Journey To The Rift (Coimirceoirí: Guardians of the Marked Ones)

by Cathi Shaw

  “Don’t starve yourself. I have a feeling you’re going to need your strength.”

  Brijit looked over at Weylon.

  “But this is all I have…” she lied softly, easily crossing the line from playacting into outright lying. A shadow of guilt pricked at her conscious, but she ruthlessly pushed it aside.

  He shrugged. “We can supplement the food with hunting.”

  The thought of hunting turned Brijit’s stomach. She had no desire to kill the innocent creatures in the woods for food. But Weylon obviously believed that such a practice was not only acceptable but their only way of survival. Hiding her disgust, Brijit decided to pretend that she had no idea how to hunt. It wasn’t too difficult of an act – she was actually fairly inept at anything other than fishing. He read the expression she wanted him to see on her face too easily.

  “You don’t hunt?” he asked incredulously. “What do you do?”

  “I can gather herbs and tubers. I can cook. There is plenty I can do.”

  Weylon snorted. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “They send a maid and cook with me instead of a Coimirceoirí.” He shook his head.

  White hot anger flashed through Brijit, but she reined it in and made sure her shielding was in place in case he tried to probe her mind. “I am Coimirceoirí,” she told Weylon, softly but firmly. “Clearly I have a skill set the Elders value for them to choose me as the Academy apprentice of this year. They would not have done so if they didn’t feel they needed me.”

  Weylon looked into the fire, his expression set.

  #

  Weylon knew he shouldn’t have been so hard on the Coimirceoirí girl. It wasn’t her fault they were in the predicament they found themselves in. But he was irritated. And there was no one else to take this frustration out on.

  The Elders were treating them as little more than servants, and the girl seemed just as dense as the others at the Academy. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he had hoped that she would be different.

  When he’d first realized that the dark-haired girl from the ceremony was the Coimirceoirí who would be accompanying him, he’d felt a flash of hope. She, at least, had seemed to understand that their position was sacred. But after a day of riding with her and their conversation in camp that evening, it appeared that she was no better than the gaggle of girls he’d seen at the Academy.

  He had no idea how she had not noticed the direction they were heading: west and directly for The Rift, just as Weylon had suspected.

  His gut tightened as he thought of The Rift. He’d never seen, it but the rumors that circulated at Stone Mountain about it were plenty. There was talk of a dead zone where nothing grew leading to a writhing sea of darkness. And for miles before that a dying forest that was filled with creatures tainted by the dark.

  What business did the Elders have there with their chosen Coimirceoirí? Typically, those who were chosen were assigned to the royal family in Séreméla. Did this mean the rumors were true and the Crown Prince had fled Séreméla?

  Of course, Weylon wasn’t supposed to know about those rumors. He’d had the luck to intercept a number of Gregor’s letters before he left Stone Mountain. Whether or not his mentor had known that his prize student was reading his personal correspondence was a mystery to Weylon, but he didn’t really care. At least he had some information to work with.

  Weylon watched the girl as she prepared her bed for the night. He couldn’t imagine her holding her own in The Rift. What were the Elders thinking taking her with them? A sudden protectiveness rose in his chest. He forcibly pushed it away. He had not bonded with this Coimirceoirí, and he didn’t intend to. His plan was to work alone. Gregor had scoffed at that plan, but he hoped to convince the Crown Prince to agree that Weylon would better be able to fulfill his duties as Coimirceoirí if he wasn’t burdened with a female. He wasn’t going to let Brijit get under his skin.

  His thoughts returned to the mystery of their mission. He couldn’t fathom why the Crown Prince would take his pregnant wife to The Rift. He couldn’t imagine why he would do such a thing. What could be so horrendous in Séreméla that the Crown Prince would risk his own life and that of a possible heir in The Rift?

  There were too many questions in his mind. His gaze drifted back to Brijit. Once again, Weylon wondered exactly what her talents were. It was obvious that she was not a fighter like he was. She was far too meek for that. But her earlier words rang with truth. For some reason the Elders found her valuable. And he knew the Elders would not choose her based on some half-developed skill as a forager or healer.

  What kind of gift could she possess in order to be chosen by the Elders as one of their Séreméla Coimirceoirí? Whatever it was it would have to be complimentary to his own talents. He was gifted at warfare and reading others. She would be gifted at peace and reading herself. He pondered that for a moment, forgetting that his gaze was still firmly fixed on the pretty girl in front of him. She looked up suddenly as if she felt his eyes on her and flushed a deep scarlet. Weylon didn’t look away. He wasn’t one to back down, and she should know that.

  She looked down quickly and began rearranging her personal belongings in her bag, clearly flustered. He could sense her unease; it transmitted from her in waves.

  “You should learn to cloak your feelings,” he advised suddenly, knowing there were others who had the same gift as he possessed; ones who were far less ethical in their wielding of that gift.

  She looked up, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “Your emotions radiate from you too easily. Did they not teach you to shield yourself at the Academy?” The irritation in his voice was obvious, but he didn’t care.

  The girl fidgeted uncomfortably. After a long moment she answered, “Of course they did. I just wasn’t…very gifted at shielding.”

