The Shadow at the Gate

by Christopher Bunn

  “I shall refrain from doing so,” said Owain coldly, “the next time I have the pleasure of her company.”

  The regent was nowhere to be seen in the stable courtyard.

  “Probably inside with the horses, my lord,” said Arodilac.

  “You could always come back later,” said Gor. “Probably best, I’d say. The regent has a lot on his mind these days. A new trade agreement under consideration with Harth, the fisher guild is demanding additional slips be built on the wharf, and, with the way the treasury is—”

  Owain glared at him and the steward shut his mouth. The regent was inside the stable, leaning over the front of a stall and feeding a carrot to a tall blood bay.

  “My lord,” said Owain.

  Botrell gave a startled yelp and stumbled back. He grabbed a stall post to steady himself.

  “My lord,” repeated Owain.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” said Botrell furiously. “I’ve got a splinter. A splinter! Look here—it’s all bloody.”

  “It’s time we discuss what’s going on—”

  “What’s going on? What do you mean, what’s going on? Nothing’s going on!”

  “—in Tormay, as well as in our own city. I’m not an alarmist in any way, my lord regent, but judging from the events of the past several days, I’m forced to conclude that the Dark has its hand in our distress.”

  “The Dark,” sneered Botrell. “There’s no such thing as the Dark. Perhaps your excursion’s wearied your mind, Gawinn. Some rest would do you well. The Dark is an old wives’ tale, only fit for scaring children into eating their spinach and young girls into the arms of their lovers. We’ve no problems here save a lack of gold in the city coffers. Look at this splinter, Gor. Just look.”

  “I would beg to differ,” said Owain. “And I daresay several hundred of your guests would beg to differ as well, according to what I’ve heard of your unfortunate— what was the word you used, Gor?”

  “Mishap,” said the steward unhappily.

  “Mishap. It was a bloody massacre. Twelve people slaughtered in your castle on the night of the grandest ball of the Autumn Fair?”

  “Eaten, is what I heard,” said Arodilac.

  “Be quiet.” The regent glared at his nephew.

  “Vomaro is demanding an explanation, my lord,” said Owain. “It’s not often that one of the duke’s relatives has the privilege of being eaten alive, and in such exalted company. Will you tell the duke it was a ‘mishap’?”

  “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” mumbled the regent.

  “No, there isn’t,” said Owain. “And neither is there a reasonable explanation as to why something—some creature—invaded my home while I was gone, murdered one of my guests, and nearly did away with one of my children. It was only due to your nephew’s quick thinking that the thing was routed.”

  “Ah, well done for you, Arodilac,” said the regent. “Rabid dog, wasn’t it?”

  Owain grabbed the boy by the arm and hauled him forward.

  “Why don’t you tell your uncle again what happened? Tell him how the rabid dog faded in and out of visibility.”

  “Um,” said Arodilac.

  “Dogs, rabid or not, are not able to become invisible at will. Dogs, my lord, are just dogs and they are not known to kill horses, break into houses, and hunt down their inhabitants.”

  “Um,” said Arodilac again.

  “Furthermore, when your nephew plunged six inches of boar spear into the thing’s back, it didn’t seem to phase the creature one bit. Oddly enough, the prints left by the thing match the prints I found at a village whose inhabitants had all been slaughtered several weeks ago. The prints of the beast were mingled with those of a man. What’s even more interesting, my lord, is that, while in Vomaro, I found a young lad who had seen the man. A tall, thin fellow with a long white face and a mouth filled with more teeth than a man should have.”

  “Oh?” said the regent. “A long white face?” His own face paled at these words and he seemed to find the half-eaten carrot in his hand of more interest than Gawinn’s words.

  “Not a man at all, I think,” said Owain. He eyed the regent narrowly. “Something different than a man. Strange, isn’t it, that’s the same description of the thing at the autumn ball?”

  “Well, appearances are deceiving,” said the regent. “My father always said so, mostly in reference to my mother.”

