Shoreseeker

by Brandon M. Lindsay

  When Esta glanced to Rod, he simply nodded, not meeting Esta’s eyes.

  “Come,” Lora said, guiding Esta up the steps. “Say your goodbyes, and know that Nina will be safe and at home with other special children like her.”

  In a daze, Esta went back inside. Nina jumped out of her grandmother’s arms and into Esta’s. Tear’s stung Esta’s eyes as she held her niece. “Do you know what this woman wants you to do?”

  Nina nodded against her. “She wants me to go to a place called Falconkeep because I’m a fensoria. She said it would be safer that way.”

  The matter-of-fact way she said it made Esta’s chest ache. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  “I know.” Nina’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But I want you and grandma to be safe.”

  Esta squeezed her even tighter. “I’m going to miss you very, very much, Neensy.”

  Nina returned the hug, then stepped back. “Here,” she said, handing her one of the little egg-shaped raccoons. She had untied it from the rest of the raccoon family.

  It was the smallest one, the baby of the raccoon family.

  Esta covered her face with her hand, unable to hold her sobs in anymore. “No, Neensy. You keep it. Your mother made it for you, and she would want the raccoon family to stay together.”

  Nina frowned in thought for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. I think she does want that.”

  “I’m sure she does, wherever she is.” She stood, holding Nina’s head tight against her middle. “No matter how far away she is, even if she’s in Farshores, she still loves you, just like I will. No matter how far we are, we will always love you. Remember that, okay?”

  Nina looked up at her with a wide grin and patted Esta’s belly reassuringly. “Of course.”

  * * *

  With the last of its five new charges, the blue Falconkeep carriage trundled down the road towards the Face. Esta watched it disappear from sight through the window of her room. The grief was overwhelming, but once the carriage was gone, Esta made a decision. She rushed inside and threw her travel pack, the one she used for hunting, onto her bed and began to fill it.

  “What are you doing?” her mother asked from the doorway to Esta’s room. Her arms were folded tightly.

  “Tharadis was supposed to be here,” Esta said. “He should have handled this. Not us, and not Larril.” She paused. “He deserves to know.”

  “How will you find him?”

  Esta paused, but only briefly. “I’ll figure something out.”

  Her mother watched from the doorway for a while, and finally nodded. “I’ll help you pack.”

  Chapter 12: Whorls of Metal

  Coruscating waves of orange light rose up out of the vast split in the earth a hundred paces from where Tharadis and Dransig stood, stretching east and west until it disappeared from sight. To Tharadis’s eye, the light of the Rift was like candlelight that flickered slowly, but moved more like the ocean waves than any fire he had seen. Tharadis would think it pretty if he hadn’t known just how deadly it was.

  Shifting the strap of his pack, Tharadis lifted his gaze up the light pouring out of the Rift—considered as much part of the Rift as the crack in the earth itself—as it stretched upward. Its upper edges mingled with the cloudless blue of the afternoon sky, one fading into the other, so that it was impossible to tell just how tall the Rift reached. He knew it was high enough that it kept even birds from crossing over. When the Rift still seemed impassable, every few decades or so someone got the idea to try to send messenger birds through it to reach whomever might be on the other side. Ten feet into the light, and the birds fell like stones. Every single time.

  “I’d prefer to keep moving, Warden,” Dransig said. He looked … not old, as he had when he ceased drawing on his power. But ill. His skin was pale, his movements jerky. And … had he grown taller?

  Tharadis turned his attention to the footpath in front of them. “So would I,” he responded. They turned and started west, parallel to the Rift, keeping a good amount of distance between them and it. They weren’t far from where the Runeway spanned it. Few people came this way, even though it was the quickest path from where he and Dransig had come. Shallow wagon tracks could be seen in places, filled with needles shaken from the trees on either side, the bulk of which grew south of the path. Tharadis was glad for the shade they cast, and he was sure that Dransig was too. Especially with him refusing to so much as pull off his gloves.

