The Reaping Season

by Sarah Stirling

  And yet maybe they would have played out the same, only she would be trapped as a pawn of the ever-shifting players of the Sonlin Empire, doomed to bite her tongue and simper to them after her father inevitably died. But she might have seen him to the very end, comforted him in his last moments, and seen him smile one last time. The metal edges of her turtle pin dug into the flesh of her palm as she gripped it, breathing ragged.

  “Why have you stopped rowing?”

  “Just catching my breath.” Her arms ached and her heart ached and her mind ached. These days she felt like she had lost sight of herself, catching whatever current hit her and letting it carry her wherever it went. Maybe a little more resistance was what she needed. She was never going to be Samker or Rook, married to an institution that would take their devotion and bleed it dry. Here she was ready to fight an entire army by herself if she had to, to rescue friends she had only just recently come to know.

  Kilai felt like she learned new things about herself every day. She had come too far to just stagnate now.

  “Why did you decide to come with me, then? If you’ve never desired to do so until now?”

  His oar speared the water, flicking drops of water into the air. “Something isn’t right. The rifts opening, the Riftkeepers disappearing. The energy around here feels wrong, almost like it’s dying. It’s my duty to find out what’s happening, even if Jenya doesn’t quite get that.”

  A larger carriage passed by pulled by lykki, their boat undulating over the resulting waves.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for what could happen?”

  Blue eyes caught hers, as bright as the cobalt domed roofs behind him. “What’s about to happen?”

  She turned her gaze back to the horizon and continued rowing. “Anything.”

  By the time they reached a suitable dock to moor the boat to Kilai was exhausted, stumbling onto the deck and stretching out quivering muscles. Knots gave way under her fingers as she massaged at her shoulders, a yawn escaping before she could smother it. She didn’t have time to be tired. There was too much to do.

  First she would try Sandson again and see what he had been doing in the mean time, then she was going to have to hope Samker was powerful enough to stop whatever forces were holding Rook and Viktor at bay within the Sonlin research facility. A glance back at Samker as he hopped up onto the deck beside her left her wanting. He still seemed so young at heart, a mess of gangly limbs and wide, bright eyes.

  Dragging more people into whatever mess was brewing on these islands was not what she had intended to do. But she would do it, if she felt it necessary. And he had signed up for it by joining the Order, regardless of what had become of them in recent years.

  “Where to now?” he said, eyes darting all around him, body twisting to gawp at the grand architecture of the city’s heart.

  “To see the mayor.”

  “You know the mayor?”

  She gave him a strained smile. She didn’t know how to say that she had burst into his office and demanded to talk to him but if he wanted to think they were genuine friends she would preserve his naivety.

  The city was remarkably quiet, few people passing them by along the narrow walkways beside the canals, the murky waters still beyond an errant breeze that ruffled the surface. It made Kilai more anxious, tense as she waited for something to happen. Conversation between them died once more, Samker lost in the sights of a city he had never truly seen and she in her thoughts, wondering if she had taken too long. Wondering what would happen if they invited war with an entire Empire. If they hadn’t already, that was.

  Through the arches created by red blossom trees they walked and then crossed over the bridge towards the central plaza. Petals collected in the runs dug for drainage, a mild fragrance that did little to mask the stench of sour water and sewage. The square sprawled out before them, a huge clearing in the middle of a stone jungle. She had never seen a city so empty, so devoid of life. Something just felt wrong. Walking across the square felt far too exposed to prying eyes and her pace sped up on instinct when she spied the town hall over the bridge.

  “It’s very strange here. I thought there would be more people.”

  “Shhh!” She held a finger to her lips as they darted up the steps and into the foyer. Finally she felt like she could breathe, tension seeping out of her in one great exhale. At least now she was hidden from view.

  “What’s wrong? What are you afraid of?”

  She didn’t know how to answer the question so instead she marched up to the receptionist. “Is he in his office?”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I don’t care about Locker-damned appointments right now. Is Sandson in or is he not? You know what, I’ll go and check myself.”

  The receptionist rose from her seat, glasses slipping down her nose, but Kilai didn’t care even as she heard the woman call for security, beckoning a finger to a gormless Samker and striding towards the great oak doors around the corner. Grabbing the iron handles, she thrust them open and stopped when she reached the man in question’s desk, eyes blinking in the gloom of his office.

  The heavy woven curtains were still draped over the windows behind his desk, a small brass lamp casting a pool of yellow light upon a littering of loose papers across the surface of his desk. A pot of ink had been overturned and left, the pool of liquid crusted over and dried, smears staining half of the papers around it. Hunched over the desk was the mayor himself who glanced up at her with barely a reaction as if he had been waiting for her show up.

  “Shaikuro-wei, how nice it is to see you again,” he said, eyes sharp and clear despite the purple shadows beneath them. “I see you have brought along a friend.”

  Samker bowed at the waist. “Sorry for barging into your office, Sandson-shai.”

  Sandson waved him off. “Before you ask, I have been trying to do all that I can but I have little authority to interfere here.”

