The Riftkeeper Legacy Book 2:
THE REAPING SEASON
by Sarah Stirling
Prologue
Like most things it began with a party.
Fyera had spent much of the preceding week helping her family to prepare, focusing on the precise orientation of the furniture around the palace garden, the colour scheme of the paper lanterns that had been cut by an artist from Korrikbai to resemble birds in flight, and the design of her kobi from a tailor within the very centre of Tsellyr, choosing a rich emerald green silk that shimmered when she draped it over her arm and held it up to the light. Now the garments had finally been delivered and not a moment too soon, for guests were already beginning to arrive from the distant corners of their world to witness the ceremony. It was important they looked the part.
Carrying the pieces to her brother’s room, she draped them delicately across his bed and kicked his dangling shin to rouse him from his slumber. Vallnor blinked awake with a snore, grabbing his leg and hissing at her. “What in damnation, Fy-ka?” The way he slurred his words and the stench of his breath told her exactly why he had fallen asleep in the middle of the afternoon, warm sunshine spilling across his bronze skin and illuminating the scruff of stubble across his chin and jaw.
“You must bathe immediately. Guests are already arriving as we speak.”
Vallnor waved his hand, greasy hair falling around his face. “The ceremony is not until nightfall. Why are you in such a frenzy?”
She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes on him. “Just try this on, will you?”
The silk whispered as he picked it up, eyes flicking between it and her. “Are you that apprehensive, sister?”
“No. Yes. I’m – Vallnor, this is everything. You know how important this is. If anything goes wrong –”
“It won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
Vallnor flapped out the kobi like a stream of shimmering fire. She gasped, concerned about the garment, but he slipped it on and turned, revealing the golden embroidery running from the sides that unfurled across the back. It depicted the phoenix in flight, wings outstretched and glowing in the warm sunlight streaming down upon the broad expanse of his shoulders. He turned with a quirk of his brow, smirking when he saw her expression. Fyera melted, rolling her eyes at him.
“Right, get it off. Go and bathe. You stink.”
“Quit clucking around me, will you? You’ll see. You and me. This is what we were born for.”
The light washed his hazel eyes in a vibrant green. “You promise?” she said.
He grasped her arm and pressed his left fingers to his temple. “Perhaps you should wash too. Your make up is smudged because you’ve been sweating so much.”
Fyera swatted him and his laughter resonated in the room even as he left.
As silence fell around her once more, it made space for her doubts to settle back in, so she continued to busy herself with getting ready for the ceremony, directing servants to clean a patch of the floor that wasn’t completely spotless, and braiding her hair up around her face in front of the looking glass in her room, interweaving it with green glass beads and gold coins. The kohl she swept across her eyes and the rouge for her cheeks were her warpaint. A warning, for the guests who came to witness her awakening. Because she was Fyera Siklo, daughter of the phoenix flame, and she would not rest until her family’s legacy was assured.
Only when the moment came she felt she still had not prepared enough, starting when a servant knocked on her door. The silk glided over her skin, rustled as it pooled at her feet, trailing across the floor. She nodded to the servant, fingers trembling on the buttons as she quickly fastened it up and brushed down the fabric. With one last check of herself in the mirror, she found herself gazing upon the face of a woman. A queen to be. Her earrings jangled as she turned her head, inset with emeralds and diamonds that sparkled in the light. They were a demonstration of their wealth; a sign the Siklos were not to be messed with.
Her steps echoed out on the long stretch of painted floor – like walking across a colourful koi pond – as she moved with her head held high, a smile poised on her lips, braced for the moment she would throw open the doors to the grand hall.
“Are you ready for the ceremony, princess?”
Fyera turned slowly, recognising the accented words. Further down the hall, his left and right foot standing over a red koi and a lilypad respectively, was a man she knew more in name than in person. She had seen the paintings from through the eras, of the pale man with pale hair and lashes, bedecked in furs and shimmering ceremonial dress. On this night he wore a garment resembling a kobi but straighter, with a strange, intricate pattern sewn in gold thread to match the thin circlet in his white hair. The way his head tilted as his eyes raked over her made her gut ripple with apprehension.
