The Broken Door

by Sarah Stirling

  His eyes were hard. “What needs to be done.”

  “We can stop him. You can’t do that!”

  “Risk isn’t worth it.”

  “How can you say that?” She could feel her own control slipping in fear and anger. “How can you just decide that this is the only action?” Had it been naïve of her to assume that they’d bonded after all they’d been through together?

  “Stop arguing and stop him!” yelled Kilai.

  Rook whipped around. She saw Viktor’s muscles tense and knew just a fraction of a second too late what was about to happen out of sheer disbelief. Power surged into him – many smaller riftspawn fading into puffs of mist as he dragged their energy into that sparking aura – and she felt the pull on hers too; barely able to keep a grasp on her own life force. Viktor took a few steps backwards, bracing himself, before he launched himself into the air. Even as Rook watched it happen she couldn’t believe her own eyes when he crashed onto the roof of the next building over, slipping down the terracotta tiles before grasping onto a ledge and hauling himself over the side.

  Janus threw her a pointed look but she could only watch as Viktor’s form shrank into the distance, nimbly climbing and leaping over the rooftops as he made his way down the slope towards the plateau of the fort. How had she missed this? How was it possible that Viktor had been harbouring this power within him all this time and she’d never even felt it until now?

  “We need to move,” said Kilai quietly.

  Rook continued to stare.

  The touch of a hand on her arm finally tore her attention from the scene. “Come on. It won’t do to linger.”

  A bitter smile found her then. “I suppose you’re right.”

  One last glance back showed her a battle obscured by thick smog, nothing worthwhile to see. She felt utterly and completely blind.

  *

  Her father’s office was lined with bluecoats, all of whom Kilai did not recognise. She peered at them from her vantage point of a window above a furniture shop, which Janus had picked the lock to. Behind her she could hear the floor groan beneath Rook’s weight as she paced and Kilai resisted the urge to snap. They were all feeling the tension and it would do no good to let herself fall into the trap of fighting.

  “I’m just going to march over there and walk in.”

  Rook stopped pacing. “Is that a good idea?”

  Kilai turned back to the window, biting her lip. The streets closer to the bay had been rife with gunfire between the rebels and the soldiers, leaving Shanku Square littered with bodies in both brown and indigo. Most of the fighting appeared to be over, beyond the sporadic echo of guns somewhere in the distance, but there was still an undeniable risk to being a civilian in amongst the battle. Not to mention she still didn’t know the state of her father, a fact that made her more anxious by the minute, stomach coiling into a complex web of knots.

  Janus swept to her side and peered out. “Approach slowly. Show them your pin.”

  She nodded, fingers pressing against the cool metal of her turtle broach. “Will you watch from the window?”

  “It’s nice you think I can take out that many at once.”

  “I don’t. But if I’m going down you better take some of the bastards with me.”

  That earned a smile from Janus and a laugh from Rook. With one simple comment she had effectively burst the swelling tension and made a productive decision. Sometimes it seemed that in these impossible situations her head was clearest and she could think freely.

  “Are you going now?” said Rook as she moved for the door.

  “Time isn’t a luxury any of us can afford right now.”

  Rook looked weary but she nodded and began to follow.

  “You can’t come with me. I need to go on my own and you’re a little too…” much of threat, she wanted to say, but staved off at the way Rook’s expression shuttered.

  Rook smiled a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s all right. I know. I want to try and find Viktor. Hopefully I can help him.”

  “It’ll be dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re very determined to ensure he makes it out of this alive.”

  “Yes. I need to know – to know that it’s possible.”

  “He might have been lying to us this entire time.”

  “I don’t think he was. Not about… that.”

  Kilai didn’t entirely understand the nuances of Rook’s trouble. Then again she didn’t have to wrestle for control of her mind from an otherworldly creature so she wasn’t going to argue the point. “If you think it necessary I won’t stop you.”

  “I don’t think you could.”

  Kilai snorted. “All right. Be safe, then.”

