“I think you’re wrong,” she said and did not miss the way a few hands rose to mouths around the fire. One did not talk back to Chief Haknor, no matter their relation to him. “I cast off the chains when I chose to leave here. You are the one who misunderstands what true valour looks like. Look at how they cower before you. That does not make you a good or true leader.”
The strike came so suddenly she did not have time to brace herself for it. It tore the skin of her already swollen face, hot blood gushing. “Then why did you return?”
She pressed a hand to her throbbing jaw and raised her head. Once, she would have been too afraid to meet his eyes. Now she cowered no longer. “I think I needed to know for sure, that I did not make a mistake. I suppose I have my answer now.” She laughed, shaking her head. “You must have seen it, haven’t you?” she said, turning to the rest of the villagers gathered. “The way things are changing. What you’re doing now – summoning the riftspawn here – you’re only going to make things worse. You’re going to destroy this world if you continue.”
“Don’t make me hit you again!” Her father’s chest heaved, lip curled.
Rook twirled the handles of her blades and crossed them before her, cocking her head, teeth bared in a grin. “Or what? Will you kill your own daughter?”
Real fury burned in her father’s eyes. “You wish to challenge me? Do you think you stand a chance against me, Rook? Has your arrogance grown so much since we parted?”
“I learned from the best.”
Rook truly did enjoy playing with fire. She just couldn’t help herself.
Haknor roared as he unsheathed his mighty greatsword and swung at her with both hands. Already weary from her fight with Tokkar, Rook only just managed to throw herself out of the way, rolling through the snow. Roused by the shock of the cold, she pushed herself onto her feet and leapt over his second swing, spinning towards him in a tornado of steel. Energy flowed through her, The Rook firing up at the prospect of another fight. It could sense a strong opponent, thirsty for blood. Its cry was a comfort; with it behind her she might actually have a chance of surviving this.
Catching her blade with his hand, Haknor shoved into her until she tumbled back into the snow once more. Hovering above her with his vicious sneer, Haknor’s eyes gleamed a pale, pale green. Around him shifting waves of his aura spilled around him, a piercing howl sounding in her head so shrilly her hands slammed over her ears to try and block out the sound. It was hard to fight the fear when she considered how long Haknor had been bonded to his riftspawn. The Haknor Yll, a greater riftspawn of legend had been in some of the books she had studied at the fortress. It was notoriously powerful, and bloodthirsty too, constantly craving the lifeforce of other riftspawn to feed itself. Its strength combined with her father’s training made the odds look insurmountable when she stared up at him from the ground, feeling the flare of his aura.
To make her fear worse, Haknor had never had any qualms about killing his foes in the past. Locker knew how many he had drained the life of before they died, folding their own power into his own until he became so strong no one stood a chance of defeating him.
“Are you going to just lie there?” he sneered. “Have you realised your folly yet?”
The Rook zapped her into action, hissing as it willed her to get up and fight. It did not understand emotions such as fear, nor did it understand the complex tangle of feelings interwoven into the memories of her relationship with this man. To The Rook there was ally and there was enemy. Perhaps it had the right way of things. Perhaps, here and now, that was all Rook could focus on.
Despite her body’s protest, Rook jumped to her feet. “I am only just getting started.”
Haknor’s grin spread slowly across his face. “If you are so desperate to be punished, so be it.” Then it slipped away, replaced by a contortion of cold anger and bloodlust as he charged forward, steel winking in the firelight.
Rook twirled out of the way, using her blade to direct his arm away from her torso. She tried to dip in quick for a strike but even with such a heavy sword Haknor was too fast and she nearly tripped dancing out of the way of each blow. He was relentless, never giving her a moment to so much as breathe, never mind scrape together a plan. As it was it was hardly a fight. Rook was doing all she could to keep herself moving, running like a rabbit from the mountain cats that prowled the mountainsides. Snow clouded around her feet and her breath steamed out around her in wisps. Above her riftspawn were beginning to gather, drawn by the intensity of the power they both channelled. Haknor’s toxic signature was weaving around her own, poisoning the energy surging through her until her chest seized, her lungs constricting. It was getting harder and harder to control herself.
Seizing upon a momentary stumble, Haknor swung out with a fist, cracking her over the head. The sheer power behind his fist had her stumbling, pain scrambling her thoughts until there was nothing but the dull ache in her skull. He struck out again, kicking her in the stomach with his boot, knocking the wind from her. Gasping, she barely managed to raise her arm in time as his sword swung once more, slicing through the meat of her arm. Rook cried out, body locking up. The knowledge of the damage was worse that fighting off the pain that hadn’t fully reached her yet, shuddering at the ooze of blood down her arm. Fear seized her with firm hands, shaking her to her core.
Flapping its wings, The Rook shrieked in anger. Fight, devour and take. The notion echoed through her mind over and over as she stumbled through a hapless dance with her father. Fight, devour and take. Fight, devour and take. They were the only concepts it knew how to convey, but somehow their meaning had changed in the time since they had bonded. It wanted her to fight. It wanted them to fight. And it wanted to show him that they would not be afraid.
Rook was afraid but even more than that she was angry. She had come too far, learned too much, to let him win over her now.
