River’s End ch 36: I Surrender

A box floats to the surface of my mind. A trunk. An imagined container. I need its treasures.

I tug on the lid. There’s a section for my most precious memories and another compartment for the pieces of my lost past, the clues I’ve collected.

Things I wish I could forget—things I never want anyone to see—get shoved to the very bottom. The burning island should go there, but it’s also the biggest clue I have as to who I am. Maybe if I had the strength not to care, to throw it away and press it into the rotten morass at the bottom of the box, then it couldn’t escape all the time.

It’s the first one to greet me, called to the top by the smell of ash and death hovering all around. I shove past it, looking for another. My most cherished. My most confusing.

It’s only a memory. Why is it so vivid? It always is. Something shimmies and sparks across my skin, small hairs standing on end. It trickles into my gut in tiny explosions. It makes me want to run. To climb. To shout, but I stay still, glancing sideways at my Rosa.

She is ten and nearly equal to me in height, pink eyes bright above a veil. She always dons those when visitors come to the citadel. Loops of braids capture her rosy hair by either ear. Shimmering powder highlights her cheeks.

She returns my glance, one eyebrow lowering. “What’s wrong?”

I turn back to the double doors in front of us. What is this I feel? Fear? Excitement? It isn’t mine. It’s different, like heat that comes from within versus warmth from sunlight. This is the latter, radiating over me.

“Are you scared?” I ask her.

“I’m so nervous and excited, I could leap over four moons.” She giggles.

I snort. “It’s not possible to leap over a moon.”

“What about in a low gravity environment?”

I say nothing. Ignore the throb in my bones. The urge to spend this energy. To run.

She holds her hands behind her, tilting toward me. “My sister’s in that room. She barely acknowledges I exist, but today, this visit, she asked to see me. Why do you think that is? Did I do something good? Something bad?”

A hand lands on my shoulder. I turn. Lord Lokma.

“Walk with me, boy.”

I don’t want to. I want to stay with Rosa. I want to see her sister, future ruler of the world. This curiosity feels only partly mine. It pours into me and expands. Flourishes.

Lord Lokma’s grip is strong, dragging me beside him faster than my short legs can keep up.

“Stay with my children.” He leaves me in a study on the highest floor of the citadel. Dollii and her brother, Kunai, sit across from each other at a broad, stone table, open-four-way books stacked and splayed around them. Obeying their father, I slide onto a stool next to Kunai.

With a sideways glare, the youngest Lokma hooks his foot around my seat’s leg and sweeps it aside. I flip over backward and land in a low crouch. His icy gaze is not quite blue and not quite purple.

“What did Father say about being cruel?” Dollii stands.

As her twin whirls back to her, his nearly white hair flies just enough to reveal the bandage on his neck. The wrapping trails below the collar of his jacket.

He almost died last week.

“I’m testing his reflexes,” Kunai excuses. “If the kid wants to be a hero, he’s got to have the skills to back it up.”

Kunai and Dollii are older than me by more than a full set of seasons. He always calls me kid, always with some amount of affection. This time it feels like an insult.

I circle the table and perch on the stool next to Dollii. The siblings’ stares are locked, lavender and periwinkle, both as sharp as the Earth-na knife Kunai was named after. Their hair glistens the same yet different in the rays of sunset coming through the window. One gold. One platinum. Styled identically in overlapping twists. They’re quite the pair. Seallaii-nas are supposed to be born in pairs.

Do I have a twin? Did I?

“You know why the princess came, right?” Kunai begins.

“To visit her sister,” Dollii supplies.

“To give her a mykta because we’re not good enough.”

Dollii lifts a brow and one corner of her lips. “We?”

“The Lokma clan. Dissidents came into our orchard and attacked her, and we couldn’t do anything.”

Dollii sighs. “We’re children, Kunai. They were adults.”

His gaze flits to me, and I recall a dagger in my hand—his dagger, given to him by the Lokma weapon’s master. Kunai had drawn it as he leapt in front of Rosa, but a masked man had twisted his arm and cut him with his own weapon. I had snatched it, breath gone at the sound of Rosa’s scream and the shimmer of blood.

In the moonlight, that blood shone the same purple as my eyes’ reflection in the silver blade.

I slashed at the assailant’s arm, and he released Kunai. I grabbed Dollii’s weapon, too. Keeping low, I aimed at knees and any hands that reached toward me or Rosa until Lokma adults came.

I can’t answer Kunai or anyone who keeps asking as to what came over me. It’s similar to the tingle I got standing next to Rosa, as if someone else’s emotions and knowledge leapt into me because I needed it. We needed it.

The faintest of notions came with it, of being in a dream. Of never wanting to lose anyone again. Of doubting my own existence.

