Beyond the Gate

Chapter 10

After notifying Orick of the danger, Maggie rushed to her room, then took off her nightgown and dressed in the burnt-orange-colored robes of a Lord of Technicians and donned a pale green mask to hide her face. Gallen threw her nightgown in her bags.

After she dressed, Maggie stood for a moment, trying to wake, thinking furiously. She wondered where Thomas might have gone. Her uncle seemed willing to cause her any amount of trouble. She doubted that he would willingly betray her-his notions of the duties to kin would extend too far for that-but Maggie knew too well that what he was willing to tell and what he would be forced to tell were two different things.

“Quickly,” Gallen said as he took Maggie’s hand and they rushed out the door. “My mantle is picking up dronon radio signals. The Lords of the Swarm are heading for the city.”

Orick was in the hall. Gallen did not slow for him, but as they hurried down the corridors, Gallen kept watching down side passages, as if hoping to find Thomas wandering the halls. “That old fool will cost us dear,” Gallen murmured. “The dronon will have the city in an hour.”

In two minutes they were on the roof of the city, where half a dozen fliers were parked. Gallen rushed to them, spoke his name and commanded the fliers to open.

Only one of the fliers obeyed his command-a four-man flier. Maggie jumped in the pilot’s seat, while Orick scrambled to fit into a space entirely too small for a bear of his bulk.

“Hurry! They’ve reached the city,” Gallen shouted. As if to emphasize his point, emergency sirens began whining all across the city. Orick squeezed in, filling two seats.

“Head north at normal air speed. We don’t want to attract attention,” Maggie commanded the flier’s on-board intelligence while Gallen took out his map and looked for the coordinates to the gate to Tremonthin. The flier lurched into the air, and Maggie looked down.

An army of dronon Vanquishers was marching in the night, carrying lights before them. They churned and seethed, like giant ants seen from a distance. They had nearly reached the city. Fortunately, the entrance to the Gate of the World was too small to allow them to bring in their own heavy fliers, and Maggie sighed in relief.

They surged upward for ten minutes, then slowed. In that brief time, the flier had traveled a thousand miles, and in moments they were on the ground beside an ancient metal arch in a northern desert. The rocks stood out in sharp relief all around them, and in the distance, Maggie could hear wild dogs barking. The night was warm, yet she shivered.

Maggie commanded the on-board intelligence of the flier to erase its memories of this trip, then sent it back to the city, arching up toward a high cloud whose edges were silvered in the moonlight.

Maggie stood breathing the air of Fale for a moment as if she were readying to plunge into cold water, then pulled out the key to the Gate of the World and began entering codes. The air under the gate shivered a brilliant magenta.

“Remember,” Gallen said. “We are traveling in disguise. Do not mention our names.”

Maggie took her bags, handed Gallen the key, then walked into the magenta light. She felt the familiar sense of being lifted impossibly high into the air, and in a moment she was standing in a field yellow with ripe wheat, white with the bitter-smelling flowers of wild carrots. Tall daisies with beer-colored hearts swayed in the wind. They were in the folds of a valley, and on the hill behind her, golden oaks swayed.

Maggie could hear the distant sound of a marketplace, the cries of street vendors, the bawling of goats. She glanced over her shoulder. A light building rose above the oaks not two hundred yards away-a curious temple the color of the wheat, with five spires rising high above the hill. Banners flew from each spire, red with images of twin orange suns. Along the parapets of the temple walked a man, a broad-shouldered man in a red tunic, with thick braids of golden hair. Maggie studied him a moment, vaguely distressed by his appearance, until she realized that the man could be no less than nine feet tall.

White ghosts blurred into existence at Maggie’s side, as if emerging up from the grass, and suddenly Orick and Gallen stood beside her.

They stood for a moment, looking about, and Orick growled, pointed to Maggie’s left. On the next hill, a dronon’s walking hive city squatted on six giant legs, like some great black tick. The incendiary gun turrets that bristled on its back were unmanned, and had in fact been stripped off, but the red lights at the hatches glowed like squinting eyes.

Maggie found herself suddenly wary. The hive city was uninhabited as far as she could see. Yet it served as an unsavory reminder that this world had been under dronon control only days before.

