Rift (31 page)

A place where blood had been shed. That’s what the prisoner told her to seek if she wanted to find his master.

She’d visited the prisoner each day since the Circle had gathered. Making her trips to the stockade when her peers had already sought their beds, she’d taken care that her conversations with the wild man were witnessed by no one.

His words were always strange, sometimes frightening. But the more she spoke with him, the more convinced she became that investigating the truth of his claims herself was the only course of action possible. That conclusion had led her here, to a lonely hilltop where a wicked man had taken an innocent life in the hopes of coaxing an evil creature into his service. Such incidents were often those that incited the Guard’s trips into the field. More often than not, they arrived too late to prevent bloodshed, using the evidence of nefarious deeds to pursue the sorcerer who’d perpetrated such evils.

Conatus punished those who summoned darkness into the world, but they’d found no way to stem the flow of nightmarish beasts. That was why Eira made her way through the thick swirls of mist, seeking the lonely cairn.

Her mare, silver-white like the mist, snorted, pawing at the earth. Eira reined in Geal and dismounted. Animals always sensed the presence of evil, even the echoes of wicked deeds long past. The warlock had taken his victim’s life more than two months prior, but Eira’s steed still tossed her head and shied when Eira tried to lead her toward the pile of stones cloaked by the damp, gray air.

Geal suddenly reared, giving a piercing whinny of protest. Muttering a curse, Eira searched the hillside until she found the bone-white trunk of a dead pine on the ground a short distance from the cairn. She tied the horse to the dried wood and returned to the cairn on her own.

She gazed at the stones for several minutes. Her pulse was uncomfortable, drumming through her veins, reminding her that despite her decision to come here, she remained unsettled by the choice. What she had to do next didn’t ease her mind.

Gritting her teeth, Eira drew her dagger and laid it against her palm.

He is waiting. Your blood will call him forth.

She’d questioned the wild man incessantly on this point. How could her blood bring forth anything? From what Conatus had learned of dark magics, at the least she’d expected to sacrifice an animal and chant an invocation, but the prisoner had laughed at her doubts.

Your blood will call him.

Eira turned the edge of the blade on her skin. With a single, swift stroke she opened her flesh. Crimson liquid welled up, spilling over her hand. She watched her blood drip to the earth in front of the cairn, half wondering if some hideous creature would burst from the soil in the hopes of devouring her.

Nothing happened. Eira heard Geal stirring where she was tethered. The mist continued to swirl around her. Doubts built in her mind, eroding the confidence that had driven her here. Why had she listened to the words of a man so clearly mad? It was no wonder the others had rejected her pleas at the Circle’s meeting.

Eira pulled a length of clean linen from where she’d tied it on her belt. She was about to bind her sliced palm when a voice filtered through the mist.

“You won’t need to do that.”

She spun around, dagger held low. “Who’s there?”

A tall figure loomed, its features obscured by the mist. “I thought you were expecting me.”

Eira shuddered. Whatever she’d anticipated, it hadn’t been this. The voice that addressed her was rich and smooth and spoke with far too much confidence.

“May I approach?” The speaker sounded amused.

Taking a few steps back so she could use the cairn as a shield if needed, Eira called, “Show yourself.”

As if it had been commanded, the mist parted to reveal a tall man. He was dressed in simple but finely made garb: a heavy, dark cloak over a plain linen shirt and leather chausses. From what Eira could see, he bore no weapons.

He tilted his head, regarding Eira with a slight smile. His face wasn’t unpleasant, but Eira wouldn’t have called the man handsome. There was too much haughtiness carved into his aquiline features, and the turn of his lips hinted of disdain. His hair fell to his shoulders, sleek and darker than the richest earth.

“My lady.” He addressed her with the semblance of respect but in contrast to the groveling prisoner offered no bow or even the slightest inclination of his head. Eira had the sense that this man deferred to no other.

When she didn’t respond, his smile twisted. “Will you hide behind those stones all day?”

Eira grimaced. “You speak as if we’re not strangers. As if you weren’t summoned by blood.”

“Blood is natural as water,” the stranger said. “It’s simply more personal. How would I have known it was you waiting for me without such an intimate offering?”

