They were in the throne room in the palace. The room had no ceiling, just a vast chair covered in red cloth, where one could sit and gaze out at the stars through the clear dome. Maggie, Orick, and Gallen sat around her feet in a semicircle.
“Do you have to wear this thing?” Orick asked. “The dronon left without it.”
Everynne smiled at him. “The Tharrin are preparing another to take my place, but his training will take many years. In the meantime, there are ten thousand worlds that must be governed. I do not rejoice in this task, but yes, I must put the mantle on. In your time, Orick, I suspect that you too will have to accept responsibilities. You will go home and become a great and wise leader among bears.”
Gallen said good-bye, kissed Everynne one last time. Everynne cried and hugged him, then hugged Maggie. Last of all, she hugged Orick for a long moment and wept in his arms.
When she was ready, Everynne sat back in the chair and placed the mantle on her head. She was shaking, and Gallen took her left hand while Orick held her right.
At first, she sat regally with the silver chains cascading down her neck, and nothing seem to happen. After a moment, she got a faraway look in her eye, then stared off into eternity.
“It’s so beautiful!” she cried. Tears streamed from her eyes freely. Gallen squeezed her shaking hand, then looked up into her eyes. And in that moment, Everynne was transformed. She smiled so beatifically that she seemed to radiate light.
She breathed deeply and gave a rapid succession of sighs, crying out in wonder. At last it became too much for her, and she fainted.
Gallen watched it all and realized that part of him felt jealous. She had left him behind, traveled to a far place he could never reach.
And Gallen suddenly remembered being a child, running under the trees as his father rode away on a dark horse into the mountains. Gallen recalled how desperately he had wanted to follow. He felt the same now.
After Everynne fainted, Gallen and the others waited silently with her for nearly two hours. Orick simply held her hand, did not move from her side. But Gallen got up, walked around the dome, staring out at the stars. He wondered at them. He’d stood on worlds that orbited five of those stars. Maggie came and put her arm around his back, watched the sky with him.
A few minutes later, Orick said, “She’s waking up!”
Gallen and Maggie went back to Everynne’s side. Everynne stirred a bit and opened her eyes. She smiled at them, and she looked as if she had gained some contentment she had never before achieved. Her eyes were filled with a terrible light.
“Semarritte?” Gallen asked.
Everynne shook her head. “Semarritte is dead,” she said. “Her consciousness was stored in the omni-mind until I put it on. But she knew I feared her, so she welcomed me, and then she died.”
“How could she know that you feared her?” Orick asked.
“Maggie told her,” Everynne said. She leaned forward, patted Maggie’s hand, and did not explain herself. Gallen was left to stare at the two women, mystified.
That night, Everynne was invested publicly with the omni-mind before a multitude of Tharrin counselors and ambassadors from many worlds. And on that night, Maggie, the new Golden Queen, publicly named Everynne as her regent to the dronon, leaving her with that undesirable burden.
In a sense, that was almost the last that Gallen saw of Everynne.
Over the next few days, he tried to speak to Everynne again on several occasions, but found it difficult. In each conversation, she anticipated his words. She would answer questions without being asked, tell him more about himself than he wanted to know. And always there was that terrible light in her eyes, frightening in its intensity. In those days, he lost his desire to travel to Gort Ard and look upon the statue that Saint Kelly had carved. Gallen had only to gaze at Everynne to see the face of God.
On the morning of the ninth day, so many dignitaries began arriving that Everynne was constantly being pulled in several directions by those who sought her ear. Each night for the past five days, the lords of the worlds had thrown parties to celebrate, and Gallen saw the way that things would go. These parties would be held every night for years, and though at each party the dignitaries were eager to bestow honors upon him as Lord Escort, Gallen felt somewhat embarrassed by the whole affair, and he wanted only to get away.
So he went to Everynne and said, “I’m thinking of leaving. I can’t stand it here any longer.”
