The Forever Gate Compendium Edition

by Isaac Hooke

  "You expect me to climb this?" Hoodwink pulled at the rope. He felt the echo of a distant vibration pass through the material. The sensation was eerie, like plucking the string of a giant lute.

  "Think of it as a symbol." Leader gazed blankly up the wall. "Of the hurdles you've faced in this life. You have overcome them all to get to this point. Now you must overcome this last." Leader turned his eyes downward, to the snow drift piled against the wall. "We tried to dig under it at first. Like the sappers of yesteryear. That proved a mistake. The wall is buried in the ground at least as deep as it is high. And digging through frozen ground isn't a pleasant thing." He pursed his lips. "It was the time of our exploratory years. When we believed the Outside a sanctuary. A few of us came up with the rope idea. Erdus and Callus were the first to surmount the wall. They'd practiced for years, taught themselves the lost art of mountaineering. It was they who anchored the ropes. Good men. Their loss was irreplaceable." Leader's eyes drifted upward. "The climb will take around five hours. You'll find a new rope every half hour or so. There are ten in total. You've committed the address to memory?"

  Hoodwink sighed. "John Baker, son of Arrold Baker, 18 Market Street." Though not a User, John was a close cousin of Leader. John assumed quite the risk by being their middle man. Hoodwink hoped the gols didn't use him to hunt the rest of the Users down. But Ari and the others were too smart to let that happen.

  Leader motioned to the duffel bag slung over Hoodwink's shoulder, the one Ari had given him. "Put on the climbing gear."

  Hoodwink slid the bag to the ground. He removed his cloak and handed it to Ari, and then he opened the bag and retrieved a balaclava. He slid the warm cloth down over his face, properly aligning the eyeholes so he could see. He was worried at first that he wouldn't have any air without holes for the nose and mouth, but he seemed to breathe fine through the balaclava's fabric. His breath did sound loud in his ears, though.

  Next he swapped his thick mittens for the thinner climbing gloves contained in the bag.

  "Gloves with leather palms for rope handling," Leader explained. "The tips can be folded back, and they become fingerless if you ever need a better grip. When you expose the fingers you'll have to expend charge to keep from getting frostbite, of course."

  Hoodwink slid the top section of the gloves open, and sure enough the tips of his fingers were exposed. He slid the gloves closed again. He reached into the duffel bag and removed a thick jacket and extra layer of pants.

  "Down jacket," Leader said as and Hoodwink slid the jacket over his fleece sweater and buttoned up the front. "One of the thickest jackets available. Made with the down feathers from the Eider ducks of the south. You'll be hot at first wearing that, but trust me, as you near the top of the Gate, you'll be glad you have it. The pants are down-stuffed as well. You'll have to leave your sword."

  Hoodwink's fingers protectively clasped the hilt. "What if I need it?" His voice sounded muffled inside the balaclava.

  Leader compressed his lips. "It'll only weight you down. Won't fit in the down pants anyway."

  Ari stepped forward. "I'll give you my dagger," she offered.

  Hoodwink reluctantly unbuckled his sword and scabbard and gave it to Ari. He accepted her small dagger in exchange and stuffed it into an inner pocket of his jacket. Hoodwink slid the pants over his boots and up onto his existing woolen trousers, covering the dagger. He buttoned up the pants, and when he lowered his hands the jacket hem tumbled over his waist, ensuring that his midsection would remain warm during the climb.

  Hoodwink retrieved the next item from the bag—a pair of goggles.

  "Those are to protect your eyes from wind," Leader said. "Frozen corneas aren't a fun thing. You're familiar with frostbite? Well, when a frozen cornea thaws out, it's like a third degree burn in the eyes."

  Hoodwink pulled the strap and gingerly lowered the goggles over his head. They fit securely over the eyeholes of the balaclava so that no portion of his face was now exposed. Although the periphery of his vision was blocked by the goggles, he could see well enough.

  The last items in the bag were a pair of spiked metal frames a little larger than his palms, with leather straps on top. Hoodwink held them up curiously.

