Wit'ch Gate (v5)

by James Clemens

  She began to fall away.

  “Er’ril,” she moaned, knowing how much she would lose if she succumbed. Memories filled her: their single dance atop the tower at midnight, his strong arms holding her safe, the scent of his neck as she leaned against him. The woman inside her grew in strength with these thoughts and helped define her as a creature of flesh, blood, and human desire. She was not just a vessel of wild magicks and otherworldly senses, but a woman with a heart and a will. Elena fought for her spirit, shoving back the wit’ch in her.

  As she did so, a realization struck her. She suddenly knew the true name of the wit’ch inside her. With this font of power instilled in her, Elena saw more clearly what had been sharing her body. Aunt Fila had all but told her.

  You become Cho.

  Elena now understood. It wasn’t just wild magick and her own baser desires that had sought to overwhelm her, but also a sliver of Cho’s spirit, the spirit of a creature from the Void who had never walked a world, never worn flesh, never shared her heart with another.

  Knowing this, Elena found it easier to draw herself out of the Void. She concentrated on her own body, her own flesh, her own blood: the beat of her heart, the ache in her legs, the hunger in her belly. But she reached even deeper. She remembered how this same body, a form aged by magick into the fullness of womanhood, reacted to Er’ril. She used this power now, a magick all its own, remembering how her skin flushed when Er’ril glanced at her, the surge of heat through her core when he was near, and the longing ache deep inside whenever he brushed against her.

  She wrapped all these sensations around her. As the ice shell protected her from the firebird’s talons, so too did these sensual feelings insulate her from the wit’ch. She found a way back into her own body, back to the fight.

  And as she did so, the world shattered with a scream.

  Elena glanced up. The firebird had abandoned its attempt to burn through her shield and now roared in frustration. It swooped over the river now, wings spread from one side to the other. Elena felt the talons loosening, meaning to drop her into the river below.

  Elena tensed and reached out. She was done reacting with just a wit’ch’s instinct. She took both hands, flaming with coldfire, and grabbed the claw that was holding her, refusing to be dropped into the river. She fed ice into the talon, and molten rock froze into solid stone.

  The firebird screeched and attempted to shake Elena free, but she was now locked in stone, and though jarred and tossed, she remained secure in its rocky grip.

  Screaming again, the gigantic creature turned on a wing and swept back toward the gorge, gliding lower. The river swelled below them as the firebird aimed for it. The desire of the creature was obvious: it intended to dive back into its molten den.

  Elena studied the landscape below as a plan came to mind. She had to time this perfectly. She raised her arms and surged all the energy in her body up into her clenched fists, stanching the flow from escaping, building it to a raging force. Her hands grew as bright as cold suns. Her arms trembled with the pent energy, and the wit’ch in her screamed for release, but Elena held back, waiting until the right moment.

  The firebird swept lower, almost to the rim of the gorge. Elena tensed. She felt, more than saw, the beast begin to tuck its wings for the final dive into the river below.

  Now!

  With a gasp, she opened her fists and released the twin fonts of pure coldfire. Her body arched backward in the bird’s stone grip as the magick ripped from her spirit. The backlash of hoarfrost blinded her, but she did not pause. She cast every bit of energy out of her body and thrust it at the firebird. Long ago, in the mountains of the Teeth, she had frozen an entire forest with only a fistful of coldfire. Now a greater miracle was needed.

  A twinge of doubt grew as the last bit of magick escaped her body—then Elena was slammed forward. Her head struck the stone edge of the firebird’s claw. Her arms fell limp, and darkness swept over her.

  ER’RIL RAN ALONG the gorge’s edge. A moment ago, the firebird had disappeared into a cloud of ice. Its piercing scream had shattered the night. When next he had seen it, the firebird had plunged out of the cloud, its flames doused and no longer molten. The bird was a plummeting sculpture of frozen rock. With stone wings spread wide, it crashed at a gliding angle into the gorge. But rather than plunging into the molten river, it was stopped by its own monstrous wingspan. The stone bird had jammed itself into the gorge only a few spans down from the rim of the molten canyon, imbedding itself in place, becoming a stone bridge across the gorge.

