The Gates of Golorath

by R. M Garino

  “You sound as if they were overreacting.”

  “Well, don’t ye think they are? We made a play against Bowler and sent him to bed. He got better, and did the same to us. I’d say we were even.”

  “Thomlin,” Arielle said, careful to weigh her words, “you assaulted a superior officer . . .”

  “I wouldn’t call him superior, exactly,” Thomlin said. “Older, perhaps.”

  The casual insubordination Thomlin displayed shocked her. She was raised in a noble Areth’kon family, one that prided itself on duty and discipline. Both her parents were Mala’kar, as was her older brother. All of them held the chain of command sacrosanct, always to be respected and never violated. They had taught Arielle to do the same.

  “Ah, here we are,” Thomlin said, as he stopped before the recessed door. He offered Arielle his arm with a casual and unassuming manner. She dismissed it with a disdainful glance and proceeded down the steps. Thomlin chuckled in response and followed her.

  “Took your time, harlot,” Kolsch said as soon as Arielle’s foot touched the floor. “And it seems like you did not follow my advice. Found the nearest Kal’Parev bastard to tuck into, I see.”

  “Morning Kolsch,” Thomlin said. “Glad to see yeh as cheerful as ever. A bit tardy with the shift change, though. Bad night again? A little cranky, are we?”

  “None of your cheek, mongrel,” Kolsch said with a flick of his hand. “Get back to your barracks before I send you the quick way down.”

  Despite her fatigue, Arielle forced herself to stand at attention, waiting to be addressed as she had been instructed the night before. Thomlin, she noticed, slouched against the far wall, just beyond Kolsch’s reach and sight. He might not have a care in the world, but she had to prove herself her parents’ child.

  Kolsch watched her, his arms crossed.

  “Why are you late? You were instructed to end your shift an hour before dawn. Taking the mongrel for a quick slap and tickle? What did I tell you about keeping your goodies to yourself?”

  Arielle focused on her breathing, letting Kolsch’s words wash over her and roll away without a reaction. Getting riled would not serve her here. He was trying to push her, to goad her. That was his job. They needed to see how much she could take before she broke. She was stronger than this.

  “Well? I asked you a question, harlot!”

  “Sir,” Arielle said, her voice calm and even, “I remained at my post until I was relieved. The replacement sentry was late, and did not arrive until dawn. As per protocol, I could not leave my post unmanned.”

  “Those were not your orders,” Kolsch said, “and I’ll have none of your excuses or backtalk. You were told that you would be relieved an hour before dawn. You are now an hour late. You will return tonight for another shift, and we will see if you can learn to be punctual. Dismissed.”

  Arielle saluted and walked away with her teeth clamped shut. Thomlin joined her after expressing his displeasure with a rude gesture at Kolsch’s back. They walked in silence, Thomlin guiding her through the labyrinth of corridors and stairwells toward her barracks.

  He stopped at a junction, and pointed down the hall. “Turn right at the crossing,” he said. “This is about as far as it’s safe for me to go, my being Kal’Parev and all.”

  “Thank you, Thomlin,” Arielle said. The lack of sleep was now a painful pulse that started behind her brow and radiated down her neck to settle in her shoulders. It was a struggle to remember her manners, but she knew she would not have found her way back so fast without Thomlin’s help. “You have shown me the first act of kindness since my arrival.”

  “A pleasure, Arielle,” he said. “We’ll meet again tonight it would seem.”

  He offered her a bow and walked away. Arielle felt herself swaying where she stood, then pushed herself down the corridor, thankfully heading toward her bed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Whomping

  The four days that followed her introduction to the Ledge became a mix Arielle had trouble sorting through. Each morning, she was asleep immediately after dropping onto her bed. Less than an hour after falling off, she was awoken by the piercing notes of the pipes as they intoned reveille. Her friends dragged her from the warmth and comfort of sleep into the cold early morning for physical training.

  Regardless of any nighttime duty, all members were required to be present for physical training. This was called the Vol, a series of formal stretches to limber the body and ease the stiffness of the night, performed under the strict guidance of an Elc’atar instructor. It trained them in balance and precision while building the strength in their muscles.

