The Rising Tide

by Sarah Stirling

  “How did you stop the twilight of the worlds?”

  There appeared to be no answer, the lines of text staring back at her. Frustrated, she scrubbed at her eyes and shoved it away from her, pulling Sandson’s book closer so that she might inspire herself with Shinrak’s words once more.

  A strange green light trickled through the window, tingeing the library with its eerie brushstrokes. It was almost as if the sun was dying rather than descending, the sky poisoned with its corpse, clouds blotting out the heavens above. The shadows of the stacks stretched out across the stone floor, stark lines against the emerald sheen from the sky. The colour was almost reminiscent of Viktor’s green flames and it struck a pang in her heart. Looking around, Rook realised how lonely she was. She hadn’t quite realised when she had first embarked on her journey, not until a group of strangers hard wormed their way into her heart and taught her what family could really mean. But she was so, so desperately alone, and it left her more aimless than ever.

  “I wonder how Viktor is doing.” She feared what would become of him, left to the riftspawn in his head and his sister’s influence. But he was stubborn; she needed to have faith that he could fight back against it.

  “… I know but this is important, Ma.”

  A faint, scratchy voice interrupted the silence of her rumination, distorted as if coming through water. Rook cocked her head, listening to the broad accent of a male voice drifting between the stacks, drumming her fingers against the table.

  A heavy sigh. “You knew it would be like this. Besides, you were the one who told me to get a job and stop wasting my life, weren’t you?”

  The voice snapped louder this time, enough for her to make out words like ‘disrespectful son’ and ‘poor mother’. Curious, she slid her chair back as quietly as she could and tiptoed to the closest stack, peering her way around to a small alcove carved into the wall, light shining across the floor from a window above. Crossed legged on the stone bench was the scholar from earlier, his red robes trailing the floor. In his hands was a bowl of water, glowing a soft dusky lavender. It reflected against his face, highlighting a long face and even longer nose, lips upturned into an unhappy face as he peered into the water.

  “Ma, I can’t leave at a time like this. You must have seen the way things are going. If I do, the world as we know it might end.”

  There was a scoff, burbling through the water. Before she knew it, Rook had taken several more steps, craning her neck to try and get a look at the bowl clutched between his hands. She had seen communication channels via spiritual connection before – had heard a lot about how it gave one the ability to communicate with others from distances beyond her comprehension – but she had never really had the concentration for it. Now she watched the scholar, stunned, as a faint face rippled in the water, bunching up all the lines on her face as she scowled and waggled a finger at him.

  Trying to get closer, Rook was so preoccupied by the sight before her that she missed the pile of books at her feet. She tripped hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor with a yell. Pain smacked up her arms as her hands slapped the ground to catch her fall and she looked up through the curtain of her hair with a sheepish smile.

  “What was that? Mertak? What was that?”

  The light extinguished in a blink, casting them both in the same sickly shade of green from the window above. A few small riftspawn swirled around Mertak’s head, attracted by the use of spiritual energy. Rook climbed back to her feet and approached him slowly, her palms spread out in front of her.

  “Were you listening?”

  “No, I, um – I mean, I just wanted to know how you did that. I’ve never been much good at it.”

  Mertak as she now knew him examined her top to bottom before he relaxed his posture, patting the space on the stone bench beside him. “It requires concentration so it helps when people don’t sneak up on you.”

  Rook tittered a laugh. “Sorry about that. I was trying to study but I heard you talking and –”

  “It’s fine,” he sighed. “Here, take the bowl.”

  She gripped it tight, chasing the water slapping against the sides when he placed it in her hands. “Is it enchanted? Is this why I couldn’t do it?”

  “It’s just a bowl of water.”

  “Oh.”

  Mertak looked like he was trying very hard to be serious but the upward tilt of his lips gave him away. “It helps to have something to channel through. You need a reflective surface if you want to see but there are other ways, too.”

  “How do I do it, then? How does it work?”

  “Didn’t you ever listen in lessons?” If he didn’t know the story of how she had ended up here, she wasn’t about to tell him. “What you’re trying to achieve is to channel a message by transmitting it through the spiritual leylines of the world. You need to tap into your bond and use that connection to control the transmission. It’ll involve a deep enough connection to be able to wield these leylines but if you focus on the person you wish to reach you should be able to find them. The closer they are physically the easier it will be. If they are spiritbound, it makes the connection much easier because they have a signature to latch onto. Outside of that, it is very, very difficult to reach someone so I would not hold my breath if you have lofty ambitions about calling people all over the world.”

  Rook nodded at every appropriate beat of his lecture, only absorbing about half of it. Already she was firing up the bond between her and The Rook, and it hummed gently as its consciousness trickled into hers, a comforting tickle that had replaced the sharp, cold wave of an alien mind inside hers. The effects were immediate; the faint discomfort prickling the back of her neck became a full-blown pulsating inside her skull as she felt the full force of the rift’s pressure. It took her a few quick, shallow breaths to adjust, the telltale warmth trickling from her nostril.

