A shadow fell upon the railing next to her and she glanced over her shoulder to see Janus approach. The way her body stiffened was instinct and she forced a smile past her lips, turning back to see the black cliffs slope down into a wide bay, dots of ships glinting in the light. As much as she did not trust him, she knew they would have to rely on him if they were to work out the secrets to Viktor’s powers. To the mayor’s involvement and why he had hired this strange man to hunt him down.
“When we arrive,” she murmured, “what will you do?”
For a long time he said nothing, a mere shadow in the periphery of her vision. His coat flapped on the ocean breeze, streaked and stained with dust and dirt. A rip slashed the arm he had injured back at the rift. He hadn’t bothered to replace the coat it seemed.
“What do you want me to do?”
She turned, arching a brow. “I’d like you to take me to Lord Sandson. I’d quite like to speak with him.”
His lips twitched. “Mm. No doubt.”
“Can you grant me an audience or not?”
Janus tilted his head in a gesture that resembled a nod. In the bright light of day his complexion looked unhealthy, dark circles plaguing his eyes. Had he slept? She couldn’t remember if, in the few hours she had crashed in one of the cots, she had seen him enter the cabin.
“If you try to run again...”
“Yes. There’s a line of those who wish to make threats, I believe.”
She studied his face again and shook her head when she found it blank. She could never tell whether he was being serious or not and it perturbed her.
“Look at that!” cried a voice and then before she knew it Rook had bowled into the railing on her other side. “It’s huge! Much bigger than in the pictures.”
Some of the woman’s usual exuberance appeared to have returned with some rest and honest work. Her face was flushed with colour, eyes sparkling as they raked over the expanding city, the ship chugging over blue waves towards the gaping maw of the harbour, opening up for ships of all sizes. At the arms of each cliff edge were four statues – two on each side. They depicted the dragon, the phoenix, the tiger and the serpent; each mystical creatures of legend. Poised mid-motion, they were the gatekeepers to this ancient city, watching over the ships as they passed through.
The boat bobbed between much larger ships, some the vast, hulking ironclads of the Sonlin Empire, waving their striped violet and indigo flags with pride. The shadows thrown by one great beast called The Sea Goblin in Sonlin blocked out the sun, throwing wide an impressive shadow. Each of them fell silent at the sight, as if remembering the way one of its ilk had gone up in flames, utterly destroyed by Viktor’s hand. Seeing it up close was a completely different feel. It was only under its mighty girth that Kilai was able to appreciate the sheer magnitude of Viktor’s power, so easily felling it with his flame. It felt like her voice had been stolen from her.
“Should we be worried?” Rook directed the question at Janus, long after the ship had passed them by.
“No. Don’t think they know who to look for. Unless Viktor –”
“Unless Viktor what?”
All three of them whipped around to see Viktor standing on the edge of the quarterdeck, his dark brown hair mussed from sleep. His skin still bore a pasty undertone, as if he still felt worn out even after such a lengthy sleep. Dark eyes fixed on each of them in turn and it was clear that whatever sleep haze had been over him had instantly cleared at the sound of his name.
Kilai glanced at Janus and Rook before looking back to Viktor. “We are concerned for our safety if you should expose your abilities to the Sonlin forces in the city,” she said, bracing herself for the inevitable storm. Sure enough, Viktor scowled, brows furrowing together.
“I’m not that stupid. You don’t seriously think I’m that stupid, do you?”
“Viktor,” she said, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, “you aren’t in control when you’re emotional. It’s not about your intentions, it’s about what you don’t intend.”
“I’m not – I didn’t –” he scrubbed at his face, expression frustrated. “Are you afraid of me, now?”
“No,” said Rook, stepping forward. “Viktor, we just want to help you. We’re going to get help. We’ll visit the Order of the Riftkeepers. There will be someone there who will be able to help you work out what it is that is going on with you.”
“It might not be wise to reveal everything just yet,” said Janus.
Kilai frowned. “What do you know?”
He shook his head. “Not here. When we reach land and somewhere ears cannot listen in.” He flicked his eyes in the direction of Makku, hovering close enough to be able to listen if, he stepped any closer.
Viktor snorted and crossed his arms. “Why should we trust you?”
Janus looked him straight in the eye, expression blank. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“All right, enough,” said Kilai, stepping between them before the tension could rise any further. “We still need to get past security at the harbour. Once we have found safe lodgings we will discuss our plan. Which,” she added, looking Janus in the eye, “will involve talking to Sandson.”
Viktor nodded with a grunt of agreement. “I’d like to talk to this guy. See what he has to say.”
“I was thinking perhaps I should do the talking,” said Kilai.
“And I’ll just wait behind because what? I’m too dangerous? I might explode?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Yes, you are.” She watched him recoil and guilt rippled through her but she quashed the feeling down. Some things had to be said and if that made her the monster, so be it. “It’s imperative we keep a low profile. That means no green fire. Okay?”
Viktor scrunched up his face, looking very much like this idea was not okay. She wanted to scream at his petulance. She forgot sometimes, just how young he was. Maybe still in his teens if she had to guess. A little immaturity was to be expected, if not desired.