  “Murder in the countryside, murder in the city. Even this morning, my lieutenant informs me of a dead body close by the city gates. Murdered and left drained of blood. Like a tomato sucked dry. Strange goings-on, are they not? Murder in the castle and in my house. My house—me, the so-called protector of Hearne. What am I going to do about it?”

  “Are you saying you need to do something about it?”

  “Gold, my lord. I need gold for more men, more horses, more equipment. Gold to pay for messengers to the duchies. They must be apprised of the situation and we must have their support.”

  “Gold?” said Botrell, more appalled at this than anything else.

  “Gold. And lots of it.”

  “The coffers,” said Gor, looking just as horrified as the regent, “are empty. All the guests and feasts and balls, don’t you know.”

  “Sell the crown jewels. Sell your horses. I don’t care what you do.”

  “What?” gasped the regent. “Sell my horses?”

  Owain slammed the stable door behind him.

  “Your uncle’s a fool,” he growled at Arodilac.

  “He is my uncle,” said Arodilac, somewhat stung at these words.

  “Hmmph,” said Owain, and he stalked off across the courtyard.

  His head ached and his stomach growled, reminding him of things like missing breakfast and the bread undoubtedly baking this moment in the kitchen at home. The conversation in the stable turned around in his head. The regent knew something. Right when he had said that the man who had strolled calmly into the castle ball with death in his hands resembled the man sighted by the lad in Vomaro, something had flickered in the regent’s eyes. Damn him. Botrell was playing a dangerous game. Something strange was going on. Some sort of connection between the murders happening far off in the Tormay countryside and what had happened in the city a few nights ago.

  The Dark.

  Not that Owain believed in the Dark. How could you believe in something that could not be seen? But sometimes you were forced to believe. As far as he knew, from what he had heard as a child and as a man, from what he had read in the few books he had come across on the subject, the Dark didn’t play games.

  It was time he took matters into his own hands. But how?

  With this thought moving restlessly through his mind, Owain strode away from the castle, his shoulders hunched and his head down, even though the sun had burned away the mist by this time. Despite everything, it was promising to be a lovely day.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE HOUSE OF DREAMS

  They all became more and more silent as the morning passed and grew into day. Severan subsided into a mumble that, as far as Jute could tell, did not consist of any words he had heard before, other than the occasional appearance of the words “cheese,” “ale,” “nap,” and “my feet hurt.” The hawk ranged far overhead. The morning began with a clear sky, and with such a background, Jute could usually keep the hawk in sight. However, storm clouds had appeared out of nowhere. One moment, the sky had been a warm blue; the next moment, Jute had glanced up to see storm clouds and no blue at all. The hawk was a dark speck that blurred into invisibility against the gray clouds.

  Of all of them—of the three people, that is—Ronan never seemed to tire or slow. As Jute and Severan trudged across the endless plain, Ronan would hurry along at such a tremendous pace that he would vanish in the blowing grasses ahead. At other times, he would go loping back on the trail from where they had come, only to reappear far away on their right or left.

  “He hops back and forth like a rabbit,�
� said Jute.

  “Do you know much of rabbits?” said Severan, who was not in the best of moods. “I think not, and I suppose Ronan knows a great deal.”

  “Aye,” said the hawk. “I daresay he knows rabbits. Near as much as my own self, and I’ve killed more rabbits than I can remember. Tasty creatures. I never tire of them.”

  “He’s just another city rat,” said Jute, feeling somewhat nettled due to the others' admiration of Ronan. “That’s what the Guild is—just a bunch of city rats.”

  “One cannot be a rat and a rabbit at the same time," said the hawk. "Any fool can see Ronan is not city-bred. This land is his home and there’s wisdom in how he walks. Even from a rabbit, you have much to learn, for, up to now, your world’s been confined to keyholes and stolen apples and fooling ill-woven wards. You would do well to watch and listen.”

  “How am I supposed to listen,” said Jute, “if no one says anything? And you still haven’t explained what’s going on. You promised you would.”

  “True,” said the hawk. He shifted from claw to claw on Jute’s shoulder. “I did, didn’t I? Very well.”

