The Riven God

by F. T. McKinstry

  Then there was Nightshade. The raven had taken to disappearing to the east for a day at a time, both chilling and heartening the sailors upon her return. The general consensus among the wizards was that the bird had found the Winterscythe and that Rhinne was aboard. After the first time it happened, Eaglin attached a message, hoping the bird might deliver it. But Nightshade had returned with the note undisturbed aside from having been soaked in the sea. Either the raven hadn’t delivered the message, Rhinne was not aboard, or Eusiron had chosen to ignore it. Perhaps the raven had flown nowhere for reasons known only to her. The mystery left Lorth and his companions with no more assurance than that with which they had set sail.

  Not for the first time, Lorth wondered why Eusiron would take on Rhinne’s protection personally, even after discovering that Ascarion was looking after her from Void itself. Granted, Ascarion wouldn’t be able to take direct part in much. And Eusiron saw things that wizards didn’t, such as Alinan’s betrayal. But this alone wouldn’t give an entity cause to interfere in mortal affairs even if those affairs did involve another god.

  Sketchy as it was, Eusiron’s involvement made Lorth nervous. But the appearance of a loerfalos outright scared him. A god would protect mortals if it served his purposes. The Mistress of the Sea had no such purposes. Sensing the loerfalos way out here, so far from the Isles, increased his foreboding. While their relative proximity to the Winterscythe gave him yet another breath of hope that Rhinne might be aboard, Lorth’s experience with the princess in the Shapeshifter shadowed that darkly. He couldn’t think of any good reason why the Mistress had surfaced in his mind.

  Oddly enough, Wulfgar, raised in the Gray Isles and familiar with its legends, was glad for news of the serpent’s presence. The prince hadn’t wanted to leave Caerroth, partly for his anxiety for Elspeth and partly for fear that Rhinne was still there. Lorth had been able to secure protection for Willowfae’s daughter by calling in an old debt owed to him by a siomothct who lived near the city. The assassin had agreed to watch over the cottage until Elspeth was strong enough to travel, and then escort her to Eyrie.

  Rhinne, on the other hand, was out of their control. Wulfgar had withdrawn into himself since they set sail, brooding and saying little, even when Nightshade had tempted them with hope. But his eyes lit up for the first time when Lorth told them about the Mistress. Evidently, Wulfgar believed the presence of a loerfalos was not only a sign that his sister was near, but also a means for destroying the oborom, something that occupied his mind continually given the losses—and near losses—of those he loved.

  Lorth lay there with his troubled thoughts until the rhythm of the warriors’ conversation and the creak and groan of the ship lulled him into a doze. Images of blue, gray and green flowed through his mind, shapeless.

  He awoke in a cold rush to the sound of a horn. Shouts sounded above. Footsteps pounded the decks. Something was happening.

  Torlach rose. His nails screeched on the pitch-stained floor as he lowered his chest into a long stretch. Lorth got up as well, his spider scar itching and the dark sea stirring in the pit of his belly. He moved through the awakening men with the hound on his heels until he reached a ladder to the main deck.

  A black cloak filled the opening as Eaglin started down, nearly plowing into Lorth from above. “Here you are,” the wizard panted.

  “C’mon then,” Lorth said to the hound, gesturing. Torlach clambered heavily up the steps with Lorth behind. As he emerged into the dim light, the wind slammed into him. It blew from the north.

  “Lookout spotted something,” Eaglin said as they strode over the deck. Men moved quickly around, tending to orders. The great sails shifted and eased out, slowing the ship.

  Lorth glanced up as Nightshade flapped into the sky, heading off the bow.

  “What now?” Eaglin muttered.

  “Och, who knows.”

  Wulfgar stood at the rail, gazing northeast. On the horizon, fog cloaked the sea. Aloft, the horn sounded again. The rough, deep sound boomed over the water.

  “What is it?” Lorth asked as he reached Wulfgar’s side.

  “Not sure,” the prince replied, gazing steadily at the horizon. “A dark shape. Could be the Winterscythe.”

  “Could be anything,” Eaglin added.

  Lorth filled his lungs with air. His flesh prickled. “All I feel is the force and presence of the Otherworld.”

