The Reaping Season

by Sarah Stirling

  The next few rooms were the same, little left behind to tell the story of what had happened. Upon the wall of one room was the outline in dust of what must have been some kind of poster or painting, now gone. Scratch marks across the floor revealed the path of furniture that had been shifted but it was hard to tell what had been here other than a bed. It was bizarre and slightly chilling, to wonder what had happened to so many people in what must have been such a short period of time.

  “Rook,” called Viktor, his voice muffled through the wall. She had been so preoccupied she hadn’t even realised he had disappeared.

  “What did you find?” she asked, padding through. When she entered the room she stopped short a gasp pulling past her lips. “Oh. My.” The room, while small, was wall to wall with books. Shelves upon shelves of tomes, thick and thin, in various shades of brown, red and green, some embossed with gold titling. As she entered the scent of books hit her and she breathed it in eagerly.

  “Half of these aren’t even in Myrish,” grumbled Viktor, tossing books onto the floor as he rifled through them.

  “Stop that,” she cried, picking them up and stacking them on a nearby table. Most of the titles she couldn’t read but one was in the Rökkish dialect, about the specific riftspawn that were common to the Southern rift. She flicked through it, dust swirling up from the pages, and paused at some of the sketched pictures. Stuffing it into her satchel, she went back to the shelves, scanning them for anything that could be of use to them.

  “Are these all about rifts?” said Viktor.

  Rook snorted. “What did you expect? Romance novels?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He plucked another off the shelf and thumbed through it with a lack of grace that made her wince but she didn’t have time to scold him. She grabbed two books on the rifts of Tsellyr, another on the theory of classifications of riftspawn, and another journaling the life of a famous rift warden from Yuratsa who had spent her life with the rift maidens of the city. Her satchel groaned against the weight, burying into the flesh of her shoulder, but she couldn’t afford not to take what was on offer before it disappeared too.

  “You should take this one,” he said, handing her another sizeable tome with a leather cover.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s called The Legacy of the Keepers. Sounds like it would be your kind of thing.”

  “All right. Let me just check this side.”

  Viktor cocked his head. “We should move. I can hear footsteps.”

  “Just give me a minute. Please.” Her fingers brushed reverently over each spine, ravenous to devour them all, ingest the knowledge tucked into every page. If the Sonlin forces had taken this place, it wouldn’t be long before they were all gone. So much precious information gone in a puff of smoke and flame, leaving behind nothing but ash and dust. It was only her duty to take as much of it with her as she could.

  “Rook. Can’t you hear that?”

  At that moment the thick clouds parted enough to allow a weak beam of sunlight to fall upon the shelf to her right. Wedged amongst the thicker volumes was a slimmer book with a crimson coloured cover that drew her eye, shining brightly. The shelf was layered with dust but there was a fan shaped mark of clear wood where it had been dragged out recently, the book itself still jutting ever so slightly from the line. Pulling it out, she gasped when the embossed leather caught the light and she noticed the same symbols as she had seen before, on the tablet at the rift in Nirket and on the book in the city’s library.

  “Rook. We have to go.”

  Shoving it into her bag, she hoisted it over her other shoulder and followed him, checking the hallway before they dashed to the other end. Sure enough, the stairs they had come up creaked beneath the weight of a heavy gait. There was someone coming.

  “There are more stairs,” said Viktor ahead of her.

  She pushed between his shoulder blades. “Go, go.”

  “Who’s there?” said a voice in Sonlin behind them.

  “Move!”

  As gently as she could manage while still moving quickly, Rook took the stairs two at a time, descending down into a much gloomier hallway. The landing split into two doors, each closed, no indication of what lay behind either, but what intrigued her the most was the shadows where the staircase continued downwards, the scent of spiritual energy more pungent. She had already taken steps towards it before she had even realised, only snapping to when Viktor grabbed her shoulder.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to see.”

  He groaned. “Must we really?”

