The Reaping Season

by Sarah Stirling

  “Ah, forgive me, Guide. I’ve never been much of a reader.”

  “No. So tell me, Jan-cho, where have you been?”

  His eyes drifted up to the stained-glass windows depicting the strange creatures that devoured the world. Or would devour the world? He couldn’t remember what the holy book said. The fragments of coloured glass depicted tentacles wrapped around the souls of the damned, dragging them down into the depths of the ocean. They were the servants of Var Kunir and they did his bidding, taking souls for the Locker below. Or so the Zorashiran worshippers believed.

  “Just sorting out a job. Nothing special.”

  Moran let the silence linger before speaking, “You only visit me when something is troubling you – not an uncommon thing, I assure you. But for you it’s either when you’ve done something or are about to do something that is perhaps not generally considered moral.”

  Janus’ mouth twisted. “And if that is the case?”

  “I cannot stop you. We make our own way in the world, Janus. Too many people misunderstand what being a Guide means and wish for me to tell them what they should do. However, I will say that if an act troubles you it is probably not right for you. That is not what you want to hear, perhaps, and you need not take heed of my advice, but I don’t think you would be here if you weren’t conflicted about something.”

  It was a relief that Moran did not look at him as he spoke nor when he took the time to process the words. “It doesn’t trouble me. Might be the problem.” His fingers twitched but he wouldn’t dare smoke in a place of worship. Even a recreant like himself had standards.

  “I know you are not a devout man. No, please,” he said at Janus’ murmured concessions, “there is no judgement in this space. If there’s one thing I have learned in my many years of service it’s this: we all need something to live for. Without purpose I fear we are too often tempted to the darkness within.”

  “Even you, Guide?”

  “Even me.” There was the hint of a smile on the man’s face, crow’s feet deepening around his eyes. He stood and Janus mirrored him. “Something to think about.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The group is still running. You’re always welcome to come along.”

  A wry smile. “Maybe,” he said and Moran nodded. Another moment’s hesitation was all he allowed himself before he escaped into the sticky night, relinquishing the cool hall of the church. Diving into his pocket, he flicked open his packet of tobacco – diminishing rapidly – and lit a hastily made cigarette, exhaling smoke in a sigh. Tendrils swirled up into the grimy sky, not quite dark due to the blue-green street lamps that hummed around him. New street lamps from Sonlin engineers. Not the buzzing, static electrical lamps introduced a few years back that had been so expensive to produce. These hung atop tall, wrought iron posts painted black, stark lines against the indigo night. Each contained its own swirling fire in flames that shifted through blue and green. Something about the colour they cast upon the streets was eerie. Unnatural.

  Unsettled, aimless, Janus wandered the streets, too many locations looking different in the short weeks since he had left the city. Or maybe he was the one who had changed. The feeling prickled beneath his skin, the kind of feeling that happened when he could no longer reconcile the world he normally slipped through like he was the eternal understudy that had suddenly been thrust into the limelight of the world’s stage. Shadows were no longer his domain. Where he walked he felt like he stood out, no longer obtrusive. Like his veil had been cast off, leaving him exposed.

  Without thinking about it, his feet had taken him to the hanging sign of The Ace of Serpents, a lantern illuminating the painted snake that was fading in patches. Shouldering open the door, he was embraced with a wall of noise and colour, warmth engulfing him as soon as he closed it behind him and stepped inside, surrounded by patrons well into their cups and singing raucously along with a band on a small plateau towards the front of the room. The bar stood in a ring in the centre of the room, rickety chairs of various heights and numbers of legs packed with bodies everywhere. It was a popular drinking establishment with the less illustrious of Tsellyr’s dwellers and one where certain exchanges could be made, if one knew where to look.

  Janus’ eyes flickered to the back of the room where a few shadowy faces were tucked into a darkened corner, a mere candle between them as they flipped cards onto the table. As he approached he could see the growing pile of coin reflecting the flickering light in the middle. He flopped into a seat with a dip of his head, leaning an arm on the back of his chair. “Evening,” he said.

