Surrender (18 page)

19-The Emerald Flame

Krishani hovered beside the white horse as its hooves scratched the gravel-studded ground. It followed the solemn processional through the wide forest path leading towards a cemetery. Krishani watched intently from his position. The man perched on the white horse had a blank expression on his face and trailed along behind the processional, giving quite enough distance that he looked associated, but might not be at all.

The people in black carrying the box trudged down a hill. The bare trees and evergreens parted on either side to give way to a large wrought iron gate. On the other side of the gate were tombstones. As they walked, the gate opened with an eerie creak. It was like the graveyard was expecting them.

The man on the white horse paused when he reached the gates. He stopped and stared into the cemetery while the four people wound along a narrow snaking path towards a plot in the distance.

Krishani stopped outside the gate. He tried to hover beyond it, but he couldn’t. He stood there dumbfounded, his fingers curling around the bars, curiosity gripping him.

“You can’t enter,” the Ferryman on the horse said. He looked at him with such intensity that for a moment Krishani thought it was real and not a dream.

“Why not?”

“You’ll get hurt.”

“What will happen to them?” This was the first time the man had really spoken to him. He hoped it would continue; there was so much he was confused about.

“All of them will die.”

“Why?”

“Family curse,” he spoke solemnly. He bowed his head as the last of them passed through the mists in the graveyard and out of sight.

“Can you help them?” Krishani asked. They had seen each other many nights before. The Ferryman was always elusive, but Krishani had learned a lot from his actions. Nobody ever lived.

“I
have
helped them,” the Ferryman said. He sounded perturbed. He turned the horse around and went to pound down the gravel road.

“How have you helped them?”

The horse entered a canter and Krishani floated behind them. The land here was so peculiar—hard, cold, and dry. Evergreens littered the forests, and the red cedars were bare this time of year. He hadn’t noticed it before but frost covered the ground in a thick sheet.

The Ferryman didn’t answer his question, simply staring ahead. A moment later, he heaved a sigh and stopped the horse in his tracks. He looked back at Krishani and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re not ready to know about the Ferrymen.” He whipped the reins hard and the horse erupted into a gallop, speeding away from Krishani too fast for the boy to follow.

Krishani stood there on the deserted gravel road for several moments until the surroundings began to swirl around him and he was sucked into darkness. He opened his eyes and found himself in the forests of Amersil.

What are the Ferrymen?
he wondered. He smelled nascent red cedars and heaved a sigh of relief. He sat up, clucking a few times in the hopes that Rhina hadn’t continued without him. He waited, and soon her glimmering white mane poked through two trees.

“Come, Rhina,” Krishani said. He got to his feet and walked through the forest brush to the horse. He stroked her head and stepped backwards, coaxing her out from the trees. She came and Krishani mounted her. With a quick cluck to her ear, she trotted off towards the village where the Brotherhood lived.

• • •

Krishani took one last look behind him at the grove. Smoke from the fire twisted into the overcast sky, and the smoky scent covered the village. All the others had retreated to their homes. The execution ceremony was over. He couldn’t tell a soul what it entailed even if he wanted to. The Brotherhood was a secret and he was lucky to know a tenth of its wonders.

He hung his head. What was done was done. There wasn’t anything thing he could do to change the path. The ceremony had been ordered by Adoron, though Istar was a coward to admit it. Nineteen summers and he had experienced nothing but small triumphs. Everything magical about his life revolved around Kaliel, and without her there was no control, without her—he did nothing but ruin the land.

He took a step towards the Great Oak and paused. Anxiety crept into his heart. He hadn’t expected this. He looked forward to hearing the words of the Great Oak, new words, better words, ones that would allow him a life with the girl he loved. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then began winding down the path. The red cedars in Amersil where he grew up were the same as those in Evennses, their wide trunks spreading through the soil below, their roots littering the path and creating an obstacle course. He saw better at night, and as each one came into view he stepped over them. There were too many fallen trees along the path and he sighed at his youthful destruction.

He thought about the seed, the second rite he had never passed. Adoron was his mentor then, and on the day of the full moon they set out. Adoron carried the seed with him. They reached a break in the trees where the sky could be seen through the canopy. The place was called Tolemny. Every apprentice before him had passed the task in the same clearing, the only difference was they had seen twelve summers, and Krishani had seen fourteen. He remembered the ordeal—it was catastrophic. He had raised his arms to the sky and called for rain. Buckets of rain fell from the sky, but as the pressure built, an invisible shield formed around the seed, and it alone remained dry. Adoron looked afraid when the storm lost control and lightning flashed.

Trees fell, one in particular having been in Avristar for a thousand years.

Even now, Krishani felt guilty at the thought of it as he climbed over the body of a younger fallen tree. He shared his guilt with the tree as he passed it, apologizing for his mistakes.

The three paths came into view, and he continued down the middle one. He knew all three paths led to the same tree, but he preferred the path with the least obstacles. The tree came into view, its thick roots protruding like giants out of the ground. He stared up at it and smiled. This was his moment. The Great Oak would reveal to him a new parable and he would know what his purpose was.

He approached confidently and the tree creaked in acknowledgement of his presence. He firmly placed his hand on the bark and shared his arrogance and relief to be visiting for a second time.

“I am never wrong,” the tree said, seeming offended.

Krishani removed his hand, and noted that something sticky had transferred onto it.

“A tree knows not when the apple of its eye will fall and must surrender its possession. Wither in desolate loneliness and bring the forests to their eternal slumber. Triumph in faithful patience and bring the forests to their endless summer.”

Krishani stood in shock at the words. They were the same as they had always been. His face twisted as anger bubbled up inside of him. “I will never surrender!” His voice echoed as it bounced off the trees surrounding the Great Oak. Without thinking, he approached the tree and pounded his fists on its bark, wanting it to change what it said.

