A Rising Storm Read online

  “Mayo–” Rishima began. “Teortic. Now how long have we known each other? Even if I weren’t a spiritist, I would still have been able to tell that something is bothering you.”

  “Rishima,” he said softly. “It is your special day. Now is not the time for such—”

  “Now is precisely the time,” Bella cut in, leaning forward in her seat. “Mayor, the union between Rishima and myself is about much more than just a single day’s celebration. Our duty to this region is to be absolute and without question. We are here to serve you, not the other way around. You have our full attention. I am asking you to speak freely.” Rishima raised her eyebrows in mild surprise but said nothing, then looked at the mayor expectantly.

  “Well, since you put it that way,” said the mayor, tugging at the bottom of his coat. “It might be nothing at all, mind you.”

  “That is for us to determine,” Bella was quick to point out.

  “Er...of course. Well, it appears as if some of the townsfolk have gone...missing.”

  “Missing?” Rishima repeated, her brow furrowing with concern. “How exactly is that nothing? That sounds quite serious.”

  “Well, we’re not sure of anything just yet,” the mayor reassured her, wagging his hands dismissively. “It is not all that unusual for townsfolk to leave the mountains and travel to other, larger cities to barter, or even just for a change of scenery. It’s just that if they did, it doesn’t appear that they told anybody. I find that somewhat concerning, to say the least.”

  “Has anyone spoken to the people of Langdale, Westwend, or any of the other surrounding towns?” Rishima asked.

  “No, Moon Mistress. But like I said, it might be nothing.”

  “Or it might be something,” Rishima said sharply. “Send riders to each of your neighboring towns. Instruct them to return by nightfall with whatever information they have. I want a full report by tonight.”

  “But...but today we celebrate your union.” He turned away briefly to glance at the festivities. The air was thick with the sounds of flutes and fiddles. “Surely this can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Shall I send the riders myself?” Bella asked, rising from her seat.

  “No, no. Of course not,” he said, clasping his hands together with a quick shake. “I will see to it at once.”

  “Rest assured, Mayor,” Rishima said. “If it were you who had gone missing, I would not hesitate to take action because of a celebration, or any other reason.”

  “Er…yes, of course, Moon Mistress.” He bobbed his head several times while backing away, then rushed off to ready a team.

  * * *

  The torturer turned his wheel yet another inch. It creaked with tension, followed by the snapping sound of crunching bones. Owen’s face twitched ever so slightly, his blank stare fixed on the other side of the room. With his hand clamped tight in the thumbscrew, several of the bones were already broken.

  It was a slow process, and the patient torturer had been at it for hours now. He was in no hurry, but was still growing rather frustrated by this man’s inhuman residence to pain. Not once had his victim cried out or shown any signs of breaking, and it was actually getting physically hard to keep turning the wheel. Was he going to have to flatten this man’s hand completely, turning the bones into powder? It was starting to seem like it.

  A trickle of sweat ran down from Owen’s temple. He took his eyes off the wall and glanced down at his hand, the tips of his fingers purple and swollen with blood. He knew the extent of what he was looking at. Without some sort of magical healing, this hand would never hold a sword again. “What are ye waiting for?” Owen grumbled, glancing up to look the torturer square in the eye. “Go on, then. When you’re done there I got another for ye.” Cuffed to a chair, a chain jingled when he lifted his other hand.

  “How many times do we have to tell you we’re not working with the ghatins?” Liam mumbled through bloody lips from across the room. Face swollen, both eyes nearly closed, the man was almost unrecognizable. “What will it take to convince you?”

  The torturer covered the room’s distance in three strides and drove a fist into Liam’s gut. “Start telling the truth and maybe I’ll be convinced,” he growled. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t really matter whether they openly confessed or not. His job was to eventually break them and force a confession. They didn’t have to mean the words, they just had to say them.

