The Reaping Season

by Sarah Stirling

Viktor swore. “I say we throw him off the train. See how he likes it.”

  “Hold on, hold on,” said Rook. “What are you saying?”

  “That he had this all planned out from the beginning,” said Kilai. “He pretended to help us in order to try and find Viktor. You knew what he was, didn’t you? No,” she shook her head with a wry laugh, “but you suspected. That’s why you were in Nirket. The real question here is: how does Sandson know about Viktor?”

  Janus said nothing.

  Not daring to believe it, Rook snatched his bound wrists from beneath the table, searching for the tattoo. “Are you even part of the Order? Or was that all a lie too?” As she ran her finger over the ink, she couldn’t believe his impassive expression, as if they didn’t matter to him at all. She could hear how desperate her voice sounded but she didn’t care. She had thought they were friends.

  “I am a part of the Order. Did some odd jobs for them a while back.”

  “Can we go back for just a second?” interjected Viktor. “Who in the Locker is this Sandson and what does he want with me if he doesn’t want me dead?”

  “That’s not quite what you said,” said Rook.

  “Didn’t lie. Not about that.”

  “Hello? Anyone? Does anyone care about me nearly dying? Sandson? Should I be worried?”

  “Can heal, can’t you?” said Janus.

  “That’s not the point! Besides, your weird bullet stopped me from healing!” Viktor was flushed red, the table doing little to deter him from getting in Janus’ space.

  Janus patted down his pockets, frowning as he realised they had rifled through his things. Kilai waved his pistol in the air but his eyes went back to his jacket, brows still creased together until his hand had closed around the card Rook had given him back. Once he had assured himself it was still there he gestured for his gun but Kilai shook her head, slipping it away, out of his view.

  “You’re not getting it back until you tell us why we should trust you with it.”

  “Don’t need the gun to kill you,” he said.

  Rook elbowed him and he grunted. “Don’t you care at all?” She watched him attempt to dig out the bag of tobacco from his pocket, drop it, then pick it up again only to drop it once more. Gnawing on her lip, she took it from him and made him a cigarette so she didn’t have to watch his shaking fingers any longer. The taste of copper tingled on her tongue. As much as she feared the answer to her question, she would still rather know now so that she could draw the line between them.

  After drawing in an awkward lungful of smoke with his bound hands, he finally rasped, “Yes.” The single syllable was drawn out, expelled in a cloud around his face, and it sounded pained. “Tried not to. But I do.”

  Kilai snorted. “Sure. That’s why you lied, manipulated us, and then separated us so you could take Viktor.”

  “Didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Well, you did,” snapped Viktor.

  Rook didn’t say anything. The truth was, she was hurt. Maybe she had no right to be when they were practically strangers, but even so, they had been through so much she felt it had to count for something. She knew she was naive; she had been told so time and time again. But true friendships were forged in turmoil and she couldn’t believe that the seeds of camaraderie that had bloomed between them all after the events of Nirket hadn’t blossomed into genuine loyalty.

  As if finally sensing the grave mood that had cast a cloud over their features, Janus sighed and adjusted himself in his seat, rubbing at the bruising discolouring his temple. “Took the job not knowing what I was looking for. You were just speculation, really.” His eyes rose to meet Viktor’s with a contemplative look, smoke curling from between his fingers. “Using the Order seemed a good way to give an excuse to investigate. You just fell into my lap, the day you walked in.”

  “But why is this… mayor man looking for me? I don’t know him.”

  “That I can’t tell. He’s not the type to talk.” Janus shrugged again. “I’m just muscle for hire.”

  “I don’t buy it.” Kilai narrowed her eyes, resting her head on her chin. “You didn’t know anything? He sent you across the country looking for something pretty specific. What is it that he told you, exactly?”

  Janus’ eyes went to the window, rows of trees hurtling past in a sea of green. He sucked on his cigarette and drummed his fingers against the table, the rattling noise reverberating through Rook’s head with her heightened senses. “He told me to look for a man in his youth. The only distinguishing characteristics were a temper and an affinity for fire.”

