Rythe Falls

by Craig R. Saunders

  Caeus watched over Renir and Rythe both for some time. Saw the ancient ones wake from their long slumber and the seas boil as the seafarer's cursed land was returned to them. In the freezing white wastes a volcano was cooling, a blackening mass in a white plain that could not have gone on forever, because past a line of mountains that men called Thaxamalan's Saw, and further south, and on, and on, the Draymen rode.

  The Draymen had forgotten the song of the sword, but not all. The Bladesingers would sing yet, before the end days.

  Caeus saw these things and more. Endless, chaotic, and above all possible.

  Everything was possible. He knew he was not alone in knowing this one, simple truth.

  But it was certainly a rare thing. Maybe a handful of people saw things as he did, and even he, far above the world, with its dark earth and bright seas, with the white clouds coiling around like serpents, even he was nothing special, was he?

  He could feel the white-eyed one - the girl. The girl who could see everything.

  He could feel the ancients, donning their terrible armour now that they woke.

  He could see the red light that was bleeding from the suns into everything upon the world that he loved.

  No, he was nothing remarkable. A creature out of time, perhaps...and there were plenty of those.

  Caeus closed his eyes for a moment, there in the black, slippery nothing above the world.

  Perhaps he could salve Carious' burden, now that the red light was here. Perhaps he could save the people from oblivion, keep this world spinning around for a million years, a billion years. Perhaps there was a chance.

  And yet, confidence or insanity, pride or hubris, there was something still that rankled. He knew his facets, his strengths, his weakness...but there was a dark spot within the fates, like a splinter in his remarkable, blood-stained, blighted eyes.

  A splinter of black, a shard of blindness, down there, somewhere upon the whole of Rythe, there was a blind spot.

  I can see the ends of the universe, I can speak to the suns. I can hear a dragon hatch in a field of stars so far distant that the stars themselves have yet to be born...and yet I cannot see past this...

  And that troubled him more greatly than the return of his kin.

  Caeus was insane. He knew he was insane, because his kind killed suns and destroyed worlds on a whim...and yet he cared.

  Once, I lived in a gaol outside of time. I made a friend. A Lu, a keeper of the soul. Was he ever my friend?

  A thousand years, near enough, a prisoner once. And then a thousand years more, held inside the belly of a creature out of time. A thing that lived in the fire inside a volcano. The revenant.

  Am I mad, still? Has near on two thousand years, captive of one kind or another, send me tumbling from the edge of sanity?

  But then, would a mad man worry so over a tiny blind spot? A simple, insignificant sliver of nothing.

  Is it my undoing? The undoing of the world? The triumph of the Elethyn?

  Caeus found himself clenching his long, elegant fingers compulsively as he worried more and more about the one simple thing, and even though he was isolated from the harshness of the void above Rythe, he felt the cold keenly.

  He turned his gaze from everything that ever was, ever would be, to the man before him. Renir Esyn. The blood of kings, but...

  ...diluted over a millennium. Was his blood no better than water, now?

  Caeus did not know. But though Esyn might not have a king's name, nor a king's crown...he would be King.

  Whether he wished it or not. A man can't outrun fate.

  Can't outrun me, either, thought Caeus, and without gesture or word, but will alone, he brought them both hurtling through cloud and sky and stone to a city called Naeth, where once, history was made.

  And where, perhaps, it might end.

  *

  Renir tried to open his eyes and found them gummy and reluctant. He groaned, but even his groan was lacklustre. It felt as though he had sand in his eyes, on his skin. His mouth was dry, his body tired and sore. His head thudded with dehydration.

  He decided to give up on the whole opening of the eyes and just rest for a while longer while he tried to figure out what hurt the worst. But nothing, after a moment taken to inquire after his bodies wellbeing, seemed to be terminal.

  He'd been dreaming, of course. Not of the revenant, but the black spaces between worlds.

  Just a dream, of course. He'd always been a good dreamer.

  Is that what the world feels like? Rolling around, waiting to turn toward glory each and every day?

