Skull Gate

by Robin W Bailey

  “And I have more to look forward to in this brave new life!” Gel raved. “See how she rubs her belly? Soon I shall have a son bestowed of all my powers, demon-spawned on mortal flesh.” His eyes burned with an insane light. At least, it would have been insane in a human. “Through him, my power will live!"

  Tras Sur'tian struggled up on one leg. Onokratos moved to her side, caught her elbow. “Is it true?” the wizard insisted.

  “How?” shouted the Korkyran. “When? Was it in the woods? That night you both disappeared?"

  She separated herself from her friends and closed the distance between herself and the once-demon. He towered over her, grinning. “And it was not so bad, either, was it, woman?” he said.

  She smiled a broad, false smile. Her bare foot lashed out, smashing his groin. He doubled in excruciating pain and his chin met her knee. She pounded the back of his skull, sent him crashing nose to the ground. She kicked him twice in the ribs with a cold, relentless fury. Then, spying a chunk of rubble near at hand, she paused long enough to fetch and hurl it with all her strength down upon his upturning face.

  Gel lay unmoving for only a moment. Then his eyes peeled slowly open above a crushed nose and ruined mouth. A large bruise quickly purpled his forehead. Yet only a few drops of blood trickled from any of the wounds. Swaying uncertainly, he got up.

  “Thee can hurt me,” he said thickly, and his grin returned, an evil mockery of a smile through torn and swollen lips and shattered teeth. “But I will never die. Go where thee will, woman, and remember to look over thy shoulder. I will be behind thee until the day I take my child from thy helpless arms. On that day, look no more for anything."

  Frost was numb to fear and to threats, numb to everything but her anger. Bending, she scooped up another fist-sized piece of mortar. “I'll never have it!” she swore defiantly. “I'll never let your abomination be born! Not to my body! Follow me, if you dare. I'll find a sword, cut off your legs so you can't follow far, cut off your arms so you can't even drag your pathetic husk along in my trail. So you can't die? Live, then. Live, and suffer as mortals suffer. I can make you suffer!” As she had seen the death god do, she spat full in his face. “How new you are to this world. How naïve!"

  Orchos broke in before her fury was fully vented. “There will be no child, rebel. I deny you that, or any progeny.” Again, white fire erupted from his eyes. Frost recoiled, an uncomprehending scream rising in her throat, a scream that died unvoiced. There was no pain where the flames touched her, only a sensation of emptiness. She touched her belly and rejoiced.

  Gel's seed grew no more, nor would it ever grow.

  “Curse thee!” Gel howled, shaking his fist at the lord of the nine hells. “Thee has killed my child, my son! But not all my hopes. I am yet free from hell!"

  A strange smile parted the god's lips, an expression that suddenly made Frost shudder for the cruelty behind it. “Are thee?” he taunted. “Or have thee entered another, more subtle hell?"

  Gel squinted, stricken by those words; fear and doubt twisted his broken features. “Play no games with me!” he shouted. But Orchos only smiled. Gel peered long into that godly face, then let go a horrified wail, turned, and fled, shoving Tras Sur'tian aside as he disappeared through Skull Gate and into darkness.

  “Good riddance!” Tras Sur'tian barked, hauling himself up on his good leg as he tried not to bump his arm.

  Frost stared through Yahwei's mouth into the impenetrable gloom. Over her shoulder, she said to Orchos, “Where will he go in this world?"

  Came a sibilant whisper in her mind: Not far, daughter. The scales always seem to balance.

  A cry sounded in the distant stillness; a hoarse shout was cut brutally short.

  Moments later, a measured, casual clip-clop echoed on the smoothly worn path just beyond the gate. All turned to watch the flickering pair of flames that descended the road, passed beneath Yahwei's rotten teeth.

  “Such eyes,” Orchos said. “In all this vast cosmos I have never seen their like."

  The unicorn emerged from the night, went straight to Frost, and nuzzled her shoulder. The ebony spike that jutted from his brow glistened with a slick wetness.

  She stroked his mane from crest to withers. “I didn't see him leave,” she said.

  Onokratos also stroked the unicorn. “Born of magic,” he mumbled. “Slain by magic."

  Orchos glanced upward at the stars. “Balance is almost restored,” he said. “Gel is justly rewarded, as I knew he would be.” His gaze fell heavily on Onokratos. “Now, it is time for thee to show that a mortal's honor has greater value."

  Onokratos moved off from the others. He looked steadfastly on the lord of the nine hells. “I am ready to join my daughter,” he said. “For Kalynda's sake and for Aki's, do what must be done."

  Orchos gestured. “Look thee on the sky."

  They followed his upward gaze. The stars shifted again; constellations took on their familiar shapes and claimed their proper positions in the heavens. Then a tenuous web woven of soft saffron light segued over the firmament. Tangled in the strands was Kalynda. She did not struggle. Indeed, she smiled and beckoned to her father.

  But in the center of the sky-spanning web, Frost spied something else, an amorphous black thing, limbless, eyeless. She had the sensation of being scrutinized and knew that the thing looked back. The hairs stood up on her neck.

  “Gath?” Tras Sur'tian whispered.

  She could only nod.

  Father? Kalynda's voice touched their minds. Do you love me, Father?