“Gather up,” called out the captain as she climbed onto the deck. “We’re about to dock. Prepare yourselves for inspection. Every time I pass through this way security gets tighter. Don’t give them any reason to pull me up.” She punctuated this by flicking her eyes over the four of them.
The rising temperature simmered as they pulled into the berth, one of many making up the complex network in the harbour. Sprawling out in front of them was the city itself, a decadent chain of buildings in brilliant alabaster white veined with black onyx. They shone bright enough to blind in the warm sunshine, cobalt blue tiled domes sparkling on top. Even though she had visited the city before to accompany her father on important business trips, there was such grandeur to the city that it stole her attention completely, the situation momentarily forgotten. All around her the crew were carrying crates of fish and shrimp for the market but she could only stare her fill, taken with the wonder of Tsellyr.
“Welcome to the Cobalt City,” said the captain drily as she gestured for them to move. Kilai snapped back to attention, cajoling her gaping party towards the gangway.
“Eyes up, take a crate, and look busy,” Kilai commanded. “Remember, you’re just an ordinary part of the crew.”
The captain had already stridden down to the berth where she was greeted by two bluecoats. Kilai watched her hand over some papers as she bent to pick up a crate. Heavier than she had expected, she stumbled and nearly dropped it, scrambling to heave it into her arms. Behind her Makku snickered and she narrowed her eyes at him. She eyed Rook enviously as she stalked past her with two crates, one stacked atop the other.
As she wobbled down the gangway with her box, the stench of fish plaguing the air, her breath caught when she met the eyes of one of the soldiers and he paused to assess her. Keeping her head high, she focused on a point ahead of her – the flapping sails of a nearby boat – and tried not to look too stiff as she stalked past him. Her heart pounded in her chest but he did not stop her. Once she was by, she paused to make s
ure that Viktor made it through without incident.
Viktor looked too out of it, his own crate nearly slipping from his grasp. His gait swayed like that of a drunkard and she winced, hoping he would merely come across as yet another rum addicted sailor. Of course, they had no such luck. The sharp eyed soldier that was not preoccupied with the captain stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. She could see the movement in Viktor’s throat as he swallowed and she wanted to curse him. She had already taken the first few steps back towards them when Janus stepped behind him and spoke to the man, handing over a piece of paper that could only be the document signed by Sandson.
Whatever it was that was said to the soldier made him raise his eyebrows in surprise and he seemed to take his time scanning the paper. With baited breath she watched him glance between them before he finally thrust the paper back towards Janus and ushered them on. Kilai expelled all her breath at once, relief washing over her.
“Let’s get out of here before they change their minds.”
Janus nodded, ushering Viktor along with a hand at his back despite the scowl on his face threatening fire. “Know a few places. Should be easier to find lodgings now that the high season is winding down.”
“Good. Lead the way, then.”
It seemed her momentary respite at sea was over.
*
“I think he’s waking.”
Seeker blinked groggily, head heavy and bones sore. There was a shrill ringing in his ears and it took him a while to realise that it was Niks screeching in his ear. Jerking awake, a blanket that had been draped over him fell to his waist. The room spun. Seasick with the emotions, he nearly tumbled from the small cot he had been placed in sometime in the period he had been knocked unconscious. His body felt so weak he could hardly move, everything requiring so much effort that it hardly seemed worth trying.
Open your eyes!
Seeker’s eyes were open but he didn’t know what he was supposed to be seeing. Rustling behind his head alerted him to the presence of the two rift wardens, murmuring softly between one another. The tingle of riftspawn signatures hummed against his skin. It made him sag with relief to know he had been successful – he had opened the rift.
Niks hissed at him, warning him not to get complacent. Something was happening that had her rattled but Seeker was just too exhausted to work up the concern. He had split open the sky, cleaved the barrier between realms, summoned the storm to his heel, and after all that it was difficult to feel truly afraid. But beneath the haze of fatigue thrummed a dull note of alarm.
“Are you ready?” asked the woman.
He heard a sharp intake of breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can. Just take your time. Do what we practised.”
“But that was never on an actual human!”
Seeker, whose eyes had fluttered shut without him realising, startled into full consciousness at that. Just what were they going to do to him? Twisting around, he blinked at two fuzzy faces. Without their hoods he could make out a shorter woman and a tall man – more of a youth, from the sound of his voice – neither of whom seemed to be paying him any real attention.
In his haste to scramble from the cot with his weak limbs, Seeker tumbled off the edge and thudded to the floor. With the air squeezed from his lungs, he gasped and clawed the ground to right himself on his hands and knees, suddenly prostrated before the rift wardens, so pitifully pathetic. Niks was angry at his weakness but their connection had frayed out when he had channelled the storm and would need time to heal, her emotions muffled and watery in the swamp of his thoughts.
“You won’t be going anywhere,” said the woman, firm hands seizing his shirt and hauling him back onto the cot. Seeker groaned in protest, stomach lurching.
“Are you ready now?”
“I can try.”
“No trying. Tell me, Samker, can you do this?”
The boy gulped and then said, “Yes. I can do it.”