  "Those are for your boots," Leader said. "Crampons, they're called. They give your feet purchase where there is none. You won't really need them until you reach the icy patches higher up. Still, they shouldn't wear down too badly against ordinary rock, and they'll be a hassle to put on midway the climb, so I suggest you strap them on now."

  Hoodwink slipped the crampons over his boots. The metal spikes protruded from all sides of each boot, with two particularly long, mandible-like extensions at the fronts. He tightened the straps, fitting the crampons securely to his boots. When he stood, it felt like he walked on nails, and he had to extend his arms for balance.

  The bag was now empty, and Hoodwink returned it to Ari. She stowed his cloak and sword inside, then slung it over her shoulder. She reached behind his head and raised the fur-lined hood of his jacket. She pulled the drawstrings, tightening the hood around his balaclava.

  "You were damn right about it being hot," Hoodwink said, his voice sounding even more muffled now.

  Ari handed him the second, smaller duffel bag she carried.

  "In that one," Leader said. "You'll find the usual suspects. A water bladder. Probably will freeze solid higher up. A pee bottle. Probably won't need it. Salted meat. Probably won't be hungry. Couple of light ice axes. Oh, and the ever important rigged diary. Use it. Keep us updated."

  The Users had either found the diaries or created them in years bygone—it wasn't made clear to Hoodwink. Whatever the case, the books came in pairs. When you wrote in one, your words appeared in the other no matter how far away you were.

  Hoodwink secured the smaller duffel bag over his shoulder.

  "You never told me," Hoodwink said. "Did you give diaries to the others who went over this wall?"

  Leader's palsy seemed to have gotten worse in the last few moments—his lips twitched and his eyes blinked spasmodically. Maybe he was just excited. Or nervous. "We did give them diaries, yes."

  Hoodwink wanted the man to look at him, wanted to stare into those eyes and see what truths he could read there, but Leader didn't oblige.

  "And what did you get back?" Hoodwink said.

  A smile came to Leader's twitching lips. It reminded Hoodwink of a slithering snake. "The truth."

  The old man was shaking all over now, and he removed one of his mittens and extended the palm toward Hoodwink. The start of a handshake.

  Hoodwink accepted the palm.

  A massive surge of current passed from Leader through Hoodwink's gloves and into his hand. Hoodwink couldn't move or break the grip. He could only stand there, just shaking spasmodically with Leader for long moments.

  When the old man finally released him, both of them collapsed.

  Viewing the world from where he lay sprawled in the snow, Hoodwink blinked a few times and then, feeling strangely full of energy, he scrambled to his feet.

  The spark veritably flared inside him.

  Leader had recharged him.

  Ari helped Leader rise. The old man had stopped twitching, and his face was deathly pale. His breath came in wheezes.

  "Thank you," Hoodwink said.

  Leader nodded slowly. "I have one last... gift for you." His voice sounded weak, and Hoodwink had to lean in closer to hear. "A word of caution, really. Once you reach the tenth rope, you're in the Death Zone. So high that there's a third less oxygen than down here. You'll feel utterly exhausted because of the thin air. You won't be able to think clearly. Nothing worse than being at the top of the world, balanced between life and death, and not being able to think. One thing is for certain—stay in the Death Zone too long, and you die."

  "What are you saying?"

  Leader smiled grimly. "Keep climbing. At the very top, you'll want to fall asleep. Truly, you will." The old man gazed into Hoodwink's eyes f
or the first time this meeting. There was a certain sternness to them. "Fall asleep and you die. Now go. Before you change your mind. And good luck."

  Ari kissed Hoodwink on the cheek, through the balaclava. "Thank you. You're saving me by doing this. You're saving us all."

  "I doubt it." He stared at her through the goggles. "But I'll do my best. I will." He wrapped his gloved fingers tentatively around the rope.

  "Hoodwink?" Ari said, a hint of urgency in her tone.

  "Yes?"

  "Don't forget what you told me." She was blinking a little more than was usual. "Don't you ever forget it."

  He was confused. "What did I say?"

