“How much do you remember of those times?”
Vallnor looked at him; at the bone white skin and pale hair, the broad jaw and flecks of an icy beard, exactly as he remembered from years gone past. It was uncanny, the likeness between Demjor and his ancestors, and yet here was Demjor who claimed to have lived the past the way he himself had. Did his riftspawn pass memories down the family line, in a similar way to the Siklos memories stored within the phoenix?
“How much do you remember?”
Demjor’s lips curled. “Bits and pieces, here and there. After a while it all starts to get a bit hazy.”
The signature brushing against his was ironclad, a cold wall that stopped him from probing any further. But there was a current beneath it that drew him in, almost as if it was luring him in to leach some of his energy. Realising he was beginning to tilt to one side, Vallnor retreated from the alien touch of Demjor’s riftspawn with a shudder and kept his eyes on the silver water splashing in the fountain. No matter how much he rifled through the memories he had access to, he could not seem to recall anything significant about the family other than rumours and legends. His arms snaked over his chest, crossing tight. The signature wound its way through the threads of energy connecting him to the rift, numbing him to the feeling, and he flailed inside his mind.
“Your family has always yearned for a time past.”
Vallnor saw him move out of the corner of his eye, a hand extending to a small fluttering riftspawn that was drawn to the strength of his signature. His fingers caged it in as it brushed against his palm, the globe of light at its core expanding and contracting. Vallnor could barely feel it beneath the tingling numbness of Demjor’s signature.
“We are both creatures of history, you and I. Relics, some might say.” Blue eyes swivelled to him. “But that need be no bad thing. We must learn from the past in order to move forward. We must be prepared for the tide before it rises, if we are to weather it.”
Something about the choice of words tickled at a recess of his mind. “I am no relic. The Siklos have always been about renewal and –”
“Rebirth, yes.” Demjor grinned, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “History is a series of rises and falls. As one is born, so another must die, and so on into eternity. So it has been and so it will always be. Perhaps we find ourselves at another of these great turning points, where the balances are about to shift.”
Vallnor always hated those who spoke in riddles. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” Demjor’s hand fisted, the riftspawn collapsing into golden shards of light and Vallnor felt the transfer of energy; the way Demjor’s signature only grew stronger. “Power is for those who can take it. The question is, are you ready for it?”
“Of course I am. My family has reigned over these isles for thousands of years.” The indignation sparked the fire in his veins, rushing through him. “We were born to rule these islands, as sure as the phoenix fire comes to my command.”
Demjor chuckled, shaking his head. He stepped up until they were nearly nose to nose; until Vallnor was gazing straight into blue, blue eyes with a hammering heart. The weight of his signature pressed down on him, smothering his own. For him to be powerful enough to suppress the Siklo fire… he was much more of a threat than Vallnor had realised, only resisting stepping back out of sheer willpower alone.
“You do not sound so sure, Prince,” he breathed, exhaling onto him. Then he pulled back, the tension releasing all at once, and stalked away in the direction of the party.
Rattled, Vallnor remained frozen for several moments, fists clenched at his side as the flames danced over his skin. Everyone wanted a bite from him tonight, it seemed. They were all queueing up just to remind him how much they hated him. For a moment everything stripped back to just him – to just a poor thief from the poor end of the city – and he was struck by how out of place he truly was, wearing clothes he did not belong in, and standing in a palace he could only have dreamed of. The truth was, he did not know what he was doing. The truth was, he was not sure of anything at all.
He felt it before he saw it. A tremble on the atmosphere around him. Then the riftspawn floated into view, large enough to span a chunk of the sky. It glowed a soft moonlit silver, shaped vaguely like a whale swimming through the ocean, only its various fins were streams of smoke trailing off into the sky. A huge gaping mouth opened as a shrill cry pierced the stillness of the night and it stirred the phoenix inside, already desperate for release. Vallnor stared at it, feeling the pulse of the nearest rifts. They called to the part of him from another world, the part of him that longed for the power that would strengthen his connection to this world.
Vallnor or Viktor or the phoenix or whoever he was – he couldn’t go on like this. The dead prince was still dead. Those memories still swarmed in his skull, leaving him to trudge through a swamp of lives spanning the length of the islands’ history themselves, but they belonged to a previous version of himself. And maybe he was Viktor no longer; the flighty thief with a brave heart and a sharp tongue. Maybe he was something new, something more. But when he gazed into the clear surface of the fountain the face staring back at him was not the one on the wall of faces in the palace. It was a youthful face, scarred with a harsh life on the streets, with unruly dark hair and eyes that had seen too much.
It was Viktor’s face that stared back at him and it was Viktor’s fear thrumming anxiously beneath his skin and it was Viktor’s curiosity that had him following the riftspawn down the path from the palace to the shore, stumbling down the sand dusted steps to a sea of rippling black velvet. All across its surface danced the spirits, sparkling gems of every colour shining amongst the waves. They filled the sky above, swarming in their hordes. Spirits in every shape and size, tickling at his senses with their strange, bright, flaring auras. So many, they covered nearly every inch of the sky, the crackling pressure building in his skull.
