The Rival

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  The hawks were panicked and out of control. So were the other birds. His harness tilted precariously. He was in more danger than he had ever been, and he was more vulnerable than he had been in a long, long time.

  He shouted —

  — and the world tilted. He was sinking into a Vision.

  "No!" he cried, but he couldn't stop it. He was trapped within the Mystery of the Powers and they had him and suddenly —

  — He was in a room in the Islander palace, looking at his great-grandson. The boy had lighter skin and more rounded features, but his eyebrows swooped upward properly and his ears were pointed. He had the look of Jewel to him, despite his pale eyes. He was about to speak when another Fey ran into the room and stabbed the boy in the back. He gargled, blood gushing from his mouth, and then he fell forward. Rugad got up —

  — and nearly tilted the boat. They were on the open sea, and his great-grandson was in the water. Arms flapping, head dipping below the surface, no one to save him but Rugad. Rugad leaned forward, reaching out with an oar, but the boy didn't see it. He slipped below the surface and —

  — then he stood in the burned out ruin of their holy building, a girl protectively behind his back. She clung to him. He held a sword out, its tip against Rugad's stomach. I will kill you, the boy said. You can't, Rugad said. Oh, the boy said, smiling, but I can.

  — Rugad started to speak, but other images swirled around him, faster and faster, too fast for him to make much sense of. All of them included the boy. In some of them, he was quick and lithe, and in others he looked fragile. He died in some, Rugad died in others, and a blond boy watched from the back, his eyes narrowed. A girl stood to the side, and a blond man held a knife — or was it a sword? Then a blade came out of nowhere, and Rugad felt a jolt of impact against his neck that became excruciating pain as the blade went deeper. How long did it take a man to die after his head had been cut off? He didn't know.

  Then, suddenly, he was surrounded by birds and bird wings. Drool covered his chin and chest. Sparrow Riders held him upright, their claws hooked in his shirt. They smelled of musty bird and smoke. The Hawk Riders were still out of control, flapping him away from the palace instead of toward it. Hundreds of Bird Riders surrounded him. He couldn't see the ground below.

  It was a rout.

  It was a rout.

  Nicholas had somehow routed his Riders, and there was nothing Rugad could do about it.

  At least, not yet.

  SIXTY-THREE

  The rising flock of birds startled her. Arianna stepped back from the windows, only to collide with her father. He put his arms around her and held her as they watched. Sebastian breathed a sigh of awe.

  The birds rose quickly, filling the sky with their wings and feathers and panic. The Fey on their backs were shouting, their little mouths opening and closing, their arms flapping as if they could counteract their bird selves.

  Arianna could understand their feelings. Many times, after she had Shifted, her animal nature took over, and she had done things her human self had been ashamed of. Even now she didn't want to think about them.

  There were remarkably few cries from below. Her father had apparently ordered the guards to attack in silence, and they had. Most of the noise came from the Bird Riders — birds squawking and cawing and whistling their fears, the stupendous snapping sounds of a thousand wings flapping at once. Her heart rose with them. What had seemed so hopeless only a moment before now seemed to turn toward them. They could survive this. They could.

  Then a shout started below. A shout she'd never heard before. A warbling cry that seemed to come from one mouth and a hundred mouths all at once.

  "It's the guards," her father said. He sounded pleased.

  Some of the birds flapped against the windows, their claws tapping the warped glass. The Riders on the backs were looking in, trying to control their birds and getting nowhere. Sebastian had stepped away from the window. Arianna's father's grip tightened. She was about to tell him to move back when —

  — everything shifted. She felt dizzy, like she sometimes did when she Shifted from a small body to a large one. She blinked once, twice, three times —

  — and found herself standing in a room, holding a sword at her side. An elderly Fey man sat in a chair. He was talking to Sebastian — or was it Gift? — who looked very distressed. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't see another Fey man approach, knife out. She shouted a warning and —

  — Sebastian shattered —

  — Gift bled —

  — Her great-grandfather fell to the ground, knife in his heart —

  — all at the same time, and all at separate times. She reached for Sebastian/Gift and that dizzy feeling returned —

  — everything spun and she was on the riverbank beside a handsome blond man only a few years older than she was. He held her hands, his blue eyes gazing into hers. He leaned in to kiss her —

  — he was kissing her —

  — he had kissed her —

  — when Sebastian (Gift?) reached around the blond man's head and put a knife to his throat. She screamed —

  — and there was a third shift. She was small, too small to be human, and below her, her great-grandfather and Gift were in a long boat. Her arms were tired — were they wings? — and she watched them approach land. Then a giant fish came out of the water, hit the edge of the boat, and Gift fell out. Her great-grandfather screamed, and reached for him, threatening to capsize the boat. She watched for a moment, until Gift's head disappeared, then flew on, away —

  Then the shifts happened faster and faster. Her size varied, and so did her place. But she saw either Gift or her great-grandfather or Sebastian in all of the images, and in every other one, Sebastian shattered.

  She kept reaching for him, but stone cut her hand.

  Sebastian shattered.

  Sebastian.

  Shattered.

