Sharon Shinn - Gateway

She heaved herself up the last step and onto the unstable catwalk, looking around wildly and drawing in great gusts of air. She was relieved to see no sign of Gabe’s bloody body, but dismayed to remember that the rope pull for the silver chimes was located all the way on the other side. Clinging to the half wall that circled the tower, she glided clumsily forward, trying not to look down, forcing herself to ignore the fact that she was several stories up in an untrustworthy structure. She had forgotten that there was a gap in the flooring and she whimpered aloud when she reached it, but it was narrow, only about eight inches across. Holding her breath and never letting go of the ledge, she made a tiny jump and landed on the other side.

The bell pulls were in reach.

Freshly energized, she quickly unwrapped the thinner rope from its anchor on the wall and began pulling it with all her strength. Instantly, the little bells sent their silver trill into the air and over the water, urgent omens of danger and retreat. She didn’t have attention to spare to see how the stonepickers reacted when they heard this sound at least two hours before they expected it. Would they gather their bags and hurry for shore, would they turn to one another and wonder aloud what was wrong? Would they notice that the eastern bells weren’t ringing and assume some young boy had climbed the western tower to play a prank? Would they listen at all?

She pulled harder and harder on the rope, trying to invest the bells with some of the desperation she felt. But they seemed too lighthearted, too flimsy, unacquainted with doom. What else could she do? Keeping one hand on the thinner pull, she stretched her arm and began uncoiling the thicker, heavier rope, the one that controlled the large bell. When it was loose in her hand, she tugged on it as hard as she could.

The bell scarcely responded and she pulled again, seeing it begin to sway, moving with the stately precision of an elephant swinging its head around. Again she pulled, and again, almost coming to her knees to get leverage, continuing to shake the smaller bells with her other hand. And then the clapper struck the side of the metal with a sound that almost made a physical indentation in the air. She pulled again and felt the rope sweep her up, almost off her feet as the bell swung back in the otherdirection.Againtheclapperhit-again-adark,ominous counterpoint to the clattering chatter of the smaller chimes. The world is upended and none of us are safe, she willed the little bells to proclaim, while over their excited voices, the big bell intoned, Home.Home.Home.Home.

Now at last she risked looking over the side of the tower to see what her summons had wrought. Yes! Stonepickers on both banks were hastily climbing out of the riverbed, glancing nervously up at the gates, curiously back at the tower. In the press of people she could not make out individuals-where was Kalen? where was Feng?-and she hoped Chow’s guards would have just as much difficulty as she did. Those men, she could see clearly, pacing both banks of the river, shouting to one another, pointing, shaking their heads. She had a moment’s spasm of horror as she realized that she might just have driven Feng straight into the arms of his enemies. But she devoutly hoped that they would continue to search for Feng instead of charging toward the tower to see who had rung the bells.

And then water began hissing out from under the gates.

She heard the collective gasp from the workers still struggling toward safety, a great swelling murmur of disbelief that intensified as the sound of the escaping river grew louder. Now there were shouts of fear; now she saw individual stonepickers stumble in the mud and yield to the angry foam of the onrushing water. At least two men were swept away. Daiyu pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to push back her cry of anguish. Other workers formed human chains connecting the people still in the riverbed to the safety of the banks. More stonepickers were on dry land-more-the last man was splashing up and out of the water as the Zhongbu reached its highest, most furious peak.

Anyone who was not out of the water by now was dead.

Daiyu leaned as far over the half wall as she dared, frantically trying to make out faces and figures. She didn’t waste much time studying the Han men-she would be sorry if Feng were dead, but he was not her primary concern-all she cared about was Kalen’s face, Kalen’s fate. Her eyes skimmed over the muttering, anxious crowd as she searched for a tall, thin, cangbai man with a loose, easy walk and a kind smile…

She almost tumbled out of the tower when she spotted him. He was supporting an older heiren woman who looked like she had twisted her ankle in the mad dash out of the Zhongbu. They were so close to the water’s edge, they might have been the last two out of the river. Kalen was bent over her solicitously and if Daiyu was not mistaken, he was carrying the woman’s sack as well as his own. He never looked toward the belltower.

Daiyu felt her blood thaw in her veins. Her head swam so suddenly that she almost pitched over the side of the tower. Abruptly she pulled herself back inside and collapsed onto the catwalk, fighting nausea and starting to shiver.

Kalen was safe. Kalen was alive. She had not been too late after all.

But what should she do now?

She desperately wanted to hurry down the spiral steps, push her way through the dispersing crowd of stonepickers, find Kalen, and fling herself into his arms. She wanted to pattern his face with frenzied kisses, test his breath with her own, prove to herself beyond any lingering irrational fear that he was alive, he had escaped to safety. She wanted him to hold her close, create for her a small inviolable space where she could stand without fear, sheltered by his body. But she knew that if she left this tower and ran to Kalen, she would not be able to bring herself to leave him again. She would not be able to find her way back to Quan, she would not be able to return to the palace. She would not be able to banish Chenglei, if that was what she decided to do.

She had to make impossible choices, she had to carry out dangerous plans, without drawing on Kalen’s strength to support her own.

Daiyu drew her knees up and rested her face against them and tried to think through her options. She had abandoned Quan with a half-promise, not expecting to redeem it. But couldn’t she? He would have no reason to think she was the one who had set the bells to clamoring so early in the day. Unless he had decided she was too unsteady to take seriously, he was even now awaiting her arrival at the chocolate shop, mystified and a little ruffled. She had not been gone so very long. If she could find him, if she could make up a plausible story, could she not return with him? Who would know where she had been?

She had not encountered any servants on her wild flight from the house. Xiang had not seen her race down the stairs-and even if her mad exit had been witnessed, she had said nothing incriminating. Anyone might think she had been eager to see Quan, eager to make one last purchase before the holiday. Why couldn’t she return to the prime minister’s house and resume her masquerade? Why couldn’t she ask Aurora for the bracelet back? Why couldn’t she await her next private meeting with Chenglei to send the dreadful man back to the iteration where he belonged?

But what if Chenglei or Chow had glimpsed her at the door? What if they had seen her fleeing, what if they realized what she had overheard and guessed she had been the one to sound the alarm?

She would be in mortal danger the instant she set foot in the mansion.

Daiyu lifted her head and dropped her legs so that her feet dangled over the side of the walkway into open space. Her right hand crept to her pocket where the quartz talisman lay safely in its silken cocoon.