The riftspawn spun around with a deep roar that shook the trees around them, the sky rumbling overhead. Small spots of colour appeared around the swirling vortex that was the rift spilling out of the confines of the monastery. More riftspawn were pouring from the barrier. It didn’t bode well for the rift maidens, if they had survived the fall of Yuratsa, that was.
As the creature swooped down towards him, Janus focused on his breathing, calculating the speed and the angle of its flight. The trick was to not get rattled. If he made the shot it would be worth it. If not, well, there was no use dwelling. The riftspawn was so close he could see the bright beams of its eyes. His finger squeezed the trigger.
With a reverberating bang the bullet hit the riftspawn in the head, splattering its form in an explosion of copper and yellow light. He exhaled in a deep sigh and relaxed, about to put his gun away when the littering of tiles upon the ground began to glow and then suddenly the riftspawn was knitting itself back together. It was smaller this time but it picked itself up from the ground, resembling the shape the creature had taken before.
A litany of curses spilling from his lips, Janus dived behind a rock and stared up at it making lethargic circles in the sky with a growing apprehension in his gut. They weren’t supposed to survive the reimyr bullets. They had been infused with the energies of the rift by the rift maidens to ensure they would stop any riftspawn. If they no longer worked then there was no hope for him out here on his own, for he was no Herdan that could slay a giant. Whatever kind of riftspawn it happened to be, it was just too powerful.
The rules had changed and Janus no longer understood the game.
The riftspawn continued to circle above and Janus kept his eye on it as he reloaded his gun, braced for the slightest change in the pattern. From this angle it would be able to see all – he would only have a small window in which to make a shot. To make the matter worse, he had no idea if the bullet would work. Once the seed of uncertainty had been planted, it was difficult to stop it from blooming out of control. Things either worked or they didn’t. Janus didn’t like not knowing. It sent his thoughts spiralling, a soldier’s confidence unravelling with the revelation that the commands were wrong.
“Janus!”
He whipped his head around to see Lani lumbering across the gardens, pausing to catch her breath on the bridge over the koi pond. She glanced about with a furrowed brow, chewing on her lip. Overhead the sky darkened, rattling like something had broken. And it most certainly had, if roof tiles could become the drake-like beast that hovered above her now, ready to strike.
Mouth dry, Janus ducked out from his relative hiding space and dove towards her. “Lani, here! Come with me!”
Her reaction was too slow. The riftspawn tilted, eyes focused upon her as it snapped tile wings and launched itself from the sky. She glanced up, face shining in the dying light, eyes growing rounder and rounder by the fraction of a second. Janus was running before his brain could even process what was happening, hands closing around her waist to swing her off the bridge just as the riftspawn crashed into them, the two of them tumbling in a flurry of limbs. A strange burning sensation seared the skin of his hand and he clasped it to him on instinct with a yell.
When he crashed to a stop against the dewy grass, Janus stared at the hand sprawled out before him, stretching his fingers and wincing when the pain shot up his arm. A yellow mark stained the skin between his knuckles and thumb, like an imprint of where the spirit had touched him. In the back of his mind he heard the distant echo of a shriek and felt the creature’s rage and repulsion. The ghost of another beast came to him then; the faintest imprint of The Rook upon his eyelids.
Mine.
He had sworn himself to it and apparently the riftspawn knew it. Janus pushed himself up onto his haunches, ignoring the flaring aches and pains along his ribs and chest. Lani looked stunned but alive, blinking up at the sky with a mud stained face. He dragged himself over to her, intending to comfort, when the riftspawn wheeled around again in the sky. It was preparing to attack once more so he threw her into his arms and bolted, aiming for the door ahead. Walls weren’t generally an obstacle for riftspawn but he was hoping that maybe the temple itself had been protected in some way. Surely.
Lani whimpered in his arms, burying into his collar as he ran and he cradled her head as he kicked the door open, feeling the reverberations rattle through his entire body. Ducking inside, he slammed the door closed and pulled them to the side, catching his breath against the wall with his heart in his throat. The creature slammed against the door and Lani shuddered against him. She sucked in a ragged breath, tears shining on her cheeks, and he hoisted her up, uncertain of what to say.
