no more tears left to cry. She sat in the dark and listened to the gusts of wind slamming against the watchtower with so much force she thought it might be knocked off its foundation. She didn’t know how much time went by. Krishani was gone, helping the villagers. She woke alone and sticky regret pressed into her. What if he already knew? What was he doing? How would he look at her? She didn’t want to face any of that, so she waited.
A long time later, there was another knock on the door. It didn’t sound like Pux’s methodical knocking, which had a pattern to it. This knock was softer, shy. She stretched her legs out, feeling pinpricks of sleep creeping around her ankle. She limped to the door and pulled it open.
Jack.
She didn’t try to hide her face; it was red, her eyes bloodshot, bruises forming under them. She knew she looked like hell, and it was exactly how she felt. Jack cupped the back of his neck and frowned, stealing a glance at the porch. He looked cold even though he was in multiple layers with a cloak and headpiece slung over his orange hair. He shivered in the utterly scary cold. She wondered how much the temperature had dropped since morning.
“Pux told me to come get you. All the villagers are gathering at the hall,” Jack explained.
Kaliel crossed her arms and looked down, poking her toe into the floorboards. “Where is Krishani?”
Jack let out a breath like he’d been waiting for her to say something like that. “I don’t know. I think he’s already there.”
Kaliel didn’t feel comfortable. Everything in her told her to avoid the castle, avoid the villagers. Thoughts of them rallying against her, outing her, judging her, and executing her crossed her mind, and she instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. “I told Pux I wasn’t going.”
Jack held out his hand. “It’s about the storm,” he said, his eyes pleading. She knew that look, like Pux genuinely wanted her there but didn’t know if their friendship had anymore strings to hang on by. She took a deep breath and nodded.
“Give me a minute.” She ducked into the cabin and pulled on a cloak, burying her face inside the hood. If she was going to show up, she was going in camouflage for good measure. She appeared at the door again. Jack had his back to her, his hands against the railing. When he let go she saw big red welts on his hand from frost. It covered everything; the trees and their leaves were all frozen over in a thick layer of ice. Branches, limbs, even the trunks were covered in a thin veil of white snow. Her breath caught as she stepped out of the cabin and saw the tops of the cabins dusted with snow, the sky full of lazy flakes.
She couldn’t believe how beautiful and terrible it was at the same time. She closed her eyes, tears spilling onto her cheeks and crystallizing. Flashes of the first time she met Krishani at the waterfall danced behind her eyes—his shy smiles, his apprehension, his wonder. That was what made him everything to her. He could do wondrous things when she was there. Without her … he was an uncontrollable wreck. He made ice a reality, and she asked countless times for snow but never thought she’d see it.
Jack frantically gestured to her from the bottom of the stairs. He looked frozen. She let the memory go and followed him to the hall. Hundreds of villagers were gathered. Kaliel stepped in line with them, flowing with the throngs of people. She ducked around the corner, tucking herself into the small crevasse of the hall, the place she’d sat with Pux after the battle with Crestaos. People stood in crowds in the middle of the floor. She squeezed between them and sunk down the wall. Jack was right behind her. He crouched and gave her hand a squeeze.
“I’m going to find Pux,” he whispered, moving halfway to his feet. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Kaliel nodded, not knowing what was going to happen. She listened to the mindless chatter of the villagers, hoping she was invisible. It wasn’t long before loud clapping spread through the hall, followed by silence. Kaliel couldn’t take it; her heart thumped. She shrunk into a smaller ball and tried to hide. She couldn’t accept herself like this—a villain, a betrayer, a liar, a cheater. She was all the things she never thought she’d be.
“Welcome!” Elwen said, his voice booming across the hall. Kaliel shuddered. “We’ve asked you to gather here to tell you that this storm isn’t natural,” Elwen began. There was a gasp from a few of the villagers. The voices of the guards rose over them and silence ensued. Kaliel wiped away the tears in her eyes.