Then memories. He remembered Rook and how adamant she had been that the rift was looked after. He remembered what these creatures could do when they came into contact with humans. He remembered how they had responded to him before he even knew what he really was; how they had trailed after him when he and Rook had investigated the rift and even protected him from harm.
King. King. King.
Was the only coherent thought beyond the barrage of his own memories, accompanied by an image of himself, resplendent in green fire as the riftspawn danced around him. No crown necessary to reveal himself for who he truly was. The guardian of both worlds, bridging the gap between, and only he could bring them to order. Only he had the ability to find the balance between both sides.
But first Viktor had to get to the nearest rift.
Part Five: The Spirit of Potential
The gunshot reverberated through the street, loud enough to make Hika flinch. Janus lowered his arm, watching the riftspawn burst into sparks that faded into the air. The gun was hot in his palm, smoke curling up from the barrel. Digging into his pocket, he checked on his depleting ammo with a growing weariness that had him bypassing bullets for tobacco. Hika watched him roll and light up with a look of disgust, turning away from him and shaking her head.
Janus inhaled the smoke and continued on through the undulating surface of the road, coloured like a layer of amber atop frozen ocean waves. The buildings had slumped towards one another, creating a tunnel above where they had collided. Cutting off the daylight made the ruins that much more desolate, small pockets of light shining down upon the solitary wheel of a wagon, or the twisted, broken bones of a street lamp.
“Can you hear that?” asked Kardak.
Janus glanced down at him, taking the wheelchair in one hand and holding his cigarette with the other. The Riftkeeper was surprisingly calm despite all that had happened to him, the fever flush gone and his eyes lucid behind the cracked lens of his glasses. From the knees down his legs were missing. What had been left behind was skin coated in the same amber substance as what ap
peared to coat the ground, apparently congealing enough to seal off the worst of the wound. The hospital had been too overrun to keep him there anyway, so now he and Hika were taking turns pushing him back to the monastery belonging to the rift maidens, on the outskirts of the city.
“Hear what?” he asked, sucking in a lungful of smoke. Sometimes it felt like the only time he could truly breathe.
“Someone crying.”
Janus froze. Sure enough, if he focused, he could hear the faint sniffles somewhere close by. He had dismissed the noise as little more than the rustle of debris in the wind but now that Kardak had identified its source he could not deny it. Flicking his cigarette and stamping out the face staring back at him on the reflective surface of the ground, he left Kardak where he was and climbed over a fallen tree that had taken on a translucent appearance, as if it was merely a ghost of what it had once been. Hesitantly his hand grasped the bark and found it cut into his palm as much as a normal tree, holding his weight well enough when he swung himself atop it and peered down the other side. Here there was an intersection between the streets, light spilling down upon him from a dusky sky. It was a sickly shade of yellow that mellowed the world around him, lengthening the shadows out in ways that left him wary.
“Hey, don’t just leave me here!” said Kardak.
Janus heard Hika’s questioning voice just as he jumped down to the other side and rolled. The snuffling stopped suddenly, followed by a stifled whimper. To his right. Keeping his eyes alert, he stalked along the length of the wall of the building until he came to a place where the brick had crumbled, caving into a hole beneath the ground. Rustling could be heard from within, punctuated by breathy sounds.
“Who is there?”
There was a gasp, followed by the sound of feet scuffling.
Crouching now, he kept a hand hovering over his gun just in case. “Will not hurt you.”
After a long beat of silence a face small face appeared at the hole, two big eyes staring back at him, red-rimmed and watery. When he made no move towards her, the girl took a step upwards so that he could get a better look at her soot-stained face, round cheeks shining with tear tracts. She continued to stare and he wondered if she did not understand him. He only knew the common Myrish tongue. Bits and pieces of dialects had moulded to him the way barnacles did a ship, but his active knowledge was patchy at best.
“Can you climb up?” he asked. “Where is your family?”
The girl shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “No, no. Gone. My grandma was the only one and she –” A sob shook her thin shoulders, more tears forming in her eyes.
“Can take you someplace safe, if you want.”
The girl sniffed. “I’m not supposed to trust strangers.”
Janus huffed a laugh, lowering himself until his legs were crossed. “Very wise. But see, I’m lost like you. Right now, the more of us the better. Can help each other fight the spirits.”
“You can fight them? But they will destroy you. Nothing can hurt them.”
“Not true. Anything alive can be hurt.” He held out a hand. “Come with me and I can show you.”
“I do not know you.”
“Hm,” he agreed, stroking his chin. “Janus Lakazar.” He pointed at himself and then at her. “You?”
“Lani. Lani Ruyalla.”
“See, now we know each other.”
She blinked, mouth quirking even as her frown deepened. “Where are you from?”
He had to resist the urge to laugh at how serious her expression was. “From a village in the Bluestone Mountains.”
“I’ve never heard of those before.”
“On the continent.”
That piqued her interest, head popping out the hole to peer at him. Her dark hair curled around her chin, limp and streaked with grease. “Is it truly as dark as they say? They say there’s no sunlight at all.”