“You.”
Janus looked up to see Neyvik staring him down, arms crossed. She looked just as he had left her, if a little weary. Her red kobi was streaked with dirt and dust, part of her sleeve ripped to reveal a thick band around her wrist. He nodded to her in greeting and then coaxed Lani to the ground so that he could feel the comfort of his revolver in his hand once more, keeping her pudgy fist in the other.
“Who is this?”
“This is Lani,” he said, voice gravelly. “Needs a place to stay.”
Neyvik pursed her lips but when she glanced down at the crying girl her expression softened, if only marginally. “Things are out of control. Where have you been?”
“The city is worse. Nothing like I’ve ever seen. We hid in a church.”
“A church?”
Janus shrugged, skin prickling beneath her stare. “Kept us safe.”
“And here I took you for a godless man, Lakazar.” In her hand was a silver candelabra. When she caught him gazing at it, she lifted it in a salute. “Anything can be a weapon when you’re not supposed to wield one.”
“The girls,” he started, unsure how to finish. “You’re safe?”
“Safe? We’re sitting on a ruptured rift – one of many across the islands. Thiemi is dead, Pyllah has been corrupted, and half of our number quiver in the pews as if praying will be the thing to save them. I have broken so many rules the Order would see me hanged if they were still here to do anything at all. The city is overrun with malicious spirits that are destroying the natural laws of our world as we stand around yapping. The Danma Vyll is in these very walls. Do we look safe to you?”
Janus opened his mouth to say something – anything – when a scratching sounded at the door, followed by a pounding and then a deep voice. Before Neyvik could grab a hold of him he opened it only to be nearly knocked over by a wild eyed Kardak in his chair, wheeling around to stare at them. “Thanks for leaving me out there again. Really. It’s not like I don’t still have trauma or anything.”
Neyvik drank in the sight of him with wide eyes, glancing back at Janus who could only look away. It had been his own failure that had allowed it to happen. He should have been able to protect them. He had seen this all happen before – seen what could happen if riftspawn were let loose – and yet he had been every bit as ineffective as before, passively watching the destruction unfold before his eyes. Somehow he never managed to change, no matter how much he wished to.
A tug on his coat pulled him from his thoughts. “There’s more of them.”
They all turned to see a shoal of shimmering riftspawn coalesce through the walls, Janus tensing in preparation. Neyvik shot him a look. “It’s fine. If they don’t attack then just leave them. We can’t be wasting our energy on every damn spirit that passes the door or we’ll be dead by sunrise.” She paused, gaze flickering to the hole in the roof above where a patch of dusky sky leaked through. “If we ever see sunrise again, that is.”
“That Danma Vyll is still out there,” said Kardak, adjusting his glasses.
“Aren’t you the Riftkeeper?”
He stilled, mouth opening and closing without sound before his posture straightened. “Yeah. Yes, I am.” He lifted his own gun and despite the way his hand trembled his expression remained resolute. “I am the acting
rift warden here. I mean, as long as…”
Neyvik rubbed her temple. “He lives.”
“For now that is enough, I suppose,” said Kardak, surprising them both. “We should focus on ensuring our safety first. Then we deal with the aftermath.”
Janus met his gaze and managed a grim smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Ah,” he waved it away. “If you call that a plan.”
“Oh, he does call that a plan,” said Neyvik.
Lani glanced up at him and he squeezed her hand. “Wait here, Chana. We are going to take care of the bad spirit and then we find you some dinner.”
“Don’t leave!” Her nails clawed at him as her fingers wrapped around his.
Crouching down, he tilted her chin. “Need you to be brave one more time for me. Can you do that?”
She jutted her lip but she managed a nod through a hiccuped whimper.
Janus ruffled her hair. “Wait for me. Won’t be long.”