  He managed to push himself from his sheets (not my sheets...these are far too fine. Where have I ended up? On my feet, for once?). With his fingers and no little effort he prised his stuck eyelids apart and yelled at the sight of a terrible alien face not a foot from his bed. The creature's skin was pale and taut. Hair hung askew, lank, across the thing's face. But it was the eyes that caused Renir to cry out in horror.

  Those burning bloody eyes seemed to glow, to brighten the entire room.

  He shouted out again, blathering something intelligible even to himself and not even mildly ashamed at his panic. His feet padded against the soft bedding and pushed him back, far away from the thing as he could get, like an ordinary man might have...

  But I'm not ordinary, am I? No longer...I...

  Renir's terror broke and a simple thought brought a spark of hope.

  My axe...

  Before Renir could finish thinking, or find some way to escape from the awful face of insanity before him, three warriors burst into the room. The door cracked and a hinge came free, leaving the door hanging and swaying. The three men wore armour so bright the glint of light from them hurt his eyes anew. White cloaks trailed down their backs and each man - golden haired, he saw - held straight, true blades like men who knew their business.

  Their business is war...

  The terrible creature with blood for eyes waved them back, impatiently.

  I know...I've seen these men before...

  They seemed reluctant...but far from stupid. They nodded (no bow? Renir's terrified mind somehow catalogued each and every moment as though they might be his last) and the last man (paladin?) closed the door behind himself.

  The door fell open again, at the bottom this time, when the warriors retreated. The creature at the foot of Renir's bed watched the door for a moment. While the creature with the bloodied eyes was turned, Renir's hand wandered toward his axe.

  'I know your blood, Renir Esyn,' said the awful thing.

  As suddenly as Renir found his trusted weapon in his hand, understanding and memory collided hard with one heavy thought.

  He is...the Red Wizard.

  The axe tumbled from Renir's hand. It hit the stones, blade to handle, with a loud crash that seemed to set Renir's memory racing. It ran on, Renir helplessly dragged along, like he was a rider with his foot caught in a stirrup. One moment he'd dreamed of the glory of the suns, the next, he flailed at his head. Pain, fear, terror - each dark and hurtful emotion buffeted Renir. He hit himself in the cheek, forehead, pounded at his ears and his eyes, as though trying to scrub at his own mind, or maybe even trying to die. Anything to stop the memories from bursting his head apart.

  He only succeeding in fattening his own lip and knocking himself from the bed to the floor.

  Renir groaned and moaned, insensible. He scrambled back from the Red Wizard once more, now on cold stone, his naked arse, back, elbows, all burning with friction.

  A bolt of memory made him curl into a ball upon the flagstones. He clutched his pounding head again, screamed.

  The Red Wizard's birth - born from the carcass of the terrible beast, the Revenant, born in fire and blood and pain. The death of the hero Roth...his sacrifice.

  The stench of the Rahken's flesh as he burned.

  Renir's stomach was empty, but he heaved.

  His memory would not free him. Clawing at his face, his head through his hair, he knelt on the
cold, cold stones of this borrowed room and tried to make his memories fit back inside his head.

  The Red Wizard pursed his tight, thin lips and watched the man's agony.

  *

  He's breaking now, just with the memories of his own tiny life. What will he do when the Crown of Kings is on his head and he sees the history of this land in a moment? Will his head blow apart, showering me with skull and blood and hair? Will blood run from his ears? Will the first King in a thousand years be nothing more than a dribbling imbecile in a circlet of gold?

  Caeus watched Renir's agony and listened to his cries with no more expression than a rock. His was a stern face that fitted well on his sharp, long bones. Yet, for a creature of such ability, so long lived, he was not entirely unmoved. He could understand the man's pain, empathise, even...as far as one of his kind was able.

  He'd taught himself to do as much, long ago.

  But he was detached, too...almost as though he watched the man's agonies through a glass, stained with many colours, or at a remove, like the reflection of pain in nothing more than a grimy mirror.