  Eaglin leaned over the rail. “Aye. Below.” He looked outward. “And above. Oborom?”

  “I’m not sensing that,” Lorth said. “Could be Eusiron. Or the loerfalos. Might not be easy to tell them apart out here.”

  “By Winter,” Wulfgar growled. “No wonder sailors hate having wizards aboard their ships.”

  “We are the lesser of evils, presently,” Lorth informed him.

  From the crow’s nest high above, the lookout shouted again. “Ship ahoy! Off the port bow!”

  Lorth left the rail and headed for the ladder to the fo’c’s’le to get a view. As he ascended, Eaglin followed him. Below, Wulfgar gave new orders, sending men scurrying up shrouds and over decks. Lines flew and pulled, and the sails moved. The Eastfetch heaved to as dawn drew the watery horizon from the shadows of twilight.

  A long, sinister shape loomed in the mists. The blast of a horn echoed over the water, its pitch deeper than the first.

  “It’s her,” Eaglin said as he reached Lorth’s side.

  “We still don’t know for sure who’s aboard,” Lorth reminded him.

  “The men are ready. Wulfgar is preparing longboats. We’ll take a small company with us, get a closer look.”

  Lorth studied the water swelling into foamy crests around them. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a small boat with a loerfalos shadowing his mind like a gathering storm.

  “We’ve got company,” Eaglin said suddenly. Chilled, Lorth spun around.

  “Masters!” Wulfgar called out.

  Men dropped to their knees as the Dark Warrior appeared on the main deck, cloaked in black and wearing a terrible expression of sorrow.

  Nightshade perched on his arm like a chasm.

  Visions and Secrets

  The sun rose over the gray waters of the North Derinth Sea as the Winterscythe drove northeastward, her black sails set to the wind. Lorth stood in the shelter of the quarterdeck, his hood drawn against the wind as he studied the uneasy seas to the north. Light rain tapped on the decks.

  Within sight, the Eastfetch shadowed them. Earlier, Lorth had wooed Nightshade into delivering a grim message to Pike, bidding him to make all haste for the Gray Isles. Eaglin had called seabirds from the sky and sent messages to Keepers over the seas, warning them. No one knew how far beyond North Derinth the loerfalos would strike. And the only one who might know lay below, too angry to talk to anyone.

  Nearby, Eaglin and Eusiron were engaged in a taut discussion involving the intricacies of the Mistress’ demands. The Dark Warrior earlier explained to Lorth and his companions what had happened, and that they had little more than a quarter moon to make port before the immortal serpent destroyed them.

  As for appeasing her, the god didn’t let on how he might accomplish that. It wouldn’t be a matter of getting Rhinne’s forgiveness. The Old One was involved now.

  Wulfgar had gone below, no doubt to try and reason with his sister once more. She hadn’t responded to any of them, Lorth included. Given that Rhinne found out from the Mistress herself that Eusiron had knowingly let an oborom priest aboard, Lorth suspected nothing short of delivering the god’s head on a platter would move the princess’ heart. Eusiron had seriously underestimated the extent of Rhinne’s connection to the Mistress of the Sea. Aside from the collapse of trade and fishing in the realms bordering the Derinth Sea, Lorth shuddered to consider the implications of such a misstep. Divine arrogance, perhaps just a fancy stitch in the tapestry? The loerfalos must have caught the entity’s scent across the vaults of time.

  Briefly, Lorth considered seeking Hemlock for answers
. But he doubted the eamoire would tell him anything even if Lorth could navigate the Otherworld into his presence. Eusiron would be a nasty enough obstacle, let alone a bear slap from the Mistress.

  He turned at the sound of voices. The Captain of the Eusiron Guard approached accompanied by one of his men. “Sneaky Wolf!” the captain called out, using an old nickname that the guardsmen in Eusiron had given Lorth years ago.

  Grinning with old camaraderie, the hunter grasped the captain’s arm and embraced him. “Laegir. I expected to find this ship manned by scoundrels.”

  The captain withdrew. “It is.” He looked Lorth up and down. “I heard you’d taken up with the Eye. A Master too, ay? Never thought I’d see it.”

  Lorth glanced over his shoulder at Eaglin and Eusiron. They were still arguing. “Somebody has to keep track of these idgits.”

