6. Kami

6

Kami

T his isn't real.

It can't be.

But hours later, as I continue to sit and rock Ahza, I can't feel him.

He's gone.

No goodbye. No chance to wrestle him from Death's arms. He's not here, and I'm all alone.

I can't stop crying.

My sadness is all there is. I can't even drum up anger at Rilitar. I need to, but I can't.

We weren't good enough. We let him see us stealing, and we're paying the price.

Fuck. I wish they'd have killed me instead. Not Ahza. That gentle jackass.

I wipe my eyes.

He never, ever made fun of me in a bad way. He'd tease, but he always acted like I was the only one of value in our tiny twosome .

Like I could be the one to find a better home, a better family.

As if he was the no good one and not me, the mancy of the pair.

Death, but I miss him so much. Not even cold and he's so far from me.

Is this real?

Am I dreaming?

Without Ahza, what do I have?

We have always been there for each other, through everything. Our first beatings. Our first crushes. Our first forays with sex, though with other people.

We shared our thoughts and feelings about everything.

I should have forced him to leave this place. I knew it was no good. But I got caught up in his excitement to stay.

"Well, you dumbass, you met an elf. Happy now?" I sob as I hold his head in my lap, staring down at the sweetest man I've ever known.

There's nothing else now. I'm scared, because I should die, but I don't feel ready.

I feel numb, and I have no time for confusion with Rilitar coming back soon.

I'd rather not be raped before he kills me, but if I can't get my shit together, I'll meet my unfortunate end in more agony than I want to imagine.

I've seen girls get hurt like that. Invaded both physically and emotionally. I've even tried to mentally prepare myself for it.

Most women suffer it at some point, because from what I've seen, the predators in this world don't care about a lot more than sating their needs.

But not Ahza. He was never like that .

I sniff and stare at the stains left in this cell. Blood and other remains forgotten by those who have lost everything.

My escape is all but hopeless.

I'm going die here, next to my best friend. A fitting end for my stupidity.

Until I see it, following Ahza's limp finger pointed to the corner.

There I see a sliver of earth in the stone floor. A place some prisoner of old worked on with his claws or a blunt instrument, maybe.

It's barely there, but it's enough to allow me to touch dirt, to connect with earth.

I know Rilitar will return.

He can do what he wants with me at this point. But not Ahza.

The elf took Ahza's life, but I'm keeping his death. His body will remain with me for an eternity, given the respect a djinn of his caliber is due.

I reach the dirt and touch it, letting myself drift into that space between blood and earth, between flesh and roots.

Moving beyond my ability as a dryad, I tap into that other power. The one no one but Ahza and I?—

That only I know about.

I flow into it, let myself grow, and stretch down farther and farther, anchoring in the dark place.

Once I'm there, I push up through the stones blocking my way. I'm thicker now, stronger.

I reach for Ahza with woody arms and absorb him, feeding this new tree, a prison in which we will stay tied together forever.

Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. Heart of my heart, I add, my tears no longer flowing, caught in the xylem and phloem and lifeforce feeding my timber.

As a tree, I don't hear or see the way people do, but I sense just as well, if not better, through my bark, my leaves, my fruit.

When Rilitar returns with his men, he stands and stares. "Well now. I hadn't expected this. Our dryad somehow managed to find a seedling. Fascinating." He paused. "Folas, did you know we had a vulnerability in our prison?"

"No idea, my lord," Folas says. "But then, it's not my job to monitor the dungeons."

A fae on the fringes of the group takes a subtle step back.

"I'll deal with you soon enough," Rilitar says in a voice too calm to be trusted. He leans closer to the bars and blinks. "She found an apple tree, hmm?"

Instead of throwing a fit or agreeing with several around him who insist he burn or cut the tree down to force me out, Rilitar gives me a joyful smile.

"It's settled. Beyrthnel will have a proper tribute. The Five Pointed Star will deliver this year's win. I can feel it."

Folas asks, "She's joining the others?"

Rilitar nods. "Let it be known we're giving good odds."

"I take it we're letting Oz live too?" Enwiss growls with what sounds like disappointment.

"We need strength. He just might make it out alive. Regardless, we'll make a killing betting on him. Our people love orcs."

"I doubt he'll last long."

Folas adds, "He's not fae, so it's doubtful."

Not fae? Isn't he an orc?

Rilitar says, "He'll last long enough to earn us some coins during the tournament. We only need a few more before our tribute is full." The mob boss rubs his hands together and says to me, "Steady on, girl. We'll talk again soon enough."

Trees don't sense the passage of time the way people do, but we're aware of the setting of the sun.

Except down here, there is no sun.

