The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  "What attacked the train," Draig asked, "if not a fay?"

  "Something." Jarnstenn nodded, ceding the point. "But a fairy?"

  "A fay," Tom corrected.

  "I think we’re beyond insulting them now," Katharine said.

  Perhaps. But it felt unwise to antagonise them.

  "You don’t have to believe," Tom told Jarnstenn. "You just have to understand."

  "No, I don’t." The dwarf pushed another piece of bread into his mouth and talked around it. "Kun wants to help you find a lost city. So I’m helping you. That’s all I need to know."

  Kunnustenn fidgeted.

  "We need water," Draig said, evidently tired of the conversation. The elf was right. They were running low.

  "We saw a river," Tom told him.

  "South," Six said. "Maybe ten miles."

  How could he tell? The chase had twisted and turned so much Tom had no idea which way they’d been facing.

  "A river?" Katharine seemed shocked and angry, turning to Gravinn and demanding, "Why aren’t we following it?"

  Gravinn shook her head. "There are no signs of a river."

  Tom frowned. "We saw it with our own eyes."

  She looked stricken. "I believe you. But there was no way to tell."

  "No way to tell?" Katharine spoke as if Gravinn had told the most outrageous lie. "You’ve been taught to look for river-sign, haven’t you?"

  Gravinn’s face had flushed a bright red. “Well, you didn’t see it either.”

  "I’ve been riding in the wagon."

  "It doesn’t matter."

  "It does if we’ve been wasting time," Katharine shot back. “A river could give us an easy path to follow."

  "Not all rivers can be followed."

  "It’s worth a look."

  "I grew up in the mountains."

  "I’ve travelled them."

  Emyr raised his hands and his voice. "Ladies, please. You are both skilled Pathfinders. We would be fools not to heed your experience." Once the pair of them were looking at him, he told them. "We will find this river. Fill our waterskins at the least. If it can be followed, then we shall follow it."

  "There are no guarantees it will take us to Cairnarim,” Gravinn said.

  "There’s no guarantee your path will take us their either." Emyr’s words were harsh but his tone was gentle, warm, taking the sting out of it. "We are all stumbling towards a place we don’t know how to find."

  "There’ll be hunting by the river," Jarnstenn said. Thinking with his stomach as usual.

  "I think there was some mention of a river in Rorvinn’s Compendium of Lost Tales," Kunnustenn said, chin in hand and staring into the ground like it was withholding the answers.

  "We should change our path anyway," Tom told them. "Even without Thought, the fay might know where we are."

  But it seemed Gravinn wasn’t quite ready to cede defeat. "The wagon." Said desperately, like she was losing something important. And when everyone looked at her, she said as if it was plain, "Finding a path wide enough for the wagon has been hard enough. You won’t find one by a river."

  All eyes turned back to Katharine. Exhausted Katharine, her temper fraying, her eyes closed as she held back a sharp retort. "It’s worth looking."

  "It is." Emyr made it clear that was the final word. "Tom. Six. Good work today." And he took a step away from the fire and lay down. It was strange. Emyr had stormed into the argument, stamped out the fires as he saw them, and then left. He seemed oblivious to Gravinn’s hurt feelings. It seemed at odds with the stories of the great king of Tir.

  But he was old. Still healing. Perhaps he just needed some help.

  So Tom said, “Gravinn and I will take the first watch." In truth he wanted to sleep too. But he felt a duty to resolve this. A duty that should be Emyr’s.

  Gravinn had turned her back to the fire. But she made a sound of assent. Tom tended to Katharine, made sure she was as comfortable as she could be. Spent some time in quiet conversation with her, talking about nothings, feeling the baby kick. Smoothed her hair, let her doze off, and left the tent.

  "You love her." Those were Gravinn’s first words to him. She had moved away from the fire, sat cross-legged on a rock higher up the mountainside.

  Did he? Perhaps. But it all seemed too complicated for something as simple as love. Besides, if he loved her, he would have saved her by now.

  "I’ve led us safely through these mountains for weeks," Gravinn said. "I know what I’m doing."

  “No-one is questioning that,” he said as he sat beside her.