  He couldn’t believe it. How could someone who wasn’t gifted in shielding be the chosen Coimirceoirí of the year? Learning to shield was a more of a skill than a talent. One just had to practice to become proficient. The only reason she would not be at least competent in the skill would be that she didn’t practice the exercises they were given. He tried to hide his annoyance. The only reason for not practicing exercises was pure laziness. He studied the girl in front of him. The funny thing was, she didn’t look like she was lazy. And she hadn’t acted lazy so far on their journey. A lazy girl would not have rubbed down her horse as she had nor would she have been so careful about packing and unpacking her belongings. No, he believed that Brijit Carnesîr was quite the opposite of lazy. So she was either hiding something or there was another reason why she didn’t work on her shielding proficiency.

  “Is there a reason you don’t practice the exercises?” he asked her.

  She looked up guiltily then looked down again and whispered, “No.” But her words were tinged with untruths. Weylon watch her for a few moments longer, wondering what else she was lying about. He could push her for a true answer. He considered probing her mind but rejected that. There was no point in using his talents now. Better to wait until the girl trusted him enough to share her skill set with him. He decided to leave it. But suspicion prickled at his senses. It was clear that his fellow Coimirceoirí had her own secrets.

  As Brijit settled to sleep for the night, Weylon sat up staring into the fire. He still had not discerned what the Elders’ purpose was in taking them westward. There had to be some kind of reason. And it had to be linked to the Elder royalty.

  Not that he was dying to go to Séreméla anyway. Weylon would like something with a bit more adventure than sitting around the Elders’ homeland. But he also liked to plan for unexpected events. If they were to go into battle or even to take a defensive stance against something from The Rift, he would like to know what he would be facing when he got there. But it seemed that the Elders had no intention of telling either him or Brijit. They treated them as if they were merely packages to be delivered. Weylon had not really expected anything more, but it still stung to be treated in such
away.

  He sat up long into the night, turning things over in his mind. But by the time he laid his head down on his roll he still had no answers about what lay ahead of them.

  #

  Brijit had climbed into her sleeping roll after Weylon had finished questioning her on her lack of competence with respect to shielding. She was thankful that he didn’t try to probe her mind for answers even though it was clear that he didn’t really believe what she was saying. If he had tried to probe her thoughts, he would have discovered that she was shielded. Sending out nervous energy had distracted him, but she knew that he wouldn’t be content with that for long. He was clearly gifted in reading others and while she was confident in her ability to hold her shield even with the most talented probing, she wasn’t sure she could hide the fact that she was shielding herself from him.

  She tried to rest. But her thoughts were racing. Now that he’d talked to her a bit more, she wasn’t sure playing dumb was the best approach to dealing with Weylon. Still, she was willing to try anything to discover what her fellow Coimirceoirí knew about their assignments. And she didn’t know if Weylon was a person she could trust – until she was confident that he was not working with the Elders, she wasn’t going to let her guard down.

  Whether Weylon Forborrow knew more about their destination than she did was unclear. But now she’d ensured that he wasn’t going to share his suspicions with her; he thought her incompetent at best and a total airhead at worse.

  The last remnants of Brijit’s calm trickled away. It was replaced by too many questions to answer. Where were the Elders taking them? What was the Prophecy? What did the mark mean? Were there other children who had been killed? And, above all, what did Weylon Forborrow know about any of it? She fell asleep with those questions ringing in her head.

  Chapter Six

  The Elders had to know that neither Brijit nor Weylon would have enough food to last them the whole journey. While Brijit had more supplies than Weylon had suspected her of having, she didn’t have what she would call an abundance of food, and she wasn’t looking forward to foraging for meals their entire trip.

  But the Elders seemed to expect that they would need additional supplies. On the third day of their journey, they stopped in a small village.

  The settlement was tiny in the extreme, hosting only one inn with a couple of rooms. The Elders seemed to have a prearranged agreement with the innkeeper, an elderly man who had a permanent expression of distrust on his face. Once their horses were put in the stable for the night, Brijit and Weylon were shown to their respective rooms, and the Elders, as per their custom, vanished into the forest.

  “Dinner is served in half an hour,” the old man told them before he disappeared back down the stairs.

  The room Brijit was given was simple but a vast improvement from sleeping on the ground in the forest. It contained a bed and small side table, and that was all. The sheets were worn but clean, and the blanket made of serviceable thick grey wool. There was a chamber pot beneath the bed.

  But as Brijit sat down on the edge of the bed, she felt as if she was in paradise rather than a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. Which begged the question, where in Five Corners were they?

  Brijit reached into the side pocket of her saddlebag and pulled out the map she’d found in Raspella’s office. She studied it for a few moments, trying to decipher the new sections of Five Corners that were outlined and figure out where they were right now, but there didn’t appear to be a village on the map that matched the location of this place.

  Even though she didn’t really have much information on her assignment, Brijit still decided to take the opportunity of being in a village to write to Serena. She knew her friend wouldn’t be able to write back since Brijit had no idea where they were going, but she missed both Elsa and Serena and she felt more connected to them by putting her thoughts down in writing.