  Tharadis stifled a yawn. He hadn’t slept at all last night—not that they’d had much choice. Dransig’s former comrades were still behind them and doubtless knew where they were headed now. There was only one way across the Rift, and that was the Runeway.

  Even now, the irony wasn’t lost on him. Tharadis would travel over the very thing he was trying to stop.

  He reminded himself that it wasn’t the Runeway itself that was the problem—only that the Council wanted to build it where they willed, the Naruvian people be damned.

  There was more to it than that, however, but they were matters that Tharadis himself didn't understand—matters of Patterning. Larril had given him a document to present to the Council, outlining the troubles with the Runeway. Something about a connection to the Pattern of Andrin's Wall, but beyond that, Tharadis didn't know. And he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Thinking of Patterning reminded him of the day before, of all those dead birds … He shook the thought from his head. Now was not the time to puzzle out impossible questions.

  “Do you know how this Rift came to be?” Dransig asked at his side. When Tharadis didn’t immediately respond, he continued. “The moment when Andrin’s Wall was finally finished, when the final stone was put into place and the Wall’s magic came alive, thunder split the sky. Many thought it was the Wall failing, the sound of the sheggam tearing it down like they had done to every one of mankind’s defenses until then. But the Wall held, and so did its magic. No, it was the Rift slicing across the land, coming into existence at the exact same moment as the power of Andrin’s Wall.”

  Tharadis had heard as much before. Records had been kept from that time, and though what happened across the Rift after its formation was mostly mystery, it didn't take much to determine it was no coincidence. “What is Andrin’s Wall like?”

  “Can’t wait to see it, can you?” A small smile touched Dransig’s lips. “I don’t blame you. Back when I could, I would often go out on the northernmost tower and watch the Wall until dawn. You couldn’t see much of it from there, but it was the only place where you could see any of it.”

  Tharadis gave him a sidelong glance. “When you could?”

  Dransig nodded. “Since becoming a Knight of the Eye, I couldn’t look at it without it hurting me. The more I draw upon shegasti, the harder it is. Now, it’s blinding. I fear to guess what would happen if I were to stare at it now.” He took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “My time in Garoshmir will not be without its difficulties.” A moment passed, and then he said, “But I am ready.”

  “You can see Andrin’s Wall from Garoshmir?”

  Dransig grunted with a nod. “Much better than … where I’m from.”

  They continued in silence, maintaining their quick pace. At times Dransig would glance south, sometimes southwest. Aside from those who lived here—and, he had to admit, Esta as well—Tharadis knew the lowlands as well as anyone, and he knew the roads leading to the Runeway. They had likely taken the main road, thinking it the fastest. It wasn’t, luckily. From watching the direction of Dransig’s regard, Tharadis knew approximately where the Knights were, judging they were still a few hours behind them.

  They came to a slight decline, and the path veered away from the Rift. Dransig’s relief was palpable, and he almost seemed back to normal, as if what Tharadis had seen before was a mere trick of the light. He had to keep himself from glancing over every few steps.

  “Andrin’s Wall was imbued with Patterns to repel the sheggam,” Tharadis said in a musin
g tone. “And at the exact moment, the Rift came into existence.”

  Dransig briefly met his eyes and nodded.

  “Then wouldn’t that suggest that the Rift has something to do with shegasti?”

  A long silence stretched before Dransig replied. “Move the bob of a pendulum, and it begins to swing back and forth.”

  “And the bob peaks twice … on opposite sides.” Tharadis paused. “And if the Wall repels the sheggam, does the Rift—”

  “A question better left unasked,” Dransig said brusquely.

  “The answer is plain on your face.”

  Dransig glared at him, his jaw tight. But then he looked away, the anger seeming to leach out of him. “I suppose it’s better that you know. Yes, the Rift … affects me. I almost didn’t make it across the first time.” He looked at the orange light and then away quickly, almost guiltily. “I may need your help getting across.”

  “Did the other Knights have the same problem?”

