The Rift Frequency

by Amy S. Foster

  The two who approach us have open, kind faces, and they gesture clearly for us to follow them. When the rest of them fully emerge, about twenty in all, I see that they are all similarly dressed and styled.

  “They were waiting for us. They knew we were coming, or else why would they know to gather right here, in this spot?” I remark, my voice soft and hoarse still from what happened last night. Sleep healed the brunt of my injuries, but I haven’t recovered completely. There’s still swelling in my vocal cords, and the bruises on my throat are the greenish yellow of mending skin.

  “Yeah,” Levi concurs. “I think you’re right.” I’m sure he noticed the frailty in my voice, but he’s choosing not to remark on it, as if I insisted, and I’m grateful. Neither one of us can afford to be distracted by regrets while in this new place.

  “I don’t think they’re hostile, though,” I say. “I mean, if they wanted to hurt us, they’re big enough. And they could have rushed us the moment we stepped through the Rift. I say we follow them.”

  “Fine,” Levi agrees, but makes no move to lower his weapon. “We follow the . . . elk people. But we don’t trust them.”

  I squint in his general direction. “They’re an unknown, so I don’t trust them, either. But I also don’t feel comfortable pointing a rifle at their heads when they’ve done nothing even remotely hostile to provoke us,” I throw out, my voice feeling stronger with every passing minute. I let go of my rifle and grudgingly, Levi does the same.

  “The SenMachs weren’t hostile, either, just remember that,” Levi warns.

  “Yeah and now we’ve got a powerful ally and an awesome computer that gives ATMs the ability to make it rain, so let’s keep that in mind, too.”

  The male and female who had stepped out first wait for us as the others begin to walk ahead. I nod my head and start to move toward them. There’s no way I’m going to get Levi to be less paranoid, or less of a hard-ass. I can’t change the way he is, but I can change the way I feel about his behavior. This is just him. This is who he is. All the deprogramming in the world won’t ever turn him into a shoulder shrugger—or an “I’m down for whatever” dude. He looks after his mom and sister. He’s the man of the house and probably has been for a long time. Regardless of his Citadel status, he’s just naturally cautious.

  Our procession is brisk. With their long strides, our enhancements come in handy as we keep pace with them along a seemingly random path. To an untrained eye, it would probably look like we are wandering. My experience allows me to see something different. Evenly trod patches of dirt, broken-off twigs and branches, logs maneuvered in positions that are clearly not natural. This is a path, albeit a fairly hidden one.

  I smell the village first: smoke, burning wood, maybe food. And then I see the evidence; the air is thicker, sootier. We push through a particularly dense thicket and into a clearing. Right away I know that these are not a nomadic people. The dwellings are made of logs and cemented clay. There are gardens, and we pass by what looks like a school—little elk children are at play in a yard in front of a disproportionately large wooden building. I notice small buds, the tiny acorns of antlers, forming on some of their heads. Everyone who sees us smiles politely, but they do not seem particularly curious or surprised at our presence. This leads me to only one very hopeful conclusion: We are not the first humans they have seen. And that means something else:

  Ezra could be here.

  I throw up a silent prayer. Please let Ezra be here.

  “It kind of has a Renaissance fair vibe to it, right?” Levi observes.

  “You go to a lot of Renaissance faires, m’lord?” I ask through a smile I can’t even try to hide.

  “My parents took my sister and me when we were kids. I was a kid once, you know.”

  “I mean, I know that in theory, but it seems almost impossible to actually imagine,” I say. After what happened a few hours ago, I find it difficult to think of Levi as anything but a man. A very serious, powerful man, with strong hands and intense eyes and—

  I cut off that line of thought, and instead focus on how badly I hope Ezra is here. If my boyfriend is in this village, Levi will know soon enough. It feels wrong for some reason, to verbalize how anxiously hopeful I am, especially considering the way that Levi just stole a glance at me. He’s done that a few times today already. He looks at me now like we have a secret. I know this look. It’s the look I had when Ezra was hiding in my attic. Pretty soon I won’t be able to put this off. We’re going to have to talk about it. Thankfully, it’s not right now. Now, we have to work.