“Demjor-don, I believe.” She managed to keep her voice steady.
“Such formality is quite unnecessary, don’t you not think?”
Fyera wanted to say it was entirely necessary. That he had torn heads from shoulders for addressing him incorrectly. But, like a deer caught in the trance of the wolf’s steady prowl, she found herself unable to think, let alone move or speak. All she could think was that she wanted to get away, lest she catch the man’s interest. She resisted taking a step back as he approached. To show weakness here would be to invite the wolf to hunt.
A throat cleared behind them.
Her eyes flicked up to rake in the sight of her twin brother as he sauntered down the steps to meet her, his matching kobi draping over his shoulders as fluid as a waterfall, face cleanly shaven and a thin circlet of gold and gemstones set in his dark hair. “My sister and I have places to be, Demjor. Please, do step aside.”
Fyera breathed deeply, flicking from one burning gaze to another. Demjor was entirely too fluid as he stepped aside with an easy smile and a sweep of his arm. “Princess Siklo, an honour.”
“And you, Don.”
Vallnor left out his arm and she grabbed it like a lifeline. “Did he bother you?” he murmured. She could feel the tautness of his muscles and had no doubt he would go back and start a fight in her honour. Or, Vallnor being Vallnor, because he thought he could take on a centuries old demon for the sheer delight in trying.
“I am fine, brother.”
“Then us let us forget him and finish what we started, hm?”
They linked arms properly and burst into the room the way they had come into this world; together. The chatter of hundreds of guests died almost instantly, heads turning in unison to get a look at the young Siklo heirs. Fyera kept her chin raised, imperious, as she gazed out over the expanse of the grand hall, crystal chandelier dripping light upon so many hungry faces. Ravenous with lust, with envy, with greed. For they were about to change everything.
Their father stood at the centre of the throng that parted way for them easily, atop a raised dais, a series of stiff lines from the slope of his shoulders to the tilt of his jaw. There had never been anything soft about him, their father, and he was not about to it show it here where the sharks watched their every move, thirsting for blood. Fyera could see them all, the rest of the Demjors, the Ezkars, and even the pristine indigo coats of the Sonlin military, glinting with medals upon the breast. She let her gaze brush every one of them but never lingered as she took the steps to stand beside him, Vallnor on his other side.
“Weishei,” he said, deep voice booming across the hall, “welcome to the grand awakening of the royal heirs, Vallnor and Fyera Siklo.”
A slow clap circled the room in response to his pause. When enough time had passed her father nodded his head and turned around, crooking a finger at a Riftkeeper in her blue robe. Fyera did not know he ha
d corralled one of their ranks into doing his bidding and she found she did not want to as the woman slowly trailed towards him, a dark look upon her face. It was against her order’s practices to show political allegiances. It was also against their rules to permit any kind of interaction with the otherworld that was not officially sanctioned. But her father must have been persuasive because she raised her palms, a faint aura shining around her frame that siphoned into the centre of the room.
A few gasps sounded from the crowd as the shining, swirling lights expanded out. Fyera found her hand slipping into Vallnor’s on instinct, his mouth open and eyes wide. The air crackled with promise, lights sparking off the orb floating in mid air. She had never seen a rift being opened and the process was mesmerising to watch, tiny riftspawn already pouring from the seam between the worlds. They threaded through the crowd, bright spots of colour in a room of arching white stone and pale marble floors. Vallnor’s fingers tightened over her hand, warm and slick.
Then suddenly the lights burst out in a light so blinding she had to shield her eyes, the yelling of the crowd faint over the crash in her ears as the pressure dropped. When her vision settled once more she saw the Riftkeeper had collapsed upon the ground. No one made a move to help her up, too mesmerised by the shifting tides of colour that made up the rift.