“It was no offering.” Eira shuddered at the suggestion. “I’m only here to learn who or what you are.”

“Very well.” He shrugged. “But your hostility is unwarranted. Here—let me see to your hand.”

When he spoke, the cut in Eira’s palm throbbed. She glanced down only to see fresh blood welling from her sliced flesh.

“A gesture of goodwill,” he said softly. “Come to me.”

Her eyes ran up and down the stranger once more. She was still unable to see any weapons, nor did she sense imminent attack. Danger, yes. Danger hung in the air around her, thicker than the mist. And yet she moved slowly toward him, keeping her dagger ready.

If he attacks,
she told herself,
I’ll have no trouble slicing his throat. Closeness means equal risk for both of us.

When she was within striking distance, she paused.

“Your hand,” he said, offering his own to her.

With her right hand gripping her dagger tight, Eira extended her left hand toward him. She fought the instinct to jerk back when he touched her, though his skin was warm and he handled her injured palm gently. For a moment he simply looked at the wound, watching as blood pooled in her cupped palm.

His sigh sounded regretful as he dipped his fingers into the blood, tracing the line of her sliced flesh. His touch caused her no pain, but heat spread through her hand, tingling up her arm and into her chest.

When he let go of her hand, Eira gasped. The blood was gone. As was the deep cut. No evidence of the injury remained, not even the hint of a scar.

“Who are you?” Eira breathed, gazing at her unmarked flesh.

“An ally,” he said quietly. “One who would aid you in your cause.”

She frowned, tearing her eyes from her palm to peer at his face. “Do you have a name?”

“In my own lands I go by a name that your tongue cannot utter,” he told her. “Here I am called Bosque Mar.”

“Lord Mar,” Eira said, betting the stranger’s air of self-importance would mean that addressing him with respect was likely to elicit the most information. “I am Eira. A servant of Conatus.”

As she expected, his eyes lighted at the form of address. “I know who you are, Eira. And I would hardly call you a servant. You are a warrior. A leader of men. Destined for greatness.”

Her skin prickled. “How do you know me?”

“I have many eyes in this world,” Bosque told her. “And I’ve learned much. All of which has led me to you.”

“Why?”

“I would prefer to show you,” he said. “Will you ride with me?”

Out of the mist another shape took form. A tall horse approached Bosque on silent hooves. Eira took a step back from the creature. To all outward appearances it looked like a stallion, but she knew it was no true horse. The beast’s sleek black coat was alive, moving as if born of shadow. Its eyes were black as coal, but within their depths burned a sickly green light.

“Where are we going?” Eira asked.

“A place familiar to you,” Bosque said. In a single, smooth motion he was astride the shadow horse.

Eira glanced into the mist. Somewhere behind this gray veil, Geal was tethered. She considered the weight of the dagger in her hand. With one blow she could dispatch this man called Bosque, ridding the world of whatever threat he might pose. But he’d yet to show any intent to harm her. Through some unknown magic he’d healed her wound.

“Very well.” She went to find her mare.

Bosque’s voice trailed after her. “You’ll need to calm your steed. It will likely find both me and my horse . . . unsettling.”

Eira had already anticipated such a reaction from Geal, but the horse had an obedient disposition, and while the mare balked as the tall rider and his dark mount emerged from the mist, she didn’t offer unmanageable resistance. As long as Eira permitted Geal a wide berth from Bosque’s shadow horse, the mare heeded her commands.

Bosque led the way, guiding his horse even deeper into the mist along the ridge of the hilltop.

“You speak of your lands.” Eira spoke carefully. “Where are they?”

“My world lies behind the shadows of yours,” he said. “Separate, yet tied to it.”

“How is such a thing possible?” she asked.

He reined his horse closer to hers, which made Geal snort nervously.

“There are many worlds, many lands,” he told her. “Some call to one another. Such is the case with my world and yours.”

Eira frowned. “Call to one another?”

“When the needs of one world could be met by another, the two are drawn together.” His voice was reverent. “Like attracts like.”

The mist swirled around them, giving birth to haunting shapes that Eira tried hard to ignore.

