Jumping backwards, he tripped over his own foot and crashed to the ground with a thud, pain shuddering up his spine. Using his feet to propel himself back, he scrambled away from that strange, penetrating gaze. This close it felt like the same kind of energy as that of the rift, only wrong, like it had soured and gone off. The sound resonated as a cacophony in his ears, distracting him as it suddenly lunged forwards, jaws swinging open to swallow him down.
With a yelp he attempted to pull himself out of the way but he wasn’t fast enough. When the jaws closed around him he felt teeth dig into him – but it wasn’t like real teeth digging into flesh – it was the raw force of the spirit tearing into his very bearing. Agony flooded him. All he could feel was blistering white hot pain. A terrible shriek escaped him as he sagged, feeling energy seeping from him in waves.
“Viktor!”
He heard his voice through the haze and it triggered another vision. Another memory, he realised. They were all memories. “Vallnor!” cried the woman with the green eyes, blood pouring from a wound in her abdomen. Viktor could feel her pain; feel the hot blood seeping from between her fingers as she coughed. Red trickled past her lips. “It’s too late.” Her hand clutched his, feeble and clammy. “To the next time.”
Sorrow and anguish collided in his heart as he held her limp body. “It’s never over,” he had said. “Not for us.”
Suddenly the pain was gone, replaced by the burning fire inside of him. He could smell charcoal and brimstone, the noxious, pungent stench of smoke all around him. His skin tingled with the feeling, chest bubbling as more and more energy surged through him. Exhausted, Viktor gave into it. He let it take him over until his whole being was alight. Green fire crackled in the corners of his vision. A relief. What had once been a torment to him was now a sweet, sweet relief.
“Viktor!”
His hand shot out, punching into the core of the riftspawn around him. He could feel its frustration. His connection had been hidden too far down; it hadn’t sensed his bond. Who he truly was. Rage, swelling up like a tidal wave about to hit the coast, tore a scream from his throat as he pushed all that burning fire into the riftspawn before him. The fire burned away the riftspawn’s force. He heard the creature screech and back away but he locked onto it with the focus of a hunter chasing its prey, unable to stop now that the anger was surging within him. All he knew was kill, kill, kill.
With a scream of frustration, he thrust his hands upwards into the head of the riftspawn and released a blast of pure, raw spiritual energy that purged the toxic aura within the beast. The more he felt it weaken, the stronger he grew, leeching off its energy to fuel him more and more. It felt euphoric, to have such staggering power at his fingertips. The grin came to him unbidden, an echo of a past self transgressing the boundary of his physical flesh. Was he still the young street urchin struggling on the streets of Nirket? Was he the young prince from centuries before, wielding such power crowds fells to their knees before him? Or had he surpassed humanity entirely, now nothing but the raw fire in his veins, the lifeblood of the pulsing rift on his consciousness, more like a god for all that he could rule the shifting currents of energy all around him.
One last yank of the thread connecting them saw the light of the riftspawn snuff out, the creature shattering in thousands of shards of sparkling light before dissipating into nothing. He sucked in the last morsels of energy with greed, relishing the zest of power on his tongue. Fire sparked through him, so delicious he found himself unable to stop. The rift leaped towards him with each breath it took, as if he were the magnetic pole it was drawn towards.
“Viktor! Viktor, can you hear me in there?”
He knew that it was his name. One of many names he had borne across many lifetimes. But it was hard to connect to that dead, lifeless world when all he could see was the colourful, shimmering threads of energy that connected life together, and the whispered memories of the building itself, flashing like ghosts of former occupants. The building itself had witnessed the rise and fall of the Order of the Riftkeepers, from a scrappy few men and woman protecting the world from the creatures of the otherworld, to the heyday of an organisation once celebrated by peers. It saw and it remembered.
When the woman appeared in front of him, waving frantically in his face, he saw the creature bonded to her, wings flaring out as it hissed at him, recoiling at the charcoal signature of the firebird. Pale eyes flashed and his grin deepened. Even the strongest riftspawn cowered in the face of his power.
