The Riven God

by F. T. McKinstry

  The wizard hadn’t sensed Aelfric; evidently, Hemlock’s touch rendered him invisible to tactics used to find mortals. He assessed the best way out of here without being spotted. In light of the Keepers’ arrival, he dared not delay his mission.

  He slipped from his shelter, his fleshed rippling as a shout sounded in the woods, followed by clashing arms. Watchers. The wizard must have felt them. While not many oborom haunted this treacherous shore, after losing Aelfric in the Estuary, they were probably still looking for him. He drew a deep breath and took an inventory of the weapons he had procured from the dead warlock: a sword, a dagger and a crossbow with inlaid bone symbols along the stock. He moved into the trees, heading west until he found the rough stone path that led to the keep. He set foot upon it, keeping alert for any escaped watchers thinking to come this way with a report. He could do that much for Tromb’s mysterious visitors.

  It didn’t take long. Aelfric put a knife into the first one who came up behind him warning of an army. He dragged the body well off the path and continued on.

  The next warlock didn’t warn of an army. “Mistress!” he choked. “Fly!” Too stunned to react, Aelfric watched him run before coming to his wits. Pulling around his bow, he stopped the man in his flight.

  Mistress? There was only one thing an oborom warlock would refer to that way while running in terror. Aelfric moved through the trees until he reached a short cliff overlooking the shore. The looming shape he had discerned earlier had vanished, causing him to wonder what he had seen. The area where the Keepers had landed was hidden by the landscape. Their voices carried faintly on the wind; angry, frightened voices.

  Their cries rose into a crescendo as the ocean changed. Offshore, an enormous shape towered up from the sea, glittering with eerie light. Darker than the night, the space between the stars engulfed Aelfric in immortal wrath, weakening his knees. He stumbled back, tripped and fell, his veins racing.

  The Mistress of the Sea.

  Though the high tide had passed, the sea crashed and flooded the strand like a storm surge, climbing and pounding in the rocks with astonishing force. If the Keepers hadn’t made it to higher ground in a hurry, they would all be drowned. Aelfric fled before the angry sea as it slammed into the trees. He kept running, out of the water’s reach, branches slapping his face until he finally crumpled to the ground, breath heaving and heart awash with grief for the only souls who had dared to approach this accursed isle.

  *

  Cold wind stirred the boughs of Idungrove as the night deepened under the dark moon. Rhinne sat on top of a boulder that offered a view of the plains northwest of the Widow Tears. In the distance, like a festering wound, stood an army of warlocks over a thousand strong, four times the number of the High Guard. They hovered just beyond the range of a longbow, chanting, their torches glittering on the void. The rhythmic sound grated on Rhinne’s nerves like a drawknife.

  At their head, her brother Dore rode slowly back and forth on a gray steed, his black cloak billowing in the wind. Rhinne had sensed him before he arrived, but the warning didn’t come soon enough. Among the northmen of Eusiron, it was generally agreed that she had failed to perceive Ragnvald’s vision of their landing because she was distraught over Adder’s disappearance. She couldn’t argue the point.

  On their journey in the longboats she had asked Laegir if, assuming they survived, she might return with him and his warriors to Ostarin and enter training for the High Guard. She had no desire to stay here and be a princess or a wife. But the proud northmen wouldn’t want her now, strange and unreliable as she had become.

  A small company of warriors stood uneasily in the trees around her. Laegir had ordered them there after a row in which Rhinne had told Wulfgar to sod off with a whiskey jug. Her hotheaded brother might not have intended to accuse her of botching their landing. But Lorth hadn’t returned, they hadn’t heard news from the north of Eaglin’s arrival, and Wulfgar was unhappy. He always did have a big mouth when he was unhappy.

  She had seen one vision, a terrible scene in which Lorth was destroyed by the spell of a priest. She didn’t tell Wulfgar about it. Why steal away what hope they had? She couldn’t be sure what she saw. If she was wrong—knowing Lorth, that was possible—it would give Wulfgar one more failure to cast her way. No point stirring him up for nothing.

