I am yours, he thought. Do with me as you bid.
And with that Janus stopped fighting.
*
Rook quickly fell into a routine. In the morning she would traverse the snow covered path through the village out towards the forest beyond. Between the pines all sounds were muffled by the densely packed branches, brown needles forming a frosty carpet over which her boots crunched, bundled tight into layers of fleece and fur. She would follow the trail of spiritual energy, riftspawn dancing around her as if stirred by a new and overpowering signature they had not felt for some time, until she reached the stone structure built in a large circular clearing, snow piled high upon the black rocks that formed a crumbling arch carved with ancient symbols. For a good portion of the day she would study the movements of spirits through the veil, simply sitting on a rock she had swept free of snow and closing her eyes so she could focus on the transfer of energy.
After taking lunch at her family home, or gobbling up some dried out elk over a small fire to warm her hands, she would trudge back to the council hall so that she could make use of the library. They offered a small selection but many of the texts were ancient, carrying wisdom from ages past in an old dialect of her mother tongue. She would sit with a dictionary and attempt to decipher as much as she could from the fading symbols printed upon crackling yellowed pages, until her eyes grew bleary and unfocused. Only then would she concede defeat for the day so that she could stretch out cramped muscles.
At night time she would spar with Tokkar, reminding herself of the training she had endured as a girl, blow after blow until she was sweating through her layers, muscles burning. With aching lungs, she would catch her breath in the gloom beyond the light of the crackling fire as the villagers gathered, listening to stories told by elders of ancient heroes that defeated terrible monsters and saved their people. She never dared creep any closer. Not with the judging eyes of her father, nor the weary, worried glances from her mother. Not when they all looked upon her as a stranger.
“I must wonder what it is that brings you to the library every day.”
Rook glanced behind her, dipping her head in deference to Councillor Poyak, dressed in a long robe lined with a thick silvery fur. “There is something I am trying to learn, I suppose.”
“And what might that be?”
“Hm, well, I will not know until I know.”
Poyak scratched his chin. “Now isn’t that something. How might you find something if you do not know what you seek?”
Rook flashed him a grin. “That is the question, is it not?”
The chatter of those gathered around the fire stopped the long pause in their conversation from being uncomfortable. The warm smell of cooked meat came with the crackling flame. Beyond the stretching darkness streaked unnatural shades of green and purple, like a lazy painter had not bothered to complete the sky. It was but one of many signs that things were very, very wrong.
“Has Chief Haknor spoken with you yet?”
Rook hummed, tapping her feet in rhythm. “He is waiting for something, although I confess I do not know what. He will come to me, in time. Even his pride is not insurmountable.”
Poyak choked on his laughter. “You might wish to mind your tongue, Chana,” he said, but his eyes crinkled with mirth. “Not all would be pleased to hear such words from one who left us for so long.”
“I suppose not.”
“Poyak-shai!” called out a voice from the fire. “Come get your share before the bear is gone!”
Poyak looked like he wanted to say more but another voice joined the first, coaxing him towards the warmth of food and company. “Do not mind me, Councillor,” she said. “I do not intend to stay here for much longer, anyway.”
“Just because everyone else wishes to punish you, does not mean you must punish yourself.” With that he crunched through the snow towards the space the firelit figures cleared for him on a large log. She watched them envelop him into the fold with a burning kind of longing she had no right to feel but it was not a flame she could smother. Shifting from foot to foot, she considered turning and walking away when someone called for a story, nudging Poyak even as he ate.
“I have quite run out of stories,” the man insisted, palms raised to ward off the jeers and protests.
“Just one! Come on.”
Poyak had a soothing voice that lent itself to storytelling. When he spoke there was a natural cadence to his words, almost like music, letting the listener fall into the rhythm and lose sense of place and time. So she stayed in the shadows, catching the faint hints of food on the trailing smoke that teased her empty stomach. Between her feet small lights twinkled – riftspawn burrowing through the snow towards the point of so many bonded humans in one place that they created a surplus of spiritual energy.