  Rumbling with laughter, Laegir clapped him on the shoulder and turned to the warrior beside him. He had long blond hair, the bearing of a seasoned blade and a weary air, as if he didn’t want to be here. Laegir said, “Master Lorth, this is Adelan of Nemeton. We call him Adder. Adder, this is Lorth of Ostarin. We’re old friends. Years back, we called him the Hunter. Don’t know what he’s called now.”

  Lorth drew back his hood. “Raven of Ostarin, First Raptor, Ninth Seat on the Aenlisarfon. At your service.”

  The warrior bowed his head. “I am honored, Master. You are well known in Eusiron.”

  “Adder here is one of my best,” Laegir said. “I assigned him to look after Rhinne.” He gestured to the decks and shrouds. “Not a good place, this ship. But the princess can fight.”

  Adder looked at his feet. Lorth said, “Then you have taken over what I began. I commend you.”

  The warrior looked up with a brisk nod, and said nothing.

  Something here, Lorth thought.

  Just then, Wulfgar returned. He stomped past the men in a storm cloud and approached Eaglin. “Locked tight. She won’t talk to me.” He regarded Eusiron. “You can appear in there, can you not?”

  The Dark Warrior snorted. “Did you hear nothing I told you? We would all be looking down the throat of a loerfalos if I tried that.”

  “The girl’s right wroth,” Laegir said. He cocked a thumb at the warrior by his side. “Not even Adder can sway her.”

  Wulfgar turned at the remark. “Adder,” he said, assessing the blond-haired warrior with the steely interest of a predator. He didn’t bother with an introduction. “Why would she listen to you?”

  Adder released a measured breath. “Let me guess. You a lover?”

  The prince’s barely controlled calm snapped like a twig. In two steps he drew a knife, closed on Adder and slammed him against the rail. “I am her brother, you fool. What is she to you?”

  Adder held himself with stony calm beneath the prince’s challenge. Lorth knew Laegir wouldn’t have chosen just anyone to look after Rhinne, and this became clear by the warrior’s composure. He could have turned Wulfgar’s attack to ruin but had chosen not to. Lorth sensed clearly that this had nothing to do with honor or respect for his masters. He was thinking of Rhinne.

  “Adder,” Lorth said, “This is Wulfgar, Prince of Tromb, Sentinel of the South.”

  Laegir said, “Prince Wulfgar, Adelan of Nemeton. I personally assigned him to protect your sister on this voyage.”

  Wulfgar didn’t move his knife from Adder’s throat. “Let me guess now. You fucked her.”

  Irritated by Wulfgar’s tetchiness, Lorth drew near and spoke into the prince’s ear. “You went to Elspeth’s bed with less. Stand down.”

  Flexing his jaw, Wulfgar withdrew. As Adder relaxed, the prince said, “Rhinne is North Born to the King of Tromb. She’s a Sentinel and I won’t have you getting her with a bastard child.”

  Adder lifted his chin, his blue-gray eyes hard. “She asked for my love. I did her no dishonor by giving it.”

  “Against my orders,” Laegir put in casually. He glanced at Lorth. “He did ward her well among my warriors, in hard training, for three days.”

  Still holding the knife, Wulfgar said, “Had you been less distracted, that priest might not have gotten in there.”

  “I told her to bar the door,” Adder returned.

  After a tense pause: “You were with her? And you didn’t make sure she barred the door before you left?”

  Adder’s stare could have melted glass. “Will you accuse me of fucking the priest next?”

  The prince took a step forward. “Little else to worry about once you’d had her, was there.”

  Lorth crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. “How far do you want to take this, Wulf?”

  Wulfgar slammed his blade into its sheath. He wouldn’t have refused Elspeth for anything, he knew it—and so had the oborom assassin who came after him. Lust cared little for precautions. The tall prince moved away from the rail and retrieved a whisky skin from the deck where he had earlier left it. He took a long swig.

  Lorth said to Adder, “The priest must have been waiting nearby and entered before she got to the door. He probably studied how it was before he made his move.”

  Wulfgar wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Why won’t she open the door for you now?” he asked Adder.

