Mercy by Rhiannon Paille

the lands would become if they found the Flames—if they found her. Mass chaos came to mind, along with a lot more merciless killing. Nausea kept him anchored to the ground as he broke into the meadow, shuffling through the knee-high grass, his strength faltering with each step. He made it to the porch at the House of Kin before his body gave out and he slammed on the steps, pivoting, landing on his thigh, and wincing at the shooting pain. He sat there, hands palms up on his knees, fingers trembling. The sky was a labyrinth of stars, and he idly traced the wolf, then the patterns of lines across his hands. He closed them into fists and pushed them to his side.
    The Valtanyana stole everything he loved. Morgana and her Horsemen breeched the shores of Avristar, demonic scaled horses with fire breathing snouts. Melianna returned to Evennses and sounded the horn, calling everyone—even the children, to battle. They fought for years, off and on, the island never quite safe from the beasts Morgana raised. Pux had seen her on the battlefield in Orlondir. He was adorned with armor made for him, a helmet and sword. He jabbed anything she brought, misshapen figures of men, demons with coal black eyes and grayish skin, white wisps known to tangle kinfolk in their grasp, squeezing the life out of them. In the midst of the chaos Morgana stood, pale grayish nightgown to her ankles, blood on her hands, and raven’s hair to her ankles. Pux had waited for the monstrosity to erupt from her but nothing happened. In the old stories, Darkesh was one of the most feared because he was a dragon. Morgana was nothing but a girl that looked like she drowned in the swamp.
    Pux covered his face with his hands. Istar ended the battle with his allegiance, storming into the field, his royal cloak flapping in the wind. He shoved her necromantic creatures out of the way and kneeled at her feet. Pux watched him kiss her bloodied hand. She petted him, and cooed, but the words were incomprehensible to Pux. All he heard was a high pitched ringing in his ears as Morgana’s creatures spontaneously combusted, leaving grayish, black and beige dust in the air. She giggled and Pux thought he might throw up.
    Atara didn’t stay long after that.
    Pux returned to Evennses because he was the only one left. Luenelle, Grimand, even Lorus didn’t make it back. Desaunius fled. Evennses became empty. The kinfolk needed someone to train them and at first it was laughable. The Great Oak didn’t believe in Pux, but as time passed, he realized nobody else was going to do it. Kaliel sentenced them to a fate worse than death. Instead of defeating the Valtanyana she gave them everything they wanted. And they killed everyone that might have known how to stop them.
    Pux lifted his head, looking at the sky and the half circle of trees against the midnight blue. He stood, his mind alive with the history of the past nine hundred years. He stepped off the porch and quickened his pace through the grass, thinking about the children they took for their wars in the Lands of Beasts. He reached another break in the trees and paused, thinking about the food, clothing and crafts they stole from the people of Orlondir. They destroyed the Brotherhood of Amersil, and Morgana forever desecrated the Sisterhood of Araraema, interweaving herself into their history.
    Pux wended down the path, an old story rumbling in his bones. About a hundred and fifty years ago, seven hundred and fifty after the apocalypse Kaliel brought, something happened. Morgana gave up on her Horsemen but the Lands of Men were a disaster. She considered Avristar her island and began bringing humans to the shores of Araraema, all of them young girls. Pux saw some of them at the Fire Festivals. He couldn’t mistake them with their stringy blonde hair, dull eyes, and sallow skin. They didn’t shine the way the feorn, fae, shee, centaur, and elvens did. They couldn’t dance or carry a tune either. Morgana came with them, often