Jane Doe and the Key of All Souls

by Jeremy Lachlan

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

  Now would probably be a bad time to ask if Violet can borrow her crossbow.

  ‘Go back to the end of the line,’ Elsa says. ‘And if you even think about running off again, a pack of Taw-taws’ll be the least of your worries. I promise you that.’

  THE OUTPOST OF ORIN-KIN

  We ride slowly through low-rolling foothills, past wandering dunes and towering columns of stone. The curtains of heat-shimmer have parted at last, unveiling the Kahega Range in all its glory. We’re headed for the tallest peak, a sheer cliff riddled with caves. It kinda looks like a crusty slab of cheese. If I crane my neck, I can just make out a few staircases and balconies carved into the cliff about two-thirds of the way up. Some crimson banners, too. We’re to reach them via a steep, zigzagging path.

  ‘Orin-kin,’ I say.

  ‘Schoolgirls,’ Violet mutters again. ‘I’ll show her just how dangerous a schoolgirl can be. And yeah, I let slip that Hickory used to be a bounty hunter, but I told Elsa ten times he wasn’t working for Roth anymore. Also, what rules and rituals was she talking about?’

  ‘No idea.’ I give Scab an awkward pat. He’s getting more and more skittish the closer we get to the mountains. ‘Easy, boy.’ He tries to bite me again.

  ‘This spike pit she mentioned, though,’ Violet says. ‘It could be near the Cradle entrance.’

  ‘I thought so, too,’ I say, ‘but it doesn’t really help us that much. There are probably loads of spike pits inside the Manor.’

  ‘It’s a start, at least. I’m sure Hickory’s seen a few. If the entrance is small and secret, he could’ve passed it dozens of times and not even known.’

  Music drifts towards us, quiet at first. A low rumble of tribal drums.

  ‘Hopefully we’ll get the chance to ask him soon,’ I say.

  Elsa blows a horn. We pick up the pace. I’m not sure who’s keener to reach the shadow of the mountains, the tribespeople or their horses. A cloud of sand billows from the base of the cliffs: a bunch of riders galloping out to meet us. They circle us in no time, whooping and hollering. Ten or so jumped-up boys and girls. The kid who was leading Elsa’s horse shouts at them, pointing back at us. They halt their horses and stare.

  Me and Violet share an uneasy look.

  Closer still and the mountains loom above us, blocking out the suns. We breathe a sigh of relief and start up the steep cliffside path. I try to ignore the long drop, the clattering pebbles, the very real possibility that Scab could turf me over the edge just because he feels like it. Thankfully, the drums are so loud now, nobody can hear my constant swearing.

  The path levels out near the top. We ride onto a wide ledge – an entrance to a massive cave. The rock around it has been chiselled into smooth columns capped with ornate designs. Swirls and weathered faces, stone flowers in bloom. Stairs branch off from the landing, scaling the cliffs to other, smaller caves. The crimson banners hang from tall wooden posts, utterly still. A crowd’s gathering. A few people rush over to hug their loved ones the moment they dismount. The others just stand there, slack-jawed, staring at me and Violet. Soon, we’re the only ones left on our horses. The drums stop with a final BADA-BOOM.

  Smile, I think. Wave.

  Slowly, carefully, I raise my good hand. Sure enough, one guy gasps. Another grips the handle of a machete strapped to his waist. A woman grabs her kid, holds him close. Standard greeting, in my experience. I should feel right at home.

  ‘Choo-nah!’ Elsa shouts. ‘Da linga pador,’ something-something, ‘du Jane Doe!’

  She points up at me, strides over and snatches Scab’s reins, blabbing on and on to the crowd, probably telling them the story of our arrival and all. The crowd hangs on her every word, expressions changing from shock to awe to joy. When she shouts something that kinda sounds like ‘cheese-bits’, everyone cheers. Elsa smiles, broad and winning, but when she turns back to us, she frowns and gestures for us to dismount, so we do, quick bloody smart.

  Well, Violet does. My foot gets caught in the stirrup. I stack it in front of everyone. The cheering falters. A few people laugh as Elsa yanks me back to my feet.

  ‘I’m okay,’ I say loudly, brushing the dirt from my butt. ‘Pfft. Horses, am I right?’

  ‘Just … stop,’ Elsa says. ‘Shut up and smile.’

