Heart.
She blinked, shattering the vision but not the dream.
Rook didn’t know what to believe anymore. Never had she felt so lost in herself, the path she had been following overgrown and tangled. Her vision of the future had once been so clear like the reflection on a still lake. Now it felt like the water rippled and warped the picture she had envisioned to the point it had become unrecognisable. Here she was, a wanted criminal who had killed despite her oaths. Who would kill again, if it came down to it. If it would save her friends.
The Rook agreed with the sentiment, a tingle running up her spine when fear bounced her thoughts to the desire for life. The desire to fight back and stand her ground. Rook was tired. She no longer believed in herself and that was something she didn’t know how to overcome. But it seemed, when the darkest night of her psyche had come, that the monster within had become her biggest source of light.
“You could choose anyone. I know you don’t care if you hurt anyone. But I do.”
The Rook merely took it as a challenge. Fight. Fight. Fight. Like a mantra looping through her mind as a blindfold was pulled over her eyes, vision going dark. She didn’t need her eyes to see; it only made her more aware of the spiritual world woven into the seams of this realm. A world so much richer than these people would ever understand. The waves borne from the rift crashed over her, brushing her consciousness with the signature of so many riftspawn passing through.
There was so much she still wanted to experience. Was it selfish to want to keep going, despite everything? Maybe, but with her heart pounding so rapidly she could feel it in her fingertips it was hard to think of selfishness. She could die here, she thought, as one of the soldiers read out the names of each life she had taken. She could die and pay penance for her crimes. Or she could listen to The Rook. She could do her best to atone by helping fix the rifts – if she could – and find out what had happened to the Order. In the end she would die anyway. Why go without even giving herself a chance to make up for it?
Latching onto her weakness, The Rook sent an image into her mind. Gasping, she was struck by a vision of herself, a light shining down upon her like she was one of the great Riftkeepers of old. Dressed in a long intricately detailed robe, she stood at the head of a table surrounded by faces obscured from view. They were listening to her like she was someone important; some kind of leader. More importantly, they were so many of them. Riftkeepers of various sorts. Wardens and researchers and teachers alike.
“You accepted me,” she said as the man to her side finished with the list of charges. It hardly seemed to matter. “I mean, not just in name. You really accepted me. I suppose this only works if it goes both ways.”
Fight, devour and take.
“No.”
“Quiet, pjurrei!” The next thing she knew a hand cracked across her face, making her stumble. Her chains clanked together around her wrists, knocking against bone.
Anger flared in her. Cowardice it may have been but it was so much easier to lean on the anger to relieve the fear. Tasting blood on her tongue only spurred it on and she licked her lips as she straightened, playing on the jump in the heartbeats around her when she did so. “I accept you. Do you hear me, Rook?”
She wouldn’t lose her sense of self. She couldn’t. Together they would have to find a new self. If they were both in this together it could finally balance the scales of the war inside her.
Fight, adapt and grow.
Rook dove down into the well of their power, feeling it wash over her in a surge of delicious energy. Borrowing the raw strength of her companion, she gripped the iron chain linking her arms and pulled, gritting her teeth when so much otherworldly power rattled through her she felt like she was challenging an entire storm. Metal groaned and creaked until finally it snapped, her arms free to throw open wide like the almighty wingspan of a bird.
“I accept you!”
The wind rose, tugging through her locks, whistling high and shrill enough to make her shiver. Somewhere overhead the gulls launched into cacophonous song. Power crashed over her in waves, surging with every inhale of ragged breath she stole from the tremulous air. The whole arena hung on a knife edge, as if everything was drawing in breath at once to await what would happen next.
It might have been a mistake. It might have been weakness. It might have been her salvation. Rook could only take the plunge and see what happened on the other side.
*
The rapid, shallow breaths of the rift had become familiar to him, so much so that he could hit might have been weaknessave almost ignored its presence, if not for the way his own breathing picked up pace to align with its tempo by instinct. To Viktor it felt like the ticking of the clock, reminding him that time was draining away like sand between his fingers. The girl at his side panted softly as she attempted to keep pace with him down the staircase to the basement floor of the Order’s headquarters, where the rift lay in waiting. He didn’t really know why he had saved her. It was what Rook would have done.
“Do you know how to stop it from –” he mimicked an explosion by pulling his hands apart.
“If I knew that do you think we would be in this situation?”
“I thought you were one of those people. Not a warden but a –”
“I was a rift maiden, yes. But rifts have to be tended. That is why we exist. To prevent them for ever reaching this stage.”
Viktor scratched at his chin, day old stubble course against his fingertips. “You must know something. I’m not eager for a repeat of last time.”
“It has certainly been made worse by other rifts opening. I cannot tell you what I do not know myself.”
Viktor eyed her wearily. For all that had happened she was remarkably calm. Almost doll-like with how vacant her black eyes looked in the murky light of the dungeon lair. He didn’t know if it was a personal thing, or a rift maiden thing, or something else entirely. Either way she unnerved him.
“You are very powerful but so very young.”
He blinked at her. She did not look to be any older than he was.
