The Great Rift Read Online Free

animals occupied a small corner of any given space. They were so rare, in fact, that when they dropped dead, their remains tended to get snapped up by any other creatures who shared the area. A nice enough truth when the goal is walking through the woods without plunging ankle-deep into a former muskrat. Not so nice when the goal is to put that muskrat to one last use.
    Blays crunched through leaves uphill. Dante smelled fresh mold and wet dirt. Mourn was getting further away by the moment. Dante straightened, relaxing his gaze until his vision blurred. It was perhaps that very rarity of remains that made them stand out so sharply if only you knew how to look. Possibly, it was that corpses still held on to some trace of the nether, the grist of Arawn's flawed mill, that quickens all mortal life. Whatever the reason, within moments a cold, silver light glimmered at the base of a nearby pine, flickering like moonlight on a pool. Dante knelt to brush away the leaves. A faded whiff of decay rose from a scatter of small bones. Hair and sinew clung to ribs and joints. Dante smiled.
    Black wisps gathered in his fingers. Needing no more than a dab of blood, he picked a shallow scab on the back of his hand, waited for the small red bubble to rise, then touched his blood to the bones. Like rain on a window, shadowy nether slid from his hands to the body. Claws twitched. As if drawn by a string, a loose femur drew to the hip. The creature stood, swaying. It might have been a rat, once. A squirrel. Now, it was a silent automaton, and if Dante closed his eyes, he could see through its perspective instead. He nodded in the direction Mourn had gone minutes earlier. The creature turned and dashed away in a spray of leaves.
    Dante called Blays from down the hill. "We'll stay a mile behind him. He'll never know we're here."
    "Next time, I demand a plan with less walking. Like sitting around being fed roast pork."
    "I'm not sure how that forwards the cause of norren independence."
    Blays shrugged. "They can figure that out for themselves."
    The creature raced along the forest floor, skidding through leaves, leaping over roots and dips, unhampered by the need to breathe or rest or slow for treacherous footing. Within minutes, it—and by extension Dante—could hear the norren threading through the brush with surprising grace. He and Blays began their pursuit.
    Mist drifted between the hard-barked pines, thinning the further they got from the river. After a couple miles of woods, the forest dissipated in favor of grassy hills, the draws and folds furred by spicy-smelling pines. The light of a half-moon drenched the trailless earth. Dante's breath rolled from his mouth in thin clouds. His nose and ears numbed while sweat dampened his underclothes, which were already a good week in need of a wash.
    Mourn didn't take his first break until dawn took its first pink glance at the east. Blays sat, blear-eyed, scowling at the block of bread Dante had taken along in case they didn't wind up returning straight to town after the meet.
    "This stuff's hard as a brick," he said, spraying crumbs. "Tastes like one, too."
    "Yet you're eating it. Remind me not to invite you to my house."
    "What's that hairy jerk doing now?"
    Dante closed his eyes. More than a mile away, the creature watched from beneath a bush while Mourn pried the bark from a fallen log and ate the pale grubs beneath. "Enjoying a pan of bacon. I think I can smell it—crisp meat, smoking fat."
    "Gods damn it."
    Mourn rose, then crouched beside a body of water that was more puddle than pond. "The wine looks good, too."
    "At least tell me he looks sleepy." Blays stretched out his leg, massaging his calf with his thumbs. "I've had a few hours to think here. Which, for one thing, is a few hours we're not spending getting swords into the hands of villagers. For another, what's the point of chasing after the world's greatest bow when the whole idea is to avoid war?"
    "Every day we're down here is a