by David Bokman
Before the crew had time to block off his escape path, the Laentarian grabbed his second sickle and stepped up onto the gunwale. In a synchronized motion, he threw both his sickles at the ropes holding one of the lifeboats in place, slicing them cleanly off, sending the rowboat falling down into the ocean. Wasting no time, Jaio jumped down after it, catching it midway down its descent, landing heavily against its wooden surface. His body ached from the impact, but he did not have time for pain. Now all you have to do is pray that the Captain is slow to catch wind of this, and slower yet to turn his ship around. Speaking of wind, that factor at least was in Jaio’s favor. Even though the Laentarian had not yet started rowing, his lifeboat had begun drifting away from the Northern Respite, being carried on the wind-stricken waves. If he was to have any chance of escape, the wind would need to continue working in his favor; Jaio had never before operated a boat of any size, never before even held an oar. It cannot require immense study to figure out, he told himself. Use the oar to push the boat forward. I can do that. Looking back at the ship, the Laentarian breathed a sigh of relief seeing that it had not yet changed course. The crew on deck, who were at this point probably two hundred feet away, were still throwing daggers, tankards and whatever else they could find towards the lifeboat, but apart from a rotten egg, nothing made contact with the Laentarian.
“Good luck!” came cries from the ship.
“D’ya reckon he’ll die from thirst or drowning?” said someone else.
“Thirst, obviously! He’ll last two days, tops! Enjoy the ocean, outlander!”
Jaio did not know whether to be happy or sad that they were not coming back to finish the job. If they do not bother killing me, they must be certain I am headed for a more gruesome death than they could deliver. Indeed, the Northern Respite did not change course, but instead continued northward, perpendicular to the way Jaio’s lifeboat was drifting. You survived the Fall of Laentar, but you’re going to die at sea in a rowboat? No, he told himself. No, you will not. You will row to land and you will survive. This seemed easier said than done, however. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but more sea, and the waves meant that the Laentarian did not have a say in which direction he would go. Only a fool would exhaust himself fighting against these waves, he thought. Judging by the sun and the Northern Respite’s direction, it seemed to Jaio like he was travelling eastward, which felt like a good direction anyway. The coast was on the west, so there must be more land to the east, surely? But if land was an hour or a fortnight away, the Laentarian did not know. What he did know, however, was that the risk of him dying of thirst was far lower than the crew believed it to be. He brought his hand to his coat, making sure that his ale-filled waterskin was still there. It was. While it would certainly not last him a fortnight, he should be able to survive at least a few days. And you better find land in a few days, Jaio.
⧫ CHAPTER XXI ⧫
This rift was different. For one, it must have been fifty times longer than any rifts they had previously seen. What was most intriguing about it, however, was the fact that it seemed… dormant. It gave off no purple glow and seemed to have been entirely closed until Cadwell put his sword into the ground. Even now, it did not seem to have fully awoken; it was still only a few inches wide, as opposed to the multiple yards of the other rifts. “Nobody move!” said Cad, afraid that so much as a step could make the entire rift open up.
“It’s okay,” said Florianna. “It’s… dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the other rifts, they’ve been pulsating with purple energy, they’ve felt alive. I’ve felt them. This rift, I do not feel at all.”
Sam, frowning, said, “You feel the rifts?”
“I do too,” said Mae. “Perhaps not as clearly as our arcanist, but I do.”
“But why—”
“Why is it larger? Why was it closed? Are there other rifts like this one hidden in plain sight? How long since this one was opened? This rift gives more questions than it answers, yes,” said Mae.
“You, rift experts,” said Cad. “Do you reckon it's safe to move? Because I want to move away from this thing, so we can discuss it safely.”
“You can. I, on the other hand, have a fair bit of pacing to do,” smiled Mae. “This rift won't measure itself.”
By the time Mae made it back from her rift-pacing, the group had already finished their rations. “Thirteen-hundred and thirteen steps long, half a step wide,” she stated proudly. “If we only measure the area, it is only a bit over twice the size of the next largest rift. If we assume it was once open, and therefore wider, it is a different story. Its length is so many magnitudes greater than anything else we’ve seen that it cannot be pure coincidence.”
“And it’s closed all the way?”
Mae gave a nod. “Wide enough to stick your hand through, but not much more than that. Impossible to look down too far; it just ends in darkness down there.”
“Did we have an estimation as to when Mofarik wrote her book?” asked Samson.
“Half a millenia ago, give or take, and back then the rift must have been open. Hard to tell whether it closed four centuries ago or last week, though.”
“What was this place? Do we know about its history?” said Na, trying to puzzle it all together.
“Must have been a farmer’s field once, or else Mofarik wouldn’t have written about it. For as long as I know, it’s just been a road, though. What it was before Mofarik’s days, I couldn’t say.”
“I doubt this desolate spot in the north was a metropol a thousand years ago,” said Cad.
“Helpful as ever. So, theories as to why it closed?”
“Maybe they all close after a while?” said Sam.
“Or maybe there is a way to close them?” Florianna did not sound especially convinced.
“Perhaps it got bored.”
