The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  "Together." Katharine squeezed Tom’s hand and stared at him with wide eyes.

  "Together," he told her, and squeezed back.

  And Mennvinn lifted the tongs.

  "Wait, you’re pulling her out with those?" Tom asked. "Won’t that hurt her?"

  "It’s all we have."

  Mennvinn gave herself a moment. Tom watched her take a breath through the nose, out through pursed lips. She murmured something in dwarfish. And then she reached for the baby.

  Katharine screamed. She glared into the sky, face clenched with fury and fear, screaming through gritted teeth, tears rolling down her face and into her hair, sweat beading on her forehead only to roll back and join her tears. Emyr’s black bones, what was Mennvinn doing? She wasn’t even looking at her work, her eyes half-closed as she shifted and twisted and tensed and tugged and Katharine screamed again and it was Six that cried out, "For Oen’s sake, you’re killing her."

  "You’re welcome to try saving their lives if you prefer, master elf," the dwarf replied, voice soft, almost distracted, she twisted the other way.

  "They’re not designed for this," Jarnstenn said. "I use them to hold hot metal."

  "Almost there," she murmured.

  "You’ll crush the skull."

  "Be silent."

  "Don’t hurt her," Tom told Mennvinn, and he wasn’t sure if he meant Katharine, Rose, both, and then Mennvinn pulled and Katharine screamed again and Mennvinn said, "Push, if you can," and Katharine crushed Tom’s hand in hers and strained and grunted and cried and then it was done.

  She was covered in blood. Her face was covered in marks. And she was wailing like the world itself was ending.

  But she was here. Rose. She was alive. She was here.

  His daughter.

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it.

  "Is she alright? Is she well?" Katharine’s voice was tight with fear.

  "She’s beautiful." She was. And she felt too far away. He wanted to hold her and never let her go.

  Mennvinn obliged. "Take her," she said, still brusque and business-like. She pushed Rose into his arms, where she wailed and flailed, bloodied and beautiful. Tom shushed and crooned at her while Mennvinn took a strip of leather, tied the cord that bound Rose to Katharine, and cut it.

  "Wrap her up," she told Tom. "She’ll be cold."

  "Here." Draig offered some of the leftover rags. Putting Rose into them wasn’t easy. Tom felt a stab of fear every time her head lolled, worried his thighs were too cold when he laid her on them to wrap her, didn’t relax until he had her wrapped up and cradled in his arms again.

  He looked at Katharine and grinned. "We made a baby."

  Katharine offered him a tired, pained smile. "Let me hold her."

  He passed her to Katharine, and happy new tears joined the old as she grinned down at the tiny person resting on her chest. Rose stopped crying after a moment and just lay there while Katharine whispered to her. Her little face was screwed into a gentle frown, as if she was confused by a curious puzzle.

  “Take her back.” Mennvinn told Tom, voice soft, unwilling to break the spell.

  Tom didn’t want to look away. But her voice carried too much concern for him to ignore. "What is it?" he asked her.

  "We need to get the afterbirth out." Mennvinn gave Katharine a grim smile. “It’s not over yet."

  It didn’t take long for the afterbirth to emerge, and Tom sighed when it did. "So is it over?" he asked. "Is everyone safe?"

  But Katharine was pale and shivering and Mennvinn was still probing and pushing. "She’s still bleeding."

  "Bleeding for a time, is not that normal?" Draig asked.

  "I don’t think this much blood is normal," Mennvinn replied. But she didn’t sound sure. She kept looking, poking, and Katharine’s breathing seemed too heavy.

  "Why don’t you say hello to Mama?" Tom said to Rose, and holding her seemed to bring some focus back to Katharine’s dazed expression.

  "Hello," she said to Rose. "Hello, little one."

  "You did so well," he said to Katharine, and kissed her on the forehead. "I’m so proud of you."

  "She’s here," she replied. "Our little girl. Our little Rose."

  "Yes, she is."

  "I’m cold," Katharine whispered.

  "Let’s get you back into a tent." Even inside, it was still too cold, and he covered them in every blanket he could find. But they were sheltered, at least. He grinned as Rose began to make little o-shapes with her mouth, searching for her first meal. "I think she’s hungry."

