The Broken Door

by Sarah Stirling

  “One day this will be yours,” he’d said. “You’ll be the one to lead them. They will look to you for guidance.”

  She laughed despite the hot tears on her skin. “What if I don’t know?” she said softly, glancing at his sleeping form. “What if I’m the one who needs guidance?”

  It was funny, how her dream now felt like an anchor tugging her down below the surface, so that she struggled and gasped for air. Part of her desired to hand it away so that she could finally get a restful sleep at night. So that maybe one day she could chase that horizon.

  But she wouldn’t. The only thing that mattered now was that she protected her family’s legacy. Her grip tightened over the crest upon her heart, feeling the edges cut into the flesh of her palms. I can’t fail. I won’t.

  *

  Viktor had been too arrogant. Trying to steal from a soldier was nothing but folly, and yet it had been difficult to watch those swaggering men in their finely pressed indigo coats, heads swollen with their own self-importance as they lorded over the townsfolk. Any man who could not hold onto their purse did not deserve it, in Viktor’s opinion, even if he was paying the price now, desperately pushing his legs harder as he tore through the marketplace in the centre of town.

  Merchants shook their fists at him as he breezed by, clothes catching on their wagons and tumbling some of their wares. Deftly leaping over a vat of falling apples, he kicked back and hoped they would slow the file of bluecoats gaining ground on him, gaudy uniforms flashing out the corner of his eye. A pistol shot cracked against the white stone wall of a building in the square and a voice screamed, Viktor’s heart skipping at the sound. Think, Think, Think! Where could he hide?

  The heat of the midday sun bore down on him as he ran and the sweat dripped down the back of his neck, breaths loud enough to fill his ears with their ragged rhythm. His eyes scanned the area ahead of him, squinting in the harsh light that reflected off of pale stone. This was the richer part of town and the wider streets were too exposed, unlike the familiar warren of the slums, sending his thoughts into a flurry of panic.

  Another shot smashed a clay plant pot next to his head and he threw himself to the ground, reminded that he didn’t have the time to think. Viktor kept running, following a jagged route through the streets to throw his pursuers off his trail, eyes searching for some sign of escape. The purse in his hand jangled invitingly. This had better be worth it.

  A needle thin alley spat him out into an unknown square, cobbled beneath his feet. Viktor spun in a circle, hazel eyes drinking it all in before locking on a symbol hanging above the doorway of a squat townhouse in peeling paint of a lemon yellow. Rift hunters. He remembered Red telling him once that the soldiers were not supposed to interfere with their jurisdiction, but neither was Viktor a member of their Order and so they would have no reason to shelter him. A glance behind him revealed the looming shadows of his pursuers. He could hear their shouts echoing from the street over. I don’t have a choice.

  Slipping the purse into his pocket, Viktor took a deep breath and swept back his dark brown hair, attempting to compose himself before he pushed open the heavy oak door with a grunt and peered inside. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting – the only source of light was one window at the back that spilled a circle of warm sunlight onto the wooden floor. It looked like some kind of inn or tavern, with a bar to one side and a scattering of tables and chairs that had seen better days.

  “You’ve finally arrived,” sighed one of the room’s four occupants. She was shorter than the rest, with dark skin and a white blouse tucked into a long, finely embroidered skirt of a deep green. Wealthy. Something about her was familiar but he couldn’t place it when his thoughts were still scattered, her expectant look only flustering him further.

  Viktor could still hear the soldiers scrambling outside the window and made his decision. “Yes. Apologies for my lateness. I was, uh, indisposed.”

  She swept kohl-lined eyes over him dismissively. “Take a seat. Since you’re here we can discuss payment.”

  Now there was a word Viktor liked to hear. He sat between a blond woman and a dark-haired man, both pale; foreigners. Viktor had learned through observation that if you acted like you belonged, people were inclined to believe you, so he held his back up straight, folded his fingers together, and imagined himself a businessman listening to a proposition. If the terms didn’t suit, he could always sneak out later.

  “My father is offering each of you twenty yurel on completion of the task. I assume you are all familiar with riftspawn, so it should be easy earnings for you.”

  Viktor’s heart pounded. That kind of money was unthinkable. That kind of money could buy him passage away from this festering island and find somewhere better to live. Maybe he could go to Tsellyr. He’d never been but he’d heard the stories from the mouths of sailors carried in by the tides about a city on the water where all lived in peace and prosperity, free of the haughty soldiers and their enforced hierarchies. Freedom from this small, inconsequential port, freedom from Yllzlo, freedom from constantly watching his back. At the prospect Viktor couldn’t help but get carried away.

  “What happens if one of us doesn’t pull their weight?” asked the fourth figure, on the other side of the table. He was tall and well-built, with brown skin and arms roped with muscle.

  “I will know because I will join you on this task.”

  “Is that a good idea? Some of these hunts can get a little… dangerous,” said the fair woman.

  “I have lived on this island my entire life. I am aware of what can happen,” their employer replied with a level look.

