The Reaping Season

by Sarah Stirling

  “The tiger and the phoenix were supposed to be enemies,” Samker added quietly, finally glancing at Kilai’s brittle expression. “They hated one another and constantly fought for dominion.”

  “That means he has a chance, right? He’s as strong as that thing up there?”

  Drunken patrons murmured behind him as roves of them spilled from the tavern, pointing and murmuring. A few swore under their breaths, the sound of glass shattering against the ground. One collapsed in the gutter with his meaty fists pressed into his eyes, murmuring, “I’m never drinking again. Never, ever again.”

  “I don’t know,” said Samker. “I’ve never felt anything like that creature before. It feels like – well, it feels like death.”

  The black smoke was drifting in from the direction of the sea, curling around lampposts and licking up the sides of buildings, obliterating everything from view. It spread out like huge hands reaching out and taking hold of the city. Janus side-stepped a man vomiting on the side of the street, his friend slapping him repeatedly on the arm and slurring his words as he urged him to look to the sky.

  “We need to –” Kilai cut off, eyes widening as a faint bang sounded from nearby, a mushroom of green unfolding above the thick layer of black smog. It shimmered in the vibrant shades distinct to Viktor’s fire. When she snapped around to look at him, Janus could see what she wanted before she even spoke.

  “Not like I’ve anything better to do.” It was true, really. Janus didn’t exactly have anything to go back to. Might as well run into the eye of the storm and see if it swept him away.

  Samker blanched, looking unsteady. Blood had crusted in his hair, flakes cracking beneath his nose when he turned and grimaced at Janus and Kilai. Kilai clapped him on the shoulder. “Bet you wish you had stayed on your mountain, huh?”

  “This wasn’t exactly what I signed up for.”

  She snorted. “Oh, it never is. Believe me. Janus, game plan?”

  Holding up his gun, he waved it at her. “Point. Shoot. Aim for the green.”

  Kilai nodded, as if the plan wasn’t likely to get them all killed. As if it was in any feasible way, a plan. “You heard the man. Aim for the green. If we find them, do you think you can use your ability?”

  “On that?” Samker’s eyes grew impossibly rounder. “Uh, well.” He sighed and squared scrawny shoulders. “I can only try, right?”

  He was so young. Janus had watched men and women even younger wear brave looks upon their faces as they were sent to their deaths. His valour was admirable but foolish. If he was the boy – if he hadn’t lost everything that made him himself – he would have turned tail and run. As it was Janus had little to live for, other than the thrill of seeing what card fate’s hand dealt him. Once it had consistently been the five of skulls but he had never really known what that meant. In another world, in another life, Janus might have stopped him. In another time Janus might have been a better man.

  The green smoke was fading back to black, the smog thickening around them. Janus looked at Kilai, waiting. He had always been too much of a lone wolf to ever be the leader. When she met his gaze time seemed to still, the weight of what they were attempting needing space to breathe in the pressing tension. All sound was filtered through the fog so that the distant rumbling sounded tinny. Unreal. It created the strangest sensation of being disconnected from his body, consciousness drifting on the fog.

  Kilai nodded. Janus saluted with his pistol and dove in.

  Training blindfolded had accustomed him to moving without sight but he still had to quash the instinctive panic that bubbled in his chest, focusing on the heightening of his other senses. The worst of it was that he couldn’t hear, either. The fog suppressed all senses, leaving him hollow and empty. Dead, indeed. The closest he could compare it to was being buried alive, still able to think but unable to see, hear, feel anything. Without knowing which direction he was going in, it was hard to tell what to do, so he kept his revolver to hand and moved slowly, prepared for anything. He hoped that Kilai and the kid were managing all right. The kid was probably their only chance of survival in this maze, if he was strong enough to quell the tide of death itself.