  "Right." There was apprehension in Katharine’s eyes.

  "Just let her find it," he told her. "I’ll see if there are any more blankets. I’ll be right back."

  But when he stepped outside, Mennvinn’s face stopped him in his tracks.

  "She’s lost a lot of blood." She sighed, and Tom realised how tired she was. Dark rings sat under her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping. "And the afterbirth wasn’t intact. I think there might still be some inside. I’ve done what I can. But I can do no more." She looked to the ground at their feet, as if she feared rebuke. "I don’t have the supplies. Or the skills."

  "Is it enough?" Tom asked. "Will she live?"

  Mennvinn stared at the ground, steeling herself for her answer. But Katharine had to live. She couldn’t go now. And if she went, she would take Rose with her. A baby couldn’t survive in the wilderness without her mother.

  "No." Mennvinn made it as gentle as possible. But it was still like a knife to the gut. Tom felt his eyes grow hot, the tears threaten to break over his cheeks.

  "What do we do?" He failed to keep his voice steady. There must be something. Anything.

  "We need to get her to a cirgeon."

  There was no chance of that. Not since they’d lost Dank.

  "Tom," Katharine called. His feet moved without thought, taking him back into the tent, back to her side. Where he belonged. He knelt and she reached out with one hand, the other cradling Rose to her chest. "It’s too late for that," she said. "Just hold my hand."

  He took her hand in his, saw how they were both caked in dry, flaking blood. "This isn’t it," he said.

  "I can feel it." She was pale, tired. She was cold to the touch. "It isn’t fair." Pain made her eyes ugly, pain at the loss, the injustice. She was forced to say goodbye to Rose just moments after meeting her. She was angry. But she didn’t have the strength to hold onto that anger.

  But Tom did. Rose should have been born in a civilised place, with cirgeons and medicine and the tools to keep her alive. And why was she here? Because of the fay. The cruel, manipulative, callous fay. And now she would die.

  No. He wouldn’t let it happen. He would change it. He had to. He was a Knight of Tir. He was a father.

  And fathers don’t give up on their daughters.

  "Take her." Katharine’s eyelids were heavy. "Please. I can’t."

  "You can." But he took Rose. She squirmed within her swaddling, made a small noise of protest before settling again. He felt a smile blooming just looking at her, but it was torn from his face by Katharine’s deep breath. As if she wasn’t getting enough air. He took her hand again. "Don’t give up. Please. We need you."

  She smiled. "You do." Her eyelids drifted downwards. "You’ll have to be both of us," she said. "Be a good father. And a good mother."

  "No. I won’t." He knew it was cruel to say it. But he knew he’d say anything to keep her fighting. "You have to stay."

  "I want to." Her smile faded and her brow furrowed. "It isn’t fair. I was so close."

  "We’re right here. Stay with us. I can keep you safe, if you stay."

  She opened her eyes again. Met his gaze, held it, gripped his hand, as if trying to push her words into him with force of will. "I love you." And then her grip grew weak and she closed her eyes.

  "No." She couldn’t go. He squeezed her hand, almost crushed it to get a reaction, shook it, "No," he told her, held the back of her hand against Rose’s swaddled form. "Fight,
Katharine, be strong, just for a little while, come back, please."

  Her hand was cold.

  It came to pass.

  The fear of this moment, the tension he’d felt for months bubbled forth. He wanted to roar, to rage, to tear down the world. But he held his daughter in his hands and whimpered, "Don’t leave us."

  The wind howled and Rose began to cry. "I’m sorry," he whispered to her. "I’m sorry."

  "There was nothing you could have done," Mennvinn said.

  Tom sniffed, wiped his eyes. "Hush," he told Rose. “Mama's resting, she’s just resting, hush now." He pushed himself off his knees, stepped out of the tent. He couldn’t face them. He couldn’t let them see his shame.

  "I’m sorry, Tom," Emyr said. "I truly am."

  Six had pulled himself out of his own tent, and was staring into the fire. "I’m sorry," he said.

