The Gate to Thomerion

by Daniel Heck

  You chuckle. “Wow…” Time passes as you ponder possible answers.

  “Nothing? Ever?”

  “There was one time,” you confess, “while quite young, when I snuck out of the house to play by the riverside with my sister in the middle of the night.”

  Titania giggles.

  “We got filthy, and when our mother confronted us in the morning, we tried to tell her that trolls had come, stolen our clothes for their own use, then gave them back.”

  Titania laughs even louder. “So, did she believe that?”

  “Just because it was a lie doesn’t mean it was a good one.”

  More time passes.

  Your love gazes at you so intensely that she nearly veers off the path, correcting her step at the last second.

  “Are you all right?” you ask.

  “Bartleby,” she says, “You truly are a virtuous man.”

  You smile, but say nothing, humility ruling your heart.

  As you get closer to the port town, the weather starts turning ominous. Tremendous banks of clouds sport a grey so deep it seems unnatural, and the breeze stings your cheeks as if proclaiming nature’s wrath. Nevertheless, the sailor and his crew push ahead. You shout, “Are you sure about this?” Once again, he ignores you.

  A deckhand turns toward you and reassures, “It will calm. It always seems to, at least for the cap’n.”

  And I thought, you reflect, that sometimes my faith was blind.

  The crew dives into their preparations. Within another hour, you are at sea. True to the prediction, the waters’ waves subside for a while, the sun peeks through the sky, and your sensitive stomach expresses its thanks for both in silence. By the time you can no longer see the shores of Sungaze, however, conditions are neutral at best. The crew struggles to keep up with sudden and frequent changes in wind direction; at one point the sails appear oriented at different angles to each other.

  You check in on Titania, who stands at a siderail, gazing.

  She says, “So far. Let’s just see what happens.”

  You haven’t had much sailing experience by which to judge, but by now, a feeling of surprise and suspicion creeps into your chest, as it would make the most sense for the captain to call non-essential personnel into the lower decks. Then, a thunderclap nearly deafens you, and rain begins to pour down in sheets.

  That’s it. No more of this.

  Just as you take your lover’s hand, a tremendous wave slams into the stern. Its force rips her fingers from yours, and she careens overboard and into the deep blue.

  “Titania!”

  Panic overcomes you as you slip on the wet deck, hanging on for dear life. Others appear too occupied to respond. Two options occur to you as to how to save her.

  What do you do?

  I lower a lifeboat.

  I jump in myself to haul her back.

  Stephano leads you outside, where he says in a frank tone, “A deal is a deal, is it not? I shall meet you on the royal grounds the morning after the ball has completed.”

  This sets you aback. You frown and cross your arms. “Wait a moment,” you object, “Why can’t you take us there right away?”

  “This is the best I can do. I have companions expecting me at the royal ball.”

  Titania arches an eyebrow but averts her gaze, to avoid arousing the Shieldwing’s ire.

  You let Stephano leave without another word. As you return your arm to your side, you brush against the bag of coins you won at the joust. In addition to the tinkle of metal, you also think you hear a paperlike rustle.

  You and Titania exchange glances.

  Upon your reaching inside, you feel the rough surface of parchment. You pull out a full sheet bound with string, untie it gingerly and read:

  Congratulations! Upon competition this fine day, thou hath emerged victorious! As a special reward, thy presence and that of a guest of thy choosing are requested at the royal ball, which begins at sundown of the morrow. Meet our footmen then at the base of the royal bridge.

  You reel in amazement. No one told us this was at stake!

  Titania, reading over your shoulder, covers her mouth, her eyes wide with glee. She giggles and hops a small distance into the air.

  You smirk. “You’re acting… just a bit childlike.”

  “Can you blame me, Bartleby?” she replies. “In all my years as a leader in Sungaze there was never reason for someone of my tenure to even come within leagues of such a prestigious event, let alone be directly invited. Now we get to be there! The dresses, the lights, the handsome men…”

  You arch an eyebrow.

  “Okay, maybe not so much for that last part…” She snickers mischievously and snorts as she catches her breath.

  “The catch is…”

  Titania finishes the rest of your thought: “Yes, Bartleby. Everyone will know we’re together. And you’re going to have to manage.”

  What do you do?

  We attend the ball as an obvious couple.

  I assert that it puts my position within the church at too much risk.

  “Flying in from above seems like an invitation to get shot at by archers,” you comment.

  Titania’s face falls. “I was looking forward to flying again…”

  You reel in shock, but smile. “Truly, now?”

  She blushes. “A woman must at some point face her fears.”

  Nevertheless, you give the creature some food from your pack, which it pecks and pokes at, occupying it for now as you and Titania move forward. You take a wide path, keeping behind foliage as much as possible, until you reach the north side of the castle. You wait until it seems no one’s watching, then dash for the designated section of moat. Here, a path of large stones leads directly across.

  A thin section of land separates the castle wall from the moat. Upon your very last hop toward it, your foot slips; you nearly spill head-first into the muck below, but flail your arms and recover just in time. Titania grips your arm until you’re balanced again.

