Cathadeus_Book One of the Walking Gates

by Jeff J. Peters

  Phin flashed him one of her brilliant smiles and pushed a strand of long black hair away from her face. “Don’t worry so much.” She tucked the coins inside her worn vest. “It’ll be fine. Besides, Pen’s agreed to help me, remember?”

  “I know. Just be careful. Amberdeen’s a big city.”

  She gave another wink of her brown doe eyes and hurried off toward the Gate. He watched her energetic movements as she joined the line, seeing her laughing with his more muscular brother.

  Brax wound his way past Oak Haven’s vendors to the receiving end of the Gate. Crops, tapestries, baskets, crafts, and a variety of homemade food and drink were laid out throughout the plaza, awaiting visitors to Merchant Tide. He checked the tables and carts for anything new, before continuing to his familiar spot near the inn.

  The Keepers took their positions up on the marble platform, sitting around the crystal. Braxton watched his mom serving those around her, helping each member get seated and providing refreshments before their work.

  Another trumpet quieted the crowd, and the few morning songbirds and continual dripping of rainwater were the only sounds in the open rotunda.

  The Gate Keepers started summoning their spirit magic, and an orange glow of hazy, ethereal light floated up from the crystal. Then other colors began to appear and mix together, swirling and sharpening as each new Keeper added his or her own distinctive magic. After several minutes, a rainbow column of light extended from floor to ceiling, merging to form a single pillar of magical white energy. The radiance grew brighter until Braxton was forced to look away, listening instead for the signal that would announce the Gate’s opening. A final trumpet echoed across the plaza, and he looked back to the now golden light illuminating the platform and opening the Walking Gate.

  Villagers ascended the steps, passing between the wooden pillars and under the peaked and tiled roof, depositing four copper coins into the collection box before moving toward the column. Brax listened to them speak the name of the town they wished to travel to before entering the light. Most, like Phin and Penton, were heading to the capital city of Amberdeen, with a few destined for the mountain city of Montressa, or Dynekee to the south.

  He heard his brother, followed by Phinlera’s slightly nervous voice, as they departed Oak Haven. Simultaneously, travelers started arriving through the southern end of the Gate’s column—visitors coming to buy, sell, or trade their wares. Their village seldom saw large numbers of travelers, except in the reaping months or at the Crimson Festival for the annual allotment of red wood harvested from the neighboring forest.

  Only a few people appeared from the light, and there were long gaps between visitors coming down from the Gate. After almost an hour of watching people mill about in the plaza, Brax recognized the short, stocky form of Ruskin Tryn arrive on the platform. Thumping down the stairs, the dwarf headed over to where Brax stood waiting.

  “Well met, young Braxton,” he said, his gruff voice matching his rough exterior. A stout hammer, which Ruskin referred to as “Fist,” hung by his side, and his sleeveless green tunic had a crouching badger sewn in with silver thread, which the dwarf wore proudly.

  “Morning, Rusk.” Brax grasped the dwarf’s calloused hand, the strength of which always surprised him, even though he knew his friend lightened his grip when greeting him.

  Unslinging his large pack, Ruskin handed it to Brax. “This is for your dad.”

  Used to their monthly exchange, Brax braced himself for the heavy weight and grabbed the pack with both hands. As usual, he dropped it to the ground as soon as the dwarf let go.

  Ruskin laughed, tucked his long braided beard under his belt, and headed to the tavern. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he called back, without turning around. “Got some business at the inn.”

  Accustomed to Ruskin’s routine, Brax adjusted the metals and tools in the bag before hoisting it onto his back for the long trek home. The portal would be closing down soon; the strain of maintaining the energy needed to keep the column active limited the time it remained open. The Keepers would retire to their lodge, returning at sundown tomorrow to reopen the Gate for another hour, allowing travelers and villagers alike to return home. His mom always stayed longer though, cleaning and packing up. It was the same start to every week, and Braxton knew it well.