  The pressure in her skull tightened as she followed the steps down into the basement. Here the air was damp and the smell of mould lingered, dust pluming up into clouds when her hands reached out for purchase. As reluctant as she was to do so when she was so close to the rift, she drew forth The Rook, body singing like an addict receiving a fix as their connection came alive, crackling with energy. Suddenly her vision sharpened, able to make out the shape of a long corridor much like the one two floors up, only this one veered off sharply to the right.

  “It hurts,” said Viktor. “Why does it hurt so much?”

  “Your body is reacting to the energy from the rift. Be careful, it will awaken the creature within you. It knows it belongs on the other side of the veil but it will try to resist.”

  “My nose is bleeding.”

  She whipped around. Sure enough, a trickle of dark blood ran from his right nostril, dripping onto his mottled shirt. He swiped it away with a flick of his hand, looking shaken, and with a pang of sympathy she grabbed his hand. “Focus on me. Try to ignore it as best as you can.”

  Beyond the feel of clammy skin against her palm, she could feel The Rook instinctively recoil from his burning energy, shrieking in her head. It only spiked Viktor’s signature; she could hear his heartbeat thumping a hummingbird rhythm. In. out. Do not fight the wind. With each breath she drew them both into a steadier tempo, feeling her temple bead with sweat at the exertion. The strength in him only grows, she thought with real fear. But she forced it down and took another step.

  A strange noise shuddered down the corridor, a haunting wail that came in echoing waves until it caught them. It raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Viktor squeezed her hand, although whether it was conscious or not, she could not tell.

  When they reached the bend, she saw a door at the end, outlined in yellow light. Each pulse from within was such a powerful blast it nearly brought her to her knees, flooding every sense until there was nothing but ringing in her ears, burning in her nostrils, cotton in her mouth, and bright flashes of light across her vision. The Rook whispered over the tidal wave, beckoning her to give herself over.

  “That thing is coming,” whispered Viktor. “It’s –” she could vaguely make out the shape of his form hunching over.

  “Focus,” she said sharply, scolding herself as much as Viktor. “Focus on something that keeps you grounded. I don’t know. An anchor or something.” She thought of the well. One pail. Just enough power to keep the pain at bay. “You’ll need to let it in, just a little.”

  “I can’t stop it from – from –

  “Yes, you can.”

  With trembling fingers she grasped the cool metal of the door handle and shoved her weight against it, falling into the room beyond. It was a hall, decorated in a rich green wallpaper with golden floral detail. In the centre of a widely arched room was a long wooden table with high-backed chairs, carved in the shapes of various creatures, their faces bared in defiant snarls. Once upon a time this had to have been some kind of gathering place. Maybe a place for discussions amongst the highest ranking Riftkeepers.

  Now it lay empty, the fire place beyond brushed with cobwebs, the coal in the hearth long burned out. High above, a shimmering wave of light distorted the grand high-arched ceiling that was decorated with swirling designs and gold flecks of paint. The whole room seemed to pulse, as if alive, walls heaving with each breath. The rift wasn’t open. R
ook breathed a sigh of relief. It was stretching, swollen, so crippled with the energy seeping from it that it threatened to burst open at any moment. But for now it was closed. That was something.

  “Who’s there?”

  At the voice she twirled, meeting the cool gaze of a young woman crouched on the floor with shining black hair cropped to her chin. She narrowed her eyes at them, shoulders hunched and hands braced in front of her. Despite the ice in her tone, her posture belied her fear. Like approaching a timid animal, Rook raised her palms in a placating gesture, taking small steps forwards.

  “I am Rook ik Vinook, rift warden in training.” She flashed the symbol on her wrist. “See?”

  “There are no rift wardens anymore,” said the girl. Her head cocked to the side and she froze, large eyes flicking to Viktor. “You,” she whispered. “You should not be here.”

  “Yes,” he replied with a scowl as his nose twitched, “I’d like to leave, but somebody dragged me into this Locker-damned basement for the fun of it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no rift wardens anymore’? What’s going on?”

  “You need to leave,” the girl continued, gaze distant and unfocused. “The rift is going to rupture. When it does you cannot be here.”