  At least we still haven’t drawn any attention, you reflect. We must be in some sort of blind spot, from the perspective of the watch towers.

  You feel across the surface of the wall, until your hand meets a small outcropping. You grip it and pull. True to your memory, a small gap opens in the wall, just wide enough to squeeze through. Holding Titania by the wrist, you haul yourselves single-file into the passage beyond, taking care not to scrape your limbs on jagged rock. The craftsmanship of the area makes you think it must have been built hastily, as if to create rudimentary safety from centuries-old raids or monster attacks.

  Looking about, however, grants no clues as to where the passage leads. Ahead, it stops short before doglegging upwards into a leaden plate. It appears you must climb to reach the first floor, yet there is no ladder nor any handholds nearby.

  You each understand what needs be done next.

  “Nothing like a little teamwork,” your love coos.

  “We can do this,” you affirm, “Together now.” You cup your hands, crouch slightly, and brace your stance for her weight. She sets one foot firmly within, then the other, and you easily push her upwards.

  “Just a few more inches,” she requests with a grunt. Her arms stretch as far as they can go, but her fingers barely scrape the metal. You strain your biceps and heave harder. You hear the plate move, squealing against the stone ceiling, but dare not look up for a visual confirmation.

  “I’ll climb through,” Titania says, “then, toss me your rope so I can help you follow.”

  Even after you achieve this much, the outlook for finding your way to the rooftop cannons starts to look grim. The chamber beyond the metal plate has three offshoot tunnels, all of which look the same. You can’t hear anything from within.

  The middle one darkens to complete pitch. You touch a corner of your tunic and utter a mystical word; it now emits just enough of a soft glow to see about a yard ahead of you. Within a few steps, however, the passage comes to a dead end.
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br />   You next test the leftmost passage, which offers little consolation for your first choice’s futility. Titania edges against the wall as she explores the forty feet or so ahead of you, while you’re too preoccupied with the idea of another secret being around here somewhere to watch.

  “It curves to the right up here, my love,” she whispers.

  A hollow chittering meets your ears, then echoes through the tunnel.

  You both halt, frozen.

  “We need to get out of here.”

  You turn and run, only to halt fast when you see that a carrion worm has somehow gotten between you and the exit. How it could have been hiding is beyond your comprehension. Its gigantic, multi-sectioned torso complements two pairs of sharp mandibles and a dozen red feet that schlorp loudly against the floor as it moves.

  You ready your talisman, but it gains the first strike, and soon has your arm clamped within its slimy maw. You struggle, but fail to force it to release. Titania attacks it repeatedly, and while her dagger cuts spill copious amounts of green blood everywhere, they do little to slow the creature down.

  It envelops more and more of you, until you fall, your final thoughts reflecting upon why the royal staff did not discover the creature before now. Perhaps if they found they could not kill it, they could at least quarantine it, with enough manpower. But this matters little, as you went and disturbed it, unprepared.

  And even the greatest teamwork in the world, you realize through Titania’s wails of despair and anger, wouldn’t have been enough.

  Go back to the previous choice, or start again.

  You lean in toward Titania’s ear and whisper, “I have reason to think Stephano’s up to no good.”

  Titania looks at you in shock. “Are you sure? I hate to profess so on reputation alone, but by the gods, he’s a paladin, Bartleby. They’re bound by a code of honor!”

  “Which is part of why,” you admit, “I think we should move ahead. That, and we have no other way to get to the isles. We can handle ourselves should it come to conflict.”

  Titania nods.

  You chat a little more with royal folk over the rest of the evening, and even imbibe a little wine, while refraining from more dancing. Your confidence in approaching the morrow, however, wanes during the night, as dreams involving a strange blue haze and a gigantic white monster haunt your sleep.

  The next day arrives too quickly...

  You and Titania, still disguised, rejoin the other wizards, who have convened in a small chamber deep within the compound. Holding out hope that you can gather key information, you listen carefully as a discussion unfolds. To your consternation, they speak in an ancient arcane language that you don’t understand in the least.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  The group acknowledges some sort of mutual decision via a salute aimed at the haggard elf. After the leader dismisses everyone, you pull aside a gangly, middle-aged male wizard and ask with a chuckle, “So, I’m not sure I caught all of what was said. You know how these ears get as we age, right?”

  Titania pokes you in your side, but you ignore the warning.

  The man nods in understanding.

  “Could you shed some light on all that?” you continue, “For example, the part about what has to happen for a certain gate or portal to open?”

  The wizard flinches, frowns and crosses his arms. “That meeting was about division of shifts for mess hall duty.”

  You grin, sheepish. Titania shakes her head and shades her eyes.

  “Oh.”

  He gestures toward others now further down the hall. “Gentlemen and ladies,” he calls out, “We have something funny going on around here.”

  As the Arcanites surround you and finally recognize that you don’t belong, you pray internally that, any chance of Galumnuk coming to your rescue notwithstanding, perhaps your anticipated use as a pair of hostages could end up earning you mercy points with the god of the sun.

