Mercy (10 page)

This part of the forest was unforgiving. Trees grew too close together and bushes darted up everywhere. He couldn’t catch a break until he found a skinny dirt path, marked by tire treads. He let out a breath and followed it until he was bored and forced himself down a steep hill. It was too much for a bike, the rider would flip over their handlebars if they tried it. Krishani slid most of the way down, his black t-shirt caught on a stray root and pulled up over his waning muscle. He was lean but not in the way girls found attractive. He forced his shirt over his pale skin and brushed the mud off his jeans as he glanced around and found himself in a clearing. The ground was a bed of browning nettles and pinecones. Above him, spruce trees blocked out the sun.

He sat, aligning his spine with the trunk of a spruce and uncapped the water, taking a long swig. After the hour and a half it had taken him to get there, water tasted fantastic. The trip hadn’t been solely to let off steam. He had frustration in every tense muscle from his shoulders down to his calves but it was worth it. He knew where Kaliel lived … or at least knew she had a boat of some kind. It was something he could bother her about at school.

He sighed and unsheathed the dagger, moving to his feet. He tested his balance and narrowed his eyes at a tree ten feet away. He held the dagger by the point of the blade and flung it at the tree. It stuck the bark hard. He didn’t want Darkesh to find her. He didn’t want them to turn her into their pawn. He retrieved the dagger and turned, aiming at another tree across from him. He closed his eyes, a flash of amethyst encrusted eyes interrupting his thoughts. He flung the dagger and hit the tree sideways, landing in a bed of nettles.

He wiped his eyes and stalked to the tree, grabbing the dagger and paused, his hand on the hilt. He didn’t throw it again, but anger flashed through him and he stuck the dagger hard into the tree. The way the knife slid through wood wasn’t the same as sliding through skin. Skin was soft and pliant, wood was tough, and with bone, the knife had to crack through, splitting marrow as it made its way through. Krishani knew eight hundred thousand ways to kill someone. He had experienced every form of torture, and endured countless deaths for the sake of the white matter he craved. He could have killed her when they were alone in the hallway. He could have killed her in the classroom. He could have killed her when she was all alone in the forest.

He blinked and moved the dagger up and down, loosening it from its grip on the tree. He dragged in a shaky breath and let out a defeated cry as he shucked the dagger blindly. He heard it stick somewhere, but instead of retrieving it he crouched, covering his face with his hands.

He could have killed her, but he didn’t.

***

Chapter 12
Diplomatic Immunity

Pux appeared from behind a tree, his face a mask of horror. He bent at the tree Krishani had punctured and scooped up a handful of brown nettles. They snapped in his fist and he poured them onto the forest floor like sand and stood, moving to the edge of the clearing where Krishani had fled. He touched the branches and flinched, pulling his hand back as a cycler flashed across the path, the spokes of their wheel at eye level. He stumbled back, startled by the sudden noise and nearness of humans. The cyclist was gone as quickly as they appeared but Pux wasn’t safe. He darted through trees in the canopied opening and found himself concealed, looking for part of the shore unpopulated by docks, boats, and humans.

He thought back to Krishani. The last time he saw the Ferryman was at Castle Tavesin, alerting the villagers of the unnatural storm. Pux wasn’t stupid; he knew what Krishani had become. Morgana wasn’t shy about her beasts. She brought them from every part of the lands to Avristar so the kinfolk could see with their own eyes the kinds of things that existed outside of their precious island. Things that would destroy them in an instant if they stepped out of line. She toyed with one of those Vultures like it was a kite, the ends of its self-contained storm gathered in her palm, the rest of it writhing like a giant shadow against the cloud filled sky, fighting to escape her grip so it could feast on the wispy white smoke rising out of the body of one of the Brothers of Amersil. At the time his duty was to protect the shores of Avristar from threat but Morgana used him as an example, showing Lord Istar if she wanted them dead, they would be dead.

Pux shook himself out of his daydream and fetched up against a rusted sheet of metal. He almost collided with it and his eyes widened as he recoiled from the thing, falling into the dried cracked mud. He surveyed the area; there were more rusted sheets, an entire yard full of broken down cars and spare parts. He blinked, trying to convince himself it wasn’t iron and looked for a way around the yard. He stepped lightly through the brush and found a way down to the shore. Big cement blocks scattered along a thin sandy shore, dead branches and twigs intermingled with sand. He spotted a small fishing boat out on the water and in the late afternoon sun he couldn’t risk using the whistle. He crouched behind one of the rocks, hoping nobody saw him and tried to regulate his breathing.

Sometimes the Lands of Men were too much for him and he couldn’t take it anymore, the longing to go home singing through him. To his left the yard pressed against the water and on his right was a long pier. He didn’t know where Kaliel lived; he’d only seen her in the forest, his forest. He couldn’t go walking the streets hoping she’d recognize him.

Kaliel wasn’t going to help him.

