Beyond the Gate

Chapter 8

Gallen and Maggie’s wedding was perhaps the strangest that ever took place in the village of Clere. By dusk, nearly everyone from as far as fifteen miles away was in the village, so that tents and wagons filled every field within half a mile of town. And over two hundred men came north from Baille Sean, driving hard, hoping to see what all of the hoopla was about.

Between having a minstrel in town, along with a display of a demon from hell and an angel from heaven, and an occupying army of northern sheriffs who’d come down to hang the local hero, an impending trial on witchcraft, and the marriage of Gallen O’Day-it was all too much for anyone to miss. The poor old church couldn’t have held a tenth of the number of people who wanted to view the wedding; and, as Orick grumbled, there was a grand lot of speculation as to the cause of the sudden marriage.

The most evil-minded folks figured that Maggie had come down with a child, and this was all an effort to make it right.

But many a bedazzled maid believed that Maggie loved Gallen, and so she wanted to make him her husband all in one grand gesture before he got hung.

But some old deacon remembered an obscure verse in the Tome of Law, where it pointed out that it was illegal to hang a man within a month of his wedding day, for to do so would not only deny him his life, it would deny him the chance of having posterity.

This last bit of news thoroughly enraged some of the northern sheriffs, who saw this all as some grand scheme to keep Gallen alive for another month, even if they could convict him, ensuring him greater chances of escape.

But the northern sheriffs didn’t cause much of an uproar, for to tell the truth, the majority of them began to join in the festive attitude. While the rest of the sheriffs, seeing how with every wagon that pulled into town they were more and more outnumbered, decided to remain quiet. So the sheriffs paid their shillings to go see Thomas’s angel and demon, and one sheriff, after seeing the demon, said, “Well, if Gallen O’Day fought those monsters, he’s a better man than I am.” And he rode off toward home to much applause.

And so the wedding was held in an open field, just before sundown, Maggie in a white dress that made her look radiant, and Gallen dressed in his finest blue tunic with gray hose.

Gallen’s cousin, Father Brian of An Cochan, wedded the two, administering the oaths.

Orick the bear played the part of Gallen’s “best man,” and that caused many a stare. Thomas sang, with the church choir joining him, and never had so sweet a music been heard over the city.

Folks from all over Counties Morgan, Obhiann, and Daugherty tried to outdo one another on wedding gifts-trying to show those northern sheriffs how much they admired Gallen. Seamus O’Connor gave Gallen a nice carriage, while a friend of Gallen’s father gave the couple a brace of white stallions. Silver teapots took all of one table, while blankets and coats and saddles and all other manner of finery filled up others.

Someone brought out a whiskey keg, and those folks who had nothing else to give began filling it with money, and more than one gold coin was seen therein. Over the past years, Gallen had saved more than a dozen locals from highwaymen, and the roads around Clere were notoriously safe-all because of Gallen O’Day. So folks let their money flow freely in gratitude.

It was just an hour before dusk, and the dancing was in full swing, when the Lord Inquisitor rode into town in a hired coach, his face clenched and frustrated.

Obviously, the terms of the trial were not to his liking. “We’ll begin jury selection tonight!” he announced to his men, and they rounded up Gallen and his young wife and herded him back to Gallen’s home.

Gallen selected Deacon Green to be his defender in the case, and within the hour the townspeople drew lots for jury duty. All of the northern sheriffs put their lots in, and to Gallen’s great dismay, four of them won seats on the jury, along with two men and a woman from nearby. Even in his own village, the jury was stacked against him.

Gallen was given copies of the affidavits sworn against him, and he and Maggie and Orick and Deacon Green studied them for a bit. Three men out of County Obhiann told how they had planned the robbery two weeks ago, how they had taken Seamus O’Connor down, then Gallen, and were beating the men, planning to rob them (they omitted the fact that they were planning to cut Gallen’s throat), when they swore that Gallen uttered his prayer and hell itself disgorged one of its minions, a magical man with wicked swords and a face that glowed like starlight. Later, as they ran away, they claimed that they looked back over the hills and saw a strange light, as if the very bowels of hell had opened.

Technically, their case had some weaknesses. In many places their sworn testimony had been copied verbatim from one document to the next, so it would be easy enough to prove that they had been in collusion. Second, they were all felons-robbers who nevertheless swore that murder had never entered their minds that night.

And there were some holes in their testimony. None of them had actually witnessed the bowels of hell open, and they did not claim to have seen any other sign of the demons that troubled the area the next morning.

