Storm Surge

by R. J. Blain

  “Left shoulder,” he gasped out. It was difficult to force the words out through the throbbing in his throat, which matched the erratic, frantic beating of his heart. “Arm.”

  “Your left arm?” The witch lowered his right hand, turning her attention to his shoulder. Her touch was gentle, but Kalen hissed from the pain.

  “Yes, yes!” Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes, shuddering from the shock of the sensations.

  “How does it hurt?”

  It took him several long moments to control his breathing enough to speak. “Like someone’s breaking every bone in my hand for the fun of it.” Sweat dripped down his face, and despite his efforts, he panted. He wanted to snap at the woman and remind her he knew exactly what that felt like, but he couldn’t force the words out. “Hellfires.”

  Muttering something too low for him to hear, Crysallis’s hands roamed across his chest before sliding down his right arm to his wrist. She kneaded his palm with her thumbs. When she worked her way back to his wrist, the pain ebbed to the annoyance of a fresh cut than the sharper stab of broken bones.

  Kalen’s body went limp at the oddly pleasant tingling spreading from the witch’s touch. The sensation reminded him of a healer’s ability to siphon away pain to fuel their magic. Could the witch heal? He’d always thought Crysallis’s domain had been in destruction, not renewal. “What happened?” His voice was weak and tired.

  “For a moment, I was worried that it was the taint, but it is not.” Crysallis continued to massage at his wrist. “Where is Gorishitorik? It is not with you.”

  “Gorishitorik?” Kalen cracked open an eye. The witchlight illuminated Crysallis’s smile. “What does Gorishitorik have to do with this?”

  “How are you feeling? Is your head still bothering you? How about your hand?”

  “Hurts less,” he admitted. He tingled more than he ached. “There are still phantom pains.”

  Over the years, the frequency of the pain in his left arm had eased, though he hadn’t managed to escape it entirely. Sometimes, he caught glimpses of worried looks from the healers when it did bother him. His phantom pains should have faded into extinction years ago.

  “Is there anything unusual about the pain?” Crysallis released his hand and touched his left shoulder before massaging it with a gentle but firm pressure. A numbing chill spread through him. “Your Majesty?”

  The absence the aches that had been plaguing him ate away at his awareness. It took Crysallis pinching his cheek to give him enough focus to consider her question. His concentration wandered, but there was the faint sense of someone pulling on his left wrist. “Pulling,” he mumbled.

  “What’s pulling?”

  Kalen yawned. “On my wrist. Left one.”

  Placing her hand across his brow, Crysallis made a thoughtful noise. “When was the last time you slept or ate, Your Majesty?”

  “I told you to call me Kalen.”

  “Well? When was the last time you slept or ate?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t remember.” Sleep had been a fleeting thing in the face of his frustration. His appetite had fared no better. Kalen stifled his next yawn.

  “Typical. I should have known. I didn’t have time to bring provisions, but I will see what I can do in the morning. Rest a while.” She paused, pushing his hair away from his face. “If my guess is correct, the pain in your left hand will intensify the longer you are separated from your Guardians. By morning, I doubt you will be able to rest even if you wanted to. Once you’re reunited, however, the pain will ease.” Crysallis burst into laughter. “I must admit, I never thought they’d go so far as to make a new Guardian to bring you back to them.”

  “They did what?” Kalen tried to lurch upright, but the witch stopped him by pressing her hand to his chest and forcing him down. To his shock and dismay, she easily overpowered him. “A new Guardian, Crysallis? What? How?”

  “They used Gorishitorik. Breton is with them, as is Maiten. They both know how to make new Guardians. I never thought Breton would agree to such a thing, but Maiten can be persuasive when he needs to be, I suppose. Rest for now. Soon enough, you will hurt too much to, and the limited pain blocking I can do will not be sufficient to protect you. At least you will be able to guide us to your Guardians.”

  “Crysallis, I can’t tell where any of my Guardians are unless I’m close to them. You know this.”

  The witch’s smile was secretive. “You’ll see.”

