The Broken Door

by Sarah Stirling

  He froze, feeling the need to wrap his arms around himself. “I – um – yes.”

  Dallren turned back to his companions with raised brows. “My, my, you’re getting good at this, aren’t you? Why don’t you join us? Give us losers a few tips, hm?”

  They snickered behind the fans of their cards, eyes peering out over the edge to bore into him. Anger flickered in him, a weak flame fed by frustration and exhaustion. Viktor didn’t know why the boy had set his sights on him to taunt. They’d never even interacted much before Dallren had started looking his way.

  “Why do you think you’re too good for us?” Dallren hissed under his breath, too low for the others too hear. “Why do you always turn your nose up at me?”

  Viktor ignored his heartbeat and stepped closer. “Why do you always try to set me off?”

  Dallren blinked and then the smile spread across his face. “You make it so easy. If you don’t want me to you shouldn’t make it so entertaining.”

  Viktor tried to brush past him for the door. “I’m not going to be your entertainment for the evening, Dallren.”

  A hand grabbed his wrist and yanked him back. “No? Should I mention to Red how you’ve sneaking out to go somewhere you’re not supposed to?”

  His eyes widened, palms slick as a cold current washed over him.

  Dallren’s smirk grew wider. “You’ve got black sand on your shoes.” He released his grip so fast that Viktor stumbled a step. “What are you up to, Viktor? Thinking of escaping?”

  Yes, he wanted to say. Nearly let the word slip from his mouth. Instead he let the sound of it ring in his ears as he sat down at the proffered chair, numb, and attempted a smile at the ring of faces surrounding him. From their expressions it was clear they didn’t believe him. Now he couldn’t even go and meet with the other rift guardians to ensure he got his money. He itched to leave, cards bending beneath his worrying fingers.

  One day, he thought to himself. One day I’ll be somewhere better than this. The rest of you can rot.

  *

  The tavern was called The Dragonslayer, after the large drake-shaped skeletal head that hung over the circular bar in the centre of the room. Its jaws were propped open with pieces of wiring, giving it quite the toothy grin, and paired with its blank eye sockets it made for a particularly unnerving sight when ordering drinks. Despite this fact, the place was inundated with customers packed into the clusters of tables around the bar, having garnered a reputation as a drinking hole of repute for the sole fact that its original owner had supposedly killed a dragon.

  Rook was sceptical but she liked the amiable atmosphere. No one side-eyed a southerner in a place like this, or tried to call her pjurrei. Even better than that was the fact that the drunken patrons were spectacularly bad at cards.

  “Rattlebones!” she cried, throwing down her hand with a flourish. It was, of course, the theatrics that mattered most. A few drinks in herself, she was feeling unstoppable. “I win again.”

  The man across from her named Raknar scowled, tensing his thick arms as if to intimidate her while she scooped the stack of notes and coins into her chest. “My bloody left hand you win again.”

  “I think,” said the smaller man named Lan beside him, “you mean my bloody left hand.” At this he slapped his false hand on the table and it thunked against the wood. “But I don’t think he’s wrong. I don’t know how you’re doing it, Chana, but I recognise a cheat when I see one.”

  “Surely you wouldn’t accuse a sweet young chana like myself, Wei. Especially when she can outplay you old seadogs at Rattlebones.”

  This was all said very pleasantly but the atmosphere plunged a few degrees as she spoke, all five patrons around the table subtly reached for their weapons. Ah, there I go again, she thought. It was hard to resist taunting them for playing as clumsily as they did but even she could sense that it wouldn’t be wise to start a bar fight when she was here on a mission. The truth of it was, she’d spent too many winter nights too bitterly cold to leave the barracks, playing cards against all manners of people, and Rattlebones had been amongst her favourites. It was a game of strategy and manipulation; something she’d savoured even more than beating her opponents in the training room.

  She considered how to leave the situation unscathed when movement caught the corner of her eye and she watched Alik and the quiet man she didn’t know the name of enter the tavern. Perfect.

