The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two

by Gail Z. Martin

  Tris remained behind, along with Jair, Pevre, and Talwyn. Tris felt his stomach tighten, knowing that the time had come for him to enter the barrows. He thought again about Scaith’s attack on Cwynn, and fierce anger dispelled his fear.

  “I’m ready,” he said, meeting Pevre’s gaze.

  Pevre held out a leather bag to Tris. Inside were the passage tokens the Dread had given him. He put on the items that could be worn and left the other gifts in the bag. Nexus hung in his scabbard, and his steel sword was a reassuring weight in the scabbard on his back.

  Talwyn motioned for Tris to lie down. He stretched out on the ground near the barrow, while Talwyn and Pevre set eight candles in an outline around his form. Jair stood back and was soon joined by Emil, both of them heavily armed with daggers and their stelians. Tris knew that their task was to keep Talwyn and Pevre from being disturbed during the working.

  “Can you work the keeping spell?” Tris hoped his voice did not belie his nervousness.

  Talwyn nodded. “It’s as you said: Breath and the beating of the heart are like bellows and pump. I will keep them going while you enter the Underrealm.”

  “If I don’t return—”

  “We will wait for you for as long as your journey takes,” Pevre said. “We will break our vigil only upon your return, or upon the report of the Dread that you are lost to Konost.” He met Tris’s gaze. “I believe you will return to us. Know that it is not just Talwyn and I keeping vigil. The whole camp keeps vigil with you. Such a thing has its own magic.” Pevre paused.

  “Remember that you’ll have to pass a series of gates. Each gatekeeper will demand a gift. Make your offerings, and you should be able to pass.” Pevre raised a hand in blessing.

  “It’s time for your journey. May the Spirit Guides and the Sacred Lady walk with you.”

  Tris closed his eyes and centered his magic. He could feel Talwyn’s magic close to him, reassuring and strong. With a thought, he loosed the bonds that connected his soul to his body. He felt his body still for a moment, and then a rush of Talwyn’s magic began the rhythm of breath and heartbeat as he moved away from the pale, prone form on the ground.

  Already, he could feel the power of the Dread. He took another step toward the barrow, and where its surface had been unbroken only moments before, now Tris saw a dark gash in the mound. Cold, ancient power radiated from the barrow, unlike any magic he had encountered in the mortal world. He moved into the Plains of Spirit and entered the barrow.

  Welcome, Summoner-King. The voice that greeted him was the same as the one he had encountered before, and as Tris neared the opening in the mound, he saw the shadows shift and move. He kept a firm grip on Nexus’s pommel as he stepped into the shadows.

  What are you? Tris sensed the presence of the Dread guide with his magic, able with his mage senses to separate the animate shadow from the darkness around them.

  Millennia ago, we were much like your people. Magic was more common among us, and it bred true so that as the years went by, nearly all of our people harbored some power. Ours was not the elemental magic your people possess, the magic of air, land, water, and fire. Nor was it exactly like your summoning magic. Our gift was thought magic, and we had the power to read, shape, and alter the thoughts of outsiders and even of supernatural beings. The stronger among us could also manipulate those who were younger or weaker. Magic of any kind invites corruption, as you have learned yourself.

  How did you come to be the guardians of the Nachele?

  We grew bored with the conquest of other mortals, and we grew arrogant in our power. We turned our attention to the beings of the Nether, and of other realms best left untouched. We awakened beings that were beyond our power to control, and because of our magic, gave them a new and dangerous sentience. We loosed a bloodbath upon our time that nearly wiped out all living beings from the lands you know as the Winter Kingdoms—and beyond their borders.

  A War of Unmaking.

  If so, then the gods had no part in bringing cataclysm down upon us. We did that to ourselves.

  The Nachele were the beings that you set loose?

  Our discovery, and our burden. In our desperation, when only a few of the most powerful among us were left, we found a way to bind what we had loosed—but at a terrible price. So long as any of our kind remained among the living, the Nachele would also roam the world. To bind them, we would have to become their jailers, for eternity. So you see, Summoner-King, why we cannot allow the Nachele to be awakened once more.

