Kilai sighed, falling back against the counter and crossing her arms across her chest. The worst was she couldn’t really argue with Jenya’s logic. Had their situations been reversed, she would not be in a hurry to risk herself or her charge for strangers. And yet it was difficult to bite back the instinctive anger born from her frustration. “Isn’t there anything that can be done? I can’t leave them to rot in there.”
Samker looked at Jenya, whose expression was pinched and weary. “I am sorry, truly. I hope you find a way to free them.”
“That’s it then? You won’t help?”
Slamming the cup onto the counter with more force than she intended, she said tightly, “Thank you for letting me stay the night. If you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way now.”
Both parties looked uncomfortable but Jenya kept her gaze as she moved out into the hall, her anger festering inside her. Where was the loyalty? It was one thing to want to protect themselves, but to leave others to harm when they could help seemed merciless, especially when they had brought that soldier to the city themselves and then abandoned him. They had essentially sent a man to his death and appeared to have no remorse in it.
A thought occurred to her as she was leaving, remembering the books on the shelves of the dining room. It had just been through the door to her right and if she was quiet they would never know. Glancing all around her and deeming it safe, Kilai crept into the empty dining room, the window sill covered by heavy curtains that blocked all but a strip of light that split the long table in the centre. Upon the bookshelf on the wall was a row of old leather-bound novels. Hearing noises from the next room, she quickly skimmed them, instantly dismissing those written in languages she couldn’t read.
One stood out to her – a thick book in brown with gold lettering. When she pulled it out she found the cover embossed with familiar looking symbols. The Legacy of the Keepers. That had to be useful, surely. More noises sounded through the wall – voices and then footsteps. Tucking it under her arm, she darted out of the room, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible. She turned to walk from the hall and barely restrained herself from yelping in shock when she nearly slammed into the chest of Samker.
“I just, uh, got a little lost,” she said although it was an obvious lie. “I’ll be leaving now.”
He tilted his head. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
“It’s nothing.” She tried to push past him but he was remarkably steady for his overgrown limbs. Managing to get to the door, she was stopped by his hand on her arm, pulling her back.
“What do you plan on doing with that?” There was a smile playing across his lips and she scowled.
“I don’t know. All I know is you won’t help so I’ll find my own way to sort it out.”
“Hold on, I never said I wouldn’t help.”
She glanced back at him, arching a brow. “Were you listening to a different conversation than I was?”
“I mean,” he said, fidgeting with his fingers, “I’ll help you. If I can.”
This time she grabbed his arm and yanked him outside, into the warm sunlight of a clear morning. The ground was still damp and dewy from the previous night’s rain, mist rising all around them. “You’re one of them. These Riftkeepers.”
“I’m still in training, technically, but –”
“You know about these things. These riftspawn and whatnot.”
“Yes? That is my job.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What can I do to reach my friends? They’re like you – with your – powers. I’m worried for them. If what you’ve told me is true, that the rest of your organisation here is missing, then I’m concerned about what might happen to them.”
He scratched his head, frowning. “I don’t like the idea of messing with that. We’re supposed to be politically neutral.”
“And that soldier was supposed to be under your custody but you just handed him over and ran away with your head between your legs!”
Raising his palms as if warding off a wild animal, he said, “It’s a messy situation. But I do want to help.”
“Do you know how to open the rift? The last time that happened it seemed to heighten their powers. Maybe if we can do that they’ll be able to –”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let me just stop you there.” He bounded to catch up with her striding form. “Are you completely witless? I’m supposed to stop things like that from happening! If your soldier boy hadn’t tried to carve me open just for standing in the way of the rift then he wouldn’t be imprisoned right now.”
“He’s not my soldier. Look, I need to do something. I can’t just sit around and wait for things to happen. From what I heard it won’t be long before all the rifts fall apart or whatever it is that they do, anyway. Can’t we just speed along the process? Get them out quicker and then seal it back up.”
“That is not how it works!” His hands waved around his face as he spoke, spittle flying. “You can’t go tearing things down and then sewing them back up willy nilly! This is a barrier to another realm we’re talking about, not your weekly cross-stitch.”
She threw him a dirty look. “I’m not interested in what I can’t do right now.”
Samker sighed. “I can try and locate them but it won’t be easy when I don’t know them. Do you have anything of theirs? Some kind of belonging I can use to try and channel their energy?”
“Uh, I don’t – wait.” She fished in the pockets of her jacket – the only remotely salvageable piece of clothing she had kept, pulling out and unfolding a smudged drawing of the symbols from the tablet. “This is Rook’s. I don’t know if it will be of any use to you but it’s all I’ve got.”
Samker took the paper from her, turning it over in his long fingers and humming thoughtfully. A shadow fell across his face and she squinted up at the roofed structure she had sheltered beneath the night before, now blinding as sunshine reflected off the rainwater coating the tiles. They were approaching the square with the statue of the dragon, still as eerily quiet as it had been in the night time. In the light of day the coloured stone mosaic of the ground was revealed to her; depicting a creature with many tentacles fanning out from its body.
