The Fourth Runi (The Fledgling Account Book 4)

by Y. K. Willemse

  The only light in all this was that the Lashki had likely expected them to take a simpler route, and had focused his troops on the edges of the mountain range, rather than the complex and inscrutable interior.

  “I’m sure we saw this place before,” Sherwin was saying.

  In tomblike silence, they stood on a closely walled path bedecked with cushion plants. The lichen-splattered crags rose above the walls of their path on all sides. Above, the sky was gray, and a slow, wet snow fell.

  “You have had fever,” Fritz said, but he too was looking around himself in consternation.

  “I cannot help feeling we are going too slow,” Etana said wearily from where she sat on Trinity. “They are sure to find us soon. We can only evade so many for so long.”

  Her head was hanging.

  “You’re tired,” Rafen said fiercely. “We are going to get out of here alive.”

  Zion, guide us.

  Etana looked down and gave him a watery smile. She reached for him in some desperation, and he clasped her hand.

  She had been overjoyed to discover him better that morning, so his uncharacteristic aloofness alarmed her. Rafen felt he was some sort of infection or disease that Etana had. If it hadn’t been for him, Kasper would still be alive, and she wouldn’t be pregnant.

  Since waking that morning, Rafen had begun doubting whether Fritz would give him much of a recommendation in the royal courts. While Fritz’s presence might have been enough, Rafen couldn’t deny the king would have an unbelievable influence. Also, Fritz had his failings, as their current detour through the Mountains was illustrating. Lastly, Rafen had an awful feeling that the combining of the times wasn’t going to last much longer, no matter how much concentration he desperately expended. He had brought Fritz back, though definitely hadn’t raised him from the dead. Therefore, his actions weren’t irrevocable. Fritz would have to return to his own time again soon. Rafen had to be prepared to take the lead and find more help shortly. He had already made one attempt to bring Thomas back as well. The trouble was, he didn’t feel such a connection with Thomas.

  “Our way lies straight ahead,” Fritz said confidently.

  Francisco stared at him with tired eyes; it was obviously a phrase he had heard often in the last few weeks. “Of course,” he said, shrugging.

  They wandered until night fell and found them near another little network of caves in the stone wall by their path. They had gone from dead end to dead end all day, and Etana dismounted Trinity and lowered herself to the ground in utter dejection. The air was freezing, and Rafen’s limbs and digits felt stiff. He drank from one of the icy water pouches, and Fritz handed out the rations: a little portion of dried meat and a tiny collection of herbs.

  Rafen ate it slowly as he had in his Tarhian days, convincing himself he had an extravagant meal. Ahead, a path snaked over the top of the rocky walls. His eyes followed it as it wended across crags, snapping back on itself and weaving through rock formations. It led to a cave – a narrow bridge…

  Breathing hard, he fell back against the rock he had been sitting near. The effort to extend his vision was too much after his illness.

  Etana turned to him, her face pale. “Rafen, what is it?” she whispered. “What have you seen?”

  She drew closer to him to nestle against his chest. Fritz stared at them in disgust, as if he were seeing something that should occur in bedchambers only. Sherwin and Francisco had settled down near them, and they were both staring at him watchfully.

  “I saw a path…” Staring at the rocky walls around them, Rafen leapt up, reeling. “There’s a path across the rocks. If we climb the walls and take it, we will find our way.”

  “What is this?” Fritz said. “You have seen a path? How?”

  “Rafen has a Gift,” Etana said. “He can See things.”

  “This is not a gift the Runi are known for,” Fritz said. “I cannot believe it.”

  Standing at the mouth of the caves, he searched Rafen’s face.

  “I was right about the bridge at the Ravine,” Rafen pointed out.

  “Raf’s always been like tha’, and now ’e’s got Spirit Awareness too,” Sherwin said. “I got in trouble the last time I didn’ believe Raf.”

  Fritz’s expression became rather condescending. “Well,” he said, “I suppose it would not do any harm to try it.”

