The Limbreth Gate tkavq-3

by Megan Lindholm

  'Well, Ki will be grateful for that. A world without Harpies would suit her fine. Tell me, Jace, do you condemn the wolf that brings down the deer to feed?'

  'A wolf is only a beast. Such is its nature.'

  'Then consider me a sentient wolf. Predator I am, Jace, and not ashamed of it. I am no less than the wolf in that I kill for food only.'

  'And no more,' Jace replied succinctly. She turned her back on him in a whirl that sent her gown rippling about her. 'Come, Chess. Let us seek the Gate and see if there is any way for us to enter.'

  'I had thought to rush it on horseback, while you distracted the Keeper.' Vandien fell in behind them dispiritedly. 'Won't you consider trying it?'

  'It is not natural to bestride a living creature. Nor is it proper to try and upset the balance of two worlds. Entering and leaving the Gate must be done in harmony.'

  'Not even to get Chess back to his own side, and away from what he has suffered here?'

  'Shall I reinforce the evils he has seen here, teach him that it is all right to behave incorrectly if one stands to gain by it? Vandien. I can imagine what you think of me. But our ways are not yours. Much as I long for my own world, and despise the Keeper who tricked my son, I cannot condone what you suggest. IfChess and I are patient, sometime we will regain our world. Somehow.'

  Vandien stopped and the horse halted behind him. After a few steps, Jace paused and looked back at him. Chess clung to her hand. Even in the moonlight, Vandien could see the despair in his wide grey eyes. The mother knew little of what she spoke of so serenely. Meanly Vandien thought that if only Chess were safely on his side of the Gate, he might be tempted to let Jace sample the life Chess had found here. But there was Chess.

  Vandien slapped at his clothing. His purse was flat and empty. Most of his possessions were in Ki's wagon. There was nothing on him he could easily trade for coin. Except ... He flinched. From his neck he lifted the chain of fine silver links. The tiny black hawk winked at him regretfully as it swung. Ki would forgive him for parting with her gift sooner than he would forgive himself. Stepping forward, he put the hawk into Jace's hand, the horse's tether into Chess's.

  'I will presume your folk do some trading, and you will know how to bargain these for coin ? though I doubt you could ever get what that hawk is worth to me. Still, it will be enough, from hawk and tack, to get stable space for the horse and a cheap room at a decent inn. Be sure and ask for a cheap room; then you'll surely get one with no windows.'

  'You abandon us.' Tears edged Chess's voice.

  'No. I go to do for you what you won't do for yourselves. I'm going to force your Gate, and return with Ki. That will be two coming in and two going out...'

  'It will take three exiting to restore the balance if we two enter,'Jace began to correct him, but Vandien shook his head at her.

  'I'll do what I can. Keep the boy safe. And come to the Gate at least once every night. I don't know when I'll return. Ki makes better time in that wagon of hers than you might suspect. Much as I hate to admit it, she may like your world. But I'll talk her into coming back. There's little, wise or foolish, that I can't persuade her to try. When I bring her back, be waiting for us.'

  'And if we run out of coins before you return?' Chess asked practically.

  'Sell the horse. Ask thirty silver bits, but don't take less than twenty.'

  'We cannot sell a beast into slavery!' Jace objected.

  Vandien looked at her despairingly, and turned to Chess. 'Perhaps I should be telling you to look after your mother. Do what you can, Chess, and what you must, to stay alive. Remember to come to the Gate at least once every night. You will?'

  Chess nodded once, and looked up in awe at the beast he led.

  'Don't worry about him. He'll obey you perfectly, as long as you don't ask him to work. He'll love your mother. They'll get along well.'

  'You think me an ungrateful fool, Vandien, but -'

  'The night slips away, and the Gate goes with it. If I fail, we can talk all day about what we think of one another. If I succeed, it won't matter. Be careful.' Vandien could take no more of it. He stepped up silently to claim his cloak from the saddle.

  'Take your waterskin also, and fill it before you go,' Jace urged him softly.

  'Your land has no water?'

  'It is not safe for you to drink. It will affect you ...'

