Destiny's Rift (Broken Well Trilogy)

by Sam Bowring

  Bel’s encounter with his other still troubled him. Face to face they had stood in Naphur’s chambers, Losara’s blue hair obvious for all to see. Bel’s blood tingled with the same excitement he had experienced fighting huggers in Drel. He barely noticed or thought about Naphur, or Fahren – all his focus was on his enemy, standing right there. If he made the right moves, perhaps he could finish Losara for good, and then there’d be only one blue-haired man, and no one to stop him winning the war! As had happened in Drel, he began to sense patterns, like overlaid iterations of the steps he could take. With the huggers leaping at him from all sides there had been many potential paths for his sword to travel . . . but now that he faced a single opponent, the pattern was small and simple. And, as he understood what he was seeing, the fire in his blood turned to ice.

  The way to defeat Losara was to stab himself in the heart.

  They were connected, it seemed, different parts of the same person, and their souls would live and die as one. It was troubling to realise that a part of himself, over which he had no control, was so exposed. In some ways he was glad that his other was so powerful, for what kept one alive kept both alive. Until we are rejoined, he thought, which strengthened his resolve to follow Arkus’s orders – to find the Stone of Evenings Mild and swallow Losara back into himself. Any thoughts he may have once entertained about finding a way to attack his other more directly had to be cast aside.

  But how to find the Stone? He hadn’t the faintest idea where to start.

  Blue hair, he thought. Out and flying.

  Jaya stirred. ‘You’re awake?’ she murmured sleepily.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Thinking deep thoughts?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Feel free to share,’ she said. ‘I might need help getting back to sleep.’

  Bel felt a moment of annoyance at her faint teasing. Nothing was trivial about his situation. He did not let it sound in his voice, however.

  ‘I think it’s time to stop hiding the colour of my hair,’ he said.

  She went still against him, and he knew that now she was truly awake.

  ‘My other does not hide it,’ he went on. ‘His people know that their champion walks amongst them. Yet what hope do Kainordans have? They know a blue-haired man lives in Fenvarrow, unashamedly, not like some cur in hiding . . . but they do not know they have a hero of their own.’ He wondered if he was vain to call himself that, but discovered he did not care. If he was going to be a hero, there was no place for self-doubt and second-guessing.

  ‘You should have seen the guards,’ he shook his head, ‘when they burst into the Throne’s chambers, in the seconds before Losara fled. They were awed by him. Terrified, probably, of who he was. They did not know that I, standing right there next to them . . .’ he trailed off.

  ‘Well, I think you’re right,’ said Jaya forcefully.

  Bel remembered how, when he’d first told her who he really was, once she had overcome her disbelief, she had laughed and been proud. And doesn’t a proud warrior need a proud woman? Certainly he was proud of having her, despite the fact that she had been a thief. Had been, or still was? They hadn’t really spoken about it, but if they ever did, would he want her to change her ways? Maybe not . . . maybe it was her fierce independence, even from the laws of the land, that made up part of the attraction. Of course the fact that Jaya, like Bel, had a touch of Sprite blood about her left them both without much choice in the matter – their souls had bonded before they’d even known it was happening.

  ‘Do you think that if you reveal yourself, they’ll ask you to take the Throneship?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Bel. ‘I don’t think so. I have other things to do. I can hardly go searching for the Stone and be the Throne.’

  ‘But the prophecy showed you leading the army.’

  ‘I don’t have to be the Throne to do that,’ he said.

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded faintly disappointed.

  ‘Is that really what you’d want?’ he asked, pulling away slightly so he could see her face. ‘To end up stuck in a frock, in a palace full of jewels that are already yours and therefore present absolutely no challenge in the taking of?’

  She stared at him for a moment, then broke into a smile. ‘Maybe one day,’ she said. ‘In about two or three hundred years.’

  •

  They left The Wayward Dog and walked together through the streets, heading towards the carts that trundled up to the Halls. Although Naphur’s funeral wasn’t public, it was well known that he was being buried today, and the mood in the streets was sombre, devoid of the usual merry bustle. Two children throwing a cloth bundle to each other appeared out of place, though no one stopped them. Then one of them scraped his knee and started crying, which seemed to suit the atmosphere better.