“Where do we go now?” Orick asked, looking about.

“To find the Lady Ceravanne,” Gallen said uncertainly. There was a depression in the hill, a hollow where someone had perhaps mined rocks. Gallen went to it, hunching down beneath the shelter of an odd, twisted green stump to get out of sight of the temple walls. The others followed. Gallen reached into his bags and brought out his map of Tremonthin. It showed two large continents near each other, and from the map Maggie could see that they were on the eastern coast of the northern continent, but the map did not show cities, for it was far older than cities, so it showed only images of the approximate terrain and the nearest gates. Maggie studied the map. “Ceravanne could be anywhere, thousands of miles from here.”

“The dronon can’t have left more than a week ago,” Gallen pointed out. “A Tharrin will be precious rare on this world. If Ceravanne is near, perhaps others will know of her.”

But Maggie was not so certain. This world was nearly as backward as her home on Tihrglas. She looked up the hill and noticed that the stump above them had a faded rope tied to it, with a small leather purse attached. She wondered if it had been left there on purpose. Perhaps there was a letter inside, bearing instructions. She began climbing toward it.

Gallen sighed heavily. “I want to travel secretly,” he said, hunching lower into the grass, “stay on back roads and sleep in the woods.”

“And if I had your face, I’d keep it hidden, too,” Orick jested, trying to lighten Gallen’s mood. “Any sack would do fine.”

“The young man has a fine face,” a strange whispering voice said. The voice was almost a groan, or the yawn of a waking man. And most startling of all was that it came from the stump!

Maggie looked higher, and saw that the tree stump was staring down at her. The creature that watched them was the most amazing thing she had ever seen: it had deep brown eyes set high up on the uppermost ridge of its long, narrow head, and leaves crowned its top. Its long arms and legs each had many knobby growths, so that no two joints were at the same height. And it had been holding its hands up toward the sun as if it were praying, or warming itself. Each long hand had many fingers. Its mouth was a leathery crack at the bottom of its head, and two holes in its face might have been a nose. But Maggie could see no ears on the creature, and it wore no clothes. She could see no sign of sex organs or an anus.

“Soooh, you have come at last,” the creature said slowly. “But I am patient, as she is patient.”

“She?” Gallen said. “You mean Ceravanne?”

The green man did not answer, but instead looked down in concentration. It twisted its right leg, pulling many toes from deep in the rocky yellow soil. Then, with equally great effort, it pulled its left leg free from the earth. Its skin looked like forest-green leather, and the three-pronged leaves on its head rustled as if blown in the wind. “What are you doing?” Orick demanded, as if he were questioning a young rascal.

“Drinking rainwater, tasting sun,” the green man answered.

“And who are you?” Orick asked.

“I have no name, but you may call me Bock, for I am of the race of Bock, and we are all one.”

The green man swiveled, and began walking slowly down the gully on long legs that covered a great distance. In two steps it was staring at them in the hollow.

“So, you have taken shelter?” the Bock addressed them. “Sitting with backs to the wall, facing out.” It seemed to consider this for a moment. “That is a human trait.” Maggie had never noticed it before, but it was indeed a human trait to take such a stance, one that humans shared with bears.

“Aye,” Gallen said, climbing out of the hollow, eyeing the Bock.

“You speak strangely,” the Bock said. “Were you born speaking this way, or did you learn to speak by listening to your parents?”

Maggie had never heard of anyone who had not been born knowing how to talk. “I was born speaking thus,” Gallen muttered. He rested his free hand on his dagger.

“Good,” the Bock said, his strange eyes widening at Gallen’s threatening action. “Then you are not from feral human stock, but have had some genetic upgrading. I see that you also wear heavy clothes, which speaks of a strong enclosure quotient.”

“A what?” Gallen asked.

“Humans of most subspecies seek enclosure,” the Bock said in slow, even words. “They house themselves in cavelike enclosures at all opportunities, and drape their bodies in bits of hide or vegetation. The amount of covering they desire is a guide to their enclosure quotient, and this can help me make a judgment as to how human the specimen is.”

“You mean that different people want to wear different amounts of clothes?” Gallen asked.

