The Legend of the Gate Keeper Anthology: The Shadow, Land of Shadows, Siege of Night, Lost Empire, Reborn, The Trials of Ashbarn, End of Days

by Jeff Gunzel

  “What are you talking about?” asked Nima, Addel’s muttered observation catching her ear.

  “She’s sending a message to the soldiers,” said Addel.

  “And what message could destroying the camp possibly send?” Amoshi asked, rolling his eyes at the surrounding chaos.

  “That there is no going back,” Addel said, watching as the last tent was thrown on the fire. “This ancient tactic has been used by the greatest commanders in history. A desperate, irrevocable method...but an effective one nonetheless. Once a soldier is forced to destroy his own shelter, cooking provisions, and nearly every basic item needed for survival, only then does he realize there is nothing to return to.”

  “If you need shelter, you mussst now take it from your enemy,” said Shantis, having already come to the same conclusion. “If you are ssstarving, kill your foe and take hisss food and water. There isss no turning back now. We win...or we die.”

  Given a new perspective, Nima looked back to Jade. Still she stood like a statue, her mouth frozen in that teeth-baring expression—a savage look that gave her chills. Jade appeared wild and fierce, nearly unrecognizable. Slowly, Jade lifted her arms from her sides, palms rising up towards the sky. Nima could see a faint green glow reflecting off her face as Jade’s hood drew back, revealing her dy-chita.

  “Hey,” said Nima, touching the back of her hand against Addel’s thigh to alert her. But Addel was already watching closely. They looked on as the green glow began to pulse in rhythm like a heartbeat. Soon, her eyes began emitting the same eerie light. Moments later, the whole camp went silent.

  Flames from the open fire burst upward in a fiery explosion. Once, twice, then after the third blast the orange flames twisted together, swirling towards the sky in a blazing tornado of fire. The living twister danced and swayed, leaning back and forth before Jade as she forced her will upon it. Burnt bits of wood, bowls, tools, and melted bits of tent fabric swirled about its center. Black ash spewed from the top, then came fluttering down like shadowy moths.

  With a clap of her hand the flaming tornado broke off into four, then winked out in a blinding flash of light. Black ash fluttered about like snow, landing softly on heads and shoulders. Nobody moved a muscle. Spellbound, they gazed at the human in awe.

  “Brothers and sisters,” said Jade, her booming voice magically enhanced, eyes still glowing like a cat hiding in darkness. “I stand before you now not as a human, but as a living being who shares this world with all other living things. The crytons, as well as the humans, have recently felt the harsh sting of betrayal.” Heads nodded while other crytons translated her words as she spoke.

  “Today, we not only march on Taron to take back what belongs to the humans, but we go to avenge our High Priestess and destroy those who dared to betray her!” Fists and weapons pumped up and down as chants and howls filled the air. “We do not march as crytons. We do not march as humans. Let the world witness the strength of our forces united! Together as one, victory is inevitable! Joined as one, there can only be one outcome! Soon, we shall bathe in the blood of our enemies.”

  Chapter 10

  In a withered position, Eric sat in the corner of the hut with his forehead pressed against his knees, trembling hands wrapped around his shins. Despite the pain-dulling properties of that strange elixir, it did little to actually heal his mounting wounds.

  Deep, dark bruises with yellowing outer rings covered a great deal of his body. Small red puncture wounds from the blowgun darts flared with heat, the fabric of his clothes rubbing against them with each subtle move. Grabbing the damp rag with unsteady hands, he desperately took in the sour vapors with each raspy breath.

  His whole body was on fire. Even during his training back in Bryer, never had he experienced physical abuse such as this. So far, each and every bout had ended the same way. How many days had his body been forced to endure this systematic torture? He never came close to winning, and not once could he remember leaving the practice area under his own power. With his will dwindling, he couldn’t help but question the sanity of these drills. He knew that if these beatings continued, sooner or later he simply wasn’t going to wake up anymore.