With a burst of power, Rook cut through the mire of his swelling signature, head pounding with the throb of each pulse of spiritual energy, and sliced down with her left hand as her right hand swept across. Her father blocked them with his sword but the force of her attack was enough to force him to step back with a grunt, looking at her now as if seeing her for the first time. This small victory fuelled her on, The Rook cawing in triumph. It was hard to resist its soaring mood, buoyed by the feeling of so much energy channelling through her that it flared around her in an aura of silvery white smoke.
“Give up now,” said her father, eyes shining pale green, two gems in the darkness. The colour was not the rich, vibrant shade of the phoenix, but a paler, sickly imitation. Rook focused on that as he prowled in a circle around her, reminding herself that she had battled ancient guardian riftspawn of legend. Compared to that her father was nothing. The fear unravelled when she remembered that she was every bit as powerful as Haknor and, more importantly, that her bond to The Rook was far stronger.
I need to trust you, she said as she darted from the shining edge of his sword and then struck forward with a yell. I need you to fight with me but not let me lose control. Can you do that?
“You’re still hesitating,” barked her father. “Look at you, still cowering away.”
Blood still oozed from the wound, her right arm heavy and stiff. Her father knew it, deliberately aiming for that side. Rook did not give him the satisfaction of holding her hand over the wound. All the power inside her she directed towards her movements. Healing could come later. Provided later came.
I’m letting you take the lead. I’m trusting you.
It was probably a stupid move, given all that had happened to lead up to this moment. Riftspawn weren’t meant to understand concepts like control or restraint. In the realm beyond their own, there was survive or die. Nothing more. Rook knew this. In some ways she had lived this, for she and The Rook were one.
The moment her eyes began to shine her father paused, his grin sharpening. “So you’ve finally given in? Very well. Let us continue.”
&
nbsp; Through the icy cold currents of The Rook’s consciousness trickling into her mind, Rook was just able to keep a hold of herself, clinging to the pain of an open wound, hot blood against the freezing cold air. She shivered at the prying tendrils, emotions stripping away until all she could feel was the strange sensation of her hands tightening their grips around the handles of her riftblades and all she could see was the man across from her, leaking so much essence she thought he might be about to burst free.
Chief Haknor moved so much quicker but her body responded in tandem, steel clashing against steel with a mighty clang. Every move he made she was there, able to read the way his energy shifted before he moved. She sliced through the thick jerkin of his shoulder and cut into flesh and bone beneath. The resulting surge of energy within her was glorious and she chased after it, pushing herself harder. Faster.
With a furious yell, Haknor threw himself at her and even with her enhanced speed she struggled to spin out of his way, his sword just managing to snick the cloth of her thigh. The sting of cold air on the flesh was worse than the cut itself – too shallow to be too concerning – but the distraction cost her. Suddenly he was looming over her and she couldn’t see his sword. Desperate, Rook leapt at him and they both tumbled to the snow with her thrashing atop him, hands and fists and growling teeth. There was no lucidity in her father’s eyes now, just a watery green light burning up within.
Kneeing him in the groin and elbowing him in the gut, Rook slithered away as they rolled along the ground and snatched up his sword, hissing as the riftspawn connected to it tried to sap at her energy. With all her might she flung it far away, uncaring at the gasp of the watching crowd behind her. The Rook and she were one and the same being, minds working in tandem to take down the man who had loomed over her life for far too long. There was nothing but them and him, standing across from one another as the sky overhead erupted with the bleeding colours of the rift.
This time when he charged at her, Rook was faster than he was. Each punch, each kick, each swipe with her blades, almost felt like they were being performed by someone else and she was merely observing from within her own body. The Rook took charge, barraging into Chief Haknor with a flurry of attacks that he couldn’t keep up with even in his beserker state. They couldn’t possibly match him for raw strength, each hit he landed enough to make her stagger, knees buckling with the pain. But still Rook pushed herself up and kept fighting, screaming her lungs hoarse with the amount of power flowing through her. So much power she felt like one raw nerve. Like she might collapse beneath the weight of it at any moment.
“I can defeat you without losing control!” she cried, the words foreign from her mouth. Then she slashed across his torso, deeper than she had intended.
Haknor threw his head back with a yowl of pain, blood gushing from the deep slice across his chest. But there was no space for guilt with The Rook filling up her mind, so Rook whirled around and struck him over the head, panting above him as his huge form crashed to the ground. Pushing against the probing tendrils of his signature, she gasped when the Haknor Yll relented, receding until there was nothing but the rampant hummingbird heartbeat of her own. Of The Rook’s.
She stumbled on stiff legs towards her father’s prone form, no movement but for the twitching of a finger. The light had snuffed out, leaving nothing but the human behind. Around her she could sense people crowding, murmuring to one another, others frozen still in shock. Rook whirled on them, barely keeping the lid contained on the power sparking inside her. Her fingers danced over the bone handles of her blades, tarnished with the bloodstains of two different men. She thirsted for the fight.
