Red lands and black flam.., p.2
Red Lands and Black Flames, page 2
“I’m sorry I stayed away so long,” she said to him first.
Keshel blinked in acknowledgment of her apology.
Kadiatu knelt in front of Marai and took her hands. “We’re all glad you’re back.”
Marai didn’t deserve her kindness. She was a murderer. A deserter. She’d brought danger into their home with the cursed ring and dark magic. Kadiatu might not even forgive her for that.
Aresti scrunched up her nose at Marai. “You need a bath. You smell terrible.”
“Let that salve soak in for an hour, then you can go to the river and wash,” said Thora, all business again. Whatever shock she’d shown was gone. “And be more careful out in the sun. You’re so fair, you’ll burn easily.”
“You can wear my hat,” Kadiatu said, and popped a silly wide-brimmed straw hat across Marai’s head. “I weaved it myself from the plants by the river.”
“It suits you,” said Aresti, grinning.
Marai whipped the hat off as Aresti and Leif exited the cave.
Raife approached, his eyes softening. He, like Keshel, could read Marai’s defeated, slumped stance. “How long do you intend to stay?” he asked.
Marai shrugged.
“You can stay as long as you need,” Thora said. No one expected Marai to stay forever. They knew she couldn’t be held down anymore, jailed like a prisoner in the desolate desert. Not after she’d seen so much of the world outside of the Badlands.
Marai was tired. So, so tired. Her shoulders sagged further as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Raife and Thora exchanged glances wrought with worry.
“Come, you should lie down,” Thora said, tearing her eyes away from Raife, an ethereal warrior, bow and a quiver of arrows dangling from his back.
Keshel, at the other end of the room, sat on a rock with a book and his personal journal open in his lap, flipping through pages casually as if Marai’s arrival meant nothing.
Kadiatu looped her arm through Marai’s and lifted her to her feet. “You can sleep in my bed until we make one for you.”
“We’ll talk more when you’re rested,” came Keshel’s cool voice. A promise that the interrogation was far from over. He didn’t glance up from his book as Kadiatu led Marai to the bedroom, which was a small hollowed-out tunnel on the right.
Three cots had been erected next to a petite makeshift dresser made of red shale and wood from desert shrubbery. A lantern with a magical fae flame sat on top of the dresser. Kadiatu turned down the hemp blankets on one of the cots and fluffed up a thin pillow stuffed with feathers and grass. When they were little, Marai and Kadiatu had shared that cot. It was so strange to see them all as adults, to know how many years had passed and how much Marai had missed of their lives.
“Sleep,” said Kadiatu. “Come find us when you’re ready.” She left Marai alone in the tunnel, the soft scuff of her slippers disappearing.
Marai sat on the rickety cot. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle. Her heart ached, her mind whirled, but she shoved it all away.
Walls up, shields up, she told herself, the same chant she’d used throughout her life.
Slowly, pain shooting across her body, Marai lowered herself under the blankets, covering her head. She leaned into the pain. She deserved it. Marai let darkness take her as her weary soul settled down into sheets that smelled familiar and felt like sanctuary.
Chapter 2
Marai
“She’s clearly been through something harrowing.”
“How did she get here? She had no belongings. It takes days to cross that desert.”
“Does it matter? She’s here now, and she needs us.”
The voices were hushed. Marai opened her eyes from under the blankets and continued to listen to Thora and Raife’s conversation.
“Those injuries . . .” whispered Raife.
“Nothing more serious than a concussion, though, thank Lirr.” Thora sighed. “Being in that dungeon . . . she should’ve died.”
“Don’t press her. She’s still the same walled-up Marai.”
“You cannot blame me for being worried.”
“I don’t. I know how much you care,” Raife said, and Marai was surprised to hear the warmth in his tone. Not about her, but towards Thora. It reminded her of how Ruenen used to speak to her . . .
Marai slammed the door on those intrusive memories.