  “Sorry to cut this short, Weishei, but it seems I must be on my way. Duty calls and all that. I’m sure you understand.”

  As she stood all four of her companions shot to their feet too, the squeak of chairs drawing the attention of some of the other patrons. “I’d like my money back, Chana,” growled Raknar. The term of endearment sounded considerably less dear.

  “I seem to recall that I won fair and square. It’s not my fault you don’t know how to play the game. It is one that requires intellect after all.” Locker’s depths. Now she had done it.

  Raknar dove for her but she ducked out of his way and let him stumble a few steps, swinging her arm up to block an attack from the woman, Allyu, who had been sitting on her right, and then diving so that she and Raknar could collide into one another in their pursuit of her. Lan was crouched in a boxer’s stance – this one knows how to fight – and she spun her dagger with a flash of teeth as they sized one another up. But Rook was not in the business of killing. So she flung it past his head, just close enough to make him flinch, and then struck forward with a series of jabs before taking him down with a punch to the fleshy part of his stomach, only for the last of the table’s compatriots to kick her off him. She rolled up onto her feet, feeling pain flare in her side. The thrill of the fight was building in her now, adrenaline pumping. It felt good.

  This woman was faster and she had to dance out of the way of her attacks, difficult in a cramped tavern, particularly as Raknar came after her again, swinging his meaty fists. He tried to grab onto her neck from behind but she ducked down tight and pushed him all the way over so that he landed heavily on his back with a grunt. In the moment where she paused to regain her breath the second woman managed to land a crack of her knuckles across her face and she staggered back as pain exploded through her jaw, lip cracking.

  It only lit the fuse.

  Rook grabbed a chair and was seconds away from going wild when the quiet man cracked the woman across the temple with the butt of his gun, swung it around in his hand, and then pointed the muzzle at Lan who was staggering to his feet with murderous intent twisted across his features.

  “Leave,” he commanded, “or I will shoot.”

  Lan seemed to read something in the black depths of his eyes and spat on the ground before leaving, the conscious members of his crew following after. The rest of the tavern exploded in a rabble of complaints and sighs, some exchanging hands of money, a few calling out jests and cheers.

  Rook wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, pulling it back to find red staining the white of her skin for the second time in as many days. She grinned even though it hurt. “Thanks there, cowboy,” she said, slapping him on the back as he holstered his revolver. “I think I like you.”

  “What in the Locker were you doing?” exclaimed Alik as he surveyed the mess – glinting shards of glass, a splintered chair, and an unconscious body sprawled loose under the table. “The barkeep is going to have your head!”

  “Little Rihnan? Doubt it. The boy’s as timid as a snow faun. Besides, I won the funds to pay the damage so I think we’re square.”

  Alik sputtered, mouth moving silently as she turned to the quiet man, his eyes distant and mouth pressed into a tight line. “Looks like I owe you a drink but I still don’t know your name.”

  It took a moment for his eyes to slide to hers, so dark they seemed to drink in the light. “Janus.”

  “All right, Janus-wei. Nice to meet you properly. I’m Rook.” She held out her hand and he took it with a calloused hand, limply letting her shake it. “Whatever you want it’s on
me.”

  “Blood rum. Hold the honorifics, if you don’t mind.”

  “Got it. I’ll be right back.”

  “Hold on,” interrupted Alik. “Don’t you think this is a bit of an inappropriate reaction for… all of this?” He gestured to the state of the table.

  She patted his arm reassuringly. “I’ll make that two. Janus, get us a table, will you? One that doesn’t have all this mess.” Then she sauntered up to the bar where an obviously panicking Rihnan was watching her approach with wide eyes. Poor boy.

  “It’s all right, Chi. I’ll pay for the damages. Three blood rums please.”

  “You’re damned right you will.”

  She turned her head, seeing the tavern owner, Tannai, appear with her thick brows drawn, black hair knotted high above her head the way that was traditional here, as it staved off the worst of the heat. “I told you I’d throw you out if you started something like that. Don’t think I don’t know where you were the night before.”

  “Ah, but I didn’t start it.”