  “What do you mean, a temper?”

  “Did he say what he wanted you to do with Viktor?” Rook couldn’t tell if he was lying or not and it agitated her. She was all too aware of how much she wanted him to be telling the truth and that it warped her perception, like her reflection in the speckled glass of the window of the carriage.

  He lies, hissed the voiced in her head. Lies. All lies.

  The Rook could not be trusted either.

  “Just wanted me to bring him to Tsellyr.”

  “That’s all?” said Kilai with her arms crossed.

  “That’s all.”

  “He’s going through some lengths to obtain one street rat. You weren’t curious?”

  Janus blew out more smoke, the spicy aroma clogging up the confined space. “Not really my place.”

  “So what do we do now?” said Rook. “There might be more people out there looking for him.”

  “Undoubtedly,” murmured Kilai.

  Rook frowned at her but the woman said no more. When Kilai wore that pensive look on her face, it generally meant there was something she was hiding from them, and she couldn’t imagine what it might be. She fidgeted with her knotted hair, trying to untangle it as the train rattled on, the whistling sound softening the uncomfortable silence that loomed over them.

  “Why?” Viktor stared Janus in the face, uncharacteristically sober. “What is it that anyone would want with me? I didn’t know I had this ability. How did he know?”

  Janus tapped ash onto the windowsill. “He knows a lot. Has eyes in a lot of places.”

  “It’s not like I can even control it properly. I don’t understand...”

  His agitation was rising, turning into an anxious thread of energy weaving around the ordinary network of lines that connected life all around them. Rook reached out and gave him a tentative nudge with a touch of her power, just enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone. After what had happened on the ship, she was conscious of what might happen if his emotions took control over him again.

  “Viktor,” she said, “we’ll figure this out. We’re in this together.”

  “Do I have one of those things inside me? Am I like you?”

  She tried not to flinch at the words, a cold, oily feeling running through her body. “You might be. Somehow.” The image of the firebird behind him sprang to mind, great wings of flame outstretched. It should have been impossible. To be contracted to one of the ancient beasts of legend was more than unheard of; it was unthinkable. A creature like that wasn’t actually supposed to exist. The very thought sent chills down her spine. “But that isn’t something to fear. The Riftkeepers in Tsellyr can help us.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Hazel eyes stole a glance at Janus. “If they’re looking for me, I mean. Am I not just walking into their hands?”

  “No, it’s better this way. You’ll be hiding in plain sight. And if anyone after you possesses abilities like Rook, then I fear your physical location will not matter.” Kilai said, looking her way and she nodded to confirm.

  Eventually Viktor seemed to settle, although his posture remained stiff against the back of his seat. Rook too could not relax, her body aware of Janus sitting next to her, unnaturally still but for the occasional pull of his cigarette to his lips. There was so much to be done, so many mistakes to account for, and the closer she drew to Tsellyr the more apprehensive she grew. If the senior Riftkeepers found ou
t she had failed… Her chances of becoming a rift warden were looking slimmer and slimmer by each fraction that the sun dropped in the sky, blooming a bright, burning cerise. Beautiful and deadly in its warning.

  It took all her willpower not to drift off as they rattled on to their destination, Kilai across from her with her head lolling to the side, brows creased in dreaming distress. Viktor’s head bobbed against his chest to the rhythm of the tracks. Rook’s own eyelids drooped, feeling heavy, but there remained a restless hum beneath her skin keeping her awake. Her eyes remained on the window, watching the blood red world sweep past her, Janus’s reflection in her periphery.

  There were things she wanted to say to him but did not know how to give voice to, so she kept them to herself, simmering within the tumultuous emotional brew inside her. By the time she felt the first rumblings of the train slowing she was exhausted, hair now tangle-free and knitted into a tight plait off her face. She sat up, peering over Janus to try and see the city ahead despite the last few streaks of periwinkle in the sky. Her face was pressed to the glass, breath steaming against the pane, when the first scattering of lights winked into view. As they trundled into a crawl, more and more brightened the inky expanse of darkness, bright beads of red and gold against a velvet tapestry.