“It varies by subspecies of human,” the Bock said.

“That’s mad,” Gallen said. “We wear clothes to protect ourselves from the weather.”

“You are a Lord Protector,” the Bock said, half a question. “The weather is warm. Why don’t you take off your clothes? You don’t need them here.”

“I would rather keep them on,” Gallen said. “I need the hood, to hide my identity.”

“No one will recognize you,” the Bock assured, putting his long green hand on Gallen’s shoulder, pulling back his robe to expose flesh, and Maggie counted nine fingers on that hand. “Here on Tremonthin, you are unknown. You may show your face freely. You may show your whole body freely.”

The Bock’s actions were strange and frightening, but Maggie could also sense that it meant no harm. Its touch was not rough or lecherous. It seemed instead to be-perplexed by Gallen. Curious about him, and totally alien.

Gallen stared up at the creature, shrugged his shoulder away from it. “Why are you so intent on taking off my clothes?”

“Why are you so intent to keep them on? Does the thought of your nakedness frighten you?” Gallen didn’t answer, and the Bock whispered, “What kind of fear must you possess to be a Lord Protector, to feel so threatened that you must kill all the time?”

“Gallen’s not afraid of anyone, you green galoot,” Orick said.

“It’s all right,” Gallen said, studying the Bock.

“Soooh, if you are unafraid,” the Bock said slowly, “take off some of your clothes. You wear your weapons as casually as another man wears his belt. Take them off, and your robes also.”

Gallen smiled up at the creature’s challenging tone. He unbuckled his knife belt and dropped his weapons, watching the Bock carefully. He then pulled off his robe and mantle, stripped off his tunic so that he wore only his hose and tight black boots. The Bock made a gasping noise as if in approval. “Some subspecies on this planet could not divest themselves of clothes or weapons so easily,” he said. “Their enclosure quotient is too high. But if you are truly courageous, you will come with me now into the marketplace, unarmed.”

He turned and began walking uphill. Gallen didn’t move, and the Bock reached back and took his hand, leading Gallen. “No one will harm you. You will be in the company of a Bock.”

He led Gallen forward, and Orick growled. “What about us?”

“Stay here,” the Bock said. “We will return shortly. Gallen should come naked into this world.”

“Wait one minute!” Maggie said. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you taking off with that-thing! Leaving us alone!”

Gallen looked up at the Bock quizzically, then glanced back at Maggie. “I … don’t think he means us any harm,” Gallen said.

“No,” the Bock said. “We wish no harm, to you or anyone else.”

“But is it safe for us to be alone here?” Maggie asked.

“No one disturbs the temple grounds by daylight,” the Bock said. “I have been here for weeks, and only the priests come into this field. But people like you would best seek shelter at night.” The Bock took Gallen’s hand and led him off up the hill and into the trees.

Maggie and Orick waited in the little hollow until one hour passed, then two. Heavy clouds rolled in. Still, Gallen did not return with the Bock.

Near sunset it began to rain, a light warm drizzle. Minute by minute, Maggie began to worry that perhaps the Bock was not as harmless as he seemed, that perhaps he had set some kind of a trap. He’d said he would be back before dark.

As darkness drew on, a huge gonging rang out, and the cries of street vendors in the village over the hill went silent just as the rain stopped. The thick gray clouds created a false darkness. It seemed somehow spooky the way the vendors all stopped crying out so suddenly.

Whenever Maggie mentioned the time, Orick had encouraging words to say. “Gallen will be back shortly. He won’t get lost. Nothing bad has happened.” But at last, Orick admitted, “I don’t know what Gallen’s thinking, but he should be back by now!”

“Shall we search the city?” Maggie asked. “You can probably track Gallen by scent.”

Orick nodded uncertainly, began sniffing. Maggie bundled up Gallen’s packs, wrapping them all in his robe. They climbed over the hill, to the back of the temple, walked around it, and looked out over a large bay filled with sailing ships. Tall, elegant stone buildings surrounded the bay, and the nearer hills were filled with homes made of fine wood. Twin suns had just set golden in the distance. The air carried the smoke of evening fires and the tempting odor of food cooking, heavy with the scent of ginger and curry. Night was coming quickly.

