by David Bokman
“There are speculations that the rifts are magical, or perhaps some sort of divine sign. Whatever the case, there are hefty bounties up for grabs if you figure out what they are, how they work, and how to close them! And that is my job as a rifter.”
“So somebody hired you to do this?” asked Na.
“No, no, no, my young, dazzling friend. I hired myself, but when I solve the mystery, I will be hired by mighty men all over the country!”
“This is very exciting,” said Sam. “What is your theory about the rifts?”
“I personally do not believe all the talk about magic. Truth be told, I do not believe magic to be real at all. I believe The Archive to be naught but illusionists, tricksters, and frauds, but that is a story for another day. No, I am certain the rifts have a natural, geological explanation. And I am to find it. Perhaps I failed to mention, but I was a naturalist for a long while.”
“That would explain the more… rational approach, yes. I do not mean to pry, Landon, but what have your findings been so far?”
Landon looked around the inn, making sure that no other patrons were eavesdropping on their conversation. He then ushered the group in close to him, and said, “You must promise me that this information does not leave this table. My findings will make me rich, so I will not have some nosey nobody steal them from me.”
The heralds nodded in approval, and Landon continued. “What I have discovered is this: the rifts are getting bigger!”
Again, the group gasped in manufactured surprise.
“I have personally found two rifts, and the second one was clearly bigger, perhaps a foot in each direction!”
“You… didn’t measure them?” The Dart was struggling to maintain her facade.
“No, but that is a wonderful idea! With what, though? Perhaps I could bring a stick with me, use it for reference…”
“Footsteps will do just fine.”
“Ah, indeed. You are far smarter than you let on.”
The Dart smiled. “And you said you were a naturalist before?”
“Yes, yes! For many years, until I grew bored of that lifestyle. But I carry their teachings with me always.”
“Of course.”
Landon drummed his hands on the table. “Well! In any case, I should not hold you up any longer. I’m sure you have important herald business to attend to! But keep an ear out for the name Landon the Explorer! Before long, men will be singing about me in taverns near and far! Landon the Rifter, they will call me, I can hear it already. Best of luck to you!”
“So,” said Cad, after Landon had excused himself, “that’s our colleague, then? Fearsome, competent, impressive.”
“The next fool won’t be as big a fool. The longer this goes on, the more people will get wind of the rifts, and the more people will get involved. I’d rather we finish this before that happens,” said Mae.
“But isn’t that a good thing? More people means a greater chance someone figures out the rifts!”
“And a greater risk that someone figures out a way to close them before we figure out what they are. And the Townmaster seemed rather set on closing them, nothing more. I want to make some progress before she gets her wish fulfilled.”
“So what?” asked Sam. “She’s the Townmaster of Kardh’Ao, not the King. She can’t decide what to do with all the rifts in the land.”
Cad’s laughter could be heard all around the tavern. “You hear that, Townmaster? You can’t do what you want, you’re not the King!”
“Did I say something funny?”
“The King does nothing but sit on his throne and complain about his food. He’s never done anything about anything outside of Velema. In the meantime, Kardh’Ao has grown well outside of his control. He might be king of his castle, but out in the real world, the Townmaster is king. And she does not like being told otherwise.”
⧫ CHAPTER XXII ⧫
Five. They had gotten five already, and evening had not yet struck. The Black Sheep had always used murder to make themselves heard, but this was excessive even by their standards. Zena hoped it was some sort of desperate last stand, but she knew the more likely explanation was that they were capitalizing on the instability caused by Stonehand’s death.
