THE BACK RISHI

ASTRIDE THE RIFT

CHAPTER I

“...his brow is graced but soul defaced

unnatural torment now displaced...”

Ansoh Njyae Dynde IV

L 1:3:4:7/5, III:IX

Sharis grimaced through her gulp of chilled water, and she swished another swig around her mouth to adjust to the strong mineral flavor. Though boiled for purity, the water this close to the Sutek carried a strange metallic taste that left her teeth itching. Opting to exchange the drink for something else, Sharis waved to the barkeep and caught her younger brother scowling. “What?”

The lanky plains elf rapped on the counter, his dark ale sloshing into a rich foam. “We’re adults now, you know. Don’t come into a tavern and order water! What the Nine is wrong with you?”

“A new diploma doesn’t make you an adult, Fal’on,” she shot back, locking eyes with him and downing half her tankard in one go. As he spluttered in mock-rage, she ruffled his shorn hair and laughed when he slapped her hand away, splashing beer over himself in the process.

“Ugh, you got it between my toes!” lamented the young elf, flapping his bare feet to dry them.

“Stop blaming others for your problems, Fal’on.” Like her brother, Sharis hadn’t worn shoes since they’d first received their twin gryphons over a decade ago. The thick beasts with their wide wings offered no leg room for passengers, so riders sat upon their own feet, and shoes proved too inconvenient a luxury to indulge. “At least if you ordered water, you wouldn’t get all sticky.”

Yanking on his sister’s dark braid, Fal’on smirked in triumph until she dumped the rest of her drink across his feet. “Foul!”

“Another pint of your finest water, my good barkeep!” crowed Sharis, blocking her brother’s attempt to douse her in retaliation. His tankard clattered to the counter and spattered them both with flecks of foam. “And a fresh ale for the adult, if you please.”

Before Fal’on recovered, a pair of skeletal shades slipped through the tavern’s open entrance, black robes languishing from the jutting points of their shoulders. They seemed to flow across the floor without distinct steps to carry them, the distorted folds of their robes shrouding wretched forms and shadowed faces. Silent but for their rattling breaths, they sat at the tavern’s largest table, and over the room settled the stench of a musty loft drenched by cold rain.

Near the doorway, a few silvers clattered onto a tabletop and two men ducked outside, surrendering their libations to the unnatural hush. One wraith began to speak, its words racked across a gamut of pitches as if a thousand tenuous voices strained in unison to make themselves heard. Gripping his sister’s knee, Fal’on gestured beneath the counter with a few complex hand signals, sign language that gryphon riders used in loud winds. “That’s Khollic!”

For the past six years at university, Sharis had teased her brother for wasting his time with the isolated language, but she left her apology for later. “What are they saying?”

“We’d think imperial guests would be treated with more...” He paused to indicate the second one finished the sentence. “...Respect? That thoughtless little puppet had no business interfering with our machinations, brother. Secrecy is no longer as important as speed.” Fal’on signaled a switch in speakers again. “But we did impress the importance of secrecy upon her, brother. All too well, it seems.”

The ethereal pair hissed louder, and Sharis prompted, “What are they saying now?”

“I’m not sure. I think they’re just laughing.” Digging a handful of silvers from his belt pouch, he signed with one hand, “Imperial guests? Do you think the empress is the puppet they’re talking about?”

“Probably. What are machinations?” Sharis had spent her student years studying magic and combat strategy, not old tomes and derelict prophesies like her little brother.

Rolling his eyes, Fal’on signed an explanation of the word. “I don’t know what they’re planning–” He froze, then dove into translation once more. “That Haisrir had better return soon, with a decent prize. We haven’t fed properly since the young...” Hands trembling, the elf faltered, listening in horror until he could muster the fortitude to yank Sharis to her feet. “We should go.”

Not about to argue, she led him outside, and he sprinted for the hitching post where their gryphons paced. “What happened? What did they say? Fal’on!”

Skittish claws gouging the hard-packed dirt, his brown tercel launched into the air with a screech. “We’ll talk in the sky!”

Sharis followed on her white hen, smoothing hackles from the beast’s golden fur. Larger than Fal’on’s male half over again, the gryphon beat her great wings to combat heavy haunches, bearing southwest as she climbed. “Well?” demanded Sharis once she’d caught up to her lighter brother. “What else did they say?”

“They’re mindwarps!” he signed back. “They feed on people – and they’re moving into Sierlyn! They’ve warped the empress for sure. She’s rounding up shifters for them, to use for... something.”

“For what? What are they planning?”

“I don’t know; I couldn’t tell,” apologized the elf. “They used some weird words, something about lover’s bonds, then said you’d make an entertaining meal! So I got us out of there.”

Skin crawling, she signed, “Well, what do we do? We can’t exactly go to the imperials with this.”

“I think our best chance is to go find–”

“Don’t even start!” The real world held no place for Fal’on’s legends and ancient prophesies. “It doesn’t exist, remember? I already took you once. We flew back and forth over the whole glade for a month and not so much as a break in the canopy!”

Flailing at Sharis until she looked his way again, Fal’on argued, “Well, it wouldn’t be a legend if there weren’t some truth to it, right? And you said it yourself – we can’t go to the imperials. So where else can we go? Besides, my ideas aren’t so bad after all! I learned Khollic, and look where that got us.”

“Yeah, into trouble! Your ideas always get us in trouble!” She banked southeast, forcing her brother to abandon his course to continue their conversation.

“We can’t afford to waste time arguing, Sharis. Those mindwarps are here already. They’re moving into the capital, controlling our empress! Look, so you don’t think we’ll find A’lara, fine. But if you’ve got a better idea, let’s hear it.”

Unprepared, Sharis rationalized, “...We could tell people what you heard. We’ll sound the alarm and expose them!”

“Are you insane? We’d be denounced as some conspiracy madmen, then picked off by an imperial death squad! Or are you thinking we could actually start an insurrection against the empire?” Dipping close to shout over the wind, her brother cried, “You’re talking about civil war – as a best case scenario!”

“And you’re talking about a city that never existed!”

“Fine! I’ll go by myself!” yelled Fal’on, turning southwest again. “Good luck with your rebellion!”

Outraged, Sharis made a rude gesture and banked after him. “This is pointless,” she brooded at his back, knowing her brother had won. “You’re so stupid.”

“Maybe,” signed Fal’on over his shoulder, “but at least I don’t ask for water at the tavern!”