“Our days of adventuring are over.” Kunai flops on the table. “Now Rose will have a mykta following her around all the time. She won’t be allowed to be with us.”

“So melodramatic,” Dollii coos. “Did you like the idea of Rose following you all the time that much?”

Kunai’s cheeks turn purple, and his gaze cuts to me again. I duck my head and concentrate on a random book before me.

I can’t read it. Dyama words, one of Seallaii’s original languages. I flip the book over, opening it from a different side, and find the Sishgil translation.

“Are you ignoring me, kid? I challenge you to a duel.”

I stiffen. Fight Kunai?

“You’ll have to battle me first.” Dollii edges closer to me. My eyes widen, but I don’t look up. “The winner of our duel will fight Fredo.”

Fight Dollii? I wince and glance up.

Kunai grins. “Little would be accomplished by me beating my sister, not unless she’s done something to validate her warrior’s prowess. You’ll have to beat Fredo first.”

“Then let’s raise the stakes. Loser must grant the winner a favor. Are you ready, Fredo?”

I shake my head and scramble backward off the stool. Why isn’t she protesting this? Dollii is a ray of light from the sun. I can’t fight her.

She draws her dagger from a sheath secured to her waist, hidden in the folds of her silken overskirt. The near-weightless fabric billows as she sinks into a wide fighting stance and her gaze meets mine. She has a plan. Her lavender eyes beg me to trust her.

I do. Copying her stance, I nod.

“Begin.” She straightens. “I surrender.”

Kunai’s laugh bounces off the walls of bookshelves. “That didn’t accomplish anything. I’ll just be fighting Fredo like I wanted to all along.”

“You forget, I now owe Fredo a favor.” Dollii turns to her brother, dagger raised as she lowers her stance again. “I will fight in his stead. Are we ready?”

Kunai’s fists clench. “Do you know how much trouble I’d be in if Mother discovered I dueled you?”

“Not my problem. Are you going to take your stance?”

With a snort, Kunai swivels to me, heels clacking together on the stone floor. “I surrender. What favor do you want?”

What do I want? More than anything…

“I want to see what’s going on with Rosa and her sister in the reception room. But I’m not supposed to leave you two. Will you come with me to a secret lookout spot?”

Kunai rolls his eyes. “The passageways won’t open for us without Rose.”

I shake my head. “The citadel listens to me because I’ve been on so many exploring expeditions with Rosa.”

Dollii’s face tilts. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Regardless, the walls do listen to me. No one sees us as we watch the reception room from high above. We slide one of the ceiling’s glass panels aside so we can hear better.

White beams crisscross the horizontal pane of windows. Their shadows drape over the vast, marble and carpet room, darkening its peaches and purples. A dais rises at one end, showcasing an ornate chair and a dainty woman with curls the inky black of a kel’s wings.

Next to her stands Rosa. Four men line up before them, each one different and somehow the same, dressed in black, hair pulled into large braids.

“See, I was right,” Kunai hisses. “Those are mykta, just like the one standing behind the princess.”

I see him only now that Kunai points him out. He is one with the shadows, dark like a mountain blocking all light behind it.

“Let’s go before they see us,” Dollii cautions.

But I can’t. I have to get closer.

Pushing on the glass, I make the gap wider and shimmy through. Eyes glued to my Rosa, I cling to one of the curtains interspersed with the columns and climb down.

Rosa steps closer to the men, imperiously inspecting them. I inspect them, too, comparing. Frown deepening. I lack so much. They are older. Faster. Stronger. Probably smarter. Perfect.

I don’t even know what I am. Who I am.

Rosa is small, but her clear voice rings in the huge room. Dignified. Full. Sometimes I really can believe she knows everything. “Do you want to be my mykta?”

“It will be an honor, Sine,” the largest says. He could easily carry two of the princess on either arm.

Another nods, smaller but no less broad. “Right, an honor not only to bond with you, but to be taken in by the River Guardians, Sine.”

“They’re spies.” Rosa whirls back to her sister.

“They are not.”

“Is a Sine”—Rosa spits the title—“supposed to have mykta anyway? What if they steal River Guardian secrets?”

“Our Sine uncle has several mykta, and vedia besides,” the princess explains with a dismissive wave of her hand, “and none of them are spies.”

Rosa’s face twists. “Sine this. Sine that. That’s all they say. It’s not my name. I’m a person, and if they care, they’ll call me by my name.”

“Sine—”

“That’s not what my friends call me.”

“This is not about having friends.” The princess barely moves, yet I feel as if she does. She is the eye of a storm. No, deeper than that. Stronger. Pulling me in. “This is about keeping you safe. At first, a mykta might feel like an intrusion, but you must have one. So, choose one.”

Rosa’s face scrunches, and she turns back to the men. “I thought all four were to be my mykta.”