  Severan, who had been lagging behind Jute, found a burst of energy at these words and quickened his pace until he was walking beside Jute.

  “Don’t mind me,” said Severan. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

  “No,” said the hawk. “If you bother looking at the sky, you might notice a storm is coming. Clouds do mean something. Now, my young Jute, I’ll tell you what you want to know, but it’ll give you little satisfaction. Knowledge only brings more questions. And, yes, Severan, you may listen, but you’ll kindly keep your comments to yourself.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

  “I will speak of things that haven’t been spoken of for many years.”

  Thunder rumbled somewhere in the east, far across the plain. The hawk tilted his head to one side, as if he was listening to what the thunder had to say. The air was colder now, and it smelled of iron and rain. Then, the hawk spoke.

  “Long ago, the world was nothing but a dream in the mind of Anue. He was known as the sleeping god in the old tongue, even though men have forgotten him in this age. Anue spoke and formed many beings. They sprang into existence in the house of dreams, that place which has no beginning or end. They were the Aro, and they are the oldest servants of Anue. The eldest of these was Nokhoron. It was his task to descend from the house of dreams and so observe that which came to be from the words of Anue, for the god had determined to fashion life within the void. The name Nokhoron is akin to ‘the Watcher’ in the common tongue of men.”

  Severan opened his mouth as if to ask a question, but the hawk forestalled him with a look. A breeze sprang up, and the grass waved in its passing, bending and pointing to the north. Clouds gathered in the sky.

  “Thus, Nokhoron was the first to see the formation of the world as it came into being. A single word echoed into the void from the mouth of Anue as he stood on the steps of the house of dreams. The word fell like a shining jewel into the nothingness and there took shape. Nokhoron saw all this, alone and winging through the heights. He was astonished and marveled at the power of Anue. He returned to the house of dreams. There, he found Anue walking in the silence, his head bent in thought.

  “Nokhoron spoke of what he had seen. Anue listened to him, surrounded by the other Aro. Then, without a reply, Anue walked away. His footsteps echoed within the halls and faded into silence. Twilight fell. It was then, in the quiet, that Nokhoron thought again on what he had seen within the void. The jewel fell through his thoughts as it had fallen through the nothingness of the void. And his thoughts darkened as the jewel shone ever brighter in his memory. When Nokhoron had come perilously near the end of his musing, Anue returned. He spoke once again.

  “All of the Aro turned aside in deference and honor to him, that they might not see the speaking of the word. But Nokhoron dared to look from behind his hands, opening one eye to see the utterance. Such was the power of the word that it blinded his one eye, searing it with the terrible brilliance of Anue’s thought. In agony and horror, Nokhoron stumbled from the house of dreams and found himself in the heights of the void. There, again, he was the first to witness the manifestation of the second word. Great lights flared into being in the void. The distant flames of the stars, the frozen sheen of the moon by night, and the burning globe of the sun by day.”

  Thunder rumbled again, far in the east, and the hawk again fell silent as he listened to the sound.

  “But what has any of this to do with me?” said Jute in bewilderment. “You speak of very strange things. Yet, here we are, in the middle of this plain, running from the city, running for my life from the wihht and the shadows in the streets. The wind whispers in my dreams and my hand aches as it remembers the edge of the knife. I wish to hear of these things. I want to fly.”

  “You must understand what has gone before,” said the hawk, “in order to understand today. You’ll not do any flying for a while, if I can help it. You’d be doing more falling than flying, I daresay, and dashing your brains out on the nearest rock. So kindly devote yourself to listening. Now, where was I?”

  “The stars,” said Severan, trying to not sound too eager. “The stars, the moon, and the sun.”