  Caeus closed his eyes for one moment, thinking about the nature of pain, about the nature of mortals. He could hear the King-to-be growling in agony, but it was a mere trick of his will to make it...distant. A Jemandril's roar through river water, nothing more. He closed his ears against the man's torment and sat, patiently and purposely deaf to the mortal's cries.

  Perhaps the reason he didn't see or hear Renir's fist whistling through the air.

  *

  Renir's pain turned to fury, and he lashed out at the only thing he could - the wizard, sitting so calmly...so...damn...calm.

  He damn near broke his fist on the thing's face.

  Caeus, he remembered...his name is Caeus.

  The most powerful being on Rythe.

  I just punched him in the face.

  Renir glanced to his axe, the opposite side of the bed. Figured it wasn't the greatest idea.

  Caeus noted the glance, just as he'd noted the punch. Nothing more.

  The wizard only grinned.

  'Fight in you yet, young King! Good. Now, we eat.'

  Eat? How could a man eat when the world was ending?

  Renir's fury was passing quick as it came, though thoughts were still flooding through his mind. Perhaps words might have soothed him, settled him, but when Caeus waved his hand a little, the wizard's magic did more than any words could.

  Between Renir and the wizard, a fine feast appeared. Instantly. No fanfare, or strange pops or bangs or pretty lights.

  One moment, cold stone. The next?

  Renir caught a line of drool that snaked its way through the beard on his chin, the drool, he guessed, his body's way of telling him it was hungry, despite his rage and confusion, the end of the world or the presence of such power.

  Hot meats dripping dark fat, ale with a dark foam atop, water crisp and clear. Fruit on the vine, cheeses that smelled, frankly, hideous, but had the vague sense of steam arising from the mouldy veins within that made him wonder at the age of it, wonder if he might not be younger than the cheese, if he might not experience it...

  Warm bread from which steam rose, real steam. White, thick butter.

  The table they were set on looked like it might groan under the weight. Renir wondered if he might not join it. Together, him and table, labouring under the weight of food...delicious, pungent, warm...

  Renir wiped his lips on his bare arm and tried to get a grip on himself.

  'Magic food?' Renir shook his head.

  Am I being stubborn or stupid or...

  'No, Renir...not magic food. That would be most ridiculous. It is real food, brought here with magic.'

  Renir eyed the food, suspecting nothing more than an illusion.

  Does an illusion smell so good?

  'Eat. We'll talk. We've much to talk about, you and I.'

  Renir picked up a slice of dark, bloody meat, still suspicious, but he couldn't fight it. No more, his stomach said.

  To deny his grumbling, starving guts would have been a torture most insanely stupid.

  The meat stung his fingers with heat, but it smelled like perfection. Burned his lips, the roof of his mouth, but he groaned as he tasted it.

  'Good,' said Renir, nodding, finally, gratefully.

  Caeus, too, nodded. 'Take your time, young man. You have time, yet.'

  Renir ate a little more, looking around at Caeus, at the room, the bed, the food. At first, he took a small bite of something - a slice of cheese (fantastic), atop the hot bread. A sip of water (so fine). More meat. More...more of everything.

  In the end he looked at nothing but the mountain of food. He sliced and shovelled and stuffed food into his mouth, barely chewing sometimes, others, mouth almost slack with wonder at a surprising flavour.

  Finally, he belched and, food finished, water gone, took the ale from the table and took a seat further up the bed. If it was magic food, he thought, it was damn good magic. His guts were happy. Looked like a mountain now, sitting proud. A belly pregnant with food.

  'Talk?' he said. He felt he'd spent so long eating that speech would be impossible, forgotten. But his mouth still worked just fine, and Caeus nodded his assent.

  'Where are we?' said Renir. The ale, too, was a thing of wonder, and when Caeus said, 'Your castle,' he felt a terrible remorse at the loss of so much of that fine beer spraying across the room.