“Go on,” said her father, breaking the spell cast over her. “Summon forth your destiny. Show the world the power of the Siklo name.”
Fyera sucked in a breath, fear spiking through her. How was she supposed to do that when she knew nothing of commanding riftspawn beyond the teachings of her tutor? The rift taunted, a mystery for all its shimmering, strange aura. She couldn’t feel the currents of the rift, not without a bond. The eyes of everyone around her pinned her down like hundreds of tiny needles in her skin, shoulders heavy with their weight.
But then a hand squeezed hers and she met the firm gaze of Vallnor, holding hers, and she remembered she wasn’t alone. Together. That was the way they had started this journey and it was the way they would go on. Squeezing back, she reached out with her free hand at the same time that he did, touching the colourful lights of the rift.
A shriek reverberated through her, her whole body shuddering. A charcoal stench flooded her nose. Feathers flapped in her face, stirring up heat that had her flushing, sweat beading on her skin. Then two eyes appeared before her, one red and one gold. A sharp, hooked beak. Green, green fire.
Fyera took a step back, fingers still linked with her brother’s. The creature raised its lofty head, stretching through the tear between realms, and stared her down in a way that stripped her bare. But, steadfast in fear, Fyera raised her chin even as her heart pounded against her ribcage. Here I am, she wanted to say but her lips would not move. I am here for you.
Then in a blur so quick she couldn’t see it happen, the phoenix lunged. And Fyera filled with fire until she burned up completely. Until she became nothing but raw flame.
Part 1: Deluge
“Can you feel that?”
Kilai scanned the first cluster of homes they had come across in days, the note of tension in Rook’s voice halting the wave of relief that had nearly swept over her at the sight. She just wanted a bed to sleep in for the night. Too many nights had she spent trekking through the wilderness, nesting in trees or in a bed of leaves and dirt. Bathing in the swampy waters of a nearby pool had only made her dirtier than she had been before and her feet were blistered and sore, protesting every aching step she took.
“Do you think you could hold off on your feeling until sunrise, at least?” Even as she spoke, she knew she was being selfish. Exhaustion weighed heavier than guilt, it seemed. “I’m sure a few hours couldn’t make too much difference.”
Rook wasn’t listening. Head tilted to the sky, nose scrunched as her tangled hair blew around her face, she looked as if she was on the hunt, something about her stance reminding Kilai of her family’s old retriever before he had died. A flash of silvery light stood out against a sky flushed the deep red of pooling blood. Kilai nearly groaned. That meant spirits. Spirits meant nothing good, as far as she was concerned.
“What is it? Is there something here?”
For a long breath Rook continued to stand with her face to the sky before she blinked, shaking her head as her eyes swivelled around the valley. “I can feel a strong presence here. It’s strange… I can’t really tell where it’s coming from.”
“That will be a ‘no’ to the sleep, then, won’t it?”
Rook flashed her a sympathetic look. “We should investigate. If there are people here that’s a good sign. The boys will have to stop at some point. They can’t keep running forever.”
“You don’t look too sure about that.”
Rook bit her lip. “I just want to know what happened. I need to know Viktor is all right.”
Kilai didn’t like making promises she couldn’t keep, so she simply nodded. “We can only push forward.”
Her boots squelched in the marshy ground, tall reeds of yellow grass tickling at her calves as she struggled towards the village. The smell of peat and rain-soaked soil wafted on a breeze that set the grass to singing, swaying before them like a rippling wave out at sea. It put her on edge, eyes darting around on instinct at the unnatural movements, and the feeling of uneasiness only grew when Rook sneezed loud enough to rattle birds from their perches in a few spindly trees in the distance. Their caws echoed across the valley.
“That’s always a good sign.”
