The Reaping Season

by Sarah Stirling

  Rook tried to process, examining every flicker of his features for some hint of deception. She even reached out with her enhanced senses, taking just a drop from the well to examine him even further. Still nothing out of the ordinary to suggest he wasn’t being genuine. But why now? Why after betraying them, after shooting Viktor, after leaving them to their fate, why return to them now? She couldn’t fathom it. But oh she wanted his words to be true.

  “I’m not the only one you’ll have to convince,” she said.

  He looked up at her, nodded, and then took a drag from his cigarette.

  “I think we also need to talk about Viktor.”

  “Yes. We do.”

  “What’s this about Viktor now?”

  Rook turned to see Kilai exit the barn, scrubbing her face with a yawn. Her hair was curling out of its knot, creases from the hay marring her cheek. She shivered in the early morning light and swivelled her gaze between the two of them as if she had caught them doing something they shouldn’t. More alert, she said, “What is this about? What’s happening with Viktor?”

  Rook bit her lip. There was no easy way to answer that question.

  “Should all discuss together,” said Janus. “But first should see about a ship to Tsellyr. Most sailors will be setting out now that the storm has passed.”

  Kilai was still staring at him but Rook couldn’t read her expression. “Someone will need to watch over Viktor.”

  “Can’t you just wake him?”

  “I tried. You would have an easier time waking a dead man.”

  Rook snorted despite the situation. From the doorway she could see Viktor’s body sprawled across the hay, twisted in a position that looked decidedly uncomfortable. His mouth was parted in sleep, face slack, and he looked so young.

  “I can watch him,” said Janus.

  Rook whipped her head around and laughed, dry and bitter. “As if we’re going to leave him with you.” She caught Kilai’s contemplative expression and sobered, mouth dropping open. “You can’t be serious. No. We can’t.”

  Kilai raised her brows. “Do you want to wait with him while Janus and I go to the docks?”

  Her moment of hesitation cost her. The truth of it was, she didn’t want to be left with him right now. Didn’t think she could face him on her own. With a heavy sigh, she deflated. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” She raised a finger to Janus. “Don’t try to run. I’ll find you.”

  His lips quirked. “Think you’ve already proved that.”

  She scowled. “I’ll be listening in. I’ll know if you try anything.”

  He nodded.

  Kilai wrapped a hand around her arm and tugged her along. “Come on. We should try and get passage quickly. This shouldn’t take long.”

  Rook took a few steps and then glanced back. In the warming sky, the barn glowed in gold and pink. Janus was a stark silhouette against the winking windows; a chimney of smoke escaping into the misty morning around him. She kept walking backwards, nearly tripping over her own feet because she didn’t want to look away. Surely it would be folly to leave Viktor with him once more.

  “How can you just leave him with Janus?”

  Kilai kept her eyes ahead. “He won’t make the same mistake twice. Besides, I think he fears leaving Viktor alone now. For the same reason you hesitated when I asked you if you wanted to stay.”

  Rook wanted to argue but there was nothing she could say. In the end she could only keep walking, despite the way her stomach knotted with tension. If Kilai thought that everything would be all right, she would have to trust the woman’s judgement. She had more faith in Kilai than herself right now.

  Finding passage to Tsellyr proved to be not too difficult given how smoothly Kilai could talk them around. They promised to help with some of the labour for a cabin between them. It would be cramped but the city was merely a few days sail away – nothing so substantial as to be overly strenuous. Rook was not looking forward to it but there was little to be done about the matter. She spent most of their trip with her mind still back at the square, green fire licking up blood that shone black in the darkness. It still ran hot between her fingers when she let her mind wander and it would snap back to her with a jolt, skin shocking in its cleanliness.

  “Are you all right?” murmured Kilai as they made their way back to the barn.

  “I’m fine,” was blurted too quickly. She tittered anxiously. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a bit uncertain, is all. You know how it is.”

