The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  "Not her face.” Katharine pointed. "Her foot."

  Her bare foot, pointed away and down. To a snow-covered boulder sat a few feet from the doors themselves. Tom stepped over to it, placed his hand against it.

  It felt wrong.

  He tapped it and almost jumped when it rang hollow; the boulder was so light he could pick it up and lift it over his head. And while the others cried out in surprise, he found something hidden behind it.

  Another door. Much smaller, just enough for a dwarf to step through. Plain stone, with no decoration save an inscription in an old tongue. The same tongue he had seen on Sir Dolorio’s tomb in Cairnidol.

  A tongue that Emyr spoke. "The father and the prayers," he read, "and fasting and charities, and calmness of the soul until death."

  "Your prayer."

  "Not mine." He reached out and ran his fingertips over the script. "What does it mean?"

  "Look." Tom pointed at the rock around the door. Thin strips of black stone, veined with silver, ran from where a lock might be, down to the ground and across to a shallow, round indentation in the ground.

  "It’s a channel," Emyr said. "It directs magic into the lock."

  Tom nodded. "It’s a spell." He looked up at the script. "Your prayer is a spell."

  Emyr shook his head. "I already said it and nothing happened."

  "Not an incantation. Instructions." Tom smiled despite the dread growing in his belly. "Your prayer is telling us how to open the door."

  Chapter 19

  There wasn’t time to make camp, but they couldn’t leave Katharine exposed to the elements. Or Ambrose and Six. So Tom told Draig and Dank to raise two tents, one for Six and Ambrose, one for Katharine. While Mennvinn tended to her, the rest of them huddled around the tiny door.

  Everyone was agreed that Emyr must be the father. "No other fathers here," Jarnstenn said, and then everyone looked at Tom.

  "Must the prayer be words," Draig said, and everyone agreed with that too.

  That’s where the agreement ended. "Fasting means not eating," Gravinn said.

  "So we sit here and starve until it opens?" Jarnstenn didn’t sound convinced.

  "Maybe we put some food in the hollow?" Katharine called from within her tent.

  "Childbirth first, puzzles second," Six called from his.

  "What about the charities?" Gravinn asked. "Do we have to give it something?"

  "As well as the food?"

  "Perhaps instead of."

  "Dinner and a gift? We ain’t wooing this door, are we?"

  "What about the calmness?"

  "Meditation?"

  "And death? Must one of us be made dead?"

  "We’re not killing anyone to get in there, Draig."

  "What if we have to?"

  Only Dank had nothing to add. He sat there as if he was alone, staring up at the enormous fake doors.

  "I’m surprised you don’t already know the answer," Tom murmured to him.

  "What? Oh, the riddle? No."

  "But Rimestenn is long dead. The fay must know all his secrets."

  But Dank shook his head. "Whatever Rimestenn built here, the fay never knew of it." Dank grinned. "Look at it, Tom. We must be the first to see it in centuries. Not even the fay have laid eyes on it."

  Tom frowned. How had Rimestenn kept his secrets? Fenoderee had said that one fay could keep a secret from the rest of them. But could the dead?

  "So the fay don’t know how to open this door."

  Dank gave Tom a smile, one you might give to a child who has asked an innocently daft question. "It’s closed, Tom."

  Of course. If the fay knew, they would have opened it long ago. Tom sighed. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps there was no spell. Perhaps the hollow was meant for some magical artefact they forgot to bring with them.

  No. Ambrose would have said something.

  Wouldn’t he?

  He looked over at the tent Ambrose lay in. He should have been awake for this. He’d have opened the door already. How long would he lie like that, barely breathing, barely living? If this was all he had to look forward to, why was he clinging on like this?

  Because he knew what was waiting for him. He knew, when he died, the fay would take him. And they would know everything he knew.

  So he must know something they didn’t already. Not where they were. Not what they were doing. Something he had said and done.

  “The father and the prayers,” Tom muttered. “And fasting and charities, and calmness of the soul until death."

  "It isn’t meant to be an instruction," Emyr said. "It’s advice. It’s something to live by."