  After slamming Liam in the gut a second time, the torturer marched over to the corner and snatched a thick piece of wood. Raising it above his head, he suddenly turned and raced back towards Owen. The hunter closed his eyes, expecting to have his skull crushed in. But instead of dying, he heard the wood crash against the floor in front of him. Eyes bulged, chest heaving in and out, the torturer stood before him holding the remaining stump in his hand. Shattered pieces of wood lay all around his feet.

  “Oh no, Demon Hunter,” he said, eyeing the stump in his hand before tossing it aside. “You’re not getting off that easy.” He reached down and picked up one of the wood shards, pinching it between two fingers. “You and I have only just begun.” He passed the shard in front of Owen’s eyes before dropping to one knee. With Owen’s hand still trapped in the thumbscrew, he carefully inserted the tip under the nail of his index finger.

  Slowly at first, he began to twist and push as the sliver slipped in, its dark shadow creeping beneath the nail. Owen blinked as a single tear rolled from the corner of his eye. “Confess,” the torturer growled, already reaching for another shard.

  “I’ve done nothing but serve as protector to the realm,” Owen said, his voice rock steady. “If that is my crime, then I do indeed confess. If not,” he rolled his eyes back to look at his tormentor, “then I guess ye have a lot more work to do.”

  Enraged, the torturer took the second shard and jammed it underneath the nail of Owen’s middle finger. When it could go no farther, he wrenched it up in an attempt to pry off the nail altogether. The shard snapped instead, leaving the dark tip wedged in place. Normally this was all a careful process in order to draw out the suffering, but Owen’s defiance had pushed him too far. He wanted the hunter to know immediate suffering.

  He snatched another shard and wedged it hard beneath the nail of Owen’s ring finger. With a lift, the nail crackled and popped halfway free, save for a piece of skin still partially holding it in place. That time the hunter winced and closed his eyes. It was just about the first time he had shown any sign of emotion.

  “Stop this madness!” Liam shouted, struggling against his bonds.

  “I’ll stop when he confesses!” the torturer roared, grabbing yet another shard. This one he worked underneath the hunter’s pinky nail and began lifting in short jerks. He had been too savage on the last two. This time he would work his technique, savoring every minute. But in the end it didn’t really matter. The hunter still had a whole second hand and ten toes if needed. After that, the torturer might be forced to get more creative. At least...he certainly hoped it would go that far.

  “Enough,” came a call from the top of the steps. The torturer looked at Owen, whose face was red but his expression was still plenty calm. He tore the shard free, leaving his pinky nail plenty mangled. Down the steps stomped King Milo. Despite the fact that these two were the ones being tortured, the king himself looked ragged and worn, as if he hadn’t slept in days. No doubt the people in the streets, chanting day and night for redemption for what had happened in this city, were starting to really take a toll.

  “Leave us,” he said, flicking his wrist at the torturer without looking at him. Obeying immediately, he flashed one last glare at Owen before heading back up the steps.

  “Is it your turn to have a go at us?” Owen asked, even managing a weak grin. But his laugh came out as a wheeze before he started coughing.

  “Silence,” Liam insisted, wishing that the hunter would stop antagonizing everyone for just a moment. This was the king, after all. Perhaps he had finally come to his senses.
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  “I hear you two still have not confessed. Is that correct?” the king asked, pacing back and forth across the room without looking at either of them.

  “That is correct, Your Majesty,” Liam said, quickly talking over Owen before he could do any further damage to their case. “And that is because nothing has changed. We were innocent when you captured us, we were innocent even as you had us tortured, and we are innocent now. And nothing you do to us is going to change that fact.” Liam glared at the king through swollen eyes. “But you already know that, don’t you?” Given Liam’s past experience with questioning prisoners, he had learned to tell whether someone was lying, or even just not telling the whole truth. He could read the king’s face just like a book.

  The king shuffled his feet briefly, then continued pacing the length of the room. “You should have confessed by now,” the king said, ignoring Liam’s accusation. “Why must you make this harder than it has to be?”