“Eventually, yes, but you cannot handle that yet.” The princess stands, hand hovering above her younger sister’s shoulder. She’s not supposed to touch her, but she wants to. And Rosa wants her to. “Choose the mykta who will be yours first, who will stand beside you today.”

“I choose Fredo.”

My breath stops. I can’t move.

The princess frowns, chin tilted at that pink-eyed idiot. “There isn’t one called Fredo.”

“Yes, there is.” Rosa points toward the curtain. Right. At. Me.

My heart beats wildly in my throat. It’s impossible to breathe. I still can’t move, and everyone looks at me, judgement in their eyes. How could Rosa choose me over those perfect warriors?

One of them whisks the curtain aside and prods me closer to the ornate throne and the glaring princess. Her eyes claim a deeper purple than mine, sharper than even Kunai’s. They leave me quickly, dismissive.

Flames of impatience whip at Rosa. I want to rush in front of her again, protect her, but the mykta’s grip on my shoulder is tight.

“This is not a game, Rose. You cannot just pick one of your friends. Choose a real mykta.”

“Fredo is a real mykta. He saved me when those miscreants attacked.”

The princess’ eyes slide to me, widening. They’re the same shade as Seallaii-na blood. Why does she have to look at me with such interest, with any interest at all? It was better when she instantly dismissed me, let me pretend I was invisible.

“This is that child?” Her perfect brows draw together. A jagged line appears between them exactly like Rosa’s does when she doesn’t quite believe something. “Being a mykta is more...”

Is she still talking? I don’t think so. A million unseen fingers walk across my skin. Climb up my nose and into my ears. Rip at my brain. I retreat, crashing into the leg of the man who holds my shoulders.

“Test him immediately.”

That’s fear in the princess’ voice. I feel it, too, not just my own terror. This is hers. It’s much too big and old for me. It stings.

Huge, dark hands snatch me up and tuck me under an arm. The ground rushes by as long strides carry me toward massive doors at the back. I don’t want to leave. I also don’t want to stay here within the princess’ reach.

I twist, and my captor’s orange eyes glare at me. Warning blazes in them. I fall still. Those imaginary fingers are back, and I have to get away from them.

“No,” Rosa protests. “I choose Fredo. You can’t take him away.”

“You will choose one of the mykta I presented or none at all.”

The door closes. I don’t hear Rosa’s reply, but I still feel Princess Silvika of the royal house Mellecallii. Flustered. Anxious. Arrogant.

I never want her in my mind again.

Noise crowds in and leads me back to the present. Music? Faint, it echoes through the halls. This shouldn’t be surprising on Grenswa.

I tuck the memory away and step toward the sound. It has a hollow quality. Too fast to be keening. Too forlorn to be anything else. It swells and patters like rain, gentle droplets growing heavier, more frequent, until their individual voices are no longer distinguishable.

Dollii’s voice escapes from my box of memories. “If just one droplet falls, do we call it rain? Don’t try to do everything on your own, Fredo. You’re not of the Lokma clan by blood, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care about you. That doesn’t mean we won’t help you.”

Can I get a message to the Lokmas?

These Grenswa-nas might help me with that.

One foot slides in front of the other, again and again. My leg twinges. I pause, but it holds.

I press on. The mosaic beneath my feet is sharp. Cracked.

New goals: Get a message to the Lokmas and get shoes.

A sheet flaps in front of me, space hollow beyond it. I grab the fabric and fling it behind me, imagining a corridor. The music is all-consuming here, bouncing everywhere. Overwhelming. I dive deeper. My hand runs along a wax-paper partition.

Keep walking. Don’t limp. Don’t let them see how weak I am. Or how hungry. I could eat a thousand-year-old tree, trunk and all.

I find breaks in the dividers. Other rooms. Moaning blends with the music. The dying and injured. I keep going, shoulders back. Head high. Another step.

Pain. Falling. My knees clack against tile.

The smell of everything rotten explodes around me, permeated with Rosa’s disgust and horror. It overtakes me. I wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to stop it, but acid churns in my gut. Bubbles. They race up my throat. I double over.

A splash hits the floor.

“Ew.” Pullee. I see her with Rosa’s face again, the way she scrunches her nose when she doesn’t want to touch something.

‘What happened?’ I demand, but Rosa doesn’t answer. The horror recedes behind the vedia’s electric fence, leaving me numb.

“Calm down,” the granny soothes as more hands pull me away from my mess. “Drink this.”

Soft petals touch my lips, cold liquid within. Water. A slight bitter aftertaste. Tea.

“Better?”

I nod.

She rubs my back. “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Following the music.”

“Music’s a powerful medicine remindin’ our hearts to beat,” Granny says. How old is she really? Probably younger than the princess. Odd to think of that as old.