  “Ah, yes. The stars, the moon, and the sun sprang into being like flames and ice and fire. And beneath them, turning in the void and warmed by the lights, was the world. Malice awoke in Nokhoron, fueled by his great pain, and he knew hate for the first time. He looked within his mind with his one blind eye and discovered the remembrance of the spoken word of Anue that that eye had seen. He bound his hatred into the memory of the word until it twisted and turned within his mind. A new word formed, and he spoke it forth as his one good eye stared into the void. Both eyes gazed: one in the void and the ruined one in the malice of Nokhoron’s mind. The word fell from his mouth and created the darkness. This welled up between the stars and moon and sun. It flowed across the face of the world like water from a spring. It threatened to drown everything in its endless night. The darkness even crept up to the house of dreams, and within that house the shadows deepened wherever Anue was not.

  “Anue was troubled at this, for the power within Nokhoron was of a dreadful might. It was not the power to make. Instead, it was the power to unmake, for darkness is the destruction of the light. Anue had not lifted his hand to such a thing within the memory of the house of dreams, and in that house there is no beginning or end to memory.

  “The Aro went to war against Nokhoron, their brother and enemy. They called him Nokhoron Nozhan—the watcher in the darkness. He was their eldest and had been beloved by all the Aro. This made his betrayal great. But the love of the Aro was first given to Anue, who stood silent in the house of dreams. They found, however, that the darkness had so filled the void that it seemed limitless, and the Aro feared that, like the house of dreams, the dark had no beginning or end, relieved only by the intermittent stars and the distant, lonely materials of space. They could not find Nokhoron Nozhan, for he had hidden himself away in the deep places of darkness.

  “While they hunted, Anue called to himself the youngest of the Aro. Her name was Geronwe, and her brothers and sisters called her the fairest of them, for her eyes were filled with light. She stood before Anue in the house of dreams and he gave her the task of completing the world with all manner of creature. He spoke to her ear new words of power that subsided into expectation within her mind, and he touched her mouth so she might in turn speak them into being.

  “But by the whisper of shadow to shadow and thence to deeper shadow, Nokhoron Nozhan heard the quick footsteps of Geronwe as she descended from the house of dreams into the heights of the world. She alighted in the east, where the mountains pierce the sky, and spoke the first of the words Anue had given to her. Thus were the Earmdu created. They are the eldest of the world and greatly hated by Nokhoron Nozhan, for they were created to guard those weaker in the world who have no
such means to stand against the Dark. But even then, as the first of the Earmdu came blinking and wondering into the sunlight and the sight of Geronwe, fairest of all the Aro, Nokhoron Nozhan reached out and caught hold of his youngest sister. The Earmdu were helpless before him and fled in terror. Ever since then their race has walked in sorrow, for theirs is the guilt of having fled the anguish of she they call Leoth (life, in the common tongue of men), who brought them forth in the morning of the world.

  “Nokhoron Nozhan bound Geronwe and bore her away into the darkness, giving no heed to her entreaties, though she wept and pleaded with him on strength of blood and brotherhood. There, in the dark, he tortured her until her body and mind were broken. So it was he learned from her mouth the remaining words of power Anue had given her. Satisfied that her mind was emptied of this knowledge, he freed her and left her to wander, near witless, in the darkness.

  “This was how Nokhoron Nozhan came to possess the words of power Anue had whispered to Geronwe in the house of dreams. He brooded within the darkness and turned the words over in his thoughts, twisting them until they were his and replete with malice. Venturing closer to the world, he spoke the words one by one. They tumbled down through the sky, like jewels that glowed with a dark light, and fell to earth in the region of Ranuin in the north.

  “This was how the Dark came to be upon the face of the world. Terrible creatures arose. The races of trolls and ogres were born, those who hunger for flesh and delight in destruction. The people of the cobold rose from the dust and hid themselves deep within the mountains, deep within the secret places. Wights walked in the shadows of the forests. There were other creatures that came to being, awful fashionings that have wandered far down through the years of history, forgotten now but still living within the old places of the world. Most dreadful of all, however, in the ice of the mountains of Ranuin, three sceadus stood in the snow. In them was focused all the malice of their master and they were woven with enchantment. For while the other stolen words had spawned entire races, Nokhoron Nozhan saved the last word to form these solitary three.