by Janean Worth
The Narrow Gate
By Janean Worth
The Narrow Gate by Janean Worth
Copyright 2014 by Author’s Art and Janean Worth
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, xerography or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author, Janean Worth and the publisher, Author’s Art, www.authorsart.com
Cover Art design by Janean Worth
Mathew 7:13 “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. 14 But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
Chapter One
Mathew awoke to a dank world of wrenching pain. His head throbbed from thirst, his eyes felt gritty, his lacerated hands throbbed, his blistered feet ached and his back quivered with spasms caused by being forced into such a cramped position for so long.
His mouth tasted like blood, and his lips were already cracking from lack of water. He licked his lips to moisten them, tasting dirt and wincing as his tongue, swollen and sore where he’d bitten it when he’d fallen, passed over his mouth.
He wasn’t accustomed to pain. And he was pretty sure he’d never had this much of it at one time before. He couldn’t ever remember having more than a scraped knee or a bruised shin in his whole fourteen years. But that was before. Now things were different. Now he was just a commodity. Before, he’d been a person. But then his mother had died, and he’d become an orphan.
He caught his breath at the thought, feeling the worst pain of all slither through his chest. His heart twisted in the agony of deep sorrow as he remembered his mother’s passing. He missed her. Oh, how he missed her. But most of all, he missed everything that she had done for him. Things he didn’t even know about until it was too late.
He shifted inside the hole in the ground, dislodging dirt and small pebbles from above his head. They rained down on him, coating him in more grit. He was already filthy, covered in dirt, mud and quite a bit of his own blood, but he hated the feel of more dirt on his skin. That was something else he wasn’t used to. His mother, the maid and the housekeeper had always insisted that he keep himself very clean so that he wouldn’t be mistaken for a Stray. He hadn’t minded. He liked being clean. He liked the fancy clothes they gave him to wear. The feel of the dirt now coating his skin disgusted him. He didn’t like the way it stuck to him, or the way it clumped in his many scrapes and scratches, or the way it smelled mixed with his sweat and blood. Mostly, he didn’t like it for what it represented. Stray!
His stomach growled, a nasty reminder that he couldn’t stay hidden inside the hole forever. He winced at the foreign feel of his own hunger. He wasn’t accustomed to being hungry, either. How long had it been since he’d eaten? How long had he been hiding in the hole? It was dark now, and above him, he could only see a sliver of night sky, the blackness polka-dotted with bright stars. No sign of the moon. Not that seeing the moon would help him anyway. He wouldn’t know how to tell the time by looking at the moon any more than a rock would. He sighed. He wasn’t used to taking care of himself. He didn’t know how. He was realizing that he didn’t know a lot of things.
He did remember that it had been yesterday morning when he’d last taken a bite of food. It has been a fat, flaky pastry, filled with nuts and dried fruit, fresh from the oven. Prepared just for him by the housekeeper. He wished now that he’d eaten the whole thing, and asked for a dozen more, but at the time he had sneered at the offering after taking only one bite. A pastry hadn’t been what he’d wanted. He’d wanted cake at the time. If only he’d known what the day would bring. Right now, if she was near, he’d have eaten whatever the housekeeper gave him, and he would have been grateful. He sighed, sniffing back his anguish. He would never see the housekeeper, or one of her pastries, again.
He would probably never be clean again. Or full again. Or not thirsty. He would probably be miserable the rest of his short life, now that everything had changed.
His stomach growled again, and though he had no idea how he would find food or water, he forced himself to crawl slowly out of the hole. He felt a bit like the animal that must have made the underground den, cautiously creeping up out of the ground, keeping a lookout for anything that moved, knowing that he was being hunted.
A whimper of pain and fear escaped him as he emerged fully from the hole and his stiff muscles protested. His eyes darted around, looking for any sign of the Enforcers. Seeing none, he stood up, whimpering again as his back cramped when he straightened. He pressed his dry, cracked lips together, compressing them to prevent any further sound from escaping. He didn’t want to risk giving himself away if they were near.
He didn’t know where they were, or if they were even close. It was hard to see through the bushes, trees and darkness that surrounded him now. They had been quite close when he’d found the hole and crawled inside. But he had blacked out from fear and exhaustion, and now he didn’t know how much time had passed or how far away the Enforcers might be. He started forward cautiously, one step at a time. So slowly.
With every step, his body ached. He tried to ignore the pain. To a certain extent, he was successful. He was able to block out the painful scrape of his shoes against the blistered spots on his feet. The sting of the myriad of tiny cuts and scrapes on his hands, arms and face were a mere nuisance compared to everything else, so he ignored them too. But he was unable to ignore his raving thirst. The dryness of his mouth felt like torture, the need for a drink of water pounded in his head with a fierce ache.
He didn’t know much about survival skills, but he knew he needed to find something to drink soon.