  *

  Chapter Five

  Reih woke with that stabbing pain bright and real in her missing eye, surprised to find she'd been sleeping. She thought she'd been there at the edge of the swamps' reach, under the stars and moons, merely remembering rather than dreaming it all over again. Memories and dreams were still vivid, it seemed. Still red.

  She sighed in the dim night's light, her breath frosting in the air. Chill, no matter the day's heat down here in the south.

  Perr was nothing more than a shapeless lump a few feet from her, soundly sleeping. She wondered if he ever had dreams, or if the lives he took were confined to waking. Try as she might, though, she could not imagine what a man like Perr would dream, if at all.

  May as well wonder what makes the stars, or the moons. Up there, she thought, turning onto her back and staring into the night sky. Do they, up above Rythe, worry about death, or life, or anything at all?

  If a man died, the stars still shone, did they not? The moons still raced the suns round the world. Hren was hidden, and a mere sliver of Gern showed in the sky.

  The suns and stars and moons and worlds...did they feel fear?

  Did they know that up there, among the constellations and the sheet of black that covered the night sky, something came? The Protectorate knew it. Called them down, perhaps, or perhaps they were always coming. The Sun Destroyers.

  Humans, even...they knew.

  The stars and moons? Were they mere idiot, mute balls in the sky?

  That damn itch right in the back of her empty socket sent her hand fluttering toward her face, but she forced herself to bear it. An itch, a dead eye, a thousand or a million dead, what did it matter?

  Their struggles were futile.

  Then why bother trying?

  She still had no answer. Perhaps hope was their folly, or perhaps hope was what kept people alive. Hope, curiosity?

  Truth was, once she'd been surrounded by wonder. Still was, maybe.

  Only seeing half of it now, though, she thought bitterly as she rolled tighter in her bedding and tried to close her eye, to stop her worry. But she could not.

  The Sun Destroyers were coming to kill the world. Pretty good reason to worry, but...why?

  Am I half-blind now, or half-seeing?

  Did it make a difference? Either way...the picture was too broad. She didn't understand, couldn't feel the size or shape of it. Her, Perr...even the Builders who had sent her to find Sybremreyen and some scant hope of salvation...did anyone in the whole world hope to actually survive this coming battle?


  Fool. The battle is already begun.

  Gods, her eye-socket itched.

  Perr grunted in his sleep, like he could hear her thoughts within his dreams. Something howled, out there in the dark night. She jumped at the sound, a little, and Perr's hand was on his sword, even in his sleep.

  He's a good man. Only one I trust in the whole of Lianthre.

  The thought made Reih sad and tired. She tried to quiet herself. No sense in waking him - at least he could sleep.

  She turned her head away from Perr and toward the dark, strange land to find that a small child sat just behind her head, watching.

  Reih screamed.

  *

  Chapter Six

  In the space of her scream and her next drawn breath, Perr was before her with his sword in hand. The small child looked up without the slightest sense that she was startled, merely peering from Perr, to Reih, and back again with her sightless white eyes.

  Even in the scant moonlight, Reih could see the child must be blind - she had no colour in her eyes but white, like pools of milk. And yet she got the sense that the child was seeing.

  'Tell your man to put his sword up,' said the child.

  Reih shook her head, as though trying to shake loose a fly from her ear. The child...the child could speak like the Kuh'taenium? Into her...mind?

  'I can. Only way I can. He,' said the child, 'will not listen to me. You must.'

  'Who...what...?'

  The girl inclined her head a little, not giving much away as to what she felt. Just a child, a young one at that.

  But there's power there, thought Reih, carefully. Unsure if the child could see the thoughts in her mind just like she was talking without moving her lips. All the while those pure white eyes watched.

  Reih thought that maybe the girl was just the opposite of blind. Not sighted, but a child who saw more than mere mortals might.

  'My...allies are...impatient. Tell him quick before blood is shed. We need to speak. We are friends, Reih Refren A'e Eril, Imperator of the Kuh'taenium. Friends on the road, and we come to show the way.'