  After physical training came various chores: field work, either hoeing weeds or clearing stones for the plows, mending harnesses, mucking out the stalls of the draft beasts and lo’el, or milking the cows and goats. Then came a quick breakfast before the morning five-mile run. Their PT leader for the day led them around the edge of the parade field, and then onto either the upper mountain paths or the lower forest trails. Arielle did not know which was worse: running over the sharp and jagged rocks in the biting cold of the upper passes, or leaping over moss-covered boulders and logs in the close heat beneath the canopy.

  After forty years training together on the Vaults as cadets, her squad held to the patterns they had developed in the early days. Including her, there were seven members, four females, and three males. Gwendolyn, Nessah, and Denuelle had become the closest friends Arielle had ever had, while Ba’ril, Caradoc and Darien had become as dear to her as her own brother in many ways. As always, the three boys ran ahead, eager to outstrip each other, especially while the girls were watching.

  Regardless of the route, the course ended back at the inevitable combat training. They drilled with and without weapons, on dry land or in water, depending upon the station and the skill it worked. Each was under the authority of the Elc’atar, or what she soon discovered to be worse: their apprentices, the Yearlings.

  “I tell you,” Gwen said, falling into a steady loping rhythm, “They glory in the discomfort - and the failings - of the Blades they instruct. You’d think they had no control.”

  “It is not control,” Arielle said in realization as they jogged to the next station. “The Yearlings possess an above-average skill.”

  “You’d never know by the way Cora nearly ripped off Darien’s arm,” Gwen said.

  She wore her raven hair in a ponytail, swaying behind her as she ran. Her hair, and her sharp, beautiful features drew numerous stares, and cried out for all to see that she was a Fel’Mekrin by blood. Here, that lineage carried a tremendous amount of weight, almost as much as Arielle’s. As always, she ran next to Arielle, as she had since they’d entered the Areth’kon together as cadets.

  “You have to be pretty badass to make it through the selection,” Arielle said. “They’re just arrogant beyond belief. I think they enjoy how easy it is to cause the rest of us pain.”

  “But cute,” Denuelle said. “Did you see how gorgeous Matias was?”

  “How could we not?” Gwen said.

  “So why aren’t the Elc’atar worse?” Nessah said. She too wore her hair pulled back, but her soft brown hair lacked the dramatic impact of Gwen’s. She held her typical place, just a pace behind Arielle and Gwen.

  As usual, Arielle noted, Nessah’s sin’del bent toward the boys up ahead.

  “They are worse,” Denuelle said, her blonde hair forming the fourth ponytail. “They just hide it better.”

  “The Elc’atar Guard are different,” Arielle said. “Shane explained that it has to do with the trials. It changes them, makes them more intense, but also sharpens them. I don’t know how to explain it. He was pretty vague on the details. He said I would understand in time.”

  “Your brother has high hopes for you, it seems,” Gwen teased.

  “Got to follow the family business,” Arielle said.

  “Well, it doesn’t make them any easier to deal with,” Denuelle said, matching Nessah stride
for stride. “They should push the whole lot of them into the trials as soon as they start to strut.”

  “You strut,” Nessah said.

  “Do not!” Denuelle enunciated her point with a punch to Nessah’s shoulder.

  Arielle’s smile transitioned into a jaw-cracking yawn. She was beginning to suspect that they were modifying their pace so she would not fall on her face. Ahead of them Ba’ril glanced back as he ran, checking on her progress.

  “Sure you do,” Gwen said over her shoulder. “Especially around the boys.”

  “Don’t know what you are talking about,” Denuelle said, trying to dismiss the comments as she flicked her blonde hair back over her shoulder. “What boys?”

  “Any boys!” the other three said in unison.

  “You’re one to talk,” Denuelle said, giving Arielle a push. “You got your Yearling at the Vaults, and now you’re getting Ledge duty for making lights at another.”

  “She’s not with Logan anymore,” Nessah said. “Remember?”

  Denuelle laughed, increasing Arielle’s frown.