  The fair woman bristled, shoulders hunching, but she said no more, fingers lingering curiously on a set of twin blades that caught Viktor’s eye. They were curved with a thin gleaming edge, unlike a common knife or sword that he regularly saw wielded by the boys on the streets. Some of them would occasionally stumble upon an axe or a stolen sailor’s cutlass, barely a threat in their clumsy hands, but there was something wicked about the blades she held in her hands, taunting his sticky fingers. What he could do with one of those…

  “Have you heard anything else about it? Any distinguishing features? Where on the island has it been spotted?” From apparent displeasure the woman had quickly turned her temper around, leaning over the table so that her mass of pale curls trailed the surface.

  As their employer walked over, green skirt swaying around her ankles, something clicked. The red hair was a rare trait on Sathkuro. She was the governor’s daughter. Kilai Shaikuro. Viktor watched her spread out a worn-looking parchment map marked with various locations around the northeast part of the island, mostly around the city of Nirket nestled upon the bay, cut into black stone cliffs. With painted nails she pointed to each mark and spoke of accounts she had heard from others who had seen the riftspawn, each account grander than the last. That’s what happens with stories, he thought. They grow and spread like wildfire. He’d seen it too often on the streets. One lucky theft became a grand adventure where the teller had risked life and limb, battling off a whole contingent of soldiers for a mere handful of coin.

  But if she really is the governor’s daughter… Viktor could see it now in the high cheekbones, the pompous air with which she carried herself. On her crisp white blouse was an enamel pin with her family’s crest: the redback turtle that was so common to the waters around the island that fisherman frequently pulled them up in their nets and made turtle fin soup. If she really is the governor’s daughter then I must play this con. To con her would be nearly as sweet as duping the governor himself.

  I must work out who I am supposed to be.

  “Which is the location of the rift?”

  The native islander snorted. “Of course you want to go meddling with rifts right away. Don’t go messing with what you don’t understand, unless your goal is to get us all killed.”

  “How do you hope to find it then?” replied the blond woman.

  “Th
ey always leave a trail. As far as I’m aware we have three experienced hunters right here,” he said, and Viktor’s heart thumped when his gesture swept over the table, including him. “Let’s stick to what we know, rift maiden.”

  The woman rose from her seat, grin slashing across her face sharper than a knife wound. “Do I look like a rift maiden to you?” Tall, with muscular shoulders and her twin blades twirling in her hands, pale eyes wild, Viktor would not have fancied his chances. He’d heard the stories of these odd ghost-like southerners and their penchant for brawling. He’d seen one great hulking man named Old Nekk cave a man’s head in with his fists and go back to drinking, laughing all the while as blood dripped onto the counter. A wise man knows when to walk away.

  Even the man on the other side of the table seemed hesitant but he rose from his chair and crossed his arms as if to emphasis his size. “Rift warden-in-training, then. If you prefer.”

  “Why are you acting like the leader, anyway? You’re the one who requested help.”

  “Expert help. Not… whatever you are supposed to be.”

  She made a choked noise in the back of her throat.

  Viktor wondered whether he should try and stop them when Kilai cut them off, “I am not paying you to squabble. I understood you all to be professionals.” Her withering glare had both sitting, both sparing a glance for the other. “The only thing that interests me is that this thing is eradicated and my city continues to do our business in peace.”

  “That’s all good and well, Shai,” said the southerner. “But if your rift ruptures you’ll face far worse, believe me.”

  “You know these things? I know nothing of rifts, or what it means.”

  She pushed back a sleeve to reveal the symbol – a combination of the wavy line for ‘spirit’ and the sharp pronged lines that represent ‘guardian’. “I am training to be a rift warden. I have seen how badly these things can go if they are not treated at their root.”

  “And can you treat the problem if that is the case?”

  The woman paused and licked her lips, looking around the table. “It’s a bit above my jurisdiction. I’d have to send for help.”

  The native islander shook his head. “You were supposed to be the help.” He turned to Kilai. “Let us go to the last place the creature was spotted and we will hunt it from there. We need to handle the things we can first. If we let the problem go on more people are going to lose their livelihoods.

  Viktor frowned at their conversation, most of it beyond his understanding. He knew little of riftspawn beyond the old superstitions told as bedtime stories to children and was wary of opening his mouth in fear of betraying his own ignorance. The fourth figure caught his eye and he realised this man had also not spoken, watching the proceedings unfold with dark, beady eyes. Why does he not speak? The man caught him looking and he quickly glanced away, annoyed at himself for being so obvious. Red would have hided him for being so conspicuous. Viktor tried to think about what the old man would do to turn this situation in his favour.

  “How about we split up, then?” he found himself saying. He couldn’t help the way his heart betrayed him, skipping a beat as four sets of eyes turned to look at him. It would seem he was invested in this now. “I will go with…” he nodded to the southerner.

  “Rook.”

  “Uh, Rook, right. We will go to the rift and determine its safety for the townspeople.” I hope that sounds reasonable enough. “You three go to where the, uh, thing that’s causing problems was last spotted and see if you can pick up a trail. We will meet afterwards to determine our findings. Does that sound fair?”

  They each looked at one another hesitantly. One nod was enough to break the indecision, catching on like a pretty melody one couldn’t help but hum along to. Kilai stood up and rolled up her map. “If the matter is settled then we shall meet here tomorrow and set out on our ways. Does that sound fair to all?”