She didn’t want to get up. Every part of her yearned to stay covered in the blankets, to hide away from the world, and sleep forever. But Marai pulled the blankets from her head, startling Thora and Raife standing at the opening of the tunnel. They took a step apart, as if she’d caught them in a precarious position.
“How are you feeling?” Thora asked.
Marai’s muscles rebelled at every movement, but at least she felt less awful than before. “How long was I out?”
“Oh, hours. I was starting to worry that you’d miss dinner.”
Marai got to her feet, wincing. Raife made a move to come to her side, but she stalled him with a gloved hand. She shuffled out of the tunnel and into the main cavern, too tired to lift her feet from the floor. The others sat around the fire as a large bird roasted on a spit. It was a vulture, one of the few creatures that managed to survive in the desolate Badlands of Ehle. Cactus and legumes, usual desert fare for the fae, boiled in a pot at the edge of the fire. Marai’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since the previous evening.
Marai staggered forward and took a seat on a cushion next to Kadiatu. Six sets of eyes watched her every move. “You don’t have to stare at me.”
“We wouldn’t have to if you told us what you are doing here,” Leif said from across the fire. His green eyes narrowed as Marai’s annoyance bubbled. He’d always given her that superior, judgmental expression as children.
Keshel began to carve the roasted vulture. “Not while we’re eating.”
That quiet authority managed to stem the fights between Leif and Marai back when they were children. Keshel’s eyes flashed at them both, a warning not to cause trouble. Marai was happy to obey this time.
The fae handed Keshel their plates and he doled out dinner. He put a heftier portion on Marai’s. He must’ve heard her stomach growling, or maybe she simply looked that terrible. Leif shoved a piece of cactus in his mouth as he glared at Marai above the flames.
“Reports, please.” Keshel served himself last.
“Nothing to report on our end,” Raife said, indicating Leif and Aresti with his fork. “All calm in the territory.” Since they were children, they’d run daily patrols around the cave in shifts, searching for any signs of danger.
“The garden is doing well,” Kadiatu said, then leaned over to Marai. Her face lit up with pride. “I grew these cactuses and legumes, myself.”
Most of the part-fae in the room had regular elemental magic, save for Kadiatu. She had little faerie blood, so the magic in her veins was weakest, almost nonexistent. She always had a special way with plants and growing things, but Marai assumed it had more to do with her nurturing personality than magic. Even now, Kadiatu was covered in dirt, including a red smudge across her nose.
When Marai had left, Kadiatu was a little girl, nine years old and gangly. Now, she was a young woman: fresh-faced, lovely, delicate, skin the color of dark cherry wood. Marai might not have recognized her if she’d come across Kadiatu somewhere else. She’d truly been gone for far too long.
“I restocked the herbal remedies,” said Thora in between bites. “We’re running low on certain items. We’ll need to go to Paracaso soon.”
Keshel nodded. “I’ve been taking more notes on fae history.”
“Haven’t you run out of texts by now?” Marai asked under her breath. What new information could he have found from the same old books he’d been reading for over a decade? What was the point of taking notes when he lived in the middle of the Badlands and would never go back to civilization?
Keshel ignored her. “And I swept the cave.”
Marai couldn’t tell. It looked exactly the same as it had when she’d arrived. Red dust always collected inside the cave, brought in by the canyon wind.
Everyone set down their plates, and all eyes returned to Marai. Did they expect her to make a report?
“I slept,” she stated in a bland tone. She intended to do more of the same now that dinner was over.
Aresti scowled. “What’s wrong with you?”
Marai stood, aiming to disappear for the rest of the night, but Leif stuck out a long leg, blocking her path to the bedroom.
“Aren’t you going to do the dishes? Everyone contributes. That’s the rule.”
With a groan, Marai collected the dirty plates and forks hand-carved from wood and clay. She carried them outside to the river, noticing that the sun had fully set. She really had slept a long time . . .
Once she stepped foot outside the cave, the canyon cloaked in indigo light, Marai released the tension in her chest, gazing upwards.