  Kalen scowled. “I hate when you do that.”

  She laughed.

  ~~*~~

  Crysallis’s prediction proved true. By the time the sun rose, Kalen was in too much pain to do anything other than focus on figuring out how to make it stop. The worst of it, which was centered in his missing left arm didn’t help matters any. It was easier to ignore the discomfort in his right hand; it only hurt when he moved it too much or tried to hold anything.

  The tug on his phantom left wrist pulled him southward, beyond the black scar cutting through the forest. The taint ate away at the trees along the banks of the empty riverbed. Wood creaked with the promise of the ancient behemoths falling. Clouds of gray smoke rose from the ground.

  He stood still, quivering with his desire to pace. With the witch’s gaze on him, he restrained the urge to cross the tainted forest in order to follow the steady tug. As the sun crept higher into the sky, the sensation intensified.

  “How is your hand?” Crysallis stepped forward and stood beside him, staring out over the ruined landscape.

  Wincing at the witch’s pleased tone, Kalen stared down at his right hand. Flexing his fingers woke the throbbing in his bones. “Which one?”

  “Your right, Your Majesty.”

  Kalen sighed at the use of his title. Instead of correcting her like he wanted, he shrugged and said, “It hurts.” The throb, much like the ache in the back of his head, reminded him of his growing collection of injuries.

  “You really should allow me to splint it, Your Majesty. It’s not broken yet, but that could change before we make it back to the camp. Do you really want to endure that again?” Crysallis crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him.

  “Later.”

  “No, Your Majesty. Now—before the magic fails completely and you do more damage to your hand than necessary. Need I remind you that you do not have a spare?”

  “I’m well aware of that fact,” he snapped.

  “Then why are you being stubborn?” Shaking her head, Crysallis sighed. “We can stand here arguing about it all morning, or you can let me splint your hand.”

  “I might need my hand.”

  “You have me, Your Majesty. You won’t need your hand. You do not have your sword, nor am I carrying one with me. You’ll be fine. I’ll see to that. I gave my word. Once we are east of Morinvale, you can guide us to your Guardians.”

  Kalen clacked his teeth, focusing his attention on the smoking ground. “Are you sure we can’t cross that somehow?”

  “You’d die trying.”

  “That might come as a relief to some,” he muttered.

  At Crysallis’s glare, the chill of the First’s presence roused. Kalen stared at the swarm’s destruction so he wouldn’t have to meet the witch’s gaze. “Well, it’s true.”

  “That doesn’t mean you should say it.”

  “Everyone else does. Why can’t I? Leave me alone, Crysallis. I wore a damned cast too long as it is.”

  “You, Your Majesty, are one of the most obstinate and stubborn of living creatures. It is well enough that you were not born with a twin, for I don’t believe this world could survive two of you.” There was a short pause, and the witch inhaled. “You don’t have a twin, do you?”

  “You know I don’t. Are you done yet?”

  Huffing her frustration, Crysallis threw her hands skyward. “When the magic fails, you’ll still be trying to convince me that nothing is wrong. What must happen for you to cooperate? Perhaps the bones in your hands need to be sticking out of your skin
because they’re that broken?”

  Kalen winced at that thought. “And people tell me I’ve got a serpent’s tongue.”

  “I only speak the truth. Stop being such a thrice-blasted deeps dweller about this. Yes, you wore a cast for a long time. Yes, you rely on your hand for your independence. Yes, it will force you to trust me until we find the camp. That said, I would rather not face your Guardians ire when they find out I allowed you to do exactly what you wanted, causing yourself even more harm. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  “From my perspective, not having the use of my hand equates the same exact thing,” he said, careful to keep his tone as calm and neutral as possible. “In Morinvale, it would have suited you well enough if I had died.” Kalen turned to the witch in time to see her flinch.

  “They told you of what had happened.”

  Kalen didn’t want to think about how the First had, according to his Guardians, taken over for a brief time. “The only reason I let you live is because you hadn’t hurt any of them. Remember that well.”

