CHAPTER SEVEN

And, then, they're gone

*Xru'lar*

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Shadows consume him.

They slither into his veins. Vanquish his heart. They congeal in his bones. He becomes a shadow. He is Dark. He is Ahst. He is. A sword, true to him. Him. Her.

'Xru'lar?'

The voice is the soothing, soft sough of spring breeze through the forests breathing in new life.

'Wake up,'

Dhai'va.

'It's only a dream.'

He opens his eyes to a bright room. A name owned only by his dreams graces his lips, 'Zeré?'

'Who?'

Xru'lar's eyes focus. It's Ruri. Not Dhai'va.

All is blurred until a sharp memory cuts through the haze. The desert; Zyr'h; Dhai'va. Ahst.

Xru'lar straightens swiftly. A deluge of dizziness knocks him back flat.

'Slowly,' Ruri advises, placing a palm over his chest.

He gasps; the room still spins. ' Zyr'h?'

'Zyr'h and Dhai'va are fine. They've notified me of all that happened. Rest.'

Ruri's palm, flat on his chest, is strangely calming. He gathers his breath. His body is sore, head, aching. There's an incessant chirping rapping on his foggy awareness. The Infirmary-room is light-filled. Sound of tincture-glass and vials clinking drifts into the room, along with the lowered voices of the Healers.

'Do you feel your powers?'

Xru'lar nods, recognising the prickle of power in him.

'I've informed Iro'va. He may come soon since the war's glimpsing an end.'

Xru'lar doesn't react; there's no predicting how Iro'va will take the news. Instead, he glances around; the chirping seems close, like a wruz wandered in.

'You must have abundant caution, fui. No wandering off on your own; Ahst will rejoice your powers.'

Ruri's words pull him back into attention. The notion of hiding singes his senses; hot, fiery.

'No more,' he crooks, dry-throated.

'Hmmm?' her violet-silver eyes narrow; her palm lifts from him.

'I want to train. I want to stand strong against Ahst, not avoid him.'

Her back straightens. She's in official robes, hair tied neatly at the back. There's so much of Ruh'vi splattered on her face in the deep-set of her eyes, the smooth slant of her nose, and her arched eyebrows. Somedays, it's painful looking directly at her.

'Ahst will love a strong vessel,'

'Strength will help me shield myself from him.'

She studies him, lips pursed, hands adjusting the collar of her robe. Xru'lar holds her gaze. No matter how hurtful, now isn't the time to back down.

'With powers, am I not the same as her?'

Ruri clenches her jaw. Xru'lar notes that her light-green aura has a blob of dark-grey and murky-green. She's guilty and helpless. 'Ruh'vi always wanted you to train. It's the Tv'orm's decision.'

Curse the Defenders. 'Why do they control my life?'

She's quiet but fidgety. She shifts on her chair, peering at her boots. 'I can't help you.'

Xru'lar's voice is leaden with desperation. 'Please,'

Ruri walks out without a glance his way. Xru'lar sits, fuming, the air in his lungs, dense, cheeks aflame. He catches black-red hair at the doorframe. Won'lyr peeps in. The moment their eyes meet, the Ru Prince stills and leaves. Xru'lar stares at the door, furious and baffled.

* * * * *

Xru'lar spends two days more in the Infirmary.

And there is a wruz in the room. Rya eyes it, curious. The girl next to him pays attention to nothing but her Comm., blonde hair showing she's not from Xroui'lm. Xru'lar doesn't understand why she came.

'The bird refuses to leave,' Xru'lar.

Rya smiles; Xru'lar returns an inkling of one. The girl tells Rya she'll see him outside, kisses his cheek, and leaves. Xru'lar felt fine until then. Now, he's suddenly unsure, the feeling curling around his chest.

'What?'

Xru'lar shakes his head, pulling the covers to his neck, sitting straighter. He eyes the bowl of scen'he on the bedside table, its pungent sourness rising with the steam. He hasn't touched the strength-restoring gruel.