  “Because we’re innocent,” Owen growled. The fingertips on his crushed hand were bleeding profusely, but he hardly seemed to notice. “And even if you were to beat a confession out of us, you would know it was false.”

  “Irrelevant.” The king waved his hand, not in the mood for any lecture on morals. “Had you confessed, it would have been nothing more than a minor sacrifice for the greater good. You of all people, hunter, should understand that.”

  “Don’t ye be preaching to me about sacrifice, king,” Owen growled back. “I’ve lost more in the line of duty than you will ever know.”

  “And yet I’m afraid you stand to lose just a little more,” the king answered. “Day and night I hear them chant, hear them call for blood. It never stops!” He bent at the knees and clamped his hands to his ears as if reacting to the sounds that only he could hear. “They blame me. Me! As if I alone had the means to stop those damned creatures. How was I to know?! How was I to—”

  The king rose back to his full height and began smoothing his hands down his front. “I must end this now or it will never stop.”

  “You must release us,” Liam said. “I am truly sorry for what happened in your city, but you must know by now that we are not responsible. Even partially contained, the ghatins are a formidable enemy. You’ve seen firsthand what they can do. Imagine what will happen if they ever get free? We have to get to Viola. We must find a way to protect her or—” He swallowed the rising lump in his throat. This reality was so much bigger than the value of his own life. “Or you will no longer recognize the world we live in. Your Majesty, you must release us.”

  The king sighed as he backed against the wall, his gaze drifting upward. He really did look worn out. “You act as if it were up to me,” he said, closing his eyes. “I rule this kingdom, yet it feels as if it’s been a long time since I had control over anything. I was practically helpless when those creatures attacked my city. And now that the people want revenge for the deaths of their loved ones, I find myself in a similar situation. I cannot bring back the lives they have lost, nor do I have any way to defeat the ones responsible for this tragedy.” He opened his eyes and turned his head. “But I can give them the next best thing. If blood is what they want, then they shall have it.”

  “So you plan to execute us in order to silence the mob,” Owen grunted.

  “Hung, specifically,” the king admitted. “Your days were numbered anyway, hunter. How long did you think you would last in your chosen profession? Sooner or later you would fall at the hands of a demon. Even you can’t kill them all. At least this way your death will have meaning. There is honor in that, yes? With their taste for blood quenched, the men and women of this city will finally be able to move on and begin rebuilding their lives. You speak of sacrifice? Then let this be your last.” The king pushed off the wall and turned to leave.

  “It won’t end here,” Liam said, his heart sinking. “Executing us will do nothing more than buy you a little more time.”

  The king stopped and looked back. “For someone as intelligent as you claim to be, Liam, it seems to me that you know nothing of how the world works. Only time, you say? Gaining time is the only objective of any decision I have ever made. In the end we are all dead men, and that is the only thing that separates the two of us. Time...” He glanced at Owen, then looked down at his hand. “I’ll send for a healer. When it’s time to meet your fate, you shall do it whole. After all, I wouldn’t want you to die thinking I am completely heartless.”

  Chapter 8

  Lying on his straw bed, Xavier listened to the chirping crickets as they sang their song into the night. He tried to sleep, but his senses only heightened with the effort, his ears absorbing every little sound the night could produce. It didn’t matter, though. His overactive mind wasn’t about to let him sleep tonight, anyway. Even though time moved differently here in Darkwell, a part of him actually felt guilty for trying to sleep. After all, he could do nothing to help Viola while he slept.

  But he couldn’t sleep because all he could think about was the upcoming ritual. What had he gotten himself into? He would do anything to help Viola, but there was just so much mystery surrounding the choice he had made. I must warn you. If I do this, there is no going back. You will be changed forever. But you will also know power like no other from your world. The choice is yours. Xylia’s words haunted him, but no more than his own words did.

  There is no choice.

  “There is no choice,” he whispered in the darkness, trying to reaffirm his decision. What would become of him once he had received this gift? Was it all just some ancient trick, a story passed down for so long that folk no longer questioned it?

