The Broken Door

by Sarah Stirling

  Without warning, Janus spun and launched into a run, leading the riftspawn past a line of buildings with low square roofs that Rook could jump with ease. Her adventures had already left her bruised and battered anyway, so she didn’t see what harm there was in a few more. The last roof sloped up steeply and required more dexterity but she didn’t want to lose the momentum of her run by slowing down so she steeled her nerve and sped up, launching herself across the gap and catching the edge. Swinging herself up, she scaled the side and steadied her grip on the ridge at the peak so she could propel her body over, riding the slide back down on the other side.

  She tried to angle her body so that when Janus turned the corner she could dive down, pulling the blades from her back and wrenching them over her head. As she did she felt her mind plunge down into the well of power inside her and draw it out with all the strength she could control. The power gushed through her body, aura flaring up around her in smoky flames, the cry from her lips the screech of The Rook.

  The blades cut through the riftspawn, its mass slowing her descent to the ground. It felt like travelling through gelatine, but cold with the way it leached off her energy. The creature’s shriek of pain reverberated through her. It hurt but she gritted her teeth against it. She continued to hack through it until the ground loomed towards her and then she smacked into Janus, who swung her around to carry out the momentum, both crashing to the cobbles. She heard him groan beneath her as she pulled herself back to her feet and charged the creature again.

  A quick flurry of attacks followed, strike after strike after strike. Energy spiked inside her, addictive, lyrical; euphoric. As it weakened she grew stronger, faster. Each hit made it slower to recover, lethargically knitting back together as its form shrunk in size, deflating like a popped balloon. The howling sound it produced filled her ears but it was smothered by the roar of her own laughter. One last flare of her own power was all it took for the riftspawn to cleave and then fade, the last sight remaining was blinking yellow eyes still hovering in the air.

  Rook sucked in the last tendrils of spiritual residue, savouring the taste on her tongue. She felt alive, her blood thrumming with adrenaline. She wanted to fight and never stop. Flashes of purple caught her eye and drew her in like a beacon. Hadn’t she vanquished the monster already? With a roar she arced her blade down on the closest shape to her and felt the shudder as steel met steel, metal hissing. She pushed down, snarling, and felt the monster before her give, falling onto its haunches and then scrambling away.

  She grinned. There wasn’t a better game than giving chase to good prey. She stalked the streets after him, reaching out to sense his movements as he ran, feeling each vibration rattle the ground when she concentrated on the sound. It was almost too easy.

  Somewhere through the haze she heard a name that sounded familiar; that might even have been hers. It didn’t mean anything to her. Not when she could feel the whole world around her, every thread woven into the tapestry of living beings, and the way it folded into the pulsing core of the rift. Of all the rifts and the way the otherworldly energy connected into a web of leylines. She could be a king of this new world, if she wanted to.

  She wanted.

  The flash of metal in the light. Fire inside. Dancing with the flames. The voice in her head sounded so familiar. She knew it but she didn’t want to listen. All she wanted was to continue feeling this rapture.

  Rook!

  Which Rook? Which Rook was which? Was it possible to be both at the same time?

  Rook!

  The bullet pierced her with the same startling clarity of diving into ice cold water. It shocked her awake and she stumbled, hot blood pulsing between her fingers. There were more shots but she couldn’t feel them and could only assume it was battle shock. Her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to be hot or cold because somehow she felt both in waves, sweat on her brow causing her to shiver.

  She crumpled to the ground, pain suddenly a feeling her body was aware of, and she gasped. The ache crystallised beneath her ribs, searing hot. A pair of strong arms caught her before she crashed and she looked up to see Janus staring down at her, something like emotion in those dark eyes of his.

  “I lost control again,” she said.

  “You’re fine. You stopped.”

  “I didn’t…” Her eyes snagged on the bodies a few feet away, surrounded by their own blood. A pair of sightless eyes stared back at her and she felt as hollow as that gaze. “Did I…?”

  Janus stroked her hair. “No. I did.”

  She jerked back but it hurt too much.

  “They were going to kill you.”

  “Maybe they should have.”

  “I’m done letting friends die for those bluecoats. Come on.” She felt herself being lifted into the air and then carried away. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Mm. You’re a good man, Jan-ka.”

  He snorted. “I’m really not. Don’t need to be.”

  She tried to pat him on the shoulder but she didn’t quite have control over her limbs and she accidentally batted him in the face. “Whoops. Think ‘m tired.”

  “Just stay with me until I can have a look at the wound. We’re not safe out here.”

  “I’m right here. Where would I go?” Coldness was settling deep into her bones and she blinked heavy lids.

  “What happened?”

  She heard the voice come from somewhere above her.

  “Doesn’t matter. We need to find somewhere so I can take a look at her.”

  Rook shivered.

  “This one?”

  Glass shattering.

  Nothing.

  *

  “We can’t stay here for long.” Kilai pulled back the curtain and peered out into the street. For now it was empty.

