The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  He gave the body an extra hard kick into the current so it wouldn’t ever come back on the Fierstowns. Someone might find it down a ways in some other worthless town, bloated and unrecognizable—if there even were other towns in Elsewhere.

  Whitney exhaled and fell against a tree stump. He couldn’t die from hunger in Elsewhere, but he was exhausted all the same. Kazimir too seemed winded without his supernatural, upyr abilities.

  “You were supposed to jump out with me,” Whitney said.

  “I warned you to take the path of least resistance,” Kazimir replied.

  “What’s the point of having an upyr companion if I can’t beat up some thugs who have it coming?”

  “Do you still not realize where you are, you ignorant, son of a—”

  “Hard to insult her now that you’ve met her, isn’t it?”

  Kazimir exhaled through his teeth. “You said this is all your memory, didn’t you?”

  “Sort of, only I didn’t rob Darkings, and it wasn’t the Glass Crown.” Whitney stuck out his chest. “It took a more refined thief to pull those off.”

  Kazimir appeared to hold back another insult. “Was your father hurt then?”

  “No, just a few bruises from being punched. They burned down the barn and made me watch as punishment, and I—well, younger me—got stuck helping rebuild it for months.”

  “All these years and you still haven’t learned there are consequences.”

  “What, I was just supposed to watch it happen again? What is the point of the place if I’m just supposed to relive every yigging memory?”

  “That is precisely the point, thief.” Kazimir stood and brushed his pants. “This isn’t your game. It’s theirs.” He looked around, and Whitney followed his gaze but saw nothing but trees. “Give an opening, and you’ll lose your mind faster. So, stop acting like an impetuous child and let’s hope your father is all right. There’s no telling what they’ll do if he’s not.”

  They set off back toward the house. Whitney took a second or three to let the words sink in. He knew Elsewhere tortured fallen souls, at least that’s what the Church of Iam preached. Good, honest people went to live out eternity in paradise through the Gate of Light, but what happened to those who were magically exiled to Elsewhere by their best friend alongside an upyr?

  He hurried and caught up to Kazimir. “You should have taken down that fellow with a club before he ever started his swing,” Whitney said. “I’ve seen you move ten times faster.”

  Kazimir bit his lip. Whitney noticed it wasn’t only anger twisting his features, but frustration. “I didn’t this time.”

  A few clever quips popped into Whitney’s head. He settled on silence. Maybe the upyr had even fewer of his abilities than Whitney thought, as slow now as an average man. Even if that were true, Whitney was smart enough to know he still couldn’t take him in a one on one fight without a chance to cheat.

  As they approached the farmhouse, the town father—who was now of Glintish decent for whatever reason—caned his way out of the house toward the exit gate at the edge of the Fierstown property. Whitney held it open for him.

  “Thank you, my son,” he said. “Praise the Fallen.”

  Whitney froze in the gateway, and it wasn’t because of the priest's refusal to praise Iam, but because of the man’s face. The cloth wrapped around his eyes made it difficult to tell, but it was clearly not Father Hullquist. Not only in skin color, but the man looked exactly like Torsten Unger.

  “Torsten?” Whitney said, but the man ignored him as if he’d said nothing at all.

  Whitney blinked hard. Still Torsten. It was just like how Darkings had appeared as another figure from his childhood.

  It’s just Elsewhere messing with you, Whitney told himself. Just play along, like the blood-sucking upyr said. You always wanted to try your hand in an acting troupe.

  Wetzel suddenly plowed by Whitney. The old codger wore his usual rags, hollowed out shells and dried fruits dangling from his neck, each holding odd potions and powders. He was the strangest man Whitney had ever met, and Sora, as a child, used to say the same. She said they rarely spoke, meanwhile he’d secretly been training her in blood magic.

  Seeing him made Whitney wonder if she had any other secrets, such as having exiled someone else to Elsewhere with her power before. Then he worried that she might be with him—he wasn’t ready to see her.

