The Gates of Winter

by Mark Anthony

  However, nothing happened, and they moved along unnoticed with everyone else. It was a varied crowd. Upscale, working-class, jobless. Small children in strollers and elderly hobbling on canes. The only common denominator was the look on their faces: desperate, empty, searching. These were people who needed something, anything to believe in, and Sage Carson had given it to them: hope, salvation. Too bad all of it was a lie.

  Travis craned his neck as they passed through the soaring lobby, trying to see if there was any sign of Marty and Jay. By now the two men probably thought he had abandoned them, and he supposed he had. However, he wanted them to know why, to know how important this was.

  There was no sign of them. Travis sighed, letting the crowd jostle him forward. He was being swept toward the doors that led to the auditorium. Beltan gripped his arm, pulling him aside. He found himself and the others pressed close to a wall, behind a group of potted trees.

  “Well, we made it in,” Deirdre said, her smoky jade eyes serious. “Then again, that was the easy part.”

  Their plan was simple: get to the control room that housed the show’s production facilities, take over, put in the videotape, and play it on the gigantic television screen that dominated the back of the stage where Sage Carson preached. There was just one problem with simple plans—they never seemed to stay simple for long. According to the blueprints of the cathedral, the control room was backstage; there were bound to be security guards. Besides, there was something else Travis intended to do while he was here.

  “You’ve got the radios?” Anders said to Vani and Beltan. “And you’re sure you know how to use them?”

  Vani’s eyes flashed gold. “We know.” The assassin wore slacks and a loose-fitting blouse, but Travis could hear the faint creak of her leathers beneath.

  Anders held up his hands. “Just checking, sweetheart. No need to think about stabbing anyone.”

  “Vani doesn’t need knives to kill people,” Beltan said with a cheerful grin.

  “No, just a look,” Anders muttered.

  It was time to go into action before their nerves got the better of them. “It’s fifteen minutes until showtime,” Travis said. “We’d better get moving.” He looked at Beltan, then Vani. “Good luck.” It was all he could think to say.

  “We’ll see you soon, Travis,” Beltan said.

  Vani only gazed at him, then the two turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Come on,” Deirdre said, touching Travis’s arm.

  The plans of the Steel Cathedral that Deirdre’s mysterious Philosopher friend had sent were shockingly detailed. The drawing showed a guard station at the main entrance to the backstage area. There was another way to get backstage, through a smaller maintenance corridor. There was a guard station there as well, but the plans noted it was staffed by a single guard. That was the direction Travis, Deirdre, and Anders headed.

  It was easy to blend in with the crowds of people buying souvenir pins, T-shirts, and CDs before heading to their seats. Travis caught sight of several security guards; patches with the crescent moon of the Duratek logo were sewn to their dark blue uniforms. However, the guards never even looked in their direction. It seemed odd there were so few of them, yet it made sense. What was there to guard up here?

  The gate is below the cathedral, Travis. The blueprints showed a whole complex of rooms down there. This building is far larger than it has to be to hold two thousand people. It wasn’t built this way to catch God’s attention; it was built to hide what they’re doing.

  They ducked down a narrow side corridor.

  “All right, partner,” Anders said. “If the map your spooky little Philosopher chum gave you is spot on, the maintenance corridor is right through there.”

  “It is,” Deirdre said, approaching a door.

  “Wait,” Travis said, panic rising. “That sign says an alarm will sound if the door is opened.”

  Anders winked at him. “Don’t believe everything you read, mate.” He pulled a small black device—about the size of a quarter, but thicker—from his pocket. He pressed it to the door, and some adhesive held it in place. A red light on the device flashed.

  “It’s activated,” he said to Deirdre.

  She pushed through the door. Travis hunched his shoulders, bracing for the wail of an alarm. There was only silence.

  “Hey there, Travis, what are you waiting for?” Anders said, and followed Deirdre through the door.

  Travis let out a tight breath and headed after them. He caught up to the Seekers on the other side. The door shut behind them.