Pux wiped the sweat off his hairy face and pulled at his pointed ears. He had an idea but it was a bad one. He stepped out from behind the cement, closed his eyes and made a run for the water. He hated being wet, hated swimming but he had to get home.

The cold surprised him as he hit, diving head first into it. He wrestled with his tunic and tugged the whistle out, blowing on the end. He swam deeper into the murky water and flailed as a glittery fish crossed his vision, its mouth hanging open, whiskers brushing his face. He batted, making the fish dive deeper. Pux squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over. He sank deeper until the current began sucking him in. He opened his eyes, catching the bottom of the boat as it glided towards the surface. Scrambling around, he grappled at the side of the boat and caught the side.

He panicked, climbing into the boat, huddling on the bench, muttering the incantation in the freezing water. He held his breath and waited as the boat shuddered and moved in the opposite direction, the bow tilting, almost dumping Pux into the lake again. The bow did a full turn and when it emerged, Pux saw the shores of Nandaro, the gargoyle cave beside the grassy shore. He searched the boat for a paddle and came up with nothing. He couldn’t land in Nandaro and walk through Orlondir. The Priesthood would catch him and Istar would know he’d been to the Lands of Men.

It would ruin everything.

Pux scrubbed his itchy skin with his palms and before the boat slid into the grass he jumped out. This was by far the worst idea, but he doggy paddled through the water, ducking when he hit the path to the Sisterhood of Araraema. It was a bright sandy shore, runoff from the waterfall at Mount Tirion flowing into the endless lake. A couple of girls in under garments lazed on the shore. He pulled himself through the water hoping merfolk didn’t find him, or kraken. He had good reason to be afraid of the waters surrounding Avristar, their monsters were dangerous.

He rounded the island and Evennses came into view. Staying to the surface he kicked his way to the sand. The sun sent a shiver of white flecks over the water and he was momentarily blinded. He fell under and thought he felt a fin but it disappeared when he pushed his head out. He reached the sandbar and walked the rest of the way, pausing at the trees. They creaked, parted and he moved his tired body through, sitting on the other side for a long time taking loud wheezing breaths.

He pushed himself to his feet and tarried down the path, not really knowing where he was going, but it definitely wasn’t towards the House of Kin. He crossed the creek as the wind kicked up, rustling the canopy and sending flecks of light onto the soil. Pux watched the succession of light travel along the ground as he followed the familiar path towards the border of Amersil.

Three paths presented themselves and Pux took the left, which lead him very close to the lake, so close he tasted the salt on his lips. It wound around wide trees, and back through patches of daffodils and daisies. By the time he hit the giant snaking roots and the umbrella-like branches of the Great Oak it was midday and he was exhausted.

He bent over bracing his hands on his knees. Fear gathered in his eyes as he regarded the old tree. It didn’t say anything as he pulled himself over roots, using his hands to vault over the ones as high as his waist. Soon he stood in the clearing. The tree was ominous. Pux chewed his claw and twisted his hands together. He blinked remembering Morgana, the Vulture, and the Brother of Amersil. He replaced the Brother with an old image of Kaliel, white dress and white curls framing her face, wispy white smoke rising out of her lifeless form. The Vulture grew eyes that were blue and green and it struggled, struggled to devour her soul.

Pux clenched his fist and slammed his knuckles into the tree. “I can’t let him hurt her,” he said, hoping the tree knew exactly why he was there. It was supposed to be wise after all.

The Great Oak rumbled to life its branches swaying without wind, its trunk groaning like it was working out kinks in its muscles. Pux took a step back as its voice pierced the air. “One step … two step … three step … four.”

Pux put a hand to his crushed heart, recognizing every word of the familiar parable. “No,” he whispered, dropping to one knee, beseeching the tree to finish it differently.

“You take three steps … and you never … learn … more.”

Pux dropped his head in the mud. “I want to be human.” He knew the tree could change him the way it had changed the other feorns before sending them to Lands of Men. The tree had magic in its roots, its leaves, and its heartwood. It could make him human so he could be with Kaliel. Chills exploded through him from his chest outwards and he rattled with the force. He didn’t realize how much he missed her until that moment. A stabbing feeling of longing attacked him and he whimpered.

“You … were not meant … for the Lands of Men … Pux.”

“But Kaliel,” Pux said, sounding meek, defeated.

“Isn’t … a … Child of Avristar.”

Pux wanted to fight but he didn’t have it in him. He huddled in the clearing until the pangs stopped and dragged himself to his feet, stumbling wordlessly from the tree. He trudged through forest until he emerged in the meadow and clamored up the porch steps. He passed the living room and banged through the doors of the mess hall finding a bowl and dunking it into the barrel of fresh water. He sat at one of the tables and slammed the wooden bowl onto the oak tabletop. He flexed his fingers, putting his hands on either side and let a single tear fall into the water.

“Where is Shimma?” he asked, the tear creating a ripple throughout the bowl.

