The Rising Tide

by Sarah Stirling

  “This one is for you,” said Makku, dropping a larger one in Ivor’s lap.

  He grunted, although whether it was in thanks or disgust she could not tell. When he shrugged it on, the material strained around his shoulders and back, his figure too broad for the coat. Makku sniggered behind his palm and Ivor glared at him, crossing his arms and only exacerbating the problem. Kilai looked them over dubiously. Her own coat was too long at the sleeves, fingers peeking out past the cuff. Makku couldn’t even speak Sonlin – if anyone asked him a question they would be singled out in an instant. She didn’t see how this was going to be feasible.

  “Sun’s starting to go down,” murmured Nogan in his distinctive rasp. “When it gets dark you will go down to those rocks there,” he said, pointing, “and take the rowing boat out to the ship. From there it’s up to you to stowaway until you reach the continent.”

  Kilai rustled in the deep pockets of her coat, pulling out a crinkly sheet of yellowing paper, the ink smudged in places where some kind of liquid had been spilt. “Zenya,” she read. “Private aboard the Sea Dragon.” She wrinkled her nose. “Does it really look like I can pass for a soldier?”

  “It would be better to lie low,” said Nogan.

  She glanced between her companions. “Somehow, I think that will not be in the cards for us. Perhaps we ought to just be upfront about this. Say we were on the ship that you were on.” She nudged Ivor.

  He frowned at her. “Are you witless? If they find out you’re pretending you’ll be strung up by your bootlaces on the mainmast for the storm. It’s far too risky.”

  Kilai shook her head. “What’s far too risky is us sneaking onto a ship where we could be caught at any second. No, I think the best thing is to be forthright. They will not be expecting such a thing. It’s not like enemies of the Empire are lining up to enter a ship full of trained sailors and soldiers, is it? It is the safest way.”

  “You’ll get shot on sight!” exclaimed Ivor.

  “At least then we will know and not have to bear the tension of hiding away.” She looked at Makku. “What do you say?”

  Makku shrugged. “I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

  Kilai blinked, not expecting such an answer. What had she done, apart from survive where his captain and crew had not, to earn such loyalty? Her eyes flickered to Ivor and there was conviction in his gaze unlike she was used to seeing, his nod so fleeting she thought maybe she had imagined it. But she had dealt with these soldiers before and she knew that there would be no hiding from them. The only way, if they were going to cross a sea to get there, was to walk right in with their heads held high.

  She gazed out at the ship on the sun stained waves, shining golden in the late afternoon.

  “Then I suppose we’ll just have to come up with a good story, hm?”

  Ivor snorted. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  *

  Rook’s legs shook by the time she reached the top of the fortress, glancing behind her to the staircase that descended down a dizzying drop to the snowy floor below, too dark to see beyond a few winking torches along the way. She nodded to the sentries who stopped her with their poleaxes crossed over one another, flashing them a weary grin. Pulling her pale hair past her shoulders, she heaved a breath that steamed into the air and sighed.

  “Have you forgotten me already, boys?”

  The younger of the two, Dallras, cocked his head, a smile growing across his face. “Rook-wei! You have completed your trials?”

  She grimaced. “I, uh, well it’s quite a tale, really, and it’s a little chilly here.” Rubbing her hands together, she said, “Say, you couldn’t let me by, could you? There is news I must share.”

  The elder of the two she could not remember the name of. He was an old, grizzled bear of a man with cropped grey hair that had chastised her many times before when she and Taykar had run along the walkways of the fortress that gave such an expansive view of the world beyond; the towering forest of trees and the craggy peaks of the mountains capped with a dusting of snow.

  “Go and fetch Wakka-dan,” he said to Dallras, not taking his eyes off her.

  Dallras looked between them before he ran off into the courtyard.

  Rook raised her brows. “Is there a problem?”

  “No one gets in or out without approval. Those are my orders.”

