The Rising Tide

by Sarah Stirling

  “Keep your head down.”

  Green eyes flashed with a ring of red and her stomach dropped. Surely that creature – be it the Locker, or Var Kunir himself – could not come out in the middle of so much land? The writing of the Zorashir came to her, reminding her that the text had warned of a foretold end whereby Var Kunir brought his creatures of the Locker with him onto land, to exact his judgement on those whose souls he found unworthy.

  “Calm down,” said Makku, resting a hand on Ivor’s shoulder. “Losing your head will only damn us.”

  Ivor gritted his teeth, hissing through them. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “They hit you.”

  She only dared look at him out of the corner of her eye, keeping her gaze on the band of men and women that had taken them at all times. They looked amongst one another but it appeared that none understood the Myrish language. “I am all right.” Dizzy and tired but it was mostly the truth. “Focus on your control. Do not give them a reason to shoot you on sight.”

  Ivor snorted. “They’ll do that anyway.” But he settled back down, eyes back to their natural hue.

  The cart continued on along the dirt path, each bump and jolt rippling through her. Regardless of the bumpy ride, Kilai’s lack of sleep began to catch up with her, eyelids drooping. She tried to fight it, mind a maelstrom of potential scenarios of what they might find at their destination, each one worse than the last. Eventually she could resist no longer and she tripped into sleep, succumbing to the motions of the cart, the animal smell of the scaly creature tugging them along, and the creeping darkness.

  “… told you pay would be split evenly…”

  It was in the middle of the night that Kilai started awake, blinking into the darkness with a filmy layer still clinging to her thoughts. She had been so tired she had fallen out of consciousness so completely that coming back was an almost painful process, memories trickling back one at a time. Stretching out as much as she could with her wrists bound before her, rolling her stiff shoulders, she looked around at her surroundings. There was little to see.

  In the small pool from two iron street lamps more of those sprawling fronds covered the path behind them, rustling on a cool wind. As night had descended so had a bitter chill, creeping in beneath her clothes. Shivering, she observed the woman jump from the cart and pace the road up towards a large building that resembled an old gothic manor in style, only in much harsher lines, like boxes stacked atop one another in different angles to make the sprawling concoction before her. Surrounding it were neatly trimmed lawns and a network of paths. Beyond was more of that dense jungle of greenery, sickeningly sweet when it caught her nose.

  “Move,” commanded one of the men, jabbing at Makku first.

  One by one they clambered out from the cart, standing before the strange building. Kilai looked to Makku and then to Ivor and then to the man striding out from the door until he met the leader of their little band halfway up the road. His voice was loud enough to carry on the still night air, harsh and grating.

  “I only said to bring the cursed one.”

  The woman crossed her arms. “You said to fetch the prisoners involved.”

  “The one who was sighted doing impossible things! The one that was about to be executed!”

  She cocked her head. “Don’t yell at me. Do you know what effort I went through to bring them here? Had to argue my way through what felt like fifty different layers of security, none of whom having any idea who you were. Sir.”

  Kilai had no idea what she was talking about. She blinked, trying to get her mind to focus but it was difficult when she was still groggy.

  “Bring them in,” he grumbled. “We will figure out what to do with the others later.”

  The woman threw her hands up. “Must you be so fickle? Honestly, I did my part. I believe I am owed payment.”

  “Yes,” said the man, toneless, “you are.”

  There was no warning. No time to react. The gunshot reverberated, birds startling from the trees with a chorus of squawks. There was a horrible pause where the woman hovered mid air before her body crashed to the ground, limbs thudding. Dark blood pooled around her head.

  “Someone clean that up,” he said. “And bring them inside. We have work to do.”

  Fear squeezed her innards tight. With a thin crescent moon grinning down at her from a midnight dark sky, Kilai shuffled towards the house.

  Epilogue

  Skandar hadn’t realised how much he had been attached to his office until it was gone. He had always considered himself too practical for attachments to physical things but now that he struggled to his feet so he could stagger to the porthole looking into a small, overgrown garden belonging to the last remaining Riftkeepers of Tsellyr, he realised just how vital that window into his city had been. In the busiest periods, when he thought his head might crack open with the force of so many thoughts swirling inside, he would turn and gaze out to the canal glimmering in the sunlight and red leaves dancing on the wind. White and black buildings had stood proud like he himself was once able to, cobalt tiles a deep, bright blue; the colour he associated with the capital city of Rillasok.

  For all that it had been home to him longer than the place of his birth, many miles, an ocean and a desert away from where he stood in an earthy kitchen, filled with the smell of thyme and rosemary from the potted plants on a shelf against the far wall, he had been unable to save it from its destruction. He hobbled towards the worn wooden dining table, clutching at the back of a chair and allowing himself a brief gasp of pain, nostrils flaring. Compose yourself. The pain came in waves and there was little fighting it when it reached its peak, hand grasping tight onto the worn wood and watching it wobble with resignation. He would never walk properly again – of that much he was certain.