  “We need to stop it, then,” said Rook, wondering why the girl would not listen to her. “Where are the Riftkeepers? Why is this place empty?”

  The girl shook her head, inky hair flying. “No. No, no. They came and took them all. They had to leave or –” Her eyes widening a moment before the door burst open and all three started, eyes on the door.

  “Who are you?” said the man. He was the one with the gravelly voice she had overheard earlier, his indigo coat straining against broad shoulders. A fiery beard contrasted with dark brown hair, his mouth pulled into a tight line. “What are you doing here? Get out now or I’ll arrest you for trespassing.”

  Rook stood her ground. “Not until you tell me what’s going on here? Where are the Riftkeepers? What is this?”

  “This building is now Sonlin property. There are no Riftkeepers here. Leave.”

  “No. I’m not leaving when the rift is – like this.”

  The man frowned, hand drifting towards his belt where his sword and pistol were sheathed. She tensed in response, the weight of her dagger stashed in her boot suddenly heavy. A step backwards invited him to step forwards, like they were initiating a dance, only she was not prepared to let him lead. Standing before the girl on the ground with Viktor at her side, she crossed her arms. “You’re outnumbered here, bluecoat. I won’t move until I find out what’s going on.”

  The man drew his sword. Steel winked as he brought it across his body. “I’m not afraid of you, pjurrei.”

  She gritted her teeth, yanking one dagger from her boot and one from her belt. “You just had to go and make it personal, didn’t you?”

  They both struck forwards at the same time, his sword swinging for her in a flash of gleaming metal. Ducking, she slid in for his legs, the teeth of her daggers biting the cloth of his trousers as he threw his body out of the way. Jumping back to her feet, Rook whirled, meeting his sword with her dagger in a crash of steel. The force shuddered up her arm and she grunted, spinning his arm out of the way so that she could strike for his neck. With her crowded in too close to get his sword arm around her he lunged out with his elbow, cracking into her ribs and knocking the wind from her lungs. Gasping, she managed to duck out of the way of his blow and kick out at his face, sending him staggering back with a gushing nose.

  His scowl turned furious as he swiped at the blood, chest heaving. “What do you hope to achieve here?”

  “Don’t you get it?” she yelled, resisting the pull of The Rook, whispering in her ear. Each pulse of the rift strengthened its grip until she felt like she was fighting two enemies at once. Sliding out of the way of his swing, she darted around the table, kicking a chair out to block his way. “When the rift ruptures it’ll be you who suffers the most. You won’t stand a chance.”

  “Rook,” shouted Viktor, his voice tight, “it’s – it’s getting hard to fight.”

  Using the table to propel herself forwards, she swung around the corner and ran for him. “Keep your mind focused on something. Remember, Viktor? Something that grounds you.” They couldn’t afford for him to lose control right now. Not with the rift. Not with the soldier here to see it.

  She caught Viktor squeeze his eyes shut, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, before she was defending herself against the slice of the soldier’s sword. Without The Rook’s help she could not match him for physical strength, and she couldn’t risk it in the vicinity of a torn rift, no matter how tempting the offer might be, but she had trained in the mountains of Rökkum her entire life. She was not weak. Weakness had been stamped out of her like snow on old Grey’s doorstep.

  With a cry she lunged and felt the blade in her hand cut into flesh, the sleeve of the man’s coat splitting at the seams as she forced it down, blood welling from flesh. There was a sharp intake of breath as the man dropped his sword, gripping the wound and whimpering softly. When his eyes flickered up to hers she saw fire in them, mouth twisting at the corners. “The Riftkeepers are gone. The Order is dead.”

  She shook her head. “It can’t be. Without them… this world will fall.”

  He spat on the ground, a mixture of blood and saliva shining on the floor. “Let it burn, for all I care. Why do you care?”

  Such anger in his gaze, lacing every word. It didn’t seem like he found her talk of rifts foolish, as was the case with most of these continentals. Rather, it seemed like he didn’t care. He had stepped back, resting against the table as he tugged the last threads of his coat sleeve apart so he could inspect the long gash down his left arm.

