Justice (18 page)

“It wanted me.”

Krishani rubbed his hands along his breeches. Shimma tried to snuff out the memory of the processional to the mountain, the slow walk through the sticky vines camouflaging the mountain.

“Istar refused, and Avristar suffered,” Shimma said. She closed her eyes, flashes of Avristar in the back of her mind.

Krishani sighed. “That was a long time ago.”

“I was only a child when it happened.”

He grimaced. “Aye, well, time doesn’t show a hint of that.” He rubbed his temples, proof enough for Shimma that Kuruny’s spell worked.

“Time is an interesting thing.” She moved to her knees and put her hand on the cloth, wringing it out. She went to rub his brow, but he stopped her, his hand curling around her wrist. She felt her pulse beat against his hand. Krishani took the cloth and padded his own brow, dropping the cloth on the floor. Shimma put it in the bowl, trying to ignore the way she felt when he touched her. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

“Why is Kuruny angry with me?” he asked.

Shimma stood and put the drum and rain stick in the corner of the hut with the other supplies. She came back with a saddened expression. “Kuruny is disgruntled. She lost her immortality and has been lashing out with magic.”

“Immortality?”

Shimma crossed the floor and opened one of the flaps of the tent. She glanced at the setting sun and the other tents that lined the crevasse. She needed to make sure none of the villagers were going to bother them. It was quiet, a few children playing further down the trail. Nobody else seemed interested in them. She closed the flap and turned back to Krishani, her voice hushed. “Kuruny only left because of me. Avristar was the safest place for her since the treachery on Nimphalls.”

Krishani groaned. “She warned me about the corruption.” He seemed exhausted as he flopped onto the cot.

Shimma cringed. “She was only trying to protect you. The people on Nimphalls almost killed her.”

Krishani closed his eyes. “She said I would die.” He sighed. “Death is …”

“Hard,” Shimma said quietly. She picked up the drum and began beating out a low tune, partly to hush their voices and partly to find something to do. She wanted to keep Krishani company because there was more to his melancholy than what she discovered. Kaliel perished in the explosion, but she wasn’t the only thing consuming his thoughts. There were a lot of things Krishani wasn’t telling her, but she wasn’t sure which things she wanted to know. After moments of nothing but soothing music, she stopped. “Why did
you
leave?”

Krishani groaned and put an arm over his eyes. “I’m the Ferryman.”

The drum slipped out of her hands and clattered onto the floor. There was a noise outside the hut and Shimma stood, the beads around her neck jangling as she ducked through the thick cloth doors. She stepped through the sand, passing by other closed tents as she headed towards the beach. There was a larger tent near the mouth of the crevasse. She ducked inside and nodded at the older, leather-faced woman inside. A clay pitcher of tea waited for her. She took it with both hands and returned to her own tent. She hadn’t bothered to tell Krishani she gave up her bed so he could rest. He looked at her seemingly apologetically as she crossed the animal hide and put the tea on a barrel.

“I forgot about the tea.” She smiled as she handed him a cup.

He blew on it and took a shaky sip. Shimma inspected him, the sharp angles of his narrow face, oblate cheeks and drooping eyelids. Shadows circled his eyes, his mouth permanently downtrodden. He was handsome even though he was nothing but skin and bones. He put the tea down and averted his eyes. “You heard what I said.”

“I have no idea what it means.” She shrugged.

Krishani scratched the back of his neck and ran his hand through his hair. She noticed the black marks staining his hand and let out a small gasp. He followed her gaze, scowling. “Oh, you didn’t notice?”

“It looks like a plague.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s changing me.”

Shimma grimaced and blinked. She didn’t know what to say. Instead of staring at him she picked up the tea and put it back in his hands. “I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

Krishani took a sip. “Kuruny wonders why I wasn’t afraid of death.”

“Kuruny worries incessantly. We barely rescued her, and Kazza’s method was barbaric.” Shimma turned and began sorting through the piles of things in the corners of the hut, putting them in order. She needed to be distracted. Now that he was awake she felt foolish for all the hours she spent watching him sleep.

Shimma wanted to forget the days on Nimphalls. Kazza killed a human to save Kuruny and the burden still hung over their heads. Even if the human deserved death for his crimes, it wasn’t something Children of Avristar did—especially not the Lord’s Daughters. It was no wonder corruption festered in every corner of the lands. Shimma didn’t attribute that corruption to the Valtanyana alone. It was the people; their souls were sick on the inside. It was their fault they fell prey to the deadly evils plaguing them.