  I do as I’m told. Elsa points at me, says something that makes everyone go wild. The drumming starts again – a lively, celebratory beat – and me and Violet are swamped by a bunch of older women. They touch our shoulders, our ratty robes, our manky hair. They gawk at my eyes – stunned by the colour, I guess – and whisper things as they shepherd us through the crowd and into the cave. It’s huge. A dome decorated with more intricate carvings of flowers and faces.

  ‘Whoa,’ Violet whispers.

  Five tunnels branch off from the dome, delving deeper into the mountain, all of them lit by flaming torches. The horses are led down the tunnel dead ahead. Scab glances back at me as they go. More people stream from the other tunnels, probably drawn here by the hullabaloo.

  I can see the drummers over by the entrance. People dancing, sharing bottles of booze. Elsa getting her fill, and Yaku – our constant shadow – watching us, oblivious to the celebration. But no Hickory.

  ‘Our friend,’ I ask the women. ‘Have you seen him? Lean guy. Shaggy black hair? Kinda smells?’

  They just smile and hand us mugs of water. I chug mine as we walk. We pass baskets filled with strange-looking fruit, and people don’t peg them at me, they offer them to me, as if they’re glad I’m here, as if they like me. One little girl even hands me a desert flower, pink and papery. She giggles and runs away before I can thank her. Nobody’s ever given me a flower before.

  Down a tunnel we go, into a small chamber with windows carved into the far wall. There’s a table laden with food in the corner. In the centre of the room are two metal tubs, filled with water, divided by a long, scrap-metal partition. Me and Violet are each directed to a tub. Yaku tries to step inside, too, but a tiny, brown woman with flyaway hair slams the door in his face, mid-protest.

  ‘Ku-tai,’ she shouts, ‘calabanai!’ and the women laugh.

  They add salts and powders to the tubs and, before we can say a word, we’re helped out of our clothes and plonked into the cool, sweet-smelling water. The women scrub and brush, chatting and laughing, wincing at the state of my nails and the knots in my hair.

  There’s a woman with red-feathered earrings. Skin the colour of old parchment. Emerald eyes. She reaches for my injured hand, nods and smiles, and I let her take it. She unravels the bandage and studies the wound, gently prodding the skin around it. A healer, I guess.

  ‘Is it infected?’ I ask.

  ‘Lon,’ she says, with a reassuring smile. ‘Lon.’

  After my hand’s cleaned and dried, she grabs a ceramic pot filled with a reddish paste and dabs a few globs over the cut. It stings, then quickly mellows to a dull buzz. Next, she wraps a fresh bandage around my hand and nods at her handiwork, jiggling her earrings.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, nodding and smiling.

  ‘Oi,’ Violet snaps behind the partition. ‘Don’t … fine. You can’t – ouch. Stop that!’

  The women around me chuckle and roll their eyes.

  ‘She’s nicer than she seems,’ I tell them.

  ‘I heard that,’ Violet says. And to the women, ‘Hey – bloody – listen, I – ugh!’

  Before long, I’m whipped out of the bath, towelled down and slipped into a fresh long-sleeved tunic-thing that’s soft and airy and actually feels pretty damn lovely. After making sure Violet’s decent, I step out from behind the partition, fighting a hot flush in my cheeks. She’s dressed in the same kind of tunic-thing as mine. Looks so lovely it kills me. The women brush and braid our hair. Give us new sandals, too. Then they clear out as fast as a whirling sandstorm and slam the door behind them.

  ‘Um,’ Violet says, ‘did that just happen?’

  ‘Y
ep.’ I run my fingers over my braids. I’ve never felt so damn fancy in my life. Kinda wish we had a mirror. Violet’s hair looks amazing, like some sort of small, elaborate bird’s nest. ‘I like your head,’ I say. ‘Your hair. It’s pretty.’ Crap. There’s that word again. ‘Good!’ I add, a little too loudly. ‘I mean, pretty … pretty good. You know. For you.’

  Violet fights back a smile. ‘Um … thanks. How’s the hand?’

  ‘Not bad, actually,’ I say. My palm doesn’t hurt anymore. The dull buzz is almost pleasant. The paste must be doing its job. ‘So … what are we supposed to do now?’

  It sounds like the crowd’s filing past our room. The drummers are on the move, too.

  ‘We wait, I guess,’ Violet says. ‘And eat.’

  We turn to the table. Behold the baskets of fruit and nuts. The platters of flatbread and strips of dried meat. The jugs of water.

