Destiny's Rift bw-2

by Sam Bowring

  Probably just a simple village mage , he thought. Used to an easy life, not on the lookout for lurking monsters.

  She would sense him any moment, though, he knew …and even if he let her pass, there was another in town tonight whom she could not be allowed to sense. Unfortunately, his orders were clear.

  Stepping forward, he reached out with his power. She was caught wholly off guard and too late began to fling up a flimsy defence. He squeezed his fingers, compacting the flesh of her throat, crushing it instantly, snuffing her out like a candle. She fell silently to the forest floor. Fazel gestured at the earth beneath her body, rending it open to swallow her up, then closed it again, leaving no trace.

  Maybe by some miracle, the mage’s loved ones would discover her body and be able to farewell her properly. Maybe they would not spend the coming days, weeks, years, searching for her, wondering if she was dead or still alive somewhere.

  Fazel turned away, knowing it was a foolish hope.

  Travelling Together

  Fahren waited in the Throne’s private meeting chamber, a high-roofed room with marble walls covered liberally with paintings. Behind the long marble table at which he sat was a velvet throne on a raised platform. He chose not to elevate himself on that seat for this particular encounter – Syanti Saurians were a proud people, probably the most reclusive and self-governing of all the Kainordan races, and Fahren didn’t want them to think he placed himself higher than them, even physically. He was not exactly nervous about meeting High Priest P’Terra, the leader of the Syanti, but not exactly at ease about it either. Syanti were not famed for their even temper, and he’d have to be careful if he were to enlist their aid.

  ‘The Syanti delegation has arrived, my lord,’ announced the messenger at the entry doors. Fahren nodded.

  The messenger pulled back the doors to reveal three Syanti. Like their Ryoshi cousins they had reptilian features, but they were more snake-like than lizard. These three moved forward fluidly on tails that whisked against the stone floor, their torsos rocking slightly from side to side. Each had long, thin arms with long, thin fingers, the main deviation from their serpentine appearance. Their scales were a mix of grey, green and the odd bit of gold, more so on the middle one, whom Fahren guessed to be P’Terra. The High Priest wore a ceremonial dagger strapped across his chest, and ruby-studded bands on his wrists and neck. His companions looked to be warriors – one had a scabbard that Fahren knew would contain an impossibly thin sword, almost reed-like but razor-sharp and strengthened by magic. The other had a metal-studded whip, looped and glinting, at his side. Both wore bands of iron affixed in various places, but unlike the priest’s, theirs were unadorned.

  Fahren rose.

  ‘Greetings and welcome,’ he said.

  ‘Great Throne,’ said P’Terra, a forked tongue darting in and out of his mouth. ‘Thanks be to you for this summoning. These my personal guard are, T’Teksa and D’Rana.’

  The two warriors dipped their heads.

  ‘Excellent to receive you all,’ said Fahren. ‘Will you …um …’ He suddenly realised he wasn’t sure if the Saurians liked chairs.

  ‘Would you like to sit?’ he said hesitantly.

  P’Terra glanced at the chairs with his yellow slit eyes. ‘Not for Syanti built,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Fahren, moving quickly around the table so it did not stand between them. ‘My apologies.’ He chided himself for the oversight – he knew, if he’d thought about his last visit to their desert city, that Syantis liked to coil in large cushions while taking their ease. Since he’d taken on the thousand duties of being Throne this was the kind of detail that escaped him.

  P’Terra gave a slight hiss, which Fahren interpreted as a chortle.

  ‘Mind not,’ he said. ‘Things more important.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Fahren. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey?’

  ‘Syanti not like desert to leave,’ said P’Terra, ‘but did not come for pleasance.’

  ‘Well, perhaps we should speak on the matters that bring you here. I trust you know by now that the blue-haired man has been revealed?’

  P’Terra put a hand to his chest. ‘Praise to Arkus, the guiding light, for this to be delivered.’

  Fahren wasn’t entirely sure that Arkus was responsible for Bel and Losara, but he decided not to muddy the waters with a discourse on the forces of fate. Syanti were devout followers of the Sun God, and if they wanted to believe that Bel had been sent by him, it would only strengthen their resolve.

  ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Then you will know that with his coming, war is also foretold. War that will end the conflict between us and the shadow.’

  ‘Heathens,’ agreed P’Terra. ‘To renounce Arkus bad enough is. To stand against him, seek to end him, must be punished. Arkus the one god is, giver of light, bringer of heat.’

  Fahren nodded. ‘I am gathering our army at Kahlay. I do not know when battle will begin, but I am hoping we can count on the noble Syanti to aid us in this last, holy fight.’

  ‘Yes,’ said P’Terra. ‘For years many we have waited. Ready are my people, yearn the land to cleanse of shadow, purify with metal and blood magic, send their souls back to Assedrynn the betrayer.’

  Fahren shifted his feet uncomfortably. The Syanti priests practised a particular form of light magic that often involved sacrifice, and though it produced powerful results, it was not something he strictly agreed with. Still, this was not the time to be squeamish.

  ‘I am glad,’ he said.

  ‘Already we prepare,’ continued P’Terra. ‘Will send word this day for to be coming at last, to join others at Kahlay.’

  Fahren was relieved, though he supposed he needn’t have worried. History showed that the Syanti were always eager for any opportunity to beat back the shadow. Perhaps he had been concerned they would not accept him as the new figurehead of the light – but the Auriel rested on his brow, and the power play that had brought it to him would not concern the Syanti, for they cared little about Varenkai politics. It was time, he decided, to stop being so diffident about the Throneship. For better or worse it was his and not to be questioned, even by him.

  ‘I shall see to it you have everything you need,’ he said. ‘Will you reside here as my guests until your people arrive?’

  ‘Honour,’ said P’Terra, which Fahren took as agreement. ‘One request?’ continued the High Priest.

  ‘Anything you need,’ said Fahren, against his better judgement.

  ‘We our goats all used up on the way here,’ said P’Terra. ‘Can you give us one? We must pray for our success.’

  Fahren paused only for a moment, trying not to picture what the Syanti wanted a goat for. They had been given extravagant quarters near the top of the Open Castle, and he had a brief mental image of blood creeping across a marble floor, soaking into an ancient rug.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I shall see that you are sent a goat.’

  A life here or there , he thought. A small price to pay.

  •

  Losara awoke not with a start, but suddenly. It was to be expected, for he found that while he was away from Skygrip’s saturation of shadows, in which he could drift between sleep and consciousness at will, here sleep was a far less controllable experience.

  A ray of sun that crept in between the room’s curtains found his arm, warming it uncomfortably, and he withdrew it under the covers.

  ‘Don’t disappear back in there,’ came the voice of the room’s other occupant. He glanced over to see Hiza, fully dressed, gathering things into his pack. ‘Time to be off again shortly.’

  Losara was pleased with how easy it had proved to maintain the illusion even while sleeping. Obviously, to Hiza he still appeared to be Gellan.

  After a quick breakfast the group left Talforn. Losara was thankful that the brightness of Kainordas did not sting his eyes – as he suspected it would have before they’d been turned to shadow. He even dared to lead the group, taking them to Fazel abo
ut a league out of town. Fazel reported that he’d spent an uneventful night alone in the woods, and without much delay they journeyed onwards.

  So , Losara sent to Fazel, what really happened? I felt a brief exchange.

  A mage was heading towards the village .

  Ah . And you …killed her?

  Yes.

  I’m sorry to have placed you in such a position. It is unfortunate she did not stay away longer.

  There was a pause. Losara sensed that Fazel had not been expecting an apology, and was perhaps confused by it.

  I do not desire the killing of innocents , said Losara. But I will do what is necessary to further my purpose. I could not afford to have that mage sense me, or see through my disguise.

  There is no need to explain yourself to me, master , said Fazel bitterly.

  No , said Losara, but why not? It is not as if you can do anything with the information. He frowned – that had not come out exactly the way he’d intended. I am not insensitive to your situation , he added.

  Yet you will not grant me peace, though it is within your power.

  Maybe one day. I’m afraid I still have use for you.

  What use? You do not need me to lead you to the dragon’s lair, surely.

  No, that I can find myself.

  Then why? Not to operate the Stone …do you desire to be swallowed away?