  Travis looked at Anders. “What was that thing?”

  “An electronic scrambler. It sends out electromagnetic pulses over a small area, pretty much befuddling any electronic gadget in range—including the motion sensor on that door. Pretty handy, eh?”

  They moved down the corridor, and Deirdre raised a small black device to her ear.

  “Vani, Beltan—can you hear me?”

  There was a crackle of static, then a voice emanated from the radio, tinny but familiar. Vani. “We can hear you.”

  “We’re in position,” Deirdre spoke into the radio. “Can you see the main guard station?”

  “We can. There are two guards. One stands at attention, while the other watches a number of screens that show pictures of places in this building. One of the screens shows a guard station in a narrow corridor; I believe it is the corridor you are in now. There is one guard there, a woman. She does not look very large or strong.”

  “Good work,” Deirdre said. “Are you and Beltan ready?”

  “Do not fear—we will not fail you.”

  “I hope we can say the same.” Deirdre slipped the radio into her pocket, then looked at Travis and Anders, her cheekbones sharp. “Let’s go. If Vani and Beltan do their job right, we won’t have to wait long.”

  They moved down the corridor, Deirdre first, Anders last. The walls and floor were bare cement; fluorescent lights shone overhead at distant intervals, so that the passage alternated between light and shadow.

  Travis tried to imagine what was happening at the entrance to the backstage area. It was Beltan and Vani’s job to pose as overeager fans trying to get Sage Carson’s autograph. The real intent was to distract the guards and get them away from the video monitors so they wouldn’t see as Deirdre, Anders, and Travis entered the control room.

  There had been some debate as to who would engineer the distraction. Anders had pointed out that, as Beltan and Vani weren’t from this world, it might be hard for them to convince the guards they were simple fans. However, there was no telling what sort of equipment they’d find in the control room; Deirdre and Anders had the best shot of any of them at making sense of it and getting Larsen’s interview on-screen.

  Anders held up a hand, halting them. They were near the backstage area; the guard station would be just ahead. Vani had said there was only a single guard, but it was going to be tricky all the same. They had to take out the guard before she sounded an alarm.

  Anders drew his gun. Together, the three edged around a corner. Just ahead, in a pool of light, was a desk beneath a bank of video monitors.

  The chair behind the desk was empty; there was no one in sight. Travis shot Deirdre and Anders a puzzled look. Wary, they moved forward. One of the video monitors showed the guard station at the main backstage entrance. A pair of guards blocked the way as two figures tried to push through.

  It was Vani and Beltan. They were both smiling maniacally, waving pens and pads of paper. In their Earth clothes they looked exactly like what they were supposed to be—zealous fans of Sage Carson. The guards were gently but insistently pushing them back. Travis couldn’t help grinning. What would the guards do if they knew those two people were capable of taking them out with their bare hands?

  “Those two are a couple of naturals,” Anders said. “They’ve got the guards completely bamboozled.”

  Deirdre glanced around. “Yes, but what about the guard who was here?
Vani said she saw one on the video screen.”

  “Maybe that was a different corridor,” Travis said, though they all knew it wasn’t.

  “We’d better get moving,” Anders said. “Beltan and Vani have to back off soon if they don’t want to raise suspicion.”

  Deirdre started down the corridor, Anders after her. Travis didn’t move. The Seekers stopped and turned around.

  Deirdre held out a hand. “Travis, we have to get to the control room.”

  He shook his head. “No, you have to get to the control room, Deirdre. You and Anders. I won’t be any help there.”

  “That’s not true,” Anders said, scowling. “We don’t know how many people are in there.”

  Travis eyed the Seeker’s big, capable shoulders. “Whatever’s in there, I’m sure you two can handle it. I have something else I need to do.”

  “The gate,” Deirdre said softly. “You’re going to try to find the gate.” She touched the yellowed bear claw at her throat. “It’s below the cathedral, isn’t it?”

  Travis met her eyes. “I didn’t want to tell Beltan and Vani. They would . . . they would just worry too much.”