“Viktor, listen to me! Listen to me!” Her voice, laced with the growl of The Rook, cut through the haze clouding his mind and he looked at her properly, drinking in familiar features contorted with worry.
“I’m here,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to fight the presence in his mind. When he opened them again the world was still off-kilter, everything was hazy and oversaturated with colour. Everything around him was connected and it was difficult not to get lost in that – in knowing how easy it would be for him to manipulate each thread and weave them into a tapestry of his own making. A large part of him longed to do just that but he knew it would only push him further off the edge. And as much as he enjoyed the power rush, losing control of himself was terrifying.
“I can hear you.”
Rook nodded, eyes scanning him over as she bit her lip. “We need to leave. If anyone sees you, then –”
“You’re him, aren’t you? The one they’ve all been looking for.”
Both he and Rook whipped around to look at the soldier at the end of the corridor, staring with wide eyes as he gripped the wall to keep himself steady. He took a step forward, hand reaching for the sword at his belt. “You’re the killer. Have you come here to finish the job?”
Viktor crossed his arms and scoffed. “I just saved your life, you filthy bilgewater rat.” How dare he accuse Viktor of anything? The coward had run from the first sign of danger.
A hand on his arm held him back, fingers icy cold against his skin. “You didn’t see anything,” she said, still holding the riftblades at her sides, wicked steel grinning as she twirled them in her hands. “We could have left you to perish.”
“Maybe you should have.” The man gave her weapons a cursory glance, crossing his good arm across his chest to prop up his injured one. “I certainly would have in your place.”
Rook made a noise in the back of her throat. “Then consider yourself lucky we are more merciful than you.”
“Mercy is for fools. Mistakes are made once only. Any repeat is on the judge for leniency.”
As they argued Viktor took a few careful steps backwards, hoping to use the distraction to slip away. Rook was fine; it was not her they sought to imprison and execute, but he would not fare so well. That, and he still felt dizzy and disorientated, colours and patterns bleeding into one another so that everything around him felt like too much, as if all his senses were malfunctioning at once. The beast within still thirsted to consume and pilot him as if he were nothing but a hapless marionette on its strings. Viktor needed to leave.
Rook made a flicking gesture with the hand behind her back and said, “Surely you do not never believe in second chances? Can there be no penitence for our sins? No redemption at all?”
“You may feel what sorrow you may but what’s done cannot be undone. There is no starting over for life. We are not walls to plaster over with some insipid design when you grow bored with the old one,” said the man, gesturing to the once opulent walls of the building.
“Perhaps we ought to have the choice to decide for ourselves which skin to wear, should we not feel comfort in the one we were born with.”
“You don’t get it, do you? We don’t have a choice.”
As Viktor stepped around the corner he saw them inching closer, both with fists clenched at their sides like they were barely restraining themselves from breaking into a fight. He breathed a sigh of relief once he could see the long stretch of corridor towards the door, the wooden floorboards striped with muted sunlig
ht from a hazy sky beyond. He started to jog towards the door, keeping his footsteps light so as not to be heard, when the door began to open. Frozen in panic, he scanned around him and then backed up into an alcove cut into the corridor. A plant dangled from the bannister above, leaves tickling his head as he attempted to peer out without being seen.
A file of soldiers poured in and marched towards him. They were going to see him no matter what he did. He might as well get himself a head start. Darting out from his hiding place, he heard yells from behind him as he skidded out into another room, this one a sitting room with some dusty couches in a circle, another bookshelf stacked against the far wall. More picture frames of stuffy old nobles hung from hideous wallpaper that would have probably fetched him a pretty penny had he the time to take them.
As it was he was bowling through the warren of rooms and hallways – it seemed that the Order had started their headquarters from the corner tenement and grown it out to stretch the expanse of the entire row. He used a table to swing himself quickly in another direction and scrambled up a staircase, looking for somewhere to hide or escape. Briefly he contemplated jumping out a window considering he could heal but immediately dismissed it. He did not have enough control over his abilities yet.