  Kilai gave her a look but let it go and they fell into silence as they walked. By the time they had left the major dwellings behind and were out to the leafier outskirts, the sun had risen into a murky day, the sky the colour of curdled milk. Seagulls chanted as they circled overhead in their daily rituals, chased by the scent of sea and brine on a crisp wind. The high season was truly over and in its wake would come the reaping season, a transitional time when crops were harvested and food stored for the low season to come. A time of death and decay.

  Her pace began to slow as she approached the barn. She didn’t know what it was exactly that made her so apprehensive, be it the thought that Janus had tried to run again, or simply having to face Viktor again after the previous night’s events. It was something she just had to do, like tearing out a needlebug’s stinger before the poison could seep out. Still, it did not make her any less reluctant.

  Her breath caught when Janus appeared at the doorway. “He still sleeps. I cannot wake him.”

  “Well he better hurry up. We managed to get passage but I don’t think they’re going to just sit and wait around for us to show up.”

  Both Kilai and Janus looked at her and she felt her stomach drop when she realised what they wanted. The idea of exposing The Rook to whatever riftspawn lurked within Viktor made her feel nauseous. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea...”

  “Neither of us are strong enough to carry him all the way to the docks. Unless you feel like leaving him after all that bother we had chasing him down?”

  Rook sighed and bowed her head. She was right, of course. Of course she was. She just needed to get over her issues and keeping moving. Pushing past her companions, she made to slip into the barn when a hand latched onto her wrist. Nearly lashing out, she only just managed to leash her instincts when she saw Janus gaze down upon her severely.

  “He is not in control. Be careful.”

  Yanking her arm from his grasp, she frowned. “I know. You don’t need to tell me that.”

  There was a comfort in drawing out The Rook as she entered the dim barn, feeling some of her concerns dampen when her senses expanded, as if there wasn’t enough room for both inside her at the same time. It could be dangerous, to ignore the human fears and give over to the more animalistic sensations but in order to carry Viktor she would need the extra strength. She could feel the low hum of his signature as it brushed hers, sending a shiver through her. His aura still burned and as she got closer she could see sweat beading on his skin, cheeks flushed red.

  “Viktor?” she tried. Prodding with a touch of spiritual energy, she felt a faint rumble that quickly evened out, his eyelashes flickering before he stilled. It felt as if his conscious was buried deep, like the ancient sea monster they had encountered off the waters of Nirket. She could not reach him, no matter how far down she was willing to go.

  In some ways it was a relief. To be able to simply pick him up and sling him over her shoulders, grunting at the weight. A few sips from the well evened it out and she straightened up, eyes catching on a ghostly shape that drifted in from the window. It had a long, sinuous body, shining a deep and vibrant blue interspersed with black stripes that glittered in the sunlight. Its signature possessed the same loose, lethargic cadence. She tilted her head, curious. Now that she had reconnected with The Rook she realised how pungent the unnatural scent of spiritual energy was, lingering all around her. Could that be Viktor’s doing? She glanced at his slack face as his head lolled over her shoulder, a trail of droo
l shining on his chin.

  “Rook, hurry up! We don’t have much time before the boat leaves,” Kilai yelled in, startling her from her thoughts.

  The walk to the docks was quiet, her concentration focused on keeping control. Viktor’s energy remained mercifully dormant but even still she could feel it lurking beneath his consciousness, a constant hum on the edge of her senses that made her wary. So much power was contained within him, enough to level cities. Whole islands, perhaps. Her own capabilities made her anxious but Viktor’s made her truly afraid.

  “This is the one here.”

  Amongst the myriad boats that bobbed on the grey waters of the docks was a small two-masted brig; a rickety looking thing with a barnacle-encrusted hull named the Wind Chaser in a dialect from the Yllainyk. She had clearly seen better days but her sails flew proud in the wind and if she got them safely to Tsellyr, Rook was of no mind to complain. Even better, the motley crew of various shapes and colours paid her little heed as she lugged Viktor’s limp body onboard and then below deck, to the cabin they had been given, Kilai staying behind to talk to the captain.