  "That you're coming back!" She sounded exasperated.

  Hoodwink nodded carefully. "I haven't forgotten that, don't you worry." He could never forget that. He forced a smile. "I'll return. I promise. If I have to crawl through the pit of hell to do it, I'll come back for you. I swear it."

  Ari's lips were trembling. She turned away to hide her face from him.

  Hoodwink braced his boots against the Gate and began the long climb into eternity.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hoodwink walked the rocky surface, raising himself hand-over-hand along the rope. He hadn't known what to expect, but this wasn't so bad. "Aid climbing," the Users had called it—rope laid over a route to make it easier for future climbers. He couldn't imagine what those first two climbers must have gone through to place the rope.

  The climb proved a little monotonous. It was somewhat similar to trudging on the ground, bent-over, gripping a rope for balance. He understood now what it felt like to be a crooked old man like Leader. Except Leader was only twenty-nine, prematurely aged by the power that flowed through him. The same future awaited Hoodwink and his daughter. Well, whether or not he'd see that future was the question, wasn't it? He had to make it past the next few hours to start with.

  The first rope went by easily enough. Hand over hand, foot over foot. Thirty minutes or so transpired.

  The second rope came into view. It overlapped the first rope by some paces, so that Hoodwink could've switched or used both of them if he wanted. The first rope ended in an anchor of small cords that passed through metallic loops wedged into the stone wall.

  One segment down. Nine more to go.

  He bounce-tested the second cord with a quick pull, and when he felt the faint answering vibration, he slowly transferred his weight until the rope carried his entire body.

  He climbed onward, hesitant at first, and then faster as his confidence grew. He was growing tired, true, but he covered the second segment almost as vigorously as the first.

  He started slowing down on the third rope, when the climb began to wear on him. The rock face became at times encrusted in ice, for which the spikes on the crampons proved especially suited, the sharp metal points digging right into the ice so that the tips of his boots found purchase.

  By the fourth rope, he felt like going back. His shoulders ached. His biceps throbbed. The sides of his back behind his armpits felt numb. The warmth he had felt in those down-feather clothes was long gone, so much so that his extremities throbbed painfully from the cold. He released small spurts of electricity into his fingers and toes to warm himself, knowing that he had to be careful not to exhaust his charge.

  By the fifth rope, he was thoroughly beaten. He couldn't go on. By his reckoning, he'd been climbing at least three hours. But he forced himself. He promised that he would stop for a rest at the sixth.

  At last, rope number six came into view, and he climbed until he reached it. He took his promised rest.

  Feeling utterly spent, he knelt against the rockface, and, keeping one hand firmly on rope number five, he reached the other hand behind his lower back and grabbed rope number six. He threaded the end of number six around his waist and tied it in a knot, a tricky task with one hand—especially a gloved hand at that—but he eventually managed after slipping open the fingertips of the glove and braving the numbing wind.

  He tentatively released his hold on rope number five, and when he was satisfied that the knot on number six would hold at his waist, he rested. He resealed his glove, and balled his hands to warm his fingers. He released a trickle of electricity into his extremities, and it was enough to improve the blood flow to his fingers and toes and prevent frostbite. He moved very slowly the whole time. He wanted to eat some of the salted meat from his duffel bag, but then he'd have to lift the balaclava and expose his face. Also, he was afraid that any movement would cause him to fall, which is why he kept his knees braced firmly against the rockface the whole time, unable to shake off the feeling that the rope at his waist would unravel any second.

  The urge to look down proved almost overwhelming. Just one peek. What was the worst that could happen?

  He'd lose heart, that's what. Not to mention the vertigo would probably overwhelm him. The same vertigo he felt if he looked up too far, and saw the hopeless, infinite grade above. By focusing on the icy rockface before him and nothing else, he made the climb doable. And by not knowing how far he'd plummet, by pretending he was only a few feet off the ground, well, that helped calm nerves that would otherwise paralyze him, or lead to a fall.

  But while he didn't look down, he didn't climb up either.