  A light knock at the door prompted him to sit up. The door creaked open and in walked a girl holding a lantern. “Briana?” Xavier said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He recognized the girl who had practically nursed him back from the dead. He could not recall if he had seen her since that first day.

  Girl? No. He couldn’t be certain, but from what he knew about how time moved in this place, this girl was probably several hundred years old. It wasn’t the sort of thing one would ever suspect under normal circumstances, of course. But now that he understood the nature of this place, it seemed rather obvious to him. Her mature eyes held the calm wisdom of a woman many times her apparent age.

  “How are you feeling?” Briana asked, closing the door behind her.

  “As good as I’ve felt since I got here,” Xavier assured her. It was true enough. After a few days’ rest, his body felt much stronger, even if he wasn’t sleeping all that well.

  “I’m glad to hear you are feeling better.” She just stood there looking at him for a time, the light from her lantern casting shadows across her ageless face. If not for those perceptive eyes filled with wisdom and knowledge far beyond one so young, he might have guessed her to be even younger than himself.

  Xavier nodded, understanding her hesitant silence. “It is time?” he asked, not really needing an answer.

  “Yes,” she affirmed, but still seemed hesitant. “They are waiting.”

  “But?”

  “But...” She hesitated again. “But not everyone is pleased with our elder’s decision to grant you the gift of the ancients. You are...”

  “An outsider,” Xavier finished her sentence. “And for that alone, I may as well be from another world altogether.”

  “Make no mistake, Xavier. You are from another world.” She turned away. “Prepare yourself in any way you see fit. We will be waiting outside.”

  “I know I am,” he said softly as the door clicked shut. It was true. Other than being human, he had nothing in common with these folk. His short lifespan would be nothing more than a blink of an eye to any of them. These people had relationships, bonds of friendship that would outlast him by several lifetimes. He could certainly understand where they were coming from. Why him, after all? Why was he chosen and not one of them?

  Sitting on the bed, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to focus his mind. But wh
y should any of that concern him? This was not about them. Heck, it wasn’t even about him. He was simply doing what needed to be done. If Owen had taught him anything at all, it was to always capitalize on an advantage, no matter what form it came in. This lesson held true on the battlefield as well as everyday life.

  He opened his eyes. Time to do what needs to be done. Done stalling, he stepped across the room and swung open the door. Overwhelmed for a moment, he stood frozen in the doorway.

  A sea of men and women stared back at him, each wearing the same emotionless expressions. He didn’t even think there were this many people in the whole village. Torch flames danced and sparked, their crackling hiss far louder than they should have been given the amount of people scattered about. Xavier couldn’t decide which he found more disturbing, what seemed to be a hundred blank stares boring into him like knives, or the impossible silence given how many were here.

  He made his way through the crowd to go stand before Xylia, but could still feel their cold stares on the back of his head. Twisted and bent, she leaned on a walking stick while giving him a sideways glance. Four other elders stood around her, three men and one woman. Although they appeared to be nowhere near as ancient as she, the white-haired elders were still plenty old by any standard.

  “I offer you one last chance to turn away from this,” Xylia said, keeping her voice low. “We can still provide you with a horse and send you on your way if you wish. It is not too late to—”

  “I find it odd that I need to keep repeating myself,” Xavier shot back. Unlike Xylia, he made no effort to keep his voice down. “More than once I’ve given you my answer, yet you seem to believe I am still undecided.” His eyes flickered towards Briana, who was standing off to the side. “Is there something else you would want to tell me? I understand that there may be a problem.”

  “There is no problem,” Xylia said, this time allowing her voice to carry. She stood up as straight as she could. “I am the village Elder, and my word is final. True, not everyone agrees with my decision to let an outsider be the focus of our most ancient ritual. But that means little to me. They do not have to like all my choices, but they must still respect them. That is the law here. So as I said, there is no problem.”