by Matthew Ward
Wrapping her arms tight about her thin frame, Yelen stared into the glass. No matter how hard she tried, she could dredge up no memory of anything after Mirika had left, billy can in hand.
With a growl of frustration, she planted a fist against the rotting plasterwork. Her mirror-image stared back, the two of them joined in silent fury at liberties taken. Taken aback at the reflected expression, Yelen took a deep breath and forced herself to something approaching calm. Better not to rise to it. Better not to… ‘What has she done this time?’
‘Shhh…’ The reflection’s lips twisted into a smile. ‘You’re leaping to conclusions.’
Yelen’s heart leapt into her mouth. For the first time, she noticed that her doppelgänger’s eyes were not blue, but a deep, gold-flecked crimson.
She lurched on shaking legs, peering desperately around the attic. At last, she realised what was wrong. Everything was backwards. Reflected. Even the titles of her books. Through the mirror, everything was as it should have been. She was trapped in her own reflection.
‘I told you this was coming, poppet,’ crowed Azzanar. Her mouth parted to reveal a forked, black tongue. ‘Now it’s your turn to watch.’
Yelen ground the heels of her hands into her temples. ‘No! I didn’t let you out! I didn’t let you out!’
She ripped back the sleeve of the furs and stared at her left wrist. The clock face tattoo was completely black. The thirteen glowed red to match her reflection’s eyes.
Yelen scrunched her eyes shut, the panicked sob choking off beneath a hot surge of anger. ‘Let me out!’
The mirror shattered further beneath her fist, splintering Azzanar’s image a dozen times over. Blood spattered across the glass. Yelen felt nothing. Again and again she hammered at the mirror, the demon’s laughter billowing louder with every strike.
‘I won’t let you!’ Another blow. Another sharp, brittle crunch. ‘Let me go!’
Yelen drew back with a deep, shuddering breath. She stared at her trembling hands, the knuckles ripped and bloody. Mirika appeared in the fragmented mirror-image and set her hand on Azzanar’s shoulder.
‘It’s time to go. I’ve booked passage as far as Karamasz. We can work out the rest as we go.’
‘Mirika, no!’ Yelen screamed for all she was worth. ‘That’s not me! That’s her! Don’t go!’
Mirika turned from the mirror and walked away. Azzanar offered Yelen a half shrug and a wink, then turned to follow.
‘No! Mirika! That’s not me! Mirika!’
Desperate, Yelen flung herself at the mirror. It exploded into bloody shards.
* * *
Alerted by the cry, Mirika caught Yelen’s jack-knifing body before she plunged into the fire. Grabbing her sister by the shoulders, she hauled her bodily away from the flames and propped her against the wall. Yelen clutched at her arms, her breathing low and thready.
‘Don’t go with her! It’s not me. It’s not me!’
Grip still firm on Yelen’s shoulders, Mirika gazed down into her sister’s eyes. They stared back, glassy and unfocused.
Uncertainty pricked at Mirika’s thoughts, its claws pricking along her spine. ‘Yelen? Yelen, it’s alright. Do you hear me?’
Yelen’s breathing quickened. Her fingers tightened painfully around Mirika’s upper arms. ‘Don’t go!’
With no other course of action obvious, Mirika flung her arms around Yelen and held her tight. Her sister’s muscles were taut as ships’ rigging. ‘I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m not.’
She held Yelen’s thin, shivering form tight, repeating the mantra again and again. Little by little, Yelen’s breathing slowed – the sharp, furtive gasps giving way to ragged lungfuls. Her body lost its stiffness. She sank into Mirika’s arms, returning the embrace.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ She whispered in a small voice, equal parts contrition and embarrassment. ‘I must have dozed off. The nightmare was so real.’
‘No kidding. I heard the snores all the way from the gate. As for the rest…’ Mirika frowned. ‘Show me your wrist?’
Yelen pulled away, a haunted look in her eyes. ‘Why? What does it matter?’
Mirika’s suspicions coalesced, dense as iron. ‘It didn’t. Not until you refused.’ She sighed, and forced a sharper edge into her tone. ‘Just show me.’