  "She does. At every opportunity, she tells everyone I’m wrong." Gravinn wouldn’t look at him. Just sat on her rock and glared out into the night.

  Gravinn was right, in a way; Katharine did question and contradict her. Almost delighted in it, at times. But Gravinn seemed to crow her superiority too. A rivalry had sprung up between the two Pathfinders, and it was something they could all do without. "She’s been doing this for years."

  "So have I."

  "You were a thrall. An assistant. I don’t mean to sound cruel," he said when her head whipped towards him. "I’m just pointing out that Katharine has learnt her trade. You’re still learning."

  "I got you in and out of a dozen Western cities." Like he was ungrateful.

  "You did." How to phrase this? "Katharine has learnt how to read the land. She knows how to find a path where there isn’t one."

  "I know that too."

  "Do you?"

  Silence. There wasn’t much light to see by, but Tom could see her clenched jaw as she looked down at her feet.

  “There’s no shame in not knowing a thing," Tom said. "Learn from her. Take all the knowledge you can. Let her help you become a better Pathfinder."

  "Better than her."

  Tom sighed.

  More silence. She was wavering. But her stubborn hurt wasn’t quite gone. Not yet.

  "We would never have survived the Kingdom without you, Gravinn," he told her. "But there is always someone better than us. A better fighter, a better hunter, a better cook." A better father. "They can be rivals or they can be teachers."

  More silence. Then Gravinn huffed. "I will learn from her."

  Tom let himself smile. Something going right for once. "Good."

  "And I will be better than her."

  Tom felt his victory sputter and he kept his smile frozen in place. "Fine."

  Gravinn gave him a smile too, as if they had shared something, like they were conspirators. He knew if he said anything he would start an argument or worse. But staying silent felt like he was betraying Katharine somehow. "Get some rest," he told her. “You can take the next watch in a few hours.”

  Gravinn nodded and obediently clambered down from her rock. Tom watched her go, stared at the tent he shared with Katharine, as if he could see through the canvas and see her sleeping shadow. He waited until Gravinn had been in her tent long enough to have fallen asleep, then he pulled out the jar and peeled back its wrappings.

  "Tell me about Melwas,” he demanded.

  The sprite was sat with its knees under its chin, wings folded, glaring at him. It said nothing.

  "Did it work?" he asked. "Is he without Thought?"

  She was so bright it was hard to make out her expression.

  "Tell me.”

  But the sprite only smirked at him. So he reached into his pocket and pulled out the shard of black monolith stone, ignoring the sprite’s squeals as he opened the jar just enough to push the stone inside. The sprite scrabbled away from the stone, pressing itself against the glass and spitting hate at him with its eyes.

  Tom glared back at it. “Tell me, I said.”

  The sprite lifted its head, chin jutting out, and spat one, tiny little word. "Run."

  "You have not been successful," Ambrose said to him as they rode.

  "You’ll have to be a bit more specific." Tom had failed to convince Katharine to return to wagon that morning. Instead she had mounted a horse and starte
d issuing instructions as to where they would travel and how. Gravinn perhaps had expected some sort of joint leadership and, finding herself pushed to the sidelines, glowered at Katharine, gave Tom pointedly exasperated looks, and sulked.

  At first Tom had thought of speaking to Katharine. But she was impatient that morning, and snapped at anyone who questioned her or was slow in doing as they had been told. Even Six hadn’t been immune to her sharp words. And while Tom had been trying to think of what he might say to Gravinn, Mennvinn had come up to him and said, "I believe my usefulness to you is over."

  "What?" Her words had pulled him from his thoughts. In truth, he had given Mennvinn little thought in the past few days. She rode in the wagon and said little. She was easy to forget. "What do you mean?"

  "My patient is healed." She pointed to Emyr who was stretching delicately. But stretching nonetheless. Standing. Riding.

  "Katharine needs you," Tom replied. He knew the complications a pregnancy could bring. In a lower voice he asked, "Should she even be riding?"

  Mennvinn was quick to say, "I am not well-versed in the lore of child-bearing." Then she hesitated before adding, "No. She should not be riding. There is a risk of falling, and of jouncing the unborn child."