  I see. Must I pass among the Nachele to find Konost?

  No. We bound the Nachele in a place between realms that is not of the living, but also not of the Underrealm. Even with our power, we were not gods. Yet the opening to the Underrealm lies near here. I can take you to the first gate, but no farther. When—and if—you return, I will guide you back to your body.

  Tris followed the voice through the long descent into the gray half light of the Underrealm. It was silent, without the distant sound of insects or animals, or even of wind through dry branches. There was no scent from the moist ground, the vegetation, or the wind, just the distant smell of the grave.

  Tris looked down at himself. He wore the spirit-remnants of his clothing, as well as the passage tokens the Dread had given to him. He drew Nexus and as it cleared the scabbard, its runes flared and rearranged themselves. Light sustains, read the inscription. It was the same message that the sword had given him on the occasion of Cwynn’s birth, and he hoped it was a good omen.

  Ahead of him stood a large stone wall. It seemed to go on forever in either direction. The stone was weathered, ancient, and thick. In the center of the wall was an arched opening with an iron gate and a large lock molded into the shape of a serpent. Tris fingered the silver vambrace on his left arm, and squared his shoulders. He strode up to the gate.

  “Gatekeeper! A word with you.”

  The lock came apart, reshaping itself into the form of a large gray metallic serpent. The serpent languorously twined itself over and through the wrought-iron bars. The snake stopped and raised its head to look at Tris. Tris saw that the serpent was as thick as his upper arm, and its coiled body looked powerful. Black, depthless eyes fixed on his.

  “I bring a gift to pass this gate. Allow me to enter and return and the gift is yours.”

  The serpent stretched forward, its long fangs plainly visible. Just as Tris thought that the snake meant to strike him, it stopped, head raised, as if waiting. Tris removed the silver vambrace from his arm and slipped it over the snake’s head.

  As soon as the snake’s body passed through the silver vambrace, its skin lost its metallic luster, and as Tris watched, the snake took on the supple, scaled appearance of a normal serpent. The vambrace fell to the ground, and the serpent uncoiled itself from around the gate, letting the doors swing apart to admit Tris.

  Wary that he had passed the first gate only to enter a more dangerous place, Tris nodded his thanks to the serpent and followed an overgrown and long-disused path that stretched from the stone wall down a long, rocky hill. Tris could hear no rustle of his passage on the path, no footsteps in the dead grass, no whisper of his breath.

  He continued down the path until he reached the edge of a large forest. Like the stone wall, the forest stretched to the horizon on either side. Where the path entered the tree line, there stood a gate with two intricately carved posts and an equally ornate lintel. It appeared possible to go around the posts and lintel, but an indentation in the ground showed that the pathway led through the wooden gate.

  Tris stopped just short of the gate. When he grew closer to the posts, he could see that the carvings were of totemic animals, each atop the other, and that carved into the lintel was the wide wingspan of an eagle. At the foot of the right post was a large blank space, as if the carved animal figure had been removed.

  A movement at the edge of Tris’s peripheral vision made him turn sharply, Nexus drawn. A figure was emerging from the forest with the low, menacing grow
l of a large watchdog. As the figure moved into the dim light, Tris saw that it was the skeletal remains of a dog nearly as big as his own mastiff.

  “Allow me to pass and return, and my gift is yours.”

  The skeletal dog lowered its head threateningly, but Tris did not move. It circled him, and its bones made a cold, rattling noise. Tris loosened the neck plate and held it out toward the bone dog without moving closer. The dog sat down next to the blank space on the right post of the gateway and lowered its head as if awaiting the neck plate. Tris bent down and fastened the neck plate around the dog’s throat like a collar, and then stood back.

  As he watched, flesh formed over the bones and the skeleton became a living dog. Then the dog leaned back against the post and the wood expanded, forming a sheath over the dog until, at last, the dog appeared as a perfect carving, completing the post. Around the throat of the carved dog was the neck plate.