The next thing Seeker knew the woman was pinning him down so that all he could do was wriggle in her hold as a shadow fell across his face. The boy loomed over him, blocking the light streaming in from the window. Cool hands wrapped around his skull, fingers sweeping over his forehead. The fear spiked in him now and he instinctively reached out to Niks, begging her to lend him strength. But the spent connection simply bounced back at him, leaving him empty. Weak. Defenceless.
“This won’t hurt,” the boy murmured. “I promise.”
The words only made the fear more tangible, his mouth drying up. The boy’s hands swept back his hair, fingers pressing gently into his temples, and Seeker squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the storm. Of how it felt running through his veins. Reaching out for the rift, he tried to grab some of its energy, fingertips sparking with a faint hum of energy, but just as soon as he felt a grasp on the force it drained out of him completely. It was like having a bucket of ice cold water thrown over him, suddenly numb to the shifting currents of energy at the shock.
Then it hit him. He could no longer feel Niks, her voice conspicuously silent.
“Stop it! What are you doing?”
“Shh,” said the boy, rubbing circles into his skin. “This will help you.”
There was a crackling, buzzing hum rising in volume in his skull, like thousands of cicadas in the high season competing with one another to be heard over the din. It felt like the noise was ripping a hole through his very core, sawing into him and churning his insides around. Eyes snapping open, a choked scream spilled from his lips as he found himself staring into the slitted eyes of a riftspawn. Gold and horned, it hovered above the boy with the blue eyes, unblinking in a way that made Seeker’s eyes water.
“Stop!” he wailed. Stop, stop, stop.
Something was rearranging inside of him, his senses stripped back layer by layer until he was completely dead to the world around him. His vision curled and peeled away into stars bursting in the darkness, the shrieking reaching a painful cacophony battering his eardrums, no feeling at his fingers beyond the knowledge of pain everywhere, and the singed smell of burning inside his nostrils. Seeker screamed, or at least he tried to scream, but it was as if his mind was no longer connected to his body.
“Is that supposed to happen?” a voice said from far away.
“… need to finish before…”
Drifting in and out of consciousness with the ebb and flow of pain, Seeker trembled upon the cot, grounded only by the pads of fingers against his skin. In a slow, laborious crawl, the pain eventually receded, the buzzing noise fading into a faint crackle in his ears. He still couldn’t move, limbs unresponsive to his thoughts, but he regained some sense of being. Some concept of who he was and where he lay. Yet there was no deeper feeling. The intricate streams of the rift, the flowing currents; nothing remained. All crumbled to ash and dust.
“Please,” he whispered, hand reaching out to swipe at air. Gold was wrong. It should have been red. Brilliant, blood red eyes burning into his. “Please.”
The hands disappeared and the tension he didn’t know had been locking up his body released, leaving him strangely boneless, his hand crashing back to his side. His vision flickered in and out, everything as hazy and surreal as a fever dream. Perhaps that was all it was. The rift had weakened him so much that he was delirious, overcome by visions. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
“It is done.”
“The connection has been severed?”
“You can feel it, can’t you?”
No, he wanted to protest. I can’t.
This time Seeker was truly blind. Niks had been ripped from him, the bond snapped apart, and now he couldn’t feel a thing. Whatever these wardens had done, they had killed him. His senses no longer worked; the world beyond closed to him once more. Like a door slamming shut on his fate, Seeker found himself entombed, cut off and entrapped. The currents of the rift were gone and he was alone. Completely, utterly, entirely alone.
One last
time Seeker tried to summon the storm and found that he could not. He, the last Storm Lord, had lost his call upon the storm.
*
The candles flickered as Janus swept past them, through the semi-circle of benches to the altar at the front of the church. A man was lighting the wicks in seven large glass jars of different colours, spaced equidistant on a long teak table. His grey head was bowed to his task; something so soothing about the ritual that Janus was reluctant to disturb, waiting until the Guide murmured a last prayer. Janus realised that when he stopped after four jars it must be Foursday. It had been a while since he’d last stepped foot in this church and without the ritual he had lost track of time.
“Are you going to continue lurking or will you help me sweep the floor?”
“You honour me with such a noble task.”
Guide Moran handed him the broom and gestured to the long stretch of stone floor between the benches.
Janus began to sweep, the quiet a conduit to easing his mind and he quickly found himself lost in the motion. In his native tongue they called it motion-peace. The art of losing oneself in a repetitive task. It was as close to prayer as he was inclined to get but that didn’t make it any less of a salvation for him on the dark nights when his skin itched and he needed something to do. It was, he thought, probably why he continued to smoke long after his military days. Gave his hands something to occupy themselves with.
Task completed, he set the broom aside and sat himself on the front bench. “Are the candles necessary or do you just enjoy the ambience?”
“If you had read the holy book you would know they symbolise the struggle of the purification process as we work towards the rebirth of our souls,” said Moran, moving to sit beside him. “We need more light as we progress towards the Unholy Day, when Var Kunir’s tides are at his strongest.” The shifting flames filled and lengthened the lines on his weathered face.
The Reaping Season Page 11