The riftspawn bent its neck down to her, snout coming forward to touch the exposed skin of her forehead below her woollen hat. As its icy touch shuddered through her, she was left with one distinct notion: guardian. This was a word it understood. It had felt her sincerity when it had glimpsed her mind and now would grant her passage. But she felt the chill of the warning beneath. Do not take advantage of such generosity, or she would live to regret its punishment. It only allowed her through because it knew what the brewing storm would mean for the fragile peace it had found in this world. If the realms bled together, its sanctuary would be pulverised, cannibalised by the ravenous riftspawn of the otherworld.
Thank you. Rook bowed, The Rook’s anger trickling through their bond.
But Rook was not so prideful as to not know when to show humility. Too easily could things have gone the other way. Too easily could she have tried to fight the beast and inevitably lost, drained away until she was nothing but fuel for its own power. Until she was stripped away and rebuilt into the consciousness of another. The thought left her colder than the low season chill.
So there was nothing left to do but to push on, climbing up the steep mountain path, mindful of her steps on the loose stones and frozen mud. The wall of snow on either side of her looked even stranger now that the blizzard had subsided, clean lines cut into the sides of each bank as if she had measured them succinctly. To anyone who came along before the next storm, it would be an odd sight to stumble upon. The thought of some hapless fellow wandering upon her work lent her the last bit of energy she needed, bolstered by the comical thought.
By the time the familiar structure loomed into view the sun was setting, sinking below the bristly line of trees in the distance, and further still, the jagged teeth of the mountains beyond. Reflected in a sky streaked with pink and amber, the snow sparkled gold, the clouds drifting around the mountain peaks a deep lavender tinged with blue. Nature’s hand was defter than any painter, for even the most lauded artists in the world could not capture the bite of the cool night sweeping in, nor the earthy aroma of pine and dew. There was something even more beautiful in the transience of the scene, the colours bleeding new shades every time she turned her head in ways a painting could never reveal. With the black fortress clinging to the mountainside above, gems of brilliant golden light like beacons in the gathering dark, it felt like Rook had come home.
Although this was not the place she had grown up, it was in many ways, the place that had made her Rook.
“I wonder…” she began. But she did not know how to finish.
It had not been a full year since she had left the Order of the Riftkeepers here, a short trek from the city of Lyrshok, but she had changed so completely it was difficult to imagine things being as they once were. It seemed wrong, that she might change, if the rest of the world were to remain. She sniffed the air, tasting the currents of the otherworld and the familiar, unnatural tingle of the rift, wondering if it would feel any different now that she was different.
One way or another, Rook was going back. In order to move forward, first she had to go back.
*
He drifted in and out of consciousness for an indeterminable amount of time, vaguely aware of voices. As it crept upon him once more, Ziko found himself overwhelmed by sensations. The scratchy, roughspun material of the blanket upon which he lay, painful to tender skin; the buzzing of a blue bottle, the sound ebbing and flowing as it swooped around him in frantic circles; the smell of freshly brewed tea, sweet and fragrant in the air. A conversation from far away. Cold air from somewhere to the side of him, chilling his skin. A familiar presence in the back of his mind, soothing the racing of his heart.
Ziko was no longer alone.
Blinking was so very tiring. He had not realised until he had shed the burden of his physical flesh in the Freelands, how much effort it required simply to be. Opening his eyes felt unnatural, like it was impractical to have to perform the action himself. It would be so much better, he thought, if he merely had to think of what he wanted, and it would happen. Provided he had the willpower, of course.
The light from the window burned his eyes and he hissed, slamming his forearm over his face to block it out. Colourful lights swam before him, not unlike those of the rift, and for a moment he thought he was back there, swimming through an endless sea of possibility, searching for his way home. But was grasping blindly for purchase on the ragged blanket beneath him really the world he wanted to live in?
Ziko’s fingers curled around it and pulled upwards, lifting himself a few inches. Arms aching, his grip slipped and he crashed backwards with a groan. Gasping for air, he suddenly forgot how to use his lungs, hands clawing at the air as if he could pull it into his chest. As his vision swam once more, he had the fragment of a thought that it would be a heavy irony to survive all he had only to die like this now. Suitably pathetic, for Seeker.
But you are Seeker no longer.
Air rushed into his lungs and he savoured the way it relieved the agony; the way he could think clearly once more. His eyes opened to the blurry shape of Niks before him, three tails swishing with balls of flame at each tip. When he focused on her the rest of the room continued to blur but her form sharpened, crystallising in his view. Her eyes burned through the holes in her white mask, boring into him. Light from the window reflected off the gold lines on her mask. He raised his hand as if to reach out to her but his vision snagged on a flash of light against his skin and he thought he felt his heart stop.
Where before had been blue veins running faint beneath pale skin, now lines of a shining gold ran over his arms, bumpy to the touch when he ran the pads of his fingers over them. He scratched at it with his nail and jolted when a bolt of pain shot up his arm, gritting his teeth to stop himself from crying out. His hands jumped to his face in fear and found the same ridges ran up the length of his neck towards his jaw.