  “I will.”

  “Explain why, and what has changed.” Kalen leaned against one of the trees fringing the swarm’s path. The trunk creaked and chunks of bark crumbled under his weight.

  Sighing, the witch drew closer, gesturing to the black-stained ground. “That is what has changed. It no longer matters in the face of a swarm. No force can stand against so many skreed.”

  The First’s chill stabbed through Kalen’s head, its anger so intense that it dulled his awareness of his aches and pains. “Not even the First?”

  Crysallis jerked as though he had slapped her across the face. Staggering away from him, she retreated several lengths before coming to a trembling halt. “Where did you learn that name?”

  “I asked.”

  ~Kill?~ The desire for blood flooded through Kalen. He drew several deep breaths to contain the First’s malevolence.

  “Who told you?” Crysallis’s voice wavered.

  “Does it matter? You’ve said you’re old—old enough to have witnessed the first swarm. Since there is nothing like recorded about this in the Archives, it happened before the establishment of the Covenant. That means you’re old—over a thousand years old. You’re not even alive, are you? No one can live that long.” Kalen paused, considering the First’s behavior—and his Guardian’s reaction to the events in Morinvale. “You wanted the First, didn’t you? The Guardians wanted to stop it. That’s why you went after them, isn’t it? You were hoping the First would come.”

  “I wanted to set the Rift free. You’re right. I wanted the First to show the world that the Rift can’t be contained. We have been prisoners for a thousand years. A thousand years, Your Majesty. Without the Rift King, without you, we could be free. Your Guardians ruined it. You stood on the brink, and curse your Guardians, they brought you back. You’re still human. If only you had ascended. Four of them had no hopes of containing what you would have become.”

  “And I’m told I’m insane.” Kalen shook his head.

  ~Kill!~ the First demanded. Along with the word was the memory he had spent the past fifteen years suppressing, of Danarites dying because of him and to the First, and what they, together, had become. Maiten had been with him, watching as he had been taken over by the creature dwelling within him.

  The red-haired Guardian had been the only one person the First would accept, and thus, not kill.

  Kalen shuddered. Once acknowledged, the memory refused to fade. The First’s chill warmed with its pleasure.

  Crysallis’s voice drew him back to the present. “Why won’t you die? Why can’t you set us free? How long must we wait? How long must we remain trapped within the Rift?”

  The frustration in the witch’s voice drew a sigh out of him. “All that has ever kept Rifters within the Rift was their honor, their oath, and their pride. That is a cage neither I nor the First can free them from. That is something they must choose to do on their own. You could set the First loose, and it would do you no good. Even in ascension, we couldn’t set them free. That’s something they must decide to do for themselves. Maybe they would follow me, should the Rift Ride, but your victory would be short lived. They would choose to return to the Rift, because it is important for them to remain honorable, to live by the Code, and fulfill their oaths. Setting the First loose wouldn’t change that.”

  Crysallis balled her hand into fists. “And how would you know?”

  Kalen held out his right hand, staring down at his palm. He examined the crisscrossing of thin scars from the years of survival in the Rift. “You’ve made one critical mistake in your plan, Crysallis.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Even if the First ascended, I would still live. You can’t get rid of me so easily. I would remain, we would both remain, and you will have gained nothing.”

  The First’s approval swept through Kalen, as warm as the desert sun.

  ~~*~~

  Kalen walked east towards Morinvale. Fog clung to the forest, and the acrid fumes of the taint eating away at the ground burned his nose. The sunlight couldn’t quite penetrate through the haze.

  “I hate this kingdom,” he muttered through chattering teeth. No matter how fast he walked, the damp chill pierced through his cloak and made him shiver.

  “You never did like the cold, not even in your first days in the Rift. The hotter it was, the happier you were—even when we smothered. I find it difficult to believe you were bred in such a place. It doesn’t suit you.” Crysallis watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  “Did you just imply I do something better than a Rifter? Was that a compliment? From you?”