  To exacerbate her anxiety, Nightshade had disappeared. She hadn’t seen the raven since the day she had finally emerged from the captain’s cabin to stop Adder in his vengeance. Her lover had brought the bird to her for comfort, but by evening Nightshade had flown. No one had seen the raven since.

  Hope didn’t shine brightly in the events around her, but it darkened like a lamp thrown into a well when she thought of Adder. Woven impossibly into the bloody stream of her father’s twisted mind were her own memories of her lover, his warrior’s body in the candlelight, his lazy smile, his cries of release, the way he swung a blade. Now he was gone, just like Nightshade, slipped from her arms like the snake that he was, swiftly, without a sound.

  Wulfgar and Laegir offered no help. They wavered somewhere between anger that Adder had abandoned his orders on a fool’s quest and a male appreciation for why he did it. Their hard gazes had left her with nothing but soft memories knifed by fears.

  Her thoughts scattered as faint light touched the trees. One of her guards said, “Master. We’re right glad to see you.”

  “Leave us,” a man replied softly.

  “Aye, Master.” The men around her stirred and vanished into the trees.

  Rhinne twisted around, her breath quickening. A black-cloaked man stood before her like a specter, his wolf’s eyes glittering in the light of a faintly glowing crystal. She slid from her rock and ran into his arms. “Lorth!” she gasped against his chest. He tightened his arms around her. “I saw you attacked by a priest—something terrible. I thought you fell.”

  “Almost did,” the wizard said, withdrawing gently. “I had to summon Ascarion for help.”

  “He came to you?” Something in his mood, his closed expression, chilled her. “Ah, right. You’re a Web.” Gulping, she looked over her shoulder in the direction of the oborom army. “I never saw this. Wulfgar is angry. He thinks I’m distracted by Adder.”

  The wizard snorted. “Remind me to tell you a story sometime about your passionate brother and distractions. This has nothing to do with that. Have your fears caused your visions to cease?”

  Rhinne shook her head. “They’re getting worse. I don’t understand them.”

  “Just so. The Otherworld doesn’t play by our rules. If you didn’t see it, then there’s a reason.”

  “Like what?”

  Lorth lifted his gaze to the west. “There are greater forces at work. Carmaenos, Eusiron, Ascarion, the Mistress—it could be any of them, blocking what you see. In all of our actions, mortals and immortals, the Old One seeks balance. However it goes, that will happen, in the end.”

  Following his attention to the plain, Rhinne moved back and leaned against the rock. “They aren’t moving. What are they doing?”

  “Waiting for something.”

  “Is Dore trying to scare us with this?”

  “Possibly. But he’s not using magic.”

  “Maybe he believes you’re dead, as I did, and doesn’t see us as a threat.”

  The wizard glanced down at her. “That, too, is possible. But the East Born doesn’t strike me as being that judicious.” Lorth slipped his crystal into a pocket as it flickered out, leaving them in darkness.

  In the silence between then, Rhinne wanted to ask about Adder. But she knew what the answer would be. Instead, she said, “Nightshade appears to have left us. I haven’t seen her in over a week.”

  The wizard made a sound in his throat. “There’s more to Nightshade than meets the eye. When you and I were in the Shapeshifter, I saw that bird change into Ascarion and back.”

  Rhinne turned to him, chilled to the bone. “Do you jest?”

  “On my blade, I
saw it. The old tales call black birds messengers from the Otherworld. This is especially true of ravens. In Nightshade’s case, I don’t think it’s a story.”

  Rhinne absorbed that. Then she blurted, “You didn’t find Adder, did you.” The blood drained from her limbs as she anticipated the answer.

  “I did find him,” Lorth returned, startling her. “He shadowed me like a wolf until I called him out. He intended to go to Tromblast.”

  Rhinne closed her eyes. Damn you, Adder. “I explained to him the folly of that. I never thought he would attempt it.”

  Lorth cleared his throat. “Love makes madmen of us all. I talked him out of it. Threatened him, actually. We ran into the oborom. When that priest unleashed the Otherworld on me, I ordered Adder to fly. He wouldn’t have run unless he thought, as you did, that I was lost.”

  He hides from nothing, Rhinne thought. “Where would he have gone?”

  “Who knows. He might have gone to the keep, or he might not. Have you seen him in Ragnvald’s mind, anything at all?”

