The Broken World

by Lindsey Klingele

  “I’m sorry,” Daisy said, still not making eye contact with any of them.

  “There’s absolutely no need to be sorry,” Joe said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a travel-size packet of Kleenex. He handed them to Daisy. “We’ll get you back to your parents as soon as we can.”

  Daisy sniffed. “My old nanny lives in Santa Barbara. I know she’d take me in if I asked, and the news says the sky is still normal there. Do you think . . . I could stay with her? Until my parents come?”

  “Of course. We’ll find her,” Joe said.

  Daisy nodded as she wiped her nose with the Kleenex. She already looked a little better than she had moments before.

  “What next? For the rest of us?” Merek asked.

  Joe sighed. “I think we all need a moment to regroup. It’ll take a while for me to get Daisy to Santa Barbara, and in the meantime you need a place to stay.” Joe looked off into the distance, thinking.

  “He can stay with me,” Shannon said. She’d barely formed the thought before the words came out of her mouth. And she had no idea how she’d get this past her parents. But it felt good to be able to do something, to help somehow.

  Joe nodded, and Merek just lifted an eyebrow, which Shannon took for agreement.

  “And after that?” Merek asked.

  “Like I said, I think we all need to take a breath,” Joe said. “And what I said to Daisy applies to all of you—you’re under no obligation to put yourselves in any danger, do you understand? Your only job is to stay safe.”

  Shannon thought about contradicting him, but she didn’t have the energy. Part of her wished she could be like Daisy right now, asking for a tissue and a one-way ticket out of this place. She knew that leaving wouldn’t solve anything, but she couldn’t think past the sight of the dead man, killed in the worst way and left to rot in his own living room. It was the best she could do just to nod in Joe’s direction and follow him silently away from this place.

  “Can you . . . hurry . . . up?”

  Shannon gritted her teeth and turned away from Merek’s backside, which was currently located just two inches from her face. Merek shifted awkwardly in place, his feet pressing down on her right thigh.

  “I am trying,” he said, his voice coming out muffled from the other side of the window they were trying to sneak him into. Shannon suspected he wasn’t trying all that hard.

  If it had been just another regular day, there would be no need to sneak Merek into her garage. Shannon’s parents would be safely at work instead of watching for their daughter through the house windows like hawks. But obviously, it wasn’t just a regular day. There might not be any more regular days for some time.

  So the only way to get Merek into Shannon’s garage unnoticed was through the tiny back window, which he could only reach by using her like a ladder. He lifted one of his feet and planted it on her shoulder, using his elbows to scoot farther into the window hole. Finally, his weight was lifted off her body and he pulled himself through, tumbling down to the other side.

  “Oof!”

  “Are you okay?” Shannon hissed toward the open window. There was no response. “Merek? Did you pull your stitches?”

  Silence.

  “Merek?”

  “Why in all that is holy is this entire room pink?”

  Shannon leaned against the side of the garage in relief. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll be inside in a sec.”

  She raced back around the side of the garage and slipped past the hedges lining the driveway. When she hit the sidewalk, she doubled back, making her way up the front walk as if she’d just arrived. Even though she knew it was almost nine p.m., the sky above her wasn’t going dark. If anything, the orange was just turning a slightly darker, slightly sicklier shade. Shannon wondered if she could blame her lateness on that, but very much doubted it.

  After going inside and talking her parents down—which took much longer than usual—Shannon slipped back out into the garage. She’d fixed up and decorated the space herself when she was twelve, transforming the whole garage into something her parents referred to as the “Glitter Den.” It was where she did her homework, watched movies on her iPad, and at times had even tried to stash Liv when a foster home wasn’t working out. And yes, it was mostly pink.

  Shannon opened the door to find Merek had made himself at home on a neon beanbag chair.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t sneak out any food or pillows yet without making my parents suspicious. But there’s some chairs and a little air conditioner. As long as you’re quiet, you’ll be good here for now.”