  The woman across from him raised her brows before she turned back to the game. She placed a card onto the table and the two other occupants let out twin sighs. Her painted lips stretched into a smile. “Evening, Lakazar. What will it be tonight? Business, or pleasure?”

  “Cliyo.” Janus flicked a coin from his pocket onto the table. “What have I missed?”

  She nodded, reshuffling the deck and dealing the four of them a new stack of cards. “Not much to say. We’ve all been keeping a low profile with the curfew.”

  The older of the two men with a grizzled face and grey stubble twisted his face into a scowl. “Bluecoats think I’m going to listen to their horseshit.” He mimicked spitting on the table as he spread his cards into a fan.

  “Did you see much of them when you went north?” asked Cliyo, her dark eyes on him as she placed a card down.

  It was Janus’ turn to raise his brows, but it was all for show. He wasn’t surprised. Little escaped her knowledge. “Might have crossed paths with a few. Seems they have a plan in mind.”

  “Aye, they think the Myrliks are a stepping stone to the east. Good luck to them,” scoffed the older man, shaking his head.

  “You don’t think they could take the whole lot if they wanted to?” said the last man, face obscured by his hood. “What’s stopping them now?”

  Janus felt the cards beneath his fingers, eyes affixed to Cliyo’s face. Her expression was calm, impassive, but he could see her own eyes flicking over his every movement. Assessing him as much as he assessed her. She was curious about where he had gone and for what purpose. That she didn’t yet know gave him leverage for what he needed.

  The game carried on for several rounds, empty glasses piling high as the yurel stacked into a sizeable mound in the centre. By the midnight hour he had made back a good dividend on his investment and he scooped it into his pocket with quick fingers. Rordak, the grizzled seadog, was now slumped over the table with drool shining on his silver beard. The other of the two men had left halfway through, leaving them to drink and gamble the night away. Yet Janus was sober and he suspected Cliyo was too.

  “I know I’m quite good, Lakazar, but you’ll have to tell me what it is that you want. I can’t actually read your mind.”

  He had told himself he had only come for the distraction. For information. To size up the city in his absence. The truth of it was, that wasn’t the truth at all. Trips could have more than one purpose and for Janus that was the case more than it was not. “There is something I need.”

  The rest of the yurel was brushed into Cliyo’s purse and tucked away into her bag. “Yes, I doubt you sat through all that for nothing.”

  “Can you get items from Yllainyk?”

  She paused, lips pursing. Cocking her head, she said, “That can be arranged.”

  “Need some bullets.”

  “Bullets.”

  “A special kind. Make them in Yuratsa. It’s important.”

  “Mm,” she agreed, suddenly fluid again. The cards were shuffled and then shoved into her bag, a scarf wrapped around her head to hide distinctive feline features. “They must be if you’re coming to me. Fine. I’ll look into it but having them shipped does not come cheap.”

  Janus shrugged. “Do what you must.”

  “I’ll have someone find you when the time is right.”

  He nodded. Cliyo was known for being able to supply almost any item, from
all over the map, as long as the price was paid. After having used the last of his reimyr bullets, Janus felt uncomfortable not having any more, if only for the security of their weight in his pocket. With Viktor as unstable as he was, he couldn’t risk leaving himself unprotected. And if he continued to keep the company that he did, chances seemed likely he would be encountering more of the riftspawn from beyond this realm. Survival was in preparation. Preparation was survival. It was as simple as that.

  Just as he was about to leave, the door was thrust open and a stream of soldiers filed in, silence following in their wake. Seeing the bustling, buoyant mood suddenly sink made him tense, watching as they lined up.

  “Everyone out. The curfew has started. Get home now!”

  Chairs squeaked against the wooden floorboards as they slid back. Bodies slammed into one another in a haste to be gone. Some comments were grumbled beneath the ale-stained breath of the patrons of the bar but they shuffled their way out all the same. Janus weeded his way into the throng, easily becoming lost in the mass exodus of revellers. Behind him he heard the rising voices of a drunkard attempting a fight. A booming slam was followed by a groan and Janus didn’t need to turn to know he had been floored.