  Rook reached out and clasped her arm as she had before, tapping her temple. “You too.” Then off she ran into the streets, off towards Viktor and the fort.

  Turning back to the coral tower, Kilai squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and then marched towards the bluecoats guarding her father’s office. They startled upon seeing her head straight for them, using their rifles to block the entrance.

  “Excuse me,” she said, meeting their gaze despite her thumping heart, “but you’re in my way.”

  “No entry.”

  “Would you like to tell my father who is responsible when I’m gunned down on the street?”

  “Your father?”

  She pointed to the turtle pin on her label. “My father, the governor of this island. Let me in or I’ll make sure you get repositioned to Rökkum.”

  They glanced at one another, weapons lowering slowly.

  “If you don’t believe me just ask Lieutenant Yshi, will you? She’ll confirm my identity.” Her toe tapping on the ground was the one nervous tick she allowed herself. It grew more rampant when one of the guards disappeared through the door, the other staring her down as if she could possibly be a threat when weaponless and a whole head shorter.

  Eventually the second guard reappeared and motioned for her to go through. Kilai breathed a sigh of relief and forced herself not to rush through the door in her haste to see her father. Yshi awaited her at the foot of the stairs, a statue in the hallway amongst a flurry of soldiers running to and fro.

  “Shai,” said Yshi in greeting, dipping her head. “Much has happened since you left.”

  “Where is my father?”

  “Upstairs. I must warn you… his days are numbered.”

  Kilai gripped the wooden railing tight, biting her lip. “What is happening here?”

  “A group of rebels infiltrated the fort. They have made an attack on Shanku Square and the surrounding quarter, too. Fortunately, Captain Blackwood arrived on time with reinforcements, and is making an advance on them now. I do not think it will be long before the rebels have been discovered and then we can get the situation under control.”

  “I received word that Captain Blackwood was due to arrive in the coming days, but I did not know it was to be in one of the ironclad. Who sent for a warship without informing me?”

  “I––”

  “That would be me.” Dakanan stood at the top of the stairs, smeared with blood and dirt, coat ragged, but nevertheless squaring his shoulders as he watched them ascend the stairs. “I’ve been following the rebel plot for some time now but I couldn’t weed them out. Until now. The Lieutenant was able to predict they’d make a play for the fort and it was decided that reinforcements were necessary.”

  Kilai pushed down her swelling anger. “You? I’m supposed to believe that you conceded defeat to some rebels?”

  Dakanan clenched his jaw. “I did what had to be done.”

  Kilai looked between him and Yshi, then swept into her office, leaving them to follow in her wake. “I think it’s more likely that your Lieutenant here – ever the lawful, conscientious type – has tattled about what a complete and utter mess you’ve made of this and you’ve been trying to salvage the tatters of your reputation. Am I wrong?” There was little to see
from the window, smoke still lingering over glimpses of the bay. She turned. “Are you telling me you didn’t fancy yourself governor? Sitting in this very chair?” She swept a finger over the back of the cherry wood to punctuate her point.

  Dakanan clenched his jaw, looking as if he had a weak grip on his temper. “I did what I thought best to ensure proper governance upon these good citizens. And if you must know, you no longer have any authority here, so for the moment, yes, that is my chair.”

  She huffed a breath, irritated by the composure on Yshi’s face. “Not for long. That must sting, no? You’ve spent years here and all you’ve done is cause a bloodbath.”

  He strode forward until he was leaning over the desk. “The one who has made the mess here is your father, leaving a child to do his bidding. It’s not my fault you’re in over your head. Nor is it mine that you’ll have to pack your things and leave before you are thrown out of the door. Congratulations, Lady Shaikuro. Your family’s dynasty on this island is over. There’s going to be a new governor.”

  Rage twisted inside her. She gritted her teeth to stop her from saying something she’d regret. Dakanan didn’t look triumphant. Clearly, he too had lost out of the ordeal, and would be sent elsewhere for his failure. Still, his words rankled, and she turned back to the window so he couldn’t see her expression.