Overhead, the clouds were whipping away, and ragged patches of evening sky came into view, showing a small scattering of stars.

“Don’t worry,” Orick said softly. “I’m sure I’ll find Gallen soon.”

Maggie shook her head violently. “Don’t give me that. Something’s wrong. Gallen wouldn’t just leave.”

“Perhaps that Bock creature has him jumping through hoops somewhere,” Orick said.

“I don’t understand Gallen sometimes,” Maggie said as if to herself, “running off unarmed with some strange … thing, on a world he’s never set foot on.”

“Och, he’s a young man,” Orick said. “You have to let them act the part of fools-you couldn’t stop them anyway.”

A wind was blowing in off the sea, carrying an evening chill. Orick stood just beside Maggie, close enough so that she could feel his body heat. She trembled slightly, stroked his back.

Down the street several blocks, a man turned a corner, walking toward them, but when he noticed them, he immediately turned back, ducking behind a house.

Orick licked his lips, raised his nose in the air to taste the scent. Maggie started forward, but Orick stopped her. “Wait a minute, darling,” he whispered. “You had better strap on one of Gallen’s swords and a dagger. I’ve got a cold feeling that an unarmed person wouldn’t last long on these streets at night.”

Maggie reached into the bag, pulled out Gallen’s vibro-blade, felt it begin to activate as it registered her body heat on the handle. She strapped on a knife belt for good measure.

“What should we do?” Maggie asked.

“I’d feel more comfortable in a nice crowded building,” Orick said. “This is a port. Surely there’s a hostel down at seaside.”

“I’ve decided to stay out of off-world inns,” Maggie whispered. “Every time I go in one, I get into a hell of a lot of trouble.”

“Well, a young girl traveling with a vicious bear to protect her, what kind of trouble could she get into?” Orick reasoned, and he led the way, heading through the broad streets toward the sea.

After a half mile, they entered the business district, where four-story buildings lined the street, each with its own elaborate columned portico. The doors were all locked. By the docks they found an inn where they could see inside broad windows. A cheery fire was set in a large hearth, and the inn was so crowded that many of the patrons stood around drinking and laughing, unable to sit down at a table to eat. Maggie took the door handle and began shaking it, trying to get in, but the door was locked. She rapped it with the butt of her dagger, and a man with a thin face came to the window beside the door, shaking his head, shouting,

“Too dark! Go away!”

“Let us in!” Orick called, but the innkeep turned away. Maggie could tell when a man acted out of fear and when he could not be pushed. She didn’t bother rapping at the door again.

Maggie wandered out into the middle of the street, looking both ways. It seemed safer out there, where no one could creep up on them unawares. It was getting quite dark now, and moths banged softly against some of the more well-lighted windows. A mosquito buzzed at Maggie’s neck, and she slapped it.

“Which way do we go?” Maggie asked. “North or south?” Orick stood sniffing. “Back over the hill,” Orick said. “I can’t taste Gallen’s scent at all. Maybe they’ll come back for us.”

But if Gallen were here on the streets, Maggie figured that she’d spot him half a mile away, and it seemed likely that he’d be coming down the street to find her. Maggie turned up the north road, and Orick followed. A bat swooped in front of them, dipping twice for mosquitoes. Maggie welcomed its presence, figuring that for every mosquito it ate, there was one less mosquito to dine upon her.

Just as the bat swooped in front of them a third time, something enormous fluttered over Maggie’s head-something large enough so that its wingspan could have been no less than fifteen feet. Orick bowled Maggie forward, and as she fell she saw the creature grab the little bat out of the sky with a quick snatching motion of one wing.

Then the dark creature flapped up the road where Maggie and Orick had been heading and landed atop the portico of a building.

Maggie blinked. The creature had the wings of a bat, and a bat’s catlike ears. It looked for all the world like a bat itself, except for its milky golden eyes. It sat on the portico, staring at Maggie and Orick, and gingerly began feeding on the bat it had caught.

