The Reaping Season

by Sarah Stirling

  “I will do it.” He held out an arm.

  A smile crept over her as she grabbed at his forearm tight enough to bruise.

  He thought there might have been more to the moment, some feeling of a spiritual chain tugging him down, but she released him and stepped back and it didn’t feel like anything had changed at all.

  Eyes closing over, she brought her arms up and for one blink he thought he saw wings spreading out wide over her shoulders and then just as quickly the image was gone. Without any abilities he could barely tell what was happening, only aware that some kind of invisible battle was happening around him. The hand on his arm tightened its grip, Seeker stumbling off balance into his side with a groan. He didn’t know how much longer the man would last.

  For a long time nothing happened, Rook simply standing in the middle of the hall with a faint sheen wafting from her as if she was burning so hot she was melting the air around her. It started with a rumble so subtle he barely noticed it, only realising when a loose pipe began to rattle. The vibration grew until the whole room shook with it and he planted his footing to keep his balance. Dust and pieces of tile fell from the ceiling, pattering on his head. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he could just make out Rook as her eyes flew open, chest heaving, and he knew they had to get out of there.

  “Go,” she commanded.

  It was then that he felt it, the compulsion to leave as soon as possible, like he had strings and she was his puppet master. Janus fought it, locking his knees and refusing to move. Spirit or not, Rook was still his friend and he didn’t want to just leave her.

  “Go! I will stop the creature.”

  Seeker made a soft exclamation that drew his attention back to his surroundings and he nearly fell from the impact of what he saw. The walls were melting, warping into strange shapes before his eyes, and pulling towards them as if trying to swallow them into its boundaries. Under attack, the riftspawn bonded into the very foundations of the building was fighting back.

  “Move!” he shouted to Seeker as he broke into a run. Behind him resounded a piercing cry that raised the hairs down his arms. He didn’t dare look back for fear of what he would see. A good soldier knew when to cut his losses and press forward. A good soldier knew when not to look behind him.

  A stone hand struck out from the shifting wall and grabbed for them. Seeker yelped and tripped over his own feet, hurtling to the floor. Cursing under his breath, Janus dived down and slid under the stretching fingers of the hand. Grabbing onto Seeker’s coat, he yanked him back to his feet and half-carried him away. Barrelling through the maze, he ignored the voice in his head telling him he was lost and looked for signs of an exit. If Rook was fighting off the creature then it would hopefully be too distracted to trap them in. Seeker was stumbling along attached to his side. The man wouldn’t make it much further.

  “We’re – we’re lost,” he gasped.

  Janus halted, pressing a finger to his lips.

  Seeker’s eyes widened. Sickly and pale, his chest heaved so thunderously it was hard for Janus to hear over the din of his breathing. But he heard it. The muffled creak of footsteps and voices.

  “What is it?”

  “This way.”

  The walls still bled beyond their definitions, morphing and melding into a dripping mass of stone that made him feel like he had gone witless, blinking heavily at the sight. He pushed past the instinctive recoil and followed the source of the noise. After another turn and an awkward shuffle through a narrower tunnel they found a staircase, light spilling down from the door on the end.

  Eyes fluttering in the light, Seeker shut them and raised his face to it like a wilting flower, a weak sigh passing his lips. With his form sagging against him, Janus had to haul him up by the waist, his other hand braced at his hip in case he had to make a quick draw. There could be any number of men out there now if Rook’s efforts had been discovered. The chances of them making it out of there alive were most likely slim but one couldn’t win if they didn’t place their bet in the first place, regardless of the odds.

  “Ready?” he said to his barely conscious companion.

  Seeker coughed, more blood spattering across his fist. “Give me the other one,” he said, motioning to Janus’ guns.

  “You can barely stand.”

  He held up a hand that barely shook.

  Huffing a laugh, he shook his head. “Your funeral,” he said, passing one over.

  Seeker snorted as he accepted the weapon. “And yours.”