  Tom shook his head. "It’s all there. Calmness of the soul until death. Fasting. Charities. Sacrifice. It’s all talking about magic."

  "We already knew it was magic," Emyr grumbled.

  Tom touched the hollow, shallow, round, the perfect size for coin. "Charities. Alms. A coin." A foresight came back to him, and he knew exactly which coin was meant to sit there.

  Emyr let out a tiny gasp. "The coin Rimestenn gave me. He told me never to spend it. It must be that one.” And then a mix of fury and despair passed over his face. “And it’s lost,” he growled.

  "No." Tom shook his head. "I took it."

  "You took it?"

  "It fell from your pockets when you were lying in Faerie. I thought it nothing but an old coin. Worthless. I buried it with a dead man."

  “One-eyed father," Emyr cursed. "Do you think another coin will do?"

  Tom shook his head. "We have to retrieve that coin." He gave Emyr a small smile. "I’ve foreseen it."

  "So we have to turn back?" Restrained anger burned behind Emyr’s eyes. He looked ready to hit something.

  "I don’t think so." He turned to Dank. "You said the barriers between Tir and Faerie were weakened. Does that mean the Circles aren’t needed to cross over anymore?"

  Dank nodded. "The fay can enter Tir anywhere they please." Tom gave Dank an apologetic smile, and the boy’s shoulders sagged. "You want me to take you somewhere again?"

  "Again?" Emyr asked.

  "Dank took us in and out of Faerie when we rescued you," Tom explained. And to Dank he said, "I know it’s asking a lot of you. But I need to retrieve something from Cairnacei. It’s our only hope of getting inside, and you’re the only hope I have of getting there."

  "You could walk." Dank’s smile was weak, but he didn’t argue as Tom thought he would. He squared his shoulders, took a breath, and said, "It will be harder. I haven’t been linked to the fay for weeks."

  "I’m just asking you to try." Tom put a hand on his shoulder and added, "That will be enough for me."

  Tom had hoped his words would lift some of the pressure Dank must be feeling but, If anything, they seemed to add to it. The other man’s smile wavered but he gave a brave nod and said, "When?"

  "Katharine needs to be inside now." He waved Gravinn forward. "You too, Gravinn. You can find the herbs Mennvinn needs.” Gravinn looked like she might say no. "I know it’s not pleasant. But Six is suffering far more than we will."

  "I can attest to that," the elf called from his tent.

  Gravinn nodded and stepped forward. "Thank you," Tom said and she just nodded. He slipped into Katharine’s tent. She was lying down, her head propped up by blankets and one draped over her legs. A fine sheen of sweat slicked her face, and Mennvinn gave Tom a fearful look.

  "Before you ask, I don’t know how long it will be,” the dwarf said. “It could be hours, it could be a day."

  Tom just nodded. "I know she’s in safe hands," he said, and watched Mennvinn take strength from that. He awkwardly manoeuvred his way through the tent and placed a kiss on Katharine’s head.

  "Don’t go," she whispered.

  "I’ll come back," he promised.

  "You had better."

  Tom grinned. "I wouldn’t dare cross you." He looked at her belly and said, "Look after your mother for me," he told the bump.

  Katharine found his hand and
gripped it tight. "Be safe."

  "You too."

  He slipped out from under her touch, felt her eyes on his back as he stepped out of the tent. Why did he feel like he was abandoning her? Why did he feel like he was running away? He unstrapped Caledyr and pushed it into Emyr’s hands. The old king drew breath to argue, but Tom shook his head. “Protect her,” he commanded. And Emyr’s protests died on his lips and he took the sword without a word.

  Tom glanced across the camp, all eyes on him. He felt like he should say something to buoy their spirits. What would a Knight of Tir say? What would Emyr say? But the king of legend was silent, and Sir Tom didn’t have time to waste on pretty words. So he placed a hand on Dank’s shoulder, Gravinn took his hand, and Tom stared at the tent where his daughter was being born as Dank ripped him from the world.

  It was worse than before.

  It was like his mind was being scoured with handfuls of coarse sand even as it was poured into a vessel with Dank and Gravinn and allowed to mix.