“I suppose this story starts as many do, in a time long ago.” Poyak cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together. “There was once a young woman named Elka who liked to dance. More than anything, it was what made her the happiest, when she could twirl and jump to the music of her favourite band and lose herself completely. However, this young woman was in fact a princess, destined to take her mother’s place as queen when the time came. Dance was not a seemly hobby for a woman to partake in when she should be studying politics and governance and so she was forbidden from dancing. When the royal orchestra played, Elka had to sit demurely in her seat and listen.”
“One day there was a royal ball at the palace, where Elka was expected to find herself a suitable husband to lead by her side. She, however, only wanted to twirl to the music and would watch the young ladies dance from afar with envy. That was until she came across a beautiful young dancer with hair as red as she and eyes as green as the lawns in the palace gardens. This young dancer was very poor and her shoes were falling apart, but still she danced and danced and danced as if she could do nothing else. Even with how little she had, she seemed so much happier than Elka.”
“Young Elka was struck by a thought. She approached the young dancer and suggested a swap for the night. Her companion could play princess for the rest of the evening and Elka could dance as she had always dreamed. Wearing the dancer’s mask to hide her face, she danced and she danced and she danced, and was happier than she had ever been, for she was free.”
The flames shifted the shadows across Poyak’s face. “Then suddenly the royal guards came to drag her away. ‘She is the thief!’ cried the young dancer dressed as Elka and despite her protests, they carted her off to the palace dungeons. They paid no heed to her pleas and she found to her horror that the mask would not come off. It was stuck to her face and the only way to remove it would be to tear the skin. Forty days and forty nights she slept in the cold cells until the dancer came to her, wearing Elka’s face. ‘Your life is filled with such luxury and wealth, how could you ever choose to leave it? Since you did not appreciate it, I will it take it for myself.”
“Elka sobbed herself to sleep. She sobbed when her mother and father looked upon her impassively as she was to be executed. She sobbed even as they lobbed off her head, her blood mixing with her tears. The queen was unsettled, feeling something was amiss with her daughter, but the dancer made the perfect princess and so no one would listen to her questions.”
“When her mother died she took a husband and the throne and was loved by all her subjects.” Poyak trailed off, some of the younger children looking unsettled at the tale.
It was only as the story ended that Rook realised how cold she was, wincing as stiff limbs thawed enough to move. Her breath clouded around her face, skin too numb to feel her fingers tug at her cheeks. She turned and nearly smacked right into Tokkar with a yelp. She glanced behind to see if she had drawn the attention of the crowd but they were too preoccupied with eating and chattering to pay her any heed.
“What are you doing?”
“Why am I so suspicious to you?” she huffed.
“Why should I trust you? You left us for those northern traitors. Cle
arly you do not care about this clan, so why should we trust your intentions now that you have come crawling back?”
She studied his form, illuminated by faint firelight. He had certainly grown since she had last seen him, now taller than her and broad chested. His face had shed the puppy fat, lean and grim of expression. That much had not changed, at least. Rook had always found him far too serious, face contorted with lines and shadows even as a boy. A miniature grandfather, she had once called him to his distaste.
“Rook-ka, I see you have come to join us.”
She tried not to flinch but she couldn’t stop her body’s reaction to her father’s voice, loose with drink. With an awkward wave, she tried to bow and duck away but Tokkar wrapped a hand around her arm and dragged her forward until she was bathed in flickering firelight, several gazes all pinned on her.
“And Tokkar is with you, hm? Could it be that the two of you wish to settle things once and for all? Is that why you have returned?”
“I don’t –”
“You should know that things have changed since you left. If you expect you can just walk right back in and pick up where you left off, you might not find it quite so easy.”
“That’s not –”
“How about a little entertainment?” Chief Haknor raised his wineskin to the fire, to be met with murmured assent. “What say you both to a battle? Let’s see where the two of you stand now?”