  But my mind remains and that is what matters. Plucking out a worn leather journal from a pocket tucked into his jacket, he released his vice grip from the back of the chair and flipped the pages with stiff fingers, controlling his breathing with measured inhales and exhales until he felt the worst of the ache subside. His scrawl was so fluid that one character bled into another, impossible for anyone other than himself to decipher. Even he struggled, pouring over the black ink with a shaking finger. A list of possibilities; combination upon combination of realities that could have manifested and this but one of many. There were contingencies to consider, of course, but a man like Skandar could acknowledge he was not looking through the sharpest of lenses in his current state.

  The thought reminded him of another problem and he grasped at the frames of his spectacles tucked into a pocket, holding up the shattered glass to the light streaming through the window with a sigh. Without them he felt naked, unable to read each flickering line and expression upon a face. It was another weakness he was loathe to surrender himself to but he was quite without choice. So be it. A man did not fall apart when times got hard, he simply found solutions around the problem.

  “Hey, Janus, where did you – oh.” Rook paused in the doorway, eyes flickering over him like the gaze of an animal surveying its surroundings before it took its next step. “Sandson-shai, I was actually looking for you.”

  His mouth quirked. “Were you?”

  “I can come back? If you’re busy. I should leave you in peace.”

  He shook his head, lowering himself into the chair with a hiss. “You need not run away. How can I help you, Rook-wei?”

  She entered and shut the kitchen door gently, stopping at the other end of the table. Her pale hair had been pulled up into a bun atop her head but stray curls sprang loose. She had regained some colour around her cheeks, looking a little less ghastly than she had when she had first collapsed into bed upon her arrival at the house, but she still moved stiffly, not as quick to smile as he remembered before. With something between a smile and a grimace, she brandished a long piece of wood before her, setting it gently atop the table.

  “Ja
nus and I fashioned this for you. It will help you to walk.”

  Skandar gazed upon the walking stick, running a finger over the wood. “That is very kind. Thank you.”

  She huffed, flopping into the seat before her. “You can drop the formalities here. I don’t think it matters too much now, does it?”

  “On the contrary,” he said, lifting the stick from the table to test it against the brown tiles of the floor, “one must maintain their composure at even the most difficult of times. It is who we are in the dark that reflects our true character most, Rook-wei.”

  Rook tilted her head. “That’s from that book, isn’t it?” She pulled a beaten looking book with a green cover from her satchel and placed it upon the table. The Rising Tide. “Those are Shinrak’s words.”

  “Indeed. Did you find it insightful?”

  “It was… interesting.”

  “Mm.”

  “I’m not sure all of it made sense to me.”

  “Yes,” he said. “A common criticism of his work is that he is too theoretical and does not ground his work in the real world. Perhaps I thought that was not as relevant for you as the thematic value of his musings.”

  “Meaning?”

  Skandar smiled, even as he attempted to stand. Rook shot to her feet and was around the table in a flash to catch him but he held steady, leaning his weight on the new cane. It did not stop the pain squeezing at his thighs, or quell the quiver in his legs, but it did help him to maintain balance. He took a tentative step, white hot heat searing down his left leg. It had taken the worst damage, the meat shredded through and swollen red. Still, Skandar might have lost his legs altogether, so he might as well face his new reality in the bright light of day rather than cower in the darkness.

  “Forgive my assumptions but I rather think you are like me in many ways.”

  “You think I’m like a scheming politician with no clear allegiance to anyone but himself?”

  Skandar laughed.

  “What is it then? In what way are we similar?”

  He sobered, clasping the curved head of the cane with both hands. “I think you are concerned with the way things could be – the way they ought to be, if you are so inclined to believe in such a thing. Reality is but one decision away from change, which makes it such a precarious balance. One little nudge and things can go teetering away in a completely different direction.” As if to prove his point, his knee gave and he wobbled, catching himself on the table. He walked himself back to his own chair, lowering himself with a snag of breath.

  Rook dropped herself back into her own seat, resting her chin on both hands. “Must you always be speaking in your riddles?”

  “I wasn’t aware that I was.”

  “Sandson.”

  “You should hold onto the book at any rate. Perhaps you will find some meaning from it on your journey.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Who says I’m journeying anywhere?”

  “Ah,” he said, trying to lean back in a casual way, “are you going to hide out here for the rest of your days? I think not. Especially not as the city continues to fall apart and our ghostly friend continues to unhinge our world from the natural laws of our reality.”

  “The soldier, you mean? Ziko?”

  Skandar nodded. “I imagine it won’t be long before the military find us here, too. I believe they seek out Vallnor Siklo. He is too much of a threat to their hold upon these islands.”

  “His name is –”

  “Did you know about this?”

  Slamming the door open was Viktor himself, jaw clenched tight and a fire burning in his eyes. Mercifully it was not of the unnatural variant. He paced into the room like a lion trapped within a cage, picturing the way it might devour its onlookers should they wander too close. “You must have known,” he said, hazel eyes branded upon him as he wafted a letter in the air.

  “What’s wrong?” said Rook. “Viktor? What happened?”

  “My sister has been captured by those bastards. She’s in their clutches because I abandoned her and now they won’t let her go until I turn myself in.”

