Niala 83

“Where are you, Kiromir?” I felt so defeated, waiting for him to find us.

I stood straight, staring out over the barracks. Every building had been gutted and burned. Not a trace of wildling’s touch had been left. The scents of our combined ault over dozens of years blew away on the salty wind. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t have any tears left, leaving me dry.

The smoke had passed; just ashes and black littered the grounds. The garages crumbled—empty and burned—Kiromir’s home, the houses where the families lived, everything. Not only had everything been burned, but anything left had been smashed, broken, and looted. The smell of humans lingered about—paramilitary. I smelled flammable liquids, propellants long spent. No mana fire had been spent here. Then I smelled the acrylic scent on the breeze and knew that somewhere I’d find unflattering graffiti.

The sky shone bright and sunny, with a breeze whipping my hair, dusting over my shoulders now, light as the feathers of my wings. My ikris twitched, and I stared at the cloudless expanse. It felt like today should be a cloudy day.

Today was a day for rain.

Gaff went through the barracks, but I couldn’t make myself set foot inside. I didn’t want to see what they left behind. As I crossed my arms over my shoulders, the flick of an aura caught my attention, one of peace and calm. A scent caught on the breeze, sandy, salty, a little floral—ault. For a moment, I thought it was Kiromir. I turned and froze, eyes wide.

“Syr Acerrai yat. Alk tsus vai?” a husky voice spoke, one that didn’t talk often. I knew those words, the music in them, the coiled joy that sang to me in their syllables—not Anil. The face that formed those words I didn’t know personally. I’d seen it beaming up from photographs in Kiromir’s house for years. Every story Kiromir told of his youth had this face somewhere involved. The eyes that greeted me were green flecked gold and full of weariness.

I barely knew the words properly like that anymore. He called to me, asking why I was here. Those words did not come naturally anymore, only when some baser instinct tapped into me; otherwise, I spoke Anil or my own brand of child pidgin.

I squinted at the man. He dressed strangely stood with hands slid deep into fitted pockets. A white linen shirt flitted in the breeze around his neck, unbuttoned down one button too many as it tucked neatly in, covered by a sleek jacket, hand-tailored for him. An expensive pair of jeans fitted well, tailored to his leggy form. I knew that slouch, that lean, the same as Kiromir’s. He reeked of humans and mana. The scent that caught my nostrils reeked of sour mana.

Mahogany brown hair that came down in silken locks, a little too short for wildling, well-kempt, obviously aulted, spilled over his head. I tilted my head slowly as I questioned myself. “Revik?”

A single brow quirked in that familiar way as he looked at me.

“Vai en van kir?” There he went with the song again, the language I didn’t use anymore. He asked if he knew me, and I had to think about the words.

“I have a hard time understanding you. I’ve only seen photographs.” I finally spoke in plain English, not trusting my voice to make the Acir words I knew.

“Little Acerrai girl, why are you here?” His posture stiffened. I could feel the peace on him spiking to lure me into calm.

“Acerrai?” My eyes went a sea-blue blank. Did he mean Acir?

“Your own self, your own tongue? I ask again why you are here, little Acerrai girl.” A hollowness accented his voice, an ethereal quality, beckoning me, and I could feel mana and magic in his words.

“This is… was… my home….” I said it in flat tones that drifted from my lips lamely. His brow furrowed harder in response as I took a step back, knowing I couldn’t take him. A quick glance told me he was stronger somehow, and I could smell mana roiling within him. The stern sharpness of his face reminded me of Rolyn, and my eyes started to sting as an aura of mourning overcame us.

“Tal Kiromir tir ada’re,” I spoke in Anil, letting it force over my lips as Gaff’s clattering footsteps drew closer. I lifted my chin, braced my form, and fought back his cloying peace. Gaffriel approached, but I prepared for blows before then. The scent of healer’s fire lessened as I told him that Kiromir was my father.

“Kiromir’s daughter… Who did he sire you with?” He looked me up and down, taking in the contradictions of my body against what he knew wildlings were.

“She’s adopted,” Gaffriel snarled as he came up aside me, blocking Revik’s view of me.

A complex look passed over Revik’s face as he tore his eyes away and looked out over the burned barracks.

“Did he ever find a bondmate?” Revik asked quietly.

“Bound to Thanus a short while ago,” Gaff said.

Revik looked up with a strange expression and a smile crooked over his lips. “About damn time.”

We waited in patient silence as Revik blinked his eyes a few times, letting a few tears well and fall over his chiseled cheeks. Finally, a shuddering breath pawed through his throat, and he looked back to us.

“What happened to our home?”