The Rising Tide Read online

  The Riftkeeper Legacy Book 3:

  THE RISING TIDE

  by Sarah Stirling

  Prologue

  “There’s going to be storm tonight.”

  Water dripped from the sails, pattering against his head as Johan stretched out his stiff limbs. The cold had its way of seeping into his bones, leaching away warmth bit by bit until it had stolen command of his entire body. His knuckles protested his grip on the rope as he adjusted the sails, just enough so that it hit the air current at the right angle, and he planted a boot against the mast to keep his balance as a gust of wind crashed into him. The bitter gales creeping in from the south could cut one in two, shrieking through the rippling cloth overhead.

  “When is there not a storm on this godforsaken ocean?” he grumbled to Linn, pausing to catch his breath. The rain started in earnest, slanting sideways with the wind, and he wiped at his eyes, tasting salt on his chapped lips.

  “Tell me about it. I swear when we reach land I’m going to bow down and kiss it.”

  Johan snorted. “Aye, just like you kiss the commander’s boots.”

  Linn jabbed him in the arm, just shy of friendly. Despite the sting he maintained his composure. Someone taking the time to converse with him at all on these long, laborious days at sea was a boon to savour – he’d gain nothing from showing any sign of weakness that these men would prey upon like sharks snatching up the hapless birds cruising the surface of the sea for their dinner.

  “Ah, I might actually see home for the first time in two years. What a sight Ma will be. And her cooking.” He shook his head, bald head slick and gleaming with rainwater. “Can’t remember the last time I had a decent kareek stew.”

  Such thoughts were almost dangerous, out here amongst the endless rolling ocean. Johan’s empty belly growled with the thought of food that wasn’t dried meat of an indiscriminate animal or ship’s biscuits hard enough to crack his teeth on and found drool welling up in his mouth. He drowned the thought, slipping and sliding across the deck with the rain pelting his face. There was no joy in returning to the continent for him. There was nowhere for Johan to go. One piece of land hardly looked that different from another in the grand scheme of things and in the end it did not change the same slew of orders barked from the mouths of whatever eager military career was looking to make a name for themselves.

  “What’s your wager, then?” he called up to Linn behind him as he descended below decks, heading for the galley to scrounge whatever the hard-faced galley master would be willing to part with. “Biscuits with maggots or biscuits with roaches? Personally I’m hoping for the latter, just for that extra crunch.”

  “You forgot the ones that went black with grime. Remember when the old codger left them out to rot?”

  Johan wrinkled his nose. “Wasn’t likely to forget something like that, was I?”

  “Say, Jak, what’s it going to be this time? Help us settle a little wager, eh?”

  The decrepit old cook scowled at them, hunched over the galley stove with a permanent stoop hammered into his back. When he spoke spittle flew from his lips, his voice so paper thin Johan could barely make out a word he said. His bony arms pointed and jabbed the air but he hadn’t a clue as to what the old man meant by his gestures. Of course, there was only one reason why anyone would willingly spend time in the furnace of a room, other than to thaw the chill within, and that was to be handed a small wooden bowl. From a copper pot upon the stove Jak ladled a scoop of liquid, some of it sloshing over the sides onto his cupped hands.

  Hissing, Johan brought his hand to his mouth to lick up the spillage, unwilling to waste a single drop. Vaguely meaty in taste, it had been watered down until it was nothing but a thin and filmy soup. A few pieces of flesh bobbed in the muddy puddle of his bowl and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  “Linn!” called a group huddled around an upturned barrel, waving his companion over. “Come play cards.”

  Johan was under no illusion that he was invited so he plonked himself upon a stool and tipped the bowl up to his mouth, slurping it down as fast as humanly possible. A piece of bone snagged on his beard and he plucked it out, sucking up the taste of meat and grease that lingered, listening to the conversation growing louder and louder behind him. Captain Zanzeer’s men had picked up the game from the locals, it seemed, the three of them slapping cards down to a chorus of cries and jeers.

  “Rattlebones!”

  “That’s not how the game works, you bloody buffoon!”

  “What do you mean? I played this in a tavern with a whole table of Myrish seadogs. You telling me they don’t know their own game?”

  Johan shook his head, dropping the bone back into his bowl and licking his fingers one by one to savour every last morsel. It was no wonder they were obsessing over something as inane as a card game. Life at sea was so unbelievably boring. At least when he had been conscripted he had been given the choice to join the army and bypass the navy, or he probably would have been carted off to the witless house by this point.

  Feet thumped down the stairs. Muffled shouts and then, “All hands on deck! Storm’s a coming!”

  With a weary sigh, Johan abandoned his empty bowl and the trickle of warmth in his limbs, following the stomp of boots up onto the streaming deck, huge waves crashing against the side of the ship with a defiant roar. The ship lurched, knocking the oaf in front of him that belonged to Captain Zanzeer’s crew right into him. Hand gripping the rail, he held firm against the man’s bulk and then shoved both of them the last of the way onto the stage of their battle with the raging storm. Captain Zanzeer was already at the helm, barking orders over the howling wind, hands clasped behind him as if the weather was nothing but a slight annoyance.