  She shook her head. “Not a single vision. I thought he was dead.”

  For several moments, the wizard said nothing. Finally: “Don’t give up on him. Laegir doesn’t call him his best for naught. Do you remember that story I told you about Hemlock and the Mistress?” Rhinne nodded. “Eadred, the Raven of Nemeton, trained Adder in the arts. He can cloak himself from an oborom priest, you know.”

  “He never told me that.”

  “He keeps it close to protect his Master. Eadred trained him outside of the Eye.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I know what I’m looking at.” He drew his cloak around him as a gust of wind flooded the woods. “I threatened to bind his powers if he didn’t tell me what he was doing.”

  “My father is not a priest,” Rhinne pointed out. “Neither is Dore. Adder can’t fight them.”

  “You’re right. But don’t you think it strange that Ragnvald hasn’t seen Adder, considering what he means to you?”

  Rhinne pointed behind her at the king’s army staining the plain. “Apparently I wouldn’t know if he had!”

  The wizard didn’t reply to that. He settled his dark gaze on the oborom as if to consider her statement. Then his mood changed. “Something is happening.”

  The light of the warlocks’ torches parted and swirled as if touched by wind. The light brightened on the edge of the line as something moved through the ranks. Rhinne’s heart began to beat in long, slow beats as they hoisted up a broken tree to stand near the front of the line. A man was tied to it, his arms and legs splayed wide. He wore the tattered livery of the Eusiron Guard, torn wide to bare his chest to the air. His long, blond hair hung down in tangled strands as he rolled his head, as if drugged or beaten senseless.

  A wave of cries rippled through the forest as the men became aware. Someone shouted, “It’s Adder!”

  From the woods, Wulfgar shouted for Lorth. Unmoving, the hunter said, “Rhinne. This may not be as it appears.”

  Rhinne breathed heavily, lightheaded, her heart cold with horror. “Ragnvald knew. He knew and I never saw it...” She started forward, her body trembling with darkness.

  Lorth jumped in her path and grabbed her by both arms. “This is a trap. You know that.”

  Blinded by tears, Rhinne barely saw him. Frost and thorns whirled in her gut, slashing her to pieces. The ocean crashed beneath the black moon. Behind her, golden light beamed like a rising sun from the deep shadows of the wood. It surrounded her with swords and care, but she didn’t want to see. She knew what it was.

  Lorth looked up slowly, loosening his grip on her. Then he dropped his hands and stepped back. “Rhinne, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Just then, Wulfgar ran up to them, bow in hand. He didn’t notice the golden light of Ascarion shimmering in the dark. “He’s still alive,” the prince panted. “We’ll get him back.” He moved to Lorth’s side and gripped Rhinne by the chin, making her look at him. “Rhie. You’re a warrior. You knew this could happen.”

  Nothing they said made sense. Rhinne tore herself from her brother’s hold and backed away in unearthly disorientation as her interior darkness grew into a winter storm, raw and caring for nothing. She tripped and fell, then pushed herself up and stumbled towards the plain.

  Lorth watched her go.

  “What are you doing?” Wulfgar said with incredulous astonishment.

  “What I must,” Lorth replied.

  “You son of a—Rhinne!”

  Choking on tears, hair hanging in her face, Rhinne emerged from the woods unhindered. Shouts filled the forest. Ascarion had vanished into the moon. And the hunter watched in the night with the eyes of the Destroyer.

  Dore turned his mount in her direction. In slow motion, he rode forth, his cloak billowing around him like a miasma. A volley of arrows sprang up from the trees. Nothing touched him.

  “Rhie!” Wulfgar yelled from the edge of the trees. “Don’t do this!”

  Dore advanced, quickening his gait.

  “Rhinne!” Wulfgar boomed.

  She broke into a run.

  The forces of Eusiron rushed from the trees with a roar. The oborom met them head on, crossbows singing. The ground shuddered. Warlocks shouted and shrieked as a serpent of fire rushed through their ranks. Rhinne stopped, swaying on her feet in the smoke and noise. Her body burned with darkness, her head spun and she wanted to throw up.