  “We’re lost,” Rafen said bluntly. “We should try anything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Joining

  of the Times

  They rose early the next morning, and Rafen even felt mildly refreshed as they exited the caves. He stared at the rocky walls with narrowed eyes, trying to imagine a woman four months pregnant scaling them. Then he remembered the incident on the New Isles walls. Perhaps Etana still had the skill she had used then.

  Once everyone was awake, Sherwin asked, “Right, china, which walls do we ’ave to go climbin’?”

  Rafen led the way to the wall across from the cave mouth. It was two stories high. The rough, jagged limestone was moist with spoon moss and snow in places.

  “Well,” Fritz said, “I am not entirely sure about this, Rafen. One of the men should go first, and then the Secra shall be helped up if there is anything up there. As for Trinity, a horse will be far too noticeable on the elevated crags, if we manage to transport it there at all. We shall have to turn him loose if that route is of any good.”

  “I’ll go first,” Sherwin volunteered.

  With the agility Rafen had often admired in him, Sherwin clambered up the rock face and swung himself onto the top of the wall. He rose to his full height with his back to them and ventured forward a few paces.

  “There is a path!” he called back as loudly as he dared. “It’s a narrow one, leading all across the walls aroun’ the paths we walked through yesterday.”

  Fritz shrugged. “We shall try it,” he said.

  Rafen wished he would stop trying to sound like he knew everything. Turning, he saw Etana climbing the wall rapidly.

  “Etana!” Fritz said in alarm, but she was already at the top.

  “Raf, yer better come next,” Sherwin said.

  When they were all up, Rafen took the lead before Fritz could claim it. He glanced down from the wall to see Trinity – whom Francisco had turned loose – meandering amid the paths they had gotten lost in yesterday. He sighed. It was a shame to lose the only horse they had.

  Fritz followed close behind Rafen, perhaps afraid he was going to lead them the wrong way. Repeatedly trying to wrench Thomas into his own time, Rafen continued to follow the path for most of the day, barring two small rests they had largely for Etana’s sake. Even though Etana could still climb walls, she was fatigued more easily than normal.

  Evening saw them looking back on the maze they had gotten lost in earlier. The walls and paths that had seemed so bewildering turned out to be a series of apparently simple patterns.

  “It is so much clearer from up here,” Etana said.

  “It is,” Fritz agreed, indicating to Rafen a spot for the fire. “And we can see all that is before us.”

  Tearing his eyes from some wolverines on part of the path they had already journeyed, Rafen looked to the East. His heart sank. The Mountains blotted out the horizon entirely. Crags and crags filled the black sky, and their little path looked like a white snake that lost itself amid cold winds, snow, and monoliths. The smallness of the farthest peaks did nothing to encourage him.

  “We’ll make it through,” he said, his jaw set with determination.

  “Yes,” Fritz said simply. “I will take the first watch tonight. You must rest, Rafen.”

  Mild gratitude warmed Rafen as he flicked his fingers at a blank area of rock. Flames sprang up, and Etana hunched over them immediately.

  *

  Rafen woke after only an hour’s sleep. Nazt had been plaguing him, and he had found himself on the Ravine floor where he had watched the ashes of Kasper reassemble themselves into a decaying form with a
copper rod. He was grateful to wake.

  Putting a hand to his phoenix feather and concentrating on Zion, he leaned against a rock near the fire. Etana was at his side, breathing peacefully. Francisco and Sherwin were opposite the fire. Sherwin snored heavily, and Francisco was looking perplexed in his dreams.

  Fritz stood with his back to them all, surveying the rocky wall they were on. Before sleeping, Etana had created an invisible shield around them, and Rafen had helped her strengthen it. Now they all felt much safer than before.

  Fritz turned to glance at Rafen, and his eyes glistened in the dark. “It is not your watch yet,” he said.

  “I know,” Rafen said.

  He moved to stand beside Fritz, who had two dead wolverines at his feet.

  “They were coming toward us from across the rocks,” Fritz said. “I killed them with kesmal. I believe Etana’s shield has largely protected us from unfriendly eyes anyway. Why are you up, Rafen?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Ah.”