  A crashing noise startled him, nearly firing off a shot. He whirled but it was impossible to tell where it had come from, the noise reverberating everywhere as if it was coming from the black cloud itself. Janus was beginning to doubt he was really awake. Had he been taken by a dream, currently wading through his consciousness’ deepest fears? It didn’t get any worse than this; unable to do anything, wandering through an endless darkness on his own. Like falling into the endless abyss, the proverbial Locker that the Myrish liked to speak of, or of the final End declared by those on the continent, it was all the same. Nothing. The worst was that he was aware of it.

  Flickers of light blinded him briefly, a sudden startling white after what felt like hours of black, and then he was thrust back into the darkness. With nothing but his thoughts he became victim to a barrage of memories he had sealed away tight for so long, remembering the horrors of his old life. Remembering the faces of those he used to know as they died. Remembering putting the bullet in their skulls himself, recoil off the shot and gun hot in his hands. Without the distraction of the real world, the imaginary became that much more real. Janus felt weak, dizzy, disengaged. He thought maybe this was his death at long last, and first he had to walk the path of his past as penance for the release.

  The lie that he had hardened his heart was just that. All he had done was pack his memories down tight and store away the crates. But the pressure was too great and now, alone and in the dark, they exploded one by one until he was collapsing under the onslaught. Apathy had never been the antithesis of caring; it was simply a sheet to throw over what he wanted to hide, gathering with dust. Janus wore it well but it had never been his, truly. Too easily could it be ripped off, exposing the truth to the harsh light of day.

  The truth was that Janus didn’t know how to die so he had forced himself to find a way to live with his jagged edges so that they did not cut him up inside. Cowardice had become so comfortable that he had forgotten the value of valour. Bravery in the face of impossible odds had killed so many he had cared for that it had been easier to call it naivety, but perhaps it could only be bravery when it wasn’t clear it would bear fruit. Perhaps it was the only way to truly be at peace with oneself. Courage with conviction. A lone rock against the raging river. Faith, not in institution nor creed, but in the self.

  If only Janus knew who he was. Of the many names he had earned: phantom, ghost, demon, reaper; none had ever revealed anything about himself. Soldier. Order, shoot, kill, held no deeper meaning. It merely hollowed out the soul and left him empty. It left him as he was now, alone and in the dark, wandering the abyss. In another life he might have been born a monk, or a surgeon, or a teacher. In a time of peace he might have known the path to take. But now was not the time to dwell on the ‘if’s and ‘might have been’s. In the end there was the here and now and all he could do was reconcile who he was with that knowledge. Action over intention. That perhaps was the true core of Janus Lakazar.

  “Rook!” he shouted. Or at least he thought he did. He couldn’t hear it, or feel the vibration in his throat. “Viktor! Kilai!” He might have screamed himself hoarse, he would never know, but it was better than dwelling on the darkest corners of his mind. Drowning out his thoughts was better than doing nothing.

  It felt like he had wandered an eternity in the dark before he felt it – a tickle against his arms as if feathers were caressing his skin. The feeling grew until he heard a cry, the harsh caw of a bird, and then the snap of wings in flight. A shiver ran through him and he rejoiced at being able to feel physical sensations again. Like a beacon the feeling drew him in, giving him direction amidst the darkness. His feet moved almost of their own accord, his mind jumpy and on edge, ready for whatever lay in wait.

  The feeling grew to a fever pitch, buzzing inside his skull. All he knew was that he
had to find the source, had to find something that would take him out of the wall of darkness. Hissing started from somewhere but everywhere he turned made it no clearer where it was coming from. Then a blast of green fire punched through the smoke, fading into emerald mist. Janus pushed through in the direction it had come from and crashed right into another body, the two of them tumbling to the ground. Two white lights burned into weakened eyes and he shielded them with his arm.

  “Janus?”

  It was Rook. She was the source of the feeling, the constant cicada-like buzzing of what could only be her signature humming inside his skull. Or more accurately, The Rook’s signature. For he had agreed, hadn’t he? To be its servant, in exchange for life.

  “I’m here.”

  “We need – Vlankya, she’s too strong.”

