Rift

by Andrea Cremer

  “Where are we going?” Eira asked.

  “A place familiar to you,” Bosque said. In a single, smooth motion he was astride the shadow horse.

  Eira glanced into the mist. Somewhere behind this gray veil, Geal was tethered. She considered the weight of the dagger in her hand. With one blow she could dispatch this man called Bosque, ridding the world of whatever threat he might pose. But he’d yet to show any intent to harm her. Through some unknown magic he’d healed her wound.

  “Very well.” She went to find her mare.

  Bosque’s voice trailed after her. “You’ll need to calm your steed. It will likely find both me and my horse . . . unsettling.”

  Eira had already anticipated such a reaction from Geal, but the horse had an obedient disposition, and while the mare balked as the tall rider and his dark mount emerged from the mist, she didn’t offer unmanageable resistance. As long as Eira permitted Geal a wide berth from Bosque’s shadow horse, the mare heeded her commands.

  Bosque led the way, guiding his horse even deeper into the mist along the ridge of the hilltop.

  “You speak of your lands.” Eira spoke carefully. “Where are they?”

  “My world lies behind the shadows of yours,” he said. “Separate, yet tied to it.”

  “How is such a thing possible?” she asked.

  He reined his horse closer to hers, which made Geal snort nervously.

  “There are many worlds, many lands,” he told her. “Some call to one another. Such is the case with my world and yours.”

  Eira frowned. “Call to one another?”

  “When the needs of one world could be met by another, the two are drawn together.” His voice was reverent. “Like attracts like.”

  The mist swirled around them, giving birth to haunting shapes that Eira tried hard to ignore.

  “My home is sundered by war and death, much like this world is,” Bosque continued. “I am but one of many who long for order over the ruling chaos.” He turned in his saddle to look directly at her. “I am like you. Alone and in need of allies.”

  Though her heart stuttered out of its rhythm, Eira feigned scorn. “You’ll understand my doubt of this claim. The man who sent me to you. Your servant. It was his forays into the occult that allowed striga to plague the Black Forest. Those creatures feed on innocents. On children.”

  Bosque watched her, giving no indication of surprise.

  Eira pulled her eyes from him. “I have sworn to rid this earth of such monsters. You and I are not alike.”

  She was surprised when he laughed. “Oh, we are, Eira. You simply misunderstand me and the creatures I command.”

  When she didn’t answer him, he said, “The monsters you seek out and kill to protect your people are sent here only by necessity.”

  “And what necessity is that?” Eira glared at him.

  “You are a warrior and a commander of warriors,” he answered. “As am I. The creatures you hunt are my soldiers.”

  “Then why are they here?” she asked. “Is not the war in your own world, or has it spilled into mine?”

  Bosque shook his head. “You’re right to question me. The war is being waged in my own lands, but the spaces by which I can bring my warriors into this world give me an advantage against my enemies.”

  She cast a sidelong glance at him. “How so?”

  “The creatures of my world take their sustenance from things other than flesh,” he said.

  “The striga feed on flesh,” she countered.

  Bosque offered her an indulgent smile. “Human flesh is only a small part of what striga need to survive. It is their victims’ terror upon which they truly feed.”

  “Fear?” Eira’s chest tightened.

  “Hence the reason they prefer to hunt children,” he told her. “Their fear is much stronger, purer. The fear of a grown man or woman is tainted by their mind’s attempts to rationalize the attack.”

  She bristled at the casual way in which he discussed the murder of children.

  “But striga are among the basest creatures I can command.” Bosque shifted in his saddle. “For this same reason they are more easily summoned by your feeble magicians, as are the spirits that revive corpses or the mischievous imps that gain strength from cruel tricks. They enter your world by my leave, and by my leave they serve men here.”

  “Are you saying that the only reason these monsters cross over to our world is because they prefer the food here?” She wanted to gag. For the entire mission of Conatus to be reduced to a matter of predators and prey seemed like sacrilege.

  “Perhaps it’s too much of a simplification,” Bosque said. “But in some ways, yes.”