  “When has anyone let Logan Fel’Mekrin go?” Denuelle said. “How do you think he’s going to take her little note?”

  “If I know my brother at all,” Gwen said, emphasizing the relationship, “he will behave as a gentleman and respect Arielle’s wishes.”

  “Then I guess you don’t know your brother all too well,” Denuelle said. “He’s a right bastard most of the time. Why do you think Arielle left him?”

  “I know the story, Den,” Gwen said. “I know what he did.”

  “Then you know it’s only a matter of time until he decides to set Arielle straight. How long until he tests for Elc’atar?”

  “A year, at least. It won’t be that bad, I’m sure,” Gwen said. “I’ll get to him first and talk to him. He’ll listen to me. I’ll settle him before he can do any damage.”

  “Ba’ril thought the same thing, being your cousin and all. His shoulder still hurts from when he went to talk with Logan,” Nessah said. “He won’t admit it, but you can see him grimace during PT in the morning.”

  Arielle glanced back at her friend. From her expression, Arielle would have assumed that it was Nessah’s shoulder that pained her every morning.

  “I will deal with Logan if I need to,” Arielle said. Her determination swelled within her. Her course of action had already been decided before the incident with Ba’ril. Hurting her friend for intervening on her behalf had been due to typical Logan hubris. “Let’s see him break my arm.”

  “Maybe your boy on the Rock can help make your point,” Denuelle said, moving the conversation away from the moribund direction it was taking. “Those shoulders of his have to be good for something.”

  Nessah struck Denuelle on the shoulder in an attempt to halt the direction of the conversation.

  “Is who I’m involved with all anyone can talk about?” Arielle said with a challenging glance at her friends. “If it’s not dating Logan ‘Seven Hells’ Fel’Mekrin, it’s my reaction to Angus Kal’Parev.”

  “Oooh!” A chorus sprang from the trio, cutting Arielle off.

  “He has a name,” Nessah said, with a giggle.

  “Angus, is it?” Gwen said, pushing Arielle to the side with her elbow. “I thought we’d have to keep calling him Shoulders.”

  Arielle was getting tired of being the object of discussion.

  “Who goes from a Fel’Mekrin to a Kal’Parev, anyway?” Denuelle said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “No one with any sense,” Gwen said. “Or talent. And we all know our Arielle has plenty of both.”

  “Thank you,” Arielle said.

  “Still, she is a Rhen’val,” Gwen said. “The rules don’t apply to them. She can do whatever she wants.”

  “Nope!” Nessah said. “Rhen’val marries Fel’Mekrin. Always has, always will.”

  “That just shows how much you pay attention,” Gwen said. “There’s no official treaty between the Houses saying that.”

  “But they always do,” Denuelle said.

  “Who said anything about marriage!” Arielle said. “I saw him for a moment and had a stupid reaction. Everyone is acting like I threw myself at him.”

  “I guess you had to be there,” Gwen said.

  Arielle shot her a glare that made her turn away.

  “It was way more than a moment,” Denuelle said.

  “Trenton called your name four times after we’d all turned, and you stood still,” Nessah said. “I’m sure he could have ignored the whomping if you’d been listening.”

  “What the feck is ‘whomping’?”

  The three exchanged glances as they ran, and all three raised their eyebrows. Nessah shrugged, and Denuelle gestured toward Arielle, as if telling Gwen to go ahead and explain.

  “Well?”

  “It was what you did,” Gwen said. “Not just you, but both of you. Your sin’dels . . . well, they whomped the moment you looked at each other. It was really weird. It happened at exactly the same time. The exact same time. You guys just. . . exploded.”

  “And then kept going,” Nessah said.

  “What do you mean then kept going?”

  Gwen chanced a sidelong glance at her friend, no doubt noticing the note of consternation in her voice.

  “You both continued whomping,” Gwen said. “It kept happening. There was the big flash at first. That one was bad enough. It was so big we almost heard it.”

  “Some of us felt it,” Denuelle said.

  “And some of us felt it,” Gwen said. Her face showed her difficulty in admitting it. “But it didn’t stop. After the big whomp, there was this steady pulsing as the two of you were staring at each other. It kept getting faster, and faster.”