  'I've a brass-lined stomach, friend. Water in strange lands has never given me the cramp or flux.'

  Jace shook her head impatiently. 'It's not that. The water in our land flows to us from the hills of the Limbreth. With it flows wisdom and peace. You would lose your determination if you drank it. You would begin to see the higher goals you might set for yourself. No outworlder has ever passed the first stream without drinking from it. Its call is said to be undeniable. No one is ever unchanged by it. After the second bridge, you never need fear the stranger. That is how our saying goes. The peaceful water of the Limbreth quenches their fiery thoughts and hot lusts. It brings to the surface whatever sweetness is hidden within. They become enlightened and seek the Limbreth, to be cured forever of restless ways and dissatisfied hearts. Then they are given a task that is to them a joy, and is to the Limbreth a lasting monument.'

  Jace's heart was in her words and her words were worshipful when she spoke of the Limbreth. Chess lifted his face to his mother and his shining eyes echoed the peace his mother spoke of. Not even Vandien was immune to it, despite his quick, hawklike nature. Peace. Contentment. How often had he scoffed at those goals - as Ki had, with her roaming Romni attitudes. What had that old priest called it? Sour fruit.

  They had given the priest a ride on the wagon one spring when they overtook him, footsore and weary, upon the road. His wooden chest of healing herbs and potions Ki had lifted into the back of the wagon. Gently she chided such an old man for wandering so far from his kin that cared for him. But all he spoke of was the peace and contentment of poverty and service. There was a joy in binding up the running sores of a beggar, or mixing the potion that lifted delusion from the mad. Ki and Vandien had smiled at one another over his white head. 'Peace,' he had chided them then, 'to you two will always be sour fruit. You long for what you cannot reach, and so you pretend to despise it. You run from the aches in your hearts and the scars on your bodies. I would that I had a potion to cure you, but you are beyond such skills as I have.'

  His words had quelled all talk; Vandien had not been disappointed when he left them at the foot of a pass. He and Ki had kept the image of sour fruit, and made it a secret bandying word between them.

  Vandien gave his head a shake, aware that they were both staring at him. He could see their secret fear; he would find peace in their world and forget all about them. 'Do not be afraid,' he told them lightly. 'I'm immune to contentment.' He made those words his farewell, lifting the waterskin from the saddle as he went. Let it be a sign to them and a talisman to himself. Once he glanced back. They both were looking after him, holding horse and hawk in their hands. He hoped to the gods they would have the sense to follow his instructions.

  He replenished the waterbag at an ancient fountain. Looking down at the moon reflected in the water he promised her never again to drink Alys in a tavern, and to beware of needy strangers. A drop of water from the bag's spout fell back onto the surface; the moon winked at him, knowing well he lied. He slung the bag over his shoulder. This early in the night there were still people abroad in the streets, though not many. Cheerful light issued from many a window or door left ajar in the summer heat. He passed an inn where the sounds of revelry beckoned him. But he went on, threading his way through the unfamiliar streets. Lacking a knowledge of the city's landmarks, Vandien relied on his sense of direction to take him back to the city walls. He soon found himself on a street he remembered. There was the house of the woman who had called him a pox bringer. The flung stones were still scattered in the dusty street. But of the Gate there was no sign.

  The gods striding on the walls of the city looked pa
st him in disdain; the heroes went on their heroic tasks. The wall was innocent of any Gate or opening or crack as far as he could see in the gloom. No one was about. Vandien went quickly to the wall, running his hands over it. No cracks, no loose stones to push. The wall was solid. Rapping his knuckles on its thickness did nothing but skin them. The wall emitted no sound, hollow or otherwise.

  Stretching to his full if unimpressive height, Vandien ran the tips of his fingers over the wall again. He grimaced to himself in the darkness. It was no better maintained than any other city wall he had been up against, but its basic construction was sounder. The bas relief figures offered little purchase for climbing. But it was not impossible. He did wish he had kept the horse with him. Its back would have given him a place to start his climb from.

