The Broken Door

by Sarah Stirling

  *

  Viktor took his time heading back to the tavern but he could only stave off the inevitable for so long. He braced himself for impact as he entered to the sight of several of the members huddled together around tables that had been pushed together. One or two glanced at him as he entered and then went back to their fervent discussion, more serious than he’d seen any of them in some time. Confused, he hovered on the threshold.

  “Where have you been off to?”

  Viktor started, and turned to see Red leaning against the back wall, blowing smoke up to the sagging rafters of the ceiling. His eyes were sharp; observant. Little got past him and there was not one member of their organisation he did not know. Viktor knew he was a passable liar at best but Red could read the patterns of a person’s ticks – he’d seen it in action many a time – and could not risk spinning a half-baked lie. Thus, the only option was a half-truth. For Viktor was not a storyteller; he was a thief. Thievery had turned him into a thief of all things, including habits, and as a result he had become quite the convincing actor.

  So he let his posture slouch, and he flicked his eyes over to the other boys and then away. Quickly, as was the key. He shrugged as if he was trying very hard to appear nonchalant and said, “I don’t really fit in here.”

  “Ah,” said Red, nodding. “You might be pleased then to hear that Tomas is dead.”

  “Dead?” he echoed, eyes widening. He looked away, as if thinking. “How did he die?” There was no need to act upset because Viktor wouldn’t have mourned Tomas even if he hadn’t already known.

  “Don’t know all the details yet,” said Red, tipping ash on the floor. “But it looks mighty suspicious.”

  “Uh, how so?”

  “Our spy says its unnatural causes. That beast that’s been talk of the town is now going around killing people and those bluecoats are trying to drop a shroud over the affair as if that stops there being a body-shaped lump underneath.” Red scoffed.

  Viktor shouldn’t have been surprised that the Tendrils had a spy amongst the soldiers given how pervasive they now were in every part of society but it surprised him nonetheless. He chilled at the thought of being seen with Kilai and the others.

  “What does that mean?” he finally said, playing dumb. “You don’t think… they’re doing it on purpose?”

  “Why not? What better way to make people support you than to create a bigger villain for people to fear? Then you vanquish the dragon and you become the shiny knight. Very simple ploy. Those sheep-minded folks out there wouldn’t know the difference.”

  In the time that Viktor took to process this he was distracted by the rustling and murmurs of the boys. He heard the telltale thump of a cane on the stairs, seeing the long obsidian line accompanied by shiny leather shoes, before Martok-don stepped into view. A reverent hush fell over the room as all eyes fell on the imperious gaze of the man before them, who wore his balding hair like a crown, reed thin body poised like a needle point.

  As always, Martok-don took a long pause before he spoke, the room collectively releasing their held breath. “It has come to my attention that one of our own has been found dead.” More silence. Viktor could have sworn he heard a mouse scuffling somewhere near his feet. “I just want to make it clear that I will not let a slight like this stand.”

  Some murmurings of agreement followed.

  “Do you know what this means?” said Martok-don quietly, almost a whisper. Heads craned towards him, like flowers seeking the sun. “This means we’re nothing but ants to them, to be crushed beneath their boots.”

  Viktor wanted to protest the error but he could not disturb the spell being woven over the room as Martok-don lifted his cane to gesture to the crowd. “This is the sign we’ve been waiting for. A sign to stand up and tell these invaders that they don’t belong here.”

  The murmurs grew in volume, heads nodding.

  “These imposters don’t know the wrath of the sea. They don’t know that the kraken sleeps beneath, waiting. We’ve lured them in. Now it’s time to rise and fight back. Our strength is in our numbers, hidden amongst them.” Martok-don paused, eyes razing over the crowd. “Do you see now why we work to undermine them? They don’t care about us, or our ways, or our city. Tomas is dead and there is no body to bury.”