Yet as Deacon Green, a tall, balding man with round spectacles, studied the testimony, he muttered under his breath. “Och, Gallen. You’re in a tight spot, sure, lad. I don’t see a way out of this. You’ll do prison time, at the very least.”

“How can that be?” Maggie said, sitting on the sofa, holding Gallen’s hand. “Why would anyone believe those robbers, instead of Gallen?”

“The Bible says that out of the mouths of two or three witnesses, every word shall be established,” Deacon Green said. “And so according to law, if three witnesses testify against a man in a capital case, then that man will … well, he’ll hang-unless we can shake the accusers.”

“What about Seamus O’Connor’s testimony?” Maggie asked, biting her lower lip. “We can put him on the stand.”

“But what can the man swear to? He was so drunk he had to hire Gallen to keep him from falling off his horse, and then he got a knock in the head halfway through the battle and didn’t wake up for four days. He says that he’s willing to swear that the men who tried to rob him were murderous bastards, and he hopes they all go to hell. But I’m afraid people can only laugh at any testimony he has to give.”

“But we can prove that the witnesses here have something against me,” Gallen contended. “Mason and Argent Flaherty both had a brother and a cousin killed in the attack that night. They have a blood debt against me.”

“But both of them swear that they came forward to the law out of remorse,” the good deacon said. “Both of them are to be whipped with forty lashes for their crime, once they testify against you. If they only wanted revenge, they could have lain in wait for you of a dark night and cut your throat. Now, I know that you feel they have something against you, but the fact is that their remorse seems genuine, and this could sway the jury.”

Gallen shook his head, wondering, “Could they have worked out a deal with that Bishop Mackey? Perhaps they’ll get a commuted sentence for testifying against me.”

“All three men claim that they sought such a bargain, but that Bishop Mackey never spoke a promise in return,”

“And what of the reward?” Maggie asked. “Isn’t there money for proving witchcraft against a man? These men are robbers, so why wouldn’t they be willing to lie for some money?”

“Fifty pounds.” Deacon Green sighed. “Not enough to risk your life for.”

Gallen wondered. There is always someone who holds life cheap. All three of these men were desperate. To some degree, they had all risked their lives in trying to rob Seamus O’Connor of fifty pounds, but then it had been nine men against two-and the robbers had never expected Gallen O’Day to be among those two. They’d hoped to get five pounds per man then.

Would they go to so much trouble for a share of fifty pounds split three ways? Not likely, not when you considered that they could be whipped within an inch of their lives, in the bargain.

No, there had to be some other reason for them to bring false charges against Gallen.

So Gallen sat with his head bent low, wondering why these strangers would come like this and try to bring so much trouble down on him.

He wondered if it simply might be a matter of conceit. If they got away with this, these three robbers would be revered among outlaws all across the land as the men who had killed Gallen O’Day. And the very irony that they had taken a lawman and had him executed by the law would be a great jest.

Deacon Green made studious notes, probing for weaknesses in the transcripts, hunting for avenues to pursue. Gallen studied with him for a bit, but his eyes ached from lack of sleep, so he and Maggie went to his room to rest. Maggie just sat on the edge of the bed, holding him for a while, as Gallen considered.

If I were the greatest counselor in the world, Gallen asked himself, what would I do? He rested in Maggie’s arms for a long moment, waiting for some insight to fill him, to send knowledge coursing through his body until it seemed that understanding flowed from his fingertips. So often in the past, this technique had served Gallen well. But Gallen waited long, yet no insight came.

Finally, Gallen realized that the deacon’s expertise in such matters was far beyond his, so he closed the door to his bedroom, leaving Deacon Green to study and Orick to sit out on the couch talking with Gallen’s mother about the injustices committed by the northern sheriffs who were holding Orick’s good friend, a she-bear named Grits.

The house began to feel stuffy-with that wet, earthy smell that fills a house-tree in the evening-so he opened his window a crack, looked out. Twenty sheriffs surrounded the house, and Gallen’s opening of the window was the most exciting move he had made in hours. Four of them drew in closer, backlit by their campfires.

Gallen sat on his bed, and Sheriff Sully stuck his dark face through the windows. “Needing a bit of fresh air, are you?” he leered. “A bit winded, are you, from doing your business with that juicy little wife of yours? Well, I’ve got a bit of fresh news for you: guess what? I got on your jury. Isn’t that worthy of a laugh?”

“Every juror has to swear that he has nothing against me,” Gallen said, surprised at the undisguised malice in the sheriff’s voice.