  There were only two cots squashed into the cramped space and she dropped him into the first, rolling out her shoulders. It smelled of damp and mildew, wood creaking beneath her boots as the ship breathed the gentle swell of the ocean waves. A simple chest of drawers was provided for storage but when she managed to tug the top drawer opened she found a hard hunk of stale bread rattling from one side to the other. She wrinkled her nose. She had seen worse.

  The day was spent helping the crew with the sails, following their directions as best as she could when she knew so little of sailing. The burn and ache of her muscles was a sweet distraction from her woes, the constant flurry of activity helped her reach a sense of calm that had eluded her all day. Lost in the constant motion that was work upon a ship, she soon found herself spat into night time, the sun sinking below the horizon to ensconce them in a pocket of inky darkness with only the stars above to guide them. Dinner consisted of dried meat and biscuits so stale she nearly cracked her teeth on them. She found she had worked up so much energy they went down easily.

  Nightfall brought drinking and chatter, the sound of voices filling up the space where thoughts swirled around and around and around in her head. Drawn to the small circle of crewmembers upon the deck, Rook settled on the corners as one man was telling a story, the lantern next to him swinging back and forth with the rock of the waves below them, throwing his face into flickering, amorphous shapes, as if he were a riftspawn trying to find true form.

  “Of course, Sha Kumei couldn’t possibly know when he challenged the beast to a duel, just what it was he would have to fight. But the beast tricked him, for it had the ability to change shape, and it had not presented its true form to him. What had appeared to be a simple lizard was really a great dragon with massive wings the span of the island itself.”

  “Try and make it a bit realistic,” jeered another man and there was an eruption of laughter and cheering, mugs of rum clinked together.

  “Shouldn’t you try to get some rest?” said Kilai, folding down beside her.

  Rook glanced her way. “Shouldn’t you?”

  Kilai smiled. “Perhaps. I don’t think I could sleep on those beds though.”

  She huffed a laugh. For a few beats of quiet between them they listened to the slosh of waves against the hull of the ship. “It’s funny,” she mused, raising her face to a sky with a small scattering of clouds, jewelled stars nestled on a bed of satin and gauze, “that when we used to tell stories it would be around the fire.” To be in the middle of the ocean, encircled by water, felt somehow so similar and yet so different at the same time. “Yet the darkness lingered all the same. We would speak in tales to distract ourselves from the fear of what lurked beyond.”

  Kilai pushed back on her hands, expression contemplative. “I do not think you mean to say you are afraid of the dark. But the unknown… the answer that lies on the other side of that horizon…” She tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “None of us know what we will face, Rook. We don’t know and we cannot, no matter how much we might wish to. The future is unwritten because we have still to write it. Take comfort in that, if resolution is what you seek.”

  “What if I fear the writer isn’t good enough?”

  “Then I would say you are human. And that is no bad thing. If you are concerned about the rifts, about Viktor and what may come, then you will simply have to do your best to see that your fears never see the light. You are not alone in this, do not forget. Viktor is likely as frightened as you are. Maybe more.”

  This she could concede. It was not so much Viktor himself she feared as much as her own ability to help him. What seemed more likely, with how things had been going for her, was that she would only make his control worse. And if she could not make the situation better, if instead she only blundered and made things worse, she didn’t know what she was doing on the ship at all.

  “What if I fail?” she croaked, throat dry. “What then?”

  In the swaying lantern light, she saw something flash between Kilai’s fingers. Her pin. The redback turtle of her family’s crest. When she finally spoke, Kilai’s voice was hushed, reverent of the dignity of the night. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

  Rook leant back, sucking in cool night air. The salty breeze brushed her skin, pushing through the knotted tangle of her hair. Beneath her the ocean breathed in tandem. In, out. In, out. In truth they each knew the answer to her question. They had all failed; all fallen down and felt the bitter tang of failure. When sinking there was only so far to go before feet hit the floor. From there, there was only one way to go. Up and onwards. Keep trying.

