Riddle of Fate

by Tania Johansson

  She blew out a breath of air, making her cheeks puff out. “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere but here. Brier knows you are still working with me, which means shortly, Garelle and Meir will know as well.”

  “Each time I leave him alive, I regret it. He causes us nothing but problems.”

  “That might be so, but trust me, Khaya, you would regret killing him even more. That kind of thing never leaves you.” Adept as Derrin had become at forgetting, those memories were still sharp.

  “We can’t run,” she said, suddenly, walking to the window and staring out.

  He must have misheard. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if we run, we are once again on the back foot.”

  “At least we will still be on our feet and not tethered and locked up somewhere. Or worse.”

  “I can convince them that what Brier saw was no more than me trying to convince you to hand yourself over.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “How exactly are you planning on convincing them of that?”

  She spun around from the window to face him. “I guess we’ll find out now. They’re here. You have to go. Now!” she hissed when he didn’t disappear.

  He crawled under the bed before Leaping onto the roof. He could only hope they wouldn’t find the trace left by his Leap under there.

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  Khaya stilled her heart before descending the stairs. She took care to walk slowly and keep her face blank. “I take it you’ve heard of my altercation with Brier,” she said as Garelle walked in, pushing Yarissa ahead of her.

  “You have her contained?” Garelle asked Yarissa, who nodded.

  How odd. Yarissa didn’t bind Khaya’s abilities. Did she make a mistake? Khaya caught the girl’s eye. A small smile crept onto Yarissa’s face. Not a mistake then. Interesting.

  Meir and Seb followed behind Garelle. They spread out to search the house while Garelle stood in front of Khaya, her hands folded behind her back. “Brier tells us that you were with Derrin. Do you deny that?”

  “No, of course not. How am I to convince him to hand himself over if I don't talk to him?”

  Garelle sniffed, but didn't say anything else. Meir and Seb returned. “He’s not here,” Meir said. “But we did find this.” He dropped her travel bag in front of her. “Going somewhere?”

  “I thought about running,” Khaya said.

  “Looks like you did more than just think about it,” Meir said.

  “I thought you would come in here believing whatever garbage Brier had decided to feed you. No doubt trying to make up for the humiliation of being beaten by a woman.”

  “And a Collector,” Garelle said.

  “I was the one who broke his ribs,” Khaya said. “Nearly did a whole lot more than that,” she muttered.

  Seb cocked his head to one side at the latter, his mouth twisting, one corner quirking up.

  “What were you doing at the library?”

  “Derrin is considering handing himself over, but he is afraid of the consequences. He doesn’t know what to expect.”

  Meir snorted. “He’s taken enough people to the border to have a better idea about what to expect than any book could give him. Either he was lying to you, or you’re lying to us. I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

  Seb was suddenly standing next to Khaya. He wrapped his hand around a hunk of her hair and gave it a yank. Her head snapped back, her neck arching. She grabbed his hand, trying to make him stop. He only pulled harder. “You don’t want to lie to us, Khaya.”

  “I’m not! That’s what he told me. I’m starting to realise all men lie. The living and the dead.”

  He still held her hair, twisting her head further back. He leaned in, his mouth by her ear. “You want to tread carefully,” he hissed, “if it were up to me you would never have been offered a second chance. Not when I wasn’t given one.” He released her with a shove.

  She rubbed at her scalp, scowling at Seb. “What did you think?” Khaya said. “That he would agree to give himself up in a moment after running for – what is it? – fifteen years? I will get him to do it. Give me more time.”

  “We all know how stubborn men can be,” Garelle said. “We will give you one week.”

  “What happens if a week isn’t enough?” Khaya asked.

  “We’ll kill you,” Meir said, “and hunt Derrin down.”

  Meir and Garelle stalked out the door, with Yarissa in tow. Seb lingered. His head cocked to one side, a strange look in his eyes. “You don’t fool me. The other two might be idiots, but I’m not. I know a liar when I see one. After all, it takes one to know one.” He winked with a lopsided grin before Leaping away.

  He made her skin crawl. She shivered.

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  Derrin paced along the edge of the cathedral roof. Zera was hours late. Something was wrong. As much as he tried to convince himself that something was holding her up – and nothing more sinister had happened – he knew that wasn’t true. If Zera had an appointment she was there at the appointed time. Not a minute late. Let alone hours.

  Worry ate at Derrin’s stomach. He spun at a sound behind him.

  Zera stood with her back to him. He breathed a sigh of relief. “You had me worried,” he said. “What held you up?”

  She didn’t answer and didn’t turn. Derrin circled around her. As he got closer, he noticed the bulge at her back. Something was pushing against her coat. He rushed to her. A sword unlike any sword he’d ever seen before was embedded in her stomach. It had a pure white pommel and a shiny blood red blade.

  Zera’s hands were wrapped around the pommel and blade, her eyes wide. “Zera,” Derrin said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What happened? Who did this?”

  Her mouth moved, but only a wheeze escaped her. Derrin leaned in, his ear by her mouth, trying to catch her words. “Imposter,” she breathed. “must warn… Highest.”