“You know you are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Everynne said. “And you are free to leave.”
“It’s my mother,” Gallen said. “She’s getting old and sickly, and I’m worried about her.”
Everynne nodded, smiled at him. “And there is something you want from me. You have more than earned any reward that I could give you. Is that what you have come for?”
“Yes,” he said. He expected her to ask what he wanted as payment for saving her life, for defeating the Lords of the Swarm. Among the things that she could offer there were many great treasures, but only one he desired. He feared that his price was excessive. He’d prepared all kinds of arguments for the occasion, but before he could ask, she said, “Yes, you may have a key to the Maze of Worlds, but only on one condition: you must put on your mantle often, and if I call for your aid, you must come.”
“Of course,” he said, grateful that she had agreed. But she touched his cheek, turned his face so that he had to look up into her eyes.
“Don’t make that promise lightly,” she warned. “You don’t know what I have in mind.”
And in her eyes he saw that terrible light, and fear struck him to the core of his soul. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a new medallion to wear in his mantle, a receiver that would let him hear her call, and she gave it to him along with the key. It appeared that she had only been waiting for him to ask for these things.
That evening, they went to a gathering in a large dome, where four thousand lords celebrated in a great throng. Gallen had seldom seen so many people in one place, and Orick stared across the crowd in wonder. All of the lords were dressed in their finery in a rainbow of colors. Hundreds of robotic servants had prepared vast sumptuous meals, and all evening long, people crowded around them, thanking and congratulating Gallen, Orick, and Maggie. Everynne was on the far side of the room, and at the end of the evening, Orick seemed worn.
Gallen escorted him out into the hall, and Orick said, “I’ve got to get out of here, Gallen. I’m feeling well enough to travel. I planned to stay for Everynne’s sake, not wanting to leave her alone. But she’s got so many of those Tharrin counselors around her now, I don’t think she needs me.”
“Perhaps,” Gallen said. “Why don’t you ask Everynne what she wants? She has many people at her ear, and all of them admire her, but you’re her friend.”
Orick grunted, went back into the great dome and pushed his way to Everynne. A moment later, the two of them got up and escaped to a side room together.
Late that night, Orick came to Gallen’s room, and the bear seemed ecstatic. “Do you know that those pills Maggie gave me will keep me alive for at least five hundred years?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Gallen lied.
“And I talked to Everynne. She’s not going to stay here forever,” Orick said. “In ten years, another Tharrin will come take her place as regent, and she’s going to come back to Tihrglas to live for awhile. I promised to show her around.”
“Good,” Gallen said.
“So are you ready to go home?” Orick asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” Orick said. “I’ll go tell Maggie. Everynne is going to lead us to a gate in a few minutes.”
Gallen bundled up his belongings—his outfit and weapons, along with the mantle and weapons that Veriasse had worn—and together the three went to meet Everynne one last time.
Everynne was dressed in her blue traveling robe, as if she might come with them. She said, “Next time you see me, I’ll be wearing thi
s.” She led them down through unexplored passageways of the omni-mind, down to deep caverns that Everynne said even the dronon had never been told of. Behind a hidden door, they found an ancient gate the color of brass, covered with dust. It was marvelously decorated with images of people and creatures from many worlds, and Everynne told them, “This is the gate that leads to all worlds, all destinations. Enter, and I shall send you home.”
A pale green light shone under the arch. Gallen, Orick, and Maggie each hugged Everynne, said their last good-byes.
Then together they stepped through the cold mist between worlds.
They found themselves on a forest road, beneath large pine trees in the mountains. The morning sun was just breaking over the mountains, a radiant pink ball. Kiss-me-quick birds called from the edge of the roadside, and in the distance an owl hooted. The air tasted as sweet to Gallen as Maggie’s kisses, and he breathed in deeply.
They walked along the road for most of the day until they reached a small town called Gort Iseal and learned that they were in the north of County Obhiann, many miles away from home.