A cawing sound startled him and he spun in the room, looking for a bird. There was nothing. Rather the room was completely bare, the only sign the space had been used was the marks of discolouration around patches of more vibrant wood on the floor and walls. Once there had been something here, now it had been left to rot. But no bird.
It sounded again, closer this time, and he ran to the window, peering down into the square below. Upon the tree in the centre of the plaza rested a handful of small blackbirds but none of them made the kind of noise of this bird. It had been so loud it had almost felt like it was right beside his ear, sending shivers down his spine. If being chased set him on edge, the mysterious noise threatened to topple him over, body heating out of stress.
The sound of footsteps grew outside the room and he flinched. Without a discernable weapon in view, Viktor jumped to the door and hid behind it, waiting for whoever was chasing him down. As the thumping noises heightened he gripped the door handle just as the figure flew through. Already mid slam, he tried to pull himself back when he saw her but he couldn’t stop in time and shoved the door into her face.
Rook stumbled backwards, rubbing her nose. “Ow! What in the Locker was that for?”
“You could have warned me you were coming!”
“I did! Didn’t you hear the cry?”
“That was you? I thought I was going mad.”
A trickle of blood dripped from Rook’s nose and she glared at him in such a pathetic way that he couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from his chest. “I couldn’t actually shout out or I’d give away your location, you witless fool,” she sighed. “That really hurt.”
Viktor winced. It looked as if her eye was going to bruise, pale skin already turning faintly blue. “Maybe it’ll teach you not to sneak up on a guy.”
“The only thing it’s taught me is not to help anyone.” She moved to the window, glancing downwards and biting her lip. “There are soldiers guarding each of the exits. I’m not sure there’s a way out of this.”
He quirked a brow at her. “That doesn’t sound like you, Chana ‘I don’t believe in destiny because I make my own’”.
She shoved at him playfully, rolling her eyes. “I just got all these books, too,” she said, dropping her satchel with a thud and digging her fingers into her shoulder. “I hope that girl is going to be okay. I hope she got away before they came.”
He could see the bench from their vantage point, occupied by nothing but the wrinkled red leaves from the canopy shading it from what little sun there was overhead. “She seemed smarter than either of us.” He frowned. “Maybe she set us up.”
“Do you think? No, I don’t think so. She had no love for them.”
“You are far too trusting.”
Rook smiled at him but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Not trust. It’s something more like… a need. I’ve got to believe people can be better, otherwise what’s the point?”
“Money? Riches? Freedom?”
She huffed a laugh. “All right, wise guy. Are you ready for this?”
“About as ready as a man can be when his only choices are death or, how did I put it last time, a human jam jar?”
Her laugh burst into a full body bellow. She nodded. “Mm, I still like that one.” She straightened up, expression sobering. “But you know, I can try and fight them off while you try to get away, if you want.” From the corner of her eye she met his surprised gaze. “It’s not me they’re after this time.”
He hated himself for being weak enough to be tempted. A moment’s hesitation was all he allowed himself before he cocked a brow and crossed his arms. “What, and let you have all the fun?”
“Somewhere Kilai’s brow is twitching because she knows we’re about to make a mess again.”
He grimaced. “The thought of facing her is almost worse than this.”
Voices sounded from nearby, growing louder in volume and accompanied by a steady drumbeat of footsteps. Rook’s expression fell into one of quiet consideration as she sheathed her riftblades and plucked out her daggers. She spun them once around in her hands and then fell into a crouch.
Viktor grabbed hold of her satchel – the only thing in the room he could find that remotely resembled a weapon – and watched the door. Quietly as he could, he crept over so he was standing behind it, ready to strike. They were outnumbered and outmaneuvered but he wasn’t going down without a fight. Senses heightened, the sound of his own blood thumping in his ears, he prepared himself for the battle ahead.