Rya grins. 'You may be Um'rei-Hi'er, but you share our paleness. I can't read your aura, but your face shows it all.'

Xru'lar closes in on himself.

Rya is silent, wanting a response. When Xru'lar gives none, he says, 'Your face is red.'

Xru'lar feels the heat rise. He silently curses himself.

'Is it her?' Rya points to the door.

'No,'

"Well done on your powers,' he changes topics.

Xru'lar shrugs. The news of his powers spreads fast. Not all welcome it; they're more sceptical of his existence than before.

Rya rises, breathing deeply. He leans to pat Xru'lar on the shoulder, who flings back so fast he hits the wall hard. Rya goes stiff, arms crossing over his chest.

'I'm not committed to...,'

'It's not that,' Xru'lar defends.

Rya, ever polite, waits for the explanation Xru'lar's struggling to give.

'I'm Ahst's vessel,' eyes low, Xru'lar whispers.

Rya is quiet.

'People don't touch me as I'll taint them,' Xru'lar's stomach wrings uneasily.

Rya leans in, puts his hand under Xru'lar's jaw, and lifts his head. Xru'lar's heart drums a wild beat with Rya's silver-violet eyes boring into his.

'Head high, always, Xru'lar. You taint none.'

With his name on Rya's lips, Xru'lar's heart nearly fails him. He can't explain why.

'May the Spirits keep a kind eye on you,' Rya whispers and leaves.

Xru'lar stares, heart racing.

* * * * *

Xru'lar's every request to train is declined. He's humiliated. Are they hoping his powers will wither with disuse? He'll never let that happen. He recommences his nightly practice at the shr'dyt, focusing on bringing out his powers. It takes effort to bring them out; once he does, he doesn't know what to do with them. He has no idea how people are trained to work with powers. He sneaks into weapons-training as he has access to the centres. He doesn't have admission into power-training centres. Sick of bringing out his powers one-by-one and not knowing what use to put them to, he sits on the pond's steps. The wruz sits by the water, preening its feathers. It sticks by him. He's tried letting it go with the other birds; it returns. He has no idea how it found him.

Xru'lar coaxes his purple-lightning over his fingertips. It sputters, disintegrating. He wills it into existence again. This time it stays. He watches it dance, entranced; the powers of the Holy-Entities on his hand. The lightning is his favourite, followed by shielding. The sparks grow, flowering over his palms. He recognises the soft footsteps headed his way. He lets the lightning dissipate. Dhai'va sits by him, handing over a bowl of vyl. He takes it, not touching her hands. They've found a way to coexist; a twirl to the music of rules, risk, reason, and simply the need for understanding. Since their tryst with Ahst, there's no qualm in Dhai'va's space-dark eyes reserved for Xru'lar. She doesn't sneak, trailing him. Instead, she seeks him to spend time, even if it's silent sitting. It's been weeks of quiet sessions and short conversations where she inquires about his requests for training. Sometimes she nicks desserts from the kitchens to share. Occasionally, Won'lyr accompanies her.

'Syv'h?'

'Napping,' Dhai'va reaches for the bowl in his hands and pops a lump of sweetened-flowers into her mouth. The sugary-syrup slithers down over her lips, down her chin. Xru'lar's eyes never waver from the sticky golden streak. 'I can help with your powers.'

'How?' Xru'lar witnesses the syrup drop to her shirt.

She hisses, wiping it, only making the stain worse. 'Zuh'tih,' she curses.

Xru'lar smiles.

Dhai'va gazes at him, finds him smiling, and sticks her tongue out. She says, 'I can help; teach you how to work with each power. I've had years of training.'

He considers it. Even with her choice of words, he knows she isn't bragging. 'Why?'

Dhai'va grins, a mischievous glint in her eyes. That's her charm - looking adorable whilst breaking rules. It makes everyone join her or let her be, but never stop her. 'Why not?'