  Shannon reached for a small purple blanket on the ground and tossed it in Merek’s direction, remembering too late that the blanket was also covered in kisses and rainbow-colored unicorns. Merek caught the blanket in one hand and looked down at it for a second. He glanced back at Shannon, and she waited for the sure-to-come sarcastic commentary. But instead, Merek just sank back in the beanbag chair, blanket over his knees.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s just a blanket,” Shannon said, with a half shrug. “From when I was a kid,” she hastily added.

  “I don’t mean just for the blanket,” Merek continued, averting his eyes. “I know you are putting yourself at risk by allowing me to stay here, but I have . . . nowhere else go. I appreciate your generosity, and I want you to know it.”

  Shannon stood stock-still, at a loss for words. The last thing she’d expected was sincerity.

  “Even if your generosity includes chairs that somehow stick to one’s skin.” Merek’s expression slid back to its usual one of mild disdain as he tried to separate his arm from the beanbag chair beneath him.

  “Ah, there’s the guy I know and . . . well, tolerate,” Shannon said, moving forward and plopping down in the neon-green beanbag chair next to Merek’s. “And you’re welcome.”

  “So what shall we do?”

  There were a lot of possible answers to that question. They could decide to take Joe’s offer that they back out of this whole crazy mission, lying low until their friends returned from another world. Or they could keep helping, keep putting themselves in danger.

  But Shannon didn’t want to think about that right now. She didn’t want to think about dead bodies or crumbling cities. She didn’t want to think at all.

  “Wanna watch a movie?”

  “A movie?” Merek’s eyebrows raised. “Liv talked about those. A lot.”

  “I’m sure she did. And if it were up to her, the first movie you ever watched would be an old black-and-white one or, like, a movie that won a bunch of Oscars for something boring like sound editing. But I’m going to show you something good. Something with zero dead people in it.”

  Shannon got her tablet from the far side of the room and sat back down, moving her beanbag chair closer to Merek’s.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I suppose?”

  “Good. I think you’re gonna like this. A modern classic of our time,” Shannon said, queueing the movie up and pushing play. “It’s called Mean Girls.”

  THE BEST MAN

  The village of Duoin had been around for centuries, and looked it. The stone walls surrounding the main portion of town were crumbling and in some places had even fallen to dust. These areas were all manned by gruff, bearded guards in rough-spun tunics. They eyed Cedric warily as he approached the wall with Rafe and the others.

  “Back alive, then?” the nearest guard said to Rafe. His front teeth were yellowed, and he picked at them with a grimy finger.

  “Do not look so excited, or I will start to think you miss me when I’m gone,” Rafe replied with a grin. The guard guffawed, and Rafe held up a large, misshapen pack. After they’d eaten at the fire the night before, Rafe and his men had gone back to the dead wraths to collect their weapons and supplies, which now knocked together as he lifted the bag.

  The guard’s eyebrows raised. “Good haul, then. And who’s this?” He motioned to Cedric, then to Kat and Liv a few feet away.
His eyes narrowed in confusion as he took in Cedric’s odd clothes—worn denim from the other world, as well as a shirt that read LA DODGERS. Not the most royal of garments.

  Cedric opened his mouth to speak, but Rafe beat him to it. “Surprise guests. Come, open the gates and join us inside. All will be revealed.”

  The guard stared at Rafe through narrowed eyes, as if slowly working through his words. Finally, he climbed down from the wall and produced a large key from his belt, then used it to open a thick set of wooden doors.

  Cedric followed Rafe inside to the center of Duoin, the others close behind. The village was made up entirely of stone buildings and grasses of various heights. A group of thin goats bleated weakly from a small enclosure near the main wall.

  But if the goats looked pathetic, the people looked worse. Here and there, worn-out men and women walked down dirt paths or sat on sagging porches, watching as Cedric and Rafe and their group filed past. Many of them were injured, sporting bandaged arms or makeshift crutches. One was missing an eye.

  “Where are the soldiers?” Cedric asked Rafe.

  Rafe moved his arm widely, in a gesture that seemed to take in the entire town. “All around you.”