The desert sky was as vast and clear as on a southern beach. White flecks of stars littered the open black canvas. A half-moon hovered above Marai’s head, guiding her way to the river. On nights when the moon was full, the faeries didn’t need to use their magical flames to see. The desert would be illuminated in silver light. It was a comforting feeling that Marai was used to: the sense of smallness, insignificance. Marai didn’t mind the desert when she was outside. It was the cave and confinement that had always brought her anxiety and listlessness.
She knelt on the riverbank, removed her gloves, and scrubbed off the plates with her hands in the cool water. The temperature in the desert drastically declined at night, especially in the very early spring. Marai hastened her washing, then set the plates on a rock to dry. She slid off her boots and stepped into the river, fully clothed. Thora’s ointment had helped relieve the sunburn, but the crisp water continued to soothe Marai’s skin.
The lazy river wasn’t deep. Water lapped at Marai’s knees. This part wasn’t rocky; the riverbed was mostly sand. She lay on her back, letting the water keep her afloat, drifting slowly. She gazed up at that starlit sky and thought of the nights she’d spent with Ruenen. Grief clutched her heart again. Shame climbed the stairs of her spine.
I don’t want to feel this anymore. She didn’t care where the river took her. She knew further down the canyon were rapids. She wouldn’t try to swim to shore. She’d let the river drag her under. She deserved it.
Someone coughed on the shoreline.
Marai shifted her head to see Keshel. The corners of his eyes and mouth were tight. Marai trudged back to the bank, her body now as numb as her soul.
“I needed to bathe,” she said, feeling the need to explain herself as he stared at her, unflinching. “You don’t have to guard me. I’m not a child.” Her tone came across flat, not at all edged and sharp as a blade. Not like it used to be.
“I thought you’d want to talk in private.”
The night was still and so was Keshel. He’d wait patiently forever, as long as it took for her to speak. He’d always been that way—steadfast, calm. All the things Marai wasn’t.
“I only see pieces in my visions. I know you sailed on a ship. I know something happened onboard that made you wear black and become a killer. And I know you were traveling with a young man who happened to be the Nevandian prince; that you were both brought to the Tacorn dungeon,” Keshel said softly.
Marai flinched at each sentence, her armor cracking, crumbling. She couldn’t look at him. Her story, her life, whittled down to a few simple points. A sad, harsh reality of what she’d become.
“Permit yourself to be vulnerable, Marai,” continued Keshel. “Your humanity is a strength, not a weakness. It’s why the prince trusted you.”
Marai split open.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, sobs wracked her body. She covered her face in her hands as shoes scuffed the dirt. Arms wrapped around her, lightly, hesitantly at first, then Keshel pulled her into his chest. She hated it. She hated this physical contact, but she didn’t have the energy or will to fight him. The embrace made her cry harder.
“I failed him,” she said into his shirt. “I was supposed to protect him.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Keshel placed one hand on her head and gently stroked. It was such an intimate gesture; something people did to those they loved. Keshel never held her before as a child. How could he be so gentle? His visions were limited. He hadn’t seen how many lives she’d taken. He hadn’t seen every soul-tainting sin. If he had, he wouldn’t treat her this way. He would know better than to cradle a monster.
“If he’s not dead yet, he will be,” Marai said, clinging to him tighter. “And it’s my fault. I ran away. I was supposed to protect him.”
“If you care about him, why don’t you go after him?”
“Because I can’t,” she shouted and wrenched herself from his embrace. No one should touch her. Deserters and murderers didn’t deserve such tenderness. “My magic hasn’t recovered enough. I can’t summon anything.”
Her magic was an empty well, filled with nothing but red dust. She couldn’t feel its tingle in her fingers; the awesome power as it once snaked under her skin.
“What does this have to do with magic?” Keshel asked.
Marai lifted up her blackened fingertips to the moonlight. Keshel’s eyes snapped wide open as he stared, understanding clicked into place.
“I used it all, and took too much. And now . . . I can’t get back to him,” Marai said. “I created a portal, a door between places. I stepped through and ended up here. When I turned back to Ruenen, the portal sealed and I couldn’t open it again.”