  The living rise again. The dead do not.

  While she was still living she would keep fighting. That was the only future Rook knew as certain.

  *

  Time felt different on a ship. The sun rose and fell all the same but something about constant motion without ever seeing anything other than the endless, rolling waves made Kilai feel like she had stranded herself in time. Perhaps it was being cramped in an awkward cabin with three companions who seemed disinclined to acknowledge one another, two scattering to the far corners of the ship before the dawn had even broken across the horizon line, the other slumbering on. With time to pass before they reached Tsellyr, it left her with little to do. She occupied herself with helping out the ship’s crew, enjoying the challenge of bringing a ship to heel after so long cooped up in an office. It helped her to forget her own pain, still pinned to her heart in the shape of the turtle.

  From trimming the sails, to keeping watch in the eagle’s nest above with a spyglass, to helping the cook in the galley, Kilai busied herself as much as possible, wearing out her body and mind so there was no space for her thoughts to consume. By the end of two days she was exhausted and achy, but satisfied for how her body was falling back into the rhythms of a ship, hands raw and blistered from work she was no longer accustomed to in an office.

  “Where did you learn to sail?” said one of the crew as he collapsed onto a barrel with a weary sigh. His name was Makkushar, shortened to Makku, and he had taken to asking her questions out of what she had assumed to be boredom. There was a lot of that on a ship.

  “My father insisted I work on a boat when I was younger so I would understand the value of hard work.” She laughed at his grimace. “It was not so bad. I worked on board a family friend’s merchant ship. For a sheltered girl like myself it was terribly exciting.”

  “You rich folks,” Makku scoffed.

  Another named Jorkell dealt out a round as Kilai drummed her fingers on the table, the woman’s quick fingers blurring as she divvied them up between the circle of them around the table. It was nice, in its own way, just to spend time with people who did not know her or what she had been through. Without baggage, without weight, interacting felt light and easy. Freeing.

  “What makes you say I’m r
ich?” she said, scooping up her cards to examine them. A pitiful hand, it turned out, but Kilai was a decent bluffer.

  “The accent,” said Jorkell, her own too distinct to be local. Kilai could not place it.

  “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  “You don’t say,” snorted Makku, raking his eyes over her. “Your folks would be horrified if they saw you looking like you’d crawled out of ‘Kunir’s Locker.”

  Kilai shrugged around the lump in her throat. “They’re both dead.”

  The table stilled. Kilai didn’t meet anyone in the eye as she placed a card upon the table. They all seemed so distracted with her confession that it took them a few moments to notice she was winning.

  “Oh, Locker damn you!” grumbled Makku. “I ain’t giving up my rations.”

  Another crewmember sniggered. “Fair’s fair, eh?”

  “Kid, fetch the rum!” Jorkell yelled to the youngest of the crewmembers, the poor boy little more than a lackey to the rest.

  And just like that the subject was dropped. Kilai leant back, breathing a sigh of relief. She didn’t have to talk about it, or explain herself. Like the waves smoothing over the rocks on the shore, her identity here was transient. Mutable. Whoever she had been across the sea did not matter to these people. All that mattered was who she presented herself as now, in this very moment. The open sea felt like salvation after so long feeling trapped, locked down into who she had been expected to be.

  “Head’s up!” shouted Yejah from the crow’s nest, “we’re making land!”

  Kilai marched to the railing with her eyes trained on the distance, game forgotten, the faint line of land shimmering on a hazy horizon. Her hands tightened on the railing. After so long travelling, so much going wrong in the meantime, it was hard to believe they were nearly there. Time seemed to slow even further, as if the ship moved through molasses rather than water, dragging an anchor across the sand. It was all in her imagination, of course. But the mind could be a funny creature, she had long found.