  ‘Shouldn’t we’ – I lick my lips, my stomach growls – ‘look for Hickory first?’

  ‘Oh, definitely,’ Violet says, but we’re already walking towards the table. ‘We really need to find him. As quickly as possible. Make sure he’s okay.’

  ‘Get some answers.’

  ‘Prepare for the journey ahead.’

  We look at each other. Back down at the food.

  ‘On the other hand, we need our strength.’

  ‘Hickory would want us to eat.’

  Violet grabs a piece of fruit that looks like a lumpy papaya, digs into the pink flesh with her fingers and slurps the innards down. I shove half a melon-type-thing into my face before diving into the nuts.

  ‘That’s it,’ I grunt with my mouth full. ‘I’m never not-eating ever again.’

  Violet downs a handful of berries. ‘How do they even grow anything out here?’

  I gnaw at a meat-strip. ‘Don’t know, don’t –’

  The door slams open. Yaku’s back, scowling as always, flanked by a couple of guards.

  ‘– care,’ I finish. ‘Um … can we help you?’

  Yaku flicks his head. ‘Come. Now.’

  Violet wipes the juice from her chin. ‘Here we go, then …’

  We head down the tunnel, towards the echoing drums. There’s a rusty metal door ahead. The drums are thump-ba-dumping so loud on the other side I can feel it in my bones. The crowd’s cheering and clapping.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I ask Yaku. ‘What’s going on?’

  He frowns at the other guards, opens the door and shoves us through to a small landing. Violet rounds on him, ready to tell him off, but I quickly grab her arm.

  I want to say, ‘This is bad.’ I want to scream, ‘No!’

  But all I can do is groan.

  Because the crowd’s packed into a second, smaller dome. Because Elsa’s standing on a podium, soaking up the applause. But mostly because there’s a dirty great pit in the centre of the chamber.

  And Hickory’s standing near the edge of it with a gun to his head.

  HICKORY’S PENANCE

  He’s puffy-eyed and beaten, barely able to stand. Pale skin sunburnt and blistered, covered in fresh cuts and bruises. They’ve stripped off his clothes and chucked him in a loincloth. Hacked all his hair off, too. He doesn’t flinch when a sandal flies from the crowd and smacks him in the head. Doesn’t so much as blink when the guy with the gun nudges him closer to the pit.

  ‘Hickory …’

  Yaku knows what I’m thinking. He tries to stop me from running off, but Violet grabs his wrist with one hand, jabs him twice with the other, rounds on the two guards and shouts, ‘Go, Jane – I’ve got this!’

  And I’m off, leaping down from the landing, ducking and weaving through the crowd.

  It’s bananas. Everyone’s clapping, stomping, trying to get a good view of the pit. I catch glimpses of Elsa through the flailing arms and jostling bodies. I can’t understand what she’s shouting, but I catch ‘Roth’ in there a few times. She keeps pointing at Hickory, too.

  ‘Elsa,’ I shout, ‘stop!’ But she can’t hear me, can’t see me.

  ‘Roth, ku-nah!’ she yells, and the crowd roars.

  I squeeze between two big guys, fighting my way closer to the pit. Catch a glimpse of Hickory just standing there, swaying slightly on his feet.

  Why isn’t he fighting back?

  ‘Hickory!’ I shout again.

  I force my way through the crowd, trip over and land on my hands and knees at the edge of the pit. It’s at least three metres deep, as wide as the Hollows’ basement, and scattered with bones: a leg, an arm, several broken, not-quite-human skulls. And there, crouched in the far corner –

  ‘Oh, crap.’

  A Leatherhead – a Gorani – but one I’ve never seen the likes of before. It has no suit, no gas mask, no gun. It’s dressed in a loincloth, same as Hickory’s, and its black-beady eyes are sunken and wild, its waxen skin covered in burns and scars. This is no foot soldier. This is a pitiful, desperate creature, which makes it all the more dangerous.

  I get up, take a deep breath and shout, ‘STOP!’

  It works. Elsa holds up her hands. Everyone falls silent. The people around me take a step back.

  ‘Let him go,’ I say. ‘Right now. You can’t do this.’

  Elsa forces a smile. She’s trying to remain calm, in control, but I can tell she’s angry. Or is she scared?

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘You know this is wrong.’

  Hickory looks even worse close up. His bottom lip’s swollen, bleeding at the corner. He’s taking shallow breaths, like maybe he has a broken rib or two. Worst of all, he doesn’t seem to know who I am. He’s looking at me, through me, like I’m just another person in the crowd.