  “But these aren’t trained fighters. Did none of the king’s guard escape? What of the village’s own hunters?”

  Rafe’s mouth was a thin line. “Many of our best fighters were involved in the first full assaults against the wraths, and their numbers were . . . depleted. This is what’s left.”

  Again there was a coldness to Rafe’s voice. Cedric turned around to see Kat limping slowly through the village next to Liv, who looked around with wide eyes. Rafe’s other bowmen brought up the rear.

  “Here we are,” Rafe replied, stopping in the middle of a round patch of dirt that Cedric assumed must be the village’s center. A cluster of buildings lined the edges of the patch.

  “Duoin!” Rafe shouted, turning in a circle. “We have returned from the hunting party, and with news!”

  Cedric watched as men and women emerged from the buildings, slowly gathering around the edge of the circle. Their eyes slid warily over Cedric to land on Rafe, whom they watched eagerly.

  Rafe threw his arm out toward Cedric. “I have found, wandering in the wood, none other than the one who we all believed to be dead. People of Duoin, I give you Cedric West, Prince of Caelum. Warrior son of the Oaken King! He lives!”

  Stunned silence. Not just from the villagers, but from Cedric as well. His throat felt tight, and he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with his hands. He wished suddenly that he was holding a sword, or even an arrow—anything he could grip to keep his fingers still and occupied as the hundred or so villagers around the circle stared him down.

  The crowd started murmuring, some looking to Rafe in disbelief, others training suspicious eyes on Cedric.

  “Hello,” Cedric said, his voice sounding unsatisfactory to his own ears.

  No one moved. The silence stretched until finally one toothless old woman stepped forward. Her milky eyes raked over Cedric, and after a few moments her mouth stretched into a smile. “He has the queen’s eyes.”

  Cedric nodded at the old woman, grateful.

  “Believe me, Duoin,” Rafe said, “this boy who stands before you is none other than the prince.”

  Cedric bristled at Rafe’s use of the word boy, but worried that to correct the person who’d saved his life and led the village for months would seem petty.

  “The prince has been wandering in another world, but he is back now, and he has a plan to retake the city and free the king and queen.”

  Another silence.

  “I . . . well . . .” Cedric shot an angry glance at Rafe, but the duke’s son was no longer meeting his eye. He knew exactly what he was doing.

  Rafe barreled onward. “Of course, now that we know the royals are alive, my trusted men and I have a plan as well. One that will build on the knowledge we’ve gained over the last months, the knowledge we’ve earned by fighting and shedding blood to protect our lands. The knowledge that has led to one of our biggest wrath kills yet!”

  Before Cedric could interject, Rafe lifted the arm that held his sack and tipped it over onto the ground. And what came tumbling out wasn’t just weapons, but bloodied, hacked-off wrath horns. At least ten of them, maybe a dozen.

  From behind him, Cedric heard Kat gasp. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the gory sight on the village ground, or the triumph in Rafe’s expression. For as long as he’d been alive, he’d been taught to fight wraths to keep them from Guardian villages—even to kill them, if necessary. But this, taking trophies . . . it turned something necessary into something . . . ugly.

  But the villagers of Duoin didn’t seem to agree. When they saw the carnage on the ground, their coarse voices went up in cheers. Many of them clapped, and the old woman who’d compared Cedric’s eyes to the queen’s even jumped up and down—with joy. The villagers were no longer watching Cedric at all. Their eyes were trained on Rafe, who thrust his fist up in triumph, basking in their cheers.

  “Tonight, we celebrate sending these monsters back to the hell from whence they came! But tomorrow, we determine our next move against those who hold our entire way of life hostage. The prince deserves to have his plan heard out, but I believe I have earned that right as well.”

  Rafe gestured to the mound of wrath horns at his feet.

  “Just as I believe you have earned the right to decide for yourselves how and when you want to fight, to win back what was taken from us. What say you, mighty villagers of Duoin?”

  The cheers were deafening.