  “Are you talking about Garelle or Meir?”

  She shook her head. “I’m dying.”

  Derrin frowned in confusion. How could this be? She was a Collector. They could sustain wounds and even feel pain, but to be killed?

  Maybe he could save her. If he truly had an ability to heal, he could help her, he could save her life. He put his hand to her waist where the sword pierced her stomach. She looked down at his hands, strands of grey hair plastered to her face, and fear glimmering in her blue eyes.

  “I am going to remove the sword and try to heal you,” he said.

  She licked her dry lips and nodded.

  “One, two, three,” he said and drew the sword free in a smooth motion.

  With a groan, Zera sank to her knees. Derrin crouched down and placed one hand on her front and the other on the exit wound on her back. He closed his eyes and, not knowing how he was meant to do it, envisioned the wound healing, the skin knitting together. He sighed in relief, closing his eyes as his hands warmed. It must be working. It was wondrous. Heat pulsated down his arms, into his fingertips and into her body.

  Smiling, he opened his eyes. His throat tightened.

  Her body went limp as her brilliant, bright spirit drifted out from her body and up into the sky. “No!” Derrin cried out, tears stinging his eyes. He couldn’t have failed. Not again. Not when it was working.

  He looked back at her empty body. The wound was still gaping wide open. Why hadn’t it work? Why did she die? How was that even possible? Collectors weren’t able to die. Her body disintegrated before him, turning to dust until it was finally carried away by the breeze.

  Derrin punched the ground. This was his fault. If he hadn’t dragged her into this mess she would still be alive. She had been a Collector for over three hundred years. And now she was no more. Because of him.

  He spun round to glare at the strange sword as if it was to blame. What kind of cursed blade was this that could kill a Collector? He picked it up, holding it up in front of him. The blade was no longer shiny. There was an engraving on the pommel. />
  It read: Shahemdilor.

  Chapter Thirty

  Confrontation

  Derrin’s hands were shaking. He paced back and forth across the lounge. “I should have known this would happen,” he said.

  “You couldn’t have known,” Khaya said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “No? Who else then? I got her involved.”

  Khaya put a hand on his arm. He stopped, turning to face her. She cringed. His dark eyes were filled with pain. “From the little I know about Zera, she was your friend, but more than that, she had integrity. She believed – rightly – that something is threatening the Collectors. She was compelled to do something about it. Not for you. For all Collectors.”

  “But she wouldn’t have known about any of it if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Do you honestly think she would have wanted to be ignorant of what was going on? Unaware of the risk and the danger that was approaching? Or would she have wanted to do all she could to protect the Collectors?”

  He remained quiet and she cupped his face in both her hands. “You have done nothing wrong. You are an honourable man, but this is not your burden to carry.”

  His dark eyes held her gaze. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He leaned his forehead against hers and Khaya’s heart raced. She lifted her chin and his mouth came down to meet hers.

  His lips were warm and butterflies erupted in her stomach.

  Abruptly, he pulled away and stepped back from her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I… um… I,” she stuttered.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, walking away and rubbing the back of his neck. “I need some time to think about what to do. I’ll be back soon.”

  Before she could get her wits together to say something, Derrin was gone.

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  While waiting for Derrin to return, Khaya had to repeatedly force her thoughts back to matters at hand. The sword he had brought back was lying on the table. She picked it up. She didn’t know much about swords, but apart from the strange colour of the blade, this one didn’t look any different to any others she’d seen. It was light. Maybe. She didn’t really know. She put it down on the table again.

  She poured her fourth cup of tea. When was he going to be back? She touched her fingertips to her lips and felt her cheeks go crimson. She shook her head. She was acting like a lovesick girl. She blew out a pent-up breath. She needed to get herself under control.

  As Khaya lifted the cup to her mouth, Derrin appeared in front of her. She dropped the cup as butterflies sprang up in her stomach. “You surprised me,” she said with a titter, grabbing a cloth and mopping up the spilt tea.

  “Sorry,” he said, distracted.

  “I forgot to tell you something,” Khaya said. “Seb said something strange. He said that had it been up to him, I would never have been given a second chance – especially since he wasn’t given one. What do you think it means?”

  “Maybe something that happened to him in life?” Derrin was deep in thought for a long moment. “I’ve decided what I need to do.” He strode over to the sword and slid it behind his belt.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I must speak to the Highest.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  Sitting in the familiar upper alcove of the Hall of Angels, Derrin hesitated. He ran through his reasoning again. It was a risk, but this was the only way. With Zera gone, there was no other Collector willing to help him. And even if there were, he couldn’t risk someone else dying because of him.

  The hall was empty. He Vaulted to the ground. He had to get to the Highest without being seen. If Garelle or Meir found out he was there then no plea would save him. Derrin used the side door and sneaked into the landscaped garden surrounding the hall.

  The Highest would most likely be in his private study. If only it was as easy as Leaping to it. A ward prevented uninvited guests from entering and Derrin would most certainly be classified as uninvited. Leaping around in the middle realm would, in itself, attract unwanted attention. It wasn’t forbidden, but it was frowned upon.