  Still burning with adrenaline, Rook clutched tighter at her daggers and looked around her. Without an enemy to fight off physically, she didn’t know what to do, the information about the Riftkeepers like a physical blow. The knowledge that they were here had kept her going all this time; a beacon of hope to guide her when all had fallen apart in Nirket. She had thought – had hoped – her failure could be undone. That not all was lost. Without the Order she was aimless, drifting, uncertain. What did she do? How did she stop the rifts on her own?

  “You need to leave.” The girl’s voice snapped her out of her spiral, drawing her gaze to the swirling maelstrom of energy above. “The two of you are making this worse.”

  “But we can’t just –”

  “I have maintained this for long enough now. I do not need your help.”

  Now that Rook could get a closer look at her, she could see the girl’s lip tremble, her face slick with sweat. She looked pale but not naturally so, as if her skin had been leached of its colour. “You cannot maintain this either.” However she was doing it, this girl was keeping it at bay by herself. “It’s not fair to just leave you.”

  “The girl stays,” said the soldier.

  Viktor stared at him. “You’re hardly in a position to be making demands right now.”

  “He stalls for time.” The girl rose on shaky legs and Rook caught her when she stumbled. “Go, before they all come back.”

  “Listen here, you –” A hair-raising scream split the air as Viktor marched over and thrust his finger into the soldier’s wound.

  “Shut up!” His voice warped around the words, a deeper sound resonating beneath. This was bad.

  “Come with us,” said Rook. This girl was their last link to the Order. The only one who knew what was happening. She was barely able to hold herself upright; she couldn’t possibly hope to hold the rift closed by herself. As loathe as she was to give in, the idea that she could do something – salvage something from this wreckage – spurred her on. “You can’t stay.”

  Rook felt her quiver in her arms as the rift shuddered. A light fluttered from the swirling energy in the room and she sensed the otherworldly presence before she saw it emerge from the tear. A huge beast with a l
ong body made of connecting segments, a mass of writhing clawed arms, a strange beak-like protrusion from its face, and an aura that made her flinch. It reeked power, flooding her senses with a horrible, buzzsaw signature that tickled the back of her teeth and brought bile to her mouth. The girl whimpered, head lolling, and Rook could only watch with growing horror as the riftspawn began to turn in lazy circles, as if preparing to hunt its prey.

  It was as if the creature had hypnotised her, her muscles locked tight and trembling. She couldn’t move them no matter how her mind screamed at her, rooted to the spot with her gaze pinned by the black eyes of the beast. Her heart pounded in her chest, breaths ragged and pained. It was causing this fear; she could feel how it corrupted her emotions, The Rook angry at its audacity. Rook used that anger to fight back, the sheer amount of energy it took to break her stance exhausting her.

  Both Viktor and the soldier’s gazes were locked on the riftspawn, their hands having fallen to their sides from the shock. They looked frozen, like waxwork dolls. It would have almost been comical were the situation not what it was, their jaws open as they got caught up in the creature’s web. Then suddenly Viktor hissed, shaking his head, and she knew she had to get him out of there immediately before the rift collapsed and he lost himself completely.

  Slinging the girl onto her back, she called out, “Everyone out, now!” She didn’t want to leave the creature but she couldn’t fight it, here, like this, on its own terrain. To do so would only damn them all. “Viktor!” she cried, afraid of the trance-like state that had come over him. “Viktor, run!”

  Once she saw him snap to attention she darted for the door, her whole body screaming against the shrill noise the creature emitted, pounding in her head. She hoisted the girl further up her back, clinging tight as she ran. The rift yawned wider; she could feel each pulse grow stronger. It wouldn’t be much longer now. But she didn’t have time to worry about that with the riftspawn bearing down on them. With a leap, she tore up the staircase and onto the landing, not pausing for breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body shaking with the shrieking signature of the beast, too much for her to take.