Squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t get distracted by the riftspawn dancing on the water’s reflection, he reached out to it. “You are the phoenix,” he said, feeling stupid. No reaction. I am Viktor, not that man you think I am.
The creature hissed, flapping wings that gave off the impression of heat. Its head turned so that it could peer at him with its other eye – a rich tawny gold. Bowing its head down to his level, it came so far into his vision that he stumbled back with a yell, suddenly blinking into another world. Stunned, his mouth fell open as he gawped at a world he didn’t recognise.
He was in the desert, miles and miles of silver sand sprawling out before him towards the horizon. The dunes dipped and rose like the waves of the sea, whispering as a gust of wind kicked up the top layer of sand, the barest kiss of air against the torrid heat. But what drew his eye in like a beacon was the enormous gate sprouting from the sand, wedged ever so slightly lopsided, with steps that led up towards an arch he had to crane his neck to see fully. Symbols were etched into the edges of the stone, and as people in robes gathered around the foot of the gate together, the symbols began to glow a familiar earthy green in colour.
Amongst the crowd Viktor spotted a boy, his features shrouded by a hood. His attention remained on him as the crowd chanted a rhythmic verse in a language his brain told him he knew even if he couldn’t make out the words. Suddenly a hush rippled along the length of the robed gatherers, all stepping back as the lights glowed brighter and brighter until it was impossible to look at it directly. Then suddenly it was there – the phoenix, winds outstretched with a shrieking caw.
The boy cut through the panicked crowd, dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of the riftspawn’s height, he but a mere blip against the white stone and endless dunes of silver sand. With the knowledge that this creature could crush his existence in seconds should he make the wrong move, he raised his chin defiantly to it and called out.
Standing before the phoenix the boy did not cower. Viktor was impressed by how he held his head high, shoulders squared despite the way it stared down at him with such an imperious gaze, beak glinting razor sharp in the bright sunlight. The boy spoke a different language, more course and guttural than the Myrish tongue, but Viktor found he could understand his words.
“I have come to put forth my pledge,” he said. “I would be your eyes, your ears, your hand in this world, in exchange for your fire at my fingertips.”
The creature hissed, rearing back as if to strike the boy.
“I offer you my life. For your power I will strike down your foes. I will be your vessel in this realm.”
A murmur rose from the crowd, some moving as if to pull him away. But in a flash too quick for his eye to make out, the phoenix lunged at the boy. There was an explosion of green light that thrust the robed chanters to the ground, dust mushrooming in the air so that the rest of the vision was obscured to him.
It was his beginning.
Viktor reeled at the sudden revelation. The boy was him. His memories. He could feel the hot sun baking his skin, the way his leather sandals rubbed at his feet, and the fear thick on his tongue that made his hands tremble and sweat drip from his brow. He remembered being starving, weak, at the mercy of men with their riches and their cattle, being kicked and beaten and left for dead. Remembered pain so severe he thought he might die. Remembered the words of the kindly old priest who had given him a hunk of bread, breaking off the green edges and chewing it down on the church floor. Remembered pink and blue light streaming in from the colourful windows and the strange creature they depicted. Remembered talk of gods and power. Deals with demons and the consequences thereof.
In that hallowed hall with nothing but the creaky voice of a man barely fit enough to sweep his floor, that version of himself had made a plan. He would do like Zanthar of legend and make his plea before one of the great guardians. With humbleness these rich men could never hope to have, he would offer himself up. He would find a way to ensure he gained such incredible power, so that nobody dare stamp him down ever again. On that quiet, portentous evening, the boy dreamed of a world where power could be earned by those at the very bottom of the chain; for those hungry enough to seize it for themselves to simply reach out and take. Somehow, he had worked out how to do just that. The revelation settled something within him, quelling that raging fire enough for him to finally feel like he could breathe.
Viktor blinked out of the haze, back into a balmy night in the crumbling palace of a previous life. “He wasn’t the only one.”
“Sorry?” said Fyera. She paused from collecting wild flowers that sprouted between the overgrown grass. “What do you mean?”
“Your brother wasn’t the first – the first – well, me, I suppose. I had other lives before that.”
She tilted her head, gazing at him in a way he couldn’t interpret but intense enough to make him squirm, his fingers finding the cool pool of water in the fountain. He slashed across his reflection, shattering it into ribbons. “You remember others?”
“I remember the first. The me that first bonded the phoenix. It felt like a long time ago.”
When he looked up again her eyes had widened enough that the whites shone in the cracks of moonlight through the clouds above. “What?” he said, voice rising higher. “Is that not what happens? What’s wrong?”
“No, no.” She shook her head and casually settled back on her hands but her mouth was pinched and she continued to fiddle with the flowers. “From what I know most only remember their most recent life. It is quite unusual to go so far back, especially for us. We have been reborn so many times, Viktor. And we have always been Siklos.”
“But – don’t you remember that? How you became – like this?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“Did Vallnor ever…?”