  Their sympathy was like a permission, and Tom let himself sob. She’d deserved so much more. Now she’d never finish her map to Cairnarim, never find her fame, never see Rose grow up. He’d never get to see her smile again. He’d never get to tell her that he loved her. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "I love you." Too late. He’d let her down again. Why couldn’t he have left all this behind and just gone with her like she’d asked him, like he’d wanted to?

  Voices, hushed, arguing, he looked up and saw Six and Mennvinn whispering at each other, "Eirwen’s grace, show some respect," Tom spat at them. Katharine’s dead, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t.

  He couldn’t say the words.

  "Just do it," Six snapped, and Mennvinn knelt by Katharine’s body and touched her wrist with her fingers.

  Tom couldn’t say she was dead.

  He sniffed, wiped his eyes. "She isn’t dead," he said. He could say it.

  Mennvinn said something in dwarfish, but Tom was already marching towards the supplies, searching for the jar. Don’t think, don’t fear, don’t feel. Just do it. There was still time. Rose was crying, and he was bouncing her in one arm, "Hush, soon, Papa will take care of you soon, I’m sorry, we need to be brave and strong for Mama, hush now." There, there was the jar, he pulled it free with one hand, pulled the rags away from it until the sprite was revealed and the light shone bright in his eyes. He snatched up Caledyr, carried both the sword and the jar over to the tent, pushed Mennvinn aside. A moment of clarity made him stop, pull the coin from his pocket and push it into Mennvinn’s hands, before he told the sprite, "Take me, Rose, and Katharine into Faerie. Now."

  He pulled the cork free, felt a tug, and the world was gone.

  Chapter 21

  Rose was quiet. Shocked into silence, just for a moment. He held her close to his chest. A warm, midsummer’s breeze blew across them, and the air was thick with magic. "Don’t be afraid," he told her. "Papa's here."

  He lifted his head and gazed up at the whole of Faerie arrayed around him.

  This was new.

  The fay had built a replica of the arena in the merrow city, only this one was as the original had once been, shining and new and sharp and perfect. A legion of Faerie creatures stared down at him from dozens and dozens of concentric rings of seats, while he stood in the arena’s centre, in a great circle of fine white sand. Katharine lay beside him, without her blankets, without her dignity; the sprite had left her bloodied thighs bare and her chest exposed. It was a cheap, nasty move, and Tom immediately lowered himself to one knee and rearranged Katharine’s clothes to protect her modesty.

  "Do you give us the knee, Thomas Rymour?" A voice called. "Is that why you are here?"

  He wanted to stay kneeling. No, he wanted to sit. To lie down. But he wouldn’t kneel to the fay. So he pushed himself to his feet, failing to keep in a groan at the effort. Lifted his chin and found the speaker. The fay known as Grim stood on a podium amongst the seats, but he was much changed since Tom had last seen him.

  He was still short and stocky, still covered in thick, black hair. His eyes still glowed an unnatural red, and his enormous mouth was still filled with long, needle-like teeth. But now much of him was covered in bright armour that twisted and whorled into patterns that were painful to the eye, and much of his face was hidden behind a tall helm. A golden trident topped off the new look.

  The fay looked ready for battle, and this arena was made for violence, not for talk. So Tom tried to appeal to the crowd's desire for entertainment. "I have come here to treat with the King and the Queen of Faerie,” he said for all to hear.

  Melwas and Mab were sat on either side of Grim's podium, encased in tall thrones that sat black against the white stone. Melwas was clad in his armour save his helm, glaring at Tom like he hoped he would burst into flames. And Mab, wearing a simple black gown, gazed at him with greedy desire.

  "In this place, we are both king and queen.” Grim grinned, and Tom couldn’t help but notice how the fay’s teeth flexed and shifted, like they had breath of their own.

  He dragged his gaze from Grim’s disturbing visage and looked directly at Mab. "I have a proposition for you," he said.

  Mab’s greedy smile faltered; she’d noticed he hadn’t called her his queen. But she said nothing. Instead it was Grim who replied. "There are no propositions in this place," he said.

  Very well. He’d play the game. While Katharine and Rose were here, they could not die. Just as Emyr had lived with a mortal wound for a thousand years, so Katharine and Rose could live without dying. "And what is this place?" he said, fulfilling his part.

  "The grand arena," Grim replied, lifting his trident to a roar of approval from the crowd.