“No sunlight at all,” he agreed solemnly. “As dark as your shadow.” It was not quite true but it did not seem the time for dissuading her of her childish fantasies. “When I first came here was so bright I burned my eyes.” He mimicked covering his eyes and hissing in pain.
She giggled, climbing a little further out of the hole so she could rest her chin upon her palms. “I’ve never been to the continent before.”
“Between you and me, it’s not so great.”
Wriggling the rest of the way out, she rearranged her limbs to mirror his pose, crossing the legs of her dusty trousers and tucking her hair behind ears that protruded from her face. She cocked her head, watching him in silence. He wondered how long she had been out here by herself, left to the mercy of the riftspawn and the destruction of the city.
“Want to come with me? Can take you somewhere safe.” If anywhere was safe anymore.
She continued to stare, big eyes boring into him. For a girl who could only have been six or seven at most, she had quite the imposing gaze. Even for a man like Janus.
“Janus! Janus, where did you go?”
Lani flinched, retreating behind him as Hika appeared from around the corner. “You left Kardak on his own. What are you doing? Who is that?”
He put a finger to his lips, gesturing with his other hand for her to slow down and she paused a few feet away, frowning at him. Her kobi was torn at the bottom, a long gash that exposed a clothed leg beneath. From her braids her hair tumbled and spilled over her broad shoulders, tangled and frizzy. They had managed to sponge themselves down in the church and no more, leaving them stained with sweat and dirt and dust. Janus could only imagine what he must have looked like if she was this unkempt.
“Meet Lani,” he said, tilting ever so slightly so that the tip of the girl’s head could be seen. “Lani, this is my friend Hika.”
“Oh! Like the dragon rider!”
Hika smiled, walking towards her and leaning over. “I was named after her. You know the stories?”
Lani nodded eagerly. “My grandma would tell me those stories. She knew lots of stories but the ones with dragons were my favourite.”
“Mm. Those certainly are good.” Hika’s eyes flickered between Lani and Janus when she said, “And where is your grandma now?”
He watched the girl’s smile slip and shook his head. Nodding, she straightened and extended a hand out to her. “Would you like to come with us? I can take you home with me and we can find you something to eat. You must be hungry.”
Lani’s hand crept over her stomach with a sheepish smile.
“Take my hand, sweetheart. I’ll look after you.”
Janus was not surprised that the girl was a lot more trusting of Hika than himself. He would be, too. But there remained a tiny niggle beneath his skin, that he was only kidding himself by trying to convince himself he could help anyone. All Janus had ever caused for others was grief and misery. Even so, he could not turn a blind eye to a child in suffering, no matter what he had seen in the past. Cold he may have been but he was not heartless.
“Thanks for leaving me,” said Kardak, staring at him over his glasses. “Really, it’s just wonderful to have you run off while I’m stuck here.”
Janus took the handles of his chair and pushed him on. “Got your gun still, haven’t you?”
“That is not the point!”
Despite the twilit sky, heavy with yellow lined clouds, the sun never seemed to set. They must have walked for hours through the city, struggling with both Kardak’s chair and Lani’s pained protests about her hunger and exhaustion. Eventually Janus picked her up and threw her onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. In her fright she nearly cut off his air supply but the steady rhythm of his pace soon saw her nodding off into slumber, puffs of breath tickling his ear. Exhaustion pulled at his own limbs but he pushed past it.
“What do you think we’ll find?” said Hika as they approached the first wall of the compound. Kardak was slumped over the side of his chair, snoring.
“Don’t know. Best be prepared.”
She watched him take ou
t his revolver and keep it to hand as he hiked Lani up his back with the other. “It still appears to be intact.”
He nodded. They crept through the gardens as if afraid to disturb the eerie stillness, the grass tinged with the same putrefied shade of yellow as the sky. Around the domed structure of the monastery the colours swirled and deepened, twisting into a dizzying whirlpool of bleeding reds and purples, like looking into the rift itself. Hika glanced at him, the colour draining from her face.
Abandoning Kardak to him, she launched into a run, shouting out the names of her rift maiden sisters. Janus swore, looking between her and the Riftkeeper before he saw a flickering shape stirring in the distance; a long, snaking creature glowing a faint saffron yellow that rested upon the roof of the monastery. At Hika’s movements its head rose, body rippling with scales that resembled the roof tiles it was perched upon. Its eyes blinked, tail swishing, and then its mouth ripped open in a yawn that was too low for Janus’s ears to discern, but that shook the ground beneath his feet. Tiles crashed to the ground, so close to Hika he jumped into action. Dropping Lani into Kardak’s lap, he tore off into a run after her as the riftspawn dropped from the roof, pulling half of its surface with it.
“Watch out!” he yelled, shoving Hika out of the way as the riftspawn whipped a tail made of copper tiles at them. Janus rolled and jumped back to his feet, firing off a shot. The creature was quicker than its bulk suggested, but size did not matter for a being unrestrained by physical limitations.
“Go and get the others,” he said. “I’ll hold it off.”
“On your own?”
Janus saluted with a grim smile. It was nothing he hadn’t done before, and besides, if he were to perish he didn’t really think he was likely to be missed. “Get going.”
The Rising Tide Page 28