  Go back outside the compound, or start again.

  “There’s only two of them,” you whisper, “And there’s no sense expecting gnolls to be friendly.”

  Titania hesitates, but nods.

  “Try not to slaughter them too painfully…” she groans, before jumping out into the open.

  “Wait!”

  The gnolls, noticing her immediately, stand and draw scimitars. Shouting a divine prayer, you aim your talisman, focus divine energy through it and blast one of the creatures straight in the skull. It falls with no sound.

  The other turns and barks a command, following it up with a blood-curdling howl.

  Titania closes the distance and confronts the creature, slashing wildly with her dagger, when you hear the swoosh of shifting sands. Eight more rough-edged dog-men slink up over the edge of the nearest dune. Until now, there was no indication they were there. They notice the commotion and charge, echoing their leader’s battle cry.

  Panic surges through you.

  By the gods!

  You stumble forward, grab Titania’s hand and drag her in the direction from which you came, but the chalky dirt beneath you crumbles and sinks, denying you a quick exit. You pump your legs with all your might, but sure-footed as the gnoll party is, they quickly circle around and intercept you from the other side. You are surrounded. As these brutes savor the chance for a fresh meal, their pitch-white fangs drip saliva in a savage testament to the defense of their pack.

  While you had hoped that someday the god of the sun would touch your soul and bring you into its divine kingdom, was it worth becoming a human pin-cushion first, in the middle of the relentless desert?

  Somehow, you think not.

  Go back to the previous choice, or start again.

  You breathe deep, and retreat to within yourself for a long moment, trying to deflect the tension.

  Considering the circumstances, I had better be certain that I score.

  You pull, squint fiercely, aim at the farthest stationary target and let the arrow fly.

  Thunk!

  It hits the second ring—just missing the bullseye—for a solid eight points. A woman—it didn’t sound like Titania, but it might have been—gasps. The rest of the crowd reacts with mild approval and a smattering of applause.

  Slowly, you lower your bow, apprehensive.

  Your opponent needs eight points to tie and go into sudden-death, or nine to win outright.

  “Quiet, please…” the barker cautions, as the elf lines up at his spot. Several moments pass as he ponders the situation. His facial expressions, though, seem exaggerated. You feel as if he’s toying with you.

  You glance about.

  Just take the shot, already.

  The elf readies, pulls, aims, and…

  … turns toward you. With his gaze still boring into your eyes, he winks, and fires.

  “A blind shot, ladies and gentlemen! And it hit the mover smack-dab in the center! How is this even possible?”

  Your heart sinks. The barker is right; the final arrow, the coffin’s nail to your chances of buying help in your quest, earned the elf ten points, plus a bonus for the more difficult target, as if he needed it.

  Adding insult to injury. You scowl, as you hear a few onlookers snicker.

  The elf starts to walk toward the barker, to claim his prize, when you intercept him. You stand tall and stare him down.

  “You had to be using magic to do that.”

  “You are a cleric of the sun,” he replies in a smooth tenor, “so you know full well that that is impossible.”

  “Not with elven trickery,” you insist, “or, you had someone in the audience cast a spell to guide the arrow.”

  Titania closes the distance, shouting, “That’s enough! Bartleby, he won fair and square, as far as we can tell.”

  “Indeed,” the elf says, “Now get out of my way.”

  He shoves you full in the chest. You barely budge; his strength notwithstanding, this act of poor sportsmanship sends you over the edge.

 
The thought of Fedwick and the gate’s being opened within weeks sends your fist crashing into the man’s face. He reels, his knees buckle, and he groans in pain.

  Total silence reigns.

  You feel a tap on your shoulder.

  You turn just in time to see the centaur’s fist slam into your jaw. The impact knocks you to the ground, and the creature uses her equine half to pin your entire body. As blood trickles from your lip and you try to get your vision to clear, you think you hear her intone,

  “A man of the cloth should know better.”

  The authorities incarcerate you upon charges of assault. Titania visits your cell, only to inform you that, fearing for her own safety, she is relieving herself of your companionship, and that today, she saw a darker side of you than she’d ever witnessed before. Pursuing the problem with Fedwick certainly seems secondary now, but at least you will have a lot of time to ponder possible options, once your trial is complete.

  Go back to the previous choice, or start again.

  Why invite trouble into our hiding place? you ask yourself.

  You whisper your orders, “Let’s all just wait this out. We just don’t have enough information to jump in headlong.”

  Titania nods with enthusiasm and pats your arm. Xelbane grumbles and retreats to its treasure pile. The shadows obscure him just enough, so he should not be seen from above. You and your love sit as stilly and silently as possible on the flat faces of tremendous basalt boulders. Then, you wait. You can’t tell for sure, but as time passes, you surmise that your party acted fast enough that any riders didn’t notice that the cavern is occupied.

  Soon, the silence overwhelms you. Temptation to glance upward again boils in your chest, and you become confused while trying to remember whether gryphons typically screech or provide any sort of warning that they’re coming.