  A last shared look was all they took before Janus kicked the door open and burst out of the tunnels.

  *

  Viktor wrestled the canoe through the waves towards the small dock. Having lost all sense of direction, he decided it was better to throw the Locker-damned boat he had stolen from his sister down at the first land he spotted and attempt his legs instead. He hadn’t realised on the journey there how far the island was from the centre of the city, nor had he considered how much the rocking of the boat would trigger flashes of the night on the ship when they had nearly all went under. By the time he was close enough to lunge towards the dock his stomach roiled enough to make him gag and he grasped desperately at the structure, nails scraping into the grimy wood to haul himself into shore. He couldn’t climb out quickly enough, tumbling out onto a landing that squeezed the air from his lungs. Flopping onto the deck, he paused to catch his breath.

  When he finally pushed himself back to his feet his eyes widened as he saw the boat drifting away on the current, several meters from the dock. He had forgot to tie it down and now it was floating down the canal, leaving him stranded wherever he had landed. Viktor sighed, scrubbing at tired eyes. Sometimes it felt like he could never do anything right. Some prince he would make.

  The lingering sensation that something was wrong still prickled beneath his skin. Rook’s signature hummed constantly in his head, a dull vibration that he could almost ignore until his thoughts fell upon it and then suddenly it was all he could think about. At least he knew she was still alive if her signature was still present but he didn’t like the way it would flare up until his head was filled with the frenetic buzzing energy and then dissipate just as quickly, leaving him hollow and worn out.

  This riftspawn stuff was exhausting. A large part of him yearned for the streets of Nirket when all he had to concern himself was trying to steal enough coin from unwitting tourists and soldiers. These days his concerns seemed so much grander, life and death and lives past come to live again. But there wasn’t much else he could do except follow the trail of Rook’s signature. It was what she would do for him; he couldn’t just ignore it no matter how much he was terrified what would happen if he lost control the way he did the last time. Blood still ran when he closed his eyes, running through the cracks in stone, shining in the lamplight.

  The stark black and white of the streets created a strange effect as he walked beneath a colourless sky, as if he had stepped into another world completely drained of colour and life. For a city the roads were fairly quiet, only the odd carriage rattling by. So many travelled by the canals here that traffic was less severe along the roads. Even the people he passed on foot were dressed in muted garb of greys and browns, keeping their heads down as they went about their business. Viktor summoned a flicker of emerald flame into the cup of his hands just to confirm that colour still existed.

  His connection to the otherworld burst open. Lines of energy ran from person to person, from place to place, from riftspawn to riftspawn, suddenly noticeable in the air around him, small drifting forms taking shape before his eyes. It was a whole world invisible to the naked eye but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be invited. In response to his show of power they swam towards him, a flurry of little blue jellyfish-like creatures swerving towards him first. Their signatures barely tickled his consciousness, nothing but a brush of a feather across skin, eliciting a mental shiver.

  Underneath it was a sour stench of something gone off, pulsing and throbbing errati
cally like the heartbeat of Old Tarkyll who had done nothing but smoke and drink himself into an early send-off. Each wave crashed through him, overwhelming. He knew this feeling. It was the rift, spinning out of control and just about to burst. Unable to resist the pull, he found his legs following the feeling, grimacing as it grew so strong it felt like wading through a physical force. Still the call of the rift beckoned him through, the phoenix in him rising to answer.

  Soon he found himself back where he had been before, wandering past the massive red tree with the black trunk, leaves carried on a soft wind that ruffled his air. By the time he was standing outside the headquarters of the Order of the Riftkeepers he had amassed a considerable collection of riftspawn around him, their signatures a pleasant halo against the darkness of the rupturing rift. It was strange to be at the centre of their world, knowing if he commanded them, they would follow. Such power at his fingertips, like the kind he had only dreamed of as a boy. Strange to see it come true. Stranger still to be alienated by the feeling.

  “Let me go!”