  He felt Dank’s steely determination that he would do this, that he would do this for the man who had freed him from the fay.

  He felt Gravinn’s dread, the fear that her deepest fears would be revealed, her shame that they would all know how she wished she had never left her elfish masters.

  What did they feel from him? Did they feel his fear, that Katharine might die, that Rose might be born without him? Did they feel his uncertainty, his anger, did they feel the cold little pebble that sat inside him, that little nugget of nothing he’d put there?

  The maelstrom wailed all around him, and he felt a grip that he hadn’t felt before weaken around him. He felt himself begin to tatter. Thoughts slipped away. He watched without eyes as they left him, little scraps on a wind, like ash drifting up from a bonfire. Who was he? What was he trying to achieve?

  Stay here, someone thought, but he couldn’t.

  Fight.

  But it wasn’t like before. There was nothing to cling to, just an endless sea of formless magic and he was drifting away on it. And he knew he was leaving someone behind, but he couldn’t remember who or why he cared.

  Then something squeezed his very self together in a crushing grip and he felt himself pulled, dragged through something that didn’t want to let him pass, and a thousand voices cried out in uncertainty before there was silence.

  Not silence. The sound of his breath. He was breathing. Lying face down on a field of poppies, warm breeze blowing over him.

  He was going to vomit. He raised himself on his elbows, let it come up. He held himself on trembling arms, eyes watering, and all he could think of was how he had wasted food.

  Gravinn was still retching. What about Dank? Tom forced himself to his feet, staggered a few steps before he regained his balance. Emyr’s black bones, he wanted to lie down. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  And saw Dank twitching on his back, eyes wide and staring, choking on his own vomit.

  "Dank!" Tom dropped to his knees, hauled Dank onto his side, and the other man retched, coughed and threw up over the poppies. His entire body was stiff; holding him was like holding a plank of twitching wood. Was he breathing? Tom slapped his back. "Breathe, Dank, breathe."

  Dank retched, straining to empty himself of anything and everything, but nothing would come. And he didn’t blink. He just stared at nothing.

  "What’s wrong with him?" Gravinn was on her hands and knees, staring with dull eyes.

  "I don’t know." What else could he say? He wanted to say Dank would be fine, tell Dank the same, reassure them both. But he couldn’t. So he said, "See if you can’t find what Mennvinn needs. I’ll wait with Dank."

  Gravinn just nodded, staggered away. She didn’t meet his eye, not now that he knew she regretted leaving the Kingdom. Perhaps she thought he judged her for that. But given what sort of life she had these days, he could hardly blame her for missing an easier existence. A miserable freedom was probably a cold comfort on freezing nights.

  Not that it was freezing here. In fact, he was sweating. Tom shrugged off his furs, enjoyed the warm breeze. It was a nice day. It seemed wrong that it was. The others were shivering hundreds of miles to the north. Katharine was giving birth, alone, just as Elaine had. Dank was having some sort of fit. The fay were already preying on innocent people. But the sun shone like everything was fine, and the breeze idled through the air as if there were no cares in Tir.

  The worst of it was that, even if they got into Cairnarim, they would still only have two of the four glarn. And there was no-one to tell them where the others were. So did that mean this was all for nothing? Would they be better off finding a quiet corner of Tir and hoping the fay would overlook them?

  "I don't think they’d ever stop trying to find you," Dank said.

  Tom blinked, realised that Dank’s limbs had relaxed and he was breathing normally. Had he read his mind? No. He’d been talking aloud. "Are you well?"

  "Well enough."

  "You gave us a scare."

  "Think how I felt," Dank replied. And then he said, in a quiet voice, "I don’t think I can do that again, Tom."

  They both knew he would have to. So Tom just said, "Get some rest." He stood. "Gravinn is fetching supplies for Mennvinn. We’ll be back soon."

  Dank didn’t move. Just nodded. Pulled his knees up to his chest.

  "I’ll be back soon," Tom repeated.

  There was no telling where in Cairnacei Dank had taken them. Katharine would probably have known in moments. But Tom had to rush to the river and follow it back towards the Whispering Woods. By the time he found Topknot’s grave, the sun was already beginning to set.