  He just stayed there, gloves gently wrapped around rope number six in case the knot unraveled.

  He stayed there, waiting, listening to the howling wind.

  For what?

  Resting, he told himself.

  He was cold. So cold. It would only grow colder the higher he went. Another incentive to just stay here a little longer.

  Halfway. Come on Hood. You're halfway there.

  He sighed, got a good grip on the sixth rope with one hand, and reluctantly untied the knot at his waist with the other. He felt the sudden pull as his arm was forced to bear the weight of his body once more. He quickly joined his other hand to the rope, and properly placed his feet to share the load.

  He jerked himself up the rope, one hand and foot at a time, his body rebelling with every step. Resting had proven a mistake because he just wanted to stop again. His muscles ached all over. He had no energy. He wasn't a climber. What was he doing out here on the Forever Gate, a mile above the city?

  Saving Ari, that's what. Now climb damn it.

  He climbed, not daring to overthink his motivation, knowing how easily he could poke holes in it. He climbed for Ari, and that was good enough.

  Each handspan became a small battle. Though it was a battle he was determined to win.

  The air became thin, and he found himself panting constantly now. Or was he just tired?

  Somehow, he reached rope number seven.

  Then rope number eight.

  The frigid wind tore into him incessantly, and at times it felt like he wasn't even wearing a jacket. Despite the gloves, the gusts bit into his fingers. His toes were numb inside his boots, as were his cheeks under the balaclava. He had to constantly expend some of his charge just to keep the frostbite at bay.

  Finally he reached rope number nine. Whereas all the previous ropes had overlapped to some extent, the ninth rope lay above the eighth.

  But it was only a little ways above, just an arm-length. He could handle an arm-length of bare wall, couldn't he?

  He climbed to the very top of rope number eight, wrapping his hands around the metallic loops that anchored the rope into the wall. There was no ice here, just pure, unadulterated stone.

  He considered opening the tips of the gloves, but then decided against it. Instead he reached up and ran the fingers of one hand along the surface, searching for something that could take his weight. There. The base of a tiny fissure. He found a higher foothold for his boot, letting the jagged crampons grab hold of the rock, and then he slowly transferred his weight to the handhold. The first joint of his finger flared in protest, but he found another foothold with his other leg, and he was able to haul himself high enough to grab the next rope.

  When both
his hands were secure around that rope, he exhaled in relief. He'd done it.

  The ninth rope was in hand. After this, there was only one more rope to go.

  He climbed mechanically now more than anything else. Raise one hand. Then the other. Raise one foot. Then the other. His arms and legs felt like stones. He thought they'd drop off if he stopped. He kept his focus on the wall in front of him at all times.

  Raise one hand. Then the other.

  And then it was done. He arrived at the loops and cords that anchored rope number nine, and he glanced upward, searching for the final rope.

  He saw only the dizzying Forever Gate, reaching skyward in unending infinity.

  He had reached the Death Zone, where every moment counted.

  And there was no tenth rope.

  Worse, it had started to snow.

  CHAPTER TEN

  What is a mind?

  Why does it betray us at those times when we need it most?

  Why does it fill us with fear, and emotion, at those times when we most need to avoid fear, when we most need to be emotionless?

  Perhaps the better question might be, what is reality?

  Is it some cog in a giant wheel? A smaller part of a grander fabrication, of which we all play our bit parts? Are our lives merely parts of this wheel? Predetermined and preset? We live out our days, and time passes, inexorably, slowly building up to one key, quintessential climax, where all the choices we think we've made and the paths we think we've taken converge beyond our control, and we find ourselves on a rope along a wall miles above the city we were born in. At the Death Zone, with another quarter-mile to go.

  And that rope has just run out.

  Hoodwink leaned his head against the rockface, and closed his eyes.

  It was over. He'd have to climb all the way back down. He'd have to tell Ari he couldn't do it.

  The rope had run out, he'd say. The rope had run out.

  And he could see her, looking back at him with disappointment in her eyes as she set out to climb the wall in his place. I wouldn't have needed a rope, she'd say.