  She screamed, and then felt herself on the ground, her father's arms around her, Sebastian leaning over her, the lines in his face prominent as he brushed the hair off her forehead.

  " … Visions … " he said.

  "I thought she Shifted," her father said, his voice shaky from behind her. She was resting on his lap and he was holding her tightly. The birds still flew outside the windows, droppings and feathers and ash filling the air.

  "She … can … do … both," Sebastian said.

  "Lucky me," Arianna said, and was surprised at the way her voice croaked out of her. She was covered in sweat. Her robe was wet, her forehead was wet, her back was wet. She had never felt so filthy in her life.

  "Arianna," her father said, "are you all right?"

  "I don't know," she said. "I'm dizzy."

  Then she put a hand on the floor to feel its solidness. The stone was cool against her palm. She glanced down. Her fingers weren't bleeding. Sebastian was whole. He hadn't shattered yet.

  "Sebastian," she said, but her voice broke before she could say more.

  "What did you see?" her father asked. He sounded frightened. The birds outside the window kept rising, as if they were floating on air currents. Their cawing and squawking sounded faraway.

  "Too much," she said. "If this is Vision, I don't like it." She sat up, and wiped the sweat off her forehead. Her brain was still swirling with images. A bird slammed into the window, and fell back, its Fey rider looking terrified as they headed toward the ground.

  "By the Roca," her father said, showing the depth of his alarm. He never used religious sayings around her. He caressed the back of her head as he stood and looked out. "We scared over half the birds. The odds are good now."

  He sounded like he didn't care. He sounded like he was talking to calm himself.

  " … Ari … ," Sebastian said.

  "I Saw you die," she said to him. "I Saw you die a hundred times."

  Her father turned. "Someone can die only once," he said.

  She shook her head. "it wasn't like that. It was like I
Saw alternate deaths. No matter what I Saw, Sebastian ended up dead."

  She choked on the word "dead," and put her face in her hands.

  Sebastian put his hand on her shoulder. She recognized it from the weight and strength of it. " … Ari … ," he said, "I … don't … live. How … could … I … die?"

  A rage rose within her. She wanted to whirl on him, to let him know that he had no right to disparage himself so. But she couldn't move. "You live," she said. "And I saw you shatter."

  " … Shatter … " he whispered, as if contemplating it.

  Her father crouched beside her. She could feel the warmth of his body, the heat it gave off. "Arianna," he said, touching her arm. "The Shaman once said she had several Visions about an event. She said that meant the time was in flux, that it was an important event, and only one of those Visions could come true."

  She peeked out of her hands, feeling hope. A few scraggly birds still flew by the window, but she could see the sky again. It was a sickly greenish gray from the fires.

  "Did he die in all of them?" her father asked.

  "No," she said.

  He nodded. "Then we have to separate those Visions out, figure out what they mean, and prevent the ones that cause Sebastian's death. Are you up for that?"

  "Now?" she asked. "They're fighting below."

  "How soon do these Visions happen?" he asked.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "Then," he said, "we'd better do it soon. We don't want one of your Visions to come true by accident, because we weren't paying enough attention. If we had fought them before, your mother would still be alive."

  "But would I?" Arianna whispered.

  Her father cupped her face in his hand. "You're here now," he said, "you and Sebastian. And as far as I'm concerned, that matters the most."

  "More than Blue Isle?" she asked.

  He stared at her a moment, his features suddenly somber. "I hope I never have to find out."

  SIXTY-FOUR

  He had never felt like this before: hollow and empty and yet so full of rage that a stone in his boot could send him into a fury. Leen apparently felt the same way. She kept her distance from him, and they walked toward Jahn in silence.

  Gift had decided to walk along the road. His great-grandfather probably knew he had been on a farm. If the Fey were searching for him, they would look on various farms. Besides, if they found him, they couldn't harm him. He didn't want them to catch him: that would prevent him from helping Sebastian. But he wasn't concerned if they did. He knew that he would be in that room with his great-grandfather, and by letting the Fey catch him, it might save Sebastian's life.

  Gift wasn't going to hide. His days of hiding in a Shadowlands were over.

  The road was empty in the heat of the day. A few farmers were working their fields, but most had gone inside to wait until the cooler night air to finish their tasks. He regretted not bringing extra food and water. He hadn't thought this return trip through. He was moving on adrenaline only, adrenaline and anger. He hadn't slept in almost two days.

  This road looked different in the daylight than it had at night. Friendlier somehow, as if the worst hadn't happened. Betrayal after betrayal, the worst being Coulter shutting Gift off from Sebastian, and refusing to reopen the Link. Gift had tried a number of times to reopen it himself, and so far he had failed.

  But he would find a way.

  He felt so lonely, all alone within himself. He had been alone inside himself before — that was his normal state — but never before had he lacked the option of traveling across a Link. Before he had always known he could turn to someone else.

  And that didn't even count the loss of his step-parents. He couldn't think about life without Niche and Wind. And how he hadn't been there to protect them.

  The sound of his boots, crunching on the dirt, matched the sound of Leen's. They were alone out there, in the sunshine, in the heat, a day he would normally have enjoyed because they had been so rare in his life. Yet everything felt hollow and had an unreal air, as if he weren't really experiencing it, as if he were watching someone else experience it. He felt distant, almost detached, although that wasn't quite accurate, since the rage felt real enough. And the sadness, when he allowed himself to feel it.