“I prepared this for your eyes. You can kneel?”

I do, left leg shaking. Throbbing.

Stop that! I can do this. It’s not hard. It shouldn’t be hard.

“Close your eyes.”

I obey, and it makes no difference. Will this really heal my vision?

Hope flashes.

Will it hurt?

Fear prickles, hair on my arms and neck standing on end.

Granny positions herself in front of me, a void in the corridor’s warmth. A scent smacks me, sweet and acidic like berries. My mouth waters.

I flinch as a warm, wet, soft cloth presses against my eyelids. She ties it at the back of my head and pulls it tight. Some of the medicine is wrung. It sieves through my lashes and drips down my cheeks like tears.

It tingles, on the verge of stinging. It must be doing something besides just smelling like a good breakfast.

My stomach grumbles. Smelling breakfast is not enough. I should ask for food.

There’s another commotion—running feet and shouts. Thuds. Paper screens ripping. With a frown, I rise as it races closer.

“You’re still here after all,” a new voice sneers.

“Have we met?” My stance widens, readying for action.

The newcomer stands less than two body-lengths in front of me. The air jitters at his hostile movements. His voice carries the same level of threat. “Your friend left you behind to finish destroyin’ us!”

I shake my head. “Rosa was taken against her will and is currently in grave dan—”

He rushes at me. The zing of a metal blade drawn from a sheath shivers across my nerves, and I drop lower.

“Lord Sjaen!” Granny screeches.

I let him get close. His arm careens downward, a whoosh ahead of it. His wrist falls into my palm, and much like the attacker had done to Kunai so long ago, I twist it behind him. The dagger’s tip points down so that if he struggles, it will stab into his own spine.

“Please don’t kill him!” Granny’s foot taps the tiles tentatively, one half-step closer. “He’s rash, but he’s the Lord of Ruby, and we lost the last one not too long ago.”

“I have no intention of killing him, nor do I have any intention of letting him kill me.”

He tries to turn. Something flops over my arm. Hair? He must have a ponytail. He’s Ruby. He should have red eyes, a rare color for a Seallaii-na, like Rosa’s father. Are they narrowed, trying to burn through my soul?

If they are, I have no way of knowing.

He yanks against my hold again and flinches as the knife slips a little into his back. “That fake Pink’s working with the Shlykrii-nas all along. She delivered a fake message.”

Wetness flings onto my face and drips on my arm. Did he spit at me, or is he crying?

“Because of her, I’s in Tils waitin’ for a stupid Iron when the island got attacked. I’sn’t here. I couldn’t help.” He’s definitely crying, voice distorted by tears. Something wraps my wrist. Right, Grenswa-nas have dexterous tails.

I don’t let go. “You should be glad you weren’t here.”

His every muscle solidifies, like water exposed to the cold.

I continued to explain. “That’s why you’re still alive and able to help now.”

His knees give out, and I let him fall. The motion pries the dagger from his fingers.

Can he hear me over his low sobs?

I speak louder. “You’re not much of a fighter. They would have killed you easily and without a second thought.”

“Like Joqshon,” he chokes out.

It’s my turn to freeze. Ice crawls up from my toes and fingers.

The Lord of Ruby stands, hair whipping wide enough to slap my hand as he whirls to face me. “They found him next to you. I bet you killed him.”

My mouth drops open, but other than that, I can’t move. The dagger slips from my grasp and clatters on the tiles. I feel Joqshon’s cold-but-alive form in my arms. I can’t stop the squelch of the blade sinking into him. Yol’s sinister laughter reverberates in my ears.

Lord Sjaen snatches up the fallen weapon, and I scramble back.

“You’ren’t denyin’ it. It’s true?”

I shake my head. Loose, choppy hair rustles at my ears. “No, I’m not here to fight you.”

He steps toward me. My heart races. If I run, he’ll catch me. I don’t know where I’m going, what obstacles there are to crash into.

I really don’t want to fight him.

“Why’re you here, then?” Another step forward.

I feel Kietyn’s powerful hands carrying me from the room when I wanted to stay with Rosa.

I smell the burning island. Smoke wafts from smoldering ruins. It’s just me. I’m alone. Lost. Shouts echo in the distance. Rescuers. Hope. Fear.

The keilan should have been killed.

But I am alive.

I see Rosa’s wonder when we first landed on this planet. It wiggles across my skin, just as beautiful as the shine in her pale pink eyes. As the smile lighting her soft face.

Rosa loves Grenswa.

I stand straighter, tilting my head down as if I can see the Ruby lord. “I’m here to do whatever I can to fix this world.”

Continued in chapter 37: A Million Colors and Every Bad Smell

Thank you for reading!