  Skandar drummed his fingers upon the table. He had told that foolish boy to bring him the news first for this exact reason. Not that he had a wealth of messengers at his disposal right now, and far less he could trust to keep his whereabouts secret. But with them like sitting ducks in an enclosed space, it would do no good to set off a temperamental prince and alert their foes to their hiding place.

  “You don’t look surprised.” Two pairs of eyes stared him down.

  “I am not. This was always a possibility.”

  Viktor looked like he might explode. Rook’s hand rested on his arm, enough to temper some of his anger. “Did you want this to happen? It’s better for you, isn’t it? Getting us out of the way.”

  “Yes.”

  Rook looked at him, shaking her head. Viktor trembled within her grasp, both her hands clutching onto his arms now.

  “You must understand, I have always held this city’s interests in my heart so do not misunderstand my words for cruelty. Neither you nor your sister have been raised for leadership. I do not believe either of you understand what it means to be the kind of leader this island needs. Tsellyr is the heart of Rillasok. It is the very heart of the Myrliks in their entirety. What happens here ripples through to the rest of the islands. I cannot reasonably say that either of you know how to handle this task.”

  “And you would obviously be the perfect candidate, wouldn’t you?”

  Sandson smiled. “The will of the people is a little more legitimate than the memories of a prince long dead and some strange coloured fire.”

  Said fire flared around Viktor at his words, eerily silent as the green flames radiated from every part of his body, shoulders set in an angry line and jaw flickering with the tension of clenching it. He was still just a boy, not yet a man grown, and he still had so much to learn. Controlling his emotions, for one. Any enemy of his would prey on that temper chaining him down, an anchor dragging across the sand.

  “What do you know? What do you understand of anything? You haven’t experienced what I do! You don’t know what it’s like to have this voice in your head!”

  “Viktor,” murmured Rook, wrapping her hand around his, “sit down. Take a deep breath for me.” For a brief moment her eyes flared silver, wisps of smoke curling away from her. Then Skandar blinked and the sight was gone, as if he had imagined it all along.

  “And you,” she said, eyes swivelling to him, “stop stirring. The only way we right any of this is if we all work together.”

  Viktor snorted but he folded himself into a seat, arms crossed over his chest. There was a weariness about the movements, a sluggishness to his posture and a looming shadow beneath his eyes, like he had not slept well.

  “I apologise, Rook-wei.”

  “Hang your formalities, Sandson. Now isn’t the time.”

  “I was not under the impression we were friends.”

  She rubbed at her temples, sighing. “With that attitude we certainly won’t be.”

  He flicked through his pages once more, just to give the two of them some illusion of space. In his head a plan was percolating, bits and pieces of different theorised scenarios coalescing into the reality he now found himself. There were ways this situation could be salvaged, if not peacefully, then at least with minimal bloodshed. The less his city and his island had to bleed, the better.

  “You wish to know what to do now.”

  Rook eyed him warily.

  “Please, enlighten us,” said Viktor dryly, hands stretched out before him.

  “It depends on how much of a leader you really want to be, Viktor-wei. It depends on how far you are willing to go to save both your sister and your, hm, people, if you wish to think of them that way.”

  “Out with it,” he growled. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”

  “There was a way in which peace used to be brokered between royal families. An alliance, although perh
aps not the kind you’re thinking of. Your family once engaged in many, Viktor-wei.”

  “Sandson,” said Rook.

  “There is always the possibility that you could offer yourself up in marriage.”

  The chair screeched against the tiled floor as Viktor shot to his feet. “Why in the Locker would I go and do a thing like that?”

  “It shows commitment to peace. Personal sacrifice. A contingency that you will not attack a family that has essentially become yours. Do you know why they tie the pinky fingers in ceremonies?”

  Skandar was honestly surprised Viktor had not lunged for him yet but the boy seemed to sense his position standing between himself and Rook and flung himself back into his chair with a thunderous scowl poisoning his features. More and more he looked a petulant child finally realising that playtime was over. The luxuries of playing king came with such grandeur in the beginning, Skandar imagined, but the graft of leadership was a thankless task that required a genuine commitment.

  “It was supposed to show that people would willingly bind their fates together. My fate is yours and yours is mine, so to speak. It would be a sign that you would not pose a significant threat and would quell the tide of anti-establishment movements popping up around the city and beyond.”

  “Perhaps these movements have sprung up for a reason,” said Rook. “Why are you so willing to prop up the Sonlin Empire?”

  Skandar considered, scanning her face. She appeared to speak, not out of particular resentment, but rather a wary sort of curiosity. Her gaze remained on his despite the way Viktor continued to twitch in his seat, expression bitter as if he had just swallowed a lemon.

  “Change does not happen over night, Rook-wei. I care about stability first and foremost. There has been enough bloodshed in our history. Let change be timeous and let it be decisive. I think you understand the need for balance in these turbulent times, do you not?”

  “Sometimes it is better to fight, even if it might be hopeless.”

  “Perhaps.” He pushed up, grasping the carved wood of his new cane and hobbled to the small porthole out to the garden, light spilling across the worn table between them. “But perhaps this is its own fight. You might be able to change more from within than you will from outwith. A point to consider.”