  She bit her lip, bracing herself against a sharp gust of wind. Up this high the wind cut much deeper, whipping across the bare skin of her frozen cheeks. There wasn’t much to be said until someone came to fetch her, for she could only guess as to why security had become so much more rampant in the time since she had left. The taste of the rift soured her tongue, potent in all the wrong ways. Inside her The Rook stirred at the force of spiritual energy all around her. She tried to sooth its tension without talking to herself, aware of the sentry’s eyes on her as she paced to keep warm, hands digging into her pockets to leach off her own body heat.

  You can feel it, can’t you? We’re home.

  Rook could scarcely believe it herself, how much it felt like she had never left. How this worn black fortress felt home in ways that her place of birth had never been. And yet her proximity to it made her feel exposed, like her father knew she was here. Like he could see her standing there, looking out at the world sprawling out below her as if she were a queen surveying her lands. Perhaps he could. Perhaps he could feel her signature already. Perhaps he was prepared for her, ready to get his revenge for her embarrassment. Her fist tightened, The Rook cawing in her head.

  Fight, devour and take.

  It made her smile despite herself.

  “Rook?”

  She whipped around and felt her knees buckle at the familiar face. “Wakka! It’s so good to see you!” And it was, like finding an oasis after trekking through the desert. More than a simple comfort, it was the sheer heady relief of not feeling so alone after having become accustomed to travelling with companions. To journeying with true friends.

  Thrusting forwards, she threw her arms around the woman with a sob, sinking into her soft figure. A hand came around to pat her on the head, soft words murmured in her ear. But there was a stiffness to her hold that there had never been before and she braced herself.

  When Rook pulled back she found Wakka’s round face twisted with concern and her stomach plummeted. “What’s wrong? Wakka? What is it?”

  Wakka shook her head. “Come, let us get inside.” The first flurries of snow floated down between them, the clouds thickening above in warning.

  Rook followed her through the arch into the courtyard, just as she remembered it. The stone, weathered by rain, snow and so many treading feet, ran in a mosaic pattern across the large square, surrounded on all sides by the black stone walls, clinging to the side of the mountain. So many days had been spent out here, practising sword fighting with the other young members of the Order, or shooting targets with a bow and arrow that she had never quite mastered. Lingering at the worn target, her hand reached out to trace the holes marring the fabric. How many shots had she missed at this target, standing out here all night until her fingers blistered and her arms ached?

  “Things have been difficult around here since you left.”

  Startled by Wakka’s voice, she whirled on the stout figure of her companion. “How so?”

  “Can’t you feel it? The way the rift quivers.”

  Rook bit her lip. In truth, she had been smothering her connection ever since her encounter with the Drekkugo back on the forest path. After all she had seen and all she had failed to stop, she was exhausted. A part of her wanted to shut it all out. To not know. For a just a little while, the ignorance was a respite against the harsh reality of the truth. And she could feel it now, as she opened up the door to her connection to The Rook and felt the rift’s power trickle in, its throbbing heartbeat erratic and trembling. Such a sudden and sharp pressure squeezed down on her skull that she only just managed to stifle her cry, hand circling her temple.

&nb
sp; “Yes, it’s bad. You have come at just the right time.”

  “Wakka? Where is Old Grey?” Anxiety bubbled up in her gut, only growing stronger when Wakka’s face darkened. “Wakka? What’s happening?”

  “We cannot sustain it on our own. The force on the other side of the rift is too strong. The riftspawn cannot be stopped.”

  “On the way here I came across a powerful Drekkugo.”

  Wakka shook her head. “That is the least of our worries.”

  Rook followed her down a dimly lit corridor, glancing around her. There was not a soul to be seen. In fact, the fortress was eerily silent, their footsteps ringing out so loudly on the stone beneath their feet that it struck her like the toll of a bell. Like a warning of what was to come. The sense of dread building in her only piled higher and higher like the snow thickening beyond the confines of the barracks, thick flakes falling from a black sky. There should have been some kind of noise – the wind, or the shouting of Riftkeepers in the halls, or music playing from violin practice – but there was nothing.

