“I did that. Are you saying I cannot atone? That I cannot be saved?”
“Foolish boy. That is not the same thing. You thought you were helping.”
“And what if he, too, thought he was helping?”
Seeker’s head rested against the knees pressed into his chest, arms shielding his face. The voices were familiar, somehow, but he couldn’t work out how and it made his head ache. His fingers trembled when they pressed into his temples and rubbed, stirring up the dust layering everything in the tiny space. Limbs cramped up between the boxes and crates, Seeker could feel the darkness press in on him like it had a physical presence. Like it wanted to hurt him.
You are not that boy anymore. Open your eyes.
How could he possibly open eyes he did not have? How could he possibly see when only darkness surrounded him? Seeker had never been any good at riddles.
You are not the one who seeks anymore. You have found yourself now.
What a sweet promise, dripping like dew from Juna’s saka tree in her sprawling, barren wasteland of a garden. Those saka, ripe and honeyed with a yielding give between his fingers when he squeezed enough to break the skin and lick the juice from his arm, had been the one jewel amongst the shacks of their tiny little town that jutted from the sands. But like the nameless had been warned not to cave to temptation and accept a name, Seeker had borne the punishment of his sin. Locked in the cupboard for so long he forgot all but the way the flesh had dissolved on his tongue, glorious in the overbearing dry season heat.
A sweet temptation was nothing but ruin.
Open your eyes!
The command snapped into his mind with the crack of a whip, startling him enough that he overbalanced and toppled to the ground with a thud. Pain was a dull ache in every synapse and nerve of his body – his strange network of moving bones and meat – and he groaned, rubbing his skull. Light filtered in from above him, a faint hazy beam just recognisable against the dark room. Something pulsed, hitting him like ocean waves crashing against the black cliffs of Nirket. Ziko remembered Nirket well. A lot had happened to him in that city.
He had met his first true friend in Relkan and lost him. Then he had found her. Niks Kataema. She had pulled the lightning from the sky and placed it in his palms. She had gifted him the storm, and consequently, his self. That current self was shaky, still unsure with legs that wobbled and buckled beneath him, but it was more resilient than ever. For Ziko had suffered too much to bow and break now.
A god bows before no man.
Was that what he was now? As he struggled to his feet, he felt the two Riftkeepers stiffen in the adjacent room, their hitches of breath loud enough to rattle his eardrums. They feared him and that was a heady thing for a boy who had only ever known the bitterness of fear’s taste on his tongue and its tremble in his heart. The other side of the coin made him every bit as weak at the knees, but it was a feeling he wished to chase, to know just how much more he could become. What new barriers he could transcend.
The currents of energy wound their way around him, revealing the bonds between every living thing in this world. They all raced back to the rift just outside the door of the cottage, to the root of his power and his connection with Niks. The door lay wide open and through its yawning mouth the spirits danced, free of the harsh, demanding Freelands. They celebrated the new world he would usher in. The new world where all could be equal, human and spirit alike. A world where anything was possible. Where boys could cradle the storm in their palms and understand their worth.
“They’re stirring again,” murmured the boy, stifling a groan. “There’s so many of them.”
“Samker, go tend to the rift.”
A beat of silence. “What are you going to do to him?”
“I have decided on nothing yet.”
His fist clenched. What was it with these people that always felt the need to weigh their judgement upon others, as if he was not a being of feelings, thoughts and dreams. As if he was nothing.
I am nothing no more.
You were never nothing.
That much was true. Ziko had never been nothing. Ziko was the last Storm Lord, able to call the lightning from the sky to his bidding. He had walked the shifting realms of the otherworld and emerged victorious. He had survived the severing of his spirit bond, only to reunite stronger than ever with the other half of his being. He had battled the darkness, the crippling fear at his father’s mercy, the cruelty and bitterness of his peers, and the ravenous riftspawn from the door beyond. Ziko had survived it all and he had won, so he would avert his eyes no longer. Even if they did not see as they once did, Ziko’s eyes – his true eyes – were wide open and they saw more than any of these narrow-minded mortals could ever comprehend.
“What do your eyes see, when you look at me?”
The woman flinched. He could not determine her features but her signature ramped up, fizzling and crackling. All around her shimmered a deep, vibrant blue aura like the hottest part of a fire. She was coiled so tight with the power she had gathered to her that Ziko thought she might snap with the pressure.
“I do not know what you are.” Her voice sounded strained, notched like an arrow against a bowstring. “You are like the creatures from the ancient stories passed down from the Riftkeepers of old. They used to warn us, when I was just a girl training to become a warden, what we might become if we lost ourselves to the bond. You are the warning. You are the very thing I fight to stop.”
Ziko shook his head, seeing a familiar mask behind her, three flames burning hot. “I was lost, once. I know what it means to be lost. So understand me when I correct you, Riftkeeper. I am not lost. I have found my path. I have found salvation. Do not hate what you do not understand,” he said, stepping closer with every breath he drew, rattling in his lungs like a reaping season gale. “It makes you weak.”
She did not cower but he could taste her fear. “I have never been weak.”