  Aye, and he’s going to leave the hard work to us fools, he thought, fighting against the spray of salt stinging his eyes and skin. The ship rocked like a sailor on shore leave, nearly strong enough to knock him clean off his feet. Slipping and skating along, he joined Linn at the main mast, the effort of simply crossing the deck sucking the energy from him. Johan was reconsidering his position on kissing the ground the next time he saw it.

  “Get to work you yellow-bellied cowards! A little rain hurt no one!”

  Johan scrabbled in the rain, fingers so numb he couldn’t feel the texture of the wood beneath them, nor the burn of the rope, nor the cold needles of rain. As the waves climbed higher and higher until a great sweeping swell crashed over them, Johan held on tight and realised with the icy grip of fear that this was a lost cause. This kind of storm wasn’t something that could be weathered. This kind of storm was the kind that tossed the ship from wave to wave like a cat playing with a frantic mouse until it crushed it between its paws.

  Another wave tumbled over the deck, a shock to his senses. Water clogged his nostrils, blinding him, and the taste of salt rinsed his mouth until he was choking and gagging himself hoarse, knuckles locked tight around the rope. Screams could be heard over the pounding rain and the creaking of a ship about to crumble beneath the force of so much pressure. It was almost enough to make him just let go, fear stiffening up his limbs even worse than the cold. Of all the ways Johan had expected to go, this was not it.

  Cries for help came from indistinguishable locations, Johan struggling to orient himself as the water hit him from all directions. The next thing he knew the deck was the only thing in his vision and he hit it with a thump, air knocked from his lungs and quickly replaced with the ice cold shock of seawater. Rolling one way and then the other to the motion of the ship’s lurches, he snatched up the rope, grunting as his hands slid down its wet surface and burned the skin on his palms. More screams warbled from all around him and the wash of rain in his eyes and ears blinded him. He couldn’t breathe.


  There was a shuddering crack that Johan felt all the way down to his bones. The ship jerked so suddenly and severely that he lost grip of the rope, launched down the vertical slope of the deck with an alarming speed. His shoulder slammed into the railing and his mouth opened to scream only to choke on water flooding in all around him. He was sinking. Beneath the waves he struggled, limbs scrambling through the shock of the bitter cold of the water. It was so painful it was the only think he could think of, the fight to survive replaced with an endless chant in his mind of cold, cold, cold.

  With so much darkness surrounding him, Johan lost sense of where was up and where was down. His hands flailed, legs kicking out around him, lungs burning. If he didn’t get air he was going to drown, and quickly. He thought his lungs might explode, quivering with the desperate need for air. Help. Air. His brain was shutting down, black spots dancing before his blurry vision. Saltwater stung his eyes.

  Then from the darkness a thin strip of red light began to glow, drawing his attention. Pulling himself towards it through the water, he fought the light-headedness threatening to sink him, drawn towards the flash of colour. It had to be some kind of device to help the sailors back to the ship, or something of that nature. Maybe a rescue boat. His strokes swooped longer, legs kicking out with rapid flurries as his mouth parted in preparation for the breath he needed. Nearly there.

  The light grew brighter, until the ocean all around him shone with that vibrant red. He couldn’t see what it was, water distorting his vision, and the next thing he knew he was crashing into a tough, leathery hide that blended into the water. He nearly drew breath in his horror, trying to back away from whatever trap he had swam into, but there was no getting away from it, a strange, fleshy appendage wandering past his shoulder. In his mind something pulsed.

  Yield.

  One word. A command, ringing through his head.

  A red eye cracked open, a slitted pupil staring back.

  Johan sobbed and drew a lungful of water.

  Part One: The Freelands

  It was not until the first flake of snow melted on her cheek that Rook felt she was truly going home. A small flurry swirled on a wind cold enough to make her shiver. Cold enough that she nestled closer into her cloak to ward off the chill, laughing at Janus when he rubbed his hands together through the leather of his gloves and grumbled. The low season had not yet broken, but as she looked to a sombre sky of black clouds on the horizon, she could tell it would not be long. It was a relief to finally be free of the oppressive heat of the north, no longer sweating through her shirts, but she could already feel the anticipatory stiffness in her limbs as they remembered what a true low season on Rökkum could feel like, the way the cold seeped into her bones. Memories hovered over her head, as potent as the clouds heavy with the promise of precipitation.

  “You hail from the mountains, do you not?” she said with amusement. “Surely you are accustomed to a little cold.”

  “A little cold,” he echoed, steam curling from his lips.

  “This is nothing,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “You just wait until we get to Lyrshok.”

  “Need to get through Yuratsa first,” said Janus.

  “It’s not that bad here, is it? It’s kind of pretty.”

  At Janus’ raised brow she sighed. They had managed to secure passage to Grödak, the South Eastern island of the Myrliks, by offering to help out the crew of a merchant vessel. From there they had stolen away on another ship to get them to the island’s capital city of Yuratsa. Rook had been there before in her travels and the city was just as she remembered it, stark grey lines against a dark grey sky, capped with a smattering of white across the ridged roofs. But despite the dark look of the place, all towering pillars and pointed arches, gargoyles lurking on high with wicked expressions, there was a vibrancy to the city she had always enjoyed.