  “You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?”

  She blinked up at the scholar and then turned up the force of her smile. “No, it was really helpful. Truly. I’m just going to try now…” She leant her head back against the stone wall, drinking in the green light washing over the library, cut into strips from the criss-crossing bars separating the windows in the ceiling above. She used the familiar shade to remind herself of Viktor’s shimmering fire and the charcoal burning in her lungs. To remind herself of that ancient steady rhythm that contrasted to the frantic, thrumming energy of The Rook.

  “Focus on the feeling,” she heard somewhere distantly. “The signature of your friend.”

  Her grip tightened on the bowl of water but all she could feel was her own frustration, unsure how to find Viktor’s signature in a sea of drifting currents. The nearby rift was so overpowering she struggled to focus, thoughts swimming from memories of her travels, to the way Viktor had looked before he had left. When he had announced himself not as the boy she had come to know, but as the long dead prince, reborn to the flame. Her hands shook around the rim of the bowl, a burnt smell teasing her nostrils. Latching onto it, she chased the current of energy further and further, The Rook like a bloodhound with a scent.

  The line of energy unfurled out, pulling her even further from herself until she had no idea where she was or how she would even think about getting back. But she had to quash the instinctive need to panic, too excited about how the charcoal signature was growing, the sound of crackling flames filling her ears. It had to be him. It had to be Viktor.

  Only just as she thought she had the connection within her grasp, it slipped away like water. She blinked, disorientated, realising the warped image was her hand in the bowl of water, her own face melting and distorting before her eyes. Disappointment hit her, ready to give up, but The Rook shrieked loud enough in her ear to startle her and she gazed back down into the settling surface of the water. A soft silver glow shone in the muted gloom of the library and then a face took shape before her eyes.

  “Lord Sandson?”

  His gold eyes darted around before s
ettling on her and he froze for a long beat – long enough for her to assume the connection had snapped – but no, she could feel the rush of power in her veins and the wild scent of the otherworld. Finally, he thawed once more, a mask of composure slipping over his face along with the round spectacles he unfolded and perched upon his nose. His face came closer so that she could see the edges of his fine clothes and the slicked back dark hair. He was at a party.

  “Can you see me, Sandson-shai? It is Rook. Do you remember me?”

  “No, I cannot see you,” he murmured, glancing behind him. “Yes, I remember.”

  Rook glanced down to see she had propped the bowl upon the book he had given her without realising it. It must have been what had disrupted the connection. That, or her day’s readings had touched her more deeply than she had realised. “Um, so this is a little weird for you, then. I mean, it’s weird for me too. I was trying to reach Viktor. Viktor! Have you seen Viktor? How is he?”

  Sandson’s expression did not change but his eyes flickered behind him once more before he shuffled around. She realised that the trickling sound she could hear was a fountain. He appeared to be in a garden, lanterns strung around the pillars of an ancient but grand looking building beyond. Riftspawn were gathering to him, presumably sensing the extraordinary amount of spiritual energy she channelled in order to talk to him from across the span of islands.

  “Viktor is, hm, a little unsteady right now. The political situation here grows more unstable by the minute. He was here but he left not long before you summoned me.”

  “He left? Where did he go? And what is the situation right now? Are you safe?”

  Once again he paused as if to check no one was listening in, perhaps processing her questions. “I do not know but he appeared to be quite upset. He and his sister have been rallying some of Yllaizlo’s old nobles around them in an effort to claim themselves rulers once more but it appears that the newly appointed General Riki has not taken too kindly to it. I assure you, however, that as precarious as things might be, there is no threat of war as of yet.”

  There was more he was not telling her but there was no time to ask him why he thought war might be a possibility. “I mean the riftspawn,” she said, pointing before she realised he could not see her. “Things are… stable?”

  Sandson frowned. “I believe there are problems on Yllainyk. There have been troubling reports. As of yet, things are certainly not quite right here, but it is not as I have heard it described there.”

  Rook huffed a sigh, unsure whether it was relief or mere exhaustion. Her head throbbed. “I have been reading your book but I must confess I do not understand much of your writings within it.”

  “Ah, it is supposed to challenge the mind, Rook-wei. I thought it might stimulate you on your travels.”

  “Is that all? The names you listed on page 244… they are all former Riftkeepers of repute.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Sandson,” she said, a hint of frustration bleeding through in her tone, “what is it that you know? What did you mean, about balancing the scales?”

  He huffed a laugh, moonlight reflecting off his spectacles as he shook his head. “Careful you do not read too far into the musings of a curious man. Shinrak described something in that chapter that many scholars were fascinated by in his time: what makes someone a god? There were stories, stretching so far back no one knew where they originated, about the extraordinary capabilities of men with powers blessed from gods. But where kings and soldiers were concerned with the power, the philosophers of Danbi’s circle were excited by the prospect of potential. Of what mankind might do with the ability to shape their world at will.”