The only reason I can grow is that I'm feeding myself through the soil and anything that comes close to the castle walls. Small rodents, the occasional plump foul, mostly insects and burrowers who feed on tree roots.

My root system is thin because it's so spread out. The iron of my prison still hurts, like a wound that never quite heals.

But my brother is inside me now, part of this network of life and loss, always loved.

I wonder what his people would have done for him. Death is an honored change among the djinn. Ahza used to say they'd love me. But no one ever loved me except Ahza.

And now no one will ever love Ahza but me.

I would cry if I had emotions, but they're blunted, bound in the rush of nutrients through my system, and for that I'm thankful.

It's been days, and for most of them it's been quiet.

But now I sense movement from the cell next to me. The orc is rebounding, I guess. I should be glad for that. He tried to help us.

I'm just finding it difficult to care anymore.

Being a tree does that. As does losing the only person I've ever loved.

Rilitar can burn me, salt me, make me into sticks. I think I'm done with this life. Before long, I'll pass on and look for Ahza, wherever he is.

Necromancers are known for reanimating the dead, for moving energy from living to dying things and vice versa, and for slipping in and out of the Veil. But none of us can do it all.

We're all different. Unfortunately, I've never been able to bring anyone back.

The most I can do, and I'm not even sure if it's a necromancer power or something from being a mutant dryad, is that I need energy to survive.

The way an incubus feeds through sexual energy, I gather energy through a shared presence. I inhale energy through breath.

It's sweeter when it's offered freely, as in accepting a kiss from a woman recently rescued.

I think again of that fae who blew me off. Just walked away from a poor young woman in need.

Smart guy, not getting involved.

Not like my neighbor in the cell next to me.

He rasps in a low voice, "Hey, you okay?"

I sense him staring at me through the bars, his eyes wide as he nears our shared wall of iron bars. "You're in a fucking tree? How the hell did you get that thing to grow in here?" He blinks. "Smart. I bet that put a stick up Rilitar's ass."

I would smile if I could.

The burst of humor surprises me. Makes me feel…alive.

"I'm Oz. I know you're Kami. And I'm sorry about your boyfriend."

He's not my boyfriend.

"Ahza, right? Seemed like a good guy." Oz clears his throat. "Even tried to help me out before they put a spell over him, made him think you were dead. Then he gave up." Oz sighs. "He loved you a lot."

I'm crying inside, where there shouldn't be any more tears.

Ahza and I both anticipated we'd someday come to an end. But we planned to go together. Not like this. We'd never allow the other to be tortured if we could help it. And we certainly hadn't planned on dying in some rinky-dink fae town.

No, we were going to beat the odds and make it big. Fall in love with handsome men and live large, together forever.

But Ahza gave up without me. Because that fucking fae lied.

"You should stay inside that tree for as long as you can," Oz is saying. His voice is hoarse, and I imagine he's still hurting. I sense blood loss and mangled parts but can't be sure.

It's too bad he doesn't have some meyerbane to speed his healing.

The stuff is rare but plentiful in an ancient forest guarded by a leshy, a spirit of the forest. Like the one outside Rilitar's castle.

At the thought, I stretch out my roots even farther, until the stretch is painful.

"Being hidden in that tree is the only thing keeping you safe from Rilitar," Oz mutters. "And his shit-head son. Man, I hate this place." He groans. "They're keeping us alive for the arena, you know. For the Radiant Trials."

He pauses. I've pushed up a small bundle of meyerbane. I found it from a friendly shrub hiding from fae in a nearby part of the forest, protected by the forest spirit.

I wonder what Oz would think if he knew I wasn't inside a tree; I am a tree.

Something no normal dryad can muster. We can grow them faster with magic, but we need to start with the seed.

I've always been a bit different.

A necromancer.

A dryad who makes the trees she communes with into blood drinkers and flesh eaters.

And of course, I'm a shapeshifting tree-girl.

The more I think about all this, the more I know I don't belong anywhere in this world.

Just with Ahza. In death.

Oz reaches for the meyerbane. "Is this what I think it is? Damn, girl. Thanks."

He's chewing the herb, but I bet he's hungry for real food.

I pull myself back, letting my roots thicken, and drag more water into my cells.

The feeling makes me sigh with pleasure, second only to the sheer joy of sunlight on my leaves. I work hard, until I'm so tired I'm close to passing out.

I push my fruit through the bars, into his cell.

" Holy shit. " In a lower voice, he whispers, "Is that an apple?" He takes it gently from my branch, and I'm touched by his care.

He bites into it and swears again. "It's sweet. But fuck me, the fruit is black. "

I can't tell if he's stunned, offended, or grossed out.

But as I drift into sleep, I hear his murmured thanks and the crunch as he takes another bite into the crisp skin.