Trail of Rifts

by David Bokman

  There was indeed no mistaking it - they were in the north now. The mountain range which had at first looked so tiny on the horizon was now a towering presence, and the few segments of forest contained only dark, cold trees. Those few they met on the road told them to turn back, that their business could wait until spring.

  “I ever tell you I’m from the north?” said Mae, after a while. It came out of nowhere, as if she had just remembered it herself.

  “You’ve never told us anything about yourself, no.”

  Mae ignored the provocation. “I like it up here. It’s calm and quiet and… untouched. It’s everything Kardh’Ao is not.”

  “Where in the north are you from?” asked Na.

  “Oh, far further north than this, but I didn’t live there long. I only have fleeting memories, but most of them are good.”

  “Did your family come to their senses and move further south?” asked Cad.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well at this pace we’ll soon know more about each other than ourselves,” laughed Cad. “When this adventure is done, we’ll all be a big family of misfits.”

  “That sounds nice!”

  Mae, without turning her head around, said, “He’s joking, Na.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  The following days were the first ones of real snow. “This feels different from rain,” observed Sam, “but also different from the ice rain. Softer. Warmer.”

  “You’ve never heard of snow?” asked Na.

  “He’s lived in a desert all his life, why would he?”

  “You haven’t missed much, kid,” said Cad. “Snow is colder than rain, but it often doesn’t feel as cold. Makes the terrain heavier to traverse, but that’s about it.”

  “But what is it?”

  “What do you mean? It’s snow.”

  Sam held out his hand, letting a few flakes drop into it. “But what is it made of?”

  “Snow is made of snow. Now, if we switch our attention to the road, we might actually be able to reach these fields today.”

  Cadwell was right; Vestrok could not be more than two days away, the fields even closer. Continuing northbound, it did not take long until they came upon a mile marker. “Kardh’Ao is eighty-three leagues south, and Vestrok is eight leagues north,” Mae read. “We’re close.”

  “People live north of here?” asked Sam.

  “People live far more north than Vestrok.”

  “People are stupid, then.”

  “The book said south, right? How do we know that we’re not a few degrees off, that we’re not south-west or south-east?” said Na.

  Mae thought for a moment. “We’ll follow the path for another league, and then hope we find the fields somewhere around that area. The sun should be able to help us, too.”

  With a plan established and their faith restored, the heralds set off for the last leg of the first journey. The horses seemed to sense their goal was close, too, maintaining a good pace. Before long, the heralds found themselves at another marker, this one informing them that Vestrok now lay five leagues ahead.

  “Anyone see it?”

  “What are we even looking for?”

  “Fields with large rifts, presumably?”

  No fields revealed themselves to the heralds, nor any rifts. During their journey, they had only come across one rift, but it was not particularly larger than the last one they had seen. “So what now, we spread out and hope for the best?”

  “We won’t walk around like lost sheep under my command,” said Cad. “Can you manage to stay alive on your own, Princess?”

  “I can. Can you stop calling me that?”

  “I’ll go this way, Sam goes that way, Princess goes that way, and Dart goes that way,” he continued, indicating four directions around him in a circle. “We walk for a thousand steps, and if we find something, we alert the others. If we don’t, we return here, move, and go again. Okay?”

  “A groundbreaking plan, as always, Herald Churchcross.”

  There’s nothing here, thought Cad, after a couple of hundred steps out into the barren landscape. There’s nothing here, save rocks and sticks and bushes and cold. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. The other heralds suffered the same fate; this place did not seem to be home to any ancient rifts, or anything at all for that matter.

  Cadwell was the first to return from his investigation. He had found naught but rock. Mae was the second, who had only found a few bushes. Florianna, returning a few minutes later, said she’d seen an interesting bird fly across the sky. Perhaps an omen? Samson, a few minutes later, said he had found even more dislike for these lands, but nothing of interest. “Mae?” said Cad. “Pick a number, one to four.”

  “Your methods would put even the naturalists to shame, Cad. Three.”