Rook bit her lip, glancing at Tokkar to see if he would help her stop this madness, but all she saw in him was a distant stare and clenched jaw. There would be no help from him on this night. He had been waiting for this ever since she had returned, it seemed, because in the end that was all that mattered here. All that mattered was who could best who in some stupid spar, even if it killed them. Anger flared within her, The Rook stirring in answer. Roused by the shift in her emotions, it pushed a current of spiritual energy through the bond until she felt loose limbed and eager.
“Well, Rook-ka? Did you come here to disappoint me once more? Perhaps you enjoy souring our name that much, do you?”
Rook hated how easy it all was for him. How her body reacted to his words like a puppet pulled by his strings. She grabbed her blades and swung them out in a circle with a flare of silvery light, the power surging in her veins. “If this is truly what you want,” she said tersely, sparing a look for Tokkar, “then I will do it.”
Chief Haknor simply waved a hand at them.
Tokkar backed up, footsteps crunching in the thick carpet of snow beneath their feet. Once he was several metres away, he pulled out his own blades. Like her, he fought two handed, with huge gleaming blades that flashed purple against the darkness. A distantly familiar signature unfurled towards her with a pounding drumbeat mixed with a deep, onerous bass, thumping and wild. In response The Rook shrieked, wings spreading out behind her. For just a blink of her eyes she saw the massive bear-like creature surrounding Tokkar’s form, huge claws slashing through the night as it gave him raw strength the likes of which a mortal man would never know. The Tokkar Ja.
Are you with me?
The Rook cried, more power swirling between them until her aura flared around her, streaming silvery white smoke. Fight, devour and take.
I thought we talked about this.
It conceded with a prickle of irritation. Fight, fight and fight.
That’ll do, she thought with a grin, letting the energy flow through her, crackling and electric like a lightning strike. The waves kept crashing over her, headier and headier, until she was on the verge of going under, but she fought to keep her head above the surface. Lucid, but just enough, her senses sharpening until everything narrowed down to just Tokkar across from her.
“Are you ready?” she shouted.
But Tokkar did not answer. She could feel the thrum of power erupting from him, the air so thick with it she could almost cut it through with her blade. He tensed, the muscles on his arms bulging as he took a staggering step, still adjusting to the creature taking over his mind. Rook knew the way it felt. She knew it would make him impossibly strong, impossibly vicious. But it did not matter. There was little in her head other than the fight.
Ripping a cry from his throat, Tokkar launched himself at her. Despite his bulk he moved so quickly that even her enhanced vision barely picked up the movements, yelping as she swung her blade up just in time to bat away the gleaming metal edge a scant few inches from her face. As he struck again, she rolled out of the way, kicking up a powdery cloud of snow. Grunting, she wiped the spray from her face and caught her breath, picturing his next move.
But Tokkar did not give her time for contemplation, on her again in seconds with another series of powerful blows from every angle. Each time their steel clashed it sent vibrations thundering up her arms, tickling her teeth. His snarl sounded more animal than human, eyes glowing a bright shining purple, two beams in the black of night. He had grown much, much stronger since the last time they had fought. His riftspawn partner was far more powerful in raw strength than The Rook.
But Rook was quicker, able to follow each current of power, her body reacting on instinct. She danced out of the grasp of his swing, slicing through the thick layer of his cloak and nipping at the flesh below with a growl of her own. The zip of power that trickled into her was delicious and immediately she savoured more. More, more. More. Stealing his energy only fed her own, ramping up the power already roaring through her. It was nearly impossible to fight off the voice in her head screaming at her to let go. To just let the feeling take her to new heights.
You and I. We.
Before trust could form there had to be a fall. She had to trust The Rook not to consume her completely but she didn’t know if she could. It thirsted for blood. It wanted to rip the Tokkar Ja to shreds and fold its power beneath its wings, until it became stronger, more powerful. Better. But she could feel its attempts at restraint. She knew it wasn’t trying to control her; it was much a slave to its instinct as she.
Fight, adapt and grow.