O O O

Pux stood on the edge of the beach, a half-moon hanging in the sky to the west. He plucked the whistle out from a leather string around his neck and blew on the end. Blinking, he ran his hands down his brown robe, flipping the hood over his face. He had to be careful. Shimma thrived on humans. Despite her immortality, her features made it easy for her to blend into the modern world. Pux unfortunately didn’t have that luxury. The brown robe scratched against his wolf-like legs and he grimaced as the water puckered, the crown appearing. Soon the full wooden woman was in view as she faithfully slid to shore. Determination and fear gripped him as he took a last look at Avristar and bowed his head. He drew in a breath and let it out in a loud sigh as the shore faded from view, mists covering the boat. He pulled the parchment out of his pocket and recited the incantation.

He didn’t accept what the Great Oak had said. He was far more gifted than most of the Children in Avristar, even some of the Elders. Though he couldn’t explain where his gifts came from he wasn’t about to let them go to waste. Other lesser feorns were sent to the Lands of Men, the Great Oak gave them their humanity, so why not Pux? He preened, brushing dust off his brown cloak as the mists cleared; the moon a sliver in the sky. He checked the surrounding islands for lighthouses, boats, anything that would expose him. The coast was clear, the ocean silent and smooth. His knee bounced as an island came into view. He navigated the boat to the thin strip of sand on the shore and pulled himself off the boat, crouching behind the bushes. Streetlamps illuminated the road on the other side of trees and Pux smelled asphalt. He watched the boat sink. A car whipped by and Pux’s stomach knotted up. He peered through the trees, watching red rear lights shrink. He looked the other way, not wanting to be a feorn caught in the headlights and tiptoed across the pavement. The island was covered in prickly plants and squat trees that Pux didn’t like. He put up with the branches scratching his upper arms and weeds stinging his bare feet until he spotted the harbor.

He groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was steal a boat. He paused, watching for a long time, sailboats, yachts, and motor boats all lined up along the docks. A light clicked on beside him and Pux stumbled away. He didn’t even notice the tiny shack with the red roof, or the freshly built porch, untainted wood. He tried to pull himself into the bushes but a man opened the door and Pux froze. He fixed his gaze on Pux and the feorn cowered, squeezing his fist, thinking about the coordinates in his pocket.

“Hvem er det?” the man asked.

Pux didn’t answer. He knew humans to be savages and didn’t want to give the man reason to attack him. He closed his eyes and thought hard about Shimma.

He transported, thankful he didn’t have to figure out how to get across the water with one of those bigger boats. Where he ended up wasn’t much better. Street lamps cast everything in dim light. He was in the middle of a business district, tall buildings turning streets into a maze. He panicked, pulled his hood further over his eyes. He ran across the street and cars honked at him. He darted down a back lane, and almost crashed into a big rectangular trashcan. He grabbed the coordinates again and turned, and turned; his face to the sky but couldn’t make out any star patterns. He cursed as a trail of young kids in neon vests passed him. He watched them follow a woman with graying hair in an orange and yellow vest. He laughed. They reminded him of ducks. They crossed the street on a series of thick white painted lines and passed through a wrought iron gate into a school yard. Pux regarded the red and sandy colored bricks with unease. There were bars on all the windows.

He continued down the street, passing various people. He pulled the robe taut, fisting the fabric in his palm. His head swam with confusion. There was too much stone, concrete, metal, and electricity. Streetlamps cast eerie light on him and he felt piercing pain. People gave him funny stares, no doubt scrutinizing the brown robe. Pux tried to read signs scattered throughout the city. Some of them were for shops along the main strips, others were for traffic. He was continually blinded by the flashes of green, yellow, and red coming from black streetlamps on the corners of every junction. He crossed when he wasn’t supposed to and was honked at more than once.

Pux stumbled down the road until he fell against a building, his breathing coming in short staccato bursts. He needed to find her; he couldn’t go back to Evennses. He glanced at a large metal fire escape and recognition pinched him. It looked like something he’d seen in the divining bowl. He rounded the street and recognized the flags hanging off the overhang at the front of the building. It was a white stone building, a man in uniform standing at the gold-plated double doors. A weatherproof mat covered the sidewalk, and luggage carts loitered beside a small garden, concealed by a two-foot stony wall. Pux quickened his pace towards the glass and gold doors, but the man put a hand on his chest. Pux recoiled, his eyes wide as he met the man’s blue ones, blond hair escaping his hat.

“Belager, dette er private,” the man said.

Pux frowned, looking through the revolving glass doors into the lobby. He closed his eyes, contemplated it and gritted his teeth. He squeezed his fist and transported. It wasn’t the best idea to disappear in front of humans, but the other alternative was letting them see him as a feorn and he couldn’t do that either. Desperation lit his insides like a flame as he traveled through blackness, waiting to emerge on the other side.

When he reappeared, he was in the foyer of a small apartment. His eyes lit up as he saw Shimma bent over the arm of a couch, some scruffy bare-chested guy on his knees, banging into her in even successions. She moaned loudly as the guy locked eyes with Pux and flipped out.