“Oh, and I’ll swear it,” the sheriff said. “I’ve got nothing personal against you. It’s not your fault that you’re so good at what you do. Why, whenever a highwayman strikes, there’s always a bit of a bustle, folks wagging their tongues. ‘Why can’t our sheriffs protect us?’ they ask. ‘Why do we pay these louts three pounds a month, when for just a bit more, we could get Gallen O’Day up here to do the job proper?’

“And when one of us lads goes to a dance and asks an ugly young woman onto the floor, like as not she’ll say, ‘And who do you think you are that I should dance with you-Gallen O’Day?’ So you understand, Gallen, that it’s nothing personal, but after the trial, I for one shall be glad to be rid of you!”

Behind Sully, several other sheriffs laughed, as if this were all just part of some great meaningless hoax. They’d come for entertainment, and they didn’t care if they were cheering Sully on, or Thomas, or Gallen. It was all just fun.

But there is a look that a man gives you just before he seriously tries to kill you. It is a fixed stare with constricted pupils and a face that is set and determined. It’s a look that is both relaxed and calculating, and Gallen saw that look now in the eyes of Sheriff Sully. The man was jealous of him, so jealous that he thought it a small thing to kill Gallen.

The sheriffs turned away, walked back to their campfire. Gallen stood at the window, watching them. Gallen could smell the scent of fires. “That croaking old frog,” Maggie whispered. “I’d like to gouge out his eyes and use them for earrings.”

“That isn’t a ladylike thing to say,” Gallen whispered. A cold pain shot up the back of his spine and through his heart. Never had he felt so weak, so unable to defend himself.

So this is the way it ends for me, he wondered. He had done his job as a bodyguard, perhaps done it too well. Now, highwaymen with blood debts against him would stand as witnesses in his trial, and jealous lawmen would cast their jury ballots against him. And there was no way that he could win.

All of this time, Gallen had believed that others respected him, believed that by fighting so hard against the evils of the world he had won their favor. But now he saw that some of them only feared and hated him for what he’d done.

He laughed under his breath. He’d come home to Tihrglas after his adventures on far worlds, come home with the hope of going salmon fishing in the river, of resting and tasting the scent of the clean air under the pines. He had done it so often in his youth, casting his yellow wet-water flies out into the flood and jigging through the rippled stream until a salmon struck, bending his old hickory pole to the snapping point.

But he hadn’t been fishing now in years. Sometime a couple of years ago, he’d put the rod away, and now it looked as if he’d never have the chance to take it up again. Sometime, while trying to win honor and right the wrongs of the world, he’d given up the things he’d enjoyed most.

Gallen glanced into the living room. Deacon Green sat on the sofa, still studying the testimonies of the felons. The creases in his brow and the singular concentration with which he studied showed just how worried he’d become.

It was getting late, and Gallen looked out the window. People were still pouring into town to see the demon and angel in Thomas Flynn’s stable.

The trial of Gallen O’Day would be an added sideshow that few would want to miss. Even now, the sheriffs had a fire beside the road, not twenty feet from the door, and they sat together with their three witnesses. Perhaps two hundred observers had gathered around the house to listen while the false witnesses drunkenly railed against Gallen O’Day, telling how he’d summoned demons from hell, and how he’d laughed about it after.

Gallen studied the faces of the men. The two Flaherty brothers were difficult to miss. Mason was a tall man, hard and strong, and Gallen couldn’t even recall having seen him in the battle on the night that Seamus was attacked. The younger Flaherty, Argent, was one that Gallen recalled well. He had put a knife to the boy’s throat, tried to hold him hostage so that the robbers would back off, let Gallen and Seamus go free. Now, Gallen wished that he had killed the boy in cold blood when he’d had the chance. He doubted that he would be able to get either of the Flahertys to change their testimony.

The third man, though-he interested Gallen. His name was Christian Bean. He was a small man, fat and soft, with a rounded face accentuated by a thin beard. He kept more to himself, seemed almost afraid to talk. Gallen remembered him from the battle, too, but only dimly. The man was a coward who had hung back during the robbery.

Gallen looked up at the stars, thought for a moment of the planet Tremonthin and the young Tharrin woman whose whole world was in jeopardy. Gallen licked his lips, enjoying the way his pulse quickened. Gallen always felt most alive in battle, when the threat of death was imminent. Gallen smiled, for at the moment he felt the thrill.