  “I figured as much,” she said, moving to the windows so she could throw open the curtains. Sandson shrank back as grey light streamed into the room, illuminating the real clutter of his desk. “I’m merely here as a courtesy.”

  Gold eyes met hers behind his spectacles. “What do you intend to do?”

  “I don’t really know yet. Something dangerous.”

  “And the boy would be part of that?”

  “You could say that.”

  Sandson paused, gaze flicking back and forth. “And what it is you want from me?”

  “Well –”

  A series of knocks interrupted her, obviously a code. Two bulky figures entered the room. “There’s been a security breech.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” said Sandson, gesturing to the two of them with a smirk.

  “No, there’s –”

  “Let me in.”

  Kilai recognised the accented voice before Janus shoved his way through the gap between them and the door, his gun gripped in bone white hands. He looked worse for wear, blood-smeared and bruised, black hair in disarray around a face so pale he could have been a ghost. Slouched against his side was an even ghastlier face she recognised. It was the soldier. The one who could call storms.

  “Janus,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing? How did you get out?” She looked past him, expecting Rook and Viktor to walk through. “Where are the others?”

  “Take him,” he grunted, passing off the unconscious soldier into her arms.

  “Janus!” She struggled with his weight until Samker scooped him up and placed him down on the couch in the corner of the room.

  Swiping at a bloody mouth, he met her gaze and she felt a shiver run through her. She had always known what sort of man Janus was; dangerous, detached, deadly. In so many ways unknowable with the layers and layers of mystery he swathed himself in. It had been easy to push it aside and forget but she could not deny it now with his bruised knuckles, torn coat and blazing eyes. So much for trying to avoid war.

  “Viktor is long gone.” He met Sands
on’s eye and the man nodded, not even bothering to rise from his desk. Kilai glanced between them, temper rising at being cut out of the conversation. “Rook stayed behind to let us out.”

  “You just left her?”

  She should have known. She had known. Janus had already revealed himself to be a cold and careless coward and she shouldn’t have neglected to remember that. Snatching the lapel of the tattered remnants of what had once been a coat, she pushed up into his face heedless of the gun still in his hand.

  “How could you just leave her there? Are you really that heartless? She would have done anything for you, you Locker-damned piece of horseshit.”

  Janus didn’t even flinch when her spittle landed on his face. A cold hand gently wrapped around her fist and eased it from his jacket. “Wanted us to leave. Told us to. Still intend to go back for her.”

  Kilai took a step back, sweeping over his face. “Do you really mean that? Or will you run away like last time?”

  “I will go back for her. But she is not as she once was. Whatever happened to her down there… has changed her wholly. Prepare for it.”

  “What happened to her? What do you mean?”

  More shared glances with Sandson. “Stop that! Stop looking at him! What happened to Viktor? What are you both not telling me?”

  The calm contemplative look upon Sandson’s face only infuriated her further. “It would seem there are more parties interested in our mutual friend than just you and I.”

  “Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

  “Viktor’s family have found him. His real family. No, sorry, it is a fool’s mistake to assume blood makes the real bond. Pardon my slip of the tongue. His birth sister has found him.”

  “Fyera Siklo,” said Janus.

  Kilai blinked wearily, memories of the riftspawn’s vision tugging at her. She had known about Viktor, of course, and could almost skip over it as a weird anomaly of the strange world they lived in, easily forgettable when he was so irrevocably Viktor, but if he was not the only one – if Fyera also lived and had found him – then he would not remain as the Viktor she knew for long. It seemed impossible. For how could it ever be real, that royals of centuries past, vicious, blood-thirsty royals, would come to live again once more? Sinking against Sandson’s desk she pressed her knuckles into her eyes and sighed. She had glimpsed it. What could become of him if they continued down this path.

  “I feel like I don’t understand anything anymore. Viktor really is with his sister? Are there more of them?”

  Sandson rubbed his chin. “As far as I am aware, no. How long things will remain this way, however, well, who can say?”

  “You seem remarkably complacent about this.”

  His eyes flashed. “I am many things, Shaikuro-wei, but complacent is never one of them.”

  The sound of someone clearing their throat attracted their attention. Kilai met the wide eyes of Samker and held back a curse. She had forgotten about him, too caught up in concern for her companions.

  “I think he needs help,” he said, motioning to the soldier on the sofa.

  Janus crossed the room and crouched down, pressing the back of his hand to the man’s damp forehead. “Running a fever. Fetch a cloth and water.” Rocking back on his haunches, he shook his head once Samker had left the room. “Don’t know what to do for him.”

  Kilai peered down at his gaunt, pallid face and bit her lip. “What happened to him?”

  “Lost the bond. Can’t live without it now.”

  There was a certain irony to it, Samker being the one to rush to his side when he had also been the one to sever that connection. Kilai didn’t understand why it was hurting him so but she couldn’t help but be affected by the sight of him tossing and turning like he was trapped in a nightmare, murmuring to himself in a language she didn’t understand. Samker placed the bucket down gently and Janus took the proffered cloth, wiping at his face with a tenderness she had never seen from him. For some reason he was taking this to heart.