  Katharine was jabbing a finger towards some pots and pans and asking Jarnstenn if he expected them to walk alongside the horses. "We should tell her," Tom said.

  Jarnstenn stood firm for a moment, before shrinking under Katharine’s withering glare and picking them up with a few muttered words in dwarfish. Even those stopped when Katharine pointed out she spoke the tongue. “I’m not sure I’m brave enough," Mennvinn had said.

  And when Tom had relayed the warning, Katharine wasn’t interested. "Do you think I’d put our child in danger?" There was a sharpness in her look and an edge to her words that told Tom to say no and walk away.

  Instead he said, "Not deliberately." And as her nostrils flared, he added, "But we aren’t healers. We might make a mistake and not realise."

  "You’ve been speaking to Mennvinn?" Katharine cast about for the dwarf, but she had retreated to the wagon. "You can tell her I know my body. If I say I can ride, I can ride."

  "She says there’s a risk of jouncing." Whatever that was.

  Katharine read his expression and explained. "Shaking. As if there isn’t as much in the wagon." She stabbed a finger at Tom. "Are you going to bundle me up and put me away like a feeble little girl? Or let me be who I am?"

  This time there was no arguing. "Let you be who you are."

  She wasn’t gracious in victory. "Good." She jerked her chin towards the others. "Get them in the saddle."

  She led the way, leaving Tom in the middle of their line, reflecting on how he had failed to convince Mennvinn she was needed, failed to make Katharine feel like she had his support. And, of course, failed to keep the fay placated. Run, the sprite had told him. Run to where? There was nowhere in Tir they could hide.

  And now Ambrose was telling him he was a further failure. "You have not brought forth the elements from the stick I gave you,” the old man said.

  His chance to save Katharine. ”No."

  "But you have tried."

  "Yes." With every spare moment. But no matter how much he wanted the thing to burn, nothing happened.

  Ambrose grunted. "You do not see the point."

  “Even if I can burn the twig, the magic I want to see done will still be beyond me.”

  Ambrose let out a sigh, one that seemed too big to have been held in such a fragile, frail body. “You must learn this craft, Tom, because soon I will not be here to do it for you."

  "What do you mean?" Tom asked, though he knew exactly what he meant.

  "I will not survive this journey." Ambrose’s dark gaze stared at something only he could see. "I will die. Soon."

  Soon. Tom swallowed. So Ambrose couldn’t save Katharine. It was up to him. "Does Emyr know?" The old king rode ahead, alongside Katharine. As Tom watched, he laughed at something she said. She smiled. She liked him.

  "No. Do not tell him."

  Ambrose was going to die. Emyr’s only friend left in the world. "Shouldn’t he know?"

  "Perhaps." No regret. No fear. No anger. No emotion at all.

  "Aren’t you scared?"

  "I burnt up my fear a long time ago." He finally turned his head, gazing that empty gaze at Tom. “As you will burn that stick."

  Tom pulled the twig from his pocket. How could he keep Katharine alive if he couldn’t make a piece of wood burn?

  "Think of how Gravinn lights a fire," Ambrose said. His voice was soft now, lulling.

  "She rubs two sticks together." One between her palms, spinning the tip within a hollow in the other.

  "And she makes fire." Ambrose murmured. "If so simple an action can bring forth fire, willing it forth must be easy."

  Tom snorted. "If it was easy, wouldn’t everyone do it?"

  Ambrose smiled. It was such a rare sight, Tom almost didn’t know how to react. "There is not much magic in the world.” The old sorcerer looked up at his staff, at the black stone nestled in the tip. "Finding it is the hard part."

  Tom stared too, remembering the monolith in Cairnagwyn. The monolith outside Cairnabren. And the way the peddle in his pocket had drawn his thoughts as powerfully as those monoliths had. ”How do I find magic?.”

  "You don’t. It has already found you." Ambrose hefted his staff, pointed it at Tom. It was an oddly threatening gesture. "The fay left you touched by it when they gave you foresight and truth."