A flash of purple light swept across her vision as she leapt back. Using the moment to propel herself in a circle, she ducked low beneath his next swipe and kicked him in his exposed stomach. With a grunt, he doubled over but quickly righted himself, expression contorting in fury. A series of hissing sounds passed his lips, a sibilant language neither she nor The Rook recognised, blades arcing in sweeping circles until the air vibrated with the thumping drumbeat of his signature.
Rook sliced through it, leaping at him with her blades poised above her to strike. She caught the surprise in his face and his pained grunt as he just managed to catch her in the cross of his steel, stumbling back in the snow. But Rook did not relent, the power building and building within her until it reached an overflowing crescendo. Each cut of her blade broke the skin – not enough to seriously injure – but enough that she could leach some of his energy. Fuelled by the exchange of power, she tossed a blade in the air and punched him in the face before she caught it, swinging it around by the handle. Blood dripped from his nose, spotting the pristine snow.
“Will you concede?”
Tokkar only roared in response, lunging for her throat with a glint of steel.
Rook ducked back and then kicked out, boot crunching into his arm. The blade flashed as it fell to the snow. Dancing to the rhythm of The Rook’s signature, she found herself lost in the music, but not lost completely. For she was merely falling into step with her partner, shaking off the smack of Tokkar’s fist across her cheekbone, heedless of the skin ripping open. The pain only drove The Rook faster, until she was breathless with her spinning steps, blade biting into Tokkar’s sleeve and tearing through to find flesh. The second of his weapons fell.
Tokkar was strong. He had bonded a powerful riftspawn and when it took over him it made him a giant amongst men. But Rook was more than just a beserker; more than a vessel for the creature inside of her. She had become something more, a creature of both realms, with one foot in this world and the
other in the realm beyond.
The name Rook had been given to her upon her second birth. When The Rook had taken her over for the first time she had become a beserker, and she had lost the name she had been given by her family, becoming the bearer of the riftspawn’s name. Now, however, she no longer thought she was merely borrowing the name of another. They were both Rook – she and the creature within – and together they were one. That was the crux of the matter. The guiding star always present in the blackest night. The point on which all else rested.
In a flurry of punches and flying kicks, Rook struck Tokkar to the ground. Limbs sprawled out in the snow, his swollen eyes flickered upon her approach, blood flowing from both nostrils and coating his crooked teeth. Pushing down upon the fleshy part of his gut with her boot, she rested the tip of her blade upon the gulp of his throat and snarled, blood pounding with the victory. A part of her, however small, still wanted to slice his throat out. Her hand trembled on the bone handle, her gaze ripped away from Tokkar’s shallow breaths by the soft steps through the snow.
“At least you have not forgotten everything,” said her father, eyes surveying the scene impassively. “Why do you hesitate?”
Rook drew back her blade, turning fully. “You want me to kill him?”
“You are still weak, I see.” He shook his head, a single thin braid dangling past his neck. “This is why you could never lead.” His nose wrinkled, lips peeling away from his teeth in a sneer. “You are spineless.”
The fury raced through her like a fire chasing oil. “It’ll never be enough for you, will it? No matter if I’m stronger than all of you, if I don’t do it on your terms… it’s not enough.”
“Because you are not one of us. You left. You abandoned our ways for those northern imposters because you are a coward. You could have been the strongest of all of us but instead you put those shackles upon yourself willingly.”
Rook gazed at her reflection in the bloodstained mirror of the blade in her right hand. Her eyes burned pale, but not unnaturally so, her jaw clenched from the force of not speaking back. Blood stained her cheek, but to whom it belonged she could not be sure. Her father could speak of shackles all he liked but Rook knew what they felt like, clamped around her wrists. Knew the raw skin and welts and the way the cold seeped into her bones when left to rot in a dungeon. In the end it had not changed her convictions. If anything it had nurtured the small candle that had been lit that day, when she had killed a boy who had been her friend.
The Rising Tide Page 39