At the inn that night, people looked at them oddly, and Gallen found himself apologizing for his strange attire and hid his mantle in his pack.
Maggie and Gallen took a table near a roaring fire and had a large dinner. Afterward, they sat and talked softly. Some bears came to the door of the inn, begging for leftovers. Orick went outside to talk to one young female. Afterward, he came up to Gallen and Maggie all excited. “That young she-bear has invited me to the Salmon Fest. Can you believe it? We’ve been gone all that time, and we still didn’t miss it!”
Gallen nodded, studied Orick’s face. He was eager, that seemed sure. “So why don’t you go? What’s stopping you?”
“Well,” Orick said, “I took this vow a while back. I promised God that I’d only make jolly with one she-bear in my life.”
Gallen looked deep into Orick’s eyes for a moment, then said, “Orick, there are as many ways to serve God as there are men who serve God. In the past few days, you helped save every person on this planet, not to mention everyone on ten thousand other worlds. And now this she-bear wants you to serve her, and you’re only feeling guilty because you’ll get a little pleasure out of it in the process. Why don’t you help her out? Why don’t you make it two?”
“Yes,” Maggie said. “I’m sure you’ll be the thrill of her life.”
Orick frowned. “All right, you talked me into it.” Orick hung around a bit, promised to come back soon for Gallen and Maggie’s wedding, then left with the she-bear.
The next morning, Gallen sold an oxygen exchanger to a sailor and used the money to buy a brace of horses. He and Maggie began to ride home in style.
But that night, they were almost in County Morgan when a bad storm tore up the sky. They took refuge at an inn, and Gallen and Maggie sat discussing their wedding plans. With Father Heany dead, no one would block their marriage. Gallen would have his cousin in An Cochan perform the ceremony. As they talked of their plans, one of the locals at another table said, “Och, what a nasty storm we have a blowing outside—and it not even yet mid-September!”
Maggie turned to Gallen and whispered, “What day was it when we left here?”
“September fifteenth,” Gallen said.
Maggie turned to the stranger. “What’s the date today?”
“Why, the fourteenth,” the man answered.
And Gallen sat there, stunned. That trickster Everynne had sent them back in time again. He suddenly recalled that later on tonight, he would meet several robbers and a sidhe on the road to An Cochan, some twelve miles distant.
“Maggie, my love,” Gallen said, “would you excuse me for a few hours, darling? There’s something I have to do. I promise, I’ll be back for you early in the morning.”
“I suppose—if it’s important,” she said.
“It’s not a big job,” Gallen said. “But I think I need to save a man’s life.”
He went up to his room and dug through his clothes, put on his mantle. In one corner of his pack, he found the mask of lavender starlight he had picked up on Fale. In Veriasse’s pack, he found the wavy-bladed dagger the sidhe had been carrying.
Gallen dressed himself all in black, like the Lord Protector he was, then strapped on his sword and rode out in the rain and darkness to meet his destiny.
Copyright © by Dave Farland, 2011
Beyond the Gate, Book 2 of the Golden Queen Series: Chapter 1
After his recent adventures with Gallen and Maggie, risking his hide on half a dozen planets, Orick felt that his life was somehow charmed. A few weeks ago, he couldn’t have imagined sitting here, a hairsbreadth from winning the title of Primal Bear.
Along the banks of Obhiann Fiain the bears had gathered by the hundreds for the annual Salmon Fest. The icy waters of Obhiann Fiain thundered through a gorge, and many a cub was perched on the large rocks, waiting to swipe at any salmon that tried to leap past.
The older bears had gathered near the dark pines that morning. Fires burned low along the hillside, and salmon skewered on stakes were cooking slowly so that smoke crept along the ground.
But Orick the bear did not have his mind on fish. After over a week of athletic competitions and feasting, Orick felt as sated as he’d been in his life—or at least as far as his gustatory appetites were concerned.