The tent flaps rustled and someone else stepped in. Shimma whipped around, recognizing Kuruny’s scent. Her sister scowled at Krishani as he brought the cup to his mouth.

“Rand knows who he is,” Kuruny said, voice carrying an edge of malice.

Shimma glanced at Krishani. He was looking at his hands, the blackness in the right one swirling into his palm, making it thicker and blacker. He looked sadder than he had a moment ago, as though being reminded of his identity was worse than a plague. “Does he know I came for the Flame?” he asked monotone.

“He knows the man on the white horse brings death.” She spat the last word like it was Krishani’s fault and paced the small hut. She turned and placed her hands on her hips. “What have you done, Krishani?”

He chuckled, a faint smile on his lips. He closed his eyes. Kuruny’s fiery gaze bore into him. “I didn’t ask to be who I am,” he said.

“He’s … the Ferryman,” Shimma whispered.

Kuruny recoiled. She looked at Shimma briefly, then back at Krishani, letting out a cry that sounded like fear. She pushed her hands down the length of her arms, like she was trying to brush bugs off her skin. Staggering backwards, she caught the cloth door in her hands. Shimma watched as Kuruny held it against her face, her fingers knotting the canvas. Shimma thought she must be thinking about her own death, but she didn’t say it out loud.

“They want you gone before nightfall.” Kuruny choked.

Krishani looked at her, but Kuruny couldn’t stop staring at him like he was a disease. He glanced at Shimma, a pleading expression on his face.

“Give him another day. He isn’t strong enough,” Shimma said.

Kuruny grumbled something unintelligible and stumbled away from the hut. Shimma moved to her feet and went to follow her. She stopped at the doorway and looked at Krishani. She scrunched up her nose.

“Don’t … leave the hut. I may not know much, but I know what they have in the cave isn’t a good thing. It isn’t something you can take.” She tucked her head to the ground and followed her sister.

• • •

Dark figures moved through the fields with precision and grace. The four of them stretched across the land like an impenetrable wall of riders against thousands. Hooves hit the ground, leaving marks with spiked horseshoes. Nostrils flared, smoke billowing out, rising into the sky. They hit the trees and forged a path of ashes through it, trees catching fire. The riders had no souls; they were remorseless creatures traipsing through unconsecrated lands, destroying everything they came into contact with. Their faces were covered in darkness, hidden beneath long flowing cloaks draped over the backs of the giant beasts. Their hands were covered with shiny armor concealing their flesh. One of them gripped the reins and made a sharp right. The others followed in succession as they found the east shore. There were thriving lands across the channel. The riders wanted to bring nightmares to their children, burn their houses, hear the cries of women as they devoured the towns in haste.

Their minds were full of nothing but blind hatred and hunger for blood. There was no sense in reasoning with them. Death came swiftly by their hands, and when it came, so did the Vultures, and when they came, the souls were silenced.

The Horsemen thrived on silence.

It was far better than the screeching noises filling their ears. No matter how far they traveled, it wouldn’t stop. The constant agonizing sounds followed them, and when the souls were devoured, the screeching ceased. It remained quiet until the beating hearts of souls in the distance caused it to start again.

And then they hunted them.

To silence them.

Their horses were beast-like, with sharp teeth, red eyes, scales. Their armor covered what little bristles of prickly hair they had. Their hooves were covered with sharp spikes. They breathed fire. Only their riders could control them, because there were no words for what these beasts were.

Krishani watched in horror as they hit the shores and led the beasts into the foamy waters of the ocean. He watched until their forms disappeared under the waves, and shuddered as one of them turned back and glanced at him. Krishani averted his gaze and saw a little girl. She had beautiful midnight black hair that fell to her ankles. Her skin tinged blue, her lips bruised purple. She had coal colored eyes, full of hatred. But she was under four feet fall. A pale blue nightgown fell to her bare feet. She pointed at the sand and he followed her gaze. Blood lapped up against the shore, covering his boots in a thick red paste.

The sight of the blood made him jolt. He wrenched out of the cot, a fierce ringing in his ears. He clenched his fists to the sides of his head and tried to quiet his urge to scream. He was alone in the hut, on the west shores of an island on Terra. He closed his eyes, but the image of the girl clouded his vision, a little girl, one that called the Horsemen to do her bidding.

She was one of the Valtanyana.

* * *