David Farland - Beyond the Gate

“Get out of our way,” Gallen said evenly.

The shadowed figure barely moved, and Maggie saw light glint from a steel blade. “Get out of our way, Lord Protector,” a mocking voice replied. It had a hissing grate to it, and Maggie was sure that nothing human spoke with a voice like that. The ship listed as it wallowed in a trough, so that for a brief moment she saw figures in the moonlight-two black-robed Tekkar, sitting on the opposite stairs.

Gallen pushed Maggie back with one hand, drew his sword and a dagger.

“Oh, a wicked man, a wicked human ,” one of the Tekkar laughed.

“With a big sword!” the other mocked.

Maggie glanced behind her. There were four crewmen walking along the weather deck toward them, clubs in hand. She stiffened.

“I know-they’re coming,” Gallen whispered.

“Let, let us through!” Maggie cried.

“We’re not stopping you,” one of the Tekkar said. “We have no business with you-for now. Go and talk with the captain, if you wish.…” Gallen crept forward cautiously, and Maggie followed so close behind she could feel the warmth of his body.

Just as they reached the doorway to the cabins, Zell’a Cree opened the doors, stood for a moment backlit from a lamp in the hallway. He yawned, then seemed to realize that something was amiss.

“What’s going on?” Zell’a Cree asked, looking to the Tekkar. “I thought you two were confined to quarters?”

Maggie realized that Zell’a Cree had known something she did not. She hadn’t known that the Tekkar were confined to quarters. Maggie thought it odd that the captain hadn’t told the others this comforting bit of information.

One of the Tekkar leaned a bit closer so that light from the hallway fell upon him-a menacing figure all draped in black. Maggie could see just a bit of the man’s face, eyes gleaming like wet stones, a white spider tattooed into his forehead. “Even weasels must come out to hunt,” the Tekkar said. And then Maggie knew that these men had heard them talking through the walls. The Tekkar pointed. “This human -thinks we are a problem, so he wants the captain to tell us to go away. But we know the captain does not like to be disturbed after dark. We thought we’d stop him from squawking.”

“You like the hunt, don’t you?” Gallen said to the Tekkar. “It’s not enough to just kill. You like to bully your prey first. Like cats, batting around dazed mice. Och,” Gallen laughed low and dangerous, “I’ve known plenty like you. Well, come and get me.” Gallen thrust his sword forward, letting the tip move in slow circles. The Tekkar was ten feet away.

“Meow.” The Tekkar smiled. Then he lurched forward and spun back so fast it baffled the eyes. One second he seemed to be attacking, the next he was over behind the rigging.

“Watch out,” Gallen breathed to Zell’a Cree. “We’re coming past.”

Gallen began to inch past the heavy man, and Zell’ a Cree turned his back to the Tekkar and reached up and put his hands on Gallen’s and Maggie’s shoulders. “Here, here,” he said, “let’s all be reasonable. Surely there’s no cause to draw weapons!”

Gallen slipped past him, drew Maggie into the corridor. Zell’a Cree seemed taken aback by his quick retreat, and he leapt into the hallway with them as if afraid to be on the main deck in company with the Tekkar.

Gallen slammed the outer door, throwing home the bolt. Zell’a Cree stood beside the door dumbly, as if pondering what to do next. The guard Tallea stood at the far end of the hall, a small oil lamp at her feet casting a comforting glow.

Gallen went to the captain’s cabin and knocked at the door until it opened.

“What’s the matter?” the captain asked groggily through a cracked door.

“Have your lads hoist sails,” Gallen said. “I want no more delays from you.”

“What do you mean?” Aherly cried.

“I mean, you’ve ordered the ship to sail at quarter mast every night. I want the sails hoisted.”

“What?” Aherly cried, indignant. “I gave no such orders! Wait a moment. Let me get my clothes.”

Maggie wondered if this were all a mistake, if some crewman had sabotaged the journey by giving false orders in Aherly’s name. He closed his door and bolted it tight. For two minutes Gallen and Maggie waited, until Gallen rapped on the door again with his knife handle. There was no answer from the captain. And Maggie was left to wonder if he was merely frightened of Gallen, or if he was indeed in league with the Inhuman.

The door was made with thick planks, and it hinged on the inside. Maggie doubted that they could break it easily.

“Go,” Gallen growled to Maggie. “Warn the others. We’re getting off this ship now!”

“Careful,” Tallea said at Gallen’s back, and she drew her own sword, stepped between Maggie and Zell’a Cree. “He’s of them! I in captain’s office when he came aboard. He said you would seek passage on ship.”

“How did he know we’d choose this ship?” Gallen asked, eyeing the heavy man.

“He knew you traveling, so he bought every berth on every ship. He set trap for you!”

Zell’a Cree stood down the hall, his hands behind his back. Before Maggie knew what was happening, he opened the door to his own room and leapt inside, slammed his door shut, and held it tight as Gallen threw himself against it, trying to knock it open before Zell’a Cree could lock it.

Zell’a Cree threw the bolt home, and Gallen cursed and kicked the door.

Tallea stepped forward and watched the doors, said to Gallen, “Go to cabin and pack. I guard.”

Gallen pulled up his hood, glared at the door that Zell’a Cree had fled behind. He stood for just a moment, frustrated, then cried out as if in pain. He threw back his hood, rubbed the back of his neck.

His hand came away bloody, and he looked at Maggie, stricken. For one moment he wobbled, and cried “What’s happening?” then Gallen crumpled to his knees.

Maggie rushed to his side. He was looking around, dazed, and Maggie pulled his long hair away, studied the back of his neck. There was a sickly purplish welt under his skin, with blood dribbling from it, as if some pus-filled boil had popped. She couldn’t imagine that thing having been on his neck without him noticing it, and then suddenly the whole welt heaved, as something moved under his flesh.

Maggie’s stomach turned at the sight, and she gasped.

“Maggie?” Gallen asked. “What is it? I can feel something moving! Something’s burrowing into my head!”

There was a crackling noise of bones chipping away from his skull, just beneath the flesh.

“Ah, Christ,” Maggie muttered, and her first impulse was to take a knife and cut into his flesh, pull out whatever was burrowing into him.

Tallea rushed over to Gallen, looked at him, aghast. Then she reached into the hood at the back of Maggie’s cloak. “Careful,” she said.

She brought out a creature that could have been a mantis, with a wide body and a single spade-shaped arm. She held the back of its body gingerly between two fingers.

“The Word is inside him,” Tallea said. “The Inhuman is inside him.”

“Ah, God,” Gallen gasped, and he dropped to the floor, reached behind his neck, tried to pull the thing away.

Tallea dropped to her knees in front of him, peered into his face, curious. “You fight it!” she whispered fiercely. “You must fight!”

“Help me! Help me!” Gallen cried, and his plea terrified Maggie. “I feel it moving in my head.” She had never seen him plea for help, had never seen him despair. His eyes grew large, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

Maggie fell to her knees, held him close, so that he rocked back and forth, his face buried against her breasts. “It’s all right. You’re all right,” she whispered, yet she could not keep the tone of panic, the pure desperation, from her voice.