  “Worry about what?” Anders said, shaking his head. “What are you going to do, Travis?”

  It was Deirdre who answered. “He’s going to destroy the gate.”

  “It’s the only way.” Travis should have felt afraid, but instead a calmness stole over him. “Once you get that videotape on air, Duratek is finished. They’ll never be able to build another gate. But as long as this one still exists, Eldh is in danger. There’s no telling who could open it, and if they did, Mohg could return to Eldh.”

  Tears shone in Deirdre’s eyes, and a hundred questions. The one she asked was, “Will we ever see you again?”

  Travis had opened gates before, had passed through them. What would happen when he destroyed one? Professor Sparkman had said breaking things was a dangerous business.

  “I don’t know,” he said with a faint smile. “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Good luck, mate,” Anders said, his craggy face somber. “And here’s hoping we see you on the other side.”

  The two Seekers moved down the hallway, then passed out of sight. Travis was alone. He stood frozen for a moment, then he gripped the iron box in his pocket, turned, and headed back down the corridor.

  48.

  He spoke Alth, concealing himself with a cloak of shadow, and Sirith, so that his footsteps made no sounds.

  It was draining to speak runes. There was so little magic left in this world; he had to draw the energy from himself. Though he longed to, he did not dare open the iron box and touch the Great Stones for power. The moment he did, the wraithlings would know he was here, and so would Duratek. He kept muttering the runes through clenched teeth as he continued on. He had to get down to the complex of rooms beneath the building.

  Just ahead, a security guard opened a door with a magnetic card and passed through. Travis hurried after, slipping through the door before it closed and locked. No eyes saw him, no ears heard him. The corridor ended at a pair of elevator doors. The guard swiped his card again; the doors opened.

  “Hey there!” a voice called out.

  Travis shrank back against the wall, trying to press himself into an alcove. Another guard, a portly man in need of a shave, waddled down the corridor like a duck whose tail feathers had caught fire. “Hold on, Jackson. It looks like we still need you up here.”

  The guard at the elevator turned around. His eyes were flat, lifeless. “What is it?”

  The heavyset guard halted, breathing hard. “We’re having some problems with overeager fans. They keep trying to get backstage to see Mr. Carson. We need an extra hand.”

  Jackson glanced at the elevator with his stony eyes. For a moment he stood without moving, like a machine waiting to be operated. Then he turned and started back down the corridor. Travis only had a moment. He dashed into the elevator. The doors whooshed shut behind him.

  He turned around. There were no buttons on the elevator’s control panel, no way to open the doors. The elevator whirred into motion. He felt light; it was going down.

  The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Beyond was a white room illuminated by fluorescent lights. A row of hard plastic chairs stood against one wall, opposite a desk with a computer terminal. A guard stood beside the entrance to a corridor; a gun was holstered at her side. Her eyes were as hard, as dead as those of the man Jackson.

  Those eyes flicked toward the elevator. The guard squinted, taking a step forward. Travis muttered the runes again and again under his breath. He was shaking; he didn’t know how long he could keep this up.

  “Is someone there?” the guard called out.

  The computer on the desk beeped. She moved a few steps back and glanced at the screen. Travis didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, past the desk, into the corridor.

  He was silent and virtually invisible, but his passage must have stirred the air, for the guard turned around, and her hand moved to the gun. However, Travis kept racing down the hallway, and he doubted she would be able to leave her post to follow him. At least, that was what he told himself.

  The corridor branched. Left or right? He tried to picture the plans of the cathedral in his mind, but all he saw now were a jumble of lines, like runes he couldn’t read. Footsteps echoed down the right-hand corridor; he went left.

  Doors lined the hall to either side, all of them unmarked save for numbers that meant nothing to him. He tried one of the doors. It was not locked.

  Beyond was a windowless office. Books lined the shelves and papers cluttered a desk. Travis moved on.

  He tried several more doors. All revealed offices or labs empty like the first. It seemed this was the place some of Duratek’s researchers did their work. But where were they?