  “Poor Caradoc almost passed out,” Denuelle said.

  “That was why Trenton made us turn, I think,” Nessah said.

  “I think you’re right,” Gwen said. “None of us were listening. We were just staring at the two of you.”

  “Everyone on the field was,” Nessah said. “People came out onto the field to see what was going on.”

  There was a certain bitterness in her voice that was hard to ignore, causing Arielle to glance back at her friend. Thankfully, her tone was not mirrored in her visage. Force of habit, then, Arielle concluded. It was rare that Nessah did not let her jealousy show, even though Arielle was not even sure the woman was fully aware of her own feelings. On the path ahead, the boys were pushing the outer limits of propriety by allowing too much distance to spread between the seven of them.

  “Trenton had to step between the two of you to stop it,” Denuelle said, her voice laced with humor. “You’d probably still be standing there if he hadn’t.”

  “I don’t know,” Gwen said. She ran in silence for a moment.

  The boys had stopped at the next station ahead, shoving each other as they undoubtedly argued over who had won their race.

  “What do you mean?” Arielle said. She was eager to hear as much as she could, but reluctant to show how eager.

  Gwen slowed.

  “When you started whomping,” she said, “your sin’dels bent toward each other, but weren’t in harmony. By the time Trenton stepped in front of you, they were.”

  “It was getting hard to tell the difference between them,” Nessah said. “There was no longer a demarcation between the two of you.”

  Arielle stopped running, perhaps sooner than she should have.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Bridge

  Arielle entered the communal hall for the midday meal behind her friends, her mind slow and sluggish with fatigue. Denuelle pointed her toward the long trestle table and gave her a gentle push. Arielle glanced around the mess, searching for a particular white head of hair, and offered a little sigh when she did not see him.

  “I’ll get your tray,” Denuelle said.

  With leaden, stumbling feet, Arielle shuffled as directed. Ignoring the stares, laughter, and pointed ges
tures, she dropped onto the bench and lowered her head on her arms.

  She slept through the meal. Her teammates woke her as they were clearing their places. She had time to grab a couple of rolls and rub the sleep from her eyes before they left the hall.

  After lunch was another session of the Vol stretches, led by Caradoc this time. Whereas the morning was barehanded, they used swords in the afternoon. The added weight left her arms and shoulders burning, but she pushed through as she had been taught to. Pain was the harbinger of strength. She was Areth’kon, and so she was strong. Afterward, another run, which took a different path from before. The final mile was over an obstacle course through the western fields. Without pause, they threw themselves over barricades, through mud pits, and narrow tunnels. Unlike earlier, the boys allowed no distance to open between them. Teamwork was needed to pass most of the impediments, and they worked in tandem with the girls. The course was timed, and the squads ranked according to their performance on the large boards in the mess hall. Arielle had not yet remembered to check their status during meal times, but she hoped they were making a good showing.

  They ran in formation; Ba’ril and Darien took point. Ba’ril kept turning his head to peak behind him. Next came Nessah and Denuelle, then Arielle and Gwen. Caradoc held the rear guard, making sure there were no stragglers. Arielle and Gwen jumped at the rope hanging from the embankment at the same time, catching it halfway up its length. Ba’ril and Darien assisted, grabbing their packs and hoisting them up.

  “You’re doing great,” Ba’ril said as he shifted his grasp to her elbow. She did not need his help to begin running, nor his encouragement, but she appreciated the offer. Nevertheless, she pulled her arm away. If she let him, he would hold on to her the entire way. “Just a few more yards to the rope bridge, and then we’re home free.”

  “Double time!” Nessah called from where she and Denuelle now ran point. The bridge came into view as they rounded a corner, three ropes held together by a series of connecting cables. The bridge spanned a chasm at least a quarter mile across. None of them had any doubts that the final task was that simple; few things were on this course. Lines snapped while climbing, walls fell inward while scaling, tunnels collapsed while crawling, and pegs broke when lifting, most often at the most inappropriate time. All such inconveniences occurred to reinforce one basic concept: teamwork kept the squad alive.