  They stood in silence for a while, each trying to perceive the other’s thoughts. Rafen had often thought he would be able to understand Fritz, because they had both been part of the Eleven and had brushed souls. Yet something about Fritz’s exterior baffled him.

  “The Lashki Mirah is a presumptuous name,” Fritz said at last.

  This conversation starter was so random that it bewildered Rafen for a minute. He pondered the name momentarily. It was derived from the Mio Urmeean words for “Stranger King”.

  “I suppose he always wanted the throne,” Fritz said. “He was all too curious about affairs of state… about power.”

  “You must understand him better than any of us,” Rafen said.

  “I understand him better than you. But I spoke to Sherwin and Francisco a great deal while we were trying to find our way back to you and Etana that time. Sherwin has Knowledge too. As you are gifted with Sight, he has some sort of understanding of the mind of the Lashki. It proved rather invaluable. He was able to tell us whereabouts in the Ashurite Palace the Lashki would likely search first.”

  Rafen assumed the Ashurite Palace was the interior of the mountain they had sought refuge in after the ordeal in the Ravine. Kasper immediately floated before his mind. He shuddered, trying to shake the cold hand from his heart.

  “That’s odd,” he said. “Sherwin’s never really been like that

  before.”

  Fritz digested this in silence. Then he said, “What did Francisco mean about combining the times? I was afraid he had fever…”

  “Until you saw the Lashki.”

  “His name is Alakil. That is the name his mother gave him.”

  “Yes. I suppose,” Rafen said, staring at the shadowed labyrinth of rock before them, “Francisco was meaning that you are doing what you actually did in the history books, but you are doing it now. Which means that somehow your time has come forward to be part of ours… something like that.”

  “I believed that if you had done it, Rafen, you could explain it.”

  “I thought seeing your granddaughter would have made it clear.”

  “Ah!” Fritz laughed. “No, because I believed she was an apparition from the far future. Sometimes, Rafen, I feel as if none of this is real. I saw my grandson die in the Ravine. And it felt like a dream—”

  “No,” Rafen said, his heart heavy and his voice thick, “that was real…”

  “And yet, even you cannot explain these mysteries to me.”

  “I did try,” Rafen said, pulling the mitten off his left hand to stare at the ring Adelphia had given him. It was still fused to his skin, and he doubted he would ever be able to remove it.

  Fritz’s eyes were drawn to his action, and he inhaled sharply. “That is my ring,” he said quietly. “I am wearing it.”

  He removed his own glove to show Rafen the same ring on the index finger of his own left hand.

  “See,” Rafen said. “A joining of the times.”

  “How long will it last?” Fritz asked.

  “I’m afraid it won’t be forever.”

  “I suppose it scarcely matters. Time is like a pool, I believe. We surface at the edge of it and then at the middle, and we experience a different period or a different age. Who can tell if our current consciousness is the true ‘now’ or if that comes later?”

  Rafen furrowed his brow. This sort of talk was too much for him at this time of night.

  “What I mean to say,” Fritz explained, “is that we shall likely meet again later in your time.”

  “No,” Rafen corrected him. “Not unless I combine the times again. I know in my heart that that would be impossible. I’ve come to realize that I can do this once and once only.”

  “I do not mean that, Rafen,” Fritz said with a wry smile as he searched the darkened heavens. The stars were veiled tonight. “I shall grow old someday.”

  Rafen stared at Fritz and thought with vague horror, He doesn’t realize. He doesn’t understand.

  “Fritz, the year in which you conquered Alakil—”

  “Indeed, that is the year which I am living now,” Fritz cut in, “even while you are living in your own time.”

  “Yes,” Rafen said, “it was the last year of your life.”

  He said it quickly and looked away, trying to focus on the succulent plants on the rocky floors.

  “What do you mean?” Fritz said hoarsely.

  “You… you died,” Rafen said.

  When he stepped away from Fritz, the king grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jerked him closer. Rafen gasped.

  “I died,” Fritz said, his nose pressed against Rafen’s. His wild gaze filled Rafen’s vision. “I died? I was young, Rafen. I am young; what was it, illness, battle, stroke?”