But now came the final athletic event of the Salmon Fest—the much anticipated pig toss. After all the contests—the tree-climbing, the wrestling matches, the log pull, and the salmon-catch—Orick lacked only five points to take the lead in the competitions. The pig toss would make or break him.
Orick’s nerves were frayed. He watched dozens of younger bears toss the “pigs”—burlap bags filled with forty pounds of rock. Legend said that in the old days, bears had actually tossed live piglets, but Orick couldn’t imagine his ancestors engaging in such brutish activities.
Anxiously Orick waited for the toss of old Mangan, an aging bear with an especially large snout and a blaze of white on his chest. For five years—since before Orick was even born—Mangan had held the title of Primal Bear for the twin counties, an honor which allowed him the privilege of selecting ten or twelve mates a year. Orick had matched him in nearly every competition.
The competitions proceeded. Each bear snagged a pig and then took it to the tossing ring—a small circle of stones. The bears in the crowd would cheer and jeer in their deep voices.
Orick watched the first few throws, his heart pounding. He wanted to win, could taste victory. He looked out over the crowd, scanning for the females he’d most admired during the past weeks. He particularly liked one big she-bear, one with a thick, glossy coat, long, shiny claws, and large teeth. Certainly there were some fine specimens in estrus, and their scent left Orick dizzy, reeling. He met the eyes of one young she-bear but the undisguised lust in her glances left him feeling empty, hollow. Am I nothing more to her than a breeder? he wondered. The boar that might sire her cubs?
And he knew it was true. She-bears did not form strong attachments. God had so fashioned them that they desired but one thing from a male, and after their sexual appetites were sated, they would become irritable,
chase him away.
Even now, many females huddled around Mangan, the favorite to win the games. They tempted him with their scent, gazed imploringly with their deep brown eyes.
And Orick, watching those she-bears, suddenly felt empty, desolate.
If he won this contest, what would he win? A few nights of frolicking with she-bears who would hold him in contempt a week later? It seemed an empty prize. For months now, Orick had considered entering the priesthood, giving himself into the service of God and mankind. It seemed a noble thing to his mind, yet here he had let his gonads bring him to this Salmon Fest to engage in these bestial contests.
If he bred widely, he would perhaps gain some form of immortality through his offspring. But if I give myself into the service of God, he told hims
elf, wouldn’t I gain a more sure form of immortality?
And so Orick was at war with himself, disconsolate. Before he knew it, old Mangan marched up to the circle with a burlap “pig” in his teeth. The she-bears in the audience called out, “Hurl that pig! Make it fly, Mangan!” Many she-bears cast him demure glances. Some stood on all fours and arched their backs, raising their tails seductively.
Old Mangan turned to Orick, a calculated gleam of malice in his eyes. “Looks like you’ll be taking second pick this year,” he shouted.
Mangan stood on his hind legs. He was tall, over six and a half feet at the shoulders. This gave him a real advantage in the toss, for he could swing with a long arc. And he had a great deal of muscle in those shoulders.
The old bear reached down with a contemptuous swipe and snagged the pig. Then he stood majestically, a sudden gust of wind rippling through his fur. He swayed back and forth, swinging the pig in long arcs, then with a snort that was almost a roar he swung one last arc and tossed the pig high. It sailed over the playing field, far past the longest mark from the younger bears, and slammed into the gray trunk of a pine tree. The burlap bag split on impact, spilling red clay dirt down the side of the tree.
Around Orick, bears hooted and cheered, shouting Mangan’s name. But Mangan looked at where his bag had landed, and his upper lip curled into a snarl. Obviously, he had not counted on hitting the tree.
The other real contenders for the tide of Primal Bear hung back, waiting to see who they would have to best. But Orick was suddenly tired of the games.
He rushed forward, looked at the “pigs” in their pile. He doubted that he could toss a burlap pig as far as Mangan had. Throwing was never his strong point.
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