  The bigger group has splintered off and we are left with the lead two as escorts. They take us to a smaller cabin set apart from the more densely populated part of the village. There is a large garden in the front with neat rows of lettuce and tall bean stalks. Dozens of wind chimes hang from the porch area, which runs entirely around the square building. The chimes—a collection of spoons, hollow reeds, and other delicate metal objects—are strung together with brightly colored yarn and deftly woven twine. They spin into one another in the light breeze, a domino effect of singing bells next to a large collection of various-colored hanging crystals in different states of polish. Wherever we are, no ordinary person dwells here. Our escorts look at the front door and bow their heads, encouraging us to go forward. Hoping that Ezra might be in there, I don’t think twice: I give the two a grateful smile, and start toward the few steps that lead to the entrance.

  Levi grabs my arm and pulls me closer to him. “Hey,” he hisses. “This place just went from Sherwood Forest to ‘Oh Right, This Is Where the Stupid White Kids Die,’ in, like, every horror movie I’ve ever seen. You’re not picking up on that at all with your new special powers?”

  “No,” I tell him honestly. “It feels peaceful here. Why? Have you got a bad feeling?”

  “Ryn,” he says with exasperation. “I’ve always got a bad feeling. And these people or whatever, have antlers. So maybe you could act a little less eager to walk into the scary cabin in the woods, and more like a soldier investigating a potential hostile?” I look over at our two escorts, who are still smiling broadly at us, and not in a remotely creepy way.

  Not that I can actually tell what a creepy smile on an elk looks like, but I’m not going to tell Levi that.

  “What do you think they’re going to do? Eat us? They’re basically deer, which makes them vegetarians.” Levi raises a single eyebrow at me. “Okay, they are probably vegetarians. But if we go in and intimidate whoever is in that house by having our guns at the ready—or, worse, if we hurt them—we won’t get any answers. And personally, I’d like to know how they knew we were coming. So let’s be cool until it’s not time to be cool. Okay?” I yank my arm away and give him a bright smile. Before I can even get to the door, though, a woman walks out to greet us. Her hair is pure silver and styled entirely of braids that wind up around her antlers. She has far more charms hanging from her horns than the other females I’ve seen.

  The sleek fur covering her body is white as fresh snow, mottled here and there with tufts of steel gray, and she wears a long linen patchwork dress in various vibrant hues of purple and deep scarlet. Over the dress is an indigo-dyed apron. I can see where it has faded in places she has run her hands over it, around the front where it ties, and lower, from years of wiping them clean.

  From the way our two guides are acting deferentially to her, it’s clear this woman is someone who commands respect, possibly an elder of some sort. Since neither I nor Levi know these people’s customs or traditions and we have no clue what will be considered respectful or taboo, we will need to tread carefully. Our best hope is to take our cues from her, to watch every move she makes in an attempt to copy her actions. Seeing how all our training was to always treat “others” as hostile first and let ARC ask the questions later, this is new territory for us. I’ve at least started down this path after my visits to the Village, but I can see Levi is coiled like a spring. I give him a small, solemn nod that I hope say
s Just trust me, and—miracle of miracles—he seems to do just that. It’s subtle, but I’ve been around him long enough to see him relax just a bit. I look back at the silver-haired woman. She gives us both a brilliant smile. She is clearly pleased to see us. I return the open smile, and I am happy to see that Levi does the same.

  She ushers us inside and closes the large door behind her. Her house is cozy and snug, but large enough for her to maneuver her tall, graceful body with ease. From the dozens of hanging dried plants and flowers attached to the rafters—and my extensive knowledge of fantasy novels—my initial guess is that she is some sort of healer. There is a significant hearth, and a makeshift kitchen off to one side with a large, smooth wooden table and copper and iron pots of various sizes sitting atop wide-planked shelves built in the wall. The common area is layered with many intricately patterned, handwoven rugs. It’s big enough for more than a few of these elk people to gather together for meetings. I wouldn’t say that this is the public meeting space, but there is ample room for this woman to hold an audience, and I get the sense she does that often.