  Not seeing her on the platform, Brax was transfixed by the golden swirl of spirit magic emanating from the Walking Gate, exaggerated now by his lack of sleep. Shapes materialized and disappeared as light reflected to and from the column, creating images that didn’t exist—circular shadows from the mixture of both natural and magical light.

  A face suddenly appeared inside the column. Large, broad, and grotesque, it was covered in thick brown hair, with deep-set black eyes above a rectangular snout. An evil grin revealed sharp, curved teeth and two long horns pointed outward above the creature’s small ears, reminding Braxton of a large bull’s head. It had intelligence in its eyes, though, and it watched him intently.

  Brax blinked, dispelling the image. He searched the light for any sign that the face had been real. The swirling magical energy continued to flow, shapeless and ever-changing, but nothing more appeared.

  He was still trying to make sense of what he’d seen when the sounds around him began to fade, as if someone were silencing the familiar noise from the busy plaza. A ringing filled his ears, not from any outside source but from somewhere deep within him. Above all else, came the clear and unmistakable sound of his mom’s voice inside his mind.

  Braxton, run!

  He stood paralyzed in Oak Haven’s small plaza, shocked by the fear she imparted and her speaking in his head. The steps leading up to the receiving end of the Walking Gate were only a few dozen feet away.

  “Guards!” The shrill and penetrating sound of his mother’s voice cried out. Everyone within earshot turned in surprise at the unexpected alarm.

  Hearing the panic in her call, Braxton sprinted toward the Gate, all thoughts of the vision in the column giving way to his need to reach her. A loud whistle blew on the other side of the platform, simultaneously summoning the guards and sending people scattering in every direction.

  Brax had barely reached the bottom of the steps when three large forms emerged from the Gate. Standing more than a foot taller than him, their massive humanoid bodies were covered in dark hair, with oak-sized legs extending from torn pants and wide, shoeless feet. Bare chested, their arms ended in hands that could cover his face. One of the beasts held a giant sword aloft while the others grasped even longer spears. It was their bull-like faces, however, that drew Braxton’s attention—exactly like the one he’d seen moments earlier in the light.

  The creature closest to him looked down and brayed loudly, raising its spear. Braxton froze, recognizing its destructive intent. Something struck him from behind, and nausea spread through his body as all sound and light began to fade.

  He fell, collapsing into darkness.

  Chapter 2

  Crackling from the fireplace broke into the silent void from which Braxton slowly emerged. He opened his eyes, trying to focus on the giant oak beams running the length of the ceiling. He was in the main room of their cottage, on a makeshift bed of blankets that had been hurriedly thrown down. A cloak was stuffed under his neck, and his feet faced the fire.

  The low hum of voices gradually drifted into his consciousness. Turning toward them, he stopped at the sudden pain that stabbed the back of his head, causing his eyes to water and his nausea to return.

  “Aaahh,” he groaned, reaching behind his head and finding a wet cloth.

  “He’s awake,” he heard Ruskin say.

  “How do you feel?” His dad limped into view, leaning on his cane. The sleeves of his blacksmith’s shirt were rolled up, exposing muscular arms, and he still wore his work trousers and heavy boots.

  “I thought for a minute that little tap from Fist had killed ya.” Ruskin appeared next to his dad. “Thought you were made of tougher stuff than that, my
boy.”

  “You’re lucky Ruskin knocked you out when he did,” his dad said. “Or you’d be dead.”

  “Standing perfectly still for that thrown spear.” The dwarf smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

  “What . . . what happened?” Brax rubbed his head, trying to remember.

  “There was an attack at the Gate.” Fear and doubt reflected in his dad’s normally strong and reassuring eyes. But it was more than that. A deep sadness hung from his features, as if every line had been chiseled deeper and all happiness he’d once known had been drained from his dark and drawn face.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Brax tried to sit up. His throbbing head and nausea forced him quickly back down.

  “It’s your mom . . .” His dad cleared his throat.