  Er’ril stumbled to a stop at the cliff’s edge, staring down at the crashed bird. Elena! He fell to his knees, searching. Then he spotted movement from under the bird: a pale arm moving weakly. Elena hung limply in one of the stone talons—but she was alive!

  Tol’chuk appeared behind him, as did Wennar.

  Er’ril turned. “Get the climbing ropes.”

  In short order, d’warves were scrambling down the slope and atop the stone wing of the bird. Er’ril was lowered to the talon in a rope sling. The heat rising from below made it hard to breathe, searing his lungs. He swung to where Elena slouched in the claw’s grip. Once there, he anchored his legs against a stone claw and waved a pinch of herbs supplied by Mama Freda under Elena’s nose.

  Her head jerked back from the smell, and her eyes blinked open. She startled for a moment and struggled away from him.

  He grabbed her arm.

  Elena’s eyes widened as full consciousness returned. “Er’ril?”

  He smiled at her. “Next time, let’s practice that maneuver first.”

  She stared up at the stone bird, then back at him. Suddenly she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Thinking her frightened, he tried to console her. “Don’t fear, Elena. I’ll get you out of here safely.”

  She tightened her grip and whispered in his ear. “You’ve already saved me.”

  22

  CARRYING THE D’WARF hammer on his shoulder, Tol’chuk trudged up the face of the high ridge with Magnam at his side. The mountains on this side of the gorge were even more desolate, covered in scrub bushes and twisted trees, red rocks and yellow lichen. Around them, hundreds of steaming vents cast noxious gases into the midday sky. Overhead, the sun was a pale shadow in the greenish haze.

  But at least they were past the gorge.

  In the early morning light, scouts had cautiously traversed the stone bird, reaching the far side safely. The others had quickly followed, not trusting the bridge’s stability. As they crossed, little rocks had fallen from the cliff faces to rattle across the stone surface, making them all cringe and sweat. But they had made it safely and had rested briefly before setting out into the mountains again.

  Even Jerrick fared better today. His fever had broken overnight, and he had refused to ride the makeshift sling this morning. He hobbled ahead of Tol’chuk with the use of a staff hewn from one of the stunted trees. The party was spread out up the slope of the steep ridge, moving slowly along a thin, zigzagging trail. Tol’chuk and Magnam were the last in line.

  “Dragonback,” Magnam mumbled.

  Tol’chuk glanced questioningly at him.

  The small d’warf swept an arm before him. “It’s named Dragonback Ridge. Beyond here lies the d’warf kingdom. It is said the ridge circles all our lands, a jagged crown of rock.”

  Tol’chuk glanced up. The ridge’s heights were indeed jagged, but rather than a crown or a dragon’s back, they reminded the og’re of the fangs of some beast.

  As he craned his neck up, Tol’chuk’s nose caught a familiar scent. In the dark caves of his homelands, the sense of smell was sharp in all og’res. He sniffed, then spun around, catching a brief glimpse of something darting behind a boulder.

  “Show yourself!” Tol’chuk bellowed, lifting his hammer.

  Magnam stopped, as did Jerrick. Farther up the slope, faces turned in his direction.

  “What is it?” Magnam asked.


  Tol’chuk held up a clawed hand for silence.

  Slowly, from behind the boulder, a small face peered out: bulbous yellow eyes; flat-splayed nose; and wide, blubbery lips. The purple creature edged from its hiding place, hands held up, offering the stolen silver dagger. “Shiny. Greegrell give shiny back.”

  Magnam scowled. “The vorg again. Great. As if our ancient homelands weren’t fouled enough.”

  It edged up the slope, head low to the ground, bent in a clear posture of someone waiting to be beaten. “Give shiny back,” it mumbled, sinking lower and lower as it crept forward.

  “Don’t trust that purple-skinned imp,” Magnam said.

  Jerrick slipped beside them, leaning heavily on his staff. “Is this the creature that saved my life?”

  “Yes,” Tol’chuk said, not moving his eyes from the quivering vorg.

  Jerrick bowed deeply before the creature. “Thank you for your help. I am in your debt.”

  Greegrell did not seem to understand. Its trembling grew worse. It set down the dagger and scrambled back a few steps.

  “Do not fear,” Jerrick said, moving nearer and retrieving the knife. He slipped it into his belt, then offered his open palm to the vorg. “What do you ask of us? I will see if it can be granted.”