  Luckily, only Lauryn and Young Whitney followed behind, the latter looking anxious and cowering behind her. Whitney couldn’t tell if his nervousness was for his father, or for the repercussions of what he’d done. He had no experience in worrying over Rocco after all.

  “How is he?” Whitney asked.

  Kazimir stood off to the side, watching, but not speaking.

  Wetzel stopped and scrutinized Big Whitney. “Who is this?” he asked, leaning in uncomfortably close. His skin stunk of muck from trolling the riverbank, searching for herbs. He pulled something from one of his many pockets, a feather, and waved it in the shape of an eight front of Whitney’s face. His eyes widened, he opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  “Wetzel, this is Willis,” Lauryn said. Her eyes were puffy and red.

  Wetzel craned his neck to look into Whitney’s ear, then grumbled, “Your color is wrong.”

  “What?” Whitney asked.

  “Your color. It is wrong.”

  “Uh, thanks?” Whitney said.

  Wetzel grumbled again, then continued back into town, all the strange containers hanging all over his rags clattering.

  “You’ll have to excuse him,” Lauryn said. “He means the best, and he is the only healer we have.”

  “What did he say?” Whitney asked.

  “Father Drimmond prayed for him. Blessed him. He’s asleep now.” Her voice shook. “Wetzel said… he said…”

  “It’s okay, take your time.”

  “He’s... he’s....” Lauryn’s face fell into her hands as she tried to mask her sobbing.

  “His back is broken,” Young Whitney said for her. “They said he’s never gonna walk again without a miracle from the fallen gods.”

  “I thought I told you to stay inside!” Lauryn snapped.

  “I—I didn’t mean for this.” Tears welled in the corner of his eyes, then his head sunk and he sulked back toward the house. Big Whitney found it strange seeing himself so somber. He hated being sad; in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he let that feeling overtake him. He rolled with life, improvised—and now he wondered if it was that nature Elsewhere planned to prey on.

  “I’m sure he never imagined this could happen,” Whitney said.

  “He’s always getting into trouble,” Lauryn said, voice clogged from crying. “It was bound to catch up to him eventually.”

  Whitney frowned. Burned barn or crippled father, the result was the same. His mother’s love would wane every time she looked at him.

  “I don’t know what we’re gonna do,” Lauryn sobbed. “The farm. The house. Who’s going to finish the roof? Tend the land? We can barely afford help right now, and the King’s taxes keep going up with the wars in the South. Oh, gods…”

  Whitney thought about the sacrifice Rocco made, then the things Kazimir had said to him. He didn’t like the upyr, but he'd had experience with Elsewhere. It was Whitney’s fault the man—this version of him at least—was crippled. Had he just stayed in that stupid closet, everything would have been fine.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” Whitney said. He turned to Kazimir and said, “We’ll help.”

  “You will?” Lauryn’s eyes lit up. “We don’t have much to pay, but…”

  Whitney shook his head. “Forget about that. We have nowhere else in this whole world to be. We’ve been looking to settle down.”

  “Oh, bless you, kind sirs.” She threw her arms around Whitney. He nearly hugged her in return before remembering that as far as she knew they’d just met. He didn’t realize, however, how much he’d missed the warmth of her hugs.
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  “I won’t let you do it for free,” she said, barely able to contain her excitement. “How's ten bronzers a day sound, and you can sleep in the barn, and have supper for as long as you’re here? “

  “That’s fine, right Kazimir?” Whitney nudged the upyr and earned a glare that made his heart feel like it’d jumped into his throat.

  “Bless you ten times over!” She went to hug Kazimir, but the man’s demeanor was enough to scare off a starving Westvale whore. She settled for a bow.

  “You have no idea how much this means to us,” she said. “And it’ll do good for Whitney to have such fine gentleman as you. Especially with his father…” She paused, and her enthusiasm faded. “Well, anyway… I’ll talk to Rocco about the details. For now, there’s more than enough room in the barn, and I’ll set down blankets. Sorry we don’t have more.”

  “We’ve slept on worse.” Whitney grinned, and she did the same though hers brimmed with sadness.

