Hirka pulled the note off the postcard and showed it to the woman behind the counter. “Excuse me, I got this from a friend, but I’m not very good at reading. Can you tell me what it says?”
The woman leaned forward, her ample bosom getting in the way. She put on her glasses, which had been hanging around her neck. Her hair was fair and curly. Hirka had a strange feeling it wasn’t real.
“It’s a ticket for a concert this evening,” she said finally.
Hirka had been to several concerts, but they’d all been at the church.
“Where?”
“Somewhere called Cave,” the woman continued, saying the name as if it tasted foul. She took off her glasses again and looked up at Hirka. “You know, you young people should stop and think about the kind of things you listen to. You don’t have to go to these things just because all your friends do.”
Hirka wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Thanks, I … I’ll probably go alone,” she said, putting some money on the counter.
“You should talk to your parents about it. The city’s not what it used to be. You need to put it there. The money. In the machine.” The woman shook her head. Hirka put the money in the right place, bagged her shopping, and went back outside.
Parents? If only she knew. All Hirka had was a deadborn father, and he was probably the one who had bought the ticket. It had to have been him.
Graal had found a way.
She was going to see Rime.
Darkness had fallen outside. The windows in the loft rattled in the wind. Dust danced across the floor, caught in a draft.
Hirka slipped the concert into the conversation as she ate. Naiell was eating in his customary manner, digging his claws into the food until it rotted away. He said it was more efficient that way, because he could take exactly what he needed. Neither more nor less. But finding food that was completely natural wasn’t easy.
“Anyway, I found this ticket, so I’m going to head out for a bit, okay?” She had a feeling she sounded like Stefan.
Naiell nodded. “We can do that.”
“It’s just the one ticket, so I’ll have to go alone.”
He looked at her and tossed his black hair back. “Too dangerous, Sulni.”
Hirka bit her lip. “I’ll be quick. I’ll just go in for a quick look around. There might be more of the forgotten in there. People we could use. We need everyone we can get, and you can wait right outside.”
He shrugged, more amenable now that he’d eaten.
Hirka was growing restless. She only just managed to wait until he’d finished his banana before getting up. Maybe she was hoping for too much. The picture on the postcard didn’t guarantee that Graal was involved. And even if he was involved, it could have been a plan to lure her away from Naiell. Not to reunite her with Rime. Maybe it was just a postcard. An ordinary postcard, given out in the hope that people would part with their money.
Then why did she feel so on edge? Why did she feel like she was waiting for lightning to strike? For a storm she couldn’t control?
Because a storm is coming. No matter what.
They left the loft and crawled out through a hole in the door where someone had torn away a couple of planks. Then they followed the streetlights onward. Hirka had been worried they wouldn’t be able to find their way, but all she had to do was show people the ticket and they were pointed in the right direction.
Young people dressed in black stood in groups along the road and in clusters in front of the doors. A lot of them looked like Naiell. Pale with long, black hair. Others had brightly colored hair. Blue. Green. And painted faces, with black around their eyes. They made her think of Jay. Would Jay be here now if she were still alive?
The smell of smoke and anticipation hung in the air. The crowd of people streamed through the door like a black river. Naiell grabbed her. “Don’t be long.”
She shook her head and slipped into the crowd before he could change his mind. She immediately regretted it. The crush of bodies at the door was horrendous. Too many people trying to get in all at once. She tried to turn around but was swept inside. It was dark. She couldn’t see the ceiling or the walls. Just people.
Hirka started to sweat. Not even during the Rite had there been so many people gathered in one place. She was pushed this way and that. Elbowed in the side. Someone spilled their drink on her. A girl with black around her eyes said she loved her hair. Shouted it to make herself heard over the music being pumped into the room.
People mean danger!
It was hot and smelled of sweat. Perfume. Beer. But it didn’t seem to bother anyone else. Hirka put her hands over her ears and fought her way back the way she’d come, trying to get to one of the staircases. It looked a bit quieter upstairs. She managed to squeeze her way up and find some breathing space by the railing.