  Dear Serena,

  I hope Bermgarten has proven to be all you dreamed it would and that you are getting along well with your Coimirceoirí partner. Weylon Forborrow is just as miserable as we thought he might be. I don’t hold much hope of him improving as the journey goes on. I don’t know why they called him the most promising apprentice of the last half-century. To me he just seems to excel at grumpiness.

  I find myself off the beaten track, which is no surprise. The Elders seem to have their own plans for us, so I don’t imagine I will see Séreméla for some time still. I hope Elsa is not hating the remote North too much and I hope you are well. I miss you and will write when I can, although I have no idea when that might be.

  Love, Brijit

  She finished the letter and put her seal on it and then made for the door, hoping to find the innkeeper before dinner to see if she might be able to get his help in arranging to have it sent it to her friend. Her hand was on the knob when a loud knocking sounded. Brijit pulled the door open to see Weylon Forborrow on the other side.

  “Next time check before you open it,” he growled at her.

  Brijit blinked at him in annoyance. “What?”

  Weylon looked like he was going to explode. “Don’t ever just open your chamber door without checking who is on the other side, especially in a public house.”

  Brijit refrained from rolling her eyes. Weylon was being a bit over the top. She hardly thought the old man who ran the inn was going to ravish her. And there weren’t any other guests at this point in time. At least none that she’d seen. She rather doubted the inn did a thriving business, given that it was located in the middle of nowhere.

  As if he could read her mind, Weylon went on, “Coimirceoirí must be careful at all times, Brijit. Readily trusting others can result in harm to both yourself and the Elders you will be assigned to.”

  As you’ve clearly illustrated with your lack of trust in me, she thought to herself silently.

  Aloud she said, “Okay, I’ll be more careful.” Her tone was just short of sarcastic, and the words were out before she remembered that she was supposed to mild and meek and naive. Weylon’s eyes narrowed at her and then he noticed the letter in her hand.

  “What is that?” he asked, grabbing it before she could protest.

  “That is a letter to my friend. Give it back. Hey!”

  But he ignored her, holding the letter out of her reach before he broke the seal on her correspondence, unfolded it and then scanned the contents.

  “That’s none of your business!” she protested.

  “You can’t send this,” he told her frankly.

  “Why not?” Brijit asked.

  “Because we can’t give any hint of where we are.”

  “But I have no idea where we are, and I’ve not given anything away in the letter, as you can see by the contents.”

  His eyes dropped to the paper in his hands and he scanned the contents again. He raised his eyebrows and then looked at her, “Excel in grumpiness, do I?”

  Brijit felt her cheeks heat. She’d forgotten that she’d written about him.

  “Give it back,” she said trying to take the letter from his hand.

  “No,” he said with a laugh and Brijit froze. His entire face changed when he laughed. He looked friendly and handsome and…younger.

  “What?” he asked as he noticed her sudden fixation.

  Her cheeks burned even more. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I just want my letter back.”

  He handed it back to her but said, “You really can’t send that, Brijit.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he held up his hand. “I know you don’t mention anything that could lead the reader to know where we are, but how do you think it would be delivered?”

  Brijit paused.

  “Whatever messenger would be dispensed would be easily traced back to here. And we have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Brijit’s spirits sank as she realized he was right. Not that she was about to admit it to him. She stuffed the letter into her pocket and changed the topic, “I’m starving. Aren’t you lo
oking forward to a home-cooked meal?”

  That seemed to appease him for the moment as he fell into step beside her. Without talking about their plans, they went to the common room together and sat at the same table. Brijit was surprised to find that the common room of the inn was both larger and busier than she’d expected, given how few rooms the innkeeper kept for guests. It appeared that his first business was running a tavern rather than an inn.

  Weylon became less irritable as huge bowls of steaming stew and crusty bread were set in front of them, alongside goblets of fresh water. Conversation wasn’t necessary as both of them greedily dug into the first warm meal they’d had since the ceremony at the Academy.

  Once she’d scraped her bowl clean, Brijit sat back and looked about the bustling public house. She was surprised to see so many travelers – clearly this tiny settlement was a crossroads for many in Five Corners. She looked up about to mention the fact to Weylon and found him staring at her with a mix of horror and admiration on his face.

  “What?” Brijit asked.

  He gestured to her now-empty bowl. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so much so fast.”

  Brijit flushed again. She had, admittedly, inhaled her food. She’d been eating like a bird on the trip thus far so Weylon would think she hadn’t packed as much food as she had. But the warm, well-prepared meal in front of her had been too hard to resist. She felt gloriously full.

  “I guess I was hungry,” she said softly.

  Weylon laughed, and once again Brijit was struck by how his face transformed when he let down his guard.

  “The innkeeper told me that tomorrow there will be a public market in the main square. We should be able to buy supplies there.”

  Brijit nodded, wondering when Weylon had the time to talk to the innkeeper, but before she could question him, the serving girl came by their table with plates of apple crumble for dessert. The girl smiled widely at Weylon as she refilled his goblet of water. But she was wasting her time, Brijit thought, as Weylon paid her no heed – he was good at ignoring flirting girls, it seemed. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d had lots of experience doing so.