  The shrill cry of a woman caught his attention as two soldiers dragged a short woman from an alley towards the door he was currently watching. She struggled against their grip, kicking out but unable to find purchase as the shorter of the two men shoved her forwards. Collapsing onto her knees, Viktor caught a glimpse between two indigo-clad shoulders at a bob of shiny black hair and felt his anger flare. It was the girl – the rift maiden – that they had met in the basement below. The one who had been monitoring the rift.

  Before he could even think to stop himself Viktor was marching over, aware of the stream of spirits following in his wake. What he looked like to the sightless he couldn’t possibly know but he didn’t care. They had no right to be throwing her around like that.

  “Leave her alone.”

  Two heads whipped around to stare at him. The taller one immediately grimaced and he recognised him as the man with the red beard he had fought before, with the terrible temper, his arm bandaged into his chest. His attention was so focused on him that he didn’t notice the shorter of the two draw his pistol and point it in Viktor’s face.

  “You,” grumbled Redbeard.

  At the same time his companion said, “I would reconsider.”

  The eye of the gun in his face brought back flickers of pain; memories of suffering under Janus’ special bullets that had kept the wound from healing, his whole body raw and aching as he swelled with fever. Pushing down the innate fear, he pulled his lips into a smirk, tilting his head in the way that made others instinctively retreat, knowing something wasn’t quite right.

  “You’re welcome to try.”

  Could he survive a headshot? He didn’t really know but the way the man’s eyes widened and his hand shook made him feel invincible, stepping forward until the barrel was pressing into the skin of his forehead. “Who do you think will come out of this better?” What he could have done with this kind of ability when he was younger. How many beatings he could have prevented if only he had been able to frighten the bigger kids with such reckless abandon. Madness, maybe, but it felt so right that his shoulders shook until laughter spilled from his lips, high and pealing.

  “What-what do you want?”

  “Let the woman go. Leave.”

  Redbeard sized him up, scowling. He was taller than Viktor and broader too, huge shoulders filling out his ugly coat, and he looked more irritated than afraid but neither did he move from his spot perpendicular to the two of them. At their feet the girl peered up, edging very carefully away.

  “Your friend has more sense than you, it seems,” he said.

  “Too bad you lack any sense at all.”

  For too long nobody moved, three gazes flickering between themselves as they waited for someone to move. Viktor licked his lips, enjoying the harried thrumming of his blood through his veins. It made him feel awake, more alive than he had ever been. It made him feel bold. Stepping back, he turned away and moved towards the girl. Vlankya, if he remembered right.

  “Just wait right there.” He heard a snick and he glanced back, unperturbed.

  “If you’re going to shoot me you might as well do it.”

  Brows knitting together, the soldier’s face flushed and he gritted his teeth. “What is wrong with you? I will shoot you. This girl is under our custody.”

  “I won’t move.”

  His arm trembled and when he caught Viktor smirking at him his face darkened. Hold steadier now, his finger squeezed at the trigger. “I told you to move out of the way.”

  Redbeard seemed to realise at the same time Viktor did, moving to stop his companion just a breath shy of the gun going off. The bullet punched into his shoulder with enough force to shove him back a few steps. Grunting at the shock, he stared at their panicked faces as coldness swept through him, followed by a wave of pain. In his hubris over his healing, he had forgotten how much getting shot hurt. But he couldn’t give into the fear. Strength was in the show and show he would.

  Gripping his shirt with one hand, he dug into the torn flesh with his other, buckling in pain as he found the bullet embedded in his shoulder and yanked it out, wresting a cry from his lips. Producing it before the horrified soldiers, he threw them a watered down version of his cocksure smirk, panting softly. Already his skin itched from where it began to stitch together and he drank in the swirling energy of the riftspawn around him gratefully.