  “We will head a thousand steps in this direction,” Cadwell pointed perpendicular to the path, “and perform the same search again.”

  So they did, but again to no avail. The environment did exhibit slight changes in elevation, vegetation and material, but nothing to indicate fields or rifts. As they all returned to the starting point, Cadwell let out a sigh of disappointment. “Did the book mention whether or not the fields were invisible?”

  “There’s no damn fields here!” said Sam. “We’re a hundred leagues from sensible climates anyway, so who would want to make a field up here? This is pointless.”

  “You’re sure the book said south of Vestrok, Mae?” asked Na.

  “Perfectly sure.”

  “I hate to do it, but I agree with Sam,” said Cad. “There’s nothing here.” As the old man finished his sentence, he thrust his broadsword down into the ground, which consisted of dry, cold dirt. To his surprise, the broadsword did not sink just a few inches into the ground, but close to a foot, almost as if it was being sucked into the ground. A few seconds passed, until a deep crack echoed around them. Cadwell looked down at his sword, which had been buried into the ground. As he did, it seemed the entirety of the landmass suddenly shifted, as if it had been pushed to the side a few inches by the hand of a giant. The shift was not more than perhaps three inches, and was accompanied by a loud crack. It seemed Cadwell’s sword had split the ground in half. Looking down at the ground, the heralds realized what had happened. They had moved a few inches to the left, and where they had previously stood, the edge of a thin ravine had manifested, no more than a few inches wide. The ground had shifted a few inches to the side on both sides of the broadsword, leaving a thin hole in the ground between them. Looking further away, Mae saw that the ravine stretched as far as her eyes could see in both directions, running perpendicular to the path, directly across it.

  “What did you do, Cad?”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Quiet,” said Mae. She looked around, following the small ravine with her eyes. “The fields…” she said. “All of this… it is part of the Shattered Fields. And… everything is shattered by a single rift.”

  ⧫ CHAPTER XIX ⧫

  The Townmaster did not believe her ears. The guard spoke clear enough, yet she refused to accept the words coming out of his mouth. Impossible, she thought. It cannot be. She turned her attention to the young man from the Townsguard once more. “For your own sake you better stop this jest and tell me the truth.”

  The young guard looked like he would rather consume a burning cactus than deliver his news to the Townmaster. But alas, he had drawn the shortest straw, and had been forced to speak to Zena. Trying his best not to stutter, he said, “I- I- I’m sorry, Townmaster ma’am, truly. I am. Bu- but I’ve seen it my- my- myself. Commander Stonehand, ma’am, he’s- he’s-” The guard took a deep breath. “He’s dead, ma’am. I’m s- sorry.”

  He can’t be dead, Zena told herself. He must not be dead. I will not allow him to be dead. “What do you mean, ‘dead’? When? How?”

  The guard, stumbling over his words as he went, informed her that Gallo Stonehand had died perhaps a quarter of an hour ago, most
suddenly. The Townsguard medics suspected a heart attack, but they were not sure yet.

  “No,” said Zena. “No, no, no. You’re wrong. His heart was strong. Old, but strong. Just a decade ago he was patrolling the streets himself, damn it. You’re wrong!”

  “I- I’m sorry, ma’am. I—”

  “Out! Leave me alone. I need to… I need to… get out of my sight!”

  The guard happily obliged, and almost ran out of the Townmaster’s office. He dearly hoped she had not caught his name or remembered his face; he would very much like to still have a job and a head tomorrow morning. The guard’s wish would probably be granted; Zena’s mind was elsewhere. Gallo, dead? If this preposterous notion was indeed true, it would cause her a lot of trouble. She did not mind the loss of Stonehand on a personal level, but he was a skilled and useful commander. Why are you even considering this, Zena? Stonehand wouldn’t die. The guards have it wrong, or Stonehand is playing me for a fool. Deceit and trickery were not the Commander’s specialties, though. He may take liberties, but he is always truthful and honest. Honest to a fault. That left only two opportunities. Either the guards were mistaken, or the Commander had indeed sung his last song. Although Zena tried her best to suppress the rational part of her brain, it kept telling her that the guards would not come running to her with this sort of information unless they were absolutely certain of it. Perhaps a coma? Some sort of paralysis? A magical curse rendering him incapacitated? She was grasping at straws, she knew. Stonehand was dead, and if she did not act quickly in picking a suitable successor, she would lose the support of the Townsguard. I am not losing my guards. I am not losing my city. There is still so much to be done.

