Authors: Rhiannon Paille
Justice (2 page)
1 - Orlondir
Another loud sob pierced the sky. Istar had no words in him. Paladin padded through the snow until he towered over Lady Atara. She used to be a benevolent caretaker of the lands and now she was a shriveling heap of bones huddled on the ground, trembling. Istar tried to keep his head about himself as he slipped off the horse. Krishani was slung over Paladin. For all he knew the boy was dead, too. His footsteps left marks in the snow as he rounded the horse, closing the distance between himself and Atara. He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his embrace, her tear-covered cheeks melding into his shoulder. She clung to him, another sob rising from her chest.
“Snow,” she scarcely whispered.
Istar nodded as he held her. Snow covered them like a blanket, the first snowstorm to ever hit Avristar. It was a bad omen.
“Shh,” he said as she buried her head in his velvet cloak. His thoughts were on the mountain—Avred was awake. Atara calmed and he relaxed his grip, looking behind him at Paladin.
Atara’s mouth hung open. She pushed Istar away and rose to her feet. Stumbling backwards, she put a hand to her lips. “Is that—?”
Istar stood and hung his head. “Aye.”
He took the reins and led the horse—and Krishani—through the remainder of fields.
“He’s not gone,” Atara said, her voice loud in the din. She found her feet and worked to catch up. Istar went to lift Krishani off the horse but Atara pulled his hand away.
“Don’t,” she began, her voice cracking. Istar watched as she assessed the heap of armor and garments. She placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder and gasped. Dizziness overtook her. She fell backwards and knocked her head against one of the stalls. Istar helped her up.
She rubbed her temples, putting distance between herself and the boy. “Agony …”
Istar gave her a cold and reserved look. He tried to avert his gaze but she put a hand to his cheek and forced him to look at her. Atara’s dull hazel eyes searched his for a moment, trying to understand. Istar’s fingers covered her hand and pulled it away, placing it at her side. He took her other hand in both of his and glared at her. Her eyes were exhausted, sunken into rosy red cheeks, streaked with layers of tears and dirt. Her auburn hair was stringy and damp, frizzing at the edges and freezing in clumps.
“Don’t force me to explain,” he said, storming into the servants’ quarters.
• • •
People milled back and forth in the servants’ hall. Everything in disarray, the scents of strong herbs lingered as pastes and tinctures were prepared in haste. Pux sat on the ground, his back against the damp stone hallway wall. He rubbed the scar on his side. He was stunned, cold, unsure. He curled his wolf-like legs towards him, resting his elbows on his hairy knees.
Memories attacked him, a flash of Kaliel’s dress as it burst through the trees, the battlefield when Pux reappeared in the midst of the fray, swords coming at him. He scanned the field for Krishani and found him fighting the black skinned creatures off with everything in him. Pux turned back to the enemy, his foot crushing bone below him. He winced and glanced down. It was one of the black skinned creatures. He grabbed the nearest weapon and swiped the air. More than anything he wanted to disappear again, but there was no way he could focus in the mess, his heart breaking at the seams. He silently begged for it to end, for the foe to give up and retreat.
He stumbled and the creatures wrestled him to the ground. He fought, kicked, punched, and the most deafening sound drowned out the battle. The creatures froze, and his heart sank. He was the last one to see Kaliel alive. His body went limp as he waited for their swords to slice him open. Cold wind swept over the battlefield and the pressure lifted off him. It was replaced with the taste of cold rain, a new experience. He thought of warmth, the kitchen where he tasted the most delicious food during the Fire Festivals. He wanted to be there.
The next thing he knew, something hard pressed against his back, and the heat of the fire warmed the hallway. His eyes fluttered open and he noticed weapons thrown down, wounded kinfolk strewn across the floor. Atara’s ladies tended to the worse off. He watched as more of them came through the archway on his right. Blood landed on stones, cries rang out.
Pux looked at the ceiling, shadows dancing on the stone. He glanced at the archway again, but no one emerged. He lifted his hand off the wound on his side and inspected the damage. There was nothing but a fresh scar. He closed his eyes, tears escaping his eyes.