  Tannai narrowed her dark green eyes. “Don’t play games with me, Chana.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. She did feel a little guilty for tearing up the tavern, pulling out a few crumpled notes and passing them across the sticky surface of the bar top. “For your troubles.”

  Tannai counted it out and then stuffed the notes down her blouse with a grumble. “Your mission was not successful.”

  Rook looked at her.

  “I own a tavern. I hear things. There are forces gathering here. I have felt it.”

  “You have heard word of the riftspawn?”

  “Of many. But of the one you speak, yes. It moves from place to place, stealing the life from the land. It sounds as if Var Kunir himself has decided to venture onto the land now. May the light guide us all.” The woman tightened her shawl around her at the mention of the Zorashiran figure. “I dread to think what will happen when it grows strong enough to venture from the rift.”

  “Many would call your talk superstition.”

  The woman smiled, the lines on her face deepening. “I suppose many would. Then again, I am not in the habit of heeding the advice of many. I happen to figure that you aren’t, either, if your tattoo is any indication.”

  Rook laughed, tugging on her sleeve. “You aren’t wrong there.” She watched as Rihnan poured from a fat bottle into three glasses, vapour rising from them as the rich crimson liquid sloshed and settled, condensation beading on the rim. She swiped a finger across the surface, absent-mindedly drawing the symbols she had glimpsed on the stone tablet. “I do not know how to get others to see.”

  “You won’t,” said Tannai and she frowned. “People will believe what they want to. That is the way of the world. What truly matters is what you decide to do about it.”

  “Why me? I’m no hero.”

  “No? Says who, exactly?”

  A lot of people, she thought, watching bubbles swirl through the drinks as they caught the lamplight, glowing red from inside. “I do not know that I believe it.”

  “You expect me to praise you? A woman I do not even know?” The woman shook her head, sharp eyes scanning the tavern as she spoke. “I simply meant that you must decide what it is you think should be done and do it yourself. Never rely on others to do what you can do on your own.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right.”

  “I always am,” Tannai sniffed. “Now I must take my leave of you. I trust you can behave yourself?”

  “You have my word.”

  She huffed a laugh. “I’ll believe your word once it becomes worth something,” and with that she stalked off to berate her staff, skirts swishing with the sway of her wide hips.

  Rook gave herself another moment to reflect before shaking her head with a self-indulgent smile. Just what is it I’m even worrying about? She swept up the drinks and took them back to the new table Janus and Alik had picked by the window, lit in the radiance of the setting sun, painting them with ethereal amber light.

  “Drink up!” she said, knocking back her own rum and relishing in the burn down her throat. “It seems we have much to discuss.”

  Alik stared at the drink between his hands as if it contained the answers to the universe. “Do we?”

  Rook leant back in her chair and laughed. “What did you expect to find so far from the rift? I told you, did I not?”

  “We had to see what we were dealing with,” protested Alik.

  “An unstable rift is what we’re dealing with. This riftspawn might be more than just one alone.”

  “I doubt it – the damage was all the same. I reckon it’s the one greater level.” He paused with the glass to his lips, then lowered it again. “And how would you know if a rift is unstable? You’re hardly a rift warden yet.”

  “I think nearly getting attacked by a horde of riftspawn was a pretty decent sign.”

  “Really? A few riftspawn is a horde now is it?” Alik snorted. “You’re standing here just fine, aren’t you? Where’s the other one?”

  Rook barely resisted the urge to rise to the bait. “I don’t know, he’s late. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran off after yesterday.” She still felt guilty for nicking him. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had scared him off.

  “The attempts at frightening us are real cute.”

  “I’m just saying that I was right to check the rift. It’s too unstable to remain this way unchecked.”

  “So you just ran away without bothering to do something?”

  Rook opened her mouth to retort but Janus spoke before she could. “What kind of temple was it? Did you recognise the symbols?”

  She glanced him over, both grateful for the interruption and curious that he chose now to join the conversation. “I didn’t but I plan to look into it.”