The spectators at the front of the house began plying Christian Bean with liquor, and he railed against Gallen. Gallen could see the man’s face only by firelight-little piggy eyes that glanced worriedly, hunting the shadows around the house as he described the demon he’d seen, its face glowing like a blue star, the swords in its hand.

“It’s a shame you don’t have another witness in your behalf,” Maggie muttered absently from the bed.

With a start, Gallen realized that there had been another witness to the attack: the very demon that these men accused Gallen of summoning. Little did anyone realize that the demon was Gallen O’Day himself, in disguise. Everynne had sent him back in time after his journey, so that he would return from his long foray to other worlds before he’d even left his home.

And with a second shock, Gallen realized that Christian Bean didn’t fear Gallen or fear that his testimony would be controverted and shown to be a lie. He feared the fairy folk of Coille Sidhe who might yet come to Gallen’s aid. With that recognition, Gallen laughed aloud and rushed to Maggie’s side and kissed her. He knew what he had to do.

The wind came in blustery just after midnight, and the limbs of the house-tree swayed and cracked. Gallen wore his silver mantle, and his robe of changing colors had taken on a deep black to match the night. He wore his black boots and black fighting gloves, carried a single sword, and in his pockets he had the mask of Fale, a mask of palest silver-blue that shone like starlight.

“Are you sure you should be going out there?” Maggie whispered, as she tied the hood of his robe over his mantle. “It’s the only way I know to shake the witnesses,” Gallen said. “If I can scare them into admitting the truth, there will never be a trial.”

Maggie gave him a kiss for luck, then sent him on his way.

Under cover of darkness, and with the sound of the wind and the chattering of voices and the singing accompanied by lutes in the distance, Gallen climbed to the attic of the house-tree and slid open the service door. Slowly, and ever so quietly, he crept out on a limb, then reached back and closed the door behind.

There were people everywhere below him. There could not be less than a hundred just under the bough he was on. Some were sheriffs, but many were just curious onlookers.

Gallen closed his eyes and let the sensors on his mantle show him the scene in infrared. He climbed from limb to limb, until he was nearly over the little knot of sheriffs who sat beside the fire.

Taking a small dronon translator from his pocket, he clipped it to his lapel, then flipped off the translator so that its microphone would simply amplify his voice.

All night long, travelers had been forcing rum and beer onto the sheriffs and the witnesses, and Gallen sat listening to them talk, until at last Christian Bean began raging in a loud whiny voice. “Aye, that Gallen O’Day is half a devil himself. He’s more than a murderer. Mark my words: if he can pray to the devil once and raise hell itself, surely he can do it again-so none of you are safe!”

With those remarks, Gallen grabbed the mask of Fale from his pocket and quickly pushed the rubbery thing over his face. The nanotech devices within the mask immediately flowed into position, conforming to his face, and pulled energy from his body heat, releasing it as photons.

Gallen leapt from limb to ground, so that suddenly he stood in the midst of the crowd. With a roar, he drew his shimmering vibro-blade and pointed it at Christian Bean.

“Behold, a liar and murderer who shall himself soon be a denizen of hell!” Gallen shouted.

There were screams, and all about him, the people fled. The sheriffs were a swirl of motion as they stood, drawing arms. One of them clutched at his sword and stumbled backward, falling into the fire.

Christian Bean just sat, his face lit by the twisting flames of the campfire, his mouth opened wide, clutching a bottle of wine in one hand, a goblet in the other. He was shaking, and Gallen watched in dismay as he soiled his pants.

There was a great uproar, and people from all over town began rushing toward Gallen.

“I warned you,” Gallen said loudly, pointing his sword toward all three of the robbers, “that those who commit murder in Coille Sidhe would have to answer to me.” His voice carried over the town and reverberated off the walls of the stable. No one on this small world had ever heard such a shout. “Yet now you have returned, and you seek to bring death to a man through your false witness!”

The sheriffs faded back a few steps, leaving the robbers alone beside the fire. All around Gallen, the curious onlookers were quietly retreating, leaving a larger and larger circle.

Gallen moved toward the robbers, and the young Argent Flaherty stood, tried to back away. Gallen commanded him to stop with a roar, and the boy froze, knees shaking.

Gallen moved to within a dozen feet of the men, and suddenly the Lord Inquisitor rushed forward with Sully at his side, and the two put themselves between Gallen and the witnesses. The Lord Inquisitor looked up at Gallen with his piercing blue eyes, and of all the people in town, he did not seem frightened.