  A girl’s form parted the smoke, illuminated in a faint white light. With each step she took towards them the riftspawn above drifted across the sky, revealing her true identity. How she had come to possess the bond to such a powerful creature, Janus had no idea, but he couldn’t afford the luxury of contemplation. Rook sat up, her eyes fixed on the girl. Her grip on his arm was so weak he could barely feel it and she struggled to get to her feet. “Viktor,” she mumbled. “He’s –”

  With a sharp motion, the lethargic riftspawn suddenly swooped down upon them, jaws spreading wide. Rook stumbled to her feet, swiping at it with her blades, but the move was half-hearted at best and the creature reared back, face inches from the shining arc of steel. It let out a hair-raising cry that was merely unpleasant to his ears but Rook dropped her blades, hands swooping over her head as her face contorted in agony.

  Janus took a step towards the girl and the riftspawn snapped to attention, the blank holes of its eye sockets following his movements. He took another step and it snapped its jaws at him, smoke rippling around him and masking everything from view so that all he could see was black. All he could feel was the hum of Rook’s signature and he realised it was merely a shadow of what those with bonds felt, able to interpret and follow the different kinds of energy emanating from various riftspawn. Still, it was enough.

  Weaving through the maze of fog, he adjusted his steps when the feeling grew dimmer until he found it again, the energy vibrating inside him, skin tingling with the strength of it. When the sudden streak of silver filled his vision he jumped. It was Rook, still fighting. The monster flashing into view above her was a god, and she but a mortal being, but still she was fighting on. Blinking, he thought he saw silvery white wings spread out past her shoulders but he wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination.

  The riftspawn seemed to grow even bigger, swelling up until he could no longer stare at it without craning his neck. The smoke around them thickened, choking off the natural light of Rook’s aura, her eyes dimming, and making it even more difficult to see. It almost had a physical presence; walking through it felt like wading through treacle, not in that it was hard to walk, but in that he felt fatigued after a mere few steps. This creature literally sucked the life out of people, growing stronger from leaching off their energy. There was only one real way to stop this.

  Janus kept his revolver to hand as the girl appeared again, her pale face reflecting the white light around her. She marched forward as if she were some kind of queen, and perhaps in another life with powers such as hers she might have been. But Janus was faithless and he didn’t care. If he had to pick up the mantle of apathy once more so that he might make himself the target of a vengeful god then so be it.

  The riftspawn bore down upon him with all its might – he had no doubts what would happen if it caught him – but it had a vulnerability. The human connection might have strengthened its place in this world but it also weakened it, too.

  Janus fired. The bullet entered between the girl’s eyes, pupils opening wide as it entered her skull. The pale light snapped out, casting her into darkness. Janus could just make out her body as it toppled over and fell, black swallowing her back into the abyss. The riftspawn above froze so close to his face he could make out the dizzying patterns in its form that from a distance looked pure white. Loosing a terrible screech, its form flickered in and out of view, but it bellowed out more black smoke from its mouth. Janus tried to swipe it away but he soon found himself overwhelmed, lost in the haze. Its shrieking echoed everywhere, he couldn’t turn away from it when each step in another direction only seemed to make it louder.

  For what felt like days Janus turned and turned, the sound so overwhelming he couldn’t right himself. He was lost, pained, broken with the sensations on all fronts. He couldn’t remember a thing about himself; couldn’t feel his body other than to know it hurt. Crippled by the maelstrom around him, he found himself unreeling, unravelling into the smoke.

  Then suddenly the shrieking cut out. The smoke receded, peeling back until he could finally see the outlines of the buildings around them, in stark black and white lines, and boats bobbing on a green bay. Blinking into a bright blue sky, he was overcome by the image. For without the thick mask of fog there was but a fallen girl upon the stone, in the centre of the tile patterned ground, blooding pooling around her broken body. With a partner as strong as the deathly riftspawn she should have been healing but the answer as to why she wasn’t was revealed when a pallid Samker rounded the corner, Kilai at his side. Over the way Rook was rushing to the side of Viktor, who barely seemed to see her, staring numbly into the sky. She had lost her glow, aura faded into nothing. No one went to the girl, broken on the ground.