  Dore rode up to her, his body and his horse glimmering with some ghastly protection spell. Beneath the hollow of his hood he wore a cruel smile. “Princess,” he mocked. “Or shall I say progeny of Fourth Formation in the Pentacle of Eaon. How very interesting.”

  Rhinne wrapped her arms over her belly. “Free him. Now.”

  The Eldest Sentinel regarded her for a moment, his brow lifted. Then he turned in his saddle with a casual air and lifted his hand towards the ghastly tree wreathed in smoke amid the chaos of battle. Adder hung there, his hair moving in the wind.

  Dore let his hand fall. Above the shadows, a sword flashed and rent her lover’s body chest to groin, splattering his blood like rain onto the men below.

  Dore turned around, his dark eyes glittering. “He is free.”

  Rhinne’s mind went blank. Her vision darkened; the power of the sea flowed into her limbs as her throat opened up into a wail that doused the fires and put warriors and warlocks on their faces in fear.

  But the Mistress didn’t hear her; the sea kept to its own.

  With a laugh of triumph, the Eldest Sentinel reached down, hauled Rhinne onto his steed and rode like the wind for the north.

  *

  Lorth dropped to his knees as Rhinne’s harrowing cry echoed away in the pounding hoofbeats of Dore’s escape. The hunter’s binding spells flowed out of his body into the ground with the force of a riptide, taking his breath and his spirit with it.

  The hiss of an unsheathing sword cut the heavy air. Wulfgar. Lorth rolled over and gained his feet as the prince’s blade swept down, cutting sparks from the stone. “You whoreson,” the prince gasped. “I’ll put your head on a pike for this.”

  Lorth hadn’t shaken the chill that had settled in his bones as Ascarion appeared and demanded payment for his help. The hunter drew his blade and parried Wulfgar’s next thrust, a nasty move intended to kill. Lorth would gladly have given his life had he known Ascarion’s price would be so high. “Wulf, on my honor, I had no choice.” One does not renege on the Otherworld.

  “Your honor isn’t worth a shit.” The prince came at him again, his face livid in the faint light of a torch sputtering on the ground.

  Lorth fought him off, his impatience growing. “You don’t understand,” he panted, turning the flat of his blade into the prince’s guard. He threw a quick, pointed glance at the smoking plain writhing with battle. “This isn’t over, Wulfgar. You won’t stand a chance against the priests.”

  The prince barked a laugh. “Not with you on our side, no.” He lunged forwar
d and threw a punch with his sword grip; Lorth ducked aside, nearly catching it. “Whose side are you on, anyway? Your own, I’ll warrant! They told me about you, aye, they did.”

  I am not innocent, mocked the Shade of Age.

  Lorth didn’t bother to defend his distant past as a lawless mercenary. He didn’t know how he would fight a reprisal by Ragnvald’s priests, either. But he had no time for this drama. He dropped into a deeper level in his being, into the silence of predators. His vision darkened as he whirled around, evaded Wulfgar’s sword and hit him with a kick that sent him sprawling on his rump in the ferns. In an instant, Lorth stood over him with his sword at his throat.

  “You can’t kill me,” he said quietly. “Don’t waste your energy trying. You were quick to chide Rhinne for reacting to pain instead of soldiering up to the matter at hand. I suggest you try that now.”

  His blue eyes hard as granite, the Sentinel of the South brushed Lorth’s blade aside and got up. He snatched up his sword and sheathed it. “I’m done taking orders from you.” He picked up the sputtering torch and lumbered into the woods, leaving Lorth in the dark.

  I am alone, the Shade of Solitude consoled. Good. Lorth cloaked himself with a word and stole over the boundary between the forest and the plain until he found a quiet place to settle in and put his senses to work on the next raft of trouble.

  The oborom had left their tree to stand in the wind, wet with Adder’s blood and smoldering in the heat of the fires Lorth had invoked to destroy their bows. The warlocks’ shocking exposition didn’t have the effect they might have wished. Far from daunted, the warriors of Eusiron had decimated their ranks like ferocious beasts, not bothering to draw them into the trees as originally planned. With a roar, a group of guardsmen charged the tree and pulled it to the ground. Lorth had never felt such relief as having Adder’s desecrated body removed from his sight.