  Losara thought about not answering, but he knew Fazel could not use or repeat anything he told him. And, Losara felt, perhaps it would be nice to have a confidant whom he could trust absolutely, even if it was against their will.

  If I decide I fear that outcome , he answered, I will steal the Stone away and ensure that Bel never uses it. But before I make such a choice, I want to understand more about him. I need to get a sense of who he is …and of what I lack. Perhaps it is unnecessary, for I have been Bel before, more than once, in dreams …but there are finer strokes to him I must take into consideration. He trailed off, realising he’d been rambling.

  I’m not sure I entirely understand , said Fazel.

  Nor I , said Losara, which was true. But I promise you – one day, when all this is over, I will release you.

  Only if you survive it , said Fazel.

  Well then , said Losara, you’re lucky I have you to watch my back.

  They fell to silence as they trudged along. Losara reflected on what he had learned since he’d ‘joined’ the group. The thing that troubled him most was, absurdly, that story of the honey in Corlas’s leather polish. Try as he might, he could not think why it might amuse someone to do such a thing. It was crass, childish, reliant on the misfortune of another …how was that worthwhile? Was this another thing he lacked, this sense of playfulness, of mischief as Jaya called it …of doing something for the sake of it, a harmless sort of harm? He could not work it out, and whenever he tried, blankness took over. Was this more proof that he would be ‘swallowed up’, as Fazel had put it? Another reason to steal the Stone away and make sure Bel never had the chance to use it?

  Perhaps , he thought …but there was a while to go on the road ahead, and plenty of time for more stories.

  •

  Day after day they moved along in the shadow of the mountains. Often it seemed they were deep in the wilderness, but every now and then another settlement like Talforn would appear, reminding them that they were not cut off from the world, merely skirting its edges.

  As time passed Bel found himself growing restless. At first he had found this journey enjoyable, despite the danger that lay ahead. It had been good to have a direction, and be out in the world with Jaya. It was also nice to be his own man, nay, a leader in fact, away from Fahren’s nagging and procrastination. With nothing to do but trudge along, though, he began to feel bored.

  ‘I tell you this,’ he said one day to Gellan as they walked along a ridge overlooking a sea of treetops, ‘I would not mind some adventure in this adventure.’

  Gellan gave him a strange look, which Bel was growing used to. The mage had in fact turned out to be a good deal odder than initial impressions had suggested …yet Fahren trusted the man, so Bel did also. Gellan might ask probing questions from time to time, but he had a directness about him that put Bel at ease. Sometimes he said things that, although Bel had not thought of them, seemed obvious when stated, as if the man was filling in a gap in Bel’s own thought process.

  ‘You mean you’d actively seek conflict?’ Gellan asked.

  ‘Well,’ said Bel, ‘when you put it like that …’ He tried to sound out what he was feeling, but as he delved beneath his restlessness, all became muddy very quickly. Nothing was clear save the hot spark of desire on the surface, and his mind kept jumping back to the sword in his belt; his hand kept yearning for a reason to swing it.

  ‘There is little doubt,’ said Gellan, ‘that bloodshed lies ahead. Is that not enough?’

  Enough , thought Bel, trying to wrap his head around the word. For some reason, at that moment, it lost all meaning. Enough, enough. Enough.

  ‘I have to wonder,’ said Gellan after a while, ‘if you’ve given any thought to what you’ll do after you get the Stone. It won’t be a simple thing, to trap Losara long enough to work its magic on him. On you both.’

  Bel frowned. ‘One step at a time. I’m sure that Fahren has been giving the problem some thought.’

  ‘Ah yes, Fahren,’ said Gellan. ‘He must be a useful one to have at your service.’

  ‘I’d hardly put it like that,’ chuckled Bel. ‘The man is Throne of Kainordas – not exactly at anyone’s service.’

  ‘Ah, then you take your direction from him?’

  ‘No,’ said Bel. ‘I mean …well, we respect each other. We work towards the same goal. He does not give me orders. I’m the blue-haired man.’

  ‘Ah yes, I forgot, it is Arkus’s orders that you follow. Seeing as we have nothing but time, perhaps you could tell me …what was it like to speak to a god?’

  ‘It makes you feel small.’