  “Is this really the way you want to do this? You are foreigners here. You’re already unpopular as things stand.”

  More gunshots echoed in the distance. Kilai pictured blood running through the streets, staining the city red.

  “They’ll adapt. People are good at that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she said finally, deflated. Her family’s legacy was slipping through her fingers and there was little she could do. “Excuse me.”

  She kept her head high until she left the room, the door closing upon what had once been her domain, her posture drooping with one last final click. Fear kept her from running straight to her father’s room, for she did not know how to face him knowing she had failed him, and that his trust in her had been foolish. This is how he will die, she thought, and wanted to scream. Knowing that everything is gone because of me.

  When she finally worked up the courage to visit him, she felt her heart stop at how still he was, engulfed by the large bed. She managed a shaky breath as she saw his chest rise and fall in shallow puffs of breath, his skin shining with sweat. It would not be long now. She did not need a surgeon to know that much.

  “Papa?”

  His eyes fluttered but remained closed. Her stomach sank and she had to swallow past the lump in her throat as she took his clammy hand in hers.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” she whispered.

  Everything was a mess and she didn’t think there was any way to fix it.

  *

  Everything narrowed down into a mixture of fear and anger. The feeling rising deep in his gut was all Viktor could focus on, the rest of the world stripped away. He’d never felt so alive; so aware of the capabilities of his body. Roof after roof after roof, Viktor leapt their distances with ease, any scrape or bruise healing instantly. Who had he been before this? All he knew was the raw power coursing through him, written into his very being. The riftspawn danced to his tune, following his trail as if desperate just to be near him, and he fed off their energy, savouring the way his own strength flared. Threads of that energy connected the world around him and he was the puppet master that could control their ebb and flow, as easy and natural as the tide.

  Deep in his mind his memory stirred. Flashes of a previous life interspersed with the memories of his own youth, of fighting to prove his place in this city he did not belong. Of those who had raised him, taught him how to fight and scavenge and pick the pockets of the wealthy. He had to focus on those memories or the chaos of emotions within him threatened to boil over and consume. They would not die if he could stop it. These imposters would not take his island.

  The climb through the forest path to the fort came easy in his current state. He charged towards his goal, feeling the spiritual life flare around him. Awake. Rise. Fight with me. The pressure in his mind convinced him this was the right thing to do. Yes, he must destroy the invaders. Burn their ship. Show them the might of those who had been oppressed for too long.

  Viktor burst from the trees to see the fort crumbling, powdered stone spraying, dust and smoke wreathing the structure in heavy fog. The ground beneath his feet trembled and quaked as if it too feared the guns brought by the monsters from across the sea.

  I’ll show you fear.

  Slamming his hand down on the great oaken door, Viktor could feel the vibrations through the wood, and he channelled some of the otherworldly energy through until it became more pliable. The trick was to create an object not entirely of this world, but of something that crossed the line between the physical and the spiritual. This way he could shape it with his own will, the wood groaning and cracking until it split in two, and he could step through into the fray.

  Over the din of gunfire he could hear screams and yelling; the sound of stone shattering into rubble. It was distantly familiar, like a dream he couldn’t grasp upon waking but caught glimpses of in quiet moments, and it unsettled him. Somehow he had been in a situation like this before, with his blood thundering in his veins and the sounds of men dying all around. Rationally he knew he’d never seen anything like this before, and yet the feeling remained.

  “V-Vik-tor?”

  He turned around and barely avoided stepping on the crumbled heap against the stairs. It took him a few heartbeats to recognise this pale, blood-streaked figure as Dallren, the same boy he’d once feared and envied in equal measure, now strewn against the wall like a leaking sack. His breath caught.

  “Hey,” he said, crouching down. “Can you stand?”