He slogged on through the darkness, trying to be as quiet as he could, trying not to think of what would happen if the Enforcers caught him. He was more afraid of them than he was of anything else that might lurk out in the darkness. Which was ironic, because before he’d been afraid to be outside GateWide after dark, terrified of the unknown things that were said to lurk there, and he’d believed that the Enforcers were to be revered and trusted.
How wrong he’d been.
He stumbled over a fallen branch and froze as it snapped with a loud crack. The noise seemed as loud as the reports from the pistols that the Enforcers had fired at him earlier as he’d fled out the Gate. He looked around in panic. Had they heard? Were they near? He strained his eyes in the darkness, feeling his eyeballs bulge out of his head as he forced them to try to peer through the cloaking blackness.
To the right, he heard a whisper of sound. He tiptoed over to a large tree, pressing close to the trunk, trying to make himself smaller. The tree was wide enough to hide his slim form, but he still felt exposed anyway. He crouched down into a ball, huddled against the tree bark, listening.
He heard the sound again. There was someone near. The sound came from a pair of men’s deep voices, pitched low.
“Do you see the little Stray?” one harsh voice whispered.
“No, but I heard a noise. He’s got to be close. Gabert lost his trail only a few hundred yards from here,” another voice answered.
“That was hours ago! The sniveling little Stray is probably long gone by now. You probably heard a squirrel.”
The other man laughed quietly, “He’d better be gone, and hope we don’t find him. I can’t remember when a Stray has led us on such a chase or caused as much trouble. Gabert is ready to strangle the little Stray with his bare hands.”
“Might as well. This one is scrawny. And too pampered. He won’t hold up long in the House.�
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“Doesn’t matter. Gabert may kick him a few times, maybe even slap him around a bit, but he won’t waste a Stray by strangling him. Even if the Stray won’t last long in the House. The Sovereign wants all of the Strays that he can get. And you know the Sovereign gets what he wants.”
Mathew stopped listening, frozen in horror. The House! They were going to send him to the House? Mathew tried to keep his knees from knocking together as he shivered in fear.
He had to escape. He didn’t want to go to the House. He’d heard stories about the House. None of them were good.
He began to move away from the voices, still crouched low to the ground, trying to make himself small and invisible. He wanted to run, but he’d tried that earlier. It hadn’t worked out so well. All of the cuts, scratches and bruises on his body attested to that. He was clumsy when he hurried, and not accustomed to strenuous physical activity. In the dark, he would try to go slower. Be quieter. Be sneaky. He was good at sneaky. If there was anything he was good at, it was that.
He crept quietly away, careful not to step on any more branches, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. Minutes ticked by as he methodically put one foot in front of the other, carefully placing his weight so that no sound would be heard from his footfalls, hunched down low, barely breathing. For once, he was thankful for his small size. Other boys his age were much larger than he was. He’d always hated that. But now, his small size worked in his favor, allowing him to move silently through the darkness.
After a while, his straining ears began to pick up another sound – the trickle of running water. His mouth watered in response and he swallowed reflexively. As if on cue, his head commenced pounding out his thirst again.
The sound meant that there must be a creek or river nearby. And the Enforcers were sure to be watching it. But he was so thirsty. He had to have water.
Chapter Two
Mathew crept closer to the softly babbling river, keeping hidden in the thick, thorny underbrush. He could see the group of Enforcers on the other side of the bank. There were so many of them. He knew if he was seen that he would have virtually no chance of escaping them this time. Still, his terrible thirst drove him on. He felt as if he would die in mere moments if he didn’t have some water. The pain in his head was horrible, and the dry tissues of this throat ached for moisture.
He spotted a place downstream, where a large stand of cattails grew right up to the edge of the water, and slowly made his way to the spot. The cattail growth was very thick; the reedy stalks a dense tangle. He squeezed carefully though them, being as quiet as he could. It seemed to take forever before he was deep enough into the stand of cattails to hide himself.
Being unable to see what was in front of him in the shrouding darkness and dense reedy stems frightened him. For a moment he thought of what could happen if there was something else hiding in the cattails with him. Right there in the water. Some creature that was more terrible than the Enforcers and more horrific than the House. Despite his fright, his thirst drove him forward. He stuck his filthy hand in the cool, dark water, not bothering to take the time to rinse off the grime before bringing it back to his lips, water in his cupped hand.
The river water was like ambrosia in his mouth. He gulped quietly, being careful not to slurp. After several minutes of refilling and sipping water from his cupped palm, the worst of his thirst was quenched. As the pounding in his head eased, he was able to focus again on the trouble he was in. The Enforcers had not left the area. They were right up the river from him. Only the barrier of water and night protected him. Now, the darkness and dense cattails hid him well, but when the bright light of morning came, he knew that they would spot him easily, despite the denseness of the cattails.
He would have to leave his tiny island of safety soon and get as far away from the Enforcers as he could. But he didn’t know where to go. Nowhere was really safe. And he knew no one who would help him. Everyone he had known was back behind the Gate in the settlement. No one there would hide him from the Enforcers. No one would dare go against the Sovereign. If he was to be sent to the House after he was captured, then to the House he would go.