“What are you?” the Lord Inquisitor asked, raising a hand as if to stop Gallen.

And at that moment, Gallen realized that he felt odd. Wearing his mantle and the clothing of a Lord Protector, he somehow felt as if he had been endowed with power. Surely, the artificial intelligence within the mantle did give him knowledge beyond the understanding of men, and Gallen felt that he was no longer a common man.

“I am more than a man, less than God,” Gallen said.

“And I am Brother Shayne,” the Lord Inquisitor said softly. He seemed to be wary, and he looked about, trying to see in the distance behind Gallen. Gallen wondered if the Lord Inquisitor wasn’t signaling with his eyes for one of the sheriffs to rush him from behind, but the sensors on his mantle assured Gallen that none were so foolhardy. “You are an angel, then?”

Gallen did not consider. “I am the Lord Protector of this land. I come to protect the righteous, and to bring evil men to judgment.”

Gallen did not want to answer more questions, so he thrust his hand into a fold of his robes and pulled out the light globe he had taken from the corpses in Thomas Flynn’s stable the night before. He raised the globe aloft and squeezed so that a piercingly brilliant light burst over the town, and he stood as if in sunlight while all around him the townsfolk gasped and groaned, shielding their eyes.

“Behold the light of truth,” Gallen shouted. “No mere mortal can look upon it and lie, for he who lies shall be consumed in holy fire!

“You-” Gallen waved his sword toward Christian Bean. “You seek to kill a man by bearing false witness. You have admitted to church authorities that you are a robber. What boon were you granted for bearing false testimony?”

Christian Bean half stood, and the poor man began gasping in fear. Though it was a cool night, he was sweating profusely, and he stammered, “M-m-money. B-Bishop Mackey said he prayed, and God told him that Gallen was responsible for Father Heany’s death. He offered us each a hundred pounds to testify!”

Young Argent Flaherty was nodding his head hugely in agreement, and Gallen stepped closer. “Yet you are under the penalty of a whipping. How do you hope to live through such a beating?”

Christian Bean’s eyes opened wide, and he began wheezing heavily. He dropped his brown bottle of wine and his goblet, and he stumbled backward, moaning incoherently. Gallen advanced on young Argent Flaherty and pointed his sword. “Answer me, Argent Flaherty!”

“H-he promised to commute our sentences after the trial!”

“Yet you have sworn in your affidavits that you asked this boon, and that Bishop Mackey denied it?”

“We said that he ‘never spoke a promise to us’-and he never did! He wrote the promise in a note, then told us to word our testimony this way so that we wouldn’t be lying.”

“Keep silent!” Mason Flaherty shouted at his younger brother, grabbing the boy’s arm. “If you answer no questions, you’ll speak no lies!”

“Och, you child of a serpent!” Gallen sneered at Mason. “Hardly shall you escape the wrath of hell! What does it matter if you worded a portion of your testimony with half-truths, when the brunt of your tale is a lie? I was never summoned by the prayers of Gallen O’Day or any other man, nor have I opened the gates of hell. What of this tale you tell?”

Gallen pointed his sword at Christian Bean, who was writhing on the ground. He was so terrified that Gallen was sure he could get the man to speak, to admit to perjury, but Christian Bean looked up through slitted eyes, gulped at the air loudly, and suddenly grabbed his chest. He began shaking uncontrollably, muscles spasming in his legs, his eyes rolling back in his head. A deep rattling noise came from his throat, and Gallen suddenly realized that the man had just died of fright.

Young Argent Flaherty stared at Christian and gasped, lurched away, rushed toward the crowd. He tried to beat his way through, but several townspeople caught him. The boy pulled his knife and took a swing, and some worthy drew his own blade and plunged it in the lad’s ribs. He gave out a startled cry and sank to the ground.

Gallen went to Mason Flaherty, looked down at him steadily. The man was shaking, but stood his ground and met Gallen’s eyes. Gallen had never seen such controlled hatred in a man’s eyes.

“And you,” Gallen said. “You alone are left to bear witness. Tell us now: was your testimony false?”

Mason gritted his teeth, spat his words. “I’ll-Not-Speak-Of-It! You cannot force me to talk! Gallen O’Day killed my brother and my cousin, and I’ve got nothing to say to you!”

Gallen looked at this man and wished that Mason would give him some other choice. He couldn’t leave the man alive. The man had tried to kill him on the road, and he’d tried to do it in court. To let such a stubborn and evil man live would only bring trouble later on.