  Stooping, he unfastened the buckles of his knee boots. Kicking free of them, he stood barefoot in the dust of the street. He flexed his toes and feet in the dust, and rubbed his hands down his shirt to free them of sweat. Once more he stretched and ran his hands over the wall. A kneeling goddess offered him a leg up. He gave a final glance about for guards; the last thing he wanted to do was flee barefoot down these streets with a pack of guards after him. The dusty streets were hot and empty. Vandien started up the wall.

  From the goddess's knee he found a grip on her torch. Vandien cursed the unknown artist admiringly. Purchase places were few, and they were shallow, nail-bending, knuckle-scraping ones. His chest dragged against a hero's face, and he wished he had left behind the friction of his shirt. A third of the way up, one foot slipped from its spider-splayed grip and he nearly tumbled back. He heard his knuckles pop and felt a toenail tear. But he did not fall, and after a moment resumed his ascent.

  The city had confidence in its walls, or no longer cared. At the top were no jagged potsherds or broken wooden spikes. There was only a wide flatness big enough for a man to lie on. Vandien panted for an instant, then wiped his sweat and the dust from his eyes. He looked over the wall.

  Nothing. Well , nothing different from what Ki and he had seen approaching the North Gate. A flat expanse of yellowish plain interrupted by scraggly trees and thorns. Nearly out of eyeshot in the darkness were the humps of houses and low growing masses that indicated a farm kept alive by well and bucket irrigation. Only to the north of the city could one glimpse the far shining band of the river that brought the trade and kept the city alive. During late winter and early spring the river became a flowing plain of water, bringing new soil and fresh life to the farms by it. The long hot summers shrank the river into submission. Farmers that chose to live closer to the city walls rather than endure the annual flooding had to turn to buckets and wells to survive. It was a harsh land he looked down on; Vandien could not imagine calling it home.

  He lay flat on the wall and hung his head over. The ground looked hard, the sand and dust blowing across it loosely. There were no marks of a wagon's passage, or any sign of regular passage of folk through a gate. Vandien was perplexed and still as he let the slight dry wind ruffle the damp curls on his forehead and cool the sweat on his back. Over the wall, he conceded, was not the same as through theGate. If only he could find the damnable Gate.

  The city streets were still empty. Vandien swung his legs over the side and scrabbled his toes for a hold. His raw toe bumped and he stifled an oath. As he inched his body backwards off the wall, he considered making a light and catlike leap down into the street below. Then he considered lying in the street until morning with a broken ankle, and eased his body a little farther down the wall. He went from having his ribcage hooked on the edge of the wall to hanging by his forearms, and then to a crumbly and wrist-straining hand grip. His feet skidded down the images, rubbing grit into his raw toe and scraping ankles and shins. But at last one toe got a precarious grip on an exposed lip of stone. He braced himself on it and let go with one hand, to ease another questing foot farther down.

  But suddenly there was no wall at all beneath that foot: it swung forward into an empty but only semi-yielding space. Finger grips and toenails failed; Vandien fell, back first, in a gut-wrenching downward arc. He landed on a lumpy mass that collapsed under him. He lay still, trying not to be sick. The wind had been knocked from his lungs, he had struck his jaw against the wall and the front of his body was scraped raw from the slide. His joints crackled as he closed his hands. Whatever he had landed on was still poking him in the back. A red haze of pain obscured his vision as a nettlelike tingling singed his skin.

  When he could, he began to move. But his muscles seemed to resist his will. He was able to straighten his legs, but slowly. He wondered what damage he had done to himself. The very air seemed to resist him, as if he were entangled in a giant but invisible spider's web. With a gasping heave he hauled his body to a sitting position. Dazedly he looked about.

  He was sitting on the threshold of the Gate and the lumpy mass beneath him was the Keeper. Vandien's mind swung. There had been no Gate here when he climbed up, but he had fallen into the middle of it. It was impossible. The Keeper groaned and began to stir. Vandien tried to roll off him; he was lucky he hadn't broken his neck. Then, as his sense came back to him, he realized he was sitting on the opportunity he had sought.

  A force was gently pushing him back to his side of the Gate; Vandien fought it. He leaned against his invisible bonds, striving to push them to their limits. The tautness of them against his face was like a smothering stretch of fine linen. The tingling grew worse, nigh unbearable. Vandien eased back a trifle and felt it follow him. He also sensed the easing of the force. The more he pushed, the more it resisted.