“You are young in spirit. You think very little of consequences.”
“What, you can read my mind now?”
“Your expression tells everything.”
Viktor turned away, moving towards the rift. The stray riftspawn that spilled from the shimmering oil spill in the air did not alarm him. They skirted around him as if he was the most frightening thing in the room – and by all accounts he probably was. However, his companion was not and he glanced back at her with concern only to find her impassively sitting on the floor with her legs sprawled out in front of her, palms raised to the air and her head cocked like a predator listening for prey.
“Do you know why the Order of the Riftkeepers came into being?”
“Uh,” he said, unsure how to politely leave her there, “I’m guessing someone thought it was a good idea to stop these things getting through.” He spun his finger in the air, a circle encompassing a strange group of wriggling, writhing shapes.
“Yes, but how did the worlds first begin to bleed together? It had to begin somewhere.”
He shrugged, already tired of this game. “Why don’t you tell me. Since you seem to know.”
“No one knows exactly how it began. There could be multiple worlds out there – dimensions we have no idea exist. The otherworld is simply the only one we have encountered so far. Some believe all worlds were once one and their fighting guardians separated them in a great and terrible war.”
“Do you believe this?”
“What I believe does not matter,” Vlankya said with a sweep of her hand.
Somehow that had killed the conversation. It irritated him that he wanted to know what she had to say even if he wasn’t really sure what to think of it all. “What were you going to say, then?”
“That no one knows how the first crack happened. But you can guarantee that as soon as the first human discovered the power that came with the bond tha
t they used this for their petty wars. In a time before real weapons and technology, such powers were devastating. Those that possessed them were gods to ordinary people, seemingly gaining miraculous strengths out of nowhere.” She laughed so softly it was a mere exhale of breath. “This put so much pressure on the rifts that the doors all over the world appeared, letting in all kinds of creatures. The world started to change in ways unrecognisable. In the end it became clear that something had to be done.”
“So what then? People just volunteered to sit around waiting for things to happen? Sounds pretty dull.”
“Mm. Not quite. It proved unpopular with many who wanted to use the power for themselves. But for ordinary people who were dying, well, they demanded that something be done. Leaders of various lands united and decided that the only way was to train up an elite force that could channel the currents of energy and stop the rifts from rupturing so completely that the two worlds became one.”
A small spiny looking riftspawn brushed Viktor’s hand, its signature tickling his, and it bucked away from him, swooping up high out of his grasp.
“To keep things fair, they took their members from all lands and ages, creating a force that would be impartial from political allegiances.”
Something occurred to him as he listened and he spun on his heel. “When you said guardians before, you weren’t talking about humans, were you?”
The corners of her lips curled. “There are leaders in the otherworld, too. In particular, there are four guardians of the gates between worlds that were pivotal in the creation of the Order. For to be bonded to these riftspawn was to possess the power of the otherworld itself. Only those chosen by the guardians themselves could lead the mission to patch the rifts as best as they could. Of course, it wasn’t helped by the guardians’ hatred of one another.”
“Why?”
“Why did they hate one another? They were each fighting for dominion amongst themselves. Such is the way of the otherworld itself.”
“And how do you know this much?”
“I told you. I was a rift maiden. I was taught this when I trained. We are members of the Order too, no matter what the rift wardens may say.”
An uneasiness grew in the pit of his stomach. “The guardians – what did they look like?”
She leaned back, coal black eyes sweeping over him. “I think you must have some inkling, no? It is obvious if you know the stories.”
“What stories would those be?”
“The green fire. Not of pure destruction, but of rebirth. A fresh shoot amongst the ashes. The first boy to ever bond the firebird was much like you were.”
Glimpses of his own reflection, warped in shards of shattered glass. A young, quick-witted boy in a dirty robe, daring enough to challenge a creature so powerful it was considered a god. One poor, worthless street urchin in rags who dared to dream so much bigger than his peers. A jewel thief, only the prize was so much more precious than anything Viktor had managed to slip into his pocket.
“Do you feel the changes happening?”
“What changes?” His heartbeat was speeding up. That or the rift, it was hard to tell which was which.
“The ones inside of you. The other selves. The phoenix. They will try to take you.”
Why did they all assume he would be lost beneath his past? Viktor had little attachment to what came before because his whole life he had been forced to think only of what lay in front of him. Whether he had something to eat, somewhere to sleep. To keep himself on the streets and out of the cells, alive. He had come this far and he didn’t intend to back down now, not for some prince, not for the boy with a clever tongue, and certainly not for some spirit that thought it could pull his strings whenever it liked. Let them try. Let them all try.
In the end Viktor was not a complicated person. He would do what he always did; narrow his focus to his imminent survival and strip away the excess. Lofty ambitions, cruelty, vanity, and deals with demons were not in his view.
“I think I will be fine.”
She nodded, short hair bobbing around her chin. “Of course.”
Sensing she did not believe him, he quashed the answering flicker of anger and pointed to the rift. “What have you figured out?”
“Something in this area is using a lot of energy. The build up is affecting the rift, upsetting the balance that keeps the door in place. So much concentrated energy attracts riftspawn from beyond the veil. Too many try to pass through and weaken the barrier even further.”