Mae looked at Cadwell for a moment. “How do you mean, bored?”
“I mean I don’t bloody know. Whatever the reason, the Townmaster girl wanted them closed, and this here is a closed one. One step closer to being done with this debacle.”
“But there must have been a reason for this one to be different. Let’s say they have a purpose, that they don’t just appear at random. Why would a rift need to be larger?”
“Maybe it was an angry rift.”
“But why would it be angry?” Mae was talking faster and faster. “Sam, what did that song say?”
Cadwell rolled his eyes. “We’re not seriously using a damn song as evidence, are we?”
“The ground shifts, it opens rifts? Trip or be slain, and you enter death’s domain? And then that part about a leap of faith, and the wraith? Sorry, I don’t remember it word for word.”
“That’s okay. Shifts and rifts, trip or be… Trip or be what?”
“Slain?”
Mae looked as if someone had told her the secret to eternal life. “Cad?” she asked. “Have there been any battles here?”
Mae explained her theory for the third time, but Cadwell still found it ridiculous. “So the rifts open to deliver dead people to Haara? This theory doesn’t work, Dart. Why isn’t there a rift every time someone dies? How come nobody knows about these things, if they open after every big battle?”
“I agree there are still some details that don’t add up,” said Mae. “But there are also several that do. This rift could have appeared after the Northern War of Independence. You said it yourself: it adds up chronologically. Attila mentioned a rift in Karga, and although my war history is a bit rusty, I’m fairly sure there was a military operation called the Karga Offensive not too long ago, so that’s two cases.”
“There was,” Cadwell confirmed.
The cogs in Samson’s head finally connected, and he said, “Cad, didn’t you mention that you were ambushed close to the rift at the manor?”
“You were what?”
“I was, but that must have been almost a league away from that manor. And it was no War of Indepe
ndence; less than a hundred men died in total.”
“And so the rift was smaller. Cad, you should have told us.”
“Excuse me? I should tell you about every place where I’ve been in combat? This would turn into a very, very long journey, Dart. Besides, there are a dozen places where I have fought battles and no rifts have appeared. Just because parts of your theory make sense doesn't make it right.”
“And none of this explains the purple glow!” said Florianna.
“Nor why you two can feel the rifts, unless you’re both really fond of bloodbaths.”
“Three cases are too many to disregard as coincidence, though, you have to agree.”
“Perhaps.”
Leaving Mae’s theory alone for a moment, the heralds took some extra time to scour the ground around the rift, making sure that they did not miss any clues regarding the rift’s origin. Unfortunately, the ground around the rift had been swept clean, and there was nothing but stones to be found. Or at least that was the case until Sam, right as he was starting to give up his search, gave a surprised shout. “An axe!”
“A what?” The others abandoned their searches and made their way to Samson.
“I think I found the blade of an axe,” said Sam, holding a carved, old piece of stone up in front of him. The piece did indeed resemble that of a bearded axe, but time had not been kind to it.
“Makes sense,” said Cadwell. “The further north you get, the fonder they seem to be of axes. Could never understand why; axes have too much wood and too little blade. Made the northmen easier to deal with, though, so I didn’t complain. Probably an old relic from the war. Might have been able to sell it for a pretty penny if it was in better shape.”
Mae grabbed the blade from Samson’s hands without a word. The axe blade was roughly ten inches long with a fearsome curved shape. Back in its day, it could probably do quite a bit of damage. Today it was blunt and chipped and useless, but it did confirm to her that there was indeed some sort of battle that took place here. Either that, or someone dropped their axe. “Should we send a letter to Attila about our theory?” said Na.
“Might not be too smart to send every little theory we get to the man,” said Cadwell.
“But maybe it’ll make him keep an eye open, see if he can confirm the pattern. We’ll ride through Vestrok either way, we could always check if someone there can get a message to him,” said Mae. They had shooed away Jaio’s raven after his message had reached them; if he was on a ship north, there was no point in having a raven trying to track him down anyway.
“Yeah, they could send a man down on one of their ice wolves,” joked Cad.
“In any case,” Mae interjected, “the chance to rest and restock supplies will be welcome, so we’ll probably stay in Vestrok a day or two? Give ourselves a chance to soak in the beauty of northern civilization before we venture beyond it.”
“It won’t matter if we let him know,” Na realized. “People will travel this way going to Kardh’Ao. They’ll notice the rift, now that we opened it. They’ll talk about it, and Attila will hear about it.”
“And in that case,” said Cad, thinking aloud, “it might make us look better if he gets the information from us. Fair play, young magician.”
“To Vestrok, then?” said Sam. “A proper bed wouldn’t be too bad for a few nights.”
As evening approached, the heralds confirmed their suspicions: they would not reach Vestrok until tomorrow. It felt bad setting up camp a mere two leagues away from the warmth of the town, but they all understood that traversing this landscape at night would be akin to a death sentence. If the cold did not take them, the wild beasts would, and up here in the desolate north, there were no street lanterns to guide you through the night. Instead of a warm meal with ale, they once more had to make do with their salted fish, dry bread, and that strange stew that nobody but Cadwell dared to eat. The one high note of the supper was, like all the previous days, the water. It seemed the further north they got, the better the water from the streams tasted. Samson had not known that water could have a taste at all, but this water was undoubtedly more refreshing and reinvigorating. And compared to the warm, sandy water of Grensby, this tastes like it comes straight from the Gods’ fountain.