Maggie got up off the muddy road, dusted off her hands, then slowly advanced. The creature sniffed the air as she approached. “Niccce night,” it whispered as they neared. “The sstarsss glimmer like firesss in the bowl of heaven.” It glanced up. “And the moonsss cassst their golden light on the earth.”

Something about the way the creature spoke bothered Maggie. There was a threat behind its words, and she felt as if she should answer. The creature tore a wing from the bat, stuffed it in its mouth and began crunching the tiny bones.

Maggie looked up at the sky. There were no moons shining, and she guessed at the coded message the bat-thing had given her. It had said the word “golden,” and immediately it brought to mind the golden color of the dronon’s hive queen that Gallen had killed a couple of weeks before. She stammered, “Yet their light is not so great as that cast by our Golden Queen.”

The creature on the portico looked at her long, stopped tearing apart its prey. Instead, it took the remainder of the body, stuffed it in its mouth, and swallowed the bat in one gulp.

“My brother and sissster, how goesss your hunt tonight?” the creature asked.

“The streets are empty, as you see. We’ve found no one,” Maggie said, praying that she answered correctly. Maggie felt tense to the breaking point. If this creature chose to attack them, there would be no way to escape it. Not with all the doors in town locked against them. She’d have to fight, and she was no great hand with a sword.

“In the harbor liesss a ssship, the third to the north. I sssaw a hatch open, and men inssside were making merry. They think themsselvesss ssecure.”

Maggie forced a smile. The creature’s intentions were clear. It expected Orick and Maggie to prey upon those men, in the same way that it preyed upon the bat.

“Thank you,” Orick said, touching Maggie’s hip with his snout, turning toward the harbor. She could hear the tautness in his voice. “Come,” he whispered to Maggie. She could tell that he was frightened, that like her, Orick only wanted to get out of there.

We’re in this deeper than I’d imagined, Maggie realized. They’d come to this world seeking the Inhuman, and if she guessed right, the Inhuman had found them-in a matter of hours.

Maggie forced herself to turn, follow Orick on legs that felt as unresponsive as wood.

The bat began whistling, an odd, meandering tune that sounded more like some code than music. Maggie silently prayed that no one was listening, for she felt sure that if other creatures like this one were near, they would attack. She slipped Gallen’s dagger from its sheath. Sometimes, when things had been slow in the inn back home, she had sat in the kitchen with John Mahoney, throwing knives into a target on the wall, above the bread table. John had always insisted that it was a skill that could come in handy someday. Maggie was fairly accurate at a distance of thirty or forty feet, but this creature was more like sixty feet away. Still, it was her only chance.

She hefted the knife half a moment, testing its balance, then whirled and threw high, fearing that the knife was heavier than she was used to. The knife sailed through the air, and the batlike creature jumped. The heavy knife glanced off the creature’s face, and it squealed and fell from the portico, flapping its wings as it tried to fly.

In half a moment Orick was there, leaping atop the creature with all of his weight. She heard the sickening snick of bones cracking when Orick landed, and Orick took the creature’s head in his jaws before it could cry out. Orick swung his mighty head back and forth, decapitating the creature. He slapped the dead body and lunged away in disgust, then changed his mind and pounced on it again.

“Enough, enough! It’s dead!” Maggie cried.

Orick looked at her and roared, choking out strangled sounds, shivering violently. “Come-come away from here,” Maggie said, and she turned. They hurried north, up the broad avenue, away from the bloody mess behind them, running from the horror of it rather than searching for Gallen.

Somewhere in the air high above and behind them, Maggie heard a shrill whistle, as if from a seaman’s pipe-but the sound moved toward them. She glanced back, and in the light of three small, swiftly rising moons saw a huge bat-shape flapping toward them.

In a moment it was overhead, and it landed on a tall building before them, out of throwing distance. It held something shiny in its mouth, and the shrill whistle came again.

Maggie froze, turned to head back down the street, but three men were rushing up the street behind them-if men you could call them. Two were large men in dark robes-too large to be human, but a third hairy man with a misshapen head was hunched low on the ground, running on its knuckles.

Maggie glanced forward, saw another huge brute rush into the street ahead of her.