Why did I tell you to go?
He never meant for Kaliel to become the foe’s prey. What happened on the mountain? His stomach shook in fits of anguish. Nobody seemed to notice him; once again he was the invisible invalid sitting in the corner minding himself.
He knew something was wrong when Melianna appeared in the meadow and called the Elders in Evennses. Only the oldest were allowed to go. That included Luenelle, Rueann and a few others. Pux wasn’t asked but he wanted to know what was going on. He transported to Kaliel’s room but she wasn’t there, and the room was nearly bare.
Loud footsteps pulled him out of his daydreams. Istar whisked past him, heading to the kitchen. His long white hair flapped behind him, the velvet cloak still secured to his shoulders. Pux had almost forgotten what a terrifying person Istar was.
“Hernadette,” Istar snapped.
Pux hugged his knees tightly to his chest.
Who was it?
he wondered as he tried to blend into the stone. The woman mumbled something, gasped, then more mutterings. A fresh breeze ripped through the hallway and Atara emerged from the stables. She looked frantic, her auburn hair disheveled, rose linen dress soiled, eyes splotchy and red. She kept her chin raised as though she was trying not to look at the kinfolk. She shuddered, stopped in her tracks, and hiked up her skirts, showing her sandaled feet. She moved towards the kitchen, but Istar appeared in the hallway and faced her, a stricken expression on his wrinkled face.
Atara’s eyes hit the ground as Pux shrank away in fear. He felt the power of their energy cascading off them, and it made prickles pool in his chest. He was trying to overcome the pain with numbness, but their agony was so deep, it was hard not to feel the need to curl into a little ball. His head hit the stone as his knees contracted towards his forehead. There was silence amidst the pain. Nobody moved, nobody said a word. Pux wished he was as small as an ant.
“Where is he?” Hernadette’s voice broke the silence.
Istar gulped. “This way.” His footsteps moved around Atara as Hernadette and two other servants followed him to the stables.
Pux huddled, waiting for Atara to follow them, but she stood there and rubbed her bare arms instead. Her eyes darted across the hallway, seeming to assess the damage. Pux knew the worst of it was outside. He felt her strength crumbling as she remained frozen.
“My lady?” a voice pierced the silence.
“Aye,” Atara replied, clutching her elbows.
“We’re moving them to the West wing. Where do you want the Elders?”
Atara moved her mouth to speak but no words came out. “East,” she began but her voice faltered. “Lower East wing,” she added with less confidence.
“Aye,” the girl responded. She turned on her heel, and then turned back. “We are almost out of supplies.”
Atara’s hands fell together in her lap as she hung her head. Pux felt all her grief. No matter what he did, it was impossible not to think about Kaliel.
“Where are you?” Atara whispered.
Pux felt large again, like he couldn’t hide anymore. He appeared in the hallway, shivering. Atara’s breath caught in her throat. She recognized him. He squeezed his eyes shut, dreading her touch, but she knelt down and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. Jolts of pain ripped through his body as he fought to pull himself into a tighter ball.
“Pux, are you hurt?”
Pux shook his head as Atara’s hands found his. She pulled at him gently, trying to coax him out of his makeshift turtle shell. Reluctantly, he uncurled his legs and rested his head against the wall.
Atara looked him over, her eyes trailing over the scar. “How did you?”
Pux shook uncontrollably. He knew what she meant to ask: how was he undamaged? “She healed me,” he squeaked as his hand covered the scar.
Atara gasped and dropped his hand. She abruptly stood and looked at the archway where Krishani was being carried in by the servants. Her eyes followed them as they ascended the stairs to the West wing and disappeared. Pux curled back into a ball, his knees hunched at his chest. She knelt and searched his face.
“You saw her?” Her eyes darted back and forth like she was looking for something. He wasn’t sure what.
Pux nodded. “Right before she went to the mountain.”