  If he hadn’t recognised the spot in the river where he had tried to wash off the man’s blood, Tom could have easily missed the grave. Blood-red poppies were already beginning to grow over the ground they had disturbed. Their stems snapped and their roots ripped as Tom clawed up handfuls of dirt. He knew he should take a moment to remember the man he’d killed, to mourn his passing, to feel guilt and regret and all the other appropriate emotions. But Katharine needed him. So appropriate emotions could wait.

  The coin wasn’t buried deep, just a few inches under the surface. He pulled it out, brushed away the dirt, hefted it. It seemed unremarkable. The stylised sun on one side, a profile of Emyr on the other. He expected it to feel different. To be heavier, or to feel like magic somehow. But there was nothing. What if this wasn’t the right coin? What if this was nothing more than a piece of metal?

  Then they were lost. No sense in worrying about possibilities.

  "So that’s the key."

  "Not now, Glastyn." Tom got to his feet and began to hurry back to the river. Tried not to worry that Dank wouldn’t be able to take them back. Tried not to worry that Rose had already been born. Or that something had gone wrong.

  "Isn’t a walk on a beautiful spring evening more pleasant with a friend?"

  Hard to think that it was spring after weeks of riding through snowy mountains. Time was slipping away from them. "I’m in a hurry."

  "Of course." Glastyn seemed to have no problem keeping pace, and somehow made it seem like he was in no rush at all. His fine silk shirts and trouser added to the illusion of an evening’s stroll. "So much is happening."

  "Why are you here?"

  "You seem to often ask us that question of late." Glastyn grinned, basking in the sunset. "You know, one of the things we love about Tir is the sunsets. And the sunrises. We wish we had those in Faerie."

  The fay, it seemed, wouldn’t be hurried, so Tom saved his breath. The march to the grave, the digging, and the march back were taking its toll. He was out of breath, and his shins burned.

  "You know, it’s quicker this way.” Glastyn jerked a thumb over to his left.

  "Should I trust you?"

  "Didn’t we deliver at Tirend?"

  Yes. He had. They had gone unmolested by the fay. But, "It’s important I get back to them, Glastyn."

  "We wouldn’t make you miss
the birth of your daughter."

  How did he know? But there was sincerity in Glastyn’s eyes, or the closest thing the fay could approximate.

  "You trusted Fenoderee," Glastyn murmured. "He is just a part of us. As the man who loves our queen is part of the man who opposes her."

  "Those parts would be in opposition to each other."

  "You’re right." Glastyn grinned. "A bad analogy."

  Tom shook his head. He had no idea what Glastyn wanted. Playing his own game, the sprite had said. But the fay had helped them in Tirend. Hopefully he was helping them again. So Tom gestured. "Lead on, Glastyn."

  The fay made no attempt to hide his pleasure. "Follow me, Sir Thomas."

  Glastyn seemed perfectly pleased to be walking in silence, so Tom did the same. But while he tried to puzzle out Glastyn’s motivations, his thoughts kept sliding back to Katharine. Was she alright? What if something went wrong? No, it wouldn’t. He knew he’d be by her side when she died.

  It was a small comfort.

  "Would you mind if someone joined us, Tom?"

  Someone? Tom shook away his fears and found new ones. "A fay?"

  "Yes. But a friend."

  A friend. Was that what Glastyn was? "Will they harm me? Or Dank or Gravinn?"

  "No."

  "Will they stop us returning to the others?"

  "No." Glastyn grinned as if Tom was guessing a great riddle.

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "Of course." But Glastyn shook his head, brushed his long locks away from his face. "You can always make the wrong choice."

  Caledyr was hundreds of miles away. All Tom had was an iron knife. It would be madness to agree. "I think I would prefer it if we walked alone."

  "Unfortunately, Glastyn is teasing you." The voice came from his right, her features hidden by the glare of the sunset behind her. "We are already here."

  Tom didn’t recognise her voice. On the back foot, his only weapon was his tongue. "Glastyn is rude that way."

  She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh. "We have often chastised him for being so."