The door crashed open and Viktor swung the satchel, books cracking off the soldier’s head with a smack forceful enough to knock him off his feet. The next two soldiers tripped, stumbling into the room, leaving them open for Rook to strike. For a brief moment he felt hopeful, like maybe they could take on all these men and win by sheer force of will. They were certainly a force to be reckoned with, he and Rook back to back, her with her daggers and he with a satchel and a palm of fire.
But there were too many soldiers. Quickly they found themselves surrounded, faces all around them with weapons drawn. Viktor might have been able to survive so many bullets – maybe – but Rook certainly would not. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. With a sense of impending doom, Viktor followed Rook’s cue and lowered his weapon.
The last thing he saw before the bag was thrown over his head was her face, confused and fearful.
*
Janus knew something was wrong. There had been too much movement out of the window for a lazy afternoon in the middle of the Onyx Plaza – certainly no need for so many bluecoats to be marching across it when all was calm from his vantage point, nothing but casual strollers and shining canals in the distance. Voices murmured on the other side of the door. If he had to predict it, he would say they were contemplating interrupting Sandson’s meeting to inform him of the source of the commotion. Of course, he suspected they hadn’t known how long this meeting would run on, but neither party standing next him refused to budge on their points, leaving them all at an impasse.
He was beginning to hope the ruckus would finally break the tedium. Only he also had a fairly good idea what the source of the commotion would turn out to be and just who would be sent to clean up the ensuing mess. Janus shifted closer to the window, peering out past finely woven curtains to a picturesque painting of small boats drifting along the distinctive waterways, red leaves peppering water of a deep blue. A couple sat on a bench beneath the tree, arms linked. Everything looked deceitfully idyllic. He found that things never quite were how they appeared. The prettiest rose always bore thorns.
“Lakazar-wei, if you would be so kind as to tell whoever is hovering outside my door to make up their mind I’d be very appreciative,” said Sandson, glancing at
him out of the corner of his eye.
Kilai caught his eye as he crossed the room, raising her brow in a question. Janus kept walking until he got to the door and then slipped out, leaving her to wonder. It wouldn’t be long before she found out, anyway. There was no way that leaving Viktor and Rook to fend for themselves hadn’t resulted in some kind of chaos in a city crawling with bluecoats.
“Sandson-shai would like to know what news you have for him,” he said to the attendant in colourful robes outside of the door.
“I am supposed to take the news to the mayor himself,” she said, wringing her hands.
He gestured to the door, and then when she continued to hesitate he pushed it open. Scurrying past him, she stepped into the centre of the room, freezing when both pairs of eyes locked onto her, greedy for information. Like a guard, he closed the great wooden door with a thud and stood by it, waiting for confirmation. Might as well be by the exit if he’s going to have to leave soon.
“What news do you bring me?” said Sandson, leaning on his desk to peer at the attendant over a pair of round spectacles.
She glanced at Kilai and then back. Janus couldn’t see her eyes but he could imagine them widening.
“Go on. Whatever you have to say can be said in front of my companions.”
“It’s about – about the man you asked us to keep watch on, Shai. I have had word that he has just been imprisoned by General Nevi and is now awaiting trial for the incident in Nirket. There is a woman with him too. A Southerner, I believe.”
“I see.” Sandson barely blinked, as if he had known this already. Perhaps he had. Janus had once known an oracle and that man had not unnerved him half so much as Sandson could when he wanted to. “Thank you for your information.” The woman nodded, bowed her head and then made a quick escape.
“What’s happening? What’s going to happen to Viktor?”
Janus met Sandson’s eyes. He dipped his head slightly and Janus slipped back outside, following the corridor around until he could exit back into the plaza. Keeping to the shadows and hidden corners, he traversed across the expanse of the area and took the bridge over the main canal, up the hill towards where the headquarters of the Order lay. There were fewer places to hide in this city because so much of the land was broken by water and it made him more conscious of his movements, aware that he was more exposed against the white and grey stone.
The Reaping Season Page 17