  “The rift – it hasn’t ruptured yet?”

  “Not yet. It is only a matter of time.”

  The coppery taste of blood on her tongue alerted her to the teeth digging into her lip. She released the tension in her jaw, wiping at it. “I witnessed that in Nirket and Tsellyr. The rifts ruptured and we could not stop it. I tried so hard, but there was no way –”

  “You could not hope to stop that on your own, Rook. We have had word from Yuratasa. The city has all but fallen to the rift. They say it is almost unrecognisable.”

  Her knees buckled and she had to catch herself on the nearest windowsill, sharp breaths steaming up the window until it was nothing but a blur of white. “I just came from Yuratasa. My friend is still there.”

  Wakka’s gaze flickered away. “I am sorry.”

  The words struck her, leaving her reeling. A whisper inside her mind reminded her not to show her fear. Reminded her that the one bound to them was strong and did not succumb easily. The Rook was confident that Janus was still alive and so Rook would have to reward its trust with her own. I trust you.

  She shook her head. “He is resourceful. He will find a way out.”

  Wakka gave her a pitying look but Rook ignored it. “We are resourceful. Even so, keeping the door closed has taken all our strength.”

  “Where is everyone, Wakka? Why is this place so quiet?”

  They navigated the dense warren of hallways and spiralling staircases that made up the Order’s outpost here in the Ekkar mountains, moving towards where she remembered Old Grey’s rooms had been. Wakka’s pace did not falter, long skirts swishing around her ankles, but Rook couldn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed. When she spoke her voice was soft, as if afraid to break the hush that blanketed the hall. “Some left when things got bad. Others are hiding while they are not on shift, sleeping off the exhaustion that comes with utilising the bond for hours on end. We were never large in numbers to begin with and what is left of us do not have the strength for more than sleeping and eating.

  “Wakka, I’m sorry.”

  The woman nodded, shadows deepening the circles beneath her eyes. “You have travelled far. I am only sorry you have returned to this.”

  “I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have –”

  “How were you to know?”

  They stopped outside a familiar chamber, the wooden door worn and scratched but still sturdy, looking like it had survived an age in this ancient fortress. These chambers, in the highest part of the building, belonged to the leader of the outpost, Drakkun, most commonly known as ‘Old Grey’ to those who knew him well enough to dare the nickname. Rook glanced at Wakka, who simply nodded.

  Knocking on the door, she turned the brass handle and peered inside, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the gloom. She pushed inside, each step more tentative than the last. Thick curtains were drawn over the windows, faint light outlining the shape of them against the wall. It was cold throughout the whole building but the plunge in temperature was noticeable, gooseflesh racing up her arms. Surely Old Grey was not living in this?

  “Have I gone witless at last?” came a voice, dry and crackling like a fire. “Is that you, Rook-ka?”

  She could feel his signature nestle its way past her senses, as strong and steady as the mountain itself. It reminded her of times gone past, when she had been, if not innocent, at least more idealistic than now. When the world had been naught but a playground. A story to be written. Now Rook wanted to throw the pen away and let someone else finish it.

  “It’s me, old man. Did you miss me?”

  “I did. Come, come over here.” He patted the bed and she crossed the room to see the wizened face of her mentor stare up at the ceiling. His hands, long and bony, gripped the covers tight, shaking ever so slightly. “What did you see, child?”

  “You can stop with the child nonsense, old man. I am a woman grown.”

  “I see it,” he said but his eyes were not looking at her. They barely moved, glazed over and blank.

  “What happened to you? What happened to your eyes?” Perhaps she should have been more tactful but to see such a strong, commanding man reduced to an invalid in his bed tugged at her heartstrings. She placed a hand over one of his, feeling the thin, papery skin beneath. “Grey, what’s happening?”

  His other hand flicked at hers. “Manners, what have I taught you?”

  “You hate when I call you Grey-shai.”

  Grey tsked. “Things are changing, Rook-ka. The pull from the otherworld grows stronger every day and we don’t have the resources to stop it.”