The tree remained dormant.

“You vile, wretched tree. Say to me the truth!” He was so angry he couldn’t believe what he was doing. He kicked the tree with the toe of his boots. The roots below him fluttered as though he was on the backside of a bird. He fell in the midst of them as they continued to flow around him.

“Surrender!” the tree howled at him. The volume was deafening. Birds flew from their nests into the sky; the squeals of small animals sounded as they ran to their holes, the other trees shook despite the lack of a breeze. Krishani trembled as he lay there in between the roots. They had grown cold and motionless. Angry tears slid down his face. He couldn’t change the words. He could do nothing to escape his future.

He went to move, but darkness swept him under. It felt as though he was traveling through a tunnel. He saw the light at the end of it, but could do nothing to move faster or slower towards it. He drifted at some predetermined pace, noticing the nothingness around him.

The light grew until it encompassed him. He was sitting in a field. In front of him, an entire battalion of warriors in full armor stood in formation. His eyes widened as he realized he was in the way. A man wearing regal colors of purple and gold rode on a brown horse back and forth along the line, calling out orders.

Krishani scrambled to his feet and ran towards the trees. They seemed so far away. He took across the field as fast as he could, but his lungs ached for air and the field seemed to get longer and longer. Cannons exploded behind him. The battle was underway. He didn’t want to look back only to see more death, more blood. He knew the man in purple and gold would be slain.
Why did he know?
He couldn’t understand his foresight, but he refused to find out if he was right. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the trees would be closer when he opened them.

“You’re intruding!” a voice shouted.

Krishani opened his eyes and came face to face with the same man on the white horse. “I—I don’t want to be here.” He looked at the man, who was inexplicably rendered faceless. When would he learn who he was? Krishani was desperate to get to the trees. Salvation rested there. He tried to look behind him, but he could smell the coppery blood and felt the souls rising up from the battlefield. He knew wispy smoke would careen into the air behind him, rising then disappearing into the atmosphere. His stomach churned as his knees grew weak and he slid into the grass.

“Your time as a Ferryman has not yet begun,” the voice snapped. The white horse circled him and then took towards the battlefield.

Darkness swirled around Krishani again and the battlefield faded away. Helplessly, he followed the dream until another voice pierced his ears.

Krishani help me.

Kaliel.

• • •

Kaliel was in stasis. There was pain, but the kind that was numb, as if her entire body had been wrapped in ice. She knew it wasn’t consciousness, it wasn’t home. She cried. Death—if that’s what this was—was too much for her.
Is this what it’s like for Krishani?
she wondered as she recalled his nightmares. No, couldn’t be. They were bad, but he didn’t die in them.

She died with the girl. What was her name? Why did she know her?
Lotesse
, the familiar voice inside answered. She paused.
The Emerald Flame.

The scenes changed rapidly. There was something on her head and a gold-framed mirror in front of her. The headdress had a feather on top of it, like the crown she had drawn on one of the figures in her journal. She stared at it; it seemed so out of place. She looked into her eyes: amethyst. A lavender and ivory nightgown fell to her ankles. Her delicate fingers went to touch the headdress. The moment they grazed along its base, it showered her in sand. With a cough, she blinked the granules from her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror again: green eyes.

The symbols on the parchment materialized in her mind but she couldn’t make any sense of it. There was a boy with one hazel and one golden eye, wearing a headdress of snakes. Across from him was a girl with a headdress that had a feather at the top of it. The same one she had been wearing in the previous scene. Above them was a golden sun with rays of light shining towards their mouths. A chalice was in the girl’s hand. She had a rough sketch of the same parchment in her journal but something was missing. Meaning.

She heard murmurs in the distance, voices she vaguely remembered. She tried to claw her way to them. The numbness thawed as she came to, feeling heaviness in her limbs, and prickles on her leg where Lotesse had grabbed her. She almost slipped back into unconsciousness, but her eyelids fluttered and she took a sharp breath.

She opened her eyes and was overwhelmed by the acuteness of her senses. Everything was so crisp. Someone had lit dragon’s blood, she would recognize it anywhere. She smelled the faintness of nightshade near her bedside, wondered what use they had found for it, and furthermore noticed the distinct smell of star anise. She wrinkled her nose and found her hands; they were folded on her lap. She tried to push herself up, but her head swelled with dizziness and she fell back into the bed.

Atara entered. Kaliel didn’t say a word even though her eyes were open. She stared at the trap door in the ceiling, letting out a sigh as Atara fiddled with a sachet of mixed herbs. She noted the ginseng and ginger root in the air.

Atara jumped; the satchel fell on the ground. “Kaliel?”

She moaned.

Atara rushed to her side and lifted her arm to check her vital signs. Kaliel stared into the elder’s eyes and felt a slight bit of relief wash over her. Atara grabbed the cloth from the water bowl next to the bed, and lightly patted Kaliel’s forehead with it.

“How are you feeling?”

Kaliel let out another long breath. She could handle the pain. She’d had enough bruises in her lifetime to understand that nothing but time would heal her.

“Who are the Flames?” she whispered.

Atara dipped the cloth in the bowl. She looked away when Kaliel spoke. The girl felt Atara’s pulse quicken as she glanced back at her with compassion and wiped the girl’s brow again. She watched as Atara opened and closed her mouth, seeming to choose her words carefully. Kaliel only felt more agitated the longer her elder took to answer.

“The precious jewels of the universe of course,” Atara said.

Kaliel slid her hand into hers and gripped it tight. Fear made her tremble as tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“The Emerald Flame is dead,” she whispered. Her hand fell limp in Atara’s as the darkness closed around her.

* * *