I’ve come back to this thought time and time again.
Death.
It was one I hadn’t explored with Kalan. But it’s getting harder to stay mad at the man sitting across the fire from me, especially after what he said about the brooch being sacred to Shepherds. Maybe he has much more to tell me if I can open myself up to that possibility. A staggeringly large part of me hopes I can, and a stranglehold on my heart clenches my chest as I chide myself for wanting to grasp hold of that.
Instead, I let silence descend, as if the trees themselves have hushed themselves, ready for this conversation, wanting the answers to whisper through their branches alone. But as hard as I listen, I can’t hear their magic on the wind.
“The Jarkoreth are creatures of protection. They are often… misconstrued as monsters.” I can’t imagine how anyone might see them as anythingotherthan a monster, given their design. Although I’ve only seen one in a partial state of decay and death, surely in life, they would be just as fierce and instil fear even at the mention of them. “The power of a Fifth is still a rare gift. And part of that is that their power is not confined. Every Fifth is different and your ability to raise the Jarkoreth from the dead could never have been predicted. Nor has anything similar been recorded.”
“Recorded?”
“Yes. All Kirrian training trials are recorded. It is the Elementals’ duty to keep these archives.”
“But there is so little about a Fifth.”
“The Usher, with help, has been liberating texts. Helping to find, Stars knows what, in the records. Something or someone to help his plan.”
His words fill in the gaps I’ve struggled with. And I wonder if there are more answers in the text kept in Fenix’s cabin.
“Were you connected to others as you raised the Jarkoreth, Ever?”
“Sorry, umm, yes. Yes, I was.”
“The Jarkoreth protect. They protect the forest. There are plenty of people who have nefarious intent towards the woods or Aslendrix. Jarkoreth have a way of reading, of sensing, a person’s intent. It may have recognised me, but you didn’t raise it because you are a bringer of death. I don’t believe death is your power.”
I let that sink in. All of it.
There has been so much death around me, hearing someone older and perhaps wiser, confirm that death isn’t my calling card, lets a part of me rest.
“What could my parents do? What were their gifts?” I venture the question, brave enough to hear it, and wish I could read records of their training.
“Ever, I wasn’t close with your parents. They chose me for the task they entrusted me with, not because we were close, or sworn to one another, but because of who I was.”
“So you don’t know their power?”
“I didn’t say that. I had known about them. All of Kirrasia had. Your father, well, he was strong. His magic was strong, too. He had the ability to control the air and darkness around him. Shadows were his speciality. He’d take the very colour from the sky if nobody checked him.” As Kalan says the words, I think back to all the times when darkness has encroached. I thought it was Ravi, or a combination of powers that allowed me access to that, but maybe not?
“And my mother?”
Even from here, I can see the sadness shine in his eyes. “Your mother was kind, that was clear even to me, especially to me, but she struggled with her power. She was, as I understand, more powerful than any Fifth before her. But she kept her power hidden, and fought to diminish it, for fear of what it might do.” My heart thuds in my chest, as if answering a familiar call, anticipating what Kalan might next say. “She was able to absorb magic—power,” he says, and his words still my heart.
Isn’t that what my power allows me? WhatI’mcursed with? But maybe, armed with the right information, it doesn’t feel like a curse from Aslendrix, but perhaps an inherited gift.
There’s a void in the centre of my chest, the well that was once full and the source of my magic, is now barren and cold. The rubble of the broken well is all that remains, leaving an even greater gap between me and the family I never knew.
The oppressive air that seemed to listen to our conversation eases, releasing with a gust of wind that sends the small flames wavering and fluttering.
Neither of us says anything for a long while.
My body is tired, and I look back to where Ten has remained asleep, passed out cold.
“What will you do now?” I ask Kalan.
“What do you mean?”
“Will you stay with Lyle? Will you help protect Kirrasia?” He doesn’t answer. “Is it the same for you, now that Fenix is dead?”
“I can’t answer that.” He bristles.