  Tris opened the wooden gate and walked cautiously into the forest. He summoned a ball of blue hand fire to light his way. The sky was a uniform gray that gave no indication of the movement of sun or moon. Time meant nothing here.

  The canopy of the forest closed over Tris’s head. A trail wound through the forest and stopped at the edge of a rocky cliff. A large canyon split the forest floor. It was too steep to climb down and cross on foot, and much too far to leap across.

  Tris stood at the edge of the cliff and looked over the divide. He saw no gateway, and the path ended abruptly in the shattered rock at the lip of the gorge. Yet when he turned back to the forest, he could see the path clearly. There had been no branching paths. Unsure of what to do, Tris looked out over the cliff.

  “Gatekeeper, I have a gift for you. Show yourself. Permit me to pass and return and the gift is yours.”

  From behind him in the darkness of the forest came a loud scuffing sound and the snort of a wild animal. Tris turned, Nexus in hand, to see a large black boar charging at him. With the cliff at his back, Tris had nowhere to go. The canyon floor was far below the edge, and Tris was sure that a fall here in the Underrealm would be just as lethal as in the mortal world.

  The boar continued its headlong charge, heedless of the path ending in thin air.

  “Gatekeeper! Show yourself!” Tris took a wide stance, digging in his heels as best he could, and he readied his sword like a pike, certain that the boar meant to drive him over the edge.

  Just before the boar would have spitted itself on Tris’s sword, the large animal came to an abrupt stop. It stood staring at Tris, its small, close-set eyes watching his every move.

  “Are you the Gatekeeper?”

  The boar made no movement, and Tris removed the third gift, the circlet.

  “I bring a gift to pass this gate. Allow me to enter and return and the gift is yours.”

  He held out the circlet in his left hand, carefully approaching the large animal. When it made no move to gore him with its tusks, Tris set the circlet on its head.

  The outline of the boar shimmered and rippled like sunlight on water. As Tris watched, the shoulders broadened and the thick body elongated, its pelvis flattening. The skull grew rounder and the features shifted until a naked man stood before him. The man gestured for Tris to follow him.

  The gatekeeper walked to the edge of the cliff and stepped off. He disappeared from view, but Tris heard no scream, nor did he hear the thud of a body rolling its way down the steep, rocky incline. He walked to the place where the gatekeeper had disappeared and looked down. The man stood below him, balanced on a path so narrow that, without a guide, Tris knew he never would have found it.

  At the bottom of the chasm, the guide stopped, motioning to where the path continued across the flat ground.

  Tris turned to the man. “Thank you,” he said. The man looked at him in silence. “Will you return to the shape of a boar, or stay a man?”

  “I will stay a man.” The guide’s voice was rough, and the words came out slowly, as if he had not spoken in a long time. “If you return this way, the path will show itself to you.” With that, he bounded up the narrow trail, leaving Tris alone in the floor of the chasm.

  Tris walked on, following the remnant of a trail that wound across the rocky ground. The trail led out into hilly ground that became a grassy plain. Across the plain, Tris could see a white marble building with steps leading up to it. The path led in that direction.

  As he grew closer, Tris realized that the building looked like a crypt. Broad steps led up to a large, circular landing made of gleaming white stone. Tris followed the path up the steps, but as he was about to cross the landing, he heard a sharp noise overhead and felt a rush of air. A huge, scaled bird landed in front of him and gave a sharp cry. The bird had a wingspan easily twice Tris’s height, and a sharp, dangerous beak. Instead of feathers, the bird was covered with small reflective scales. It had long talons at the end of its powerful feet and a whiplike tail.

  “I seek the gatekeeper. Is that you?” Tris asked the huge bird. “Allow me to pass and return and the gift is yours.”

  Tris had no desire to get within the reach of either the bird’s beak or its talons. Reaching into his pouch, he withdrew the string of grave beads and tossed it toward the huge bird. With a raptor’s cry of victory, the bird grabbed the string of beads, tossed it into the air, and swallowed it down.

  As Tris watched, the bird spread its wings, reaching from edge to edge of the landing. The bird’s form became thinner, until it slipped onto the landing like a picture painted onto parchment and became part of the elaborate mosaic tile of the landing. The way was clear for Tris to enter the crypt.