  "And who fights here?"

  "The mortals."

  Mortals. They were bringing mortals here to fight for their amusement. "And who do they fight?" Tom asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it from Grim’s fat lips.

  "Us." He touched fingertips to his armoured chest. Armour that was purely for show, for the flesh beneath could not be harmed by mortal hands. And there was no chance the fay were giving iron blades to their prey.

  The fay were bringing mortals here to fight a fight they could not possibly win. It was cruel. Monstrous. Evil. "I fail to see the entertainment in an unfair fight."

  "Long have we called you the seer that cannot see," Grim replied.

  Tom ignored the jibe. "I am not here to fight."

  "Mortals have no voice here. Though you are permitted to wail and moan, for our pleasure."

  Fight.

  Tom’s fingers itched to draw Caledyr and strike Grim down. But his hands, his actions were no longer his alone. Rose and Katharine came first. "I came here to offer the fay something more than a mere fight."

  But Grim shook his head. "We have fought many mortals, Thomas Rymour. Their bones built a path that leads to you. You will fight. You will fall. You will heal, and fight, and fall again. I will cut you down from now until the end of days. This is your fate: unending death, by my hand!" He lifted that hand over his head and the fay cheered and applauded, laughed and taunted Tom. Only Melwas and Mab were quiet. Melwas glared at him from his throne. And Mab frowned her concern while Puck whispered in her ear.

  "That sounds like it might grow rather dull," Tom replied. "Wouldn’t you rather see how our quest ends first?"

  "We long to hear your bones crack, see your flesh split, taste your blood on our tongue." Grim’s teeth unfolded like a flower under morning sunlight and a long, pointed tongue snaked from between his fat lips. "We want to see how long it takes for you to beg for mercy."

  Tom’s skin tightened at the thought. "Yet I came here willingly," he said, and managed to keep his voice steady. "If we fought now, until the end of time, you would always know I came here of my own will. That I endured this by choice."

  "You did not know this was the fate that awaited you."

  "Didn’t I?" He forced his own grin. "I’ve seen first-hand how the fay treats those who have wronged them. This is nothing to the horrors I imagined awaited me here. Fighting you for eternity at least gives me the chance to hur
t you in return."

  Grim’s smile faltered. "Then you came to your doom of your own accord?"

  "No." He lifted his voice, to ensure that every fay could hear him. "I came here to ask for a boon."

  There was a rush of whispered shock. Scoffing. Disbelief. Distrust. Why would Thomas Rymour ask for a boon, when he knew what such a thing entailed?

  Even Grim was at a loss. He turned to Melwas, ceded his authority, and the Faerie King glowered, his lip twitched, preparing to give the order, ignore him, cut him down, take the woman and child.

  But it was Mab who spoke. "What boon is this you speak of?"

  Tom fought his grin. He had them now. Curiosity. It killed many cats. "You know the woman with me." He nodded to Rose in his arms. "And this is our daughter. I love them both. More than anything." He could see the hurt in Mab’s eyes, the anger, and he spoke quickly. "They won’t survive in Tir, and so I ask you to keep them here, until I can return and take them back to a place where they can be healed and where they can be safe."

  Mab’s lips curled in disgust. "And why would we do this thing?"

  "Because you want to see if I can get them back." Tom tried not to smile as he realised it was true.

  But Melwas shook his head. “You demand a sunset and offer the sunrise that is sure to follow.” He tapped two fingers to the point in his chest where Tom had stabbed him with Caledyr. “We already know that you would try to rescue your women. You must offer us something we want.”

  Sudden, certain knowledge coiled in Tom’s gut. He knew what he had to do. And he hated himself for how ready he was to do it. “Dank is missing,” he said. “Lost in the maelstrom. If I find him, I will deliver him to you.”

  A gross betrayal. But he had no choice. The lives of Katharine and Rose depended on staying here. And Tom would do anything to keep them safe.

  Mab smirked at the pain in his eyes, before dismissing it with a flick of her hand. ”We can find Dank ourselves." She lifted her chin towards Grim. "Begin."

  No. He couldn’t fight, not with Rose. But he moved her into his left arm, just in case. "Wait."