  It felt like a membrane; so, he reasoned, why not treat it as he would a stubborn birth sack that was strangling a new calf? Vandien leaned forward against the force, stretching it to its full limit, and then drove his fingers stiff against it. His hands were small for a man's, no larger than Ki's, but the callused palms and scarred knuckles attested to their usefulness. He tried to get a grip on the barrier, tried to twist his fingers into it and rip it. But it was thicker, heavier, slicker and stronger than he expected. It eluded his grasp and his fingers could not rip it.

  The Keeper was stirring now. Any second he would return to full wakefulness, and then Vandien would have two opponents to battle. If he was going to break through, he had to do it now. One outstretched hand kept the tension on the wall; the other reached for his belt knife.

  He stabbed the blade into it. He had expected to plunge the point of his knife through it. But his initial stab bounced back into his hand. He tried again, pushing the blade in steadily, leaning on it with wrist-cracking force. The haft began to burn against his hand, but the blade sank in. He forced it to the full length of the blade, gasping at the effort it took. The barrier showed no sign of parting. Vandien tried cutting with a sawing motion. But his blade was smooth, lacking the serrated edge for this to be effective.The Keeper raised a hand to his head and groaned dully. Vandien sawed frantically.

  His knife suddenly went through and his hand followed it. The sensation was the same as puncturing a large skin of cool water. His hand plunged into the coolness; he felt more of it ebbing and squirting out at him.

  The Keeper rolled over with a sudden gasp, as if the spattering coolness had revived him as well. 'Stop it!' he shrieked wildly. 'You've broken the seal! You'll unbalance us!'

  Unheeding, Vandien pushed his forearm into the other side while he worked the fingers of his other hand into the rupture as well. The Keeper clutched at his bare feet. Vandien kicked at him, using the gained impetus to force his second hand the rest of the way through. The thick nails of the Keeper's hands scraped down Vandien's legs as he kicked free of him. Like a diver preparing for very cold water, Vandien steeled himself with a deep breath of air. He butted his head against and then into the torn wall. The sensation was unpleasant in the extreme, like plunging his face into a congealing gut pile. He could neither expel nor take in breath. His vision wavered. He struggled, bucking his body, feeling the Keeper fi
nally get a good clutch on one of his ankles.

  Vandien was suffocating. What if this wall never let him through? What if he became entrapped between, like a fish in aspic? Panic was inspiration. The Keeper had captured one of his feet. Vandien shot out the other one in a tremendous kick that caught the Keeper in the chest, breaking his grip and propelling Vandien forward.

  Vandien felt the vague stirring of birth memories, and then cold air on the top of his skull. He felt his shoulders constricted by the wall. With a wiggling surge, he forced his way out into the cool dark air. His chest was squeezed, and then he was falling, hands braced to catch himself as he somersaulted through the Gate. He tumbled into an awkward heap on a smooth straight road.

  From behind him came a muffled cursing. Vandien leaped to his feet, ready to run. He had a dim vision of the Keeper trying to hold closed the torn curtain between the worlds. His ragged clothes were stirred as if by a powerful wind; his hood fell back to reveal a band of white and wrinkled skin where Vandien had expected eyes. The torn barrier fluttered with a snapping sound backed by a rushing noise like a river heard through windstirred trees. Vandien felt the motion as it rushed past his face toward the tear. At least he need fear no pursuit; for a time the Keeper would have his hands full. He slid his knife back into its sheath and turned his steps down the long straight road.

  Barefoot, and a night and day behind Ki. The grey team always made their pace look easy, but Vandien had more than once tried to match them on foot. Even their most leisurely pace had a way of devouring the road. He gave a sigh and broke into a wolf trot. The road was smooth and cold beneath his bare feet. He rested one hand on the waterskin that hung from its shoulder strap to rest at his hip. He had never been so poorly prepared for anything. But the night air was cool and clean against his face; the arching trees garlanded with pale flowers beckoned him on. An unbidden smile came to his face. It was a fine night for running.