  Dallren groaned, moving his legs before he slumped back into the wall. His hand came away dripping with blood and Viktor swore. The boy was deathly pale, lips quivering as shallow breaths escaped them, his hand falling to his side as if he no longer had the strength to hold it up.

  Viktor reached out and took his hand, ignoring the stickiness of the blood between his fingers. There had to be a way to heal him the way he had himself. He squeezed tight and concentrated on the energy around him, the sounds of battle fading as he felt the riftspawn that clung to him with the fervour of pilot fish to sharks, trying to send that power into Dallren. His grip tightened as he felt power surge within him but try as he might he couldn’t get it to transfer, his tenuous grip slipping as the energy ebbed. With a yell, he smashed his other fist against the wall and pain cracked up his fist through his arm. Tears welled in his eyes, whether from pain or frustration he didn’t know.

  The final blow was the way his torn knuckles healed themselves, skin gradually knitting together until all that was left was crusted blood and a residual stiffness of the joint. He body had healed itself on instinct, but Viktor wasn’t able to heal his friend.

  Screams around him jolted him out of his distress as he remembered why he was here. A lingering presence in the back of his mind reminded him it was not his place to wait on others. It was clear that Dallren did not have long left, anyway. His eyes fluttered, chest stuttering on feeble breaths. Viktor didn’t think Dallren was even aware he was there and yet he was reluctant to give up. Miserable as this boy might have made him feel sometimes, they’d shared a history, and that meant something. It had to, or Viktor wouldn’t be Viktor anymore.

  With one last failed attempt at healing, Viktor rose and looked around him, following the wave of the quaking ground. He kept waiting for the moment he would fall back into his usual fear and instinct to hide, but it never came, a calmness settling over him as if he had experienced battlefields his whole life. Instead of running he tore into the fray, racing up the stairs even as stone sprayed in front of him and bodies fell in heaps. There was a gaping hole at the top of the fort, exposing the rebels to the ship canons in the bay. Overhead
the sky roiled with darkening clouds rolling in from the south, blotting out the light of the sun.

  From his vantage point the proud flag caught his eye as it flapped in the wind; the deep indigo and pale violet of the Sonlin Empire displayed boldly for all to see. The sight curdled his rage. All around him men he’d grown up with were dying and now he finally had the power to do something about it. Now he was no longer just a thief and street urchin. He didn’t understand this new power, or where it had come from, but he had to act because he now could.

  The spiritual energy crackled around him as he drew it in, feeling it as a tangible force inside him. Sucking in a deep breath, he pulled it into his core, feeling the power coil tight, and then with a thrust of his hands he directed it out towards the ship. A scream tore from his throat as the energy ripped from him in pure green flame, the fire eating up the distance until it engulfed the ship, burning higher and higher. He was still in control of it and he pushed deeper into that core of his power, gritting his teeth as the flames roared higher.

  Screams resounded all around him but the loudest sound was the thunder of his own breath, coming shallower and shallower. The energy was wearing thin; he couldn’t hold onto it much longer. As his grip slipped from the force of exuding that much power, the flames danced from green to a natural orange, licking up the mast slowly. Viktor staggered back, gripping stone as his knees wobbled and caved, barely able to hold himself upright. He felt exhausted.

  “Viktor!”

  He didn’t even have the strength to turn; merely felt the familiar signature of Rook’s own energy as she swept up beside him, eyes wide on the ship in the bay. It no longer fired on the fort and he was satisfied he had done his job, sinking against the battered rock with a sigh. Maybe Martok-don and the others could win now. If they weren’t already dead.

  Viktor didn’t even see it happen. Rook’s gasp caught his attention and then he felt the ground rumble beneath him as the boat exploded into flames. Pieces of wood and metal rained down onto the sea. Hot air wafted up on the breeze as he ducked down and then fell on weak legs, the world spinning around him. Peering over, he couldn’t do anything but stare at the burning water. All that was left of the ship was debris. He’d done that. He’d set the ship on fire and doomed those men upon it to their fate.