“My home is sundered by war and death, much like this world is,” Bosque continued. “I am but one of many who long for order over the ruling chaos.” He turned in his saddle to look directly at her. “I am like you. Alone and in need of allies.”

Though her heart stuttered out of its rhythm, Eira feigned scorn. “You’ll understand my doubt of this claim. The man who sent me to you. Your servant. It was his forays into the occult that allowed striga to plague the Black Forest. Those creatures feed on innocents. On children.”

Bosque watched her, giving no indication of surprise.

Eira pulled her eyes from him. “I have sworn to rid this earth of such monsters. You and I are not alike.”

She was surprised when he laughed. “Oh, we are, Eira. You simply misunderstand me and the creatures I command.”

When she didn’t answer him, he said, “The monsters you seek out and kill to protect your people are sent here only by necessity.”

“And what necessity is that?” Eira glared at him.

“You are a warrior and a commander of warriors,” he answered. “As am I. The creatures you hunt are my soldiers.”

“Then why are they here?” she asked. “Is not the war in your own world, or has it spilled into mine?”

Bosque shook his head. “You’re right to question me. The war is being waged in my own lands, but the spaces by which I can bring my warriors into this world give me an advantage against my enemies.”

She cast a sidelong glance at him. “How so?”

“The creatures of my world take their sustenance from things other than flesh,” he said.

“The striga feed on flesh,” she countered.

Bosque offered her an indulgent smile. “Human flesh is only a small part of what striga need to survive. It is their victims’ terror upon which they truly feed.”

“Fear?” Eira’s chest tightened.

“Hence the reason they prefer to hunt children,” he told her. “Their fear is much stronger, purer. The fear of a grown man or woman is tainted by their mind’s attempts to rationalize the attack.”

She bristled at the casual way in which he discussed the murder of children.

“But striga are among the basest creatures I can command.” Bosque shifted in his saddle. “For this same reason they are more easily summoned by your feeble magicians, as are the spirits that revive corpses or the mischievous imps that gain strength from cruel tricks. They enter your world by my leave, and by my leave they serve men here.”

“Are you saying that the only reason these monsters cross over to our world is because they prefer the food here?” She wanted to gag. For the entire mission of Conatus to be reduced to a matter of predators and prey seemed like sacrilege.

“Perhaps it’s too much of a simplification,” Bosque said. “But in some ways, yes.”

“Is that what happened to the people of Dorusduain?” Eira asked. “Has an entire village filled the bellies of your beasts?”

Bosque smiled slowly. “No. Dorusduain is a lesson . . . and an unfinished one at that.”

“I tire of your riddles.” Filled with disgust, Eira reined in her mare. “We have nothing more to discuss. How dare you insult me by rendering the world I’ve sworn to protect into cattle for your wolves to slaughter!”

He pulled up his mount. “Please, Eira. You misunderstand me. I only offer this poor explanation in order to reveal to you how it might end.”

Her resolve to quit this meeting slackened. “End?”

“You and I contend with each other when we would do better to unite our efforts,” he told her. “The truth is we want the same thing.”

“And what is that?” Eira asked.

“To win our wars.”

“My war seeks the destruction of your minions,” she countered.

“Does it?” He smiled. “Or is there another war better suited to your nature?”

Bosque waved his hand and the mist parted. She couldn’t help but gasp at the impossible sight before her. No longer riding on the ridge in the hills above Tearmunn, she saw the last curls of mist floating above a sun-drenched field. Peasants were at work in the soil, preparing for the spring planting. Their horses stood on a wide path that curved up to an imposing manor.

Eira gripped the reins, trying to calm herself. A ride that should have taken all day had somehow passed in less than an hour.

“I apologize if I’ve shocked your senses,” Bosque said. “I merely wanted to save us the trouble of a long journey.”

“You travel through the threads of the earth?” Eira asked slowly. “As we do?” She hadn’t seen the shimmering light of a woven portal, but perhaps its presence had been shrouded in the heavy mist.

“No,” Bosque answered. “I cannot open such doors. But there are other doors available to me. Sadly, my talent for travel is limited. I can only pass through them with the one who has called me here, as my presence here is tethered to that person. Conatus has the power to move armies at a moment’s notice. An enviable skill indeed.”