  Because he wasn’t killed by anything of this world, Viktor wanted to say and then started, shocked by his own reaction. Instead of listening to Martok-don’s speech; instead of feeling the anger and passion behind them, he was too busy finding flaws. When had he ever thought that of the Tendrils? The real gang members and not the boy runners playing at being men. He found himself suddenly conspicuous of his position in the corner of the room, next to the door, far from the ring around Martok-don as he continued to speak.

  “Something up?” said Red next to him, eyes still on the front.

  Viktor forced himself to relax, reminding himself that this wasn’t a problem. Just because he knew that Martok-don didn’t have all the facts, didn’t mean he couldn’t agree with the call to arms. He shook his head. “No.”

  He turned his ear back to the speech, pushing down the unsettling feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. “Our number one priority now is to get rid of this filth from our shores,” said Martok-don with a rap of his cane against the wood. “Will you stand with me and show them what brotherhood truly looks like?”

  The room slowly descended into shouts of agreement and stamping. “Down with the bluecoats!” came from one side of the room.

  “Sonlin scum!” added another.

  “Sathkuro is ours!”

  Viktor frowned, hands clenching tight against his sides. Something in the air was stirring, changing, and he wasn’t sure if he liked the direction in which it was going. “What’s happening?” he whispered.

  Red considered him. “The one inevitability in this world, besides death and taxes.”

  “And that is?”

  A whiff of smoke, spicy and cloying.

  “Change.”

  *

  “And he makes the shot! Bam! Pam! Wow!”

  Relkan twirled his pistols around his fingers and mimicked shooting an imaginary opponent while Seeker pressed himself to the stone wall and sweated. A man like Relkan should not be given loaded weapons, he thought, remembering the time one of the men had dropped his gun and it had gone off, shooting him in the foot. His foot still hurt to this day, the memory of that old pain flaring up.

  Relkan was so lost in his play-acting that Seeker didn’t think there would be any reasoning with him. It was better just to wait him out and pray to the Pillars that Yshi did not come by, although with the noise he was making he was sure to draw attention to them.

  “Stop right there, bandits! Relkan and Seeker, the mightiest gunslingers in the land are going to stop you!”

  “Relkan, we’re supposed to be on duty!”

  They’d been assigned to guarding the entrance to the fort, nestled atop the black cliffs that guarded the bay, and Seeker was conscious of being spotted. The last thing he needed was being put on double shifts as punishment, on top of his current fears about being witless. He was already suffering the consequences of a lack of sleep, eyes drooping multiple times throughout the night, the rhythmic dancing of torch fires lulling him off to a light doze before Relkan’s antics had jerked him awake. At least he was preventing him from sleeping on duty, Seeker reasoned with himself.

  “Seeker, don’t let him get away!” cried Relkan. He narrowed his eyes and then pretended to shoot from a rifle. “Oh, boy, Seeker did you see that shot?”

  “You’re going to wake up half the town at this point.”

  Relkan sighed, sweeping back his hair. “You’re no fun.”

  “I’m trying to work.”

  “Is that why you were sleeping?”

  Right on cue, Seeker had to stifle a yawn and he gave Relkan a playful cuff over the ear when he grinned broadly, misaligned teeth flashing in the torchlight. “I don’t know why you think
you’d be a gunslinger anyway. Aren’t you from the mountains?”

  “A boy can dream, you know.”

  Seeker shook his head and leant back against the wall, looking up at the meadow of stars against an inky field. This far east there were different constellations during the high season; some shapes tugged at worn corners of his mind but he couldn’t quite remember their names. It was times like this that he really ached for home. When even the stars in the sky were not quite right and the moon cast its light upon restless black waves instead of the still open plains of the desert.

  “I promise you it’s not all as glamorous as that,” he said.

  “Seeker, Seeker, Seeker.” Relkan shook his head. “The rule is that you pretend. People don’t want to think about the real stuff. It’s too sad and depressing. That’s why we run around playing gunslingers and bandits.”

  “You’re not a boy anymore.”