That night, Mae was the last to sleep, staying up late to refine her sketch of the dormant rift, while also making notes of everything that happened around the rift. I’m getting closer, she thought. It’s been so long, but I’m finally getting closer. I can solve this. We can solve this. I can go home soon. Soon. Those were the thoughts that put her to sleep that night, and they gave her more comfort than any bed ever could.
The following day, the heralds met more people on the road than they had in the last two weeks combined. They met hunters going into the woods, they met fishermen going to streams and lakes, and they met villagers living a walk away from Vestrok. “It’s refreshing to see people again!” said Na, equally excited about the people and the prospect of a town. Up here, fewer people seemed to recognize or respect their emblems, but a fair number of townsfolk still gave them an acknowledging nod as they went by.
The group quickly realized that comparing Vestrok and its inhabitants to Kardh’Ao would be like comparing The Trade and The Archive; while they certainly shared similarities, they were far more different than alike. Whereas they had been able to spot Kardh’Ao when they were over a day’s ride away, the foundations of Vestrok only made themselves visible once the group had a single league left to travel. Additionally, whereas the people of Kardh’Ao had been flamboyant and unique, the inhabitants of Vestrok were almost indistinguishable; they all wore the same thick fur coats, and they all looked as frostbitten and miserable as the person next to them. As the entourage entered the town proper, they saw that the buildings in Vestrok also differed greatly from what they had previously seen. Instead of the cloud-piercing structures of Kardh’Ao, these houses were small and square, often with fur fitted on the outside to protect against the cold. Some of the locals even claimed that some people lived in houses made of ice, but if Mae had not corroborated the claim, the other heralds would not have believed it.
All in all, Vestrok housed less than five thousand people, which, albeit a big step down from Kardh’Ao, still made it the clear centerpoint of the north. The town had no walls, and when inquired about it, the local populace barely understood the question. “What would we need walls for?” they asked. “The wild animals know we hunt them, so they’re smart enough not to go near the town. And we don’t really get visitors up here.” Regardless of the reason for it, the heralds were glad that safety was laxer than in Kardh’Ao. That is, except for Cadwell, who considered it a critical strategic error, which he tried and failed to get across to the inhabitants. Despite the lack of walls, the town still felt almost as unwelcoming as Kardh’Ao. The people only spoke to the heralds if absolutely necessary, and none did so with much enthusiasm or friendliness.
There seemed to be exceedingly few shops in the town; if you wanted something, you got it yourself, and that was that. Thankfully, a single inn, The Lost Traveler, did exist, and would no doubt come in handy for the heralds. The northmen also had a structure of law and ruling that differed from Kardh’Ao and most other places. The town did not have one ruler, but instead a council of representatives. “The council is eleven men in total,” one of the locals told them. “Men get elected based on merits; the best hunters get to lead the town.”
“Why?” asked Sam.
“Hunting is an art!” said the old man. He was one of the few people who seemed almost happy to speak to them. “To be a successful hunter, you must be patient, smart, and strong. To be one of the best, and earn a place on the council, you must stand above the common man. Once your hunting days are over, you get elected, and serve until you draw your last breath.”
“And only men can serve on the council?”
“I suppose anyone could, if they prove themselves an excellent hunter. It’s only been men as long as I know,
though.”
This council did not hold much sway over the common folk’s daily lives. They dealt mainly with out-of-town matters and trusted the locals to manage their own lives within the town, the old man told them. Further proof of this was the lack of guards. The heralds did not dare ask, as they feared they had already exhausted the locals’ hospitality, but it seemed like there was no sort of military presence whatsoever; people were left to fend for themselves up here in the cold north. Heralds of Kardh’Ao were no exception.
The Lost Traveler did not house many patrons, but the few that it did house were all keen on speaking with the heralds. Some of them on account of the emblems, the others simply because the four heralds made up a strange bunch of individuals. The heralds, in turn, were happy to finally find people that did not seem like they would rather eat their own arm than talk to them. Their time on the road had made them grow tired of only speaking to each other. One patron in particular, a young, strong man, intrigued them. When they asked what he was doing this far north, his answer was quick. “I’m a rifter.”
“A what?”
The man put up a finger, keeping the heralds in suspense. He then pulled out a notebook not too dissimilar from The Dart’s, and opened it. “Seeing as you are heralds, I am sure you have heard of the purple rifts that have started appearing?” He flipped through a few pages of his notebook, until he found what he was looking for. “Ah! Here we are. They look something like this,” he said, showing the group a haphazardly drawn sketch of a rift.
The Dart gave a wry smile. “It must have evaded our attention. Please, indulge us.”
“With pleasure! My name is Landon, by the way. Landon the Explorer. So, the rifts! These mystical holes in the ground, never before seen, have started appearing all over the land, from east to west!”
He took a theatrical pause, during which the heralds feigned surprise.