She didn’t need to meet Yelen’s defiant gaze to know that speaking so was a mistake, another incidence of the ‘big sister knows best’ attitude that was slowly driving them apart. But she couldn’t back down. Not about this. Part of her was honest enough to admit that there’d probably never be a right topic to back down from, but sometimes big sister really did know best. If only Yelen had listened back in Karamasz, maybe none of this would have happened.
With a grimace, Yelen twisted away. Still not looking at Mirika, she stripped off her left glove and rolled back her sleeve. The clock face tattoo was darker than the last time Mirika had seen it, the black stain spread well past twelve o’clock. That could only mean one thing: Yelen had called on the demon for help. Exactly as she’d promised not to.
Mirika sank back beside the fire. ‘When?’
Yelen kept her gaze fixed steadfastly on the wall. ‘In the tomb. I heard you cry out, and I lost my grip on the lock picks.’ Her voice quickened, the tone sharp, defensive. ‘We were out of time. I thought you were hurt. We couldn’t afford to start over, so I crumbled the vault to dust.’ She drew herself up, at last shifting to regard Mirika with a cool, defiant stare. ‘It had to be done.’
Mirika shook her head. The problem was, Yelen was right. The confrontation with the Gilded Rose – a confrontation Mirika herself had provoked – had been going badly. If Yelen hadn’t breached the vault when she had, they might not have made it out at all, let alone with the reliquary. But still, the risk made Mirika sick to her stomach. It was one thing for her to have come as close to death, but if Yelen lost her battle with the demon in her soul…
‘Yelen, listen…’
‘It was only a dream,’ said Yelen. ‘Maybe I was wrong about the chanin.’
‘Maybe. But it won’t be next time. Not if you keep on like this.’
Yelen snorted. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re still convinced Torik’s going to cure me.’
The sudden bitterness in her tone caught Mirika off-guard. She chose her next words as carefully as she would her steps across a frozen lake. ‘Of course he is. He promised, didn’t he?’
‘And how many times has he promised before?’
‘So there were setbacks. Your situation’s complicated. So is magic. He’s doing everything he can.’
Yelen shook her head. ‘You really believe that, don’t you?’
‘Of course. He’s been nothing but good to us.’
‘To you. To his beloved apprentice. I’m just the freak he keeps locked in the attic.’
The ice beneath Mirika’s feet began creaking. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Why do you think I’m never there when he’s holding his little gatherings, fanning his ego in front of the crowds? I’m just the price he pays to keep you around. An experiment gone out of hand. An embarrassment. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, convinced he’s in the room, watching me. But he never is. Or at least, I never see him.’
Mirika drew back. It was certainly true that Master Torik liked to play court when the fancy took him. He’d taken great care to introduce her to his peers, or perhaps rivals – in Frostgrave, the two were often one and the same. He’d even gifted her a time walker’s scarlet robe – purchased at great expense, she didn’t doubt, from one of the trade caravans that plied the eastern routes – so that she might properly look the part. Mirika had borne that gift, and the others that had followed, with suspicion at first, fearful that the friendliness would give way to more personal, more private, demands. Months had passed before she’d finally realised the truth. Despite his great age, or perhaps because of it, Master Torik was a deeply lonely man. He’d spoken many times about his f
ear of passing into the beyond without leaving another to fill his shoes. Though Mirika wasn’t wholly convinced that she wanted to inherit his lonely, insular life, it did no harm to humour the old man – especially with Yelen’s soul at stake.
‘You stay away from Master Torik’s parties because you hate people,’ she pointed out. ‘They bore you. Your words, not mine.’
Yelen’s eyes flashed. ‘I stay away from his parties because he made it quite clear what would happen if I didn’t do as I was told.’
‘And you always do what you’re told? Right?’
She turned sharply away, fists clenching and unclenching.
Mirika choked back her own rising anger. ‘Listen, I know you’re scared. I know you’re angry, but Master Torik…’
Yelen cut her off with a wave of her hand. ‘You remember about three months back, when he invited Markos Tremojz and his band of thugs into the Guttered Candle?’
Mirika narrowed her eyes. Where was she going with this? ‘A peace offering, wasn’t it? Some old squabble over an amulet, and a djinn. I remember Markos stank of beer even before he crossed the threshold. And that I didn’t see you for a week afterwards.’