Rook wiped at her nose. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”
It didn’t take long for this statement to be revealed as the blatant lie it was. Cresting the first line of houses revealed that the buildings appeared to be empty, small hovels with boarded up windows, roof tiles cracked and green. There was no movement beyond the stirring of curtains across one open window. Before Kilai could protest Rook swept the swathe of woven fabric aside and pushed her head through, pulling back with a frown. She shook her head and Kilai thought she felt the temperature plunge.
They kept walking, the thin, muddy path widening into a small clearing between the houses. The open space drew her eyes and she halted, a gasp parting her lips. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wooden arch that stood in the centre of the worn ground, black lines stark against a bruised sky. From nooses dangled three bodies, faces an ashen grey. Flies buzzed around their forms, mottling pale skin with black. A hand came to her mouth on reflex. Bile rose in her throat but she pushed it down.
“What happened here?”
Inexplicably, Rook took a few steps closer, each slow and deliberate as if wary of disturbing the strange hush that had taken over the scene. “There’s such fear here.” Even her voice was low; barely above a whisper. “I think –” She whipped around, pale hair a cloud framing her face.
“What? What is it?”
Kilai didn’t have time to react as Rook bowled into her, knocking her to the ground and rolling them. The breath was crushed from her lungs, back throbbing, as her eyes flew to the broken tile that had shattered inches from where she had been standing. On her elbows, her eyes darted around, but she couldn’t see anything out of place. Only Rook, poised in a crouch with her eyes shining silver, told her that something was amiss.
“Move!” commanded Rook, voice tinged with a hint of someone else. Something else. “Go! Go!”
Scrambling to her feet, Kilai took off running. Crashing noises rang out behind her as more tiles flew from the roofs of the houses, smashing at her heels. Pieces of stone scraped at her legs, the sound ringing in her ears. She could hear Rook’s voice in her head, urging her to keep moving, footsteps ringing out behind her as they kept running until they were well past the village, spilling out onto the plains beyond. Gasping, she crouched over to try and catch her ragged breath.
“What – what was that?”
Rook’s chest rose and fell in sharp motions. “There’s a riftspawn possessing the village. I think that’s why there’s n
o one here.”
“Of course there is,” she said, rubbing at legs chalky with tile dust. “Should we press on? Try and find shelter elsewhere?”
“No. We can’t leave it like this, to grow stronger and stronger. It would be irresponsible.”
Kilai knew all about letting problems fester. She had vowed not to do it again, as reluctant as the idea of fighting more riftspawn made her. There was little she could do without abilities like Rook but she could admit she was only dragging her feet out of fear. With a resigned sigh, she straightened up, scraping back the mess of her hair and scanning the skyline. The mountains in the distance pierced the russet sky, far off in the distance. Out in the open expanse of the valley floor, she felt too open, exposed to whatever lurked there.
A wail erupted from within the shelter of houses, sending gooseflesh racing down Kilai’s arms. The sound echoed across the vast plain, fading into a loaded silence. It sounded like a child crying. Kilai met Rook’s eyes. “It has to be a trick.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Rook. There was no one there.”
“We need to take care of this riftspawn anyway.”
“You’re exhausted. We’re both exhausted. Look at you – you’re trembling.”
Rook held up a hand to her eye line and stared at her shaking fingers. She clenched her hand into a fist, mouth pressing into a line. “It doesn’t matter. There’s dark energy here. I’m not going to let it grow any stronger.”
Kilai resisted the urge to groan. It appeared she wasn’t the only one suffering from her own failure in Nirket. Her guilt had set her on this path to Tsellyr, to try and rectify her failure to take action, but in Rook it had inspired an overzealous fever, causing her to spring to action at so much as a fallen leaf blown by the wind. She understood. She understood but it didn’t make things any easier when they still had some way to go before reaching Yllaizlo’s capital city.
“What are you going to do?” At the very least, she could make her companion think before she raced into inevitable destruction.
The Reaping Season Page 1