Looking at her, Samker said, “This is a remnant of when the Shilla’n used to occupy these islands.”
She looked at him. “But the Shilla’n were here millennia ago. How is it that it still stands?”
“It has been renovated since then by the Order because it was a shrine to one of the great guardians of the doorways. That statue there depicts him.” Samker pointed to the statue in the centre, walking towards it. “He is supposed to reveal himself to only a select few chosen ones, in the form of a blue serpent-like dragon.”
“He is – a riftspawn?”
“Yes. One of the highest order there is. In some terms you might call him a king, or an emperor. Although I suppose he is long dead now.”
She blinked up at him, task momentarily forgotten. “He is?”
“Documented sightings of the guardians stopped centuries ago. Some have become sceptical of their existence in the first place.” Running a finger over the worn detail, copper green in the grooves of the eyes and mouth, he turned his blue eyes back to her. “Legend states he was slain by one of the other four guardians for his power, upsetting the balance of the otherworld. Once he was no longer there to guard his gate, it allowed riftspawn to pass into the world beyond: the one we stand in now.”
“I always loved those kinds of stories as a child. Learning all about the mythology and legends around the riftspawn was so fascinating to me.”
“Is that why you joined the Order?”
Samker shook his head. “I bonded with a riftspawn at a young age. Too young to know what I was doing or that I shouldn’t have. When the Riftkeepers found out they took me from my parents and trained me in Tsellyr until I matured enough to take up the post with Jenya in the mountains east of here.”
“You were just taken? Didn’t your parents
protest?”
He grimaced and then shrugged, the move too casual to be genuine. “I had too many siblings for them to keep up with, I think. In the end it worked out better for me.”
Kilai felt a pang of longing for her own family; a mother she had never really known, the ghost on the periphery of her memory tainting a rosy youth; and her father, a fresh wound that reopened any time she thought of him, fingers making their way to the turtle pin she had roped around her neck, hidden next to her heart. To think the boy had never experienced this made her heart pang with sympathy and she cursed out her own weakness. Too easily was she swayed by her emotions when she had long thought herself trained out of them.
“Sometimes life will stamp you down like a bug beneath its feet,” she said, “and all we can do is struggle to find our wings again. I like to think that adversity forges strength. That we can always find the best in a bad situation.”
“But?”
“Sometimes we break instead.”
He gave her a weak smile and waggled the paper between his fingers. “Shall we, then?”
“Yes. Yes, please.”
Clutching it tight in his fist, he closed his eyes and scrunched up his brow in concentration, murmuring words so softly she couldn’t make them out. The sounds she did catch sounded different; foreign. For what felt like a long time she simply stood there, unsure whether anything was happening. Sweat beaded at his temples, shining on his skin.
Growing weary, Kilai paced around the length of the square to occupy herself, wondering if there were things he was able to see, or if he was simply standing there waiting for something to happen. She didn’t understand what it was they saw in these moments and it frustrated her. It made her feel lacking in some way, to not understand it. Not that she envied the suffering that seemed to come with such powerful abilities.
A wispy strand of gold light emanated from Samker’s hands and Kilai halted, watching him curiously. The creases in his brow had smoothed out, giving him such a peaceful look she could have sworn he was sleeping standing up. In his trance Samker’s lips moved, mouthing words never spoken, his hands beginning to gesture as if in conversation with someone she couldn’t see. Could he be talking to Rook, perhaps? Was that possible? Kilai had long given up pretending she had it figured out.
Suddenly Samker jerked back with a yelp, his hand swinging around with a flash of that same golden shimmer, and then his eyes flew open, unseeing. He was panting heavily, hair in disarray and chest heaving. His eyes swung around himself wildly before settling on her and he finally seemed to calm. He took a deep breath, loud in the silence between them.
“What is it? What did you see? Did you see them?”
He held up a palm in protest. “I caught a hint of her signature but it’s very faint, as if she’s been put in a deep sleep. But there’s something else there. Something strong and malicious.” He wrinkled his nose. “I think it’s dampening any spiritual energy. I tried to push it back but it’s strong, and it’s fighting me.”
“Something else? Someone like you, you mean?”
“I don’t think so. It’s difficult to tell but it feels like a greater level riftspawn. It’s so angry… I’ve never felt hate like it.”
Kilai’s eyes widened. “They’re stuck there with that thing. If it’s stopping them from using their abilities then they won’t be able to get out.”
“I did what I could. It should be enough to dilute its powers but from a distance it’s not easy to maintain.”
“How did you do it?”
“It’s my bond – my partner. With my riftspawn I’m able to cut off and manipulate the channels of spiritual energy. In the otherworld it was something of a, well, a judge I suppose. I can sever connections between riftspawn and objects of the physical world and then send them back to the right realm. Having that ability is what made the Riftkeepers so keen to keep and train me.”
Kilai contemplated, tugging at her lip. “That could prove useful.”