  Onokratos gave a small, choking cry and nearly collapsed. Tras Sur'tian moved with surprising speed, considering his twisted knee, and caught the old man. He gasped from pain as he took part of the weight on his broken arm. But he did not let go.

  “The chaos lord waits,” Orchos said.

  Onokratos recovered himself. His gaze drifted up to Kalynda's image. “She needs me to be with her,” he told everyone. To Orchos: “What must I do?"

  “Give yourself willingly."

  His eyes never left Kalynda, never wandered to the yawning blackness that was Gath. “I've already said I would."

  Orchos answered, “Then, there is no more."

  With a serene grace, the wizard fell back into Tras Sur'tian's arms. The Korkyran made not a sound but lowered him gently to the dusty floor, peered deeply into the open eyes, which even in death seemed fixed on his daughter. Tras's shoulders drooped, and he hung his head, unable to give voice to his feelings. Finally, he looked up. “He's gone,” he said.

  “So is Gath,” Frost informed him, “and Kalynda and Orchos."

  They gathered him up between them and placed his lifeless corpse beside his daughter. Frost touched the cheeks of the silken-haired child. It was no longer enchantment that kept her so still, but cold, icy death.

  “What about Aki?” she asked of Tras Sur'tian when he bent over the little queen.

  “She breathes,” he said, though all joy seemed drained from him. “See, her chest rises and falls in an easy rhythm."

  She leaned over and felt Aki's face. It was warm with life. Two small eyes fluttered open, then closed again. A faint smile lighted her innocent face. “Let her sleep a while longer,” Frost decided. “Maybe we can carry her away before she has to see any of this."

  Tras sat back wearily and covered his eyes with a hand. The pain of his injuries was present once more in his demeanor. She sat down beside him, wishing she could lean her head on his shoulder as she had done once before, wishing for the comfort of arms around her. But that would cause him greater discomfort. She would have to get up soon and find something to splint his broken arm.

  “I think I've had enough of this business,” she confided quietly. “A farm, maybe, even a tiny one like Oona's could be nice. Or maybe a tavern or an inn where I could dance and drink with my customers. Travelers would sit by my fireplace and sing songs in the evening, and you'd come visit me sometimes.” She lay a hand on Tras's knee as she stared at the sk
y. “Can't meaning be found in a life like that?”

  Tras didn't respond. He had passed out or fallen asleep.

  She looked at the stars, at the blackened crater rim, at the bodies of Onokratos, Kalynda, and Kimon. Somewhere, upon the road, was Gel's body.

  “Thank you, Ashur,” she said to the unicorn, who was standing patiently close at hand. He tossed his mane, whickered, and was quiet again. “Thank you for killing him."

  Her gaze fell lingeringly on Kimon. A wistful memory stole upon her of a day in the woods and soft breath on her face. That little knife began to turn in her heart again, and she waited for the pain to pass. She had tamed bitter memories before. If only she could cry; but she was too exhausted.

  I know thee has no tears...

  She started as the thought touched her mind. “Orchos!” She sat up. There was no sight of the master of men's souls.

  ... or thee might rouse him from this sleep as thee did once before.

  In an instant she scuffled through the dust on hands and knees to lean over Kimon. Her tears had awakened him once before from a spell Onokratos had called the doom-sleep. How many days, weeks ago? Would it work now? Was that all Kiowye had done? If only she could cry! She had to cry!

  Do not, daughter. He is my gift to thee. Unlike the chaos lord, I am not so pinching with a soul. I get so many, and I shall have him again someday. But there is one more matter...

  A piercing shriek from the far side of the arena brought her to her feet. “No!” she wailed. “I saw it destroyed!” She clutched the empty silver sheath on her hip. “I haven't the will to fight it. I'm too tired!"

  It was not destroyed, Orchos told her. It can never be destroyed. It was Ouijah's illusion that made thee think it ruined, and my power that kept it under control when thee cast it away.

  The tortured sound reached a higher, insistent note. “It wants blood!” she said. “And I am sick of blood!"

  The image of the lord of nine hells took shape before her. In his hand, he held Demonfang. He studied it curiously, turned it so the blade caught and reflected starlight. The dagger screamed its hunger.

  Be silent, she heard the death god say, and Demonfang obeyed. He tossed it at her feet. Now, sheathe it.

  She hesitated, reluctant to reclaim the cursed weapon. “No, I want no more from it. I have fed you souls long enough, corpse-eater. I am done with killing."

  Sheathe it, daughter. Then bury it, if thee likes, or drop it in a well. But it belongs to thee for as long as thee walks this earth.

  She bent, picked up Demonfang from the dust, and slammed it into the sheath. Then she unbuckled its belt and held it out to the death god. “Take this burden from me,” she begged. “I can't bear it any longer. I'm too weary."

  Orchos was no longer there.

  “Samidar?"

  She turned at the sound of her name. Kimon stirred, raised himself up. His eyes opened slowly, beautiful eyes that smiled and made her forget Demonfang's evil, eyes that filled her with joy. She flung herself down beside him and kissed him, pressed her face to his.

  Then the tears came, grateful, happy tears.

  And a voice in her head said: Farewell, daughter, until we meet forever.

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1983 by Robin W. Bailey

  Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media

  ISBN 978-1-4976-0904-4

  This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

  345 Hudson Street

  New York, NY 10014

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