Then he stood and met the gazes of Kardak and Neyvik, steeling himself. “Let’s go kill us some evil spirits, hm?”
Janus had no idea if he even could. If maybe things had progressed so far that they were no longer able to be killed. But he had to at least try. For all the times he had walked away. For all the times guilt had ate away at him until there was nothing left. Janus had to try.
*
It wasn’t that Rook was hiding in her room, it was just that she had picked up the book given to her by Sandson and she couldn’t put it down. That was what she told herself as she flicked through the pages of Shinrak’s Memoir, pouring over the flowery language of the philosopher. In the margins were Sandson’s notes, his scrawl difficult for her to decipher, the graphite smudged. Between the pages she was transported to another world, another time, where she was not afraid to face the men and women she had once prided herself in working beside. She didn’t know why their interactions had become so strained, when she had only tried her best.
For why does the wind blow and the leaves fall from the trees? How do the seasons know their time is done? Why does a lifetime pass in the blink of an eye? It is the one certainty we have been able to rely upon, across the span of ages; that time will rage on without us; that the world around us will change beyond the scope of our recognition.
Sandson had written something beside this passage, scribblings that looked to either be the characters for enemy or greed. Why he had given her this book was still beyond her, although she could not deny that Shinrak had a way of surmising into concise points distant echoes of feelings she had never been able to put to words. Feeling weary from the circles she turned in her mind, she flipped the pages to his next comment, in the next chapter of the book, named The Spirit of Potential.
For all that we may fear the – Rook paused on the character, trying to remember where she had seen it before but found it would not come – we may also learn some vital lessons from these spiritual beings. There are sects of the Illuminated who worship their existence, for that very existence challenges all we know about our world and ourselves in relation to its natural laws. Of course, it would be easy to dismiss such acts as sacrilegious, but that would be to limit our understanding of what it means to coexist with beings who are able to change both themselves and the world around them by force of will.
Consider: what do we consider a god to be, but one who can alter reality by their own desire? Change is not an easy thing for one to achieve in the ever turning tide that rolls towards enlightenment, especially when one is entrapped by the strife and pleasure of the flesh. Surely there is something admirable about what one could achieve if one could understand the secrets behind these doors to the world beyond. Countless have tried and all have failed but that does not mean there is no hope. As mankind continues to expand their minds, as technology and innovation spreads across these great islands, there will be a way that one will learn the mysteries hidden in the spiritual realm. That, I believe, is where the answer to true self-actualisation lies.
Rook paused with her finger hovering over the words, squinting at Sandson’s notes. Something about potential and deities. Beside this was a list of names and dates from years long passed – some from before even the Siklos were rulers of the Myrliks – and a note underlined: there must be a way to balance the scales.
She frowned, cocking her head as if it would reveal some secret she had missed. Huffing a sigh, she shook her head and stood, dizzy with the sudden movement. Stretching out her stiff limbs, she tried to quell the racing of her thoughts but found she could not. Looking at the names again, she found she recognised a few. One in particular belonged to a well known figure of the Order of the Riftkeepers. Hika the Valiant. The dragon tamer. A hero who had stopped the last crisis, when multiple rifts had ruptured and caused havoc across the islands. Rook bit her lip, feeling the ragged pulse of the rift close by, and thought that it had never been as bad as it was now.
Still, there was no use dwelling so she washed herself down and then shuffled off to the library located in the heart of the fortress, built into one of the many turrets. Up the spiral stairs she traversed until the atrium widened out, the smell of old books hitting her with a rush of familiarity. Clutching Sandson’s book, she nodded to one of the scholars at a desk by the door, tomes piled high around him as he briefly glanced up from his frantic note taking.
“Excuse me,” she said, flashing her most charming smile even as he glared at her, “do you know where I might find historical journals from Riftkeepers, like say, Hika?”
He scratched his chin, pen still poised upon the page. “Go to the back stack, turn right and walk along. First on your left should be where the Riftkeeper biographies and diaries are kept.”