“Well, yeah, I mean that’s why I became a rift warden so young. That’s not an easy feat, you know – that wasn’t what you meant, was it?”
“No.”
“You’re calculating something, aren’t you?”
“Me? No. I’m just thinking.”
He huffed a sigh and scratched his ear. “I should be getting back to Jenya. She won’t be happy that I helped you.”
“You’ve already rebelled, why not make the most of it? Come with me, back to Tsellyr. Help me.”
Samker hesitated, looking back and forth as if his partner would interrupt them at any moment. Biting his lip, he shook his head. “I’m sorry but I just can’t risk it right now.”
Kilai shrugged. “Fine, if you don’t want to help that’s fine. I just thought maybe that’s what you were obligated under oath to do but I see I was mistaken. If you want to miss out on actually being out in the real world, I’ll leave you to your mountain in the backwater boondocks. I’m quite sure that’s where you’re most needed.”
She turned and walked away, listening behind her. She heard no footsteps – he wasn’t following her but nor was he returning to his mentor and his post. By the time she reached the lane lined with red leafed trees on either side that created a canopy overhead, dappling the ground with red-tinged sunlight, she was starting to think he really had gone back and left her after all. Maybe the boy had been more of a coward than she had predicted. In the end it didn’t really matter. She would find a way. She always did.
But as the water came into view, coins of light sparkling on the gentle waves with the promise of a portentous horizon, footsteps thudded behind her. She heard heavy breaths and then a shadow fell into line beside hers, stretching out much longer than her own. “You’re so unfair,” he said. “I’ll come but only because I want to know what happened to them. The other Riftkeepers.”
Kilai smiled up at him. “We’ll find out. We’ll help my friends and then we’ll find out what happened to them.”
He held out a hand and she took it, his much larger hand wrapping around her fingers. “I’ll hold you to that.”
*
When Rook awoke, blinking fuzzily through lids still heavy, she found she was back in the underground laboratory, once more strapped down tightly to a bed. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed since she had been knocked unconscious when there were no windows to the world outside. In this place time ceased to flow, the light never cycling naturally from bright to dark, instead remaining a gloomy grey like a room trapped in eternal twilight. Struggling against the bonds holding her down, Rook tried to move her neck so that she could look around but the strap around her throat cut off her airflow and left her gasping for air.
There were others in the room. She could hear footsteps and the soft murmur of voices too low to discern any words. It was almost worse, to hear but not to see, especially when she had been cut off from the full range of her enhanced senses. Left with just her ears it allowed her imagination to run away from her, leaving her with twisting, gnarled images of all they could possibly do to her. Rook was frightened. She didn’t want to admit it and yet she couldn’t deny it was there; the fear that lodged in her throat with every dry swallow. It seemed these men had no remorse for those of her kind and would do as they pleased with her. There would be no one coming to save her. She, and Janus, and the soldier, were trapped. Alone together.
I have made a terrible job of these trials, she thought to herself. To think I thought this some noble adventure. She had been so naive, so stupid. She had only wanted adventure, something bigger and better. The chance to be better – to train and learn and grow – and to help others. But what use was she trying to help others if she couldn’t even help herself? Without The Rook in her head it felt so maddeningly quiet. Empty. To think after so long fearing the presence in her mind, she feared life without it so much more.
Please, she said to herself, please find me again. Help me fight this and I will accept you truly. Let us become o
ne.
“Ah, it would seem you are awake at last.”
Rook flinched at the voice floating somewhere to her left. She recognised it as that of the young scientist, Attam. Her hands gripped tight on the railings of the bed to steady her nerves. Even without The Rook, the imprint the riftspawn had left desired to rip him limb from limb.
“I am here,” he said, amusement tickling his voice as he leaned over to peer into her face. Despite his youth, lines were beginning to show around his mouth and the creases at the corners of his eyes. Never had the signs of a frequent smiler been so terrifying. “Are you looking for your friends?”
She stared at blue eyes hidden behind lenses. “Where are they?”
“Sandson’s man is still in his cell. Unbonded, there is not much I can do with him except test out a few theories of mine. They always die too soon, I find.”
Horror rippled through her at such a casual admission. “And the soldier?”
“As good as dead. He is much too weak at this point to test him as I wish, although I find his weakness curious. Where have his powers gone? I heard he was able to summon a storm from the soldiers stationed on the Yllzlo. Alas, it seems they have been mistaken. I’m terribly disappointed. But you – you were a pleasant surprise. Walking right in off the street, no less. Something about it feels very fated, like the universe wants me to know.”
“To know what?”
He pushed his spectacles further up his nose. “What you are and what you can do. How it is bonds with these creatures can afford such power, when they can so easily kill you in a matter of seconds. How does it work? Are you indeed, as the ancient civilisations that came before us believed, truly a god?” In his hands was a needle attached to a vial of yellow liquid, viscous and clouded. “Blasphemous thoughts, I’ll admit, but if you can really cause storms and devastating fires, how else would you describe it?”
The Reaping Season Page 31