Ziko did not desire the fight. Ziko did not desire the fight but he would fight anyway. As simple as the rivers racing down from the mountains, turning fat and swollen as they crawled towards the cradle of the ocean. As easy as the wind cutting down the dead leaves upon the trees so they might be born anew come the season of blooms. As inevitable as a nameless boy who had to prove he deserved the right to bear a name, over and over and over again. If it had to be done, it would be done.
That was the difference with Niks, he thought. She was ambitious; starving for the rush of power and the release from the controlling hand of fear. But she was not vicious in the way that other riftspawn seemed to be, lusting after the destruction of every living thing in their path. She was interested in more than simple consumption. In more than the rush of the fight. Her tails swished with a deceptive calm, eyes two blazing fires branding his very soul as he awaited her verdict.
“The question is, what will you do now?”
“I cannot let you just walk out that door.”
“Why not?”
Ziko wished he could have seen her face, that he might have had some inkling of what ran through her mind when she hesitated. “The destruction you have already wrought. If the world knew just what suffering you had inflicted upon it… If people understood what you were… You would be rotting in a cell right now as they debated the best method for your execution.”
The wind stirred in his veins, hair ruffling as he slipped into the space where he and Niks became one and the same. Behind him the window slammed open, rattling against the wall. “You misunderstand. No cell could ever hold me. Death is not enough to keep me down.”
“Has your arrogance spiralled so far, boy? You believe yourself a god now?”
Outside the rift’s pulsing grew more violent, riftspawn tumbling from the door. His voice was loose and scratchy when he spoke. “Tell me, what do you believe makes a god?” The sky overhead rumbled, deep enough to vibrate through the floor. Ziko could feel the sound in his chest.
“Is it power?” he asked as he pun
ched a fist to the sky and the lightning sparked and flashed before leashing itself to his hand. He heard her gasp.
“Is it the ability to be reborn anew?” Even in the murk of his vision, he could see the glowing veins on his arm, as if the storm was trying to escape his skin.
“Is it the ability to shape the world as you envision it?” The riftspawn thrummed around them, a writhing mass of colourful, shimmering bodies. Each one flared with its own distinct signature,
“Or,” he whispered into her ear, “is it the ability to strike down your enemies with a flick of your finger but to choose mercy anyway?” This close he could see the flickers of emotion over her face before he drew back and turned, heading for the door.
“Stop,” she commanded but her voice sounded shaky.
“How will you stop me?”
With his handle poised upon the door to his new life, Ziko twisted the knob only to find himself face to face with the boy who had nearly ended it all for him, back then. Although he could no longer see his features, still roundish with the fullness of youth, the gold in his aura burned bright, his bondmate strong enough to leave an impression upon both he and Niks. Even more so because his signature was harried, racing like the heartbeat of a rabbit before the drooling jaws of a fox.
“I can’t stop them!” he cried. “They won’t stop!”
Ziko brushed by him, watching the shining forms of the riftspawn all around the rift site, the only clear shapes in his vision. They shook the earth beneath their feet, changing a solid substance into a churning tide of motion. They transformed the trees from rooted, static pillars, to dancing, spinning creatures with their branches waving like hands in celebration. They made the sky shimmer and shine, fat raindrops turning solid where they hovered around his eyeline for several long moments before crashing to the ground. Ziko stood on the doorway to this new world, marvelling at the bursts of colour painting a rich canvas before him.
“It’s too much,” said the boy, clutching at his shirt. This close he could see blood shining below both nostrils. “It’s too much, Jenya. I can’t make it stop.”
Jenya brushed by Ziko, staring out at the way the spirits twisted the world into something different, new and unrecognisable. Her aura shone brighter around her, protecting her from any stray spirits that wandered too close. In her hand she clutched a staff which contained a fragment of her signature – a reimyr weapon shared between her and the riftspawn she was bonded too. Swinging out in an arc, she cut through the swathes of riftspawn gathering around the circle of stones that marked the rift with a fierce cry. A circle of blue fire followed her movements; Ziko’s enhanced eyes following the flow of energy she expelled as hordes of spirits were distinguished at once.
The loss of their energy was like the rain after the flush of a warm, stormy evening, each a hiss of punctured tension. They left holes in the net of weaving threads of spiritual energy, angering Ziko. What was being created was beyond anything the likes of this world or any other. This was new – a perfect melding of two worlds to create something better – and she was ripping it apart like a child who could not understand the beauty in the delicacy of a spider’s web. They did not think, did not care. Did not understand just what it was that Ziko fought for.
Then show them, Niks whispered in his ear.
But before he could move, a huge, swooping riftspawn ploughed into Jenya, knocking her off her feet and disturbing the bond between her and her bondmate. Tumbling in the swaying earth, she screamed as hand-like protrusions rose from the dirt and grabbed at her, wrapping around her limbs to tug her below. She struggled, reaching for her fallen staff that was sinking just out her arm’s length, blue sparks crashing against the signatures of the riftspawn in the ground. Finally, she lunged for her staff and attempted to cut herself free, breathing laboured. Solid rain continued to lash from the skies, pelting her hard enough to cut at her skin. Ziko could smell the blood.