Take it easy. They’re just people.
People unlike any others she’d seen in this world. The girl next to her had lips as black as ink. Her jewelry was like pieces of chainmail. She had her hand tucked into the back pocket of a man with runes on his neck. Another had scars on his arm, as if he’d carved words into it using a knife.
The lights kept flashing and changing color. Hirka was pushed along the railing and up against a wall. Some kind of booth. There were people inside, surrounded by glowing buttons and switches. She had a feeling that they were in charge of this vessel, and that the whole place might take off at any moment. Hirka clung to the railing, trying to rein in her fear. No one else was afraid.
It was just different. That was all. She ought to have been used to that by now.
Focus on what you know.
A woman squeezed past her with a glass in each hand. She was wearing a wide leather belt with lacing that wouldn’t have looked out of place down by the river in Mannfalla. A bald man nearby had an inking on his arm that looked like wings. Almost like the mark of the Seer. So not everything was different.
She had to hand it to Graal. In a place like this, no one stood out. No clothes were too strange. No hair too red.
The stage was bathed in smoke and blue light. People jumped up and down below. There were so many of them that they seemed to jump as one. A rippling sea of dancers. They put their hands in the air and made signs with their fingers. Hirka had never seen anything like it.
Her fear faded and she found herself involuntarily spellbound. She stared at the men on the stage, glad Naiell wasn’t there. He’d have climbed up there with them, lifted his arms, and bellowed that he was the Seer himself. Commanded the audience to love him. Worship him. Serve him. Maybe that was exactly what those men were bellowing. She didn’t know. It was impossible to make out the words. They were incandescent. Wild. Enthralling.
Suddenly the room turned red, as if bathed in blood. Pulsating. Pounding. She was inside a beating heart. In a place that was all emotion. Rage. Desire. Lust. People grabbed at each other. Lost themselves. A place without consequences. Outside of time.
Suddenly she knew he was here.
Rime …
Hirka leaned over the railing, twisting in the direction her instincts told her to. Then she saw him.
He was standing on the other side of the room, at the top of the stairs. He was as light as the people around him were dark. So familiar. So real amid all this surrealness. An angel, Father Brody might have said—but Father Brody had never known Rime.
The music forced its way inside her as if she’d swallowed it. Throbbing. Growing. It was good that Rime hadn’t seen her, because she felt like she might burst, like Kuro had. A cold prickling sensation washed over her. Even so, she felt warmer. Her cheeks were blazing. Was this what it felt like to freeze to death? To get so cold you felt hot?
His long, white hair. The firm set of his lips. The wide leather straps crossing his chest. He was so strong. So real. Ready for battle.
Girls turned to look at him as he made his way along the railing. They nudged each other and stared, drinking him in as she expected Sy
lja had done on several occasions. A girl with black straps around her thighs stopped him, leaning close and whispering in his ear. Words Rime couldn’t possibly understand. Words Hirka couldn’t hear. Still, they made her feel powerless.
It couldn’t have come at a worse time. She had two deadborn to contend with and needed all the strength she could muster. Rime had ruined everything by coming here. Put worlds at stake. Made her vulnerable. Doomed from the start. Hirka pressed her fist to her chest, but her despair was too strong.
Rime scanned the crowd. Searching. Then he looked up and saw her.
Wolf eyes.
He locked eyes with her as he squeezed through the crowd. He disappeared behind the booth and for a moment she was gripped by panic. She couldn’t see the other side. Had he been a dream? A fantasy born of the sorcery around her? But then he rounded the corner and stood before her.
Rime was standing before her.
Hirka swallowed. “What are you doing here?” She could only just hear herself over the music. He didn’t reply. He just stood there like one of the stones in the raven ring. Straight-backed and impenetrable.