  Her smile didn’t last long, but her stance relaxed. “You do many things well, Your Majesty.”

  “First, you confess you wish me dead. Then you start complimenting me. Witch, you are a contradiction.”

  “I am Crysallis.”

  Kalen slowed, turning his head to meet her gaze directly. “I don’t think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

  “Chrysalis is an old word. I wasn’t always called Crysallis, just as you were not always known as Kalen. It means change. Metamorphosis. Evolution. In some contexts, it means as you say—contradiction.”

  “Let’s be direct with each other. How long do I have before you decide to try to rid the world of me?”

  Crysallis froze, her eyes widening. “Your Majesty!”

  “That time you used my title as a shocked protest,” he said, lifting his throbbing hand to rub at his brow. It didn’t ward away his growing headache. “No more games. You admitted you wanted me gone in Morinvale so the First could take over. Why haven’t you taken advantage of your chance? You’ve had ample opportunity.”

  Her sigh was long and low. “Must you always look for your death?”

  “Yes. You know why.”

  “Does your hand hurt?”

  Kalen glared at the woman for the change of subject. “Of course it does.”

  “Your left hand.”

  “As I said, of course it does.”

  “The pull is getting stronger, then?”

  “Yes,” he snapped.

  “There is your answer. Even I am not so foolish to endanger you now, not when your Guardians hunt for you. They would rip me to pieces, and not even my power as a witch would save me. Pointlessly killing myself would not aid my cause—nothing will now, not with the skreed swarming.”

  ~Kill,~ the First demanded in frustration.

  Kalen ignored it. “You know a lot more than most about the Guardians for someone who isn’t one. How?”

  Crysallis swallowed, refusing to look him in the eyes. “It’s my fault you’re cursed. I’m the one who gave Gorishitorik his power. I’m the one who imprisoned the First. I’m the reason there is a Rift King.”

  The First’s wrath exploded through Kalen’s head, and the pain of it blinded him. His legs refused to hold his weight. Sitting down hard, he stared up at the witch in shock. He felt his heart
skip several beats before it started to race.

  Crysallis was responsible for the First?

  If the creature’s reaction to the witch’s admission was any indication, she was telling the truth. Shock kept him speechless, and he shook as the implications of her words sank in. One by one, the things he had learned in the Rift, and the hundreds of little hints he’d gathered over the years, all fell into place.

  Gorishitorik was his sword, carrying the name of King Slayer for as long as the Archives had existed.

  There was no record of a man named Gorishitorik, not that he knew of. The first Rift King’s name had been stricken from the records, the Rift’s shame.

  “Gorishitorik was a man who killed kings, wasn’t he?” Kalen’s voice came out as a choked whisper. “It wasn’t the name of the sword at all, was it?”

  “The sword wears the name much better than the man. Yes, you’re correct. The true King Slayer was a man. The sword was cursed with its first wielder’s name, the only remnant of his existence. Gorishitorik loved nothing more than conquering those who defied him. When he won, he took the head of the ruler, but… he wasn’t content with that. He took their Queens as his prizes, all to prove his prowess as a stallion born to lead the herd.”

  Kalen flinched. “He raped them.”

  “It is because he sought to mount the world that we became as we are. It was our only way to survive, to become more than his brood mares.” Crysallis bit her lip, staring down at him. “Do you understand?”

  “No, I don’t.” The admission pained him. How could he ever understand something like that?

  A stricken expression marred Crysallis’s face. All he could see in her eyes and hear in her silence was anguish.

  When she refused to speak, Kalen considered the circumstances. If Crysallis was to blame for everything—including the imprisonment of his people within the Rift—there was one conclusion he could believe. “You were behind the Covenant and the Rift’s Code.”

  “I was. So long as there is a Rift King, so long as the thing within you remains within the Rift’s control, we will never be free. For that, you must die. The past can’t repeat itself. It must never repeat itself. The Rift King can’t Ride. Never again.” While the woman didn’t cry, Kalen heard the tears in her voice. “You’ll destroy us all.”