“This way!” Orick growled, gingerly nipping Maggie’s arm in his teeth to guide her. They ran to the nearest shop, and Orick charged the door full force. The door splintered and broke into pieces, but Orick had hit his head against a metal cross beam that held. The poor bear was knocked unconscious, and he lay there like a sack of flour.

Maggie glanced both ways up the street, saw the four men closing the distance rapidly. She climbed past Orick. Orick lay on the ground in a tumble of splintered wood. He was groaning, and looked up at her weakly, squinting, then his head sagged to the ground.

Maggie turned and brandished her sword, weaving the weapon forward. She’d seen how much damage it could do. It could rip through a human body as easily as slicing melons. From inside the shop, the streets seemed washed in moonlight.

The great hulk reached the building first, stood gazing in the doorway, looking down at Orick, who was still unconscious. In seconds, the others stood outside the building, panting. One of the men smiled, said easily, “What do you think you’re doing? Running? What do you fear?”

“Not you,” Maggie said, brandishing the sword.

One hulk held a club. He went to a huge window of the shop where bowls and urns were displayed, and began shattering the glass, widening his access to Maggie. “Was that your handiwork down the street?” the first man said, a worried expression on his brow. “That poor scout. Not much left of him now.” Maggie glanced at the broken panes in the window. One piece thrust upward like a tooth. Absently, the hulk outside kicked it, breaking it off.

“Stay back!” Maggie warned. “Move along.” Her hands were sweaty, and she gripped the hilt of the sword more tightly. The sword seemed to hum, reacting to her fear.

The man in the doorway laughed uneasily. “Come with us. A pretty young thing like you, you belong with us.”

“Ah, I’ll bet she’s human,” the hulk said. “She wants nothing to do with us.”

“Is that it?” the smiling man asked. “Are you too good for us? Are you sure? I can show you something beautiful. I have a Word for you. You might like it.” He reached into the pocket of his tunic, and she knew she did not want to see what he brought out.

Orick moaned at her feet, shifting the shattered door as he tried to get up, then he fell down, and Maggie realized that he would not get up, would not be able to come to her aid. And Maggie recalled something Gallen had once told her: when opponents know that the odds are vastly in their favor, they never expect you to leap into battle.

With a shout, Maggie bounded over the windowsill, swinging the sword with all her fury. The blade caught the hulk at the midriff, slicing through his belly. She whirled and let the blade arc into the smiler, slicing him in two before he could get his hand out of his pocket. Suddenly, Maggie was on the sidewalk, dancing past two dead men.

The hairy man on his knuckles shrieked and tried to leap backward, throwing his hands up to protect his face, and Maggie whacked off his hands while slicing open his face, turned to her last foe who shouted, “Ah, damn you!” and leapt backward.

He drew his own sword ringing from its sheath, and from the cornice of the building above them, the batlike creature blasted its shrill whistle three times.

The swordsman didn’t give her a second to think, merely advanced on her, his sword blurring in the moonlight. Maggie was far outmatched in swordsmanship. She stepped back, and in her haste stumbled over the corpse of one of her victims.

The swordsman pressed the attack, swiping maliciously. She managed to parry with her own blade. His sword snapped under the impact, and hers flew from her hand, landed three yards away.

Her attacker jumped at her, landing a foot on her chest, knocking the air from her. For a moment, Maggie’s vision went black from the pain, and she raised her head feebly. Her attacker held his broken sword, its jagged edge lodged in her Adam’s apple.

“Here now, sweet lady,” he panted. “You see, all of your resistance has come to naught. I never wanted to hurt you.” Maggie looked up into his face, and a shock went through her. Though the man was tall, his narrow face was a pale yellow, and he was unnaturally handsome, lustrous, almost as if his face were cast in ceramics. And there was a kindness to his voice. He believed what he said. He didn’t want to hurt her.

He struggled with his free hand to untie a pouch wrapped to his belt, opened the pouch and pulled out something small and silver that glittered in the moonlight. It moved like an insect, a large praying mantis perhaps, but its body was sleeker, longer, and more angular.

“Here is the Word. Let it set you free!”

He put it on her chest, and the creature poised for a moment with one huge claw ready to stab into her chest. Then, carefully checking each direction, it began stalking toward her face.

* * *