David Farland - Beyond the Gate

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.