  He breathed in through his nose then out his mouth, counting the breaths up to ten before starting over again. The meditation helped to keep him calm, temporarily warding off the fear that threatened to consume him. It was imperative that he keep his mind from slipping into a place where he may never get it back again.

  “Nine...ten,” he counted, blowing out a steady stream of air. He could feel his heart rate slowing, panic sifting away as he gained more control with each passing breath. An image popped into his head, making him smile for the first time in what felt like months. There she stood before him, Jade with her mischievous smile and crystal blue eyes that melted his heart, warming him all over.

  He could feel her touch as she melted into his arms, her eyes locked with his. Smiling, her lips moved with speech but he didn’t hear a sound. Confused, he tilted his head closer to hear her words. She rose up on her toes and leaned into his ear. “Don’t you dare give up on me,” she whispered, then lightly kissed his cheek.

  “Eric,” came a stern voice. His eyes sprung open with a jolt, the rag falling from his hand. It seemed that Yammon was losing a great deal of patience lately. What was once a kind, fatherly figure had become stern and demanding. And his harsh demeanor was growing harder by the day. “I’d say you’ve had a much longer break than you deserved today. Come now, it’s time to go again.”

  The bruises up and down Eric’s body seemed to flare at the mere mention of more combat. Even the slightest movement set them ablaze, but the mere thought of being hit squarely on any of his wounds sent chills rattling through his body.

  “I...can’t,” he said, dropping his head back down between his knees. The sudden shame he felt at hearing his own words nearly rivaled the hot pain surging through his damaged body. Nearly...

  “What do you mean?” asked Yammon, kneeling down in front of him.

  “My body is broken,” Eric whispered, unable to meet the old man’s eyes. “My will is broken. That is what you wanted, correct? That’s why you all beat me day and night? To chip away at my spirit until there is nothing left?”

  Looking distracted, Yammon said nothing. He placed his hands on Eric’s shoulders, then slowly rubbed his thumbs in circles around his upper chest. He pushed in, pulling his shoulders back at the same time with a crack. Eric tensed, shoulders rising up, expecting the coming pain to be unbearable. Instead, a cool sensation drifted down his body, taking the hot pain with it. Eric rolled his neck, then rotated one arm while touching his shoulder. His body felt whole again.

  “No,” said Yammon, sitting back on his calves.

  “That’s amazing,” said Eric, rotating his other arm. “How did you— Wait, what?”

  “No,” Yammon repeated. “Your accusations about what we are trying to do here. The answer is no. We are not trying to break you. We are trying to free you, but it seems as though our little bird is afraid to fly.” Just a hint of a smile crossed his face.

  “Your training methods aren’t fair,” Eric tried to explain, frustrated. “No matter how many times we do this, there is no way I can take you all on at once. It ends the same way every time. No matter how fast I move, I will never, ever, be able to block all your attacks.”

  “Of course not. Nobody can,” said Yammon, simply stating a fact as he saw it.

  “So why should I keep getting pummeled to the brink of death each day? What is the point of all this?!”

  “If you don’t want to get hit...then don’t get hit, little bird,” Yammon replied, more than a little sarcastic. “If a bird leaps from a nest but refuses to flap his wings, he shall crash down on the rocks below. To witness such a strange thing would raise many questions. Wouldn’t you agree?” Eric began to reply, but thought it best if he just shut up and listen.

  “Why did the bird not use his wings?” Yammon continued. “Did
he forget they were even there? Birds are not the most remarkable animals in the world, but they do one thing better than any other. Unfathomable how such a gifted creature might abandon their most useful talent just when it would have served them best. That bewildering young bird reminds me an awful lot of you.”

  “How does it remind you of me?” Eric asked. “I don’t have wings, or else I would have flown far away from here by now.”

  “No, you don’t,” Yammon replied. “But you have a unique skill set possessed by no other living creature, yet you continue to fight like an ordinary man. It’s like watching a lion try to outthink his slower, weaker prey when he could just overwhelm it whenever he chooses. Baffling, I say.” He rose up and moved towards the entrance. “I’ll give you five more minutes, not a second longer.”