  The vorg’s yellow eyes shifted from Jerrick to Tol’chuk, then higher up the slope. From the scuff of boots on rock, the group was hurrying down here; the purple vorg scooted back. “Greegrell no mean bad. I give shiny back.” It pointed behind him. “You make good rock over . . . over . . .” It made a sound like the sizzle and pop of the molten river. “Greegrell now go home.”

  By now, the others were gathered at Tol’chuk’s back.

  Mama Freda spoke. “He’s trading back the knife for the use of the bridge we built.”

  Elena moved forward. “But what does it mean about going home?”

  The vorg must have heard her. It patted the ground with its hand. “Greegrell home.”

  “But how could that be?” Er’ril asked.

  Elena moved slowly toward the beast, bent low. “Greegrell, how could this be your home? You were on the far side of the fire river.”

  The vorg edged into her shadow, still cowering. “I go hunt. Leave caves. Go far for snipsnip leaves.” It shifted and revealed a flapped pouch on its belly, exposing a handful of leaves edged with red. “Make better bad belly. Many sick, sick, sick.”

  “He was hunting for medicinal herbs,” Mama Freda said with shock in her voice. “He must be his tribe’s healer.”

  Elena frowned back at them, then knelt on the rock. “What happened?”

  The vorg shook his head, cringing lower. “Then bad, bad, booming bad.” It made sounds of whistling explosions. “Sky angry. Boom. Trees fall from sky, burn, burn, burn.”

  “The attack on Stormhaven,” Jerrick mumbled.

  “Greegrell hide.” It covered its head with its hands. “Bad booming stop and Greegrell go look.” It mimicked peeking from under its arms. “Greegrell run home, fast, fast, fast. Then find—” It glanced to Elena. “—fire river. Bad burning bad. No go home.”

  Elena straightened. “So the gorge formed when the Land attacked Stormhaven, and it kept him from returning home.”

  “A second level of defense,” Er’ril said. “It means to protect what is hidden here.”

  “The Weirgate,” Elena mumbled, and turned back. “Maybe the vorg knows something about the manticore.”

  “Ask it.” Er’ril leaned nearer.

  Elena nodded. “Greegrell, do you know of a great black stone? It has a body like . . . like . . .” She pointed to Tol’chuk. “Like an og’re but with the tail of a scorpion.”

  The vorg scrunched up its face, clearly not understanding.

  Elena sat back on her heels and sighed.

  Wennar spoke behind them. “Vorgs only have a small intelligence, just enough for mischief.”

  Tol’chuk turned to the d’warf leader. “Scorpions . . . be they native to these lands?”

  Now it was Wennar’s turn to squint his eyes. “No, now that you mention it. I don’t believe so.”

  “Then how can this creature know what Elena asks?” Tol’chuk stepped forward, reaching to his thigh pouch. He pulled out his chunk of heartstone. It glinted dully in the weak light.

  The vorg’s eyes grew huge at the sight of the jewel.

  Leaning on the d’warf hammer, Tol’chuk bent down beside the vorg. He held the jewel up to the sun and pointed at it. “Greegrell, have you seen something that looks like the black creature inside the stone?”

  Greegrell did not seem to hear him. Splayed hands drifted up toward the bright jewel. “Pretty, shiny, pretty.”

  Tol’chuk shifted the stone higher, beyond the reach of the vorg’s sucker-tipped fingers. “No. Look inside the crystal.”

  Reluctantly, the vorg lowered its hands and stretched its long neck, cocking its toadish head and peering at the heartstone. “Shiny, pretty,” it continued to whine.

  Then the vorg froze, and a choking sound strangled out.

  Its eyes twitched between Tol’chuk and the stone. A flash of recognition flared. Then it cringed, scuttling backward. Its eyes were wide with terror. It made a warding gesture with both hands. “Bad, bad, nasty bad.”

  Elena turned to Tol’chuk. “It knows.”

  He nodded and stared hard at the cowering vorg. “Where, Greegrell? Where is nasty bad place?”

  The vorg covered its head with both arms and pressed its face against the rocky ground. “No, no, no. Bad no go. Nasty black darkness bad.”

  Elena slid closer and gently touched its trembling skin. “Please, Greegrell, tell us.”