  There was a murmur of affirmation.

  “Fine. Be here at eight o’clock tomorrow.” Her eyes slid to Viktor and held him there for one long moment before she slipped out a brass pocket watch on a chain from her belt and checked it. “I must leave you now. Prepare the things you will need tonight.”

  Viktor let out an exhale of relief. It would be better for him to go with the one who appeared to be the most knowledgeable of the group and let her do most of the work. By all accounts it sounded like a simple job of checking the rift while the others could actually hunt the riftspawn thing, if the rumours really were true, and then he’d soon be a much richer, and by extension much freer man.

  Rook tilted her head at him. “What’s your name, partner?”

  They didn’t know the original man’s name. Good. “Viktor,” he said. There was no use giving a false name he would not respond to, anyway.

  “Where are you going?” She frowned as he got up to leave. “Aren’t you staying here?”

  Viktor froze, mind going blank. “I have things to take care of.” Before she could protest he scampered to the door and stepped back out into the courtyard, blinking in the rosy hues of the setting sun. It stained the buildings in pinks and golds, small round windows winking in the light as if they shared his secret. A rush of relief swept over him and he paused to breathe, thinking out his next move.

  The guards would surely be gone by now but Viktor had long learned to be wary as he weaved the winding streets towards the outskirts of town, keeping away from the main roads. He soon left behind the fresh pastels of the townhouses, the buildings taking on the complexion of a wizened old crone with skin flaking away to reveal exposed brick and mortar. As he slunk further out, more and more hastily-constructed shacks cropped up at odds and angles, made from wooden boards and corrugated steel. A ginger alley cat wound its way around his legs, crying for food.

  “No food today, Sami,” he said, making a show of emptying his pockets. Everyday I talk to this cat like it understands me. “You’re going to trip me up.”

  She continued to wrap herself around him, nudging her head against his leg, and he cursed as he overbalanced and fell backwards, crashing painfully to the cobbles. “Now look what you’ve done!” She narrowed one eye, the other an empty socket that swallowed the light. “Don’t think I pity you or anything.”

  “I’m pretty sure talking to animals is a sign of madness.”

  Viktor whipped around and then immediately wilted at being seen in such an embarrassing position by Red, the right hand of Martok-don. Backlit by the last rays of the setting sun, he almost seemed to glow, and he took one hand from his pocket to offer it to Viktor. He could feel the strength beneath that hand as he was hauled onto his feet and he stepped back, brushing the dirt from his trousers with a sigh.

  “A good haul, then?” Red said, dangling a pouch from his fingers. “I was wondering why those bluecoats were running through town today.”

  Viktor’s hands flew to his own pockets only to find them empty. “Hey! That’s mine!”

  Red laughed, teeth yellow against his pockmarked brown skin. “I’m just messing with you. Here.” He tossed it back and lit a cigarette, smoke pluming in tendrils around his face. “Where you been?”

  “Evading capture.”

  “A wise move.” Red blew smoke in rings as he walked. “Say, you haven’t seen Tomas today, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Boss is looking for him. Not like him not to show, you know?”

  Viktor didn’t say anything. He wasn’t exactly popular amongst the other boys, which was why he tended to avoid them when he could. The only thing that mattered was Martok-don’s approval; so long as he brought in revenue he was worthwhile and if he was worthwhile he had a place to sleep and something to eat. It was only Martok-don who could elevate his status and thus only his approval he desired. Screw the rest of them, he thought as he breathed in the scent of brine and smoke. I want more than their small-minded pissing contests.

  “What you thinking so hard about?”

  “Nothing.�
� He dug his hands into his pockets and kicked a stone.

  “Yeah, and I’m the emperor of Shillah. Something’s got your thoughts a whirl.”

  “How’d you end up here?” Red had the tendency to slip into his native tongue when he was angry so Viktor knew he wasn’t Yllzlo-born. “What made you stick around this place?”

  “Ah.” Red glanced at him out the corner of his eye, a knowing smile on his face. “I forget you’re young sometimes. It’s the way you’re always furrowing that brow of yours.” He pointed a finger between Viktor’s eyes. “There! Just like that.” Laughter spilled from him in racking heaves that turned into coughs.

  “The sea carried me here sometime ago. Lost all my money gambling and then old Martok offered me a job.”

  “So you stayed?”

  “I did.”

  They came upon one of the firmer buildings in the area – a three story tavern built of exposed brick – renamed The Phoenix as a tongue-in-cheek reference to their rivals having burnt the original down a few years prior. Martok-don had driven them off soon after. Never show your weakness, kid, the man had said to him, in one of the rare moments the man had deemed to acknowledge his existence, delivering a message from Red. He’d lapped the attention up eagerly.

  Inside the tavern it was a hustle and bustle of noise, many having finished work for the day and now ready to drink the night away. It reeked of liquor and smoke, a few tables occupied by men and women playing cards, money exchanging hands as some cheered and others shook their heads. Viktor did his best to keep by Red’s side as they slipped up the back stairs onto the upper floor, feet creaking on the sagging wood to announce their arrival.