  The three of us simply stand there for a moment or two. The only sound is the music from the wind chimes outside. I make no move to sit on any of the chairs in the room. I don’t speak, because I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to say anything before she does. The woman maintains her happy, warm smile, and holds out her hands, which look human enough, apart from her nails, which are long and chestnut colored.

  I take two strides, holding out my own hands, thinking that perhaps this is some sort of greeting. The moment that she takes hold of me, the room we are in disappears and I am assaulted with images. The elk woman as a child. The elk woman walking through the woods. I can see her without clothes, under the moonlight with others of her kind performing some kind of ritual with drums and dancing that she is leading. It’s too much, too disorienting. I feel like I’m drowning in her memories, and my body, using its primal instinct, gulps for air. I pull my hands away from hers and take a step back. Her smile is gone, but she has a look that is clearly asking me to understand her.

  “What?” Levi asks in alarm. “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t see. I mean, I could, but it was only pictures. I don’t know, it was like a movie or something. I think it was her, showing me things.” I am aware that I am practically babbling, but the experience was incredibly intense. “I don’t think they can talk. I think they communicate with mind melds or something.”

  Levi grimaces ever so slightly before stepping forward with his own arms outstretched. He wants to see for himself. I watch as the elk woman gently folds his hands into her own. Levi practically gasps, and his green eyes glaze over. The woman looks at him with just the barest hint of a smile on her face. After a moment or two she releases him and nods her head ever so slightly. Levi looks bewildered for a moment, almost dazed. Then he clears his throat and nods almost imperceptibly back at her.

  “You saw it, too, right?” I ask wildly. I take my pack off. Whatever these people are, I don’t believe they want to hurt us, and the extra weight of my bag feels cumbersome and unnecessary. “Is that possible? I know we’ve experienced our fair share of the bizarre when it comes to nonhuman species, but psychics? Can that be a thing? For real?” I wonder.

  “I don’t see why not.” Levi undoes his own pack and lets it drop to his feet. I’m sure he would take his rifle off, as I would, but this doesn’t seem like an appropriate place for a weapon. It looks right on us, but here? In this peaceful little house? There’s nowhere we could place them that wouldn’t feel wrong somehow. “Last night, a feeling woke you up and we followed that feeling to a person, who then escaped into a Rift. You’re telling me that you can hear people’s skin sing, so I’m not sure why a species that uses ESP can’t be in the mix, too.”

  Just when I think I understand Levi, he turns around and surprises me. I fold my arms, resting them on the strap of my rifle. I’m supposed to be the open one. He’s supposed to be the shut-off, shut-down guy. I wonder what the woman showed him that could turn him into such an instant believer.

  From what I can piece together from the vision she gave me, she is not only a healer, but some kind of shaman as well. If these people can communicate through telepathy, then perhaps there is also some way that they can see into the future. As improbable as that seems, it’s also the most likely explanation as to how they knew we were coming.

  The shaman gives me a slightly more determined look and once more reaches her hands out. I don’t absolutely love the idea of my mind being invaded, no matter how well-meaning the intention, but it seems like this is the only way we are going to get any answers. I slowly lift my arms up and forward, and she takes them, the fur on her palms cool and reassuring.

  The flood of images in my head is instantaneous. Only this time I know what to expect, so I steady myself mentally, bracing for the barrage.

  Ezra. I see Ezra right here in this room!

  My heart begins to race. Ezra being fed. Ezra sleeping. Ezra working on his computer. And then horribly, Karekins. Dozens of Karekins. Unlike the Karekins I deal with in Battle Ground, these ones do not trample everything and everyone around them. They move silently through the village. They have weapons, but they are not drawn.