‘I disobeyed Torik,’ Yelen said. ‘I came downstairs late in the evening. Saw them talking. I don’t know where you were.’
Mirika shifted uneasily. ‘I went down to the river. Markos is boring.’
In point of fact, she’d abandoned proceedings early on. Most of Markos’ gang had been dour veterans, riddled with scars and ill-manners learnt during bitter years surviving Frostgrave. Elni was different. A few years older than Mirika, she’d smiled while the others had scowled, and alone had regarded her as an equal, rather than as another of Master Torik’s exotic treasures. They’d got well and drunk that night, away from the crowd, sharing stories and laughter like old friends. A herd of mammoths could have trampled through the tavern that night, and Mirika wouldn’t have noticed. Nor when she awoke on the wharfside the next morning, head thundering with the aftermath of excess.
Elni had died three days later, along with the rest of Markos’ gang – the victim of some ill-advised expedition into the Grey District.
Yelen shrugged. ‘Well, Torik caught me. He must’ve stepped into the timeflow, because I didn’t even see him coming. Before I knew it, I was back in the attic. He stood over me…’ Her fingers danced along one cheek. ‘I can still smell the tobacco on his breath. He called me every name you can think of. I tried to pull away, but he’s strong for a withered old fossil…’
Hairs prickled on the back of Mirika’s neck. ‘What happened?’
Yelen’s lips contorted at the memory. ‘He brought… He brought Azzan… her to the surface. Pushed me against the mirror, so I’d see her in my reflection. Said he’d bring her up all the way if I ever disobeyed him again. So I didn’t.’
Mirika stared at her sister. Speechless, innards writhing like snakes. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Because you wouldn’t have believed me,’ snapped Yelen. She rolled back her sleeve, and slid her hand into the glove. ‘And you don’t, do you?’
Blue eyes, defiant as ever, met Mirika’s. It’d be so easy to say what Yelen wanted to hear. Maybe even wise. ‘I don’t know.’
Yelen shook her head sadly. ‘And that’s why I didn’t tell you. We may be sisters, but we don’t live in the same world. Did you never wonder why the clock gained three hours in the space of days? Come on! I went wild back in Karamasz, yanked Bruel’s gang through the timeflow so hard they were vomiting for days. Crumbled that old vulture’s workhouse to dust, and that was just for starters.’
‘I remember,’ said Mirika. The memory even occasioned a small smile. She’d been proud of Yelen at the time. Had thought her gift had finally awoken. It was only afterwards that she learned the full horror of the bargain her sister had made.
‘I bet they’re still talking about it to this day.’
‘Oh, you’ll be a legend, sure enough.’
‘An hour. That’s all it cost me. An hour on the clock. One out of thirteen. Don’t you think you’d have noticed if I’d let loose with three hours’ worth in the space of one night?’
There was that, Mirika allowed. There was that. Yelen was telling the truth. She had to be. ‘You should’ve told me.’
‘You weren’t there.’ The words were mild, but there was no mistaking the accusation behind them. ‘And then, when you were, it was easier not to say anything. You idolize that old vulture. What could I have said?’
‘You could have started with what you’ve just told me,’ snapped Mirika. Rising to her feet, she took a deep breath – angry at herself as much as at her sister. She wasn’t surprised Yelen had remained silent. After all, she hadn’t believed her, had she? No wonder she wanted to leave. ‘He’s going to help you. He promised.’
‘I know you believe that.’
Mirika took a deep breath, collapsing all the anger and heartbreak into a single, implacable purpose. If there was a choice at hand, it was really no choice at all. ‘You don’t understand. He’s going to help you. It doesn’t matter what he’s said or done to this point, or what he thinks he’s going to do afterwards. You’re my sister – we’re a team, you and I. And he promised.’
To her relief, Yelen cracked a smile; small, wary and fragile, but a smile nonetheless. ‘You’re impressive at times, you know that?’
Hands on hips, Mirika tilted her head back, striking as heroic a pose as any tombstone warden in the Wailing Reach. ‘And don’t you forget it.’ She held the pose a heartbeat longer, and let her shoulders slump. ‘You still should have said something. How could you keep this from me?’