• • •
Fire, lava and bits of rock shot into the atmosphere. The mountain rumbled as it erupted again. Avred was restless, its insides heaving, lava pouring out of it like vomit. Molten rock covered the north side of the mountain in thick sheets, magma trickling towards the shore. Cold water from the lake lapped against it, steam rising where they met.
Krishani hovered there in a dream, watching it. He needed the insides of Avristar to appear on the shores. She was there somewhere, in the place where he failed. Her essence, her bones, her blood, it was lost in the cacophonic waste. He looked at the ash-filled sky. Black and gray flakes covered the trees in a thick layer.
He turned his attention to the lava rolling down the mountainside. He wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied, until he accepted her death. He silently begged to be let free from the constant nagging at the back of his mind. The Valtanyana found her, but she escaped. The mountain devoured her, but Crestaos lost.
Krishani wanted to dig his hands into the lava. He wanted to feel the skin peeling off his bones as the rock seared his hands to ash. He wanted to find the last remaining pieces of her dust. He tried to place his hands on it, and felt nothing but the cruel stab of defeat. There was nothing he could do to bring her back, nothing for him to live for.
A familiar wave of agony festered within him as he squeezed his fist shut. Another rumble sounded from inside the volcano. Avred threatened to erupt again. At this point it would be nothing but bile, nothing but the pure molten rock that rested in the belly of Avristar herself. It wouldn’t be Kaliel. No, she was in the clouds, raining down on the tree tops. She was frozen in the magma near the lake, flowing slowly along the mountainside.
She was everywhere and nowhere.
She was gone.
* * *
2 - Hexes and Immortality
Desaunius was disoriented when she awoke. She pushed herself out of the snow and winced. Glancing into the sky, she noticed the maelstrom above her. Snow stuck to everything. It had to be midday, the sun somewhere underneath the clouds. Her heart felt so heavy she wouldn’t be surprised if night lasted forever. She swept feather-light snow off her hair and her stomach lurched.
Nestled in the layers of snow was the ice blue face of her apprentice, Rueann. She let out a cry and stood, stumbling away from the body. She clumsily pawed through the battlefield, her slippers sliding on armor and weapons hidden under the snow. When she reached the edge of the field she fell on her hands and knees. Curling into a ball, she shook as she sobbed.
There had been no warning. The enemy came in the blink of an eye, just like they had on Tempia. War wasn’t meant to touch Avristar. She squeezed her eyes shut and gulped. She had told Kaliel everything about those days in Tempia, the place she lived before fleeing to Avristar. Tempia was a place long destroyed by the Valtanyana. Avristar didn’t deserve the same fate. The thought of her former apprentice made her stomach curl. She didn’t know where Kaliel was. Snow seeped into her linens. She involuntarily shivered and sat up. Her white hair tumbled around her shoulders and she pushed it out of her face. She rose to her feet and dusted off the royal blue dress. It was soiled. Her senses sharpened.
Kaliel didn’t fight in the battle.
Desaunius turned and looked at the field, a snow covered graveyard.
“Kaliel?” she whispered into the wind. The sound carried across the field but nothing stirred. Panic struck her as she called the girl’s name again. She turned and hobbled to the stables, her strides off balance, her body exhausted.
“Kaliel!” she called again as she passed the archway. She opened her mouth to speak again but was met by Istar’s cold, piercing eyes. Desaunius took long strides towards him. His eyes blazed in a way she had never seen before.
His expression told her Kaliel was dead.
Hot tears stained her cheeks as his arms closed around her. “Tell me where she is.” She tried to sound commanding, but her voice weakened.
Istar grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled back, his eyes locking with hers. He flinched at her features. Desaunius glared at him. She needed the truth and she was moments from insanity if she didn’t hear him say it.
“She awakened Avred.”
There was no answer from Desaunius, only a deafening cry that echoed through the halls of the Elmare Castle. She pounded her fists against his chest, unable to control herself. This was the one end she feared most. She never told Kaliel how Avred stopped the Valtanyana in the First Era. She never thought the girl would face that grim fate. Avred wouldn’t help until Avristar offered him a sacrifice. When Avristar agreed, Avred’s rage rocked the island. The kinfolk hid in safe places, but the enemies perished.
