Sam Bowring
Destiny's Rift
The second book in the Broken Well Trilogy series
To my mother, Jane, who knows all about what it’s like to bring up creatures of shadow and light
Map
Prologue
Together they lay at the base of a tree, her head resting on his bare chest. They had only known each other a few days, yet already he felt entwined by her, his former life paled to grey memory. He worried that it was all a dream, that she might disappear into the trees as quickly as she’d arrived. Not to mention the other persistent worry …
‘What are you thinking about?’ she murmured, tangling her fingers in his beard.
‘I wonder if they search for me,’ said Corlas. ‘I was supposed to return to the Vale days ago.’
Mirrow sat up with a fiery look. ‘Return to the Vale?’
‘Aye. It gets noticed when a soldier disappears without explanation. Especially one high in the chain of command, as …’ As I was , he was going to say. Shouldn’t it be, as I am?
‘But you won’t go, will you?’
‘Not if you don’t want me to,’ he heard himself say, surprised by how naturally the answer came. Would he really abandon his post so readily, risking shame and punishment, for this girl he barely knew?
It seemed he would.
‘Good,’ she said, ‘because I don’t want you to. Wouldn’t you rather stay here with me?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and she kissed him. ‘But,’ he added, when there was time for breath, ‘are you sure that is what you want? You do not yet know me well.’
‘Shush now,’ she said. ‘I know you better than you think. I know you’re big and strong,’ she thumped his chest, ‘like a man should be. I know you’re brave, for you’re covered in scars. I know you are kind, for you’ve worried over my safety ever since I met you – even though your main worry seems to be that I feel safe with you . Which I do!’ She punched him on the arm and laughed. ‘See? Not going to strike me in return, are you?’
‘No,’ he chuckled.
‘And I know that you are one of my folk, even though you don’t think so. Just like the Lady said you would be.’
‘Who is she?’ he said. ‘This lady?’
‘The Lady of the Wood,’ said Mirrow, as if that explained everything. ‘She’s the one who called me here.’
‘That is how you came to live here all alone?’
Mirrow pursed her lips. ‘I used to live in a city somewhere. I was sold, as an orphan, to a travelling circus. Me, a freak just because of my pointy ears! They said they’d never seen someone with so much Sprite in them, charged gold for people to come and ogle me! Bah!’ Her eyes flashed angrily as she stared into the past. ‘We toured stinking cities of smoke and stone, and I hated being made to turn and twinkle on demand. Then one night, when we camped not far from the wood, I heard the Lady calling me home. I snuck away and came here, where I belong.’
‘How old were you?’
‘I don’t know. Little enough that I didn’t have these!’ She squeezed one of her breasts and laughed.
It was all very mysterious, and Corlas never really got a clear answer from her.
‘So you’ll be my husband then?’ she asked, not making it sound like a question.
‘I will. Though I do not know who will marry us.’
‘You buffoon,’ said Mirrow. ‘We’ll marry each other!’ Then her face turned dark. ‘But wait,’ she murmured. ‘No.’
‘What is it?’
She looked at him then as if she’d never seen him before, and Corlas’s heart turned cold. Suddenly she scrabbled backwards, coming to her feet. He stood also, feeling an unexpected weight in his hands. Looking down he saw his great axe, dripping with blood. Her face filled with fear, and she turned and fled into the trees.
‘Mirrow!’ he cried. ‘No!’
He dropped the axe in disgust and fell to his knees, clutching his head.
‘Mirrow,’ he whispered. ‘Mirrow.’
And he woke.
He was sitting with his back to a tree, cushioned by a fall of leaves around its base. Soft ferns brushed his skin, ephemeral in their caress. Corlas remembered well the smell of the wood, earthy and green. He ran his eyes up the trunks of grey trees to a canopy crosshatched with the morning sun. He recalled the soft birdsong even before he heard it – and there it was.
Despite the bad dream, a long-absent sense of peace settled over him. For a merciful time he forgot his weeks on the run from the Open Halls, and the terrible act he’d committed there against his will. Even the sadness of being separated from Bel faded slightly, in this moment a distant trouble, like a stone in the boot of his soul. In his whole life, Whisperwood was the one place he had been truly able to call home.
During his escape, he hadn’t thought much about what he’d do once he arrived. It had seemed like the only place to go, but now that he was here, he wondered how he’d spend his days. He would visit his old hut, and Mirrow’s grave of course, but beyond that he could see no further. Thankfully he didn’t need to rise, not yet, for there was no rush any more. If anyone still pursued him, the wood would not welcome them.
‘ Corlas .’
Her voice was as light and soft as the breeze. There was a rustling as dead leaves lifted from the ground, and twigs and stones and bits of bark. He watched, unafraid, as before him formed a figure, composed of the forest floor itself. The dry branches drawn to her awoke and sent out shoots, and roots grew to bundle different parts of her together. The dead leaves that were her eyelids crackled as they opened, revealing green pinpricks of light floating in deep sockets. Awed by the sight, Corlas shifted to one knee.
‘My Lady Vyasinth,’ he said.
He had never seen her before, not really. Mirrow had sometimes mentioned encounters with her during their marriage, but a fleeting glimpse through the treetops was the most Corlas could claim. There was no mistaking her, however, now that she stood before him.
‘I hope I have not offended you with my return,’ he said.
‘No, Corlas,’ she replied, the words seeming to breathe out of her. A tiny red beetle emerged from the crisscrossing twigs of her chest, ran along them, and disappeared again. ‘Rather,’ she continued, ‘it is I who must ask forgiveness . I never came to you as I did Mirrow, for you were so much the Varenkai and not so much the Sprite.’
‘I did not believe, my Lady,’ said Corlas. ‘I had no reason to. But I have grown to think differently.’
‘I am glad. For you were ever one of my people, and even if you’d forgotten it, I should not have. Come, rise. Let us walk together amongst the trees on a morning so fine.’
Her feet made no sound as they went, as if she were wholly supported by the uppermost layer of undergrowth. She herself, however, rustled. Corlas tried not to stare too closely as the roots and leaves that made her shifted about, approximating the shape of a woman as best they could. Her face was smooth, earthy and dark, framed by a mane of twigs. Occasionally flowers bloomed from her, then faded and fell, as if they had seen the passage of seasons in the space of a few moments.
‘I am sorry about your boy,’ she said presently.
‘Yes, my Lady,’ replied Corlas awkwardly. ‘Thank you.’
‘I tried to stop them taking him but was punished by the other gods for interfering in their pointless war.’
Corlas couldn’t think of anything to say. It was hard enough to accept that he was strolling alongside a god; he was hardly going to comment on her relationships with other almighty entities.
‘I know much of what has transpired since that accursed night,’ she continued. ‘I have seen how the gods of shadow and light use your sons as pawns in their own petty play for power.’ The green lights of her eyes flared. ‘It never should have been this way.’