Commander Dovan was not entirely to blame; he had been busy getting briefings and learning his new role, something that would take time for any man. If Dovan did not get control of this soon, however, Zena would have to. And if she failed, years of hard work dedicated to crushing the criminal syndicate may go lost. And I will not let that happen. If they want war, they shall have it. She had been rather busy too; between preparations for Stonehand’s funeral and meetings with the ministers, she had not had much time to spare. Soon, all of that would be behind her, though. The funeral was set to take place tomorrow, and she had managed to contain the ministers for now. As she had suspected, the Minister of Commerce was opposed to her acting on her own volition, and the Minister of War was angry that he had not been consulted in the matter of electing a new commander. The other two buffoons had been complacent, as always. Zena had been forced to compromise to keep all the ministers sufficiently happy, and she did not appreciate it.
Their agreement was to let Commander Dovan stay in charge for a year, and then evaluate his performance. They were to hold a vote, and if a majority did not support him continuing, they would have another vote where they would name the next commander. Of course, Zena would make sure that it never came to that. I’ll deal with it later, though. Now, she had to see the man who seemed to be causing all her problems as of late. She told the guards to fetch Dovan for her.
Dovan was eating an apple as he entered her office. Zena knew that he was not eating the apple out of hunger, but to show that he did not fear her. There were few people in the city who were brave enough to walk into her office eating an apple, but she supposed a man did not rise to the rank of captain, much less commander, from cowardice. “You asked for me, Townmaster?”
“Eventful day so far, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. But they would be fools to strike again now that we have reinforced security. The attacks seem to be targeting merchants, presumably ones that have turned down gang members in the past.”
“So they had it coming, then. Regardless, it does not look good to have merchants murdered in broad daylight. Take whatever men you need, whatever resources you need. Until the problem is under control, you do not need to run any decisions by me. Just get it done.”
“Of course. We’ve narrowed their base of operations down to a few streets around Potter’s Street, but we’ll need a few more days to pinpoint their exact location. Then we’ll strike and be done with them once and for all.”
“I had a meeting with my cousin a week or two ago, Frida? She’s you, but for West Kardh’Ao.” Zena seemed to have completely lost interest in The Black Sheep.
“I know who the Commander of the Portsguard is, ma’am.”
“During that meeting, I told her I would throw her out of this window if she did not handle the rise in crime in her area of the city. Now, Frida is family. Let’s say that someone who was not family made the same mistake as her. What do you think I would do to them?”
“You’d find a higher window, Townmaster.”
“No, but it seems you understand me. Exterminate The Black Sheep, or the longest serving commander will be succeeded by the shortest serving one. That will be all.”
Commander Dovan bowed and made for the door. Right as he was about to leave, Zena spoke up again. “Oh, and Dovan?”
“Yes, Townmaster?”
“I like you. It’d break my heart to get rid of you. Don’t break my heart, okay?”
“You have my word, Townmaster. Good day.”
He will be harder to tame than Stonehand, Zena thought when she was alone once more. He will not be happy just doing as he’s told. The ministers will love him.
It seemed even the weather mourned Stonehand on the day of his funeral. The rain felt heavier than us
ual, as if filled with sadness. The wind was not ravaging, but remorseful. The funeral was to take place in the Temple of Vai, a holy building dedicated to the Goddess of Life. The Townmaster found it a bit ironic to hold a funeral in honor of the Goddess of Life, but then again, she did not know much about religion. Zena was as far from religious as you could get, but she knew that Gallo had frequented the temple and was by all accounts a man of faith. And I suppose there aren’t a lot of temples dedicated to Haara, anyway. In life, it had been Stonehand who had done Zena’s bidding, so she figured it was only fitting that in death, she would do his. Besides, with a figure as polarizing as Stonehand, holding the funeral in a holy house was probably for the best. Nobody will do anything foolish in a sanctuary where violence is forbidden, she thought. Not even those damned Black Sheep would dare. As she walked through the streets towards the temple, she found herself among a myriad of people heading to the temple. Today, she had begrudgingly accepted a guard escort, on account of the influx of people. Many commoners offered their condolences to her as she walked past, and she pretended to accept them. She saw that all the merchants’ stalls and stores had been closed for the day, as she had ordained. I’m forced to halt trade for an entire day just because tradition dictates it. Madness. Another problem you’ve caused me beyond the grave, Gallo.