“What – what has happened to me?”
You are no longer human, Rift-breaker. When you returned to this world you did not return as you were. Your body changed in response to the changes within you. Changes that happened to you in the otherworld and because of our bond.
Ziko’s hand dropped. Even these actions had exhausted him. It would take some time before he remembered the ways of physical flesh, it seemed.
“What else has changed?”
She hummed, causing a breeze to ruffle his hair. Everything.
In search of a mirror, Ziko attempted once more to rise from his resting place. Draped over a blanket covered sofa, he found he recognised his surroundings when he actually looked around him, more through the scents wafting on the air than through his hazy, clouded eyes. Rolling, his body hit the ground with a thump, knocking the air from his lungs. He paddled through the air, trying to remember how to use his limbs, when the door opened.
“What’s going on? Jenya!” shouted a voice and he winced, hands clamping over his ears.
“Will you stop shouting? What are you screaming about now?”
The boy stood frozen in the doorway, staring at him. Ziko couldn’t see his eyes but he could hear the frantic thumping of his heartbeat and the sound of him swallowing. This was the boy who had hurt him. The one who had ripped the bond from him. The one who had nearly killed him.
Shaking as he pushed onto his knees and then finally, laboriously, to swaying feet, he took a step towards him, getting a better idea of the boy’s lanky figure and brown skin. “You are the one who destroys.”
The boy shook his head. “No, I –”
“Get away from him right now.”
The woman stood behind him, shorter by far but drawing his attention to the ghost of the serpentine creature hovering above her, shining with a blue light. In response Ziko bristled, instinctively reaching down for the place where he connected to Niks, feeling the swirl around him as he did so. Papers on a nearby desk scattered, falling at his feet. The curtains thrust outwards, blind slapping against the window.
He had
n’t meant for it to happen but the fear brought out the need to show his power, to warn off either of them from trying to harm him once more. He would not let it happen again. Ever. Ziko could not go back to the ragged hole in his chest where Niks had been ripped out. To being unable to call the wind. To his body slowly shutting down and turning against him. To the horror of knowing death was hanging over his shoulder but never knowing when the Reaper would finally take mercy.
“Stop, or we will make you.”
Niks’ voice in his head whispered the warning. Tread on careful ground, Rift-breaker.
“I am not interested in revenge,” he said and blinked in surprise at the sound of his voice. A soft and papery thing, it sounded like wind through leaves on the trees. Like falling sand from between his fingers. “But I will not let you hurt me again.”
“How can we just let you go after all you have done?”
Ziko paused, hearing her steady heartbeat in contrast to the hummingbird rhythm of the boy’s. “I do not expect anything from anyone. But as much as I do not want to fight you, I will if I have to.”
She shifted her weight and snorted. “Do you honestly think you’ll be going anywhere when you can barely stand?”
Sure enough, his legs shook, wobbly as a newborn lamb. Once the tremors began he couldn’t get them to stop, hands joining the strange, pulsing quake of his limbs. What’s happening?
Your body needs time to adjust.
“I don’t have time!”
Both Riftkeepers reeled back, glancing between one another. Ziko reached out, grasping for anything that would keep him upright as his body toppled. His hand swiped air, heart lurching, and then he collided with the floor in a quivering heap of limbs. Voices swirled around his head as his vision faded into black. A last glimpse of Niks was all he got before he faded out.
*
They spent a week holed up in the church, unable to escape the crashing and swirling lights all around them. Janus spent his nights peering out of the window on the uppermost floor, staring out into a world he barely recognised. The rain crashed as orange fire, the streets gushed rivers of blood, and the gargoyles from the buildings swooped past his face with lurid grins, mocking the state of the world as it melted before him, reforming into shapes new and unrecognisable. To go outside now would have been to invite upon himself a fate worse than death, and yet. And yet, Janus was growing restless caged in this hallowed hall to which he did not belong. The murals upon the walls itched at his skin, as if the eyes watched him every time he pulled out his dwindling bag of tobacco and let his smoke drift out the window.
“You really should not be smoking inside a church.”
Janus had heard the footsteps coming closer but even so, a part of him flinched at the kindly face of the round man who sat on a bench some paces from him, resting his hands on his robe covered knees. “Keeps me sane.”
“Ah,” said the man, nodding. “I shall try not to be offended that you say that here.”
He grimaced, smoke curling around his face. “Never been one for faith.” Then, “Can’t deny it’s serving you well.”
The man, Hogar, hummed. “Yes, we will be protected within these walls. We have the Samshir blessing, you see. Do you know the story?”
Janus gave him a look.
“Yes, I suppose I was going to tell it to you anyway. Apologies, it is the way of a man like me. You see, not many know the legend behind this church, but I find it quite a fascinating one. See, many, many years ago, before this settlement became part of the city of Yuratasa, the people who lived here claimed they were haunted by an evil beast. The stories were never clear exactly what kind of creature plagued them but to you and I, well, we might have a better idea of what it was.”
“Riftspawn.”