“You do not need to lose control,” she spat, chest heaving. As the energy began to drain from her, she was suddenly exhausted. Bone weary, and sore all over. “It is possible to form a true bond. One that does not require killing everything in front of us. Perhaps it is time we learned a new way of being.” She wiped the blood trickling from her swollen lip. “Perhaps it is time you choose a new leader.”
And with that Rook sheathed her blades and stalked off into the darkness.
*
“Where, exactly, are you planning on going?”
Ziko kept marching on, unperturbed by the noises the grass made with every step he took, gold sparks bursting out around his feet. By his side, the form of that fox-like being flickered in and out of view. Viktor watched Ziko’s back grow smaller and smaller until his brain caught up and he jogged after him, hopping on his tiptoes as the grass screamed at him, sparks turning red. The bond between he and the phoenix remained open, simmering in the back of his mind, but he was mostly in control of his thoughts. Or so he hoped.
“It will not be long before those Riftkeepers come after us,” said Ziko. “I would rather put as much distance between myself and them as possible.”
“Isn’t this the path to the rift, though?” He could feel each pulse grow stronger, crashing over him. Riftspawn swirled through the air, others lurking between the trees that had not been corrupted by the way the realms bled. “Won’t this only trap you with them?”
Ziko finally turned, eyes lit in gold from within. “Don’t you know how I got here in the first place? How I survived?”
Viktor frowned, stomach making a funny gurgle. “You said something about going through the rift. You found your… uh, riftspawn thing and the two of you bonded again.”
“You know there are rifts all over the world, don’t you?”
“Yes? I mean, I’m learning that now. But I don’t really see… No. No, you can’t be serious.”
Ziko nodded. “I am always serious, Viktor. There is another world slowly merging with ours and we are best poised to take advantage of that. If you can keep hold of yourself in there you can move wherever you wish. Isn’t it amazing? Travel the likes of which human innovation could never hope to imitate.”
Viktor did not like the phrase if you can keep hold of yourself in there. Viktor could barely find the constraints of himself in the normal world so he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to manage that in another where the rules didn’t make sense. As far as he knew, it wasn’t possible for a human to survive entering the realm, if entering could even be managed. Others had tried and deemed it impossible to pass through the door with a physical form, or so Rook had told him. Some had managed to pass the veil only to never return. He was not particularly keen to come out completely rearranged.
“You still fear it so much.”
Viktor grimaced as a splash of red spread out around where his foot had been on the ground, a tingle racing up his leg. “I mean, I only forget who I am sometimes and turn into a bloodthirsty prince desperate for revenge against an entire empire but sure, travelling through dimensions sounds fun.”
Ziko snorted, shaking his head. There was something eerie about his movements, not quite as fluid as a human’s should be. “You are who you were raised to be,” he said, “not some distant memories you can only partly remember.”
Pausing to catch his breath against a tree trunk, he yelped when a branch from above jolted downwards to spear him through the chest, only just managing to duck out of the way in time. There was a flicker of energy and then he turned to see a strange man-shaped creature a few feet away, made of nothing but a collection of falling leaves and a pale glow within. Latching onto Ziko, he ducked his head over the man’s shoulder, heart racing. Just what in the Locker had happened to the world?
“It is fine,” said Ziko, resting a hand atop his. There was a buzz as a warm, tingly feeling spread out from his arm, through the rest of his body. Soothed by a signature of fresh wind and a feeling like the satisfaction of leaves crunching beneath his feet, Viktor sagged against him.
“If I am just that street urchin, what does that make you?”
Ziko’s lips twitched. “I did not say it was all that you are. Come, we are almost there.”
The last leg of the journey was the most difficult, the land growing steeper and steeper until Viktor w
as clawing his way up the muddy ground, grateful to see one small part of the land that had remained untouched by the otherworld. Ziko appeared unaffected, navigating the loose rocks and stone with ease, murmuring away to himself in whispers stolen by the wind. The sharp air currents grew stronger the further they climbed, cutting into his skin. It helped to clear his mind, fighting a much simpler battle with the elements.
By the time he hauled himself atop the plateau at the peak, Viktor hunched over his thighs, feeling nauseas and weak. The pulsing energy was almost unbearable, pounding inside his head like it was a massive drum and someone was slamming against it repeatedly. “I think I might throw up,” he groaned, wiping the moisture from his forehead and swaying as he straightened. Up ahead lights glowed through a misty haze. The rift.
“You can stay here if you wish. They are more concerned with me anyway.”
Viktor contemplated this thought and found that he very much did not want to be alone with himself. Giving room to the phoenix and his past selves only sounded like inviting trouble. So he scraped himself up and tottered after Ziko’s steady gait, wrinkling his nose at the pressure building in his skull. As reluctant as he was, he pulled some power from the bond between himself and the phoenix, letting the thrill trickle through him. The pounding in his skull abated a little.
The rift itself swirled between the confines of an arch made of ancient stone, piled up in blocks. The huge slabs were etched with symbols he could not read, more sloping and curved than he was familiar with. The lights within beckoned; a dizzying array of colours warping the black sky through the stone arch. Unsure what he was supposed to be doing, he turned to Ziko who simply gazed upon the structure with a reverence unfamiliar to him, lights reflecting in his eyes.
The Rising Tide Page 40