  “She was injured in the attack,” Ruskin completed sadly. “She’s not well.”

  “What?” Braxton sat up abruptly. The pain in his head clouded his vision, and his stomach threatened to lurch, but he bit his lip hard and resisted lying back down.

  It was then that he noticed the still form of his mom lying beside him and felt his heart wrench. Her face was a ghostly white, and her usually warm features were devoid of life. A large bandage soaked with blood crossed her chest. She was on a mattress that had been dragged from his parents’ small bedroom, little bits of straw still lining the path to the common room.

  “Mom?” he called, but there was no answer. “No!” A wave of anger shot through him, followed by a profound sadness beyond anything he was prepared for. He leaned over her bed and cried.

  His dad patted his shoulder. Brax continued sobbing, not caring what the men might think.

  When he’d cried himself out, he felt small and weak. The world had suddenly become a much larger place, and he was ill-prepared to deal with the extent of its reach. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up.

  “I know,” his dad said slowly.

  Ruskin shook his head. “It could have been worse, if she hadn’t warned us . . .”

  Braxton wanted to hit the dwarf. How could it possibly be worse? But he didn’t say anything and just glared at him instead.

  “Your mom raised the alarm barely in time,” Ruskin continued. “Terran was able to react, and the Protectors responded. Had she not yelled out when she did, we would all have been surprised. And you, young Braxton, would be dead.”

  “They attacked the Gate Keepers,” his dad clarified. “Two of those beasts went straight for them, killing three members almost immediately. The Protectors were on them in seconds, allowing the rest of the Keepers to get away. Your mom helped them escape, but they were dazed from being pulled out of their magical link. One of those monsters went after her, but thankfully Ruskin was there and occupied it long enough.”

  “Not before your mom took the full brunt of an attack, I’m afraid.” Ruskin shook his head, looking disappointed.

  “She saved the others by putting herself in front of that creature’s weapon. Luckily, Rusk was able to fell the beast and save your mom. Otherwise she’d be dead too.”

  Brax’s heart lifted. “Then she’s not . . . ?” He trailed off, unable to say what he feared.

  His dad took a deep breath. “No, but she’s gravely wounded, and her condition hasn’t changed in almost three hours.”

  Brax rubbed his eyes. “What were those things?”

  “Minotaurs,” Ruskin responded, “and their history is a sad, sad story.” He scratched his beard, his eyes distant as he gazed into the fire. “Unlike the dwarves, elves, fairies, and other pure creatures that come from the spirit realms, the Mins—as they’re more commonly called—were created. More than six hundred years ago now, when the Alchemists started experimenting on the races of the old world. They used their magic to fuse and mix the life forces of various creatures together in an effort to create a race that would serve them. Thousands died in those experiments, tortured by the infusion of a foreign species into their own being. It was an awful, destructive time, one that should never have happened.”

  He dropped down heavily into a chair by the fire.

  “Eventually they started perfecting their mixings, learning from each failed attempt. At first they created the orcs, a combination of elves and pigs; these were stupid, useless creatures, capable only of squabbling among themselves. Other combinations were tried. Centaurs were formed from men and horses, but were so proud a race, they couldn’t be subverted to the Alchemists’ will. The ragi were dwarves with lion heads—too strong or too stubborn to be subdued. There were many others, but eventually they created the Mins. A combination of men and bulls, they are strong, unafraid, and vicious.” Ruskin spat a piece of meat he’d been chewing on into the fire and watched the flames, deep in thought.

  “Why’d the Alchemists create them?” Brax asked.

  “They wanted slaves, workers they could control and who’d serve them unquestionably,” the dwarf explained. “The Mins were exactly what they were looking for. The equal of several men, they’re capable of carrying huge weight with little rest, and their human essence gives them just enough intelligence to carry out most tasks. The perfect slaves.”

  “What happened to them?” Brax continued, unsure he wanted to know the entire story.