He crouched there in the thick stand of cattails, his feet sinking slowly into the silky silt of the riverbank, and tried not to think about that part too much. He didn’t want to go to the House, and so his only alternative was to move on. Go somewhere. Anywhere.
He heard the sound of a horse behind him and held his breath, afraid to turn around. The horse stopped just a few feet from the river. Mathew slowly turned his head to look.
Through the reedy stalks, he saw a rider dismount from the horse, then drop the reins so that the horse could move forward to drink from the river. The rider moved off into the trees a moment later, grumbling about troublesome Strays, leaving Mathew alone with the horse. The horse took a long draught of water, then huffed in a deep breath and turned its head to look right at Mathew.
Mathew froze. The horse knew he was in the cattails. He stared helplessly back, glad that the animal was a horse, and not a dog. A dog would have instantly alerted its master. The horse simply turned back to the river and took another long drink and shifted its weight to steady its stance upon the silty riverbank. When the animal shifted to the side, Mathew saw the saddlebags tied to the saddle. They were bulging, full of something. Mathew glanced around quickly, trying to catch sight of the rider, but the Enforcer was nowhere to be seen.
Mathew slowly crept out of his hiding spot toward the horse. The animal turned its head to look as Mathew approached, but didn’t seem to care enough to be alarmed. Mathew crept closer.
He was good at this. Good at being sneaky. Many were the times he had stolen the things he wanted when he had been denied them - usually little things, like a shiny pocket watch or a bag of coins to spend as he wished. He’d gotten good at taking the things he wanted, when he wanted. He sidled up to the horse as silently as any sneak thief in the night, which, of course, he was.
The horse didn’t so much as snuffle as Mathew approached, and for one short second, he thought about taking the horse and riding off down the river. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he rejected it. He didn’t know much about horses. And he was not a good rider. He wouldn’t make it far before the Enforcers caught up with him. No, it was better to just take the saddlebags and hope they were filled with food, or something equally useful.
He carefully untied the saddlebags, then hefted their heavy weight silently over his shoulders. They were a lot heavier than he’d thought they’d be. He turned away from the horse and waded quietly into the gently flowing water. The water quickly climbed up to his chest as he crept forward. He was careful to keep the saddlebags, and the tiny velveteen bag in his shirt pocket, dry. The river wasn’t fast-flowing, so it was easy to keep his feet under him without floundering. In the darkness, he hoped that his slow-moving form would blend in with the black water. At least he knew enough to realize that the water would hide his trail.
As he trudged through the water, getting farther and farther from the Enforces, he again thought back on the previous day’s happenings. He still could not believe all that he had lost that day. When he’d awoken that morning, life was as it had always been. He’d risen and dressed in the clothes that the housekeeper had laid out for him, and then gone downstairs to dine. She’s served him pastry, instead of cake, and he hadn’t been pleasant to the poor woman. Then, instead of going to his tutor’s house for lessons as he was supposed to do every morning, he’s strolled through the marketplace for a couple of hours. He’d seen a shiny sword in a vendor’s booth, and knowing that his mother would never let him have it, had snuck under the table and stolen it. That was when the trouble had started. For the first time since he was very young, he’d gotten caught.
Of course, he had run, with the vendor at his heels. He’d run straight home, knowing that even though he’d stolen the sword, his mother would make things right. She always did. But when he’d gotten to his hou
se, and rushed inside, the vendor had followed. The man had been very angry, shouting and cursing. His mother had come running. She’d tried to smooth things over, but the man had slapped her and refused her payment. His mother’s eyes had gone wide, and then she’d clutched her chest – not her cheek where he had struck her- as if in horrible agony. In just seconds, she’d crumpled to the floor. The vendor had fled. Mathew had screamed for the housekeeper. In those last moments of her life, his mother had drawn him close to her, pulling him down so that she could whisper in his ear. Your father’s Old Tech. Hidden. In my jewel box. If I die, you must take it and run. The Enforcers will come for you…a Stray. You must not be caught. Please, promise me you will run.
He’d been too distraught to ask her where he should run to, and why, after counting on the Enforcers for their protection all of his life, they would now be a danger to him. The housekeeper had finally come, but there had been nothing the poor woman could do. His mother had breathed her last breath moments later.
Something rustled in the brush next to the riverbank, startling him out of his horrible memories. He stopped slogging through the water, crouching down into the cool, liquid blackness of it as far as he could without getting the saddlebags and his shirt pocket wet.
The water gurgled around him, sounding overly loud in the darkness. The sound came again, and he stood still as a startled fawn, barely daring to breath. There was the snap of a branch, and a small shape detached itself from the shadows of the underbrush and crept toward the water’s edge.
Relief swamped him at this first glance of the thing, thinking that it was just a thirsty animal after a drink. But then the thing crouched on its haunches, gathering its legs under it, and reaching out to cup water in its hands for a drink. Just as he’d done. Mathew couldn’t conceal his small gasp. The shape was a person. A very small person.
