David Farland - Beyond the Gate

For one moment, hope flickered in Zell’a Cree. If Gallen knew the hand signal, then he had been infected by the Inhuman. The Word had indeed entered him.

Yet something was wrong. If Gallen was Inhuman now, then why did he run? Why did he not bring the others so that they too could be converted? The only answer seemed to be that Gallen had been strong enough to resist the Word. Had Gallen beckoned him in mockery?

Zell’a Cree licked his lips, angry. Sweat poured down his face, and he gulped for air. He’d been two days without sleep, and he’d just run twenty kilometers. He could go no farther tonight. He let himself collapse into a sitting position.

So Gallen O’Day was not as blind and helpless as other men. He had more resources to draw upon … and he had resisted the Word.

Zell’a Cree considered his own resources. He imagined the roads south, drew a map in his mind. The Inhuman, had given him a great gift-the memories of a hundred lives lived and wasted. Over six thousand years of memories. Twelve of those lives had been spent in cities and villages between Battic and Moree. He recalled childhoods spent playing on obscure tracks, the life of a tinker working between towns, the days of a Thoranian guard who traveled with a tax collector. Zell’a Cree concentrated, recalling each road, each main track.

Gallen might go far west to avoid detection, but he was in a hurry. If he went too far, he’d have to cross the Telgood Mountains, and that would cost him many days. At the most, Gallen could go four hundred kilometers out of his way, but then he’d have to go south, closer to the hosts of the Inhuman.

Sooner or later he’d turn up on the road to Moree. Zell’a Cree had no choice but to race south now, checking for Gallen’s trail, hoping to enlist other servants of the Inhuman in his quest.

Perhaps I’ve been too naive, Zell’a Cree considered. I’d hoped to take Gallen alive, but he really isn’t as essential as Maggie and the Tharrin. The practical thing would be to kill him.

Once the decision was made, Zell’a Cree felt an enormous calm.

* * *

As the wagon stopped, Orick looked up at Gallen, saw him study the distance behind them, then make the strange pulling gesture at the sky as if trying to wrap clouds in his hand and draw them to earth. Gallen’s expression was distant, and Orick could see that some heavy burden was upon him.

“Gallen, what’s wrong?” Orick asked.

“Nothing …” Gallen said, obviously disturbed himself. “It’s just-I saw Zell’a Cree behind us.”

“How far?” one of the giants asked, drawing his sword as if to do battle.

“He’s back several kilometers-at Battic.”

The giant grumbled, sheathed his sword, and took a moment to swab the wagon’s axles with grease from a bucket.

Gallen turned and sat back down in the driver’s seat, urged the travelbeast forward, and the giants began running. The travel beast was terribly strong, much faster than a horse. Although the huge wagon carried four people, a bear, and supplies, it fairly sang over the roads. The craftsmen who had built it had invested a great deal of time in carving every panel, and they’d spent equal care in designing the suspension. Orick had never ridden in a wagon that was its equal, and he was grateful for the smooth ride, not for his own sake, but for Tallea’s. The warrior’s wounds had healed at the surface, but the giants had carried her from the camp to the road, and every jarring step was a pain for her.

So as they raced through the night, Orick lay beside her, keeping her warm, singing to her.

Everyone was silent. Since Maggie and Gallen had been hiking all across the countryside, when they tired the giant Fenorah took the reins and Ceravanne sat hunched beside him with her cloak draped tightly about, to keep out the cold. Gallen and Maggie lay in the back of the wagon.

Gallen stretched out beside Orick under a blanket, with Maggie beside him, and Orick could feel a certain tenseness in Gallen’s muscles.

Orick took a moment to consider, trying to remember how far a kilometer was. He was still not accustomed to measuring things as the starfarers did. When he was satisfied that Zell’a Cree was far away, he breathed deeply, quietly, trying to get back to sleep, but it wasn’t much use. They traveled under the clouds for a while, and then the stars came out-a vast panoply far brighter than the dim stars back on Tihrglas.

Maggie was looking up at the sky, too, and she whispered, “Ah, Gallen, look at all of the stars.”

“We must be close to the galactic center here, closer than we are back on Tihrglas-”

“Not much closer,” Maggie said. “We’re on the far side from Tihrglas, closer to the Dronon worlds. They’re out on the rim, but we’re halfway to the galactic center here, a little above the spiral. See that bright band-how wide it is?”

And Orick saw. Indeed the Milky Way was but a dim river of stars back on Tihrglas, but here it took up the whole night sky. The starlight alone was enough to see by, fairly well.

“Gallen,” Maggie whispered, changing the subject, worry in her voice, “what was that hand signal you gave Zell’a Cree?” Orick could barely hear the question over the sounds of running feet, the creak of wagon wheels, the jostling of springs.

“I don’t know,” Gallen whispered.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Is it something you learned from the Inhuman?”

“I really don’t know,” Gallen said. “I was just standing there, and it came to me. It seemed the right thing to do.”

Maggie seemed to take this in, and Orick realized that they were discussing something private, something dangerous. What would Gallen have learned from the Inhuman? Orick wondered. They were whispering, and with the way the backboard for the driver’s seat leaned, it would baffle the sound for Ceravanne and Fenorah.

Maggie sat up and readjusted her pack, using it for a pillow. “I wish we were underground this night, Gallen,” she said. She looked at Orick.

“Orick, are you still awake?” Maggie asked.

“Huh, ah, yes.” Orick yawned.

“Oh, good night, then,” she said; she rolled over.

Orick saw his mistake. If he’d feigned sleep, then Maggie and Gallen would have kept talking. Instead, Maggie drifted into a light sleep. But Gallen lay for a long time, his muscles rigid, until the rumble of the wagon lulled even him to sleep. Orick roused enough to look over the backboard, and a hundred yards back, the giants were running three abreast behind the wagon, a strong, comforting presence.

Orick lay watching the sky, and the marvelous wagon moved so gently over the road, he felt that he was floating under the stars. They passed through several small towns, and each time, dogs would bark and geese would honk, and then they’d be left behind. But then the trees closed over them, and for a long time there were no houses to pass. They were moving deeper and deeper into the wilderness.

A few hours before dawn, they came to the sea and clattered over a long bridge, then at some woods along an empty beach the giants stopped for the night. Two of them stayed up as sentries, watching the road, and the others built a small fire and napped. Ceravanne and Fenorah camped under a tree, while Orick slept in the wagon with the others. At dawn Orick got up, while the giants fixed breakfast-salty corn cakes covered with peaches, dried apricots, and cream.

Orick walked along the road, and quickly realized that they were on a small island between two branches of a river. And on the island two enormous cliff faces, each over two hundred feet tall, were carved with the images of eagles. One eagle, with its wings raised, faced the north sea. The other, with its wings folded, looked upriver, its beak wide as if it were screeching.