  Inside the crypt, a set of stone steps led downward. Halfway down, the gloom became impenetrable, and Tris called hand fire to light his way. Only three passage tokens remained in his bag. He was relieved not to have needed to fight the gatekeepers, preferring to reserve his strength for the confrontation with Konost.

  The bottom of the stairs opened into a torch-lit cavern. The path ended abruptly at the edge of a large, still pool. Far across the water, Tris could see where the path picked up again and headed deeper into the cave. There was no telling how deep the water ran, nor what lay beneath its placid surface. Tris watched the water and saw a ripple. In the torch light, shadows glided beneath the water.

  “Gatekeeper, I have a gift for you. Allow me to pass and return and the gift is yours.”

  Tris walked toward the water’s edge. His boot steps sounded deafening in the unnatural stillness. As he neared the path’s end, a dark shape exploded from the water, thrusting its large, powerful reptilian head toward him. Huge jaws, easily the length of a man’s arm, snapped inches from where Tris stood. The creature’s mouth was filled with jagged, gleaming black teeth.

  It reared back and thrust forward again, opening its maw wide. Two large, sharp fangs protruded from the left side of its mouth, but on the right, only one bottom fang jutted up. Tris stepped back and dug into the pouch. He withdrew the obsidian dagger and held it up. He had no idea whether or not the beast could see the dagger or make out what it was, but Tris gave an underhand toss and the beast caught it in its mouth.

  The large beast rose out of the water, revealing four thick, muscular legs and a long, serpentine torso. It opened its maw to bellow, and Tris saw that the dagger had replaced its missing fang. Tentatively, hand on sword, he stepped forward to the edge of the water.

  The reptile regarded him with cold, dead eyes, and then it began to sink low into the water. It stretched out both head and tail, leaving just enough of its body above the water to form a walkway across the pool. With a prayer for luck, Tris took the first step onto the reptile’s head, expecting the beast to swing around and attempt to snap at him with its fangs. To his relief, the creature remained still, allowing him to cross.

  When he stepped onto the path on the far side of the water, the reptile gatekeeper sank silently beneath the surface.

  Tris looked longingly at the clear water of the pool. The path had been long
and arduous. He was as tired and sore as if he had made the trek in his mortal body, and now, staring at the water, he felt parched. With effort, he reminded himself of the warning to take no food or drink, and he forced himself to walk farther along the path.

  The cave narrowed to a tunnel barely wide enough for Tris to walk through without turning sideways. More than once, he knocked his forehead against low rock outcroppings, and blood began to mingle with his sweat, trickling down his forehead into his eyes. When the tunnel finally widened, Tris found himself in a room with three openings. In the center of the room stood an old woman. Torches in sconces set the room in shifting light and shadow. The old woman raised her head, revealing a sightless eye and an empty socket.

  “Who is it? Who’s there?”

  “A traveler,” Tris replied cautiously.

  “Living, dead, or undead?”

  “Not quite any of the three.”

  “Paths go to different ends, depending on which you be.”

  “I have a passage token, a gift for the gatekeeper. Are you the gatekeeper?”

  The old hag gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, I’m the gatekeeper, all right. But I have no need of gifts. I go nowhere, eat nothing, and see no one.”

  Tris dug the next-to-last token from his bag. Aside from the heart, all that was left was the onyx ring.

  “Allow me to pass and return and the gift is yours.” Tris approached the hag carefully, with his right hand settled on the grip of his sword and the ring held in his outstretched left hand. He moved close enough to place the ring in her gnarled hand.

  The hag took the ring and stroked it with her fingers. She grinned broadly, revealing a row of broken, mottled teeth. “A good gift you’ve brought me, a very good gift.” With that, the hag gave the onyx stone a sharp twist, freeing it from its mounting, and slapped the stone against the empty eye socket. When she withdrew her hand, a black eye filled the socket. She regarded Tris carefully.

  “Living, dead, or undead?” she asked again.