  “I still don’t know what you want from me,” Eric groaned, face still buried in his hands.

  Yammon glanced back one last time. “Learn to fly, little bird. Either do what comes natural, or crash down on the rocks below. The choice is yours.”

  Eric thought hard on Yammon’s words. Fine then, if I die on top of this forsaken mountain, then so be it, he thought. It doesn’t matter anymore, but I won’t go out lying down. I’ll give them something they’ve never seen.

  He left the hut and started towards the robed men standing in that all-too-familiar, multi-ringed circle. He drew his sword long before approaching, his angry blade bursting into flames. It pulsed with fire as he drew nearer, step by step.

  Learn to fly, little bird. Yammon’s voice echoed in his head.

  If you really want to see the truth, don’t use your eyes. “I remember, Father,” he whispered to himself.

  Don’t you dare give up on me! Jade’s voice broke through the mental noise. “Never!” he boomed, breaking into a full charge.

  The air split open into a shimmering hole, a rip in time that obeyed his every command. He splashed through just before it snapped shut. The three circles of men glanced around, looking concerned for the first time. Where did he go? And more importantly, where would he reappear?

  Right at the center of the ring, a glowing golden circle flared open only for an instant, just long enough for an arm wielding a flaming blade to flash out. Four staffs exploded into a bloom of tumbling splinters. But the doorway snapped shut before a single chip of wood touched the ground.

  Almost immediately, the air split open on the other side of the circle. The muscled arm flashed out again, the flaming blade taking more weapons with a single sweep. Shattered wood, many charred pieces leaving curled trails of smoke, spun through the air. The timed attack was over within a second, the doorway snapping shut as if it had never been there.

  Most of the men still had weapons, and those who did suddenly broke rank. Abandoning the three circles, they paired up and went back to back, forming a wavy, unorthodox pattern that loosely resembled a square.

  The air split open once more, Eric’s arm slashing out fiercely. Two staffs crossed, intercepting the strike with perfect precision. The momentary pause was an eternity to these skilled monks, more than enough time for three darts to zip into the exposed forearm. Eric roared, retracting his arm as the doorway snapped shut.

  The monks shifted again, each completing a forward roll away from his partner. On their feet once more, they reformed into circles of five, each man with one end of his staff planted into the ground.

  Inside one circle the air tore open again, Eric’s blazing sword striking out to take even more weapons. But at the last second two of the monks crossed their staffs together, trapping Eric’s wrist in mid-swing. Working as a single unit, they pivoted and pulled, sending him flying from his hidden sanctuary, then skidding across the sandy ground. The impact sent Spark tumbling from his grip, it’s flames extinguishing instantly.

  Scrambling, Eric regained just enough control to complete a forward roll of his own. Back on his feet and running, he stretched out his hand and willed another doorway to flash open before him. He leapt...

  Pain engulfed his ankle as a leather cord snapped around it in mid-flight, stopping his momentum and sending him straight to the ground with a thud. The monk holding the other end of the whip was quickly joined by others. Terror filled Eric as they dragged him away from the safety of his escape doorway. No!

  Several darts zipped into his legs and side. Fire shot clear up his body seconds before the gang of staff-wielding monks descended upon him. Weaponless, powerless, he threw up his hands in a last-resort effort to shield himself from the onslaught. It made no difference. As always, he succumbed to the beating as blackness took him again...

  * * *

  Towering over the smaller humans, Filista scanned their frightened faces one at a time. Like fine wine she drank in their fear. As usual she wore her ill-fitting crown, tilted to the side of her head. She was rarely without it, for the humans must always recognize her as queen. Dressed in a long white gown, she wore numerous necklaces strung with pearls, and gold bracelets that hung from her wrists. In a few moments from now, Azek would fight for his life once more, and she wanted to be properly dressed when the people’s hero took his last breath.

  “This group still won’t talk?” she asked, glaring down at them with barely controlled rage.