  “I find it quite fascinating, I will confess, so I put my pride aside and did some research into riftspawn and the otherworld. History is vague on this topic because so much of the literature was destroyed. From what I was able to discover, it appeared that many had tried to experiment with these abilities, searching for power to strike down their enemies, or for more. There are legends, some you may be aware of, of ordinary people finding themselves endowed with the ability to walk upon water, or summon the rain, or to heal those that should have died from severe wounds. Some followed these people, created entire religions around them. For what else do you call a man who has summoned the first rains after a hundred years of drought, but a god?”

  Rook frowned. “I can speak for myself, I think, when I say it is not quite like that. Bonding does not give you control.”

  “Well, yes.” Sandson paused as if trying to regroup his thoughts. “That had always been a problem, as far as I am aware. Not just for the individual but also for the effect it had upon our world. For the more they channelled the spiritual energies of the otherworld, the more both realms seemed to merge. Every story of the like I could find contained similar hints. Changes that the writer observed in the world as a result of riftspawn being invited in.”

  Something icy slid down her gullet. “So the more we connect with the rifts, the more we cause the problem. You’re telling me the Order of the Riftkeepers are part of the reason why the world is falling apart?”

  Sandson rubbed his chin. “I would not word it as such, no. The problem is, riftspawn found their way to this world, regardless of what we did. And it is necessary to have protective measures in place…” His voice faded out briefly as her panic flared, the connection destabilising. Rook latched back onto the burning current of energy, keeping her eyes locked upon the bowl of water. “…Nor is there any suggestion in the literature to say that all changes were bad. Some brought us innovation. Our lighting systems developed because engineers were fascinated by the natural light of the riftspawn. Our ability to predict the weather came with those who could tap into a deeper natural sense. Shinrak and some of his compatriots believed in a theoretical utopia – a land that existed in the perfect intersection between worlds.”

  “This is the spirit of potential?”

  “Hm, I suppose it is. The potential, not simply of the individual, but of our entire society. The ability to shape things as we dream them. Imagine such a world from a philosopher’s perspective. The horrors we might extinguish. The innovation at our fingertips.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she tapped out a restless tune on the stone with her fingers. “You sound rather passionate about this. Do you… believe it?”

  “In utopia?” Sandson scoffed. “Do you know how I got to be where I am today, Rook-wei? I, a nobody from a small continental village?”

  “I suppose you are going to tell me.”

  His teeth flashed in the darkness when he dipped his head. “I was always a dreamer. When you live in the desert, the only thing worth looking for is the horizon.” The sound of voices nearby cut him off, profile outlined in silver moonlight as he waited for them to pass. Rook did not recognise the language spoken. “However, I have always been tempered with my roots in the earth.”

  “I am not familiar with this phrase.”

  “I mean, I am realistic about how much can be changed at once. You do not change the world in one great wave. Take a lesson from the ocean. You wear away the coast bit by bit, piece by piece. Things take time.”

  “You forget, Sandson-wei, that I am no scholar. I recognise that there is potential in the otherworld. I have lived it first hand. You must also understand why that makes me wary.” For she was, in some ways, excited by the idea of it. Of a world unmarred by prejudice and evil. But it would also be a world without rules. A world where chaos reigned and destruction was the currency.

  “The main thing to work out is how we find balance. At what point the give and take is equal. Cutting ourselves off completely is hardly the answer, not when things have come as far as they have. But I in no way wish to destroy the world, if that is what you fear.”

  She rolled her eyes at his smirk. “I did not say you wished to destroy the world.”

  “Ah, but you did imply it.”

  “I did not! You inferred what you wished to hear.” />
  “Hm. If that is how you wish to see it.” His head turned again and his posture stiffened, so subtly she would have missed it if she had not been watching him closely. “I am afraid I must take my leave of you now. You have wrung me for enough information, I assume?”

  Rook snorted. “Go, don’t let me keep you. It is not my fault you enjoy the sound of your own voice.”

  His laughter chased her out as she dropped the connection, exhaustion ploughing into her with a sudden and heavy weight. Head drooping, Rook rubbed her eyes. Trying to reach someone from across the distance of entire islands took up even more energy than she had realised. She put the bowl aside and realised when it felt lighter in her hands that the water had completely evaporated. Running a finger around the wooden circle within she found it faintly damp and she huffed. “Weird.”

  Her conversation was still rolling through her mind as she stood and stretched out her stiff limbs, wincing when she heard a few bones crack and pop. There was more research to be done, more to learn about the history of the Order. She hadn’t realised until she had left, just how vital this library was, untouched and filled to the brim with knowledge. She wished she had more time to simply wander the shelves and sample from the various texts. She wished to pile them high around her, losing herself in the words without the strain of the unravelling rifts hanging over her head.

  “Rook-ka! Rook-ka!”

  Starting, Rook poked her head around a stack to see Lyttah turning this way and that before her eyes landed on her. Dashing towards her, the girl gripped her arm and tugged her forth. “You must come right now.”

  Heart thumping, she grabbed Sandson’s book and let herself be steered from the library. “What’s going on? Ly-ka?”