  Somehow this had ended with another death at his hands.

  “How long can you hold it at bay?” he asked, holstering his gun.

  “Not – not long.” Samker whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s more than anything I’ve ever felt before.”

  “Do you think – it’s over?” said Kilai.

  “It’s never over,” he said.

  Janus jogged over to take Viktor’s other arm and help Rook lug him up to his feet. “Where do we go?” she gasped between ragged breaths. Her skin was damp with sweat, shining in the sunlight. “We need somewhere to hide.”

  “We could go back to the Rifkeeper hideout,” said Kilai, coming out to meet them.

  Looking at them, it was clear none of them were in a fit enough state to row. Janus shook his head. “Mayor. Sandson will hide us.”

  He could feel the weight of each of their gazes upon him as he grasped Viktor by the waist and shifted him so that he leant upon him more than Rook. There was no energy for arguing. Samker was barely holding on, and as soon as his hold on the riftspawn released the creature would be free to find another host. Or perhaps it wouldn’t even need one. Riftspawn dotted the skies, swimming past one another and swooping low, playful. It belied the sombre attitude of their party, limping their way back towards the Onyx Plaza. It took them an age to get there because they kept having to stop, Viktor blinking sleepily and murmuring something under his breath.

  By the time they reached it the sun was high in the sky, revealing a litter of withered bodies fanned around the makeshift platform for Rook’s execution. One was sprawled out on their front, skin grey and shrivelled into the bone, veins black beneath paper bag skin. With a heavy feeling in his gut, Janus kicked the body over, revealing what he had already known to be true. Black hair and a thin nose. Blue, unseeing eyes staring at the sky. He felt nothing. He felt empty, as dry as the husks on the ground.

  A crashing noise caught his attention. Samker had fallen to his knees.

  “I can’t hold it anymore. It’s killing me.”

  Rook gripped his shoulder, grimacing and immediately retracting her hand. “It’s okay. Let go.”

  With a cry, Samker’s head fell to his chest. Janus felt Viktor tense under him, body heating up so rapidly he felt himself burn up, and his eyes snapped open with pupils a bright and brilliant green. Smoke billowed into the air and Janus’ hand fell to his belt, waiting to have to fight it all over again. But the black fog faded back into a
blue sky and he breathed out in a hiss, fingers twitching. Viktor jostled against his shoulder, the colour in his eyes fading back to a natural hazel, and then he collapsed completely against him. Janus caught him before he could slide to the ground, still watching the sky. The numbers of riftspawn were increasing exponentially, creating patterns in a cloudless sky.

  “How do we always manage to fail?” murmured Rook. Crouched on her haunches by Samker’s side, she had her eyes squeezed shut, face raised to the sun.

  “We didn’t fail,” said Kilai.

  Rook blinked, squinting in the bright sunlight. Almost subconsciously, her hand rubbed circles in Samker’s back as the boy shook, still poised on his hands and knees.

  “We’re all still alive. That – that thing is gone, at least for now. We did all we could.”

  Scrubbing at her eyes, Rook nodded but there was little conviction in her expression. The harsh light of the mid afternoon sun exposed the frown lines and shadows upon her face, carving it into jagged edges and corners. Janus didn’t know how to comfort, never had, so he simply pressed a hand to her shoulder, the weight of Viktor a heavy burden to bear on his own.

  “Should go,” he rasped, throat dry. “Before they come.”

  Rook took his hand and pulled herself to her feet, meeting his gaze with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Kilai helped Samker to his feet, the poor boy lumbering away with a hollow look on his face. He was yet another victim of these rifts, of the push and pull of a tide that Janus was glad to be numb to. He had seen it ruin too many young lives. Even someone as cold as he would rather it ruined no more.