  A man in rags with a long beard was walking down the middle of the road, his eyes bloodshot. ‘We are lost,’ he called to anyone who would listen. ‘The Shadowdreamer comes to take us all! Fenvarrow marches, and we have none to stand against them.’

  People shied away from him or sent dark glares his way, though by the looks on their faces many seemed to share his trepidation.

  ‘So,’ said Jaya quietly, ‘when does the mighty warrior plan to unveil himself?’

  Bel stopped to read a shop sign. It said ‘Tomeo Fellet, Mercantile Mage’. He glanced for a moment after the old doomsayer, shuffling on up the road.

  ‘Now,’ he answered. ‘Here.’ And he rapped loudly on the shop door.

  ‘You aren’t going to speak to the High Mage first?’

  Bel stared hard at the doorknob. ‘No,’ he said. Although Fahren had been like a grandfather to him, he felt this was a decision for him to make alone.

  ‘Fahren likes to talk everything through from a dozen different directions. He has a talent for muddying certainty. I know I want this done, and I don’t mean to give him the opportunity to talk me out of it.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jaya. ‘To blazes with the old coot.’

  ‘I didn’t quite mean that,’ said Bel, smiling despite himself.

  The door opened. Standing inside was a sleepy-looking man of middle years, wearing a green robe and with a head of mussed brown hair that suggested he was not far from his bed.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, blinking at Bel. ‘You’re quite the strapping lad, aren’t you? Tomeo Fellet at your service, but . . . I’m not quite open for business yet. Could you come back in, oh . . . a couple of hours?’

  ‘A couple of hours?’ said Bel. ‘The sun is high the sky, my good man!’ He jangled his money pouch. ‘Certainly high enough to glint off a gold piece or three!’

  The mage looked from the pouch to the indignant young man before him and sighed. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Come in.’

  He led them down a short corridor into a study full of potted plants, naturally lit by a large window in the back wall. ‘Please have a seat,’ he said, gesturing at a table, then turned to a pitcher of water. He put in his hand, made the water bubble, and vapour rose. He then sent little clouds flying about the room, seeking out thirsty plants to ‘rain’ on. The sight made a crazy idea dance through Bel’s head, but he shook it away. He already had his purpose – he was going to find the Stone.

  ‘So,’ said Tomeo, ‘what can I do for you?’ He cocked an eye at Jaya’s belly. ‘Need an unwanted bump removed?’

  ‘You might get yourself an unwanted bump if you’re not careful,’ she said. She loosened her belt a bit, however, and glanced at Bel. ‘Might be I’ve had a few ales of late,’ she conceded.

  ‘And cheese,’ said Bel. ‘Don’t forget about all the cheese.’

  ‘You have to admit, it tastes better stolen.’

  Bel nodded. ‘Yes, and it takes my mind off the fact that, although I tried to rescue a girl from that jail, I apparently came back with a mouse.’

  Tomeo cleared his throat.

  ‘There’s an enchantment on my hair,’ said Bel. ‘To mask its true colour. I wish it
removed.’

  Tomeo’s eyebrows went up. ‘An alteration of appearance?’ he said, and squinted hard at Bel’s hair. ‘Funny, I didn’t sense anything of that sort when you came in, and that is in fact my area of expertise. May I?’

  Bel nodded and the mage reached across the table to set a hand on his head.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘No one would sense this, unless they were touching you and knew exactly what they were looking for. This is no common vanity spell, Mr . . . ?’

  ‘Bel.’

  ‘Well Bel, this tiny pearl of an enchantment is the most expertly crafted of its type that I have ever seen. Do you mind if I ask how you came by it?’

  ‘The Grand High Mage put it there,’ said Bel. Tomeo gave a little intake of breath and withdrew his hand. ‘Can you undo it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tomeo. ‘But I don’t know that I should go tinkering with the High Mage’s work. Perhaps he had a very good reason to . . . um . . .’

