opened his eyes and looked at the frostbitten branches above his head. He never loved Kaliel the way Krishani had. To Pux, she was his little sister. He knew she would leave Evennses eventually, but he never thought she would have died. He buried his head in his hands as he let himself grieve.
* * *
7 - Snow
Mallorn stared at the rolling hills of Orlondir. It was late afternoon, the clouds thinning, showing off shades of pink and orange from the west. There were no words to describe the heaviness he felt. Bodies had been cleared from the battlefield, but the bloodstained snow remained. Blades of grass idly poked out of the snow; it was melting.
The wind stung his cheeks and he turned away, retreating into the folds of his gray cloak. His head throbbed with faint memories of the battle, fragmented pieces awkwardly fitting together. This couldn’t be reality. Kaliel awakened Avred, the dangerous volcano, and it unleashed its fury on the land. The enemies retreated. How could her death be truth? Another gust of wind blew across the plains and whipped his face. He turned to the stables and went inside. Umber munched on hay, but paused when the Kiirar looked at him.
“Home?” Umber said.
“Soon,” Mallorn said. He patted the horse’s back and his one black eye fixed on the Kiirar.
“I miss it there,” Umber replied.
Mallorn sighed. “There may be nothing left.”
“The girl’s scent is in the barn.”
“Aye, that will remain.”
“Can we go now?”
Mallorn thought for a moment, and shook his head. He didn’t need to say it for the horse to understand. It hung its head and continued chomping on strands of hay. Mallorn glanced at the fields again. It happened too fast, the enemy upon them, the explosion, waking to the aftermath. Sadness clung to everyone living on Avristar, whether child or elder.
Or neither.
Mallorn furrowed his brow, another sickly emotion hitting him. He closed his eyes and saw the mismatched irises of the Ferryman staring at him as he returned from the Village of the Shee. Krishani didn’t care about anything, but the well being of Kaliel. Mallorn didn’t blame the boy for his foolish love. There was nothing he could do about the way the Ferryman felt about the Flame.
Unlike the rest of Avristar, Krishani was a stranger. Being raised by the elders didn’t mean he belonged. Istar knew that and kept the truth about the boy’s heritage from the Gatekeeper. He knew enough about Avristar’s history to know she didn’t get along with Avred, the island would be divided. Mallorn feared neither spirits of the land would have mercy.
Not when Krishani betrayed the land itself.
The land he was meant to marry.
Mallorn turned from the fields and quickened his pace as he entered the servant’s hall. He turned into the kitchen, searching for spirit of hartshorne. The ingredient was rare, used during combat training. He faintly smiled as he recalled the only combat training he introduced Kaliel to.
Eventually Mallorn would need to take to his home in Nandaro. See if the horses were alive. He had neighbors to check on, smaller villages to tell the story of the battle to. He would keep Kaliel’s memory alive, make sure all the Kiirar in Nandaro knew of the Flame that touched their lands. The chaos wasn’t her fault. Crestaos had always been an insatiable beast. He wasn’t the most deadly of the Valtanyana, but he was one of the craziest. Mallorn feared he was still out there, getting closer to his ultimate goal. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the present. He looked through the cupboards until he found the jar and pulled out a long strand of spirit of hartshorn. He folded it into his palm and darted into the hallway.
Krishani both intrigued and scared him in a way he hadn’t encountered in thousands of years. Istar was clearly uninterested in unraveling the boy’s secrets, which left Mallorn to satisfy his own curiosity. Provided he wasn’t too late.
He reached the end of
* * *
7 - Snow
Mallorn stared at the rolling hills of Orlondir. It was late afternoon, the clouds thinning, showing off shades of pink and orange from the west. There were no words to describe the heaviness he felt. Bodies had been cleared from the battlefield, but the bloodstained snow remained. Blades of grass idly poked out of the snow; it was melting.
The wind stung his cheeks and he turned away, retreating into the folds of his gray cloak. His head throbbed with faint memories of the battle, fragmented pieces awkwardly fitting together. This couldn’t be reality. Kaliel awakened Avred, the dangerous volcano, and it unleashed its fury on the land. The enemies retreated. How could her death be truth? Another gust of wind blew across the plains and whipped his face. He turned to the stables and went inside. Umber munched on hay, but paused when the Kiirar looked at him.
“Home?” Umber said.
“Soon,” Mallorn said. He patted the horse’s back and his one black eye fixed on the Kiirar.
“I miss it there,” Umber replied.
Mallorn sighed. “There may be nothing left.”
“The girl’s scent is in the barn.”
“Aye, that will remain.”
“Can we go now?”
Mallorn thought for a moment, and shook his head. He didn’t need to say it for the horse to understand. It hung its head and continued chomping on strands of hay. Mallorn glanced at the fields again. It happened too fast, the enemy upon them, the explosion, waking to the aftermath. Sadness clung to everyone living on Avristar, whether child or elder.
Or neither.
Mallorn furrowed his brow, another sickly emotion hitting him. He closed his eyes and saw the mismatched irises of the Ferryman staring at him as he returned from the Village of the Shee. Krishani didn’t care about anything, but the well being of Kaliel. Mallorn didn’t blame the boy for his foolish love. There was nothing he could do about the way the Ferryman felt about the Flame.
Unlike the rest of Avristar, Krishani was a stranger. Being raised by the elders didn’t mean he belonged. Istar knew that and kept the truth about the boy’s heritage from the Gatekeeper. He knew enough about Avristar’s history to know she didn’t get along with Avred, the island would be divided. Mallorn feared neither spirits of the land would have mercy.
Not when Krishani betrayed the land itself.
The land he was meant to marry.
Mallorn turned from the fields and quickened his pace as he entered the servant’s hall. He turned into the kitchen, searching for spirit of hartshorne. The ingredient was rare, used during combat training. He faintly smiled as he recalled the only combat training he introduced Kaliel to.
Eventually Mallorn would need to take to his home in Nandaro. See if the horses were alive. He had neighbors to check on, smaller villages to tell the story of the battle to. He would keep Kaliel’s memory alive, make sure all the Kiirar in Nandaro knew of the Flame that touched their lands. The chaos wasn’t her fault. Crestaos had always been an insatiable beast. He wasn’t the most deadly of the Valtanyana, but he was one of the craziest. Mallorn feared he was still out there, getting closer to his ultimate goal. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the present. He looked through the cupboards until he found the jar and pulled out a long strand of spirit of hartshorn. He folded it into his palm and darted into the hallway.
Krishani both intrigued and scared him in a way he hadn’t encountered in thousands of years. Istar was clearly uninterested in unraveling the boy’s secrets, which left Mallorn to satisfy his own curiosity. Provided he wasn’t too late.
He reached the end of
Similar Books