  There was never a sun visible in the middle realm, but it was always bright. Always before, this had seemed like a warm glow. Now, it seemed a threatening glare, intent on exposing him.

  Derrin straightened his back and strode purposefully but calmly along the side of the hall. Rounding the corner, the familiar criss-cross of roads lay ahead. At every other intersection, fountains playfully tossed water in arcs. Some had statues of the great Collectors of history.

  It was painful to be back. This had been his home for so many years that to have it now look like a hostile front on a battlefield was sad.

  From where he stood, Derrin could see the Highest’s home. The impressive red stone building was at the end of the main road. It had a tall peaked roof and a spiralling tower at each of the four corners. The study was in the far right corner.

  At least there were no guards. Guards were not needed in the middle realm. Not when Collectors could not be murdered – or so he’d thought – and any law breakers were sent to damnation. Derrin wondered if that would all change.

  He shoved away the urge to skulk and sneak, and instead, walked normally down the road. The cobblestones, once so welcoming, seemed to want to trip him up. Controlling his fear, he kept his step brisk, but unhurried.

  The tall black gates at the entrance to the grounds were, as always, wide open. Derrin breathed a little easier once he was away from town and walking along the path across the lawn.

  Something made him glance over his shoulder. Three Collectors were coming his way. They were just before the gates. As soon as he spotted them, they started running. Derrin picked up his pace. Just as he glanced back again, they Leapt.

  They were coming for him.

  Derrin Leapt into the manor, as close to the study as the ward would allow. It took him a moment to orientate himself. He was still in the front hall – not where he’d been aiming for.

  He sprinted down the hall. As he sped off, the three Collectors appeared behind him, also unable to Leap any further. Their footsteps clattered in pursuit and he ducked into a room to his left. It was a large sitting room with a high, arched ceiling. A set of four sofas were arranged around a central round table and a single armchair stood by the window, facing out.

  Not knowing where it would lead, but unable to turn around, he rushed through the door at the far end of the room. It led to a formal meeting room, a long, rectangular table ran the length of the narrow room and was lined with stiff-backed wooden chairs.

  One of his pursuers burst through a door to his left. The Collector jumped onto the table and launched himself towards Derrin. They crashed to the floor, knocking over and breaking chairs as they fell. Wrestling for control, the man tried to hit Derrin. Each time, Derrin barely managed to move his head out of the way.

  The man leaned back, drawing his fist back as far as he could, readying to strike. Derrin’s scrabbling hand found a piece of broken chair. With a heave, he smacked the Collector across the face. The man collapsed from the blow. Derrin shoved his weight off him and sprang to his feet just as the other two Collectors burst through the door.

  Derrin bolted, his pursuers only a few feet behind him. He sped down the corridor without looking back. Their thundering footfalls were closing in, though. The Highest’s study was at the end of the hall.

  With the feeling of whips licking at his back, Derrin barged through the study door. The Highest surged to his feet, his golden earring swinging. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Derrin fell to his knees, placing his forehead on the ground. “Highest,” he said, “forgive me, but you must listen to me. The Collectors are in danger. Some conspire to overthrow you.”

  There was silence. No more footsteps in pursuit. They must be standing behind him. Did the Highest bid them stop? He dared not lift his head to see.

  “You carry
Shahemdilor: Judgement,” the Highest’s low voice rumbled. “Where did you come upon it?”

  “I pulled it from Zera’s body, Highest. I could not save her. She is dead.”

  “He murdered her!” a woman’s voice said behind Derrin. It wasn’t Garelle.

  “Rise, Derrin,” the Highest said.

  He stood slowly, keeping his head bowed and his gaze fixed to the ground. Someone plucked the sword from his belt. A Collector he didn’t recognise strode around him – while keeping narrowed eyes on him – and handed the sword to the Highest. “Leave us,” the Highest said, staring at the blade.

  A babble of protests erupted from the back of the room. It cut off and a moment later, the door closed. The chair behind the large oak desk creaked as the Highest sank down into it. He expelled a breath. “Sit, Derrin. Your nervousness is palpable. You’re not going to die. At least not straight away.”

  Small comfort, but he sat down across the desk from the Highest. “Tell me what you know,” the Highest commanded, fingering the thick golden chain around his neck.

  Taking a second to compose his thoughts, Derrin looked around the room. Behind the Highest, a bookcase lined the wall. A middle panel of wall split it in half and a tall clock stood there. The clock face bore a multitude of numbers. He’d never seen it before, but knew the top figure was the number of people alive at the moment. The bottom figure indicated the number that would die on the day.

  “I have little proof, Highest,” Derrin said, “but what I believe is the following: Garelle and Meir are conspiring against you or perhaps even against the Collectors as a whole. Zera was killed because she was helping me, maybe asking questions that were landing too close to the truth.”

  “Zera is dead?” the Highest asked, a deep frown pulling his eyebrows down. It took him a while to recover from the shock. “And you believe it was Garelle or Meir who killed her?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Of that I am not sure.” Derrin paused. “What do you know of a Collector named Seb, or Sebrian?”