  Maybe they don’t need the scientists anymore. Maybe their work on the gate is done, and they’ve all been reassigned to other projects.

  Or maybe another use had been found for them.

  The corridor turned and widened. Travis passed another guard station, but it was abandoned. Why would they leave this place unguarded? It didn’t make sense.

  Silver light oozed into the corridor, and a coldness crept over him. Maybe it made sense after all that the area was abandoned. No living person would freely choose to be near the wraithlings, and though they served the same master, even the ironhearts hated them.

  The silver light grew brighter. Instinct screamed and snarled inside him, a frightened animal desperate to flee. Travis edged past the desk. As before, doors lined the corridor, but they were made of glass, and the rooms beyond were not offices. They contained steel operating tables, IV racks, trays of scalpels, clamps, and forceps, and machines whose purposes he could not guess. He thought of Grace and wished she was here, but she was a world away.

  All of the operating rooms were dim and empty, all except the last. Light streamed through the glass door. Travis drew even with it and peered inside.

  It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the light. This room was larger than the others. There were two of the steel beds, and he could see a form—a man—lying on each one. The men were held down with straps. One of them was short and pudgy, the other tall, gangly.

  Travis’s eyes adjusted; terror turned his body to ice. The men strapped to the beds were Jay and Marty.

  Two other beings stood in the room. One looked like a man, but Travis knew that was only illusion, that the human-shaped husk was a shell that housed a thing of evil powered by a heart of iron. His dead eyes gave it away. The ironheart wore a white lab coat; in his gloved hands was something dark and heavy the size of a fist.

  The other being in the room was a wraithling. Its spindly body was a shadow wreathed in a silvery corona, and its eyes were dark jewels. It drifted closer to one of the beds—the one in which Jay was strapped down.

  The little man squirmed, straining against the straps. “Let me go, you freaking weirdos! I told
you, all we were doing was looking for a little food, a little charity. Let me go!”

  His voice was muffled by the glass, but the terror in it was clear. The wraithling moved closer. Jay turned his head, looking over at the other bed.

  “Come on, Marty, wake up,” Jay moaned. “Wake up, dammit. You’ve got to get us out of here, you big oaf.”

  Marty lay still, his eyes shut. Had they drugged him? Travis had to get them out of there. He reached for the iron box—then froze. If he opened it, Duratek would know where he was. They would keep him from reaching the gate.

  “Oh, God, no!” Jay choked. “Don’t let that thing touch me. Please.” His shirt was open. The wraithling reached a slender hand toward his chest.

  The ironheart smiled. “Don’t be afraid. It will only hurt while you live. Once the Angel takes away your weak, mortal heart, I will make you strong.”

  Jay went limp, his face ashen, all the fire, all the anger gone from it. He stared at the wraithling hovering over him. Its spindly fingers brushed his skin, then dug in.

  Jay screamed. The sound broke Travis’s paralysis. He opened the box, gripped the Stones, and shouted a rune.

  “Reth!”

  The ironheart turned just as the door shattered and glittering shards flew into the room. Splinters of glass sliced across his face and hands, cutting skin to ribbons. He howled and stumbled back. The lump of iron slipped from his bloody fingers. Travis snatched it up and threw it at the wraithling with all his might.

  The Pale One screamed—a sound at the edge of hearing. It fled away from Jay, its fingers fluttering up to its breast. There was a dark hole in the corona of light that surrounded it. The Little People could not bear the touch of iron, and nor could this thing, for it had been a fairy before the Necromancers corrupted it.

  Though wounded, the wraithling was not slain. Neither was the ironheart. The dead man rushed toward Travis. His face was a bloody ruin; strips of flesh hung from his hands.

  “Dur!” Travis said.

  The man lurched once. A gurgling sound escaped his lips. Then the lump of iron that served as his heart burst from his chest. With a flick of his hand, Travis sent it spinning through the air at the wraithling. Again the fey being cried out. It slunk back against the wall.