  Samker backed away, gnawing at his lip. “Did I do that?”

  Kilai looked up at him and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay. He made the first move. You had to protect yourself.”

  “But I didn’t mean for this.”

  Janus’ hand stilled before dipping back into the bucket of water. “The bond changes a person too much. Can’t go back to who you were before. Without it he won’t survive.”

  “Isn’t there a way to reconnect them?”

  Samker’s eyes skirted over hers. “That’s not how my power works. I wouldn’t even know how.”

  Kilai nodded, meeting Janus’ gaze when he turned around. She could see it in his eyes. The man would die and judging by the state of him it would happen sooner rather than later. As much as he had been nothing but a hindrance to them before now, she couldn’t help but feel sad. Lying there so weak and fragile, he reminded her too much of her father in his last moments, a shallow husk of what he had once been. Maybe the reason Janus was so gentle was because he was seeing someone else too.

  A series of knocks cut through the brimming tension and, relieved for the distraction, Kilai turned as an attendant slipped into the room, eyes taking in the scene quickly. Bowing to Sandson, she padded up to his desk and handed him an envelope before slipping out again. She watched him flick out a pen knife to slice open the envelope and adjust his glasses to read the note inside. Crumpling it up, he stuffed it into his pocket and stood, commanding the attention of the room.

  “It looks like you will all have to move quicker than you thought.”

  Kilai crossed her arms and raised her brows. She had even less patience for theatrics than normal.

  “Your friend is set for execution at dawn.”

  She froze. “Where?”

  Sandson turned to the spread of windows outside his office. “Where else? Out in the Onyx Plaza for everyone to see.”

  “Can’t you stop it? I thought this was supposed to be your city.”

  “All I would do is reveal that I harbour ties to rebels and criminals. It would help no one.”

  Slamming her fist on the desk, she bit her tongue as pain punched up her hand, and resisted the urge to start screaming. Could none of them see how serious this situation was? The Sonlin were out executing people left and right and here they were standing around the mayor’s ornate office like her friend wasn’t about to die tomorrow. Kilai was tired. Tired of waking up each morning to a world she didn’t recognise, to ensuing violence and fear and death. Once this was all over she was going to go far away and find herself again.

  But it wasn’t over yet. There was still work to do.

  Suddenly beside her, she tried not to start when Janus said, “I will get her back.”

  Kilai kept his gaze for a long, heavy beat before she finally acquiesced a nod. “Don’t let me down, Janus.”

  “I won’t.”

  In the end she could do little but take him to his word. Fate’s hand was still to be dealt and until it was finally played, they could only keep playing the game with the weapons they had. Surely by now they were due a win.

  *

  Somehow it always came to this. Caged like an animal, waiting for the judgement of men. Always so base of character, these men who feared what they did not understand and thus had to destroy. From the first caveman to discover fire to the first to discover gunpowder, their capacity for destruction knew no bounds. If the humans weren’t necessary in order to exist in this world it would happily destroy them all. It would do it anyway but its human did it not like it and guilt was a particularly potent feeling. Too heavy for a creature without true physical form.

  “I killed them, didn’t I?” said Rook.

  Why she would feel guilt over creatures that had only tried to hurt her was one of the mysteries of the universe to The Rook. Blood was easily washed but somehow it now knew what it felt like for the stickiness to linger in the gaps between fingers it did not truly possess. Snuffing out a life mea
nt little in the home realm but in this one it was so much more permanent. Such fragile little things, these humans.

  A soft laugh vibrated up through her throat. It’s throat. Their throat. “You and I,” she said, resting her chin upon her knees. “We are not the same but I fear we must be. Otherwise we won’t survive.”

  Those were terms it understood. Survival was the only rule in the home realm. Fight, devour and take the power of others. Become so powerful one became untouchable. That was all it really knew when it came down to it, not these human emotions that weighed them down, like the cage of bones and anchored flesh. On her behalf it was angry. Furious. But she – somehow, in the wink of time spent with this human it had imprinted the ludicrous construct of gender – would not nurture the feeling and so it would not grow.

  Die. Die, die die. Human language was beyond it. It could only communicate in fleeting concepts and force her to understand. How could she not, when they were one and the same? Seizing a host should have been simpler. Fight, devour and take. It should not have been as affected as the much weaker, much younger human. But she refused to budge. Still she lingered, growing on it until it only understood itself in terms of they.

  “Surely you are not afraid of death. You won’t last here without a host but I’m sure you will find another.”

  Kill. Kill, kill, kill.

  “I think we have both done enough of that.”

  Fight, devour and take.

  She laughed, a sound that bounced off the stone walls. “That’s the most clearly you have ever expressed yourself, I think. A shame about the sentiment but, well, maybe I’m starting to get it. I am you, after all.” She hummed softly, tapping her shins to the rhythm of a song it recognised from the store of her memories. A melody from youth, sung around the roaring flame in the dark of night. “Do you think it’s an effect of the rift? Who will investigate them if we are all dead, do you think?”