  Rafen’s eyes stung as he stared at Fritz. The king only wanted to know what to expect. Yet it was a terrible thing to know the future. What if Kasper had known he was about to die? What if Rafen knew exactly what was around the corner?

  “It was none of those things,” he whispered. “It was murder.”

  Fritz released him slowly, thoughtfully. “Oh, this is preventable. I thought illness might strike me, but then I have always been a healthy man. Yet one cannot fight the vagaries of nature, thus I thought it was perhaps a stroke. If it were a battle, I would not fight for the remainder of this year. A murder, however, once predicted, is preventable.” He smiled. “You must understand, Rafen, that I have a wife and daughter to care for, as well as the state. Arlene is only eleven.”

  Rafen shook his head.

  “Why do you look like that?” Fritz said, his voice edged with desperation again. “Give me details, Rafen, and I will reward you richly. Only I must know how this murder is said to take place.”

  He stepped closer to Rafen, who backed away.

  “I don’t think you can prevent the future,” Rafen said. “I think it is as unalterable as the past.”

  “You say that because my future is your past,” Fritz hissed. “It is not true. The future is malleable, Rafen, like clay. How did he do it? It was Alakil. I am certain he would have tried it. I will destroy him for it.”

  “Can’t you see?” Rafen implored. “If you could change your future, then why is the Lashki still alive today in my present?”

  “I will change it,” Fritz said. “I will change everything.” He was pacing up and down the rocky wall now. “Rafen, it is you who does not see. My wife has prophesied to me recently. The Runi cannot die. Zion’s Eleven were intended to destroy Nazt together. If even one of them dies, the balance is imperfect and true victory is impossible.”

  The thought struck Rafen then that the Lashki had made true victory impossible a long time ago. Yet Adelphia had indicated Rafen could somehow redeem a scrap of the Lashki’s soul to help him destroy Nazt. Presumably, this would not prevent Rafen from killing the Lashki’s body… for there was no turning that fiend in his entirety back to Zion.

  Fritz was another matter. Rafen saw that he would h
ave to resurrect the king properly someday. He stared at the now muttering Second Runi and was filled with pity.

  *

  “Master, we have searched for months now. We are certain they have not passed out of the Mountains…” Here Annette hesitated, but she brought herself to finish the sentence. “…although they have certainly passed out of view. The Mountains are exceedingly complex. You, Master, will understand.”

  She fell silent, still kneeling before him on the cold ravine floor. The Lashki was not even looking at her. He stared over the heads of all his followers, who were gathered in a large, interminable circle around him. Ashurites, Tarhians, and mercenaries had their eyes fixed on him and stood in various attitudes of worship. At the center of their circle, he was their focal point, a symbol of their connection with each other, their purpose, and their gravitation.

  The Lashki had sent them out, along with the Naztwai penned at the far end of the Ravine. He had watched them go with disinterest. He himself had not joined in the pursuit since the night Rafen had reached the Mountains. There was little point. Unless he could kill Rafen when he was distracted, their meeting would inevitably be a conflict. And conflict was no longer what he wanted, especially not with Fritz around. Rafen’s soul had a potency that he himself did not understand, and the Lashki still felt that spirit against his at times – the searing was unbearable.

  No, he would not pursue Rafen personally again. The sap did not deserve it, and it was scarcely worth the damage to his own person. In the end, Nazt would strike the final blow.

  “The Mountains are exceedingly complex,” the Lashki acquiesced, speaking to the people in general. “And Annette is exceedingly dim.”

  He lowered the copper rod to point at her. She screamed the usual piercing scream, and he blasted her back into the front row of the crowd before him. They flinched and stepped back as she writhed on the stone ground, her limbs seizing. He counted slowly to thirty then released her. She lay gasping on the rock, and he put on his usual grim smile.

  This was a routine. He did it to the leader of whichever group he sent out, even though he was not really angry. He supposed some of them knew this. Annette did. He could see the pain in her sweaty face, but she did not exhibit the absolute terror that accompanied his rare but terrible outbursts of anger.