  “Look,” she breathed, “it’s so pretty.”

  Janus blinked beneath her, eyes lifting to the window. “Must be the high season swell.”

  “The Night of the Phoenix! I had completely forgotten.”

  Her hands bracketed her face as she stared her fill, troubles briefly forgotten in her excitement. The Night of the Phoenix was a celebration to mark the end of the high season, where in its last days the heat swelled into unbearable temperatures, said to be the curse of the phoenix of legend. The festival’s roots traced back to ancient times where people would leave offerings of splendour in the form of coloured lanterns and huge bonfires to celebrate the eternal flame of the celestial firebird. She had never truly seen it before, only illustrations in books from the library in Lyrshok. It seemed fitting, given all they were coming to learn about Viktor.

  The man in question choked on his snore and jerked awake. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

  Beside him Kilai’s eyelids fluttered. “Please, be quiet.”

  The train whistled to announce they were pulling into the station of Korrikbai town. Rook bounced in her seat, eager to get out and explore. For the night at the very least they would have to find lodgings before they planned their journey onto Tsellyr, and she was keen to experience the new sights and sounds of a city unconquered.

  When they finally stopped she was out of her seat in an instant, stretching out her sore limbs. A hand on her arm pulled her back and she met the serious eyes of Kilai. “Be careful. We don’t know what to expect.”

  Unsure what to make of such a vague warning, she attempted to put a dampener on her excitement, but she couldn’t stop the smile as she stepped out into a stifling high season night, barely a hint of a breeze in the air, the train station alive with the hustle and bustle of commuters from near and far. She craned her neck to examine the high ceiling so far above, lines of iron beams converging in the centre of a circular dome like structure, glass panes revealing a black sky above. As she walked with her head in the clouds, people jostled into her, glaring when she didn’t move out of their way. She simply smiled an apology and kept walking, following Kilai.

  “There are so many people,” she said.

  Kilai gave her a look. “Just wait until we reach the capital.”

  “I’m starving,” said Viktor. “I need food.” His eyes trailed over a young boy carrying a paper bag of sweets and she nudged him away.

  “We’ll get something. I’m sure there’s plenty to go around on a night like this.”

  “We might struggle to find accommodation on a night like this.” Kilai looked weary.

  “I’m sure we’ll find something, won’t we – where’s Janus?”

  They all paused in the midst of the crowd, staring at one another. Rook whipped her head around, searching the crowd. Her smile faded, a reluctant acceptance creeping in on her, and she sighed. Kilai’s eyes were cold as they met hers and she said, “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

  “We can try and find him but I don’t think there would be any point.”

  Viktor hurried over to them, eyes wide. “There’s no time for that. There are soldiers patrolling the entrance. How are we supposed to get out without being noticed?”

  Flashes of indigo caught her eye as the fine coats of two soldiers shone in the lanterns at the brick arch of the station entrance, stopping the crowd from passing through until they had showed some form of identification. It had caused a cluster of passengers to form around them, blocking them from being spotted where they lurked at the back.

  “There has to be another way out,” said Rook, searching. “Janus managed to evade us, didn’t he?”

  “He also stole back his letter from Sandson.”

  Viktor swore, hands gripping his hair. The rumbling of his spiritual bond kicked up again. It seemed that any time he was anxious he would instinctively reach out for that connection he possessed, unaware he was doing it. The smell of burning singed Rook’s nostrils and she sneezed. Each time it happened it felt like the connection was growing stronger, the molten hot signature triggering her spirit sense. This wasn’t good.

  “Viktor, it’s going to be okay.” She grabbed his hand and found it searing hot, a yelp erupting from her.

  “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t – I don’t know what’s happening.”

  Kilai glanced back to the door, biting her lip. “We should look for another way out. Come on.”