Xru'lar expected her to say that. He's jolted by how he's able to predict her. As much as the quiet soothes him, it discomposes her. They are opposites; that's easy to envisage.

She's leaning forward, legs bobbing up and down.

'I accept,'

* * * * *

The war ends.

Xru'lar tries to be nonchalant about its connotations. It sticks to him like the sugary-syrup had to Dhai'va's clothes a year ago. The more he brushes it away, the more it spreads, staining him.

Ru A'ed summons her wards. The war's not only a success in defending Xzia'on's borders - A'ed and Iro'va broadened them. Ytéan watches the battle, the victory, Iro'va's influences and alliances. With the war's conclusion, new politics will crop up, sinking its teeth into Iro'va's heels; alliances, proposals, negotiations. Ytéan watches, waiting for his next move, every Clan avaricious for his influence.

His secret sessions with Dhai'va were already scarce as she's watched by her guards. On the nights she didn't turn up, he practised on his own. With her help, he's mastered better control over his powers. He calls them into existence on will. He lights sticks on fire at the tips, not burning them whole anymore. He creates a pleasant breeze, not uprooting trees with his wind-skills and shields the shr'dyt an entire night.

Tonight, Xru'lar and Dhai'va stand in his shr'dyt as she guides him on calling out two powers at once.

'Calling one power after the other helps in the beginning,' she says, demonstrating by calling fire on one hand and water on the other. Her fire is tinged red. 'Be careful mixing certain powers,' she merges them, creating a loud sizzle; steam rises.

Xru'lar does as she instructs, calling his blue-white fire onto his right hand and water onto the left using the air's moisture. He doesn't fuse them.

'Do this long enough, and you can call them together on one palm without thought,' Dhai'va's earnest.

Xru'lar nods, beholding his fire and water.

Dhai'va smiles. Sei, their moon, is in full-bloom. His silver light kisses a halo on her black-gold locks; a crown. She begins to talk when her Comm. vibrates. She grimaces, checking the message. 'Ven'ur's searching for me. Won's stalled her for now.'

Xru'lar lets his powers go.

'Pleasant night,' she wishes, pouting. 'Syv'h.'

Syv'h, lounging on the bench, yawns and dismounts, stretching her massive body. Dhai'va is by the triangular-doorway when Xru'lar blurts,

'This may be our last session.'

Dhai'va halts. For moments she's faced away; Xru'lar questions his words. She turns, eyes possessing a dark look.

He bows, hand over heart, 'For everything.'

When he rises, she's still sombre. Just as Xru'lar thinks he's erred, she bows.

'I thought meeting you was the hardest,' she turns to go.

Xru'lar feels a prickle at the nape of his neck.

Dhai'va swivels around, walking backwards, says, 'It's not,' and leaves.

Xru'lar agrees as he watches her leave.

* * * * *

With the departure date set for the upcoming week, Dhai'va is invariably surrounded by Defenders and the Kvi'mrn Royals. Xru'lar isn't sure what happened in the shr'dyt is a proper goodbye, though he's sure he won't get one.

He's right; that shr'dyt meet-up is the last he spoke to her. The week bolts, and the day the Um'rei-Ru wards leave comes sooner than he imagines. Their two-year stay manifests as a two-week one in Xru'lar's mind. He stands far from the crowd gathered to see them off. Five fly-pods wait in the Grand-Entrance's Courtyard. Dhai'va, Won'lyr, and the others are swallowed by a bubble of Defenders and the crowd.

Xru'lar finds his bones weary from his weight on the world. From somewhere in the crowd, Dhai'va props to her toes. Xru'lar straightens. Her eyes land on him; she smiles. That's it. Ven'ur urges her forward, and she's lost in the crowd in a blink.

Strangely, it's Won'lyr who breaks from the crowd, approaching him. He spots the bird atop Xru'lar's shoulder. 'I hope it's good company. It was my idea.'