“Yes. But the people of this village recognised some of the features of this creature. For it shared characteristics with the old man who had fallen down the well and drowned in its depths some moons before. How else to explain the way it would rain for days on end, flooding their homes and killing all their crops? It seemed a sign.”
The man drew a breath. “What else could they do but give forth a sacrifice, in exchange for not helping the man when he was dying? When no one amongst them had even noticed? So they brought a young girl into the forest as a sacrifice. Only life could pay for life, you see, and this would appease the angry spirit, cleansing their land of its watery wrath. Of course, the young girl was not pleased with this scenario, for what had she done to deserve such a fate?”
Janus tapped his finger against his thigh, wishing he could speed up the story.
“The girl, having stolen a knife from her parents’ kitchen, used it to cut her bonds and flee. She was not quick enough to escape the creature’s clutches, however, and soon found herself leading it back to the village, to the anger of her people. The ensuing storm was worse than any ever seen, the water rising as high as the roofs of their houses, and many were lost in the rivers that ran for days afterwards. Desperate, the girl fled back to the forest to beg the creature to stop the rain.”
Hogar paused, eyes shining. “How strange, to think that until now no one had tried to speak with the beast. But this girl was the first. In response it explained to her that it could not control itself in this land, where nothing was as it understood it. It lacked stability, for it was not a creature of the mortal realm. It needed a physical form to exist in this world but it did not wish to take a life for its own. So the girl had an idea: why not bind the beast to the walls of their church, so it might protect them from any other creature that might try to harm their village? And so it was that this church came to be, still carrying the Samshir’s blessing. Flood or storm, nothing of the spiritual realm could ever penetrate these walls again. No more would be lost to the water.”
Hogar stretched out his legs. “An interesting story, no? Quite the tale, at the very least. Even if you are not inclined to believe it.”
“Mm.”
Maybe that was the itch he couldn’t scratch. The unsettling feeling that there had to be some truth, somewhere in there. For if this church was still standing while the rest of the city fell, who was he to deny the power there? It was a staggering thought to confront, like facing a sheer cliff face and being told the only way to survive was to climb it.
“I am concerned for your companion. We lack medical facilities here.”
“You mean you can’t pray him better?” he said.
Hogar’s mouth quirked. He did not look upset, simply nodding as if the jab was expected. “Just because I am a man of faith does not mean I deny the necessity of medicine.”
Janus glanced back out the window. “Someone has to test it. Out there.”
“Even I do not think we can stay here forever.”
Sighing, he stretched out his cramped limbs, dropping his cigarette over the sill. It landed in the pool of water below, kicking up a splash of orange sparks. Rubbing at his chin, he nodded to the guide and then took the stairs down to the middle level where the bedrooms were. There were only three of them, so he had been forced to sleep across the pews in the church below, his back protesting the hard wood for several nights. Janus was no stranger to sleeping rough but that did not make it any easier on his joints.
Outside the door closest to the stairs he could hear groans and muffled voices. With a knock, he entered, catching the flushed look from Hika perched over the bed, a cloth in her hand. She bit her lip and turned back to Kardak on the bed, sweeping the cloth over his forehead before dipping it back in a bucket by her feet.
“I am concerned for his health. He feels feverish.”
Janus pulled out a chair by a small writing desk, spun it, and sat with his arms leaning over the back. What skin was exposed from beyond his nest of blankets was red and blotchy, the man’s eyes swivelling beneath his lids. His dark hair was matted to his forehead, sweat beading his temples. Soft, shallow breaths parted his lips, the sounds rattling and harsh in the silence between Hika and himsel
f. The lump of his body beneath the sheet tapered off too early, where his legs and feet should have been.
“Pretty likely,” he rasped, finger twitching on the back of the chair.
“What’s pretty likely?” she said, wringing out the cloth so she could dab Kardak’s cheeks and neck.
“Fever.”
Hika’s head jerked around, alarmed. “We cannot treat him here.”
“No.”
Her shoulders slumped. “He needs to see a physician.”
“Yes.”
“And we cannot leave.”
“No.”
She raked a hand through her hair, gritting her teeth when her fingers caught on a knot. “We cannot just leave him like this, Janus! If we do nothing he will –”
“Yes.”
“How can you be so calm? Have you no empathy in you?”
Under her blazing eyes Janus did not flinch. He did not know how to explain to her, how switching off one’s empathy became easier the more one was confronted with death. That at some point there came a choice: harden and survive, or suffer and crumble beneath the burden. Perhaps even he was growing tired of the justification, wearing him so thin he wasn’t sure there was much left of him that was of substance.
“Need to be prepared,” he said slowly, thinking over his words. “Need to be prepared for what might happen.”
“That he might die, you mean?”
This time he did look away from her gaze, rising so he could prise open the old window, rusty hinges creaking. Cool air spilled in, fresh with the scent of rain but with an undercurrent of something unnatural and faintly metallic. He poked his head out and was hit by a violent wind, hair whipping around his face. Nothing looked too out of place outside, apart from the melted ruins of the buildings of the street beyond the church, most of the roofs still intact but the walls subsiding into piles of rubble. Strange fluid structures were left behind in stone and brick.
The Rising Tide Page 20