The Temple of Vai, as most other holy buildings in the city, was an architectural marvel, and probably the structure that stood out the most apart from Zena’s own tower. All holy men agreed that Vai’s color was green, and looking at the temple, you could clearly see that whoever built it had taken this to heart. There was not an inch of the building that was not painted in one of a thousand different shades and nuances of green, ranging from a deep, calming moss-green to a bright, exhilarating summer-green. The temple’s magnificent archways had been adorned with finely cut emeralds that almost seemed to shine by their own accord, and the large double-doors were made from a green material not even the Townmaster was familiar with.
Of the Goddess herself, Zena did not know much. Vai was apparently one of the few female Gods, and also one of the most widely worshipped ones. You could find a temple dedicated to her in every major city in the land, and most minor ones as well. People prayed to her in times of illness, in times of childbirth, and in times when they simply needed some divine guidance. Unlike Vatin, Haara, and the other commonly accepted deities, Vai was not portrayed as a human figure, which intrigued Zena. The one part of religion that had always interested her was how people imagined the Gods to look like. Vatin, the God of the Seas, was depicted as a muscular man with perpetually wet hair and impossibly blue eyes. Haara, the God of Death, people imagined to be incredibly tall and slender, wearing hooded robes, and never showing his face to anyone. It was said that he often walked among humans in this world, wanting to bring the dead to his domain himself. Should you see a man matching his description in the dead of night, it was believed to be an ill omen foretelling your demise. Vai, on the other hand, was not believed to have a human form, or any form at all for that matter. Instead, her followers claimed that she exists everywhere at once, that a small part of her lives in every living thing, and that parts of her exist in the air and the water and the mountains, invisible to the human eye. Allegedly, a lifetime of study can make you feel the presence of the Goddess, which is the ultimate goal to which all her worshippers strive. What Zena strived for, though, was to get this funeral over and done with.
The Townmaster was let into the temple via a guarded entrance at the back, so as not to draw any unwanted attention. The temple could house a couple hundred mourners, but Zena was afraid that there would be substantially more mourners than that trying to make their way into the building. When inside, she met her brother, the Portmaster. With him was, unsurprisingly, a large force of armed guards. “You afraid this will turn into a double funeral, Paavo?” she asked.
“In a holy house? Please. And even if it does, it will not be for me. It would certainly make the proceedings more exciting, though.”
“That it would.”
The two siblings were situated behind the altar, which was in turn situated behind the casket and the rows of benches for the commoners. The casket itself was of modest design and had been personally selected by Stonehand. It was the one preparation he had made for his own funeral, confirming that he did indeed know that he was a mortal man. Made from simple oaken wood, he had said it reminded him of a simpler time, when he was a younger man. When he had said this to Zena, she had laughed. A younger man, when he was perhaps only six or seven decades old. In any case, this was the casket he wanted, and this was the casket he got.
Zena had made it very clear that the casket was to remain closed. Stonehand was a legend of this city. I will not let the people’s memory of him be a jar of ashes. No, the people would have to look at Indra, one of the deacons, instead. Working in service of Vai was so popular that it seemed the temple had a person in charge of even the most mundane things. Indra, who had served the temple for perhaps a decade, had received the privilege of managing all the funerals in the temple, and did so with great care and respect. She was an old deacon who would probably never rise any higher in the ranks of the temple, but she was devout and honest, and did her job well, or so Zena had been told.
As the bells heralded midday, the funeral service could finally begin. The doors to the temple were closed, leaving those unfortunate commoners who had come too late to stand outside in the rain. Inside, what must have been close to three hundred people from different walks of life had all gathered, some sitting on the benches, some standing between the rows, and some pressed against the walls. “Men and women of Kardh’Ao,” said Indra in a solemn tone. “We are gathered here today…”
“This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?” Zena whispered to her brother.