  Fingers twitching, he escaped into a damp night, sighing as the air washed over sticky skin. The sound of voices behind him tickled at hidden crevices of his mind, bringing forth dusty memories; formless shadows from the past. His hand grasped the corners of his revolver like a lifeline, feeling cool metal dig into the flesh of his palms. Tsellyr. He was on the streets of Tsellyr, of Rillasok, far far away from the mountains of where he had grown up. He was Janus Lakazar, just a man. A man with people to go back to, if they would have him. Perhaps.

  “The curfew applies to you too, you know.”

  He cracked an eye open, catching on the shining buttons of an indigo coat. Further inspection revealed a vaguely familiar face. Tall, broad shouldered, with a square jaw and a beard shockingly red in contrast to his dark hair. “Was just on my way.”

  The man stepped forwards until the street lights illuminated the planes of his face, “See that you don’t linger.” His brows furrowed. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

  “Been busy.”

  “I’ll bet.” He stepped forward as if to enter the The Ace of Serpents before hesitating. “Be careful, Lakazar. If you get caught out I can’t help you.”

  Janus nodded and took a step out of the pool of light, wearing the shadows like a cloak. “Don’t intend to get caught.” Then he stalked off into the night, back in the direction of the inn the others were staying in for the night. It was well past midnight by the time he slipped inside, taking the two flights of stairs until he found their rooms. As quietly as he could, he unlocked the door and stole inside, door closing behind him with a gentle click.

  “Where have you been?”

  In the blue lights from street lamps outside of the window, Kilai looked stark; regal, the cut of her cheekbones sharpened by the cool hues. She stood with her back to him, arms crossed, as she peered out into the sleeping city streets below, seemingly unconcerned with joining it in slumber. “Well?” she said, finally turning. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, almost purple with the way the room was washed of colour.

  “Catching up with some old friends.”

  “I didn’t believe you had any.”

  Janus stepped into the middle of the room, conscious of a sleeping Rook and Viktor sprawled on beds in the corner. “Got a few. If I pay the right price.”

  She snorted and turned back to the street. “I still don’t trust you, you know. I’d be foolish not to.” Between her fingers flashed a flicker of silver. She was worrying her turtle pin between them, biting her lip. “Unfortunately I have little choice right now. So trust you I will have to.”

  Not knowing what to say, he simply moved to stand beside her. “In time hope I’ll show you ’m sincere.”

  He could feel the weight of her gaze, roaming his face. He couldn’t help but wonder what she saw written upon the lines of his face. Sorrow? Regret? Guilt? Anger? Too many emotions pressed deep, deep down inside until he barely remembered what they felt like, beyond the ghost of their memory flickering on and off, their sharp edges sanded down by loss. Could Kilai see his inner workings reflected on his face, or did she merely see the ruthless mercenary on the surface?

  It was more of an abstract curiosity than a thought born of feeling. Janus wondered because he had barely thought about himself in terms of who he used to be, until very recently. For so long he had carried on as if this life was all he had ever known, as if his life across the sea had never been. But camaraderie had sucked him in like moth to flame. He remembered what it felt like to have companions. Friends. What it felt like to laugh, and joke, and rely on someone other than himself to watch his back. His time with these strange people had reopened that long-sealed door, rusty hinges squeaking, and on the other side was an image he had not confronted for a long time.

  When Kilai swept her eyes over him he couldn’t help but wonder, which Janus did she see?

  “Perhaps one day I will believe you,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Tomorrow we will start with Lord Sandson. From there… we shall see?”

  He nodded, watching as she shifted to get ready for bed. It was a start. A beginning. A chance to start over again and make the right choices this time. If only he knew what the right choice was.

  *

  “But I want to meet the mayor too,” said Rook.