  “They claim they don’t know anything, just like all the others we’ve questioned,” said the soldier, suddenly looking very nervous. He had failed to get the required information and wasn’t sure how Filista might respond to that.

  Here they were, gathered in one of the arena’s numerous holding sections. If the humans didn’t talk, they too would be forced to fight tonight. Filista was growing desperate now, her tactics becoming more brutal by the day. She was losing soldiers to an unseen hand and she needed to stop the bleeding somehow.

  “Translate exactly what I say...word for word,” she growled, scanning their faces for any hint that they might be hiding something. The soldier nodded and turned his attention on the humans. “Who is this ghost that keeps killing my men? Where are these...Watchdogs, and who is the one you call Morcel?” Although these were the same questions he had already been asking them, the soldier went ahead and translated.

  A long moment of silence passed. Filista took her time, gazing hard into each set of eyes. Then one woman stepped forward, middle-aged with a plump build. She said something Filista didn’t understand, prompting her to lean in closer. When she did, the woman spit in Filista’s face. Wearing a deep scowl, the angry woman held her ground, refusing to back away.

  “Mother, what are you—” came a choked whisper from the young man standing off to the side. He immediately cut himself off, head hung and eyes back to the floor.

  Although Filista’s mastery of the common tongue was limited, she understood that time. With a growing smile, she wiped away the spit with the back of her hand and ordered the soldier to hold the woman still.

  “You want me to kill her?” he asked, grabbing the thrashing woman and spinning her around.

  “No,” Filista hissed, marching towards the young man who spoke out. “I want you to make sure she watches. Do not let her turn away.”

  Struggling futilely, the much bigger woman held him with ease. Holding him by the neck and shoulder, she twisted him back towards the woman. Panic flooding his eyes, he began to tremble. So filled with terror, he lost control and relieved himself right where he stood. Warm liquid leaked down the side of his trembling leg, pooling around his feet. Filista glanced down for an instant, but other than that paid little attention to the man’s obvious fright.

  “Hold her,” Filista repeated, moving her hand underneath the man’s jaw.

  “Priestess, I really don’t think they know anything,” the soldier replied, still obeying her orders and bracing the woman’s head so she couldn’t look away.

  “I agree,” she admitted, lifting him up on his jaw, his feet rising as he kicked in the air. “But that doesn’t mean they aren’t guilty of something else.”

  He squealed bri
efly, a choked-off screech as she pulled up on his jaw. Blood ran down his front as her fingers sank into the skin underneath his chin. The woman screamed, thrashing so hard she nearly broke free. Readjusting his grip, the soldier pulled her back in close. Hand braced on her forehead, he made certain she saw the whole thing.

  “Leave him alone!” she cried out, hands outstretched helplessly. Others in the group cowered away, taking up spots along the stone wall and keeping their heads hidden. A few slipped down the stone wall as they wept, sinking to the floor and covering their faces.

  “Perhaps you should have taught this one the meaning of loyalty,” Filista said in her native tongue. She didn’t care if the woman understood her or not. The man’s body twitched and rattled as his neck stretched. Filista took care not to end the morbid display too quickly. The human body was such a fragile thing. There were limits that had to be considered.

  “Your act of treason is the reason your son will now die before your eyes,” she continued, stretching just a bit further. The soldier actually translated her words that time, causing the woman to go completely limp in his arms. “May this image haunt you for the rest of your life. Lucky for you your life won’t extend beyond this day.”

  No longer savoring the slow torment, she yanked upward, fingers collapsing into his chin as his body twitched a final time. The skin across his neck snapped open in a spray of blood. Stubborn bits of meat and veins remained attached to the body, crackling and popping, still refusing to let go as she pulled. With a final tug his head popped free, impaled on the tips of her fingers like a melon. She threw her prize at the woman just as the soldier let her go. It bounced off her stomach then rolled across the floor.

  The woman wailed, dropping to her knees and rocking back and forth. She clawed at her own forehead as she screamed, oblivious to the damage she was causing herself. Nearly mad with grief and shock, she banged her head against the wall each time she rocked back.