  The Gorani’s even more terrified now that everyone’s gone quiet; little eyes darting around, three-fingered hands clinging to the rock wall at its back.

  ‘Jane Doe.’ Elsa holds her arms out wide. ‘In honour of your arrival, we present you with this gift.’ She gestures at the pit like it’s the grandest bloody birthday cake in all the worlds.

  Yaku pushes his way to the edge of the pit with Violet struggling in his arms, a hand clasped over her mouth.

  ‘Not just a confirmation of faith,’ Elsa continues, ‘but a demonstration of our commitment to end Roth’s reign of terror, and bring all who serve him to justice!’

  Yaku translates for everyone. The crowd goes wild.

  Violet’s rattled, but nods at me all the same. I’m okay. You’ve got this.

  I take a few steps around the edge of the pit, closer to Hickory. Yaku yells something at the people near me. Two guys try to grab me, but I slap their hands away and glare at them.

  Elsa gives me a subtle headshake. A warning.

  Don’t do anything stupid? Clearly, she doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.

  ‘First,’ I shout, and wait a second for the crowd to settle, ‘you folks really suck at gift-giving. Second, I already told you. Hickory doesn’t serve Roth anymore.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants you to think,’ Elsa says.

  ‘He saved our lives!’ How do I explain this? ‘He used to be a bounty hunter, but he’s on our side now. Tell her, Hickory.’ He stares down at the pit, doesn’t say a goddamn thing. ‘Oi,’ I say, louder. ‘Hickory, tell them you don’t work for Roth.’

  He closes his eyes, hangs his head.

  This isn’t the Hickory I know. The guy who whipped Roth atop a speeding train and snagged him on a passing chandelier. The guy who stabbed a river creature in the back seconds before it was about to eat us alive. The guy who always has a plan.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I ask him. ‘After everything we’ve been through, you can’t just –’

  Elsa nods at the guy with the gun. He nudges Hickory till his toes are poking over the edge of the pit.

  The crowd stirs again, jostling for better views.

  ‘Wait! Elsa, don’t. You know we need him. You kill Hickory, you kill our best chance of stopping Roth and getting Dad – John – Charlie
– whatever you want to call him – back.’ It’s risky, bringing him into this, but I have to get through to her somehow. I think it works, too. I can see her eyes narrow from here. ‘Look,’ I say, light and breezy, ‘we got off on the wrong foot here. How about we all calm down, back away from the creepy death pit and talk, huh?’

  The crowd’s growing impatient. Whispering. Fidgeting. Elsa steels herself. ‘You’re wasting your time, Jane. Even if he has renounced Roth, the laws of our land dictate that he must be punished. We captured this Gorani months ago, fleeing Roth’s army.’ She nods at the creature in the pit. ‘A deserter, true, but guilty of unimaginable atrocities nonetheless. Hickory is no different.’

  ‘He was caught by Roth inside the Manor. Roth forced him to –’

  ‘Kill innocent people? Lead them to their doom?’

  ‘Yes! Wait, no. I mean –’

  ‘Listen to me, Jane.’ Elsa glares at me again. ‘He has a chance. He has a choice.’

  ‘Fight or die? Some choice! And I hate Leatherheads – I mean, Gorani – as much as the next girl, but if this one fled Roth’s army then it isn’t really a threat anymore, is it? Just let it go!’

  ‘I have to uphold the law,’ Elsa says, teeth gritted, fists clenched.

  ‘Screw the law,’ I shout, and point at Hickory. ‘He. Can’t. Fight.’

  ‘Kaida nu,’ someone shouts. Elsa holds her head high, tries to ignore them, but everyone’s joining in now, shouting louder and louder. ‘Kaida nu. Kaida nu. Kaida nu!’

  ‘What are they saying?’ I ask. ‘Elsa –’

  She calls for silence. The crowd obeys. ‘They’re saying … death.’

  The guy with the gun shoves Hickory. He topples into the pit. I shout, ‘No!’ but I’m drowned out by the crowd as they clamour and haggle around the pit, waving copper coins in the air. I can’t believe it.

  They’re actually placing bets.

  Hickory’s gasping on the pit floor, clawing at the dirt, winded from the fall. The Gorani tries to scramble up the wall, rattling its throat and screeching as it slips back down. Obviously, it doesn’t want to fight either, but it could turn on Hickory any second.