  There was rustling behind her and the sound of doors creaking, then a hissed curse. She turned. Janus was trying to poke thread through the eye of a needle and had instead pierced the skin of his index finger, a drop of blood beading on the wound. Scattered around him were various items: strips of white cloth, a bottle of clear liquor, and what appeared to be some kind of metal tongs.

  “Give me that,” she said with a sigh, falling down to her knees beside him.

  Sprawled out on the threadbare couch was Rook, face pasty and lips white. A groan passed them as she clutched her abdomen, still bleeding. The sight made her nauseous but she pushed past it, fiddling with the needle and thread until she looped it through. The stark smell of alcohol permeated the air and she sniffled.

  “Do you want me to do it?”

  Janus’ eyes fell from her face to her hands, shaking on the needle and thread.

  “I thought I’d offer.” She pushed it into his hands.

  “Just keep watch.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that he was being patronising. She could handle it; she’d seen wounds before. But, she couldn’t deny how much she loathed feeling useless and any task regardless of how significant was better than sitting around and watching.

  The breeze caressed her face through the jagged teeth of the broken glass. Thankfully, the owner had not been inside when they’d smashed it. Kilai assumed a lot of the citizens of Nirket had evacuated in the melee and would not return for a while, if they had somewhere else they could hide in the meantime. What would become of the city now, she did not know. Her own guilt staved off the desire to find out.

  “Shhh,” said Janus. She turned at the wrong moment to see him pry the bullet from Rook and drop it onto the tiled floor.

  Rook whimpered, eyes flying open. “You should just…” she batted him on the shoulder, mumbling.

  “I’m not being honourable, believe me.” His hands moved with expert speed as he stitched the wound back together. “We’re lost without you.”

  Kilai snorted. “He has a point.” The moment of distraction cost her and she ducked down, peering over the window frame as a group of bluecoats stomped past. They all fell silent at their voices, speaking in their native
language, loud and clear enough that she could make out that they were talking about the executions and rooting out the last of the rebels.

  “How much longer?”

  Janus swept back his hair, streaking blood across his forehead. “She shouldn’t really be moved for a while.”

  “Translation?”

  He rose to meet her, gazing out towards the sky. “Nightfall would be best. Cover of darkness.”

  “So what? We just wait it out?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Kilai sighed, scrubbing tired eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I slept.”

  “Now’s the chance. Won’t get another for a while.”

  She was tempted. “How am I supposed to sleep like this? We could be discovered at any moment.”

  “Just shut your eyes and sleep. Not that hard.”

  “That’s not how it works.”

  Janus shrugged. “You’d probably be fine anyway.”

  “And you?”

  He put two fingers to his temple and mimicked a gun going off.

  Kilai winced. “You have a terrible sense of humour.”

  Janus flopped down on the floor next to where Rook slept, pulling out a bag of tobacco. “Been informed I don’t have one,” he said as he rolled a pinch up in a sheet of ragged looking paper. His match wouldn’t light, no matter how many times he tried, each jerk of his hand more violent than the last. Eventually he flung it with a yell, cigarette still hanging from his lips.

  Kilai folded against the window ledge in exhaustion and closed her eyes. She didn’t intend to sleep but she must have been tired enough to drift for a while because when she opened her eyes again the sun had fallen, the room cast in gloom from the fading light of dusk beyond the curtains. A strip of glowing amber light fell across Rook bundled on the sofa, creases forming between her sweat-slick brows. Janus was nowhere to be seen.

  She stretched out her legs and groaned as they seized up, her neck protesting the awkward angle it had been resting against the windowpane. It took her a while to fully wake, mind still drunk on sleep, and she wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground and shut her eyes. Alas, she did not have the luxury. First thing first.

  After searching the bottom floor she took the stairs and explored the upper rooms, each filled with various knickknacks and keepsakes that made up a home. In her haste she bumped into the dresser and knocked over what appeared to be a child’s toy. She knew she should have felt guilty but she was so drained that every emotion just slipped from her grasp like water. Still, she picked it up and placed it back, grimacing at the stuffing that spilled from the bear’s missing eye. It made her shiver without warning.

  The next room was even barer than the last and so dark it took her eyes a few moments to adjust. She could make out a shape hunched over the window and she took a deliberate step, letting him hear her. She got the feeling he’d be the type to react to being sneaked up upon.

  “Have you even slept?”

  “Survived on less,” said Janus, voice hoarse.

  “That’s not really an answer.”

  “No.”

  The scent of tobacco permeated the room, catching the back of her throat. Stifling a cough, she approached him and peered out the crack in the curtains to a street painted by dusk’s soft rosy hues. She must have been sleeping for a while. It disorientated her to have blinked into another time. There was something disturbing about the knowledge that anything could have happened in the time she’d been out.

  “Should we get going now?”

  Janus stretched into his full height, rolling his neck until it clicked. “Ready?”