  Every morning and evening the bell would toll to signal the onset of dawn and dusk. Gradually the city would heat up with bodies, toing and froing through the wide streets pathed in dark cobbles. At this time of year, when the dark crept in and lingered for most of the hours of the day, coloured lanterns were strung from posts and shopfronts, beads of brilliant light against the bleak wash of the city. The streets were slick and shining from the morning’s rain, the lights reflecting in puddles like ink stains across canvas. The warm smell of sweet myllak wafted through the air from small carts, the small doughy treats with powdered sugar attracting the attention of Rook’s empty stomach.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Should we get some?”

  “Should find shelter first.”

  Rook sighed, shoulders deflating. On their journey Janus had been nothing but sullen and sour, skulking off at random times and leaving her to worry until he returned hours later, offering no explanation as to where he had been or what he had been doing. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand his need for privacy, the only thing that staid her tongue, but did he really need to leave her quite so much? It was starting to feel like perhaps he didn’t want to be around her, the self-doubt that had taken root in her only continuing to bloom the closer they came to her family home.

  As if to spite her the clouds opened and rained poured from the sky in a sudden torrent, drenching Rook through in a matter of moments. With a glance at a startled Janus she launched into a run, tearing off after the other citizens who were heading away from the docks into the various store fronts and houses. Water bounced off the streets, her boots wading through the streams running down the gentle slope the city was built upon. Her hair clung to her face, catching in her eyelashes, and she scraped it back to try and see but the city remained a waterlogged haze. She had no idea where they could go and she was quickly losing the ability to think it out, head numb from the icy water stripping out her body’s warmth. Spying a deep, shaded arch, she slammed into the wall of the building and pulled herself along its surface to hide away in the small alcove.

  Rain lashed against the roofs towering above them, tiles rattling and gutters groaning against the burden of the gushing rivers running down into their care. Through the splintered waterfall she was mostly sheltered from she saw Janus’ dark shape shimmer and then split the cascade down the middle until he was bundled up beside her. Rook shuddered, clothes wet and clinging to her frame. She wiped at her dripping nose and sniffed, the sound tumbling into a hapless laugh.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Janus glanced at her, a sorry looking cigarette drooping from his mouth. His finger danced over the lighter but it would draw no spark and what had started as a giggle turned into a full blown laugh. Spray from the downpour nipped at her eyes, leaving them stinging and raw, and she rubbed them dry as best as she could with a wet fist.

  “I think that might be a lost cause.”

  With a sigh Janus flung it to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. “Not the only one.”

  “What’s the matter with you? Have I done something to offend you?”

  For a second he looked surprised, blinking wet lashes, before he shook his head and buried his pink hands in the pockets of his coat. It dripped down onto the mostly dry stone beneath as he leant back against the door behind them. “Not you. Just, hm, everything.”

  “Everything?”

  They still hadn’t really spoken about all that had happened in Tsellyr. Not really. There was a lot he was hiding – things about that basement and Project Bluestone that the scientist had spoken of – but she hadn’t wanted to push him for fear of driving him away. He was a flighty creature, backing away like a timid woodland animal if she dared get too close. Still, there were questions to be asked, when the time came. If he would stick around to answer.

  When he finally spoke his voice was raspy. “Been looking for a way to change. Trying to find something to hold onto, you know?”

  Her gaze softened. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I get you.”

  As the rain continued to thunder against the streets, she let her head thunk back aga
inst the door with a sigh. Her clothes were uncomfortably heavy on her frame and she was looking forward to nothing more than peeling them off and taking a long bath. There was supposed to be natural hot springs somewhere in the city. Perhaps she could delay the inevitable for long enough to enjoy them before they departed for Lyrshok on the next ship leaving the city.

  “Your family,” he said suddenly. “Some are like you?”

  “You can say the word ‘beserker’. I won’t be offended.”

  He blinked at her and she exhaled, something between a sigh and a laugh. “Yes, there are some like me. My father, for one. He was the leader of the clan last time I checked. Truthfully I did not return after I left for the capital to train as a rift warden.”

  “Not close?”

  “Hm. Close means something a little different in their terms.” At his expression she shook her head. “It is hard to explain. They are a very firm and a very proud people. Open affection is not… considered the norm, I suppose. After I left to take up duties with The Order I was no longer welcome.”

  Janus nodded. “Think I got you.”

  “Oh? You were an outcast?” She tried to keep her tone casual, not too obviously probing.

  “Mm. Think the technical term is ‘deserter’.”

  “Ah. Right.”

  “Don’t mind if you ask.”

  Her head jerked up, eyes roaming over his profile as he pointedly did not look back. Water dripped from his flattened hair, down the bumpy ridge of his nose, then lips to chin. “Why did you desert?”

  “Didn’t agree with what they were doing. The people they hurt just to satisfy their own needs. Things I did because I was ordered to…” He shook his head, drops of water flying. “So I ran away. Ran from it all like a coward.”

  “Leaving doesn’t make you a coward.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “No?”

  “No.”

  “People got left behind.”