  “I am here. I will help you. I know it’s not much –”

  He shook his head, sitting up so quickly he nearly smacked her on the forehead. Coughing into his fist until he dry heaved, thin frame shuddering, he wiped at his mouth and scowled. “You must help all you can. Do not trap yourself here for me. Go forth, help the others. As our numbers continue to decline, we will need someone to reach out to our networks further afield. You must find a way to stop this.”

  She gripped his hand tight. “I tried. I tried and I failed. I couldn’t stop it. I – I watched so many fall to it and I couldn’t do anything. Grey, your faith in me was misplaced. I am not the person you thought I was.”

  “Chin up,” he snapped, voice like a whip crack. “I’ll have none of your simpering.”

  She stifled a sniffle, head rising.

  “This isn’t the time for sorrow and self-doubt.” Shakily, his legs fell to the floor, bending over to reach for his shoes. Rook nudged them closer to his hand so he could feel his way to slipping them onto his feet. A hand wrapping around the walking cane propped against a small dresser by his bedside, he heaved a sigh before pushing himself upright. She hovered at his side just in case he fell and he tilted his head as if aware, a mocking smile on his lips.

  “I can feel that rain cloud above your head. Wipe it away, Rook-ka. From here on out we are at war and we will need all our strength.”

  When he stumbled on the small step into the hallway, she looped her arm through his and ignored the way his mouth pulled down. “Then maybe you should heed your own advice, old man.” Out of the corner of her eye, Wakka blanched and she winked at her. “Let me help you, too.”

  Grey swatted at her and she laughed, the sound echoing with the high ceilings and long, draughty hallways. They shuffled along to the staircase that would take them even higher, up to the rift itself. With every step the pulse of the rift grew more potent, crashing over her in a wave of corrupted spiritual energy. The feeling was so familiar to her now; a rift in turmoil. Ripe and ready for rupture.

  “Dwelling on failure gets a man nowhere. What did I tell you before?”

  “Do not fight the wind, child,” they said in unison and when she met his blank eyes she fought a watery smile. “Let it guide you,” she added softly.

  “Yes, well,” he said, tone gruff, “keep it with you. Whatever came before is alrea
dy buried beneath the snow.” Outside the blizzard raged on, silent but deadly, the world beyond the windows a blur of white. “So you must make your mark upon it, hm? There is no path that cannot be changed. There is no action that cannot be righted in some way.”

  He was right, of course, but it was difficult to get the message to sink in. Too many failures had stacked up like the snow piling upon every windowsill they passed, making it harder and harder to remember what she was fighting for in the first place. But she had come because she could mope no longer. She wanted to do something. To fix this somehow. There was still so much to learn. So many ways in which to grow – better, stronger, smarter. Rook wanted to make a difference.

  “I see you have grown on your travels.”

  She glanced at him, his bony hands gripping the railing as he huffed up the stone steps that seemed to ascend forever, his breaths heavy in the silence between their truncated conversation. “I have learned a lot but it’s still not enough.”

  “You learned about your bond.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Your signature is more stable now. I can feel it.”

  “Are you sure you are able to make it up –”

  He tsked, cutting her off. “Do not doubt me, child. I am not an invalid.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she said, laughing when he swatted her with his walking stick. “Your hair is as white as the snow outside now. I’m not sure if I can call you Grey anymore.”

  “Up with you, before that tongue of yours gets you in trouble.”

  Her laughter bounced off the stone walls, filling the cold chamber with noise. When she turned around to look at Grey his eyes were creased with mirth, lines deepening around his thin mouth. He heaved himself up the last few steps after her until they came to a great wooden door with an iron knob and an intricate lock system. She stepped aside so he could place a hand upon it, closing his eyes. The air shifted around them, currents from the rift pulling towards him as the lock began to glow a soft silvery blue. There was a brief fight, energy directed in subtle patterns until she felt a soft pulse, and then the door clicked. The Rook cawed at the presence of the Water Dancer, a familiar, calming signature that settled even its wary nature.