  Viktor folded his arms next to her. “If anything, I’m the one that should be talking to him the most. That damned piece of –”

  “I don’t think it will look too good if all four of us go traipsing up to his office. Let me size him up first. The two of you need to go to the headquarters for the Order of the Riftkeepers.”

  “But what if he won’t talk? Then I would –”

  Kilai levelled Viktor with a gaze. “You’d what? Threaten the mayor in his own office? I don’t think so. Trust me, it’s a not a good idea if either of you come. Janus and I will find out all we need to and then we can go from there.”

  Rook opened her mouth to speak but Kilai cut her off before she could. “We can always go back. You were the one who said it was important that you speak to the Riftkeepers immediately, weren’t you?” The woman instantly deflated, hefting out a weary sigh, and Kilai felt a tiny flare of guilt for being harsh before it winked out.

  “And Viktor, you need to get help. After what happened you know how important it is that you figure out what is happening to you. There’s simply too much at stake right now.”

  Viktor scowled but he didn’t protest, so she called it a win. “See to the more pressing problem. The rift is still open and that soldier still lives.”

  “You better find out what he knows,” said Viktor. “And tell him I’ll kill him if he tries to have me kidnapped again. I’m very proficient with fire.” On cue, a flicker of green flame emerged from one palm, giving off a wispy trail of smoke.

  Rook scrunched her nose. “Put that out!” She stepped back in its wake and Kilai could read the tension radiating from the stiff lines of her posture. “There are too many soldiers here. All of them alert for any signs of that.”

  With a huff, Viktor snuffed the flame in his palm. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. It’s like you trust him more than you trust me.”

  ‘Him’ was Janus, standing against the far wall with an impassive expression as the argument unfolded. Irritated that she had been left to fend them off herself, Kilai shot him a glare and then rubbed at her temple. She had slept a scant few hours despite being plagued with exhaustion and noticing he had slipped away again had agitated her enough to get up in the middle of the night, contemplating whether to wake the other two in warning. Only for him to then return the way he had left, like a thief in the night.

  They didn’t know him, when it came down to it. When it came down to it, they were all strangers. Four lost souls w
ith four different goals, joined for one brief moment by necessity. Would that change, now they had finally reached Tsellyr? Was this to be the end of their journey together? Kilai couldn’t say for sure but something told her it wasn’t over yet. Something, be it fate, or gods, or simple coincidence, had conspired to put them on the same path. In ways unknown to her fully, they were bound.

  Besides, it wasn’t like she had anywhere to go. There was nothing waiting for her at home. She might as well follow the path to its destination and see where it took her.

  “I’m asking you to trust me, Viktor. Can you do that for me?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, flicking between her and Janus as if they were conspiring against him. “Fine,” he grumbled, turning away. “But I want to know everything.”

  “Of course.”

  After convincing them to let her take the lead, Kilai realised she still had to convince the mayor himself. Scrubbing her hands and face until they were raw, she brushed through the knots of her hair with her fingers and then tied it up in as neat of a bun as she could manage. There was no saving her attire so she simply draped a scarf over her shoulders to cover the worst of the dirt and fraying edges. She had done her best to hack her skirts into submission with Rook’s dagger so that at least the hems were aligned, even if they were a mess of loose threads. It pained her to go anywhere dressed as she was, let alone an important place of governance, but even so she had little choice. They hadn’t the money for anything more, so it would have to do.

  When Kilai and Janus exited the inn and took the winding streets towards the main square, she found herself self-conscious of the other pedestrians, ladies in their fine embroidered gowns from the west, or the fine silken kobi that was more traditional of the Myrliks, and men in richly coloured silks and shirts. Nirket had housed its share of nobles but Tsellyr was clearly on another level altogether, carts adorned with gold and silver, carried by multiple laisok with coats that gleamed in the bright sunshine. The light reflected off the pure white stone of the buildings, magnificent in their strange, twisting architecture, and pillars streaked with black. Cobalt domes were decorated with gold lacquering, shining brighter than the blue of the sky.