Her chest ached like it would implode, guilt poisoning her with self-loathing. She whimpered as she thought back to the girl she had cared for in the forests of Evennses. The clumsy, tardy, rebellious girl she had found swimming with merfolk, that little girl was gone.
Istar caught Desaunius by the wrists and tried to look at her. She trembled again, another cry echoing through the halls.
“She chose her fate,” Istar spat. He let go and she fell into a heap on the floor. He turned on his heel and stormed towards the Lower East wing.
Desaunius sat stunned. It was like she had been slapped. She rubbed her wrists; they hurt. She glanced at the archway to the kitchen. Luenelle stood there, tears in her eyes. She looked like she had been working for hours, her apron stained, her face splotched with soot. Luenelle closed the distance between them and fell into her embrace.
“I wondered why I hadn’t seen her,” Luenelle began. Desaunius said nothing as she continued shaking with sobs.
• • •
Shimma didn’t stop running. When the mountain exploded, she knew it was too dangerous for her to stay. A familiar surge forced her to flee. Flee the way the enemies were fleeing, find the coordinates for the Lands of Men, get to the boats. She exchanged wayward glances with her sisters, they agreed. They would meet her later.
She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and continued through the cold forests. The temperature was much lower than seasonal for Avristar, the wind whipping around the trees and kicking up stray leaves along the path. She rested her hand on a tree, stopping for a moment to catch her breath. She couldn’t stay in Avristar, Avred was awake. She closed her eyes, pushing the memory of her childhood out of her mind. Those were different times in Avristar. There was no reason for the mountain to thirst for her.
She was far from pure.
She paced along the small winding path through Nandaro, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. The cabin was nearby, the one she had been looking for. She pulled up the bottom of her light blue skirt and rushed through the gaps in the trees. Light didn’t do the place justice as she looked at the streak of ash left behind by Crestaos. She gulped, unable to fathom anything worse than Avred, the male spirit of the land, the voice of the volcano itself. She tiptoed over the creek and ascended the mound. She grimaced as another gust of wind rattled her chest and made her heave in a fit of coughs. She hunched over and clutched her chest trying to hold back her lungs. The coughing didn’t end; she gagged, choked on nothing, and drew a shaky breath. She needed to leave before Istar found out where she was going.
Shimma turned to the cabin and rounded the side of it. The cellar was wide open and a pit grew in her stomach. That old Kiirar stored everything down there. She hoped what she needed was still there. She carefully arranged her shawl so her hands were free, and dipped her body into the hole.
Everything was pristine and neat. The foe hadn’t touched a single piece of parchment in the cellar despite the fact the doors were open. She began rifling through stacks of scrolls at the far end. Somewhere in there were the coordinates and access points for the Lands of Men, all seven of them.
She closed her eyes as flashes of the battle danced before her. She almost refused to fight, but with Istar angry and the Valtanyana on top of them she had no choice. Her stomach twisted with guilt. Kaliel. She knew what happened when the mountain exploded. She almost suffered the same fate centuries ago, but that was far less than voluntary. The mountain demanded her sacrifice. Things were so different then.
Shimma picked through the scrolls, looking for the one she needed. When she was finished with one shelf she moved onto the next scouring and searching, opening scrolls at random to skim the cursive script or symbols written on them, stuffing them back into the cubby holes. She shook her head in frustration. This would take longer than she thought. Where were her sisters? Their glances said they would meet her at the boats. What was taking them so long?
She could have used their help finding the coordinates and incantations for the Lands of Men. Nimphalls was out of the question. Kuruny had been hexed by the vile inconsiderate humans that didn’t understand the difference between ambassadors of the Lands of Peace and enemies from the other side. No matter what they tried to do to reconcile the differences between the knights and the dragons, nothing ever changed. She grimaced at the hex. After years of assimilation they learned how to calm the people. It wasn’t through peaceful magic, but she didn’t regret it. She grabbed a scroll at the bottom rack; it was so close to the ground it was almost ruined. She opened it and looked at the symbols despite the spots of water damage. It was what she needed.