'The wruz?'

Won'lyr smiles, a sweet soft smile holding none of the dangerous inflexions often cradled in Dhai'va's. 'I'll miss you.'

Xru'lar blinks, body slacking. He's aware of the crowd behind Won'lyr having its attention glued on them. Won'lyr bows. Xru'lar returns it and stares at his back until he's in the flypod with Dahi'va.

And, then, they're gone.

In the following weeks, Xru'lar struggles to function.

Dhai'va's absence is solid, pressing down on him, suffocating like the desert's afternoon heat. Her exit didn't arrive like autumn's smooth, slow sinking, gradually transforming into winter. One day Xru'lar's world was lush as summer; the next, buried under heaps of snow. Xru'lar staggers under the cold weight, numb.

* * * * *

When the days dot the calendar into its month, Iro'va returns. His army disperses to Izarn from Xzia'on whilst he arrives at Xroui'lm to grand fanfare. The Palace-Courtyard is dotted with so many heads; it's a single breathing mass swaying to catch a better glimpse of Iro'va, who brings attention to an otherwise inconspicuous desert-city. Xroui'lm made the news when he chose his partner from the quiet, unostentatious Um'rei-Kvi'mrn, surprising and snubbing all those who vied his selection from another powerful Clan. The top contenders were Um'rei-Ru, Um'rei-Ah'Vatei, and Um'rei-Tai-Te'sei. Um'rei-Kvi'mrn wasn't a choice, Xroui'lm being a rest-stop. Xru'lar wishes he'd seen the frenzy Iro'va's decision wrought over Ytéan.

Xru'lar watches his father, who's decked in Hi'er ensemble, alight the fly-pod. Zyr'h hugs him. Roé-Kvi'mrn welcomes him; there's no red-brown frustration over his, only excitement. Xru'lar makes no attempt at publicly welcoming Iro'va and slicks back into the residences, unnoticed as ever.

Later that day, Xru'lar dawdles outside Ruri's study, listening to her and Iro'va's laughter. The wruz on his shoulder chirps. It's years, yet it's like yesterday that he stood outside Iro'va's room hearing them whisper. Again, he intrudes on their conversation. He'll intrude on them every single time if he wishes.

'Xru'lar?' Ruri catches him. Ruri and Iro'va sit on opposite sides of the table, yet a heaviness sizzles in the air. Iro'va half-turns to look at him. Xru'lar bows.

'You weren't there this morning,' Iro'va notices the wruz.

'I was,' Xru'lar's tone is clipped.

Ruri frowns but doesn't admonish him. Iro'va is back; it's his job. She steps out to let them talk.

'I didn't see you.'

'None do.'

Iro'va steadies himself with a breath. He's lost weight and looks far older than Xru'lar remembers. The shadows under his eyes can give Ahst's shadows competition.

'I missed you, oidh,'

Xru'lar nods. Oidh. Son. How long is it since he was addressed that way? He thinks of Dhai'va; her stark brazenness for him is far more endearing. For why does it take a war to miss someone? Still, Xru'lar finds himself missing Iro'va too. In his anger, he's forgotten for long that Iro'va is simply his father first.

'I'd like to see your powers sometime.'

Xru'lar presses his lips together. What use is it if he's not allowed to train?

Iro'va adds, 'Because you'll train soon.'

Xru'lar's lips part. What?

Iro'va sighs but startles Xru'lar with a gloomy smile. 'With the advent of your powers, the Utzrn, Rek, and the Defenders are...concerned. It's to keep you close for when you become Ahst's, it's easier to...stop you.'

Iro'va says when not if. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't. Xru'lar gets his wish. His heart accelerates with the thought. At last.

Iro'va's eyes soften at the sliver of a smile lacing Xru'lar's lips. But his following words are ominous, 'Beware of manifested miracles; you know not what they may take from you.'

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