“Not that I was aware. We told each other everything. I’m sure he would have said.”
Viktor bit his lip and looked away, unsure what to say. He was still trying to get his mind around the fact that he had existed in previous lives, a constant thread running through time. The prince that Vallnor had been, while thrilling initially, had been hard to reconcile with himself, making him feel like an alien in his own skin. But this boy that had been as poor and wretched as he had once been – that had been so hungry for something more that he had made a deal with a god – was someone he could see himself in. In a way it was what he needed to finally accept what he was becoming. To finally accept what he was.
“It chose to give you back those memories,” Fyera murmured, plucking her streaming hair from the breeze and tucking it behind her ear. In the silvery light the beads on her headdress shone and sparkled.
“I still don’t really understand all of this. But I think you’re right. It wanted me to see that so I could understand where our bond started.”
“You seem calmer than before.”
He nodded, calling a flicker of fire to his palm. “I think maybe I needed to understand why I was the one. And to make my own mind up about what I want to do now.”
“What do you want to do now?”
“I –”
A pulse of energy crashed into him, nearly making him stumble over with the shock. It rolled over his senses, spoiled and sour, like milk left out in the sun and attracting flies on a hot high season afternoon. Recoiling, he dropped his head into his hands as nausea made his vision spin, eyes watering. Beneath the foul feeling, he caught a whiff of a familiar signature, rapid and cold with an avian cry ringing in his ears. Rook.
Surging to his feet, he pushed back on the wave of dizziness and focused on her, his fire burning away the blackened energy swirling through the air. He could feel her distress. Her pain. Somewhere nearby Rook was suffering.
“Viktor? What’s wrong?”
“It’s my friend. She – they’re all in trouble.” If she was in trouble then they all had to be, he had no doubt. “I have to help them.” He had assumed she would be fine – that Sandson and Kilai would
have got her out of those cells as easily as Fyera had him. But what if he had left her down there while he was staying in a palace, being called a prince, waited on by the few servants still willing to follow the Siklo name? After all they had done for him, what kind of person would just forget about them, getting so wrapped up in his own affairs? Guilt pressed down upon him, saturated with regret.
“What are you going to do? You can’t just wander back there. You’re a wanted criminal. I had to bribe several men to get you out of there.”
His brows furrowed. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for them. Rook is the closest thing I have to a...”
Fyera crossed her arms. “To a what?”
To a sister.
The words had been on the tip of his tongue, nearly spoken before he stopped to think. Viktor sealed his mouth shut and shook his head. “I just – I have to help them. I’m sorry. Already he was moving for the exit, wondering if he was able to row himself back to the city. It didn’t matter. If it was him Rook would find a way to do it so he would just have to.
“It’s not wise. Viktor, think about what you’re doing.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged him back. “You might jeopardise what we’re doing here!”
He would make it up to her. He would make her understand and he would take the time to connect – or reconnect. It wasn’t easy to pull his wrist from her grasp and turn away, feeling her gaze bore into his back. It wasn’t easy to turn his back on something he had always wanted; on family, on a home, on a sense of where he had come from. Of belonging. But sometimes bonds forged in the fire were stronger than those born in it.
“I’ll be back,” he said, breaking into a run.
He didn’t look back, even when she called his real name.
*
It took a series of heavy blinks before Rook registered a level of consciousness. Everything was heavy, coated in a thick layer of haze, like she hadn’t used her brain in so long it had piled up with cobwebs and dust. The first time she lifted her head it lolled back into her chest, body refusing to respond to her mind’s commands. Her mouth was so dry she had to rip her tongue from the roof of her mouth, smacking her lips and grimacing at the harsh metallic taste in her mouth. She felt sore all over, rolling her neck and groaning as her bones clicked.
“You’re awake.”
She started, unaware of where she was. When her eyes fell on the shadowy form of Janus in the corner, memories streamed back to her in pieces. The bed. The riftspawn lurking above. The pain of its aura all around her. She surged into full consciousness with a jolt, eyes widening. “They contained it somehow. It’s connected to this building, I think.”
Janus snorted. “At least you seem to be okay.”
She held a hand out in front of her, feeling strangely disconnected from her own body. Nothing worked right. Even when she pushed her legs out in front of her and tried to stand she couldn’t hold her weight, flopping back into a graceless heap on the floor. “I don’t know about that,” she groaned. On instinct she reached out for The Rook, dipping down into the well, only to find she couldn’t find it. There was no presence dwelling in the depths of her consciousness, pressing to break free if she ever let go and allowed it to run free. The well had run dry.
“Why can’t I feel The Rook?”
In the faint light spilling in from a slit in the wall she could see Janus’ eyes, dark and impenetrable.
“It feels strange. Like something is missing.”
He coughed. “That thing must have interfered with it.”
She rubbed at her face, kneading feeling back into flesh. “I think it might be in the building itself. It’s like this whole place feels wrong. I don’t like the feel of it all.”
Noticing Janus wasn’t looking at her, she followed the line of his profile to the next cell. Empty. She hesitated before asking, “What happened to him?” fearing the answer.