‘It became normal. Everything does, if you do it for long enough.’ For a moment, Yelen looked like she were about to expand on her theme, then she snorted and clambered to her feet. ‘How is it outside?’
Mirika watched her closely, distrusting the sudden shift of mood. ‘Bad. Worse. Three days back to Rekamark, if the weather holds like this.’
‘So it takes three days,’ said Yelen, all business again. ‘We’ve plenty of supplies, and it’s not like the Gilded Rose can be making better time than us.’
‘What if we took a shortcut?’
‘What kind of shortcut?’
Mirika took a deep breath, but she was committed now. ‘We leave the ridge behind, and cut across the east valley. That’ll put the wind behind us. And the snow, with a bit of luck.’
Yelen scratched at her scalp. ‘There’s a reason we stick to the ridge.’
‘I know, but…’
‘You’ve heard the stories.’
Mirika waved her hand, sweeping the argument aside. ‘This place is nothing but stories.’
‘And some of them have corpses for punctuation.’ She shot Mirika a sideways glance. ‘This is about me, isn’t it? You’re worried I’ll call on… her again, aren’t you?’
‘No!’ Aware that the denial had been too forceful, Mirika paused before pressing on. ‘I was already thinking about it. But now you mention it… The longer we’re out here, the more likely something’ll happen to force your hand.’ She took Yelen’s hands in hers. ‘We’ve played things safe ever since we arrived here. We’re due a risk. Let’s take it. Given what you’ve just told me, the sooner we cut ties with Master Torik, the better.’
Yelen hesitated a moment, and then nodded. ‘Alright. What did you have in mind?’
CHAPTER FOUR
Shattered monoliths marked the old funeral path – even in a blizzard, they left a trail Mirika could follow. Yelen trudged along the sheer pathway, the rope lifeline restored. The conversation in the crematorium haunted her steps. Did Mirika really believe her? Yelen wanted to think so. Should she have spoken up before? Would it have mattered? She shook her head and clutched the supply haversack all the tighter. No good came of second-guessing, not if she wanted to stay sane. Not when she was already teetering on the edge.
Even now, Yelen’s pulse quickened whenever s
he recalled the dream – if indeed it had been a dream at all. It could have been the chanin, or… What if Azzanar had come so close to the surface that she was influencing her thoughts, her perceptions? Yelen clenched her teeth. No. She’d have noticed, surely? Unless part of that influence was to make her numb to what was really going on. If that were the case…
‘No,’ she whispered, the word snatched away into the storm. ‘Getting paranoid doesn’t help anyone.’
Azzanar’s honeyed laugh trickled across her thoughts. ‘Who’s been telling you that you’re paranoid? I wouldn’t trust someone who said that to me.’
‘Very funny,’ muttered Yelen. ‘So you were responsible for my dream.’
‘I don’t deal in dreams. Nasty, flighty things that they are. We’re a team, you and I, poppet. You’ll understand that one day.’
‘I know,’ she replied sourly. ‘Your mind, my body. It won’t happen.’
‘We’ll see.’
Yelen had the sense of someone walking beside her, a dark shape keeping pace through the blizzard. She turned, eyes tracking hopelessly through the blinding flurry. Nothing. ‘Are you doing this?’
She stifled a yelp as fingers squeezed her shoulder. She spun around, dagger slipping free of its sheath as she did so.
And found herself staring into Mirika’s grey eyes.
‘Woah! It’s me!’ Mirika flung up her hands. ‘I can’t lead you through this if you cut my throat.’ She stepped closer. ‘You stopped walking. You didn’t respond to my signals. What’s wrong?’
Yelen sheathed her dagger, and tried to ignore Azzanar’s distant laughter. ‘Nothing. I’m going mad, that’s all.’
Mirika slipped an arm around her, and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. ‘Just keep walking. We’re nearly off the ridge. From there, it’s a simple enough walk.’
Yelen nodded mutely and watched her sister vanish into the blizzard. How much time had passed since she’d stopped walking? She could have sworn it had only been seconds. ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’