  “Is that what happened to the people of Dorusduain?” Eira asked. “Has an entire village filled the bellies of your beasts?”

  Bosque smiled slowly. “No. Dorusduain is a lesson . . . and an unfinished one at that.”

  “I tire of your riddles.” Filled with disgust, Eira reined in her mare. “We have nothing more to discuss. How dare you insult me by rendering the world I’ve sworn to protect into cattle for your wolves to slaughter!”

  He pulled up his mount. “Please, Eira. You misunderstand me. I only offer this poor explanation in order to reveal to you how it might end.”

  Her resolve to quit this meeting slackened. “End?”

  “You and I contend with each other when we would do better to unite our efforts,” he told her. “The truth is we want the same thing.”

  “And what is that?” Eira asked.

  “To win our wars.”

  “My war seeks the destruction of your minions,” she countered.

  “Does it?” He smiled. “Or is there another war better suited to your nature?”

  Bosque waved his hand and the mist parted. She couldn’t help but gasp at the impossible sight before her. No longer riding on the ridge in the hills above Tearmunn, she saw the last curls of mist floating above a sun-drenched field. Peasants were at work in the soil, preparing for the spring planting. Their horses stood on a wide path that curved up to an imposing manor.

  Eira gripped the reins, trying to calm herself. A ride that should have taken all day had somehow passed in less than an hour.

  “I apologize if I’ve shocked your senses,” Bosque said. “I merely wanted to save us the trouble of a long journey.”

  “You travel through the threads of the earth?” Eira asked slowly. “As we do?” She hadn’t seen the shimmering light of a woven portal, but perhaps its presence had been shrouded in the heavy mist.

  “No,” Bosque answered. “I cannot open such doors. But there are other doors available to me. Sadly, my talent for travel is limited. I can only pass through them with the one who has called me here, as my presence here is tethered to that person. Conatus has the power to move armies at a moment’s notice. An enviable skill indeed.”

  She didn’t answer, unsure if she was more unsettled by the incredible power he’d just demonstrated, his observations about Conatus, or where he’d taken them.

  “What are we doing here?” Sensing her rider’s anxiety, Geal tossed her head. Eira was relieved to turn her attention to controlling the horse. Handling a restless mount was much preferable to considering the consequences of being in this place in the company of the mysterious Bosque Mar.

  “Have I brought you here in error?” he asked, smiling. “Is this not the home of your enemy?”

  Having gotten control of her mare, Eira nodded. Then she turned to look again upon Abbot Crichton’s estate.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “WOULD YOU LIKE to admire the manor for much longer?” Bosque asked Eira with the trace of a smile.

  The look she threw at him was sour. “You speak to me as though you’ve offered a satisfying explanation of why you’ve brought me here.”

  Bosque laughed. “Why I’ve brought you here must be shown, not explained. Shall we pay our respects to the abbot?”

  He urged his mount into a trot, leaving Eira’s mare to follo
w a short distance behind. As they approached the ornately carved doors of the abbot’s house, suspicion crept into her mind. What if all of this—from the prisoner to the strange appearance of Bosque on the hillside—were some elaborate plot orchestrated by the abbot himself? What if he sought a way to accuse her of treachery?

  Eira shook off her doubts. Though he benefitted from overseeing Tearmunn, the abbot kept his involvement with their work minimal. He cared not for the arcane knowledge housed in their libraries or the magic wielded by their clerics. Sometimes she wondered if the abbot even believed that the evils Conatus faced were real. She also doubted he was imaginative enough to create such an intricate trap.

  When they reined in their horses near the manor, servants hurried to meet them. Bosque murmured softly to his mount. The shadow horse shifted its weight and seemed to gain more substance. The movement beneath its glossy coat became less pronounced. The strange green light in its eyes dimmed.

  One of the servants took their horses to be watered and fed at the abbot’s stables, which Eira had heard he’d filled with fine steeds from the far reaches of the earth—not to put to use, but simply to admire. The other servant led them into the house.