  “Wh-what?” Dazed, the soldier that had shot him aimed again but Viktor lunged out quicker and tore it from his hands, throwing it away. Somewhere to his side it bounced and clattered to the ground. The soldier stumbled back and tripped over his own foot, landing in a graceless heap. Redbeard cursed, looking torn between his companion and Viktor.

  Calling upon the riftspawn around him, Viktor loomed over him with the thrill of their staggering power seeping into him. Summoning one in particular that was stronger than the others, a little hungrier, he directed it towards the soldier until it hovered in the air, tumbling over itself in a mass of wriggling limbs in the sky as he watched his prey gape up at it from his place on the ground. Those who dared defy him deserved to be taught a lesson. See how long he would last with a ravenous riftspawn sucking the life from him.

  “What is that thing?” he exclaimed, scrambling away.

  “Your new friend.” Viktor flicked his finger, about to tug the thread that would direct it towards the soldier when Vlankya surged to her feet.

  “Stop.”

  Viktor ignored her, too caught up in the delicious taste of fear. Vlankya dashed in between them and threw her arms wide. Even amidst the tension and the malignant spiritual energy her face was composed, almost impassive. “You will only draw attention to yourself if you kill this man. Stop now.”

  “I don’t feel like stopping.”

  A cool hand landed on his arm, soothing some of the fire burning up inside him. It stripped back the haze in his head that allowed his other self to take over, quenching his thirst. The thirst for retribution. For awe and submission. For destroying anyone who dared stand in his way.

  Blinking, he looked around him, at both of the soldiers and the calm face of Vlankya with her hand still resting on his arm, and then he exhaled away the coiling tension, power releasing in such a fell swoop he felt dizzy with its loss. Anger still distorted his view. He wanted to destroy this man so badly, but the voice of reason in the back of his mind reminded him it was not a good idea. He couldn’t remember why that was yet but he trusted it enough to take a step back.

  “Come,” she said, her eyes landing on the soldiers, “let us go. We shouldn’t be here.”

  Viktor nodded, sparing both soldiers a last glance before he let her tug him away. Their twin expressions of horror lingered in his mind as he ran away from the scene of his near crime.

  *

  The whole journey back to the city Samker fidgeted with his robes or glanced behind him repeatedly as if Jenya had followed them downriver and through the length of one of th
e city’s main canals. Every time he bit his lip she grew more amused by his behaviour. Clearly the boy had not left her side since he had been assigned to it. Thinking of Rook’s earnestness when it came to the Order, she had to wonder if it was something that was instilled in them, or if that kind of work just attracted a certain kind of person.

  “Stop wriggling around,” she said, dipping her oar into green water, the dank smell particularly pungent. “You made your decision so stick to it or go back.”

  “I’m not going to go back,” he said, although he looked tempted.

  “Help me row then, instead of fiddling with your clothes. You’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry!” he said, spurred into sudden action.

  She gazed at him, his furrowed brow of concentration and his tongue sticking out as he pushed against the water. “Haven’t you left for even a day? Just to go out by yourself.”

  Samker shook his head. “I was taken in as a boy and trained with other young recruits that possessed… talents like mine. There wasn’t time for it and we were punished pretty badly for sneaking out – not that we didn’t try from time to time. But when I finally got my post with Jenya I had long learned the importance of my mission. We were pretty cut off from civilisation anyway.”

  “You never rebelled? At all?”

  He shrugged. “They gave me a home. A purpose. Spitting in the face of that seemed like a waste.”

  Kilai contemplated as she rowed. They fell into sync, heavy breaths in tandem as the water swished past them, the distant caw of gulls on the murky horizon the only sound to disturb the weighted silence that had fallen upon them. Thinking only of the future had dammed off memories of the past that came barraging towards her now, tumbling into one another in an emotional torrent. Had she not been so desperate to prove herself, to stubbornly defy anything she didn’t agree with, had she moulded her brittle beliefs into something more mutable, would things have gone differently? She would never be so spineless as to follow the will of another blindly but perhaps her own mulishness had been the cause of so much anguish in Nirket.