Gallen looked up at Sully. The sheriff stood beside the Lord Inquisitor, shaking. “Do with him what you will,” Gallen told the sheriff, and he turned and walked away.

As Gallen passed the front door of his home, he clenched his fist over the glow globe so that there was a bright flash, then he quit squeezing his glow globe so that the light suddenly failed, and he ripped off his mask and headed into the woods.

At his back, he heard Mason Flaherty’s sudden scream and the sickening sound of a sword slashing through flesh, snicking through bone. Once, twice, and the head was off. Sully had done a poor job of it.

Gallen reached the edge of the woods, and there he stood panting. Hot, bitter tears were streaming down his face, and he found himself breathing heavily, gasping. He hadn’t cried in ages, not since that first time he’d been forced to kill a highwayman three years before. Then, he’d cried because he’d felt that somehow he’d been robbed of his innocence, but with every killing since then, he’d felt justified.

Now, more than ever, he could feel that his innocence had been stripped away. He’d just killed three men, and though they were highwaymen and would have used their testimony to nail him to the inverted cross, still they had not held any weapons, and because of their ignorance, they had been powerless against him.

Gallen rushed up the hillside, under the shelter of an old apple grove. There he fell to his knees and began praying sincerely for the first time in years, begging God for forgiveness.

And as he prayed with his eyes closed, the amplified words hissing from his microphone, he suddenly saw a weak light before him. He opened his eyes. A pale-blue glowing figure stood before him, leaning against the tree. A wight.

Two weeks ago, the sight would have frozen his heart. But now he knew that it was only a creature formed from luminescent nanotech devices, like the glowing mask he wore from Fale. Yet this creature had the thoughts and memories of a long-dead human inhabiting it. It was a heavyset man with lamb chop sideburns.

“I don’t know who you are,” the wight said, in a deep voice, “but this is an interdicted planet. By charter, you cannot be carrying the kinds of weapons you have on you.”

“Then why don’t you take them from me?” Gallen said. He didn’t need a sword. His mantle whispered that it could incapacitate the creature with a burst of radio waves at any time.

“Och, there’s not much that I can do against the likes of you,” the wight answered. “But I can raise the hue and cry against you. I’ll call you a demon. At my word, every townsman in a thousand miles would come marching to war against you. Sooner or later, we’d get you.”

“You would let that many people die-just to rid this world of one man?” Gallen whispered.

The wight didn’t answer. “We’ve chosen how we will live here on Tihrglas.”

“Eighteen thousand years ago you chose how you will live. But you’re dead, and this isn’t your world anymore,” Gallen said.

“It is filled with our children. If they wish to change the planetary charter, they may do so.”

“Yet you don’t even let them know that there are worlds beyond this. How can they choose?”

The wight sat down a few feet from Gallen, folded his hands into a steeple and stared at them thoughtfully. “You know of the worlds beyond this, of the wars and horrors found in the universe. Of what value is such knowledge? Our people lead simple lives, free of care. It is a commodity that cannot be purchased.”

Things had changed much in the past eighteen thousand years. New sub-races of humanity had been engineered. The Tharrin had been created and given leadership of most planets, ending the petty conflicts and wars that the galaxy had endured under the corporate governors so long before. Gallen did not know much about how the galaxy had been run millennia ago, and he wondered how much the wights understood about how it functioned now.

“I fear,” Gallen said, “that much has changed in eighteen thousand years. When you built this world, if I remember my history right, corporate wars raged between planets, but mankind has come far toward making peace with itself.”

The wight smiled wryly. “From your words, I guess that mankind has not managed to bring about perfect peace?”

“As long as men are free to do evil, and have the power to do so, there will be evil,” Gallen answered. “But the evils of today are perpetrated on a smaller scale than in the past.”

“In other words, you’ve cut the balls off the bigger predators. You’ve taken away their power.”

Gallen considered a moment. He’d seen how heavily modified the Tharrin were, and in a sense they were no longer even human. Yes, mankind had stripped their leaders of the capacity to do evil. “We’ve modified mankind to some extent. Most people do not have the same level of desire to do evil that your people had in your time.”

“Aye, we knew it would be done. It was such a seductive solution to the problem, that we knew others would not resist the temptation. You can place evil men in jail, or you can make the flesh a prison in itself where evil cannot enter. There’s not much difference. But you’re still restricting people’s freedom.”

So you created bars of ignorance, Gallen thought, and imprisoned them anyway. “The point is,” Gallen said, “that the universe is not so dangerous now as it was in your day. Perhaps it is time for your children to join it.”