  “Path of least resistance, right?” Whitney said, pleased with himself as she waddled away back to the house. “What can be more simple and boring than farming? It’s why I left to find some excitement.”

  Kazimir grimaced, said nothing, and headed off toward the barn. Whitney all but patted himself on the back. If Elsewhere wanted to try and throw him, he was up for the challenge. He could play the good guy in their game until he found a way out of this gods-forsaken place.

  XI

  THE DESERTER

  “What will ye do?” Sigrid asked.

  She and Rand sat side by side in the mouth of an alley at the end of the docks, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. They were at their favorite spot in Autlas’ Inlet, named after the first King of Glass. Once home to the wealthy and influential of the city, the area was destroyed by a storm off the Torrential Sea the likes of which none had seen since. Those who survived moved to higher ground, taking up residence in the district just beyond the castle walls in what is known as Old Yarrington. Now surrounded by the slums of Dockside, the homage to the Father of Glass was one small step away from insulting.

  In the warmer months, Gunter, a merchant old as the docks themselves, worked a stand behind them. He peddled the best mussels this side of the gorge and likely beyond. Rand wouldn’t know. He’d never traveled so far. He used to toss them one every day when they were children. Now Gunter wanted coin like everyone else.

  He’d been Wearer of White, but he’d never been anywhere. Given the highest honor the Kingdom offered someone without a noble name, yet he’d only seen their little corner.

  He sneezed. On top of it all, he felt as if he was coming down with sickness.

  A stiff breeze blew in from the ocean, carrying flurries of snow with it. Tall waves from the Torrential Sea broke against jetties at the mouth of the inlet, tossing ships in the ice-cold water within. Most belonged to the Glass Kingdom, but there was an unusual number of longboats moored along the curved docks. Glassmen from Crowfall and further north would see those square, patterned sails and pointed prows bearing the imagery of the Buried Goddess carved into the wood and fear for their lives. They were the ships of Drav Cra raiders and having never been farther north than Westvale, Rand had never seen them before.

  Presently, one sailed in from the darkness of the sea before them. A fur-clad warrior at the bow barked orders to more than a dozen rowers. Their shields hung along the sides of the hull, painted in all manner of heathen imagery.

  It had always been custom for Liam’s training Shieldsmen to be sent north to protect towns against Drav Cra raiders, but as peace painted the land and the Glass grew stronger, there’d been fewer raiding parties to defend against. When Uriah Davies wore the helm, he’d been known to still send his men into the cold to test their mettle—but Torsten had been too preoccupied with a dying king to focus much on his men.

  Rand didn’t blame the man—after all, look at what he himself had accomplished during his tenure as Wearer serving under the foreign Queen Oleander. Nothing but murder. She was one of the northerners in another life after all.

  After Liam's illness became visible and he was kept within the castle to maintain appearances, and Sir Uriah disappeared, Rand started to hear tales of the Drav Cra returning to their old ways. The heathens had once again begun looting, raping, and pillaging as much as they could manage before vanishing to return to their tundra in ships just like the one before him. Rand knew it was true because half the uprooted refugees wound up in Dockside after their homes were torched.

  If Wren could be believed, these Drav Cra killers were now taking up residence in the very castle Rand swore to protect.

  “Rand,” Sigrid said, tearing Rand from his reverie.

  “Sorry.” Rand shook out his head. “It’s just those ships; I’m not used to seeing them here.”

  “Yer just noticing, are ye?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Been getting worse for a month now, brother. They come into the Maiden’s Mugs, trying to trade trinkets for ale or just slamming down an axe. We're all too scared to ask for autlas.”

  Rand shivered as the wind picked up.

  “Here,” Sigrid said. She went to share more of the blanket with him, but he pushed it back.

  “I’m fine,” he said, sneezing again.

  His hands would tremble regardless, his body desperate for a drink. His head throbbed as well. It’d been so long since he allowed himself to feel anything, he almost welcomed the pain to accompany his sore throat.

