David Farland - Beyond the Gate

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.

* * *

Orick stepped through the opal wind between the worlds and found himself in a clearing surrounded by a lush forest, thick with undergrowth. A cool dawn breeze whispered through the trees. Overhead in a sky full of lavender, twin suns rose above the forest, weaving shadows in the woods, while white birds swirled among the trees calling out in creaking voices.

Thomas was staring up with mouth open, and Orick remembered his own sense of awe upon first visiting Fale. “‘Tis a sight to behold,” Maggie whispered. And Thomas nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.

Orick looked behind him and suddenly a glowing white form appeared, like a mist streaming through the jungle, then Gallen strode into view, his face rigid and worn. The gate could not be seen from this side.

Orick waited, hoping that his bear friend Grits would come through, but the female had stayed behind. Orick gave a little bawl, and weaved his head back and forth as he tried to catch a scent of her.

“I’m sorry, Orick,” Maggie said softly, coming to his side. She knelt by him, touched his brow. “She seemed so nice. And you’ve been looking for love so long. I had hoped she would come.”

“That’s all right,” Orick grumbled. Maggie seemed so distraught that he wanted to calm her. “I couldn’t hope for any better from a she-bear. I left her alone with those sheriffs. How could I have hoped she would be more true to me?”

“She wanted to come, Orick,” Gallen said. “But she was afraid. Don’t blame yourself.”

Maggie scratched behind his ears, and Orick licked her hand in gratitude.

Thomas stared about at the skyline. His lute case was strung over his shoulders, and he held to the strap with both hands, a gesture that showed his insecurity. Tall creepers climbed some of the trees, and a few orange birds began chattering loudly as they fed on berries.

Gallen knelt on a clump of grass, pulled out his map of worlds-a thin piece of film that showed a three-dimensional representation of Fale with tiny red gates displayed at various points. “We’re not far from a gate to Tremonthin,” he said, a tone of relief in his voice. “It’s about two thousand kilometers. We’ll need to go into town, hire a vehicle.”

“What is a kilometer?” Thomas asked.

“Just a stupid way to measure things,” Orick grumbled.

“It’s a little less than half a mile,” Gallen said.

“Do you think it’s safe to go into town?” Maggie asked. She had put down her pack-for they’d just walked with them for an hour-and she was looking to Gallen.

Gallen shrugged. “I’ll not lie. It has been only a week in this time-line since you and I defeated the Lord of the Swarm. The dronon should have abandoned their military installations here or Fale, but that doesn’t mean that we’re safe.”

“Well, now, you’re the optimist today,” Orick said.

Gallen hung his head, downcast. Maggie knelt next to him, touched his knee. Orick looked into Gallen’s pale blue eyes, and for a moment he felt as if he were looking into the eyes of a stranger, there was so much pain behind them.

“See here, lad-” Orick told Gallen, “just because you’ve got kicked off your own home world, you don’t have to wilt. Things can’t be worse than last time we were here.”

Gallen smiled up at him. “Aye, you’re right, Orick. But we must take care. We have enemies here-men who were evil before the dronon ever set hand to corrupt them. Lord Karthenor and men of his ilk may hold power, for all we know.”