She started shaking. A line of red saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth. I didn’t know if she and her sister had run from the war, or who her father was, or. .
“She was just a baby!” Cricket wailed. “And I. . I. . I. . dropped. . her!”
Then she screamed so loud it nearly drowned out the waterfall. Her hands curled into claws and her whole body stiffened, and there was nothing I could do to stop her enormous grief. Suddenly I was screaming too, cursing the Fate and the Akari and all creation. Cricket-Lisea-was dying. It might have been merciful, but I couldn’t bear it.
“Malator!” I cried. “Help her!”
My sword vibrated with his sorrow. I felt him inside me, watching Cricket through my own sight.
I cannot.
“You can! Do it! I command it!”
No.
“You black-hearted jackal. .”
She’s dying, Lukien. Don’t let your curses be the last thing she hears.
In my arms Cricket went on screaming, her whole body a spasm of pain. I lifted her out of the water completely and hugged her to my breast. I put her wet head to my lips and spoke softly in her ear.
“I love you, Lisea,” I said. “I love you, and you’re going to a better place.”
She stopped her cries. She held her breath. Her muscles tightened, and she rubbed against my cheek, the only reply she could marshal. I could feel her heart struggling inside her, beating wildly and weakly, losing its battle. Her hair smelled young and girlish. I kissed her, I rocked her, I did the only things I knew to do. Her last breath came in a rush, pushing past her lips to warm my face.
And then she was gone.
I held on to her for long minutes, standing with her in the river with the spray and roar of the Falls all around me. Malator hovered somewhere in the distance. A fish brushed past my leg. I waited, and when the anguish came I crushed it down, deep down. I had work to do first. So I waded to shore with Cricket in my arms and looked for a place to bury her.
25
I chose a spot far enough from the river so that she wouldn’t be disturbed, yet close enough for her to see the waterfall. A wise-looking tree stood guard over the spot, giving her shade and a place for her spirit to sit and remember the better life she’d had before war and madness touched her world. I had no shovel, so I used my hands to dig out the soft earth enough to cover her slight remains. I worked in a fog, alone, cutting my fingers on rocks and ignoring the blood. This was her death place, and I wanted to make it beautiful.
Ten at a time I carried armloads of stones from the river banks, choosing the largest and prettiest ones I could find. I stacked them neatly atop her grave, saying nothing as I worked, oblivious to the hours slipping away. I suppose I was exhausted. I really can’t remember. Those hours are like broken glass in my memory, almost impossible to piece together. Malator did not come to me nor speak to me, nor offer any apology for letting her die. I wrote her name in smaller stones at the foot of the grave.
L I S E A
To me, she was Cricket. I’d call her that forever. But she had a name before she’d taken her sister’s, a name given by a mother and father, and I meant to honor that. I looked at her name and said it softly to myself. I touched the stones that made it. And I realized I never really knew her. Over and over I heard her cries in my mind. Her screams reminded me of someone else I’d lost.
“Lukien?”
I turned from the grave and saw Malator standing behind me near the river bank. His long face looked as if he’d been weeping, but I knew that wasn’t possible. He looked at me cautiously, reminding me that time was wasting. He took two shimmering steps forward then stopped. His vaporous feet made no marks in the sand at all. I remained kneeling over Cricket’s grave.
“Cassandra died screaming, too,” I said softly. “She died like Cricket died. With me. Because of me.”
Malator glided closer. “Cricket didn’t die because of you, Lukien.”
“She did. And you knew she would. You warned me.” I turned to look at his glowing face. “You never wanted her to come with me. You saw this, didn’t you?”
Of course, Malator didn’t answer that.
“I thought it would be the monster,” I said. “I thought it would be Crezil. Why’d you let me believe that?”
“Did I ever tell you that? No, I did not. I warned you not to bring her, and that was all I ever said.”
“I let her get between us. Is that why you wouldn’t save her?”
“Are you angry with me for not saving her?” he asked.
I thought about that. “At first,” I replied. “But not anymore. Not with you. But I am angry.”
My fury burgeoned like a thunderhead. I could barely check it. And now I didn’t have to. I got off my knees and went to the place where the rass skin cape still hung upon the stick. Malator floated after me without a word.
“He followed her here,” I said. “To try and get to me.”
“He must have thought she was going north to meet you,” agreed Malator.
“I could have stopped him. I could have killed him when I saw him.” I bent and picked up the cape. Weeks of wear had made the rass skin supple like velvet. “Must I live with that now? That and everything else, every day of my life?”
“How could you know?”
“I didn’t know! I shouldn’t have cared! I just should have ended him, right there!”
“And be killed yourself by the others.”
“But I would have spared her this.” I put the cape against my face. The smell of her overwhelmed me. “She was fourteen, Malator. He raped her.”
“A child,” nodded Malator. “Wrestler is a beast beyond compare. Worse than Crezil.”
I unsheathed the sword, holding it out in my palms and dropping to my knees. “Help me, Malator,” I pleaded. “Only blood can avenge this crime. Give me the magic of life and death. Grant me the power to grind them to dust!”
Malator floated closer, looking down at me with a sober expression. “Vengeance is just, but you must know what you’re asking, Lukien.”
“Give me the power to damn them!”
“Understand me,” he insisted. “I can give you the might to match your fury, but it will change you. There’s no turning back from what you ask.”
“Do it!” I demanded. I slammed the sword point-down in the dirt. “I’ll pay your price. I’ll follow my fate. Just let me destroy them!”
Malator put his hand over my eyes. Though his fingers were translucent, I was suddenly blind. “Hold on to the sword. Do not let go.”
I reached in front of me to where the Sword of Angels stood speared into the ground. My fingers burned as they wrapped around the leather hilt. The bones in my hands fused, unable to move as the blade’s fire entered me.
“Give it to me,” I gasped. Sweat gushed from my skin. A glorious pain boiled my blood. “Make me strong. Make me unstoppable!”
“Feel it,” commanded Malator. “That is the fire of the Akari. The forge of life! No man will stand against you. You are reborn, Lukien. Forever!”
The magic engulfed me, immolating me. I tried to scream but couldn’t. My mind saw my body blazing, kneeling in the sand. And there stood Malator, like a duke of hell, touching me with his ghostly hands. I felt my bones melt, then mend themselves. Every scar burned away. Memories of my long life wailed inside my rattling skull, of Cassandra young and beautiful, of Akeela old and mad. I opened my mouth and a tongue of flame spat out.
“Help me. .!”
This was hell, I thought. This was Crezil’s Gahoreth. But I kept hold of that sword. I didn’t care if Malator turned me to ash or a spirit like himself. I wanted my revenge, and I knew he alone could give it to me. Finally, when all my strength had fled, I heard Malator’s voice again.
“One day,” he said, “you will know why I agreed.”
The flames enveloping me died. A cool breeze touched my skin. Malator pulled his hand away. Slowly my fingers unwrapped from the sword. Then, as weak as a newborn, I toppled over into the sand. Malator hung over me, but offered no help. I glanced up and saw him cock his head, then smile. My whole body was soaked with sweat. My hands shook, but when I looked at them they seemed different, like they weren’t mine. I took half a breath. Something more than air filled my lungs.