“They came back and took him.”
“Oh.” Her imagination conjured horrible images of the man being strapped down that had her squeezing her eyes shut and shuddering.
“Before that he woke up. Was lucid, mostly. Seemed afraid of what was going to happen to him.”
“Janus,” she whispered, “we have to get out of here. I don’t know what this is. I didn’t think...”
He nodded. “Already tried to reach the lock. Chain doesn’t go that far.” Around his ankle the bands clanged together when he moved. “This one’s too rusted over. Lost my pin.”
Silence settled for a long beat, like a feather’s agonising descent before it finally landed. “I can’t even use The Rook,” she said finally, head falling into her hands. “All the powers I’ve become so reliant on – they’re gone.”
“Not gone.”
She looked at Janus who was straightening himself up as best as he could while chained. “They’re still there. Just buried a little deeper in hiding. Remember The Rook. Focus on it.”
It was all too much. Everything that had happened lately had been piling on, one thing on top of another until she was breaking under the weight of it all. “But what if I can’t?” she said wretchedly. “What if –”
“You can. I believe in you.”
The belief in his voice was enough to break through the layers of fear and self-doubt. She opened her mouth and closed it again, a small smile curling her lips. Not all was lost. Not yet. It might be a horrible situation but there was no use calling it a lost cause until she had no fight left in her – and Rook would always have fight in her until the moment she drew her last breath. Wiping away the unshed tears brimming on her lids, she scooted closer so that she could take his hand and squeeze tight, feeling the calluses and bumps on his bony fingers.
“I’m still mad at you, you know.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “I know.”
“But thank you. I don’t know what I would have become without you here. I’m glad you came back. I’m glad you decided to stick by us.”
Gruffly, he muttered something she couldn’t make out but sounded like, “Don’t be ridiculous.” He squeezed her hand back and then let go, posture turning rigid.
“Someone’s coming,” he said before she could ask.
Rook froze, head swivelling just as the door at the end of the corridor creaked open, faint light warming the stone floor. Fear burrowed inside her, lodging into a lump in her throat, and she had to fight herself not to hide behind Janus. Instead, she felt his hand slip back into hers and squeeze, grounding her as footsteps pounded so hard she felt them vibrate through her. Whatever creature they had managed to capture and control, it was powerful enough to frighten even The Rook. It was a new feeling, this vulnerability.
The worst of it was that when the soldiers opened the doors and grabbed at them, too many hands for her to fight off as her chain was unlocked and a cloth pressed over her mouth, no words were spoken. In the dim light of a dull morning she could barely make out any discerning features on their faces, the black canvas allowing her mind to paint pictures of inventive torture to heighten the fear already plaguing her. All of a sudden her eyelids were heavy, the tang of chemicals hitting the back of her throat as she passed out.
Rook succumbed to the dark once more.
*
There was the gentle murmur of voices beyond the kitchen door that Kilai waited before, pressing her ear to the door in an attempt to steal snippets but it proved futile. Clearly they were determined that she didn’t hear them and it only made her more curious. After a night crashing into a deep sleep plagued by strange, shifting dreams about spirits and demons, she had awoken to the rising sun painting the room a soft pink, tumbling into alertness as quickly as she had fallen from it. In a matter of moments she was dressed – in fresh skirts and a white blouse, no less – and was making her way downstairs to try and locate the Riftkeepers. Too much time had already been wasted.
Pushing open the door into a warm, sun-filled kitchen, she felt her lips twitch as two heads jerked
in her direction, conversation snapping to a halt. “Good morning,” she said, moving into the warmth of a ray of sunlight, tilting her head towards it as she closed her eyes.
“Would you care for some breakfast, Kilai-wei?”
“Tea shall suffice. I’m afraid I must press the urgency of my business, as ungrateful as it must sound when you have shown me such hospitality.”
Jenya nudged Samker, the boy unfolding his long limbs from a stool by the counter to pour her a cup. The fragrant aroma wafted through the kitchen, inciting her stomach to launch protest at the lack of breakfast, but Kilai took her tea with a smile and deigned to ignore it. She waited for him to settle back on his seat, legs bent at awkward angles to accommodate the awkward length of his legs.
“I don’t really know how we might help you,” said Jenya, remaining in her seat.
“Aren’t you under oath to help the members of your order? Two of my companions have sworn your oaths and carry your mark upon their skin.” She tapped a finger on her wrist.
“That might have been the case in the past but I won’t interfere with the business of the Sonlin. We don’t have authority there.”
“Nor should they have any authority over you. As far as I have come to understand it, you exist free of political inclination.”
“Child,” said Jenya, and Kilai fought the scowl, “we are but two in number. The rest are missing, under circumstances I can’t possibly know. Your friends have foolishly entangled themselves with forces they do not understand. I don’t hide out here because I wish to be here. But while I attempt to locate other members of the Order this is the safest we can be.”
The Reaping Season Page 30