  The vorg pointed a purple arm. Tol’chuk turned to see where he pointed. It was the same peak Magnam had mentioned in his stories. “Gy’hallmanti,” Tol’chuk mumbled.

  The vorg jerked with the mention of the name and ducked farther down.

  Magnam frowned at Tol’chuk’s side. “It recognizes the ancient name of our mine.”

  Tol’chuk gripped his heartstone harder. “Great evil has a way of surviving through the ages.”

  Er’ril turned to stare at the dread peak. “At least it confirms that the Manticore Gate is here.”

  “Can you take us there?” Elena asked the vorg.

  It squeaked. “No go. Bad nasty.”

  “Please,” Elena whispered.

  Greegrell just quaked and quivered.

  Mama Freda hobbled next to Tol’chuk. “Maybe a trade,” she suggested. “The vorg seems to like to barter.”

  Elena turned to Jerrick. “My dagger.”

  The elv’in nodded and handed back the blade. Elena held the knife toward the creature. She turned it back and forth so it reflected the sunlight. “Greegrell . . .”

  The vorg glanced up, drawn by the flashing blade. It sat up straighter. “Shiny good.” A finger raised toward the dagger.

  “Yes. It can be yours if you take us to the bad nasty place. Show us where the night stone lies.”

  Greegrell’s hand snapped away. “No go.”

  “The dagger’s not tempting enough,” Er’ril said. He palmed the hilt of his sheathed sword. “But I’ve a span of steel that might goad him to cooperate.”

  “We’ll not force him,” Elena said. “We have no right.” She sighed and wrinkled her brow.

  Tol’chuk had an idea. He joined Elena and held out the Heart of his people. The stone glowed ruby in the light, refracting the sun’s brilliance. “Greegrell. Show us to the bad dark place. You don’t have to go there yourself. Show us and I’ll give you this stone.”

  The vorg raised its head. Yellow eyes fixed on the chunk of heartstone. A tongue came out to lick its thick lips. “Shiny bright . . . Fetch many mates.”

  “Ah,” Magnam said, “no wonder he wants our shiny things.”

  Greegrell stared at the heartstone, then squinted at Tol’chuk. “Show? No go.”

  “You need only take us to where it lies.”

  T
he vorg leaned toward the heartstone, sniffing at it. One eye narrowed. It seemed unable to decide.

  Tol’chuk started to shove the heartstone back in its pouch, but Greegrell’s arm sprang out. The suckered tips of its fingers clung to the stone surface.

  “It seems the vorg’s not done bargaining yet,” Magnam scoffed.

  Greegrell looked up at Tol’chuk. “I take you. Quick, fast, fast, fast.”

  Tol’chuk extracted his stone back from the vorg. “Only once you take us.”

  The vorg sagged, but bobbed its head.

  With the matter decided, the party took off once again, climbing the switchbacks toward the heights of Dragonback Ridge. Greegrell led the way, scampering and hopping up the slope, impatient with their pace. The vorg also proved skilled at ferreting out hidden dangers along their paths. Even Wennar stopped complaining after Greegrell blocked the d’warf from stepping into the subterranean burrow of a spiderwasp.

  Still, even with the vorg’s help, it took until the sun was low in the sky to reach the top of the ridge. The party stared at the wasteland ahead.

  Magnam wiped at his eyes.

  Spreading to the horizon were barren peaks and valleys. A few small hollows showed signs of green life, but the remainder of the landscape was pitted red rock and wind-blasted stone. The ancient mines could be seen from here; countless black holes riddling the bare mountains, making their slopes appear pocked with disease. Dry streambeds crisscrossed the region like old battle scars, and the peaks themselves, bare of any vegetation, had been eroded by storms and scoured by winds into twisted shapes. It was as if the entire kingdom had been reduced to its bones and left to the elements. Tol’chuk had never seen a more desolate place.

  “I can smell the disease here,” Mama Freda said, her pet tamrink cowering on her shoulder. “It’s as if all the living energy of this place has been drained away.”

  “Welcome to our home,” Wennar said sourly, turning away.

  Elena moved to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is the Dark Lord’s doing. His touch has poisoned your land, but it can be brought back to life. As long as there is blood in your veins, you can heal your kingdom.”