  Relkan made a disgruntled noise. “Says who? I think I’ll do what I like and be happy. Let others have their rules and their misery.”

  “But without order there would be chaos.”

  “Is that such a bad idea?”

  Seeker sighed. There was no arguing with Relkan. He just had different ideas about the world from everyone else and that was what made him unique. Seeker envied him the strength of his convictions; he’d give him that much. He didn’t think he’d ever been so sure of anything in his life. Why do I always have to doubt myself?

  As if the stars would answer.

  They dwelled in quiet for a while after that, with the swell of the waves breaking against the cliffs and in the distance, the fractured melody of a cicada providing a beat to tap his finger to as he thought. There was something about the night that leant itself to thinking, as if the hustle and bustle of daytime set alongside the sun, and left the depths of the darkness to mystery. It was a time for reflection.

  For all his complaining, Seeker had been relieved to draw the night shift if only for the fact that it meant he could put off going to sleep. His dreams had been haunted by whispering voices and walking corpses, so vivid he could almost reach out and touch the withering flesh, and feel the vibrations of the whispers shiver through him. Was he cursed? Had he drawn the wrath of the Pillars somehow? Was this their way of registering discontent because he dared to carry the name of the Seeker? A frigid wind blew in from the ocean, carrying with it the spray of saltwater, and he shivered.

  “Do you think––” he began but was interrupted by a scream that pierced the peaceful veil of night.

  Another shiver ran through him, racking his entire body. “What was that?” The hair on his arms was standing to attention.

  A second cry rang out before suddenly cutting off and he felt his gut coil in response. “Do you think we should…?”

  Relkan was frozen on the spot, eyes even bigger than normal and reflecting the torchlight. He tilted his head, holding a finger up to Seeker’s lips just as he was about to speak again. “Something is coming.”

  At first he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the ocean but as he strained his ears, leaning forward as if that would help him, he could hear the rustle of the undergrowth on the winding, forested path that led up to the fort. Pistol out, he locked his arm and drew a deep breath as the crashing grew louder. For one long moment he was only aware of his thundering heartbeat and the ruffling of the foliage.

  Then a girl spilled from the tree line and fell to her knees, cheeks shining wet in the moonlight. “Help me!” she panted. “Help, please!”

  Seeker rushed forward to help her up. “What’s happening?”

  More screaming echoed through the valley. Then gunshots. Three in quick succession. Silence; the creeping kind that lurked in the darkness, waiting. The three of them looked into the trees with baited breath, the city mostly obscured from view beyond some twinkling lights and the harbour down by the bay.

  “It’s that thing,” the girl whispered, wiping at her face. “It’s…”

  “It’s a what?” said Relkan.

  Seeker elbowed him and threw him a pointed look.

  “It’s like a nightmare you can’t wake up from.”

  He froze. The words rang with a sense of familiarity that gave him some idea of what might be happening down in the city. Could it be like the creature that had possessed the dead from before? That voice that had spoken to him inside his own mind and talked to him through the unhinged jaw of a rotten corpse? The thought made him reluctant to take action despite what duty told him he should do. Stop being a coward, he told himself. He couldn’t hide forever.

  “Relkan,” he heard himself say, “watch the girl, will you?”

  “Seek, what are you planning on doing?”

  “I need to go and take a look. I can’t leave people out there to die.” Or worse. He didn’t really know what spirits were capable of but he got the sense it was beyond the scope of his imagination. In the deepest dark of night; in the fallen silence after the disturbance of a scream, he found it stretched pretty far.

  “We’ll all go.”

  “Someone needs to watch the fort.” And the girl.

  Relkan looked him in the eye, brows raised. He turned to the girl. “Will you show us the way? There are people down there that might need our help.” As if on cue another scream sounded, this time distant.

  Seeker could see the trembling line of her shoulders, silver beneath the moon, as she turned wet eyes towards them, mouth quivering. “I’ll-I’ll go,” she said. She seemed to be struggling with herself but she squared her shoulders and nodded.