  Zena took a few deep breaths, and for a moment, they calmed her down a bit, giving her a chance to assess the situation. Perhaps it was not as bad as she made it out to be. Let’s say Stonehand is dead. So what? What reason would the next commander have to turn against me, whoever he may be? They have become more powerful than ever under my rule, which in turn has all but eradicated crime. We have seen great progress in science, magic and infrastructure, too. I have made the city into a better place. Well, the part of the city that matters, anyway. And if they are angry about West Kardh’Ao, go talk to Paavo. In any case, she would have to visit and talk to the Townsguard forthwith. She needed to know for certain what had happened. What are my options? She had heard good things about Captain Dovan, and the few times they had interacted, he had seemed a good fit for the job. Skilled, to the point, and ruthless when need be, but not so proud that Zena would not be able to mold him. She would rather take her chances with someone like Dovan than let the Minister of War put Captain Kenson in charge. Stonehand better be alive, though. I won’t have him go around making heralds one week, only to die the next one.

  Zena had not been outside her tower for almost a week, and she did not miss the outside world much. If business needed to be conducted people came to her, not the other way around. If she left the comfort of her tower, it was for critical matters. The death of the Commander of the Townsguard certainly fell into that category. The possible death, she corrected herself. As they did every time Zena left the tower, the guards insisted they escort her.

  “Just in case something goes wrong,” they always said. As she did every time she left the tower, Zena refused them.

  What could go wrong? I’m the Townmaster. What, do they think the people would attack me in the streets? It was nonsense spewed from paranoid guards, nothing more. She had never brought protection before, and she had never needed it. It’s not like I don’t know how to defend myself.

  The people of the town knew better than to stare at her as she went, but Zena could still feel their eyes linger on her for a second or two. Some were filled with admiration, some with fear, some with anger. Most of them were filled with all three. As she had suspected, nobody was brave enough to address, let alone attack her on her journey, and she made it to the Townsguard grounds unscathed. “Oh, Townmaster,” said one of the guards. “What—”

  “Where is Stonehand?”

  “He’s in the infirmary, ma’am. Shall I escort you?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  The Townsguard infirmary offered better medical aid than any other institution in the city, or in the land for that matter. It had been one of the most underdeveloped areas of the Townsguard when Zena took over, something she had quickly remedied. Why did I bother improving it if they still can’t save Stonehand? she thought, making her way to the building. It neighbored the main barrack and looked similar in shape, but smaller in size. Like the main barrack, its walls were heavily reinforced, so as to resist heavy cannonfire, powerful magic, or whatever else could be thrown at it. “If the infirmary falls, the Townsguard falls,” Zena remembered telling the builders. “See to it that it doesn’t.” She had been most pleased with the result; even The Archive would have trouble demolishing the infirmary thanks to its heavily reinforced stone walls, steel doors and protected position behind the main barrack.

  As the Townmaster walked into the square building, she was met with the stench of death and decay, as well as the sting of heavy medicines, herbs and alcohols. All the smells coalesced into an overpowering stench, making it hard to breathe and think clearly. I’ll have to look into that when I have the time. Several medics and naturalists also greeted her, most of them tending to guards in different states of health. Some only seemed to have slight fevers or stomach aches, while others had a cut shoulder, a bandaged leg or even a lost hand. They might not be the only ones who have lost a hand. “Where is Stonehand?” she said to no-one in particular.