“Much obliged.” She flashed him another grin, saluting quickly before she scampered off in the direction he had pointed her in. It was more difficult to find than he had described, for the stacks unfolded in a maze of endless books, stretching all the way up to the ceiling, so far up it hurt when she craned her neck. Dust swirled in the beams of light descending from the ceiling, briefly blinding her as she stepped through them towards her destination. In the gloom the lingering riftspawn were more obvious, like firebugs against a night sky. She admired the pretty colours as her fingers skimmed the spines of the books before her, examining the titles of various names she had never heard before until her forefinger caught on a set of familiar characters that spelled out a name renowned amongst the Riftkeeper community.
“Hika the Valiant, The Legacy of the Dragon Tamer.”
Plucking it out, she let out a yelp when it was heavier than expected, nearly dropping it on her foot. Using the momentum to swing it onto a nearby desk, she pried it open only to be assaulted by a cloud of dust, catching in her throat and making her cough. The sound carried and she froze, glancing around her, but no one came to scold her. Figuring she was safe, she cleaved the giant book open and began to skim the pages of the tiny font, fingers running across thin, yellowing pages.
If she had thought Sandson’s scrawl difficult to read, the tiny, fading print was even worse. The book appeared to be a biography, with quotes from what had been salvaged of the woman’s own journals. The first few chapters dealt with her early life and Rook skipped them, seeking out information from her life as part of the Order. It took some time before she found anything remotely relevant, swiping at the dust clouding around her and tickling her nostrils. Growing more determined, she scanned page after page after page until her eyes grew bleary from squinting. The sun rotated from one side to the other through the window on the ceiling.
Hika had taken up her position in the Order at only thirteen years old, after her discovery in a small mountain village some way from Yuratsa. Accounts from witnesses described the dragon that had terrorised the village for many, many years, swooping down from the peaks of the Gerhan mountains to unleash havoc on the poor defenceless villagers of her home. That was until one day a young girl had climbed up to the dragon’s lair, disappearing f
or days on end. The villagers had given her up for dead, convinced the dragon had killed and eaten her for her audacity to confront such a deadly and powerful creature.
“But some days later the shadow returned to the village and the people prepared themselves for more fire and destruction. Except it never came. The dragon landed peacefully and they squinted into the sun only for a figure to descend from between the perilous spikes of its back. It was Hika and from that day on she bore the title of Dragon Tamer,” Rook read aloud to herself, heart rate picking up with her excitement. “It was not long after that Hrell, of the Order of the Riftkeepers came to take her for training. He saw something in her that none had been able to predict from a scrawny girl from the mountains of Grödak.”
Rook continued to read, straying from her initial task by the fascinating stories of Hika’s life. Of the difficulties she faced in her training, of the gradual decline in the quality of the rifts, and how the Order had rallied around a select few elite wardens, with Hika amongst them. She turned back to Sandson’s book and her heart skipped a beat when she found that several names matched his list.
But this band of heroes had been doomed from the start. Their journey had taken them through the Myrliks and beyond, trying to figure out the secrets to the rifts and how to stop the destruction wreaked by the riftspawn that poured from the widening doors between the realms. For all the knowledge gleaned, for all the talents amongst them, they could not work out how to reverse the effects, nor could they determine why the rifts had ruptured in the first place. Slowly the world began to change in mysterious ways. Things no longer fell to the ground when dropped. Water flowed up waterfalls. The sky changed with no more than a simple thought. It had been known as dakkan ikka korshi. The twilight of the worlds.
Leaning back in her chair, Rook rolled out the crick in her neck, realising she was sweating through the thick layers of her clothing. Shedding her sheepskin cloak, she continued to read, trying to find – something, anything – but it was hard to find what she did not know she sought. Hoping she would know when she saw it, she bit her lip, head filled with stories from times gone past. From times when heroes still lived and the Order had been a glorious legion of protectors of the realm. She had dreamed of living a life like that. Of being remembered as a hero. Now she would settle for an answer.
The Rising Tide Page 29