  ‘Oh. Does it?’

  The question did not seem entirely for Bel. He hardly noticed, however, as he thought back to his meeting with Arkus. There was no harm in telling Gellan about it, he supposed, and anything was worth taking his mind off his growing impatience. Shrugging, he described everything he could remember about the encounter. Gellan was silent throughout, though he seemed intensely interested.

  When Bel finished, Gellan remained thoughtful. They passed a particularly tall tree growing from the forest below, its upper branches level with the ridge. A fat possum emerged from a hole in the trunk, and Bel wondered if M’Meska had already hunted for dinner. A slight tingle rose in his blood – not a full rush, for there was no danger, only the promise of violence if he wanted it. Such an uncomplicated act , he thought – draw his sword, fling it, and the possum would fall . Then up ahead he saw rabbits swinging from M’Meska’s pack, a whole brace that she’d caught earlier that day – they had no need for more. Besides, even if they’d had no food at all, and he had killed the possum, what would that have accomplished? Both meal and weapon would have fallen to the forest floor, some distance below, with no telling if they could be easily recovered. He relaxed his hand, which he hadn’t even realised had gone to grip the hilt of his sword, and noticed Gellan staring at him.

  ‘You wanted to kill that possum, didn’t you?’ said the mage.

  ‘I forgot we had dinner already caught,’ he replied darkly.

  The day grew long and they soon came to a stop. As the others went about setting up for the night, Bel wandered away to the edge of the ridge. Below, the treetops were eerily orange as the diminishing light of sunset reached them.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  Gellan again, arriving soundlessly by his side.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Bel, irritated by the mage’s continual presence. ‘They’re just trees.’

  Gellan nodded. ‘Trees, yes. But look at the way the light makes all the tops shine in shifting bands, like waves.’


  ‘What of it?’ Bel could not see the point of these observations. ‘I’ve never been to the damn sea.’

  ‘I just mean there is a life behind things, sometimes. Even I …’ he glanced sideways at Bel, ‘who have seen many in my travels …am impressed by a sunset such as this.’

  The blankness that nudged at Bel was quickly overtaken by anger. Gellan seemed to be pushing on him, as if trying to expose a seam in his character, a limitation of his broken soul …but no, that was just the weaver Iassia’s lies still eating at him. These thoughts were not worthy of consideration. There was nothing wrong with him, and Gellan was just blamelessly making conversation; Bel wished he wouldn’t.

  ‘I see only trees,’ he said, trying to sound jovial, ‘and a sunset like the one that will happen tomorrow, and yesterday, and the day after that. So no, this does not astound me especially. But I am only a simple warrior, not a great poet like you, Gellan.’ In those last words an edge of harshness crept into his voice. He let it hang there, trying to make up his mind whether to try to dispel it or not, then turned and stalked away.

  Gellan thoughtfully watched him go.

  •

  Losara moved up the mountainside in shadowform, knowing he took a risk in slipping away. He’d instructed Fazel to maintain an illusion of Gellan sleeping peacefully while he was gone …but if someone tried to touch the mage, or wake him, they would find no substance to him. He could always claim it was a mage trick, he supposed – making himself insubstantial while he slept, for his own protection. Would they believe such wild and unbelievable lies? Bel seemed to trust him so far, even when he’d risked saying things that, to his mind, should have given him away immediately. But Bel wasn’t like Losara, which was in fact the whole point. His other had a kind of tunnel vision to him, always focused on the mission.

  He cleared the lower vegetated regions and discovered a path of red–orange rock that would have been treacherous to traverse in physical form. It led up to a plateau, where he discovered what he sought. Littered around cave mouths were bones, of birds and mountain goats and who knew what else. A rock fireplace still smouldered, around which lay the silhouettes of spiny trolls. They were simple creatures, hostile to all, but rarely a problem because they lived up so high. Humanoid in stature, they had protruding jaws with upward-curving tusks, knobbed brown skin and dank red hair. Their torsos were small in comparison with their heads, their backs rife with mean-looking spines, and their limbs long and lithe. They wore a semblance of clothing – loincloths, loosely sewn furs and cloth remnants that had no doubt begun their lives as something else. Did he really intend to incite these creatures to their deaths?