  Bel upturned his pouch and coins spilled across the table. ‘I can think of several very good reasons why it should be undone.’

  Tomeo stared at the gold, which did indeed glint in the sun that spilled through the window behind him.

  ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘I guess I don’t see what harm it could do for a fellow to have his real hair colour.’ Again he reached forward, but this time set both hands on Bel’s head. He muttered something under his breath, and from out of Bel’s brow appeared a tiny mote of light. Tomeo brought it towards him, still chanting. The mote quaked and broke apart in a tiny pinprick of an explosion.

  ‘Shame to destroy such a finely made spell,’ he sighed, and then his jaw fell open.

  Jaya reached up to run her hand through Bel’s curly blue hair.

  ‘Well, there we are,’ she said. ‘And my – what vibrant eyebrows you now possess. And eyelashes too!’ She laughed as she glanced towards his trousers. ‘Wonder what else has changed.’

  Bel gave the wide-eyed Tomeo a grin and pushed some coins across the table.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, rising. ‘Come on, Jaya.’

  As they walked out, Tomeo came to his senses. ‘Wait . . .’ he tried, running to the hallway in time to see the front door shut. ‘Oh dear,’ he muttered. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What harm indeed? I knew it was a dangerous thing to get up so early in the morning.’

  •

  Bel realised he should have thought more carefully about the effect of walking down the street with a head of bright blue hair. Folk gathered to stare, as if an impromptu parade was being staged, but many seemed uncertain, some downright afraid, edging away or openly fleeing. He was puzzled by the reaction. What was the problem?

  Ahead a group of men sitting outside a tavern, the kind who started their drinking in the morning, began to whisper and point, and he wasn’t sure he liked the tone of their voices. One, who seemed to be the leader, stood to move into the thoroughfare, and others quickly gathered behind him.

  ‘You think us so meek,’ said the man, ‘that you dare walk our streets in plain view?’

  Bel pulled up, Jaya close behind, as the issue began to dawn on him.

  The man drew his sword, glancing around to make sure he was flanked by his fellows.

  ‘Think you can come and go as you please, shadow?’ he went on. ‘Waltz in on a whim and murder whoever you like? Mock us with your presence on this day of mourning? Well, Gerring here,’ he thumped his chest, ‘will not stand for it.’

  ‘They think I’m Losara,’ muttered Bel. How could he have been so stupid? As far as the people of Kainordas were concerned, there was only one blue-haired man, and he had recently murdered the Throne.

  Bel raised his voice loud enough for all to hear. ‘My good man,’ he said. ‘I’m not who you think I am. There is a blue-haired man on the shadow’s side, true enough, but he is not the only one! Did you really think Arkus would forsake you, that there would be no deliverance from evil?’

  Gerring looked uncertain, and his companions mumbled amongst themselves. All around a crowd gathered to listen, some from the street, some from windows or balconies above.

  ‘I have been in hiding,’ said Bel, ‘waiting until the time was right. Perhaps I was foolish to delay so long, foolish to allow the shadow to make the first strike. But I swear to you, I am born of light, and I fight for the light! Look at me – do I look like a creature of the shadow?’

  Gerring frowned. ‘The shadow can take many forms,’ he said.

  ‘The blue-haired man is finally here!’ came a hopeful cry from above. Others echoed it, yet still there was doubt.

  Bel drew his sword and Gerring tensed, his companions fumbling for their own weapons. Bel tossed his sword to the ground and stalked forward, going down on one knee before Gerring.

  ‘Would an enemy of Kainordas risk himself in this way?’ he asked, his voice charged with righteousness. ‘If you doubt me, strike me down . . . and be responsible for the fall of our great land! But if you will believe, set me on my way, and I promise you, Gerring . . .’ He turned to address the crowd in general, and noticed Jaya twisting a dagger in her fingers – he knew that if Gerring raised his sword, the dagger would find him before any blow fell. ‘I promise you all that the murder of our beloved Throne, the creeping evil in the south, the threat to our very way of life will not go unanswered!’