She tightened her grip on the railing to stop herself from reaching out to him. Because she wanted to. She wanted to so badly that it scared her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Rime? This is no place for you. For anyone.”
“I came to warn you about the Seer. I came to save you,” he replied. His voice. That wonderful, husky voice. Saying idiotic things.
“Save me? You came to save me? I’m the one who has to save you!” she shouted over the music. “I had everything under control! I had everything under control, and then you arrived! Now everything is … you’re going to get both of us killed!” She screamed in competition with the man on the stage, and every word was true. Rime being here rendered her powerless. She was a raw nerve. Exposed and vulnerable.
“Do I look like I need saving? You’ve left Ym, left your chair. And your tail …” She glanced down. It was just as she’d feared. He was tailless, just like in the pictures Stefan had found. It was as if he’d taken something from her. Something that had never been hers. It unleashed a rage she didn’t know she had in her.
“All this,” she screamed. “All this, just to come here and tell me something I already know?!”
He nodded, a pained grimace tugging at his lip. His eyes hardened.
Then she spotted the pale mark on his throat. A scar sloping down to the right.
The beak.
He had a beak in his throat. Something vile inside him. Blindcraft. Ruin. He was dead. Already dead. But he smelled so alive. Utterly and exquisitely alive. He smelled of Rime.
She lifted her hand, reaching out toward the scar. He grabbed her hand before she could touch it, his fingers burning around her wrist. He gazed at her. Intense and merciless. “I came to do what I promised,” he said. “I came to tell you that the rot’s not what you think it is.”
Hirka didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I know that too.”
The warmth from his hand seeped beneath her skin and radiated up her arm, making its way to her heart. Would it stop beating? Would it hurt less if she touched him?
He let go of her as if he’d burned himself. She wanted to let her hand drop, but it had a mind of its own. It made its way to his chest, gripping the leather straps. That was all the encouragement he needed.
His lips were on hers before she knew it. He was Rime. He was everything she remembered. Raw. Intense. Demanding. And she had no reason whatsoever to stop him.
He kissed her. It was like being ripped out of Slokna. She felt her eyes stinging and realized she was probably crying, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered apart from this. This one thing. His lips on hers. The desire. The hunger. They fell back against the wall. He pressed himself against her. Gripped her face in both hands. Their lips parted for a moment and she pulled him toward her again, terrified he’d disappear.
She no longer remembered where she was. Everything had been drowned out by ear-splitting music and the pounding of her heart. She felt like she was drowning in him. Drowning in Rime. Her body quickened, and it knew what it wanted. More than she did herself. All she could do was be swept along by it. She dug her nails into his neck. Pushed her hand under his collar, searching for skin. The smell of him grew sweeter. Heavier. She could feel him losing control. Feel the man he was. The only man. Rime An-Elderin. Son of the Council. Ravenbearer. Kolkagga. And what was she?
Half-blindling. Deadborn.
She tore herself away from him, gasping for breath. He brought his lips to her ear. She could feel the pulse in his temple. He laced his fingers with hers.
“Hirka …”
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. Her own name, in Rime’s husky voice. It encompassed everything that had happened. Everything that she wanted to happen. Her blood ripped through her veins, warming her in places she’d never thought she’d share. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.
There was shouting below, down by the entrance. Yelling. Clamoring. She didn’t need to look to know why. Naiell. He’d gotten tired of waiting. Perhaps even suspicious. And now he wanted in.
Hirka closed her eyes. She’d lost a lot in her life, but she couldn’t lose this. It was too real. Too new. It wasn’t fair.
But she knew she’d gotten what she’d asked for. A moment, no more. A brief encounter before the storm. What had she been thinking? Everything hung by a thread. Rime’s life. Her life. Entire worlds precariously balanced between two deadborn brothers who would soon come face to face.
“He mustn’t know …” she forced out. There was no way he could have heard her, but Rime understood. They both understood.