  The walk felt as if it would take forever. He wasn't really certain what he would do when he arrived. He would have to make his way through his great-grandfather's army to the palace. And he would have to do so without the rage overtaking him.

  He wasn't sure if that was possible.

  He turned to Leen. Her face was set in a hard line, her features pointing downward. Her skin was gray and she looked older than she ever had before. This day had aged her as well. They would never be the same after this. He knew that. He wondered if she did.

  Maybe if they talked. Maybe if they pooled their thoughts, they could come up with a way to get through Jahn without approaching the Black King's army. He opened his mouth —

  — and the world swirled. A Vision. He cursed it without speaking even as it sucked him in —

  — Again, he was in that palace room, talking to an old Fey. The man had the look of Gift through the face, only the old Fey's was hardened and looked more like stone than Sebastian's did. He reached out. Gift backed way from the hand. The old Fey looked up, terrified, and Gift felt a sharp pain in his back. He reached for it, feeling pain, feeling blood, the world going black —

  — Then he was above it, Sebastian shattering in his place, a Fey guard across from them stepping forward, spear in hand. The knife-wielder started to run from the room, but Gift went after him, jumping over the shards of his heart-brother, the old Fey shouting —

  The swirls grew faster.

  — Gift was on his back, a gleaming silver-white sword at his neck. The Islander he had seen on the bridge held it to his skin. His father, his real father, was shouting in the background. —

  — He was in the water, thrashing, an undertow pulling him down. Water filled his mouth, tasting of brine and salt. The old Fey was above him in a boat, reaching for him, but if he grabbed the old Fey's hand, he would pull the old Fey in. He didn't want to do that. He —

  — watched Coulter kiss a Fey girl, then grabbed the back of Coulter's hair, and put a knife to his throat. He was —

  — standing beside Coulter on the Cardidas, heading toward the Tabernacle. It looked burned —

  — His real father —

  — Sebastian, shattering —

  — The old Fey —

  — Sebastian, shattering —

  — The Fey girl, pounding his chest with her fists, tears running down her cheeks —

  — Sebastian —

  Gift was on the ground. He had drooled out of the left side of his mouth, and he had gotten dirt in his teeth, on his tongue. Leen was crouched beside him, a hand on his side. The sun felt hotter than it ever had, and he was drained.

  "You all right?" she asked.

  He couldn't answer her at first. The images were too powerful. They still swirled through his mind. He had never had a Vision like that — a series of Visions, actually, none of them making real sense.

  Except for the one that he had Seen before, the one that had led him to Sebastian and the palace in the first place.

  The Fey girl, the one Coulter kissed, was Gift's sister, the witch who didn't want him near Sebastian. She had been crying in one of the Visions. She didn't strike Gift as someone who cried.

  "Gift." Leen's voice was trembling. "You're scaring me."

  "Sorry." He lisped the word. He pushed himself up and wiped the dirt off his cheek with his sleeve. Then he spat the grit out of his mouth. It was hard. His mouth was dry. "Water?"

  "We don't have a lot," she said as she handed him their pouch. He drank some. It was warm, and it loosened more dirt. He couldn't swallow, at least not yet. He spat the water out, and mumbled an apology to Leen.

  She handed him the pouch again. This time, he swallowed. The water seemed to revive him, a l
ittle.

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "Vision," he said, not willing to say any more until he knew what all the images meant.

  "I've never seen you act like that with a Vision before."

  In his befuddled state, he couldn't remember when she saw him have a Vision. He supposed it didn't matter. He took a deep breath, and let the air out. He was woozy. "How long did that take?"

  "I don't know," she said. "It seemed like forever."

  For him, too. And yet, it seemed like a blink of a moment, a single instant.

  If only the Shaman were alive. He would be able to discuss the whole thing with her.

  But she wasn't. She had died in Shadowlands with the others. He was alone. Leen didn't have the skills to interpret Visions. He wasn't certain if he had the skills either.

  So many Visions. Something important must have happened. He brushed himself off and stood. Then the dizziness grabbed him, and he nearly fell. Leen caught his arm.

  "Will you make it to Jahn?" she asked.

  "I have no choice," he said, and wondered if it was true. The Visions might have changed everything. Only he had no real way of knowing.

  All he knew was that he had Seen Sebastian die. Again. And they were no longer Linked. He couldn't slide into Sebastian's body, to make Sebastian act quickly. Gift had to be by Sebastian's side when the Black King arrived. And something told Gift that the moment would be soon.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  She pulled herself off the snow-covered ground and shivered. Her mouth was dry, and her robe was covered with drool. Her body had left an indentation in the snow.

  The air was frigid but clear. The sun wasn't warm here. It wasn't even friendly. But at least it provided very bright light that reflected off the snow. She couldn't travel far without getting what the locals called "snow blindness."

  The Shaman wasn't even certain how she had gotten this far away from her cave. Her footprints were deep holes in the snow. She had walked. She had never walked through Visions before.