  “No, I don’t imagine they had quite the—” Dransig cut himself off. Still fixed on the path in front of him, his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say another word.

  Tharadis glanced to where the embroidered Eye on Dransig’s chest had been. He finally understood why Dransig refused to remove even his gloves, despite how much discomfort the noonday heat was obviously causing him. “How many do you have?”

  Dransig didn’t answer at first, instead his face turning so red Tharadis suspected he might stomp off ahead. But Dransig kept pace with him. As he said, he would need Tharadis’s help.

  “Twenty-two,” Dransig finally said.

  Tharadis’s eyes widened. “Twenty-two? But all the other Knights—”

  “Have only one piercing, yes. I’m sure you learned that in that book you plan on bartering,” Dransig said in obvious annoyance. “It may surprise you to learn that that isn’t even why I’m no longer with the Knights.”

  Tharadis shook his head in disbelief. Twenty-two. Whatever the true reason for their split, this did explain why they were so eager to catch him—and why it was so unlikely they would succeed.

  No, the other Knights weren’t the greatest threat to Dransig. The power within him was.

  “I hope you understand,” Dransig said, annoyance fading, “that this is the last time we will speak of this.”

  Tharadis nodded, stepping over a branch that had fallen across the road. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he found himself calculating how quickly he could draw his sword if Dransig was … overcome. “I didn’t mean to pry. But like you said, it’s better that I know.”

  Dransig harrumphed but didn’t contradict him.

  A short while later, Tharadis halted, raising a hand for Dransig to do the same. Then, with his knuckles, he tapped out a quick rhythm against the trunk of a nearby tree. Just beyond the bend up ahead, a similar rhythm answered—the all-clear. Tharadis nodded for Dransig to keep walking.

  As they rounded the bend, a pair of Shoresmen came into view, gripping loaded crossbows. When they saw Tharadis, they snapped to attention.

  “Warden, sir,” said the one on the left. “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” He looked at Dransig, his surprise turning to suspicion. “Is everything all right, Warden?”

  “He’s with me, Dev. No one else has come this way, have they? No one dressed like him?”

  Dev shook his head. “Not today, sir. But a couple days ago we saw a man crawling off the Runeway.” He gestured to Dransig. “Dressed just like this. He gave us the slip, though.”

  Tharadis turned. “Was that you?”

  Dransig nodded, his lips pressed tight.

  Dev went on. “More came over the Runeway bridge after. The lieutenant confronted them and one of them broke his leg as easily as if his bones were twigs.”

  “Is the lieutenant still here?”

  “No. He went back on the cart yesterday. The sergeant’s in charge.”

  Tharadis nodded, frowning. If the cart was gone, that meant the mule was too. He had been hoping they would have at least that much good fortune, but it looked as if they would only be able to take what they could carry on their backs.

  Neither of the Shoresmen hid the anger from their eyes very well as they glanced at Dransig.

  “I’ll have you know that four of the men who hurt our lieutenant won’t be going home,” Tharadis said.

  Dev nodded. “That’s good to hear, sir.”

  “This man, Dransig, helped me. He had no hand in what happened to the lieutenant. And whatever you do, don’t engage the others if you see them again. Just let them pass.”

  “Understood, sir.” Tharadis could see they weren’t happy with the order, even if they understood the wisdom of it. They saluted again. Tharadis saluted them back before leading Dransig past them.

  It wasn’t long before Tharadis felt the faint but constant breeze. It was always cooler than he expected, every time he came this close to the gap in the Rift. The footpath was swept clean of drytree needles, and even the trees themselves were barer, skeletal, as if picked cleaned by crows rather than the air rushing over the Runeway from the Accord. The edge of Dransig’s brown cloak stirred, and Tharadis knew the man would be even more grateful for the cool air than he was.

  Through a break in the trees, he caught sight of the guardhouse. It looked no different from one of the lowland houses—timber fortified with stone at the corners, a blue tile roof. Strong enough to withstand the winds, but little else. Tharadis hoped that “little else” never showed its face. If the Accord ever decided to send its armies across, no amount of stone corners or walls would stop them—not if the power of the Rift couldn’t.