“I have heard horror stories of these things going on for entire days, yes. If she means to recite all of Stonehand’s achievements, we will be here until the next Commander expires, too.”
“What do you think of Dovan?” Zena did not especially value her brother’s opinion, but wanted to hear it nonetheless.
“I don’t know the man, but I’m sure he will do just fine.”
“Can’t do worse than your Commander, can he? Where is she, anyway?”
“Working, I’d imagine. I don’t see yours here either, apart from the dead one.”
“Are you pleased with Frida’s work?”
Paavo thought for a moment, before saying, “She’s still young. I believe she will learn with time, but I wish she learned faster. She shares your ruthlessness, but not your… discipline.”
“How long would you give her?”
“Five years, perhaps?”
“That sounds fair.” Zena fished up her notebook and made a note to take care of Frida if she had not bettered herself within the year.
“...a man who set an example for all of us to follow,” Indra continued. “And a man whose principles it is now up to us to honor...”
“I hear that the religious woman in your part of town has a lot of sway,” Zena whispered.
“Who, Amara? I suppose she does, yes.”
“I hear she has too much sway.”
“She has no gold and no army. People just like what she has to say, that's all.”
“I think you’d do well to remind her of that, dear brother.”
Paavo gave a curt smile. Why did you name me Portmaster if you won’t let me run the damned port? he thought, but kept quiet.
“...and during the reign of Filippa Sharktooth, he was the mastermind who dealt with the uprising in West Kardh’Ao! As a commander he was always resolute, but as a citizen…”
Paavo turned back to his sister. “So, have you made any progress on this rift situation I hear so much about?”
“It’s under control.”
“Of course. When the heart of the Townsguard is attacked and a building swallowed, I too think of control.”
“Carefu
l, Paavo. That almost sounded like an insult. Deliver more of those, and you might find your own control decreasing.”
“...last but certainly not least! Serving under Townmaster Zena Fishbane, he cracked down on crime in the East in a fashion never before seen! It is thanks to Commander Stonehand that both The Sons and The Black Sheep are all but—”
“Now!” came a shout from somewhere in the crowd.
Then, things happened very quickly.
All over the temple, appearing from nowhere, men and women drew knives and dirks and hatchets in unison. The guards stationed in the crowd began unsheathing their swords, but the ruffians were upon most of them before they had the time to do so. There seemed to be two, almost three armed criminals for every guard. Before anyone could assess the situation, four guards lay dead on the floor, having been stabbed and cut all across their faces. The mourners began storming out towards the exit, but many of them were cut down before they made it there. For every assailant the guards cut down, two more appeared, even more bloodthirsty than the last. It was a massacre.
Zena turned around to her guard escort. “Go and get—”
Before she could finish her order, one of the guards stepped up to her, stopping just a foot away from her face. In his right hand, he revealed a dagger. “For Kardh’Ao,” he said, and struck the blade hard into Zena’s abdomen.
The Townmaster gave an uncharacteristic gasp of shock, but the first thing she thought of was not fear, but anger.
How dare he? How dare any of them? This is my city! The other guards quickly restrained him. Zena, with the blade still stuck in her stomach, shook her head to regain balance, and walked up to the perpetrator. The other guards were restraining him, but not doing anything more. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Haara take you!” the guard spat back.
Adamant not to spill blood in a holy house, Zena quickly stretched her right arm, before hitting the guard with enough force to knock out a bear. The crack of his nose indicated he would not be causing any more trouble today. Zena looked back out over the temple, observing the chaos. Townsfolk were battling guardsmen all over the temple, stabbing and lunging and screaming. More members of the Townsguard were storming in from the doors, and they finally seemed to be getting a hold of the situation. Not without their losses, though. While many more bandits lay dead, a considerable number of guards had also met their end. The sight of a bloodbath in a temple, in her temple, almost sickened the Townmaster. “Paavo?” Zena turned to her brother. “Everything okay?”