“Mark my words-” the wight said, suddenly angry, “if our feral children go into the universe, in two generations they’ll pose such a threat that none of your peaceful planets would want them!”

Gallen studied the wight, and realized that he had a point. Gallen had just seen the face of evil on his own world, and if highwaymen like the Flahertys were given power, they would take their criminal ways out into the larger galaxy. He envisioned pirating fleets and judges who had been purchased.

In the greater universe, others had chosen to reengineer their children, rid them of the desire to dominate and oppress others. On some worlds, he knew, huge police forces had been created to handle the problem. No matter how you looked at it, bars had been created, and Gallen’s ancestors had chosen to control their children by giving them an inheritance of ignorance. Perhaps they had been right to retreat from the future.

Yet Gallen and Maggie had both seen the larger universe, and they had grown from it. Gallen had come home only to find that there was nothing left for him here. He had few friends. And something inside him had changed. He’d outgrown this place, and he felt free to leave now.

He thought of the Tharrin woman, Ceravanne, whom Everynne had shown him on Tremonthin, and he was suddenly eager to be off.

Gallen sighed, looked at the wight. He was an older man who had graying hairs among his sideburns, someone who looked as if the heavy burdens of life had bent him low. “If the only other worlds out there were inhabited only by humans,” Gallen said, “then perhaps I would be content to admit that this world should stay as it is. But there is a race of beings called the dronon, and they will come here. Perhaps, someday, they will come to war against this world. If they do, your people will need to grow up, or they will be destroyed.”

The wight gave Gallen a calculating look. “We saw one of your dronon not two weeks ago, and wondered how it came to be. I’ll take this bit of news to Conclave. Perhaps we must reconsider how this world is run.” He stood up.

“And I,” Gallen said, rising, “will leave this world with all possible haste, without alerting anyone else here of the universe beyond.”

“Not just like that,” the wight said, shaking his head. “I’ll not let you go at your own pace. We’ll escort you, if you please. Just tell us where your ship is.”

Suddenly, there was an uproar in town. Gallen looked back down over the small seaport. Hundreds of glowing wights were striding through the edge of town, past the fires and tent cities. The townsfolk were terrified. The wights only came to town if a priest tied someone to a tree for breaking the laws found in the Tome. And a person taken for such an offense never returned.

“My mother lives down there,” Gallen sighed, realizing that the wight must have had a built-in transmitter. It must have called its companions. “I’ll go down to say good-bye.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” the wight said with just a hint of force. “You can’t stop me,” Gallen replied. “You wear the mantle of a Lord Protector,” the wight said. “If you would protect those people below, then you will leave now. It is against the law to wear such mantles on this world. You know that. And things have already gotten out of hand-what with off-worlders coming through the gates. But things aren’t too bad. For now, we will clean up the evidence of off-world intruders, and in a generation these shenanigans will all be forgotten, the stuff of legend. But if you go back to town and pollute those folks down there with more knowledge, we will be forced to eradicate them.”

Gallen studied the wight’s face. The old creature was not bluffing. Gallen pulled out the glowing mask of Fale, considered putting it back on his face, but decided against it, and then walked unmasked down through the apple grove in long easy strides.

As he passed the china shop, he looked into its windows and thought, I shall never see this place again. And as he passed the quay with its little boats pulled up onto the pebbled beach, he inhaled the sea air. He moved like a wraith through the streets, and all ahead of him, people stepped aside, and the wights drifted in behind him.

He stopped at his own home, and his mother stood outside the door of the little pine house-tree, looking more haggard and world-weary than he’d ever seen her. He hugged her briefly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be back,” he whispered into her ear as he stooped to hug her, and she reached up and managed to hug him around the ribs.

“Where will you go?” she demanded in a tone of disbelief.

“To another world, to dance with the fairy folk and fight demons.” She squeezed him tight. “Be good,” was all she managed to say between sobs. Gallen reached into his pocket and pulled out his coin purse, gave it to her. “The money, wedding gifts, the inn-they’re all yours,” he said.

Then he went into the house, retrieved his sword, daggers, and the incendiary rifle he’d brought home from his previous trip. Maggie had already gone to fetch her own things.

When Gallen got out of the house, Sheriff Sully came out of the crowd, and growled in a bitter voice. “You-you made me kill a man,” he said, rubbing his hands on his shirt as if they’d been soiled.