  They were taken to the abbot’s study. He sat at a wide table of polished ebony.

  “Eira!” The abbot set down his quill. “What a pleasant surprise. I was just finishing up my correspondence with Rome.”

  Eira offered him a thin smile. “I hope you have good tidings to share.”

  “Tidings fair enough for now.” Greed filled his eyes. “I was pleased with my agreeable parting from Tearmunn. I assume you’ve come here to ensure our good relations continue.”

  She didn’t answer, glancing at Bosque. Why were they here?

  The abbot rose and came around the table to face them. His eyes narrowed as he looked over Eira’s companion. Bosque returned the abbot’s gaze steadily. He stood a full two heads taller than the squat clergyman.

  “And who is your companion?” Abbot Crichton frowned. “A guest from one of Conatus’s outposts abroad? An emissary from the Holy Land?”

  “I’ve traveled far greater distance than that to be here,” Bosque murmured.

  Abbot Crichton’s mouth turned down sourly, but he lifted his hand. “I am the abbot of Tearmunn. Tell me of your origins and perhaps I will grant you the Church’s blessing. You’ll find it worthwhile to be in my favor.”

  Bosque eyed the abbot’s proferred hand with disgust. “I need not your blessing.”

  The abbot stared at Bosque. His cheeks purpled and he spluttered. “What blasphemy is this? Do you know whom you address?”

  “I do.” Bosque smiled. “And I am here to make an offer.”

  “What dealings would I have with the likes of you?” Abbot Crichton spat. “You have no authority over me.”

  Eira watched the exchange with increasing fascination. The satisfaction of seeing Bosque insult the abbot made her toes curl inside her boots.

  “It is not your place to say if you will or will not deal with me,” Bosque answered. “You have caused my friend great pain.”

  “Your friend?”

  Bosque gestured to Eira. “She makes great sacrifices to protect her world, and yet you dishonor her and her order.”

  “How dare you!” The abbot’s eyes bulged. “I’ll see you rot in my dungeon for your insolence.”

  “My lady.” Bosque looked at Eira, ignoring the abbot’s strangled protests. “May I show why I led you to this place, and to this man?”

  With a shiver of anticipation, Eira nodded.

  Bosque smiled and returned his attention to the fuming abbot. “I offer you this choice. Submit to Eira’s will and plague her no longer with your petty quests for wealth and power. You are not worthy of her time or worry.”

  “Submit?” Spittle collected in the corners of the abbot’s mouth. “Tearmunn and all within it defer to me.”

  “That may have been true,” Bosque answered. “But it shall be so no longer.”

  Though he glared at Bosque, the abbot wasn’t foolish enough to advance on a man who projected such pure physical power. Instead he lunged at Eira.

  All Bosque did was wave his hand. The abbot flew back, toppling head over heels across the table and onto the floor.

  “You would be wise to heed my warnings,” Bosque murmured as the abbot struggled to his feet. His red-faced fury had whitened into shock.

  “Who are you?” Abbot Crichton’s voice trembled.

  “The one who will change all things.” Bosque lifted his hand, tracing a shape in the air. The path his fingers drew filled with flames in their wake, suspended in the air, blazing but giving off no smoke.

  The abbot gave a strangled cry and made the sign of the cross. Eira took several steps back, but was more fascinated than frightened.

  The flaming symbol hung before Bosque. It shuddered and pulsed and then burst outward. Where the fiery shape had been something new, something dark and strange loomed. Its substance moved constantly, not unlike the strange appearance of Bosque’s horse. But this thing was no horse. It billowed like a plume of smoke and gave off the scent of burning hair and flesh. Eira swallowed hard so she wouldn’t choke on the stench.

  “Behold.” Bosque smiled at Eira. “A soldier of my army.”

  “What is it?” Eira whispered.

  “A wraith,” he told her. “Capable of wonders you have never witnessed.”

  He pointed to Abbot Crichton and the wraith slithered toward the quivering man.

  He shrieked, flailing his arms as the creature’s shadow form poured over him. His fearful cries became screams of pain as the wraith snaked around him. The abbot writhed and screamed.