  A gloved hand was raised further down the corridor. “Here, ma’am!” The voice did not belong to the Commander, but to a medic. Zena made her way down the corridor, fearing what she would find when she reached her destination. She made it past doors leading to operating chambers, crematoriums for the dead, and supply rooms for the living, before eventually stopping at the bed with the raised hand.

  A bed in which Gallo Stonehand lay dead.

  “I’m sorry, Townmaster,” said the medic. “I’ve been trying to revive him for close to half an hour, but his heart is as stubborn at staying dead as it was at staying alive. There is nothing more we can do for him, I’m afraid.”

  “What caused this?” asked Zena, looking at the old Commander. In death, he did not look as calm and collected as he had in life. In death, he looked like an old man who should have died years ago. In death, he looked weak.

  “Old age, we think.”

  “You think? Could it have been something he ate? Could someone he met have caused this? Could it be an attack?”

  “He had not met with anyone so far today. For breakfast he had his normal serving of porridge, same as every other guard in the garrison. None of them got a heart attack. No offense, of course, ma’am,” the medic added, remembering who he was speaking to. “But to answer your question: no, I am willing to bet my job that this was nothing more than old age finally catching up to him. It was bound to happen sooner or later; he was the…” The medic stopped for a moment, thinking. “Third oldest person in the city? I believe so, at least. Not many men get to serve as commander of the Townsguard for six decades. Stories will be written about him. He lived a good life.”

  “I don’t care what kind of life he lived,” said Zena. “I care that you let him die before I told you to. This is trouble that I did not need. Take him away.”

  “Would you have us burn him like the other guards, Townmaster?”

  “No, I would have you parade him naked through the streets. Yes, of course I want him burned. Now see to it.”

  “At once, ma’am.”

  As Zena had suspected, the main barrack was even more chaotic than usual, and her entry only served to increase the chaos. Guards were running up and down the stairs, shouting as they went. It was as if they were trying to row a boat, but nobody knew where the oars were or where they were going.

  “Who is in
charge?” Zena demanded.

  Many of the guards were too preoccupied to even notice her entry, but those who did instantly stopped. “We’re not sure, Townmaster!” said one of the guards. “Captain Dovan was on business on the other side of town, but he is on his way back here. Captain Ruok has been ill for the better part of the week, so he’s not here today. And Captain Kenson is out on a… diplomatic mission.”

  “A diplomatic mission?”

  “He’s in the brothel, ma’am.”

  “Of course he is. Who’s the commanding officer in the building, then?”

  “One of the senior guards! Senior Guard Attila would be the longest serving one of them, so maybe him? Sorry ma’am, it’s not entirely clear.”

  “Send Attila to the Commander’s office, I’ll meet with him there. And tell Dovan to come join us when he gets back.”

  The guard gave a nod, excused himself, and ran out to find the Senior Guard. Zena went the opposite direction, up the stairs, and into Stonehand’s office. His table light was still glowing, and on his desk lay a half-read report. Glancing over it, it seemed to concern an anonymous tip about one of The Sons’ hideouts. One of the few hideouts they have left, Zena thought. Stoenhand had done well to eradicate organized crime now that she had given him the resources to do so. She barely had time to sit down before the guard she had spoken to came running into the room, panting heavily. Behind him followed an older, stronger guard, presumably Attila.

  “Townmaster! Senior Guard Attila is here, as requested.”

  Zena gestured for him to enter. He was in his late forties and looked very much like she imagined most guards to look. Strong, but not too strong. Short hair, a brusque face and confidence in his steps. “Townmaster,” he said, lowering his head in a bow.

  “Until Dovan finds his way back, I’m told you’re in charge.”

  “Oh, Dovan should be here momentarily, so I do not think it will be necessary for me to take up the mantle, ma’am.”

  “What are your duties?” Zena did not seem to hear the man.

  “I was recently made responsible for the effort to catalogue, understand and solve the rift problem. We have our headquarters a few buildings away, in an old sleeping quarter.”