Margaret Weis - The Seventh Gate

“Yes, that was it! I remember!” Zifnab beamed; then his face darkened. He grew sad. “Haplo. Yes, I do remember.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry—”

“That will be quite enough, sir,” interrupted the gentleman in stern tones.

“What does he mean?” Marit demanded. “What about Haplo?”

“He means nothing,” said the gentleman. “Do you, sir?”

“Uh, no. That’s right. Nothing. Nada. Zip.” Zifnab began toying nervously with his beard.

“We overheard you speaking of going to the Final Gate,” the gentleman continued. “I believe that I and my brethren might be of assistance. We are traveling there ourselves.”

He glanced skyward. Marit looked up, following his gaze distrustfully. A shadow flowed over her. Another and another. She stared, dazzled and dazed, at hundreds of dragons, blue-green as the sky of Pryan, scales gleaming bright as Pryan’s four suns.

And now, towering over her, its great bulk blotting out the gray sun of the Labyrinth, was a huge dragon. Blue-green scales glistened. The gentleman in black was gone.

Marit trembled with fear, but not for her safety or well-being. She was afraid because suddenly her world, her universe, had been ripped asunder, as her lord had ripped open the sigil on her skin. Through the rent, she caught a glimpse of radiant light, suddenly overwhelmed by terrible darkness. She saw the gray sky of the Labyrinth, the Nexus in flames, her people—small, fragile creatures, trapped between the darkness and the light—fighting a last desperate battle.

She struck out at the dragon with her sword, barely knowing what she was attacking or why, only knowing that she was consumed with despair.

“Wait!” Alfred caught hold of her arm. “Don’t fight!” He peered up at the dragon. “These dragons are here to help us, Marit. To help your people. They are the enemies of the serpents. Isn’t that true?”

“The Wave acts to correct itself,” said the Pryan dragon. “So it has been, since the beginning of time. We can take you to the Final Gate. We are taking others.”

Patryns rode on the backs of the dragons. Men and women, carrying weapons in their hands. Marit recognized Headman Vasu in the vanguard, and she understood. Her people were leaving the safety of their walled city, going to fight the enemy at the Final Gate.

Hugh the Hand had already mounted the dragon’s broad back, was now assisting Alfred—with some difficulty—to climb on behind.

Marit hesitated, preferring to trust in her magic. Then she realized that she might not make it. She was tired. So very tired. She would need all her strength once they reached the Final Gate.

Marit clambered up on the dragon, sat on the great broad back of the beast, between the shoulder blades where sprouted the enormous, powerful wings. [2] Those familiar with the dragons of Pryan will recall that they are described as wingless. One can only guess that, like their enemies the dragon-snakes, the Pyran dragons can assume whatever form suits their needs. The wings began to beat on the air.

Zifnab, who had been directing operations, completely oblivious to the fact that no one was paying any attention to him, suddenly gave a strangled cry. “Wait! Where am I going to sit?”

“You’re not going, sir,” said the dragon. “It would be too dangerous for you.”

“But I just got here!” Zifnab whined.

“And done far more damage than I would have thought possible in such a short period of time,” the dragon remarked gloomily. “But there is that other little matter we spoke about. In Chelestra. I assume you can handle that without incident?”

“Mr. Bond could,” said Zifnab craftily.

“Out of the question!” The dragon flicked its tail in annoyance.

Zifnab shrugged, twiddled his hat. “On the other hand, I could be Dorothy.” He clicked his heels together. “ ‘There’s no place like home. There’s no place—’”

“Oh, very well,” the dragon snapped. “If nothing else will suit you. Try not to make a pig’s breakfast of this one, will you?”

“You have my word,” said Zifnab solemnly, saluting, “as a member of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.”

The dragon heaved a sigh. It waved a claw, and Zifnab disappeared.

Wings beat, raising clouds of dust, obscuring Marit’s sight. She clasped hold tightly of gleaming scales that were hard as metal to the touch. The dragon soared into the sky. The treetops fell away beneath her. Light—warm and bright as the beacon fire—touched her face.

“What is that light?” she cried fearfully.

“Sunlight,” said Alfred, awed.

“Where does the light come from?” she asked, staring all around. “There is no sun in the Labyrinth.”

“The citadels,” Alfred answered. Tears glimmered in his eyes. “The light beams from the citadel of Pryan. There is hope, Marit. There is hope!”

“Keep that in your heart,” said the dragon grimly. “For if all hope dies, then we die.”

Turning their faces from the light, they flew toward the red-tinged darkness.

The world of Chelestra is a globe of water, hanging in the cold blackness of space. Its outside is ice; its inside—warmed by Chelestra’s free-floating sun—is water, warm, breathable as air, destructive of Sartan and Patryn magic. The mensch of Chelestra, brought here by the Sartan, dwell on seamoons—living organisms that drift through the water, following Chelestra’s erratic sun. The seamoons make their own atmosphere, surrounding themselves with a bubble of air. On these moons, the mensch build cities, raise crops, and sail the water in their magical submersibles.

On Chelestra, unlike the worlds of Arianus and Pryan, the mensch live together in peace. Their world and their lives had remained undisturbed for centuries, until the arrival of Alfred through Death’s Gate. [1] Directions in the Labyrinth are based on the “gates,” those markers which indicate how far one has progressed through the Labyrinth. The first gate is the Vortex. The city of Abri is between the first and second gates. Since the Labyrinth’s innumerable gates are scattered around randomly, directions are based on where one is at the time in relation to the next gate. He accidentally waked a group of Sartan—the very ones who had sundered the world—from a stasis sleep. Once considered demigods by the mensch, the Sartan attempted again to rule over those believed to be inferior.

At this time, the evil dragon-snakes, long held prisoners in Chelestra by the ice, first felt the warmth of the sun. On Arianus, King Stephen hired an assassin to kill the changeling Bane. On Abarrach, Prince Edmund led his people to the doomed city of Necropolis. On Pryan, the tytans began their murderous rampage. The good dragons, sensing the awakening of their evil cousins, left their underground homes and prepared to enter the worlds. I do not believe we can consider such timing coincidence. It is, as we are beginning to learn, the Wave correcting itself.

Led by Samah, Head of the Council—the man who had ordered the Sundering—the Sartan were angered and amazed to find that these mensch not only refused to bow down and worship, but actually had the temerity to defy the so-called gods and wall the Sartan up in their own city, keeping them prisoners by flooding that city with the magic-destroying seawater.

Also living on Chelestra were the manifestation of evil in the worlds. Taking the form of enormous serpents, the evil dragon-snakes, as the dwarves named them, had long been seeking a way off Chelestra and into the other three worlds. Samah inadvertently provided it. Enraged at the mensch, fearful, no longer able to control men or events, Samah fell unwitting victim to the dragon-snakes. Despite the fact that he had been warned against it, the Sartan opened Death’s Gate. [3] Some confusion has arisen over this term. If Death’s Gate has not previously been open, how have Haplo and Alfred traveled through it? Imagine a room with seven doors leading out of it. On his first journey, Haplo opens the door from the Nexus, shuts it behind him, travels across the room to the door of Arianus, enters. The door shuts behind him. Thus he travels from one place to another, but all other doors remain closed. Samah, entering the room, causes the doors to open wide, and they remain open, providing ease of travel between the worlds, but also giving access to those who might otherwise have found it difficult or impossible to gain access. The only way to shut the doors now is through the Seventh Gate. Thus the evil dragon-snakes were able to enter the other worlds, where they worked to foment the chaos and discord that are their meat and drink.