  Rook took Viktor’s arm and tugged him along, pulling a little of The Rook’s energy into the touch. She could feel the deep, pulsing current latch onto the more familiar cadence of her own bond partner. There was an ancient strength there that rattled her, afraid she could not stop it if it decided to take over, and from the slack-jawed expression on Viktor’s face, she wasn’t sure he had the strength to fight it off. But she forced herself to focus on an escape plan, plastering the smile on her face.

  “It can’t be the only way to get out. It’s fine. We’ll get out and then we’ll try some of the local food at the festival. I can already taste it, can’t you? I hope they have those jelly-filled pastries with the powdered sugar. Those are my favourite.”

  They pushed upstream of the flow of the crowd, weaving in and out of families and merchants and the assortment of various others travelling into the city for the festival. Along the track lines they kept moving, passing a row of small shops and a closed newspaper stand. There was a bridge that took commuters over to the other side of the tracks to get the train going back to the little town they had come from but little else, the line continuing on past the dark archway and out into the wilderness beyond.

  “There’s nowhere to go,” said Viktor.

  “We could always fake it. We’ve managed that way before,” she said, looking to Kilai. “Can’t you play some role and we’ll be your bodyguards again?”

  Kilai rubbed at her eyes and nodded. “I can try. I don’t think I’ll look very convincing in this garb, though.” Sure enough, her skirts were torn and tattered, her shirt stained with grime. Viktor looked even worse, still waxy with blood loss and clothes so caked in so much mud she couldn’t tell what he was actually wearing. Rook didn’t even want to contemplate how she looked, still wearing her own cracked leathers and a shirt stiff with her own blood.

  Rook elbowed Viktor. “You’re the thief. Go and steal us some supplies.”

  He frowned. “As in what? An entirely new outfit? That’s the only thing that will save any of us.”

  The crowd was beginning to thin as more people passed the security checks, leaving them more exposed in the vast space of the station. Rook scrambled around herself, trying to think of a way to make a ruse seem convincing. Each spike of Viktor’s pulse sent his power into
a frenzy and she could feel her own power twitching in response.

  “I am going to find Janus Lakazar and I am going to kill him,” said Kilai hotly as she rolled her neck, producing horrible cracking sounds that made Rook wince. “Then I am going to feed him to the sharks.”

  “Not if I get there first,” muttered Viktor.

  Rook sized her up, noticing the squared shoulders. “What’s your plan?”

  “Don’t call it a plan. It’s an idea. A whiff of an idea. More like the potential of one.”

  Viktor groaned, sweeping up his greasy hair. “What is it this time?”

  Kilai’s dark eyes flickered between them contemplatively. “Which one of you wants to open up your wound so you can pretend to be dying?”

  Rook and Viktor met gazes at the same time. She felt her stomach shrivel in memory of the pain of being shot. The itch flared at the thought, her wound still healing. It wasn’t something she was keen to relive.

  Viktor lifted his shirt and peeled back his bandage to reveal the faintest pink outline of a scar against bronze skin. “Not me. I’m healed.”

  Suddenly she had the weight of both gazes upon her. “No. Nuh uh. There are other ways. It’s not that bad. Really. There is no need for this. Besides, Viktor heals. I don’t. I’m more likely to die and then you’ll have to sort yourselves out without me.”

  “How do you plan on hurting me? You won’t use your blade-things.”

  Rook whipped out a dagger and twirled it between her fingers.

  “I don’t like this plan,” Viktor huffed. “I demand a new one.”

  Kilai scrubbed at her face. “It’s either that or we try to fight those soldiers and hope no more come.”

  Rook glanced back at the exit and shook her head. Too many witnesses and not enough room to get away. On a night like this the city was bound to be crawling with soldiers; they couldn’t risk drawing any more attention to themselves. She drew the dagger gently across her finger, the bite of the blade cutting into her skin but not enough to draw blood. Snatching up Viktor’s burning palm, she sliced into his flesh, dark blood welling up and dripping down the length of the gash.