  I watch in horror as they enter the shaman’s house. The wise woman steps out of their path with a bowed head, and Ezra, understandably, freaks out. The scene instantly goes dark, like a cap being screwed onto a lens. Then it opens up again. Ezra is going with the Karekins. He is going willingly, without a struggle, though his face is uneasy, his mouth fixed into a straight, determined line. He walks into a Rift with them and disappears.

  I drop my hands and immediately cover my face. I don’t know what’s going on, and if I let that get to me I’ll lose it. I close my eyes, relishing the absolute blackness, the peace I find in seeing nothing. I knew this trip would be confusing. I knew it would be difficult and even perilous, but I had no idea that I could ever feel so helpless, so incredibly small and insignificant.

  I’m hearing things. I’m sensing things that make no logical sense. For years I’ve been reliant on what my body can do, trusting my strength and my physicality. I’ve used my mind to strategize, research, and plan, but what’s happening now goes beyond intellect. I am walking into a world of spirit and energy. All the answers I need seem to be in this realm, and I am desperately unprepared to deal with it. For the first time in years, I feel my own age.

  “Ezra was here,” I finally say, softly in Levi’s general direction. Immediately, Levi wants more information, but I have none to give. I try to explain that Karekins came and took him, but it doesn’t make sense. The Karekins we know would have burned this village to the ground and killed everyone in it.

  Throughout the course of this back-and-forth between us, the wise woman has gone about preparing us food. She takes wooden bowls from the shelf and ladles out some kind of stew or soup from the large iron cauldron hanging inside the fireplace. She puts the bowls on the table and pours tea into pint-size ceramic cups that she lays down gently beside our meals. Then she stands behind one of the big bent willow chairs and coughs.

  Levi and I whip our heads around and look at her. “Nascha,” she says in a voice that flutters like the bells swaying on her antlers, while pointing at her chest.

  “I thought they couldn’t talk,” Levi says to me, like I’m some sort of expert.

  “Well, I guess they can. Considering we don’t know their language, I think the way they chose to communicate with us was far more effective,” I reason.

  Nascha points at me and says, “Ryn.” This is not a question. She knows my name. Ezra, of course, has told her. She points at Levi and then shakes her head. The chimes shimmy and sway.

  “Levi,” he tells her immediately. Nascha nods. She has a look about her. Her eyes tell me that she isn’t troubled per se, but concerned. I wonder what about.

  “Kipitay . . . migise owaantee,” Nascha tells us
while gesturing to the food she has laid out for us. She’s asking us to eat. I smile gratefully at her and unclip my rifle. I check that the safety is on and put it at my feet before I sit down. I don’t want to eat. I have about a dozen questions I’d like to fire at her instead, but I don’t speak her language, and I’m not sure that the ESP works both ways. If I want answers, it’s going to take patience and time, the two things I’m feeling pretty low on right about now.

  I slide the heavy chair back and sit down and Levi follows my lead. These chairs are large and my boots barely scrape the bottom of the floor. He takes off his gun, too, but puts it beside him on the table. Nascha eyes it with irritation, which Levi either doesn’t pick up on or, more likely, since he’s hyperobservant, like me, ignores. I lift the bowl up to my mouth and take a gulp. The soup is surprisingly thick and filled with vegetables.

  “Ezra?” I ask. She must know his name, since she knew mine.

  “Wai.” Nascha nods, and the bells and chimes sing. “Ezra.” So wai must mean yes. That’s one word down. Okay. I look around the room once more. I begin to notice the little things. Tiny brown and green bottles filled with liquids and powders. Light filtering through a thick glass window. This tells me their civilization has made some advancements. They make glass. They know how to keep and preserve materials. A large wooden bookshelf is tucked into the corner close to the hearth. It’s filled with books covered with thinly shaved wood and bound together with some sort of glue and twine. This tells me that they are not necessarily a people dependent on oral (or in their case, psychic) traditions. They write down their stories and histories. I look around again, this time for something resembling a clock or some sort of apparatus that will tell time. No such luck on that front. It would be useful for me to know how long ago Ezra was here.