  “Ye ain’t fine,” she said. “If Wren didn’t show when he did ye’d have—”

  “But he did,” Rand interrupted before she could remind him.

  “Was a miracle, it was.”

  “It was an old man come calling at a lucky hour.” He didn’t even know why he was being so stubborn. He too had wondered whether Iam’s hand had intervened.

  “Is that all ye’d call it?”

  “No,” he said, then pulled a bit of the blanket over him and scooted closer to his sister. “A reminder, maybe. That the vow to take the Shield is one made for life, and I turned my back on it. I should have been killed the moment that happened, but Sir Unger never lost faith, even though I had.”

  “Ye aren’t considering going back for true, are ye?”

  Rand hung his head. He couldn’t help but picture Torsten chained up in a dungeon like an animal. “I don’t know.”

  “After the things ye did? All they made ye do? I spent months keeping Sir Unger away from ye, brother. Look at what they done to ye.” She clasped one of his hands in both of hers. “I know it was Wren the Holy they sent this time, but they don’t deserve ye.”

  Although Rand knew the love with which they were offered, the words stung him harder than a slap in the face. “Torsten Unger was the most honorable man I ever met in that gods-forsaken castle. Perhaps he is the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”

  “Where was he when the Queen Mother started hanging everyone in her way?”

  “Doing whatever it took to serve the kingdom the right way.”

  She squeezed his hands tighter. “Iam gave ye a second chance. Don’t throw it away acting as their murdering thug. Let’s leave all of it behind. Leave this place, go somewhere south where it’s warmer.”

  “With all my heart, I wish I could.”

  “So, yer going back?”

  “It’s my duty; I’m just… I’m not sure I can do what they need me to.”

  “Of course, ye can’t. Ye ain’t a killer, Rand, I don’t care who they're needing to die. Ye never have been. Ye joined them to protect people, just like ye’ve always looked out for me.”

  “Not recently.” He turned and looked straight into her eyes. She looked so much like their mother. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek as she stared back. She released his hands so she could wipe it away, then turned to snivel.

  “For the first time in months, I don’t feel like yer a stranger. I don’t
want them to destroy the good man ye are again.”

  “I can never bring back those who died so senselessly, but if I have a chance to help bring them justice? The chance to stop the person behind all of this?”

  “Rand, I won’t stop ye, but—”

  The blanket snapped from off their shoulders. Rand whipped around to see a group of three Drav Cra men. Their skin was white as the snow falling around them. Thick, braided beards dropped from their chins, getting lost in the gray pelt of their furs.

  The biggest of them scrutinized the ratty blanket. “No wonder why so many of you Glassmen freeze in the deep winter.” He laughed. The others joined him.

  “Such a pretty thing under there though,” another said, gawking at Sigrid. He was gaunt with a sharp, hawkish nose permanently broken in two places.

  “Give it back,” Sigrid demanded.

  “And such fire too.”

  “I think you fellows are lost.” Rand stood and positioned himself in front of his sister. His heart began to race, reminding him how sore his ribs were from nearly hanging to death.

  “Damn right we are,” the big one said. “We just sailed in at Drad Skaardi’s request expecting to see the grand city of Yarrington, and all I see is yig and shog.”

  “Except you, little lady,” the hawkish one said. “I hear southern ladies’ll do anything.”

  “If you’re looking for women, I suggest you head down the other end of Dockside,” Rand said. “Valin Tehr runs a brothel called the Vineyard where you could get whatever you can imagine.”

  “Oh, but I never had much of an imagination,” he said, taking a step closer. “I want her. She looks so… ripe.”

  The man grabbed Sigrid’s arm. Rand shoved him away.

  “Don’t touch her!” he snapped. A few locals strolled by, glancing over, but otherwise minding their own business. That was how things were in Dockside. Nobody got involved in another’s business unless they were left with no other choice. As for guards, they were rarely seen. It was why Rand joined the King’s Shield in the first place. To try and make the forgotten corner of Yarrington he grew up in a better place.