Rime slammed his fist into the wall behind her. He growled, standing close as the moments passed, unable to tear himself away. Finally he backed into the crowd, eyes still locked on hers. His lips formed words, drowned out by shouting and music. Still, she knew what he was saying, because she was thinking the same.
He turned away and disappeared.
A bouncer flew through the air from beneath the balcony, toppling a group of people as he landed. Others screeched and threw themselves out of the way.
Hirka leaned her head back against the wall. Exhaled and stared into thin air. Flames shot up from the edge of the stage, as if dragons had awoken. Her lips tingled. Her heart pounded in her ears. She’d never felt warmer.
Nor more crushed.
AN END
Graal headed for the café. He walked among the humans as if he were one of them. Young and old, black and white. Humans with no greater aim than getting through another day and living a peaceful life among family and friends. They would continue in this endeavor no matter their allotted years. Eighteen or eighty. It made no difference.
They walked past him, oblivious. The sun shone in their eyes, and they had to squint to see. But they would never see. The seeing were the blindest of all. They lived as if other places and other realities didn’t exist. Not even the far more brutal realities that could be found less than a day away.
But the humans had come a long way. They’d done things he wouldn’t have thought possible only a few decades ago. He’d watched them elevate themselves from mere survival to strong civilization. He also knew he’d see the process reverse.
He went into the café. It was pleasantly nostalgic, as they often were. Warm wood, brick, and chalkboards. Three young people were sitting in a corner, all glued to their phones. Two older women were eating cake. The wall behind them was painted black, with drawings of coffee beans. “The Last Ship” by Sting played from the speaker. An interesting man, Graal seemed to remember.
When he reached the counter, a girl with a mop of fair hair smiled at him. He looked at her name tag. “Could I trouble you for a double espresso, Charlotte?”
“Of course. Anything to eat?”
He smiled back. “Maybe later.”
He paid, sat down on a tall stool by the window, and loo
ked out at the church. As expected, the area was cordoned off. Not only had it been condemned after the fire, but it was also a murder scene. Soon to be doubly so.
This was the place she’d chosen. In two days, he would meet Naiell there. Brother. Seer. Betrayer.
She’d chosen well, Hirka had. Blood of his blood.
Charlotte appeared with his espresso. Perfectly creamy. She’d made an effort. He smiled at her, careful not to expose too much canine. “Are you religious, Charlotte?”
“Me? No. I’m not Bible material,” she laughed. Then she looked at the church. “Is that …? Did you used to go there?”
He shook his head. “I’m not one of God’s favorites, either,” he replied. She laughed again, tucking her hair behind her ear. He could tell she wanted to linger, but she returned to her work all the same.
He pulled off his gloves and dipped a claw in the coffee to check how pure it was. He sifted through the thousand different chemicals he knew he’d find. Oils, heterocyclic compounds, sulfur … Surprisingly little contamination from pesticides and detergents. He indulged himself with a sip and glanced down at the newspaper lying open next to him.
The reality of the human world screamed at him from its pages. Conflicts over borders and resources. A photo of dead birds on a motorway caught his eye. Over a hundred of them, apparently. They’d rained down on the roads of Northampton, like in a scene from a film, according to eyewitnesses.
He closed the paper. He knew how the story would end without reading on. With researchers claiming that all the noise must have scared or confused the birds and caused them to fly into power lines.
He remembered how his own raven had been killed. They’d wrung its neck. He could still hear it like it had happened yesterday. A sudden snap. A smothered screech.
He’d been powerless. Shackled. Maimed. Castrated. On the orders of his own brother. A brother with whom he’d fought side by side.
The images hit him like a tidal wave. Kneeling in his own blood. The pain in his groin. His manhood, given to the ravens. They’d fought over it, tearing at it with their beaks, digging their talons into his back. The poison in his veins. The Might that had torn him apart from the inside. The scorching of his blood. If he tried to go through the raven rings now, he’d end his days as dust, caught in a void. That was how the Seer had been born. That was how his brother had become a god.
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