Xoris

Chapter Twenty Four

A grumble escaped Kraim as more thorns tore into his arms, drawing blood that remained its strange mix of shifting blacks and greens. He wished his body would make up its mind already on whether it would feel pain, or accept the sweet, numbing absence of his newfound power. But no, it had to be finicky, much like everything– and everyone– else.

He bent another purple, leafy branch of forest brush back, only for it to snap back at his face along with the painful presence of majik. It didn't prick at his skin though, like his own had before the power had eaten it away entirely. Instead it delved deeper, hurting something within his chest like a burning stab within the cold.

"That's because stars always burn."

The hairs on the back of Kraim's neck lifted once again. He couldn't call it a voice, but it wasn't the first time he'd heard the strange, elusive concepts in the back of his mind. The heka was talking again. There was no other explanation. Fortunately though, he wasn't an ashclaeve like The Thing of Eyes and Teeth. He wouldn't be tricked into listening.

He focused back on pushing through the disastrous terrain, frowning as the blood of his injuries spread, leaking onto his robes. Purple was the colour of Palkhiv, his clothes meant to show his devotion to the god of the Cracked sky, and he'd let it get stained. Or rather, they did. But, once he found the mirror The Thing of Eyes and Teeth had claimed was the entry to this place, they would pay.

Sure enough, it wasn't much longer until a gate of vines came into view, opening up to a bower filled with aelwarda flowers. It was in complete disarray though, the door almost ripped off its organic hinges, plants yanked up from the ground, and the single mirror in its centre, shattered to pieces.

Kraim walked up to it, examining himself. Each shard stared back with its bored, tired gaze. His robes were crusted in black and green, the blond tips of his violet hair had curled into an unkempt mess from humidity and sweat, and he was coated in scratches. Only the Crack across his face remained pristine and perfect, untouched by his travels. Untouched by the king's betrayal.

"We don't like this place. It's wrong. We shouldn't be here."

Kraim jolted, looking around him. The clearing around him was empty, only filled with yellowing grass and bright red flowers. But that couldn't be the heka. It was so loud. ...I could feel it.

After a moment, the pulsing, hollow feeling in his chest settled. He had just begun to examine the mirror again when it returned, cycling over and over within him like a heartless beat.

"Maybe We could stay a while. We know very little of the Fae. It's an opportunity to learn why they are."

"I want to see a Fae! I never got to."

"It hardly matters. They'll all perish soon enough."

Immediately, his head began to throb, and he clutched at it. Why was it so loud? Why were there so many- and of what?

"Shut up, heka," he muttered to himself, his voice low.

Then he felt it, a ripple within himself like childish laughter. "Heka? You're funny, Devourer."

"Don't call me that, and stop incessantly talking. I can't focus." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It had been like this the entire way, from the moment he'd been forced to flee the castle, until the idea to come here had finally struck him. For a single outlet of power, there were so many thoughts, all conflicting, not lining up, agreeing, disagreeing...

My mind was my one, silent escape, and now that's gone. And for what?

He glanced up at the mirror. At some point, he'd come to sink to the ground, knees curled up, staring off like a child. Every day spent drinking what most would consider poison, tallies spent with a murderer, appeasing it, putting himself at risk just to make sure it wouldn't harm another, and yet–