  “The Alchemists pushed too hard, breeding great armies of Mins to use in place of human soldiers. They forced them to fight one another—brutal battles in which thousands died, fighting over the smallest land disputes for the Alchemists and sometimes for sport.”

  Ruskin walked over to the table and poured himself a drink.

  “It was a terrible time, a useless waste of life. Maybe that’s what caused the earth to awaken.” He took a long swallow, refilled his glass, and returned to his seat.

  “The volcanoes of the Dragon’s Spine erupted,” Braxton’s dad clarified. “The Breath of the Dragon, they called it. Peaks all along the mountain blasted fiery plumes high up into the air, releasing oceans of lava that swept down into the valley of the Alchemists, transforming their once-lush forests, rivers, and meadows into a barren wasteland.”

  “Everything was destroyed,” Ruskin said with a smirk, as if the destruction was deserved. “All their great cities, their temples, and the paved stone roadways that connected their settlements. All the great achievements of the Alchemists and their Min slaves were consumed by the fiery ocean. Even the Alchemists themselves, frightened and locked away in their towers, couldn’t escape.”

  “What happened to the Mins and the other mixed races?” Braxton asked, engrossed now in the tale.

  “Most died along with the Alchemists, but a few survived the devastation. The Mins fled into the Ridge, but the ogres living there fought them off. Shunned by society, they wandered around for years until, desperate and homeless, they returned to the Breaker Dunes. They live there to this day, foraging around in small groups led by the strongest bull. And to my knowledge, they’ve never crossed the Calindurin before. That is, until now.”

  “Something must have forced them out of the valley,” Brax’s dad added. “Otherwise they’d never have left. The Mins hate the other races and haven’t left the Dunes in almost five hundred years.”

  Ruskin nodded. “Something’s changed, all right, and that’s what worries me. As you said, Thadeus, they hate the other races, and they’re too stubborn to band together. Something or someone has overcome their fierce nature and convinced them to invade the West. What we have to do now is find out why.”

  Chapter 3

  Braxton knelt by his mom’s makeshift bed, her deathlike sleep unchanged. He stroked her blond hair, pushing the strands back from her lifeless face and tucking them behind her small, delicate ears. The history of the Mins still filled his thoughts, and the images he created of the attack on his mom rolled over and over in his mind like a relentless sea.

  He tried focusing on something else. “Which Gate Keepers died in the attack?” he asked, interrupting the quiet conversation between Ruskin and his dad.


  He could feel them looking at him, but he kept his eyes on his mom’s face.

  “It was Arren Bo, the Gate Leader, who we lost first,” his dad said. “Young Kyler Olms, the newest member, who joined the Keepers only last summer, was also taken. I still remember how excited he was to have been accepted. And . . .” He paused. “Nenra Reed.”

  Brax looked up, shocked. “Gavin’s mom?”

  His dad nodded. “I saw him after the attack. I fear it’s going to take him a long time to recover from this loss.”

  “Worse yet,” Ruskin interjected, “with three of their number dead, and especially your Gate Leader gone, there’s no way you can open your Walking Gate again. Not unless you have some new initiates waiting to take their place.”

  Brax’s dad shook his head. “From what Jen had told me, there isn’t anyone far enough along in their training to join. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long time before we can reopen our Gate.”

  “That’s going to be bad for your economy, especially if you can’t sell the crimson harvest this year.”

  “I know. I think Oak Haven is in for a rough time ahead.”

  Brax thought about the impact the attack would have on their village. Without a connection to the outside world—and the ability to buy, sell, and trade via the Walking Gate—Oak Haven would never survive.

  He turned to his mom, tears welling up in his eyes. What would become of their family if she didn’t recover? He tried pushing the thought from his mind, thinking instead of Phinlera and how she’d be unable to return home quickly if their Gate was closed. Would his feelings for her change during their time apart? Or would she—as he feared—develop an attraction toward his brother? As the realization of the possible outcomes from the day’s events continued to unfold, Braxton fell further into despair. He lay his head down on the bed next to his mom’s.