  Relkan grabbed one of the torches from the fixture next to the gate and swung it back around to face the path, Seeker ducking out of the way of the open flame with a hiss of breath. “Let’s go,” he said, eyes flickering with intent.

  “After you,” Seeker said dryly and began to follow Relkan down into the forest.

  They were quickly engulfed in darkness, but for the circle of orange light from the torch. It cast their shadows into strange, twisting forms that loomed large before them and he tried not to jump every time a tree branch or a pile of dead leaves crunched beneath his foot, the sound sickeningly close to the sound of snapping bones; an all too frequent occurrence in his recent nightmares. A branch snagged on his shirt and he yelped, causing Relkan to cackle in that menacing way of his, face ghastly when backlit by dancing flame.

  “Quit that, will you?” he snapped. “You look like Dhakar Mir.”

  Dhakar Mir originated from a creepy children’s tale about a man who had been left out in the woods alone and supposedly had his face devoured by hungry spirits. The tale went that twice a year he covered his face with brightly coloured masks and hunted little boys and girls so he could steal their faces. Every year at the equinox people would dress up in his likeness and run around scaring one another with spooky stories and mean-spirited pranks. There was something macabre about celebrating such a tale that made Seeker react with the same aghast expression as the first time he’d witnessed children streaking past him in grotesque masks, not long after his arrival on Yllzlo.

  “They used to call me Dhakan Mir back in the training academy,” Relkan said cheerfully. Maybe too cheerfully.

  “Oh, uh, sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he said. “It meant they were scared of me and that’s always useful.”

  “Right.”

  The girl stopped suddenly, eyes round. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” he asked, darting his head around. The trees sighed in the breeze, reminiscent of the whisperings in his dream, but he couldn’t hear anything unusual beyond his own paranoia. An owl hooted above his head, his heart skipping a beat, but he willed himself to calm down. Be rational.

  “There!” she cried, pointing.

  He whipped his head around but there was nothing there. “What? I don’t––”

  Open your eyes.

  Seeker blinked. And then he screamed.

  Right in front of him was a loom
ing face with a terrible knife slash grin and blank, hollow eyes. It was like the thing couldn’t keep a hold of its own parameters, the margins of its face warping and fading into the forest, giving it the appearance of dripping wax beneath candle flame. The flaring greens and reds and blues against the darkness of the path had him stumbling until he tripped over his own feet, landing with a thud against a bed of leaves. The second scream lodged in his throat as it drifted closer, his fingers digging into the moist earth in terror.

  He tried to protest when Relkan held up his torch to the creature, narrowing his eyes. “Je sathna ja zor,” he said in a deep voice. “Rill ja korshi. Rill-an laishi.”

  “Relkan!” he hissed. “What are you––”

  In the blink of an eye it vanished and he rubbed at his eyes, bewildered. The girl was still standing back, whole body trembling, and he shook out his stiff legs, scraping himself to his feet so that he could check on her. He felt her flinch beneath his hand as she squeaked and he jerked away from her, palms up. “I’m sorry, Chana. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Before he could make things worse, he went to check on Relkan, who hadn’t moved since that terrible face had disappeared, face turned away from him. “Hey, buddy, are you all right? What did you say to that––”

  He was cut off by a quiver of the man’s shoulders and then Relkan erupted into laughter, a kind of sawing bray that started deep in his belly and grew in force as his whole body doubled over, shaking with the force of the sound. Every nerve on edge, Seeker forced himself to reach out with an unsteady hand.

  The flame snuffed out and banished them to darkness. A flock of birds flooded from the trees with a chorus of warning cries and Seeker gulped, throat drier than the dust blown in from low season storms. Even the clouds had obscured the light from the moon so that he could only see but the faintest shape of Relkan’s hunched back, staggering back and forth, lurching in jerky motions with what Seeker hoped were his arms dangling in front of him.