  “For the same reason she didn’t open it for you,” Lorth said crisply.

  Wulfgar turned to Eusiron, who stood next to Eaglin in the shadow of the quarterdeck, watching the exchange. “It’s clear the only reason you stopped this ship for a rendezvous with the Eastfetch was so we could talk Rhinne into appealing to the Mistress. She knows it too, I’m sure.”

  The entity did not reply.

  Eaglin said, “The curse will not be lifted by anything Rhinne does or doesn’t do and you can be sure she knows that. The Mistress wouldn’t come to her aid and then put her in such a position. The Old One is driving this now. Not death, war or politics.”

  Adder slid down against the bulwark, propped up his knees and dropped his head in his hands.

  Finally, Eusiron spoke. “I unwittingly abandoned Rhinne to the one thing from which she most needs protection. She feels that in the depths of her soul. She would see the Destroyer’s ruin over experiencing it again.”

  Adder looked up. “Experiencing what?” He voiced the question of every man there. Lorth’s scar prickled. Eusiron hadn’t told them everything.

  The entity regarded Rhinne’s lover as if to size up his resolve. “Rape.”

  Silence cloaked the air. Adder got to his feet, his breath heaving. “Are you telling me that priest went in there after I left and—”

  “He tried,” Eusiron said. “She escaped him by calling the Mistress.”

  Adder brushed by Lorth and strode out into the rain. Laegir barked his name, and then went after him.

  Wulfgar had taken this news in a warriors’ stride, but his energy showed the cracks. “Where’s he going?” he said, his cheeks ruddy. As he set out to follow Adder and Laegir, Lorth drew his blade and blocked the prince’s path with it.

  “Enough,” the hunter said.

  Wulfgar pointed across the deck. “The last thing she needs is him confronting her with this.”

  Lorth spun his blade and stepped closer. “I said enough. After the things you did for Elspeth’s sake you are not in the position to call out anyone for recklessness. Those men hail from generations of warriors in strength and honor. You should appreciate the fact they’re on your side. Your hostility is misplaced.”

  Wulfgar chafed behind the wizard’s blade. “That captain knew Adder broke orders by bedding her. He did nothing.”

  “Because I told him to leave it alone,” Eusiron said behind them.

  Lorth sheathed his blade. He didn’t need a wizard’s sensitivity to tell this was headed for an ugly place.

  Wulfgar turned around and faced the entity. He set his whisky on a barrel, his hand trembling as it found the hilt of his sword. “You might have told that to the oborom priest you let on this ship.”

  Alarm r
aced over Lorth’s nerves as Eusiron coiled with wrath. Even when Lorth had crossed into his territory and refused his demands, the god hadn’t shown the anger he displayed now. The Dark Warrior appeared before Wulfgar like a shout. “Carmaenos’ intentions are hidden in the Old One’s domain,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Had I known the priests sought to violate her for their master’s pleasure, this would have gone quite another way. I didn’t see their attempts until now. Rhinne kept it hidden.”

  Stunned silence. “Are you saying this has happened before?”

  “Attempted. And implied. Rhinne didn’t tell you about her confrontations with Carmaenos’ minions—including your father.”

  “She would’ve told me that,” Wulfgar rasped. “She trusted me.”

  “Yes. But she feared you would either abandon her by disbelief or go to war on her behalf. She feared one as greatly as the other.”

  As the truth sank into him, Wulfgar stepped back in disorientation.

  Eaglin said, “The most devastating aspects of war are driven by the heart. Women keep their secrets for this reason. Do not blame her.”

  Lorth flinched as Eusiron’s gray eyes settled on him. “Speaking of secrets. Were you aware that Rhinne had the ability to channel a loerfalos?”

  “I saw her change in the Shapeshifter,” Lorth said, gathering himself for a row. “She spoke an ancient language of her realm, awoke and attacked me.”

  “Carmaenos’ spell would have driven her to that,” Eaglin offered.

  “It probably did,” Lorth said. “But it wasn’t Carmaenos that tried to kill me.”

  Eusiron swung around, his jaw clenched in anger. “If I had known this I might have been more careful.”

  Lorth snorted. “Since when? You had me defy the Destroyer for information. Did you think you would be immune from the repercussions?”