“And how do we stop this?”
“I’m not sure that we can.”
“There is –” she cut off, head tilting as a current of energy flared up from the rift, channelling out into the city. Cold and frantic, it felt like the flutter of wings against his face. A distant caw echoed through him and he froze. He would recognise Rook’s signature anywhere.
In seconds he was running to the door, not caring what the girl behind him did. The pulse of spiritual power was growing stronger and stronger, enough that it overpowered any other current around him. Something big was happening to her. Viktor pursued the trail, all thoughts suddenly consumed by the need to save his friend. If he was going to have this strange power within him then he might as well use it when he needed to.
The trail took him from the Order’s premises down the slope of terraces towards the plaza. The sunlight glistened off the canals as he ran, the waterways remarkably quiet for a pleasant morning in the centre of what was supposed to be a bustling port city. Everything felt too quiet, so that the rush of turmoil in his mind was so much louder. Leylines tingled against his skin as he brushed through them, riftspawn skittering out of his way and then tailing curiously behind him.
Already his anxiety was calling to the phoenix, a large eye cracking open as the first embers began to smoulder. He didn’t really know what he was doing. He wasn’t calm and collected like Janus, prepared for any eventuality, nor was he Kilai, who could talk her way out of a prison cell and come away with a crown. Viktor had a lot of guts and a willingness to throw himself into the fray. That would have to suffice.
When he reached the pinnacle of the bridge over the canal his view opened up completely. He saw her. Her long pale hair shone in the sun as she stood with her back to him, chains hanging from her arms. Ringing her was a circle of indigo-clad soldiers, one holding a blinding sheet of paper. All his senses narrowed down to the scene ahead, the rustle of paper suddenly deafening. A weak breeze was coughed up from the sea, barely enough to rustle silvery locks. Around her figure the air shimmered with that same heat haze of energy, the power emanating from her so staggering it was like crashing into a physical barrier.
Most of the soldiers staggered back and even from a distance he could see the expressions on their faces; the round eyes and slack jaws. His body reacted before his mind could, aware with a sharp and startling sense of clarity what would happen next. Metal winked at him as guns were pulled from holsters and drawn, all pointing at the ghost of a girl upon her podium, her arms stretched out wide to reveal that she had snapped her chains. Viktor couldn’t see her face but he knew. She was slipping off the edge and only he could pull her back.
If he was able to stop himself from tumbling over first.
He knew he would never reach her in time. Instinct threw his arms into the air, fire flooding from the cup of his hands. His training with Fyera had improved his control somewhat, but not enough, unable to control it enough to direct the flame where he wanted it to go, petering out before it reached the soldiers. Cracks thundered through the open arena of the plaza, shaking the ground before him. Smoke clouded the scene but through it he saw Rook when he stumbled. So quick his eyes couldn’t make out what was happening, she twisted, ducked, and leaped out of the way of the bullets, nothing but a silhouette wreathed in silvery smoke.
At first he thought she was free but then he heard the dull sound of lead hitting flesh and the spray of blood splattering bright against a sun-bleached background. She staggered
back and fell. Viktor boiled over.
Teeth bared, Viktor launched himself at them with a cry wrenched from his throat, the sound a beastly growl he didn’t recognise. He leapt up, the amount of power he pulled into his muscles pushing him higher than he had ever jumped before and the thrill swept over him. The phoenix was a merciless master; it wanted the blood of anyone who had wronged him, and if Rook was his then they had wronged him. Bullets shot past him, the sounds muffled by the roaring in his ears. The deep bass of the pulsing rift was like the ebb and flow of the tide, Viktor surfing on of its many currents to vengeance.
He registered fear on the faces of those he crashed into. One soldier raised his weapon with a shaking hand and fired off a shot that Viktor barely even felt, nothing but a sting compared to the vast flow of spiritual energy washing through him. Grabbing the barrel, he yanked the man forwards until the weapon slipped from his hands and then kicked him in the face. The woman behind him scrambled out of the way, searching for a something to use against him. Viktor snarled, fire crackling from his skin as he stood over Rook, threatening any of them to get in his way. He wanted them to try.
Two others had hidden behind their platform with their guns drawn. Unafraid of the oncoming bullets, Viktor propelled himself over until he crashed down on top of them, fists flying. The anger wanted to break out of the confines of his body; he couldn’t contain the deep lust sated only by violence. Bones crunched beneath his fists, blood spurting, but he couldn’t stop. The phoenix spurred him on, delighting in the madness. Overhead the riftspawn gathered, drawn into his energy like he was a beacon.
“Viktor,” was mumbled over his shoulder.
The voice had been little more than a whisper but it was enough to halt his fist. The sight of Rook sitting up with her hand clutched to her shoulder dunked him into a sense of clarity. Hazy light shimmered over her shoulders, almost the shape of a bird’s wings, and for a brief second he caught the imprint of The Rook on the back of his eyelids. He crossed the space between them and held out a hand stained with red, unashamed. “Can you stand?”
The Reaping Season Page 36