“Not I,” Gallen said. “I told you only to do with Mason Flaherty ‘what you will.’ You came here with murder on your mind, and murder is what you’ve accomplished.”

Gallen pushed him away, and some of Sully’s own men grabbed him, placed him under arrest.

Orick rushed to Gallen’s side. “I’m with you, Gallen!” the bear called in his deep voice, and a young female bear padded along beside him. Gallen was glad to finally meet Grits.

Maggie Flynn was calling, “Out of my way! Get out of my way!” and Gallen could see her trying to break through the crowd over by the inn. Within moments she came huffing through the crowd with nothing but a small valise in her hand.

Her uncle Thomas nearly skipped at her side, and he came bustling up with his own bag in one hand, his lute over his shoulder, smiling. “‘Tis good that I didn’t even have time to unpack!” he told Gallen. Then he bowed to Gallen’s mother and handed her his purse. “Everything that I own is now yours, good woman. Spend the money in good health.”

Some wights had moved in behind the crowd. They’d gotten into the stables across the street from the inn, and they pulled out the bodies of the dead Vanquisher and Everynne’s defender, then carried them toward the sea.

Father Brian pushed his way through the crowd, a look of profound fear on his face as he studied the wights who’d gathered behind Gallen. He looked as if he would speak, but he managed to say only, “God be with you, Gallen. I don’t know what’s happening here.”

“Perhaps it’s best if you never know. Look in on my mother from time to time, will you?”

Together, the little band began moving through town, and the townspeople parted to let them pass. Some of them shouted out, “God be with you, Gallen, Maggie,” and “Go with God!” Their voices were high and troubled, like the voices of small birds that call querulously in the night.

It was obvious that the townspeople did not understand what was happening, but they were afraid. Only witches and sorcerers and those who knew too much were ever taken by wights, and they never returned.

Gallen looked about the town with a profound sense of loss, feeling as if someone had died. He wondered at his own numbness, at his sense of mourning, and knew that it was because everyone he had ever known, everyone he had loved and trusted and played with and hated, all of these people with their odd quirks and petty vices would be dead to him now.

And thus it was that he walked stiffly out of town, an army of wights dogging his step, a few loyal friends beside him. None of the townsfolk followed, for most of them feared that Gallen and his friends were going to their deaths, and none wished to share their fate. Gallen took out his glow globe and squeezed it, let it light his footsteps as they made their way into the forest.

Thomas stopped at the edge of the wood and whispered, “I want to give them one last song, Gallen.” He sang thunderously, yet sweetly,

“Many roads I’ve traveled down,

And many more I’ll follow,

Past lonely woods, and shadowed fens,

And fields too long a-fallow.

But when night breathes on the land,

“When fear makes my walk unstately,

I’ll remember you, my friends,

And good times we’ve shared lately.”

When he finished, Thomas waved good-bye, and the whole town shouted farewell.

“That was kind of you, Thomas,” Maggie said as they walked, “to send them away with a song. It eased their hearts.”

“Ah, well,” Thomas said, “being as it costs me nothing, a song always makes a fine parting gift.” After an hour they reached a secluded glen at the foot of a mountain. Lichens hung thick on the trees, and the leaf mold was heavy.

There, sheltered under the dark pines, lay Geata na Chruinne, an ancient arch of dark stone with dancing animals and glyphs carved into its side. The forest was alive with the blue and green lights of wights, circling the small group.

The air around the arch was cold, and Gallen fumbled through his pack until he found the gate key. He picked it up, realized that he didn’t even know how to use it. He handed it to Maggie, asking, “Show me how to work this thing.”

She thought a minute, punched in a sequence of numbers on the key, and suddenly the arch shimmered. A pale lavender light shone beneath it. Maggie handed the key back to Gallen and took her uncle Thomas’s hand. “Come on. This way,” she said.

They walked through together first, followed by Orick.

The small female bear stood and watched Orick go, apparently too afraid to follow. She had not voiced a word since they’d left town. Gallen bent and whispered into her ear. “There are marvelous worlds beyond the gate, but if you come, it is doubtful that you will ever return to this place. “ He could see the confusion in her eyes.

“Tell Orick good-bye for me,” she said, then she licked Gallen’s face.

He sighed deeply, patted her head, then walked to the gate. She gave a short growl, lunged toward him just as he stepped into the cold light, and he realized that she had come too late, for she couldn’t enter behind the key-bearer. Then he felt the familiar sensation of winds blowing, as if he were a leaf borne by turbulent storms between worlds.

* * *