  The crowd exploded.

  ‘Arkus bless you, deliver us from the shadow!’

  ‘Is it real? You’d better not be pulling some prank, boy!’

  ‘Spread the word! We are saved!’

  Turning back to Gerring amidst the clamour of voices, Bel held out his hand. The man glanced around at the cheering people . . . then reached for Bel’s hand, clasped it, and hauled him to his feet. The cheer became a roar.

  ‘I pray you are telling the truth,’ said Gerring.

  ‘If I was not,’ said Bel, ‘do you think you would still be standing there?’

  Gerring nodded seriously, then a slight smile cracked his features. ‘The blue-haired man has come!’ he shouted to his companions. ‘Where’s my drink?’

  Quickly his mug was passed to him, and he raised it. ‘To victory over the shadow!’ he called, and messily quaffed the entire contents.

  Progress was smoother after that. The crowd followed Bel and Jaya, its jubilation echoing loudly, sweeping up doubters and converting them quickly as the news spread and more came running. Bel waved here and there, laughed, and flexed his bronzed muscles at a group of girls who broke into a chorus of giggles.

  ‘Steady, my fine fellow,’ said Jaya through clenched teeth. ‘No need to get carried away.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my love,’ replied Bel. ‘There’s none who compare to a Sprite woman.’

  A little girl broke from her mother’s legs, ignoring the anxious call to come back, and landed in front of them, effectively halting their progress.

  ‘Hello, young lady,’ said Bel.

  The girl stared up at him with bright eyes. ‘Mummy says you is a . . . a legend.’

  Bel chuckled easily. ‘I hope to be,’ he said. ‘But legends are made, not born.’

  ‘Is your hair really blue?’

  ‘It really is. See?’ Bel plucked a curly strand from his head, and held it out to her.

  The girl’s eyes lit up in wonder as she touched it reverently. ‘Can I keep it?’

  ‘You can,’ said Bel, and she squealed with delight.

  ‘Not too jealous I hope?’ he asked Jaya as the girl raced away, clutching her treasure. ‘Ah,’ he added, ‘I saw what you did there.’

  ‘What?’ said Jaya.

  ‘Rolled your eyes so I could see how beautiful they are, and therefore not be tempted by other women.’

  Jaya shot him a level stare. ‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly what I was doing.’

  Soon they reached the carts; the drivers were hesitatingly watching the approaching mob with Bel at its core. Word was spreading so fast Bel wondered if they would even beat it up the hil
l. He slapped the shoulder of a shocked driver. ‘Stop staring, good fellow. Will you let it be said that you kept the blue-haired man waiting?’

  The driver scrambled into action.

  •

  In the north-east of the Halls was the Inviolable, a beautified graveyard surrounded by high hedges cut to look like spiked walls. Inside lay the graves of nobles and notables, every headstone elaborately carved and all markedly different in their designs. Each grave was covered by a plate of glass, through which those buried could be seen, their bodies perfectly preserved by magic. Bel and Jaya passed Hedris Naphur, a thin woman lying in a velvet-lined coffin, who had ruled Kainordas a hundred years ago. Next was Gerent Morrigan, who had led the charge to turn back Assidax, and whose headstone was a birch tree with swords hanging from the branches. High Mage Reikel, a raven-haired fellow who looked to have died young, seemed somehow restless in his lasting slumber.

  ‘You’re sure no one’ll get their fancy pants in a bunch because I’m here?’ asked Jaya.

  ‘Of course they won’t,’ said Bel. ‘Besides, something tells me it’s not you they’ll be looking at.’

  Up ahead people were gathering before a shining white monolith. At their approach, heads swivelled and gasps sounded. Fahren was there too, managing to look both surprised and disappointed at once. He turned to speak with the others, and Bel thought he heard assurances being made that there was nothing to fear. Finally Fahren broke from the group and hurried towards them. Bel was preparing himself for the old mage’s ire when he was suddenly distracted by a grave they were passing, and stopped.