  Rafe turned to Cedric and bowed his head slightly, nothing in his expression betraying the shrewdness of his actions. But they had been shrewd—and fast. It was clear the villagers loved Rafe, and there was no one here to back up Cedric’s authority as prince—no king’s guard, no king’s army, no king. Just Cedric himself, standing in these ridiculous pants, without even a sword to hold in his hand. Before he’d even had time to catch his bearings in this altered world, he’d been thoroughly outplayed. He had no plan to present to Duoin.

  And he had no idea what to do next.

  BEFORE SUNRISE

  Liv missed sirens.

  Not just sirens, but also helicopters. And car honks. And the lady who used to scream show tunes to the fire hydrant at the corner of Liv’s street. Because all those noises meant people—tons of people all around. Caelum was too quiet, too empty. It was filled with too many wide-open spaces that seemed as if they could silently swallow her whole.

  Plus, it smelled weird. Like manure and pinecones and people who only bathe once a week.

  Liv walked under the shadows of trees that lined the path near the village’s tiny inn, where she’d been given a room for the night. Everyone else in town was down at the village’s largest building, celebrating Cedric’s return (though they mostly toasted Rafe). Someone had even brought out a jug of a brownish drink to share, but Liv had taken one look at it and passed it to the next person without taking a sip. She didn’t want to appear snobby, but if the thought of cheap keg beer always made her stomach churn, she didn’t know if she’d be able to handle whatever ale was cooked up in a medieval inn’s single stone bathtub.

  Besides, she didn’t feel like celebrating. Not until she had at least some idea of how to save Peter and the others from Malquin. After Rafe’s big display in front of the villagers, Liv knew they would debate the specific hows of their plans the next morning. But she hated the thought of waiting even that long. So she’d left the party to get some air instead. Now she wrapped her arms around herself and headed along the main dirt path in the village, wrinkling her nose at the stench in the air.

  There wasn’t a single soul outside that she could see. No street lamps, no late-night dog walkers. Certainly no taco trucks just around the corner. She hit the end of the path, looking past the crumbling rock wall and out to the darkness and shadows beyond the village. With a shiver, Liv realized she
was afraid. She hadn’t been alone like this—truly alone, like out-of-range-of-another-human-being alone, scream-and-maybe-no-one-will-hear-you alone—in . . . maybe ever.

  She turned around, heading back the way she’d come. She tried to get her mind off her fear, to imagine something comforting, something from home that was bright and cheerful. She pictured a string of white stars rising over a mountaintop, the word Paramount perched on the peak . . . then the beats of pop music . . .

  “So okay, you’re probably going, is this, like, a Noxzema commercial or what?” Liv whispered, trying to conjure the neon opening scenes of Clueless as she stomped around a pile of mud in another dimension. “But seriously, I actually have a way normal life for a teenage girl—”

  A crunching sound stopped Liv in her tracks.

  She looked around, but saw no one. Ahead of her on the path was a large building, where she knew Kat had gone to get her wounds treated. She started walking faster to reach it.

  “Brave to be walking out alone in the dark.”

  The deep voice came from Liv’s right side, but when she whipped her head in that direction, she saw only shadows. After a few moments, she was able to pick out one shadow in particular.

  “Rafe?”

  She could see him more clearly now, sitting down on what appeared to be a bunch of rocks, or maybe a crumbling stone fence.

  “I—is there a reason I should be scared out here?” Liv remembered how Rafe’s eyes had gleamed that afternoon, as he’d dumped that bagful of bloody horns onto the ground.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Rafe replied. In the dark, she saw his teeth and realized his was grinning. “You are about two steps away from a particularly ripe pile.”

  It took a second for Liv to understand his words, and then her shoulders sagged in relief. But when she took a giant step backward to avoid what Rafe was really warning her about, one of her shoes immediately sank into squelchy mud, putting her off balance. She reached out to grab on to something to keep from falling, but her hands found only air. Luckily, Rafe made it to her side in a hurry. He grabbed her hand and helped pull her free.