She placed her katari on her palm and spoke a word of power to summon light—a simple word, and the only one that apprentices were taught. “Rishari,” she whispered, and the katari glowed, a beacon in the dark.
Still her dread did not go away. She had dreamed of this many times. A foretelling? No, it could not be. She couldn’t possibly be meant to die, not yet.
She took a step toward the first door and placed her palm upon it. Perhaps she would be able to sense what lay beyond.
The world twisted. Kyra blinked, blinded by the bright light of a midday sun.
The Transport corridor had disappeared. She stood at the edge of a narrow, crowded street. It was cold; people wore thick furs and woolens, and the sloping roofs dripped icicles. Tiny shops jostled for space with inns, shrines, and food counters. Open vats of soup steamed next to loaves of freshly baked bread. Men carrying palanquins shouted at passersby to make way for them. At one end of the street, an arched blue and white stone gateway glinted in the sunlight. The air was thick with smells: smoke, spices, open drains.
“Please can you help me?”
Kyra jerked around, almost falling over her robe. So intent had she been on the street before her that she had not noticed the child, a small figure huddled to her left, dressed in an oversized patchy gray coat that blended with the gray stone of the walls behind him.
“What—who are you?” she stammered.
The boy sidled up to her. His dark, intense eyes held her gaze. “I am Arvil. Do you have any food? We haven’t eaten in three days.”
“Three days!” Kyra was horrified. Now that he was standing next to her, she noticed how thin and hollow-cheeked he was. “Don’t you have parents?”
“No,” said the boy, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.
He was an orphan, just like her. Kyra wished she could do something for him. But how? “I—I don’t belong here,” she said. “I don’t have any food. Perhaps those shopkeepers over there . . . ?” The words trailed away. The boy’s face filled with disappointment and she grew hot with shame.
“Arvil, what are you doing? Come here.”
A thin, sharp-faced little girl stood in an alley glowering at them, arms akimbo and feet planted apart, as if ready for a fight. She was dressed like the boy, in a long woolen coat with folded sleeves and pinned-up hem.
The boy trotted over to the girl. She cuffed him on the ears. “How many times have I told you not to talk to anyone? I’ll find us some food. Don’t I always find us food?”
The pair walked away. Kyra started to go after them, but . . .
The world spun. The sun blinked out. She was once more in the dark corridor, leaning against the first door. Her forehead was beaded with sweat and she was trembling. What had happened? Had she actually used that door, or had she imagined it? That look of crushed disappointment on the little boy’s face—she wouldn’t forget it, as long as she lived. Impulsively, she inserted the tip of her katari into the glowing slot on the door. She had to get back to those children; they needed her help.
She waited for the door to open, for the world to shift, but nothing happened.
She ground her teeth in frustration and tried again.
The world remained unchanged.
Defeated, Kyra slumped against the door. Why would it not open for her katari?
And still this fear, as if something in the corridor watched and waited for her to lower her guard. She straightened, but of course there was nothing to see. She steeled herself and walked to the second door. She hesitated only a moment before placing her palm upon it.
The world twisted.
Shirin Mam sat on a rug in what looked like her cell, reading a book. She glanced up and an expression of annoyance flashed across her face.
“Wasting time as always, child. Go now. This door is not the right one.”
“But—but you’re dead,” Kyra whispered, her breath catching at the sight of her beloved teacher, seemingly alive and well.
Shirin Mam threw her an exasperated look and waved her hand in dismissal.
“No!” Kyra shouted, but the world spun again.
She leaned against the smooth hardness of the second door, sobbing.
“Shirin Mam!” she cried. “Please don’t go.” She picked up her katari from where it had fallen on the floor, and with a shaking hand inserted it into the slot.
But once again, nothing happened. Kyra could not move. She clung to the door, her cheek against its cool metal surface, hoping that it might transport her back to her teacher.
At last Shirin Mam’s words echoed through her mind: Wasting time as always.
She wiped her eyes with a sleeve. She should check the other doors. But it was hard to let go of this one. It had shown her what she wanted most. With an effort, she pushed herself away and stumbled to the third door. She paused, for here she sensed the vast sweep of nothingness beyond. What was behind this one? She reached a hand out to it, and hesitated.
It was not the fear that stopped her. Fear had been her constant companion since she’d crawled into the Transport corridor. It was the growing conviction that out of all the doors in the Hub, this was the devastating one.
Kyra wavered. Time to choose. She could step away from this door and move on to the next one.
But in truth, she didn’t have a choice, only the illusion of one. She couldn’t walk away from this.
Taking a deep breath, she laid a palm upon the door and the world ended.
There was nothing. No light, no sound, no sensation. Kyra—an idea of Kyra—floated, a disembodied spirit in the manifold of space-time.
There was no fear, no pain, and no fatigue. There were no emotions at all, for emotions require a physical body and Kyra had left her body behind—wherever behind was. Was this what it felt like to die?
Time had no meaning in the vast emptiness of deep space. The dust mote that was Kyra floated, peaceful in the void.
But wait, what was that distant banging sound? Whose inhuman cries were those? Kyra hung for a moment between the two realities of being and not-being.
The world came rushing back in a nauseous flood of sensation—pain, terror, the taste of blood in her mouth. She was back in the corridor. Her fingertips were raw; she must have been scrabbling at the door. Her katari had fallen to the floor, and this time its light had gone out.
Kyra hugged her knees and closed her eyes against the darkness. This was the door that had haunted her sleep since childhood. This was where she would one day go to die.