  Eira knew she should be horrified, but watching the pompous man’s torment sent a thrill up her spine.

  The abbot’s cries drew alarmed servants to the study. Seeing their master twisting on the floor, assailed by some dark force, they called for his guards. Bosque winked at Eira and summoned three more wraiths, which met the guards who stormed into the room. Their swords passed through the wraiths like sticks through water. Within seconds the guards, like the abbot, were on the floor screaming as the wraiths consumed them.

  “Can the wraiths be killed?” Eira whispered.

  “Not by any weapons known to you,” Bosque told her.

  Eira faced him, frowning. “If you have such soldiers, why do you seek my aid?” She shivered, gesturing to the helpless guards. “It would appear you are invincible.”

  “My power is limited here,” Bosque said. “I can only give as much as is asked of me. I came at the beckoning of your blood. I remain only at your will.”

  “At my will?” Eira gazed at him, reveling in the promise of power held by his words.

  “As I’ve said,” Bosque said softly. His hand came up to touch her cheek. “You and I are the same. Let us help each other. This is merely a demonstration. Every nightmare you and your order have fought, every single one enters this world at my bidding. Imagine if they were here to do your bidding in my stead.”

  The abbot’s screams became desperate moans. She pulled her eyes away from Bosque’s penetrating gaze. His eyes were silver, full of a brightness that promised endless possibility.

  “Eira, please,” Abbot Crichton called to her. “Have mercy!”

  Eira regarded the squirming abbot calmly. As he crawled toward her with the wraith still wrapped around him, her nose wrinkled, reacting not only to the shadow creature’s scent but also repelled by the pungent odor of the abbot having soiled himself.

  “Help me,” Abbot Crichton sobbed. “I submit to you. I submit.”

  Behind Eira, the guards were still screaming. “You submit . . . to me?”

  “Yes!” The abbot clawed futilely at the shadow tendrils that snaked around his limbs.

  “Enough?” Bosque cast a sidelong glance at her.

  Eira paused, watching as the abbot stretched pleading hands toward her. He thrashed on the floor, his agony te
rrible. And beautiful. Something new and alive with pleasure raced through Eira’s veins.

  “Not yet,” she whispered.

  The abbot shrieked again and Eira began to smile.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE WATERS WERE so dark that Ember didn’t know if she was swimming to the surface or if she was struggling ever downward, sealing her own doom. She kicked hard, hoping that her efforts would win her light and air. The cold, watery prison clung to her, trying to hold her back. With all the strength she could muster, Ember pushed herself up, up, up.

  She was gasping when her eyes opened. Squinting against the sudden light, she tried to sit up but groaned when pain shot through her shoulders and back.

  “You’re awake!” A woman in gray robes rushed to the bed where Ember lay. She put her hand on Ember’s forehead. “And the fever is gone. It must have broken in the night.”

  “Where am I?” Ember asked. The room was small and well lit, but it wasn’t her cell. Morning light streamed in through tall windows, washing dull stone walls in a buttery hue.

  “The manor,” the woman told her. “You’ve been battling an infection for the past two days. We were quite worried, but you pulled through. Your constitution is enviable—many people wouldn’t have overcome the fever you were stricken with.”

  Ember’s vision slowly adjusted to the sunlight. She glanced around the room.

  Misunderstanding her searching gaze, the nurse said, “Don’t worry, my lady, you haven’t been neglected. I’ve been stretching your arms to keep you from losing a full range of movement. You’ll soon need to use your weapons again, lest you lose all the strength you’d gained.”

  Ember began to thank the nurse, but the woman went on. “And he’s watched over you day and night. In fact, I was surprised to find you alone when I arrived this morning.”

  “Who, Alistair?” Ember asked. It was a thoughtful enough gesture for him to stay with her through her illness, if a bit possessive.

  The healer shook her head. “No, no. I meant Lord Hess. Of course, Lord Hart has visited you too, but it’s Lord Hess who’s most often here.”