Janus

By Ryan Bush

Frigid winds tore through the night, slicing through our thick clothing. I bundled the babe in my arms tighter, shielding the sleeping cherub against the cold. Battle cries rose in the distance, but we stood in silent darkness.

The grim faces of my three human companions were pinched with cold and determination. At first, they’d seemed wary of my strange powers and appearance, but they’d long-since grown accustomed to me.

Good. I need them.

We slowly approached the castle looming above us. Feeble torchlight from its walls ineffectively fought the surrounding darkness. I stumbled wearily on a rock, nearly dropping my charge, and one of the men steadied me. Our army had fought fiercely for three days and nights, and we were the first to break through the enemy lines and reach the castle. Still, our task was not complete. We had until midnight before the world was set askew.

Dozens of soldiers guarded the castle’s main gate, and the silhouettes of others stood atop the walls.

“We can’t go that way, Lord Janus,” one man murmured. “Could you get through a sally gate?”

“Easily,” I replied. “See what you can find.”

Two of them melted into the darkness, and one remained with me. I unwrapped my cloak to peek at the infant in my arms. Still sleeping, thankfully. Midnight had not yet struck.

A few minutes later, my men returned and whispered, “There’s a small door, just around the fortress’s eastern wall. Two guards atop the wall, but we don’t know how many are beyond.”

“Lead the way.”

We sneaked along the hillside, muffling our curses as we stumbled on hidden rocks, but nobody seemed to hear us. The minutes ticked by, and I feared we would be too late, but we reached the gate without the dreaded tolling of midnight.

Sure enough, two oblivious guards stood on the battlements above us, but when I pressed my hand to the door, I felt no other soldiers beyond. The master of this keep was more foolish than I’d thought. Then again, his foolishness was what had forced our hands.

At my whispered signal, my men fired crossbows, deadly bolts eliminating the guards above us.

I murmured a command to the heavy door, “In the name of the Master, and the powers He has bestowed on me… I command you. Open!”

The bars holding the door fell away, and the door groaned open. We hurried inside, passing through long stone corridors. Great tapestries covered the walls, and enormous grandfather clocks loomed in nooks and niches at every turn, their pendulums swinging ominously. The lord of this castle had done well for himself this year. Too well.

I watched ahead and behind for an attack, but none came, and we reached the great throne room without incident. Enormous festival tables brimmed with food and drink, and the scattered, empty chairs spoke of guests hastily fleeing our arrival.

The lord of the castle sat on a throne at the head of the room. The Year’s Master. He was an old man now, hunched and gray.

“Thieves!” He roared, his face twisted with rage. “Traitors! You gave me this throne, and now you come to take it away! Begone, for I am the master here and no other!”

“No,” I rebuked him, “you were given stewardship over this year, and this year alone. Your time has ended. Leave with dignity, or we will remove you.”

Suddenly, armed men leaped from behind every door and tapestry with wild cries, and my soldiers jumped to meet enemy blades with their own.

One ruffian rounded a corner behind me, his sword thrusting at my throat, but at the sight of my second face, he faltered. I flicked my wrist, and with a burst of my powers, he shot backward into the hallway. I threw a knife, and as he rounded the corner once more, it drove into his chest, felling him.

Another villain slashed my arm, spilling golden blood, and I roared in pain. One of my men sprang to my side with a cry, guarding my wounded side. I gestured at a second enemy with my good hand, and he took a step forward, then a dozen more, moving rapidly through time until he smashed into a wall.

Three more men tried to charge us through a doorway, but I commanded the door, slamming it shut in their faces. Thumps and screams sounded as they ran into the solid wood, but the door held. I smiled grimly. It would never open again without my leave.

We slowly drew near the throne, swords and powers cutting a path through the enemy. The old man howled for his men to save him, but I whirled, casting my powers wide with all my remaining strength, flinging his soldiers backward through time, their screams fading into the hours and days prior. Silence now reigned, and I hauled the old man from the throne.

“Your year is over. The humans cling to their stewardships selfishly, but I expected better from you!” The old man whimpered, and I dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. “Go. Live on in the memories of men, but do not linger. I pray the Master shows you mercy.”

I gently took the still-sleeping baby from the folds of my robes, placing him on the throne. Days of feasting and ceremony should have preceded this moment, but it would suffice.

Throughout the castle, dozens of grandfather clocks began chiming their heavy tolls. When the twelfth note struck, the baby opened his eyes and sat up, and the throne began to glow.

My men cheered, and a moment later, one of them approached me with mugs of cider from the feast tables.

“Happy New Year, sir,” he said, and we toasted.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ryan Bush has dabbled in a variety of trades and mastered none of them, so now he writes fantasy stories. His beautiful wife once said she enjoyed a short story he wrote, and he’s been chasing that high ever since. His works range from epic fantasy novels to humorous short stories, and he tries to blend his Christian faith with entertaining, uplifting tales.

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