  Kilai arrived shortly after, surveying the room before she sat down. Very prim and proper, Rook noted, taking in the way she sat straight-backed against her seat. “Where is Viktor?” She shook her head at the lack of response. “It does not matter. Our priority is finding this creature.”

  “I’m not sure it is,” she said.

  An arched brow was all she received for her comment.

  “You need to have people gatekeeping the rift. That’s why you have this problem in the first place.”

  “We have never had wardens on this island for as long as I have known it. I do not think people will take well to their introductions now, even if my request to the Order was granted.”

  “People wouldn’t,” Alik interrupted, “or the Sonlin forces wouldn’t take well to it?

  Rook looked at him, surprised at his support, but quickly recovered. “It’s no secret to anyone that they don’t approve of our methods. I’m sure they’d shut us down completely, if they could.”

  “I don’t think it will be long until that day comes,” Alik agreed.

  Kilai seemed to consider, the silence of their table filled by the hum of conversation of those around them, drinks clicking together. One man rose to his feet and began to play a jaunty melody on the fiddle while his companions jeered and clapped.

  “I will not deny that it is unpopular, nor that my fate is not tied with their forces. However, as much power as I might like to believe I have, what I can actually achieve fits a considerably smaller margin.”

  “That’s a fancy way of saying you can’t do anything,” said Alik.

  “No,” said Rook, “it’s a fancy way of saying she won’t do anything.”

  Kilai’s eyes flashed but she conceded a nod with tight lips, painted the same purple shade as her skirts. “They consider it blasphemous to revere spirits as you do. I can only try to prevent this one from tearing up our city. I implore that you consider the impact it will have on our economy.”

  Rook sighed. It seemed she would have to write to the Riftkeepers’ headquarters in Tsellyr herself to see what might be done. “I’m hardly going to leave you all to the Locker, am I?”

  Alik nodded. “It’s o
ur duty to see this through.”

  Kilai nodded, posture wilting. “Good.” The shadows beneath her eyes were deep. She looked worn out. “Well I’m afraid I must be on my way. There’s much I still have to see to before the sun is down.” She got up to leave, sunset staining her profile in dusky pink and softening the cut of her cheekbones.

  “Hold on, wait!” She grabbed Kilai’s arm to stop her from leaving.

  Kilai turned to look at her, yanking her arm from Rook’s grip. “Did you want something?”

  Rook clasped her hands together. “I wanted access to the library for some research.”

  She held her breath in the moment that Kilai appraised her. “Very well. I will have a pass made up for you. You can collect it from my father’s office tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kilai seemed surprised but did not question her interest. “If that’s all I will take my leave.”

  Rook watched her go, admiring the confidence with which she walked, the crowd parting to let her through. There was a presence about the woman, although she supposed that was the kind of thing that came with a birthright like hers. No, she scolded herself, birth is not relevant. It was an easy mistake to make; the false assumption that being raised a certain way was the same as being born with inherent characteristics. Rook was not a monster. She was not a brute.

  It was those beliefs she clung to even when her resolve wavered.

  *

  “Do you think the baker on Gor Kavir Street will have any of those cranberry tarts left?” said Relkan.

  Seeker glanced at him as they walked, trying to ignore the hostile eyes all around him. “I don’t know but I don’t think we have time to check. Yshi will hide us if we’re late again.”

  “You worry too much, Seek. You’re going to get wrinkles and look like you’re past your prime and how will you attract the ladies then?”

  “I think I’ll be just fine. And I do not have wrinkles.”

  “It won’t stay that way with that attitude.”

  Relkan was an odd character, tall and lanky, from a town further west than Seeker had ever been. What made him particularly unusual to Seeker was the complete lack of regard he showed towards propriety, stooping his shoulders as he walked, occasionally waving to local women who tended to give him a wide berth and stare at him, and making it his life’s purpose to turn even the most serious situation into a joke. He wasn’t particularly handsome with his long face and even longer nose, eyes the kind of bulging shape of his mother’s pet blackfish, but it did not seem to hinder his unabashed enthusiasm for life, something he couldn’t help but envy even as it baffled him.