  Kilai looked at him, face cast half in shadow and half illuminated by the sallow light of the fading sun. For a brief moment the way his eye shone like obsidian gave him the appearance of the Rai Kusok, an ancient prophet of legend who had tried to make himself a god and trapped himself in the realm of the in between forevermore. In another blink the image was gone, the sun descending and plunging them into a deep blue evening. Sometimes Janus seemed so formless, the way he blended into his surroundings without ever drawing attention to himself. It shouldn’t be possible, as tall and unnaturally still as he was, with his raspy foreign accent and a permanent aroma of tobacco.

  It was like looking at a clear lake and seeing only the lie of her own reflection. What lay beneath? She wondered but did not ask, following him from the room. In the end it did not matter who they were, or who they had been. What mattered was the here and now. Survival. The decisions they made in the moment.

  “How has she been?”

  Kilai rubbed her neck and looked away. “I don’t know. I fell asleep.”

  Janus simply jumped the last step of the staircase and rounded the corner to check on Rook. Her chest rose in shallow breaths and she still looked pale. When Janus scooped her into his arms she remained limp, arms swinging. He nodded to Kilai. “Need to make it quick.”

  “It will take a while to get there.”

  She went first, peeking her head out the door before she opened it completely. The street was empty, cobbled roads glinting in the streetlights. Riftspawn clustered around the lanterns, swirling and merging in bursts of light and colour. Mercifully, they did not seem to be interested in their party as they left, sticking to the shadows created by the terraces of houses along the road.

  “What will you do once we get to Yllaizlo?” she said to relieve some of the tension in the air. It was too quiet. She kept waiting for something to jump out at her.

  Janus seemed to consider. “Find some work probably. The usual.”

  “You’ve never thought about going home?”

  “No.”

  She let the finality in his tone wane before speaking again. “I never thought I would leave like this.”

  “Never left home?”

  “For short periods, yes. Not for any significant length of time. Not like I…”

  “Might never return?”

  She smiled weakly. “Something like that.” It was as if she’d been too afraid to think of it but now that he’d said it, she couldn’t deny the possibility. She might never come back here, to the open salty sea breeze and the quaint cobbled streets and the office overlooking the central square. Now it was tainted by death and flame.

  Kilai drew in a sharp breath and then sighed into the night. There must have been something wrong with her, to not be reacting more, but she felt so hollow inside, as if all her emotions had been drained out of her and left her as a husk.

  “Do you never feel tired? Alone?”

  Janus hoisted Rook further into his arms, glancing down at her with a twist of his mouth. “Everyone feels like that sometimes. No need to be a slave to it.”

  She raised her brows and waited until he finally met her gaze. “I’ll be the first to admit people have disappointed me in the past but you sound like you’re trying to fight against the entire world.”

  “Thought you might understand that one.”

  She decided to take the hint and drop the topic, shaking her head at his wry smile. “Yes, all right. Don’t remind me of all the mistakes I’ve made. I can do that plenty on my own.”

  “Not the mistakes that matter. It’s what you do afterwards.”

  “I’m going to write down all your little snippets of wisdom and publish a book with them. I think it will be quite successful.”

  He snorted. “As long as I get my cut.”

  Conversation petered into a terse silence as they traipsed towards the tunnel that would take them towards the cove where Rook had left an injured Viktor. Hopefully he was still alive, although she did not quite know how to react to him after witnessing the power he possessed. Even when she knew it wasn’t true, a niggling voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that he had been hiding his real self from them the entire time. It wasn’t the first time he had lied about himself, after all.

  When they reached the last row of the houses before the valley’s steep incline, Janus nudged her and g
estured with his chin to a lantern hanging from a hook suspended on the wall of a small shack. It was a shop, the sign fading but still legible told her that it sold meat. Or it had, once. Reaching up, Kilai pulled it down, wiping the rust crusting on the iron handle. The candle inside had long burnt out but the wick was long enough to take flame.

  A squashed box of matches was slapped into her hand before she could even open her mouth. Kilai took a few tries to get the flame going, shutting the door with its circular panel of red glass. She held it up to their faces and watched the fire dance in Janus’ eyes. “We should––”

  A drop of rain splashed against her cheek, soothing against the muggy heat. “I think a storm is on the way.”

  Janus looked up at the roiling clouds. “Sounds like my luck.”

  “How are we supposed to beat a storm in a dinghy?”

  He stopped by the entrance to the tunnel, sweeping away the loose ivy growing up the walls. “Think like the storm.”

  She glared at him. “What does that even mean?”

  “Don’t know. Thought it sounded wise.”

  Kilai stepped ahead of him, holding the lantern up as a shield. It cast a red pool onto the ground before her, walls shining in an ominous crimson glow. Plunging into the darkness with more confidence than she felt, she shivered at the sudden coolness against her clammy skin, heat seeping out of her.

  “How old do you think this tunnel is?”

  “Old.”

  She sighed, sweeping the lantern across the scrawled etchings in the wall. The script was unfamiliar to her but she still paused to run her fingers over the grooves, grimacing at the feel of grime, slimy and cold. The tunnel had been used by pirates to smuggle goods out of the city in a time long past but it predated even that, perhaps even early settlement on this part of the island.