Keshel stared at her stained fingers, brows pinched as if he was solving a difficult mathematical equation. Marai couldn’t hold back the secrets any longer. She dug around in her pants pocket until she felt the cool metal band. She held out her hand to Keshel, revealing the jasper bloodstone ring, flecked with dots reminiscent of blood. It truly was cursed; the cause of so much of her grief. Keshel’s expression darkened and Marai knew he held his tongue, biting back an answer. What did he know about her magic? The ring?
“I’d leave now, go back to him in a heartbeat, if my magic wasn’t depleted,” she said, pocketing the ring once again. “The hunters will take him to King Rayghast’s castle in Dul Tanen. They’ll have horses, but I’d be traveling on foot to Tacorn, which would take me at least a month. Even if I left tonight, Ruen would be dead by the time I arrive. I don’t know how to help him.”
Something else clouded Keshel’s face then. A different kind of concern. “He’s a human prince, Marai. Perhaps this is for the best.”
A bolt of fury shot through her. “I should condemn him to death because he’s human? We have human blood!”
“Yes, and humans killed your mother, one of their own, because she dared fall in love with a faerie. Most humans, especially those in power, do not have your mother’s kind heart. Prince Ruenen may not have harmed you, but you could never fully trust him,” Keshel replied, staying neutral, staying calm. “His own ancestor began the hunt on our people.”
Keshel had always gravitated more to his fae roots. His human father had abandoned his faerie mother when he’d found out she was pregnant. As a child, Keshel had watched his mother be butchered right in front of him by radical Tacornians, men in Rayghast’s army. They would have killed him, too, if he hadn’t hid with Marai and the others.
“Ruenen deserves to die for his grandfather, King Talen’s, crimes?” Marai stepped away from Keshel. She was close to punching that smooth, perfect face of his. “Our fae ancestors kept humans as slaves. That makes them no better than humans. I’ve killed people, Keshel. I’m just as dangerous, as untrustworthy.”
Marai didn’t miss the flicker of unease in his face. Her words rattled him. At his hesitancy, she stomped back towards the mouth of the cave, still dripping wet.
“I’m only trying to ease your guilt,” Keshel called after her.
Guilt? What did he know of her guilt? What did he know about anything real? All Keshel knew and experienced were inked words on paper, visions seen through a pane of glass. Marai headed back towards the cave, hoping the distance would allow her anger at Keshel to dissipate.
None of the others had ever spent time amongst humans. While they held deep prejudices against those with any amount of fae blood, Marai knew not all humans were hateful. Not all of them were possessive and greedy like Slate, or as cruel as King Rayghast. Ruenen had taught her that. Against all her held beliefs, Ruenen had shown her compassion and understanding. And she’d repaid him with betrayal. Perhaps humans were right to despise the fae . . .
Marai stalked past Aresti at the tunnel entrance, who said nothing, but raised her eyebrows. Aresti was Keshel’s cousin, but they were more like siblings. They both had the same brown angular eyes, jet black hair. Aresti’s skin tone was tanner, deeper, whereas Keshel was as pale as paper.
Aresti kept walking, no doubt heading out for her patrol shift. Marai returned to the cavern to find Thora and Raife once again in quiet conversation, side by side, arms touching. Thora’s face tilted upwards, and Raife chuckled at something she said.
They both fell silent when they spotted Marai.
“Oh! Marai, um . . . ” Thora’s voice was high and flustered. She stepped away from Raife and removed her apron, busying herself. “Where are the dishes?”
Raife cleared his throat. He murmured a casual “goodnight,” and disappeared down the other tunnel to where he, Leif, and Keshel slept.
The sight of Thora and Raife, so casual, so close, ruffled something in Marai. A longing that left her feeling queasy. And envious.
“Keshel can bring them in,” she said tersely.
Thora frowned. “Why are you all wet?”
“I bathed.” Before Thora could speak again, Marai jumped in, “Where am I sleeping?”
“Kadi set up a bed for you on the floor. It may not be the most comfortable, but—”
“Perfect.”