“Jenya!” cried the boy, launching himself into the fray. His signature flared, a golden shape with protruding horns appearing behind him, before all spiritual energy snapped. Like a light going out, Ziko stopped sensing the currents of the rifts, its waves no longer crashing over him. Bereft and blind, he staggered out onto a solid earth once more, barely able to make out the shape of the boy attempting to prise Jenya from the ground.
Niks, he panicked. Where is Niks? He could not feel her, his head startlingly, eerily silent. It took all his focus not to spiral into shock, remembering how he had deteriorated without her.
You are the Rift-breaker, he reminded himself, snapping himself out of it. You are stronger than this.
“How did you do that?” he said, following the boy.
“Jenya, grab my hand. Pull.”
The woman groaned, tugging on what remained of the grass until she could haul herself from the earth, caked in mud. Rolling over, she clutched her staff and breathed heavily, her chest heaving with the exertion. Her body trembled; Ziko could sense the vibrations. Apparently not all his senses were gone, even if he felt like a blind man.
“How did you do this?” Ziko marvelled. It was like water had been poured into a tumbler and frozen as it still stirred and splashed around the rim. Like a world in motion had been paused in the middle of progress, everything static but dripping with the suggestions of movement.
Gritting his teeth, the boy shook his head. His aura was fading, the gold in his eyes sputtering. “I can hold it back for a while but I can’t stop it forever.”
“Do not wear yourself out, boy,” said Jenya, sitting up. Her hands massaged her ankles, still coated with mud. It would not wipe away from the skin around her ankles, hardened and crusted over the flesh. “We cannot afford to lose you now.”
“I can’t. What will happen?”
“Stop fighting it,” said Ziko.
They both looked at him. “Are you witless?” he said.
At the same time she managed between ragged breaths, “You may want to destroy the world but I am here to protect it.”
“You only put yourself in danger because you fight it. Accept that nothing is permanent. Stop fighting the winds of change. Those who resist the wind are buffeted the most.”
“Do you hear yourself? Do you even see what you have brought upon this world?”
Ziko huffed a laugh, thousands of memories racing through his mind all at once. He could feel the boy’s grip slip on his power. “My eyes are open. I have walked the lands of the otherworld and seen what it means to be spirit. I have walked the lands of this world and know what it really means to be human. It is you who is blind. You see things as they are. You are trapped by it. But what they could be… that is the difference.”
Jenya rose to her feet, supporting her weight on the boy. “And you care nothing for those who will be hurt by your childish fantasies. You think yourself a god but who would serve a selfish deity like you?”
Ziko closed his eyes and counted. It took ten whole seconds for the boy’s hold to fall, the force of the rift slamming against him with a such a force it stole the breath from his lungs. The storm crackled in his veins as he chased the connection he shared with Niks, diving in deeper and deeper until he thought the lightning might split him apart. All around him the threads of the universe tightened, vibrating with power. Ready to be plucked and directed.
The Riftkeepers were on their feet, braced for battle. Ziko pushed them aside and raised a hand, concentrating on the flow of power. When he did not resist it but leant into its flow, following Niks’ directions, he found he could direct it around them, creating a shield that protected the three of them from the ravaging of the riftspawn everywhere he turned. Colours sparkled and exploded like fireworks in the sky, followed by sensations and smells that overwhelmed him and sent shivers down his spine. The taste of possibility burst on his tongue as he watched the dancing spirits seep into the very core of their surroundings. To stay here, to become part of this world, they had to forge connections.
“The trees,”
said the boy, gaping.
The trees ripped their roots from the ground, writhing like serpents beneath stout trunks that began to ripple and drip. Their shapes gradually changed before their eyes, some stretching out so tall and thin Ziko could not see where they ended in the sky, others spiralling around and around until they weaved together into a lattice work of pulsating strands, leaves fanning out and stirring with each breath of the rift.
“It’s life. It’s growth. It’s the natural progression of this world.”
“Nothing about this is natural,” said Jenya.
Ziko shook his head, pitying. They do not understand what we do.
“You must open your eyes to see,” he said.
Open your eyes and see the truth.
For he could take them to the well as many times as he liked but he could not force them to quench their thirst.
*
“Yes, I will let her know. Thank you, Wei.” The pendant in his hand was threaded in gold, a phoenix in a rich emerald green spreading its wings across the span of the material.
“I will have the banners made,” said Yrnah Sha. “It’s only a shame we couldn’t have them ready for tonight.”
Vallnor nodded, spotting the table of drinks and making a beeline for it. All this simpering and forced niceties were making his teeth hurt, jaw clenched too tight.
“Tell me, princeling, have you really forgotten?”
Vallnor finally managed to shake Yrnah, only to be cornered by Sandson as he poured himself a stronger drink from a crystal bowl on the long dining table that stretched across the far wall. Sucking his irritation inwards, he calmly poured a second and nudged it over to Sandson, who simply stared at the pink liquid shining inside a round tumbler, holding up his nearly full glass of wine with an apologetic smile.
“I do not forget. Remembering is what has kept my family going for so long.”
“Remembering your anger most of all, it would seem.”
“Tell me, Sandson, what do you hope for with your little games?”
The Rising Tide Page 26