  Gave. Not cursed, or inflicted. Was Ambrose angry? Or jealous? Did he wish he had Tom’s imperfect foresight and the ability to remember his past?

  "Touch this stone," the old man said, "and you would feel it, wouldn’t you? The cold. The push against the magic inside you."

  Even at a distance, Tom could feel how the air felt too clear and too still around the stone. He nodded.

  Ambrose lifted the staff again. "So you have the magic."

  “If that stone dulls magic, why do you carry it?"

  Another smile. Two in one conversation. It seemed to tax Ambrose. "The memory of pain helps us find pleasure. Closing your eyes helps you appreciate the sunlight." He took a deep breath and sighed it out as if basking in a beautiful summers day. Then he looked up at his staff. “That stone, which pushes away magic, helps me cheat death. It serves to anchor me."

  Cheat death? Tom’s heart quickened. “How?” he asked. “Could it help anyone avoid dying?” Could it help Katharine?

  "Burn the twig,” Ambrose demanded. “Only then can I explain it to you.”

  That night Tom watched Gravinn start a fire. She did it almost without thinking, her hands moving without the need for thought behind them. Spinning the stick back and forth against the small log. Wisps of smoke, then a glow that flared under her breath. She touched it to kindling, there was more smoke, and then there was fire.

  So quick. So easy. The fire must be waiting to come out. Tom looked down at his twig. Reached for it, like he had reached for the monoliths. But it was just wood. Nothing more.

  But there needed to be more. If burning this twig was what Tom had to do in order to save Katharine, then he would burn it. He would find a way.

  The twig was dry. So there couldn’t be much water in it. Or much air, of course. Just earth and fire then.

  Ambrose would die, and all his knowledge would die with him. He would take away any chance of saving Katharine. Unless Emyr knew a way? Tom looked across the camp, watched the old king in quiet conversation with Kunnustenn. The dwarf was pointing to something in a book and Emyr nodded. He seemed so intent, like he was listening to every single syllable. He asked a question and Kunnustenn smiled. Perhaps he would know. Perhaps Tom should ask him instead of wasting time with this stick.

  Focus, he told himself and stared at the twig again. Six had said that unbalanced elements lead to sickness. So if the elements were unbalanced in this twig, that should lead to, what? Not sickness. B
ut something. Perhaps he just needed to push the elements out of balance. Somehow.

  He was tired. Not just from travelling, but from his fears, too. His fear for Katharine. For their daughter. Fear that they would fail to find the glarn. He glanced at Caledyr, resting in its sheathe beside him. What good was a thinking sword that couldn’t offer any advice?

  No enemy, the sword thought, before falling silent.

  No enemy. Except the fay. Who might reappear at any moment. The sprite had told Tom to run. He glanced over at Dank, sat with Draig. The elf talked. The boy listened. Tom should have made more of an effort with Dank. They had taken his sprite from him, a companion who had been with him every moment of every day for decades. Now the boy was just one person, trapped inside a cage of flesh.

  But at least there were no Faerie strings tied to his limbs. Tom could look at him and know that Melwas wasn’t staring back at him behind the boy’s eyes.

  It was all links, wasn’t it? Dank linked to Faerie. Tom to the sword. The monoliths had been linked together to form a wall between Tir and Faerie. Without those links, the fay could push their way through. Many bodies with one thought, all linked together.

  So the only way to burn this twig was to build a link.

  The bark was smooth under his fingertips, with little bumps along the length. At first he stared at it, then he closed his eyes. Quested for it. Tried to feel it with his thoughts as well as with his fingers. Like the monolith. He remembered how it felt to break the links between the monoliths, tried to imagine building one. Tried to imagine spinning a strand of magic and wrapping one end around the twig.

  There! The elements, all four of them, buried deep within every fibre of the twig. Tom stared for a moment, half-expecting something to happen. But the twig was still.

  He had a sudden memory of Dank in the dungeons of Cairnalyr. "There’s magic everywhere, even if it’s only a little."

  Focus, he told himself. He closed his eyes and reached out, found the elements again, each small and dark and still. He pushed at them and they seemed to stir. Seemed to ask him what he wanted.

  Fire.