  All Tharadis had to do was convince the Council of the Wall to keep their armies away while respecting the rights of Naruvian people. No problem, he thought wryly.

  When the trail veered out past the tree line, Tharadis briefly halted as the Runeway came into view.

  From this distance, it looked like a dark brown smear stretching a hundred paces beyond the Rift. It was slightly thicker in the center of its length and rounded, wide enough for two wagons to ride abreast, though few enough wagons did so with tensions between Naruvieth and the Accord being what they were. From this angle, it was impossible to look through the gap in the Rift light to the other side. It was so far—nearly two thousand paces—that in order see the Accord, one had to be practically standing on the Runeway itself, and even then, the walls of Rift light stretching up on either side distorted the view.

  Or so Tharadis had heard. He had never crossed the Rift himself, had never actually been any closer to the Runeway than he was now. For some reason, the Runeway had … disturbed him. Beyond just the obvious reason that it was the source of all his troubles with the Accord. Something about it just seemed …

  He shook his head and glanced at Dransig, who was standing just behind him, watching him out of the corner of his eye with a strange look. Tharadis ignored him and pushed past some brush towards the guard post.

  Three bored-looking Shoresmen leaned on their pikes, staring at nothing. With the lieutenant gone, that meant two more were in the building. Tharadis raised a hand to hail them. They saluted, and one of them ran inside.

  The hem of Tharadis’s tunic snapped in the wind as he approached. Just behind him, Dransig had slung his cloak over the crook of his arm to keep it from whipping around, but even so, Tharadis could tell the man just wanted to unpin it and toss it away.

  All five Shoresmen lined up in front of the guard post and straightened before saluting. Tharadis halted five paces from them and returned the salute. “Ah, Warden.” The sergeant, a black-haired man whose face was nearly too wide for his helmet, stepped forward as the other four fell at ease. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. “You found one of them. That’s good. How shall we execute him?”

  “No executions for this man, Sergeant Gred. I mean to see him over the Rift.”

  The sergeant grunted with a slight frown. “Better that than
hanging around here, I guess. And his friends?”

  “Will follow him home. Let them pass. I’d hate to lose any more men for no good reason.”

  The sergeant’s face split in a wide grin. “Yeah, and who would keep you city people safe if not us?” He chuckled as one of the others standing behind him rolled his eyes. “We’ll let them pass, Warden.”

  “Thank you, sergeant.”

  The man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, as if following orders was a favor he didn’t extend to every superior. “Your pack’s a little light. Will you be needing some supplies?”

  “Food, mostly, and an extra waterskin if you can spare one.”

  “See to it,” the sergeant said to one of the others, gesturing for Tharadis to hand over his pack. “The rest of you, back to your posts.” He turned back to Tharadis, but not without his gaze lingering a moment on Dransig. The good humor in his face was gone. “Did you hear what his people did to our lieutenant?”

  Tharadis nodded. “Don’t worry, sergeant. A handful of them won’t be going home with the others.”

  A slight smile returned to the sergeant’s lips, but this time it was tinged with malice. “Any idea when we should expect the rest?”

  Tharadis turned to Dransig, who was already looking over his shoulder towards the main road. “As the gull flies, an hour or so.” Dransig scratched his beard absently. “Though I’d wager two if they’re taking the same main road I first came in on.”

  “You look you could rest your eyes a spell,” the sergeant said, eyeing Tharadis.

  But Tharadis knew better. “If I close my eyes, I know I won’t want to open them until tomorrow.” He had to stifle a yawn, as if his body were telling him that that didn’t matter. “Once we’re past the Rift and safe, we’ll get some rest. But I don’t want to take any chances until then.” Tharadis knew they wouldn’t keep their lead for long. It would doubtless take the two of them longer to cross over the Rift than it would their pursuers, but he said nothing to the sergeant, not wanting to worry him further.