She studied the parchment, memorizing the words and coordinates. They would find a village to blend into. This scroll led to a region somewhere near the shore. With any luck they could find safety from the brewing disaster in Avristar. She curled up the scroll and shoved it back onto the shelf. Nothing would stop her from leaving Avristar; by morning they would arrive on Terra.
• • •
Kuruny pulled another jar off the witching wall and stuffed it into the bag straddled between her legs. She tried not to shake, but her hand quivered as she reached for another jar.
“Leave that, we can get more of it,” Kazza snapped. She sat on the other side of the cauldron, twisting the beads of her necklace with her fingertips. She shot a warning glance at Kuruny, watching as the younger sister put the jar back on the wall. Kazza swiveled on the stool and crossed her legs. Her white gown swept the floor as she stood and crossed the room. Brown hair fell in waves down her back. She studied the wall for a moment and grabbed something glittering and gray.
“This doesn’t grow in the Lands of Men.” She dropped the jar into the sack and met Kuruny’s gaze.
“He doesn’t know yet,” Kuruny said. It was half a question, half a statement. Eventually Istar would find out what she had done. She closed her black eyes and shook her head, sending locks of straight black hair falling over her shoulders.
“Nay, but others …” Kazza paused. Kuruny listened for sounds in the halls of the Lower East wing. She kept her thoughts close on their protection spell; none had bothered to check for supplies, yet there were plenty of herbs for healing in their quarters. Kazza eyed the rucksacks against the wall.
“Will come soon,” Kuruny finished for her. She ran her hands along the inside of the black sleeves of her dress. They tightly wrapped her arms to her elbows and loosely cascaded towards her wrist. She wasn’t used to this feeling. Avristar was meant to be home, a place away from the distortion they suffered in the Lands of Men, but Istar would have her head if Avristar herself didn’t sentence them to death. She shuddered at the thought and closed her eyes, thinking of Shimma. The third sister was lost in the forests where the enemy had retreated. They had barely enough time to communicate their wants to the youngest of their trio, and yet, they had to trust she would find what they needed—a way to salvation.
Kazza crossed the room and opened up a large armoire. Inside were three cloaks: one black, one beige, and one blue. Kazza handed the black one to her sister as she slid the beige one over her own shoulders, fitting the hood over her brown hair. Kuruny felt melancholy, as though the guilt had seeped into her bones.
“Come, there is no sense in facing him. You know his anger will know no bounds,” Kazza said.
Kuruny’s heart dropped into her stomach when the explosion came, and there was snow. The worst sign was the snow. Avred was known for his temper and threats to cover the island in molten rock, but snow was unheard of. It wasn’t Avred’s doing. Kazza placed her hands on Kuruny’s shoulders and forced her to meet her gaze.
“I will be of no use to you,” Kuruny said, a slight choke on her words. She hung her head. The moment Kuruny stepped foot on mortal lands she would be as normal as the races that lived there. She would have none of her natural abilities, and would need to rely on petty magic, cheap incantations and weak charms.
Kazza wrapped her arms around her and pulled her cheek close to hers. “We will find a way to restore your immortality,” she whispered into her sister’s ear. She pulled away and gave her a meaningful look. “You cannot request that gift from Avristar.”
Kuruny took a long breath and let out a sigh, her body trembling with uncertainty. Her life would be a fraction in the Lands of Men, but it was the risk they had to take to protect Shimma. She solemnly clasped her hands together. “Aye, I can’t hide here any longer.”
Kazza patted her back and slung the bags over her shoulders. “Put your hood on. We cannot risk being seen out there.” Kuruny followed her instructions and took up the last bag. Kazza waited until it was silent in the hallway, retreating into the corridors.
* * *