Alexa Drey- the Gates of Striker Bay

by Ember Lane

  “He was a romantic?”

  She clasped her hands together, wringing them in prayer, holding them to her heart. “A hopeless one.” A ghostly tear meandered down her snow-white cheek. “He set sail the very next day.”

  “But never came back.”

  She bowed her head. “No, never, and my heart was shattered into a thousand pieces.”

  I reached out, offering her my hand, but she flinched away.

  “They came from Ruse a few years after. Bastards used Billy’s ship, among others. They killed everyone, everything, myself included, though that was a godsend. The rest you know because there isn’t much more to the tale.”

  “Just a life as a chooser, until I choose for him, yet he cannot choose himself. How cruel is that?”

  “No one said it was easy, but choose, you must. What is your decision? Was he mostly good or mostly bad?”

  I thought upon it.

  “What restaurant?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What restaurant did he propose to you in?”

  “The Lobster Basket on Sea View Way.”

  “Tell him this. Tell him he has one last mission, to accompany me to Ruse, and if it succeeds, we will all meet at The Lobster Basket, and I will choose that day. Tell him that.”

  “That is too cruel,” she snapped.

  “Why? You’ve already waited an eternity; what’s another month?”

  “A month too long.”

  “I have one other condition.”

  Her innocent expression morphed to anger once more. She stood, towering over me.

  “What?” she screamed.

  “That he brings you there. That we all feast like you should have, that we have that night together.”

  The anger vanished in an instant. Her lip quivered, and her eyes beseeched me. “Tell me; tell me you can. Promise me.”

  “If I make it out of Ruse, I promise.”

  She jumped up. “It will be magical, just how I always dreamed.” And she pulled up her long dress and hurried up the steps. “I shall go find Billy now and tell him.”

  “Won’t he be at the Endings?” I called after her.

  “He’ll come. He never says no to me.”

  I conjured a glowsphere as the room darkened and then walked up the stairs. “Stupid Alexa,” I muttered to myself. “Making crazy promises.”

  Yet inside I was pleased. I had a course, and though I was yet to fulfill my promise to Billy, I felt like I was a lot closer. The scourge of Striker Bay indeed, he was nothing like it. He was a harmless trader who happened…

  The import of what she’d said struck me. Ruse had been dead. Did that mean the ship had arrived at the planet and all of them had died en route? If so, where did Billy fit into it? How come he was alive? And where had ShadowDancer and his army of Cers come from? I knew only Ruse would hold the answers, no other place. Yet if I ventured there, was I really venturing to a space wreck—a deserted ship—in perpetual orbit around a planet that should have been its salvation?

  How was that even possible?

  But assuming my fragile theory was correct. I now knew Billy had survived whatever had hamstrung Ruse, and that he’d made contact with Valkyrie and other ships, and therefore, I had to believe that we’d all arrived, that we were at our destination now—that our time was up much sooner than ShadowDancer had promised.

  And that things were coming to a head: the end was in sight.

  I tiptoed back into the room but couldn’t get past Melinka.

  “Been busy, have we?”

  I sat down next to her. “Charlotte.”

  “Oh yes, a tragic tale.”

  “Truly, what a romance escaped. A cruel, cruel twist of fate.”

  Melinka stifled a laugh, bringing her hand over her mouth. “That depends whose version you believe.”

  “Eh?”

  “Well, Charlotte always tells their tale slightly differently from Billy. She has them as lovers, insatiable, unending, about to be married and turn into one of those infuriating newlyweds who gush over each other and look down at all others knowing the others' love isn’t as pure as their own. Billy tells a slightly different tale.”

  “Do spill.” I shuffled closer.

  “In his tale, the trapped groom sets sail for the horizon under the guise of finding gemstones to tailor the most unique wedding ring in history. In his tale, death is a lucky escape.” She looked at me with a beady eye. “I do hope you didn’t promise her anything.”

  I bit my lip.

  “Might have. Did Billy…”

  She patted my knee. “Billy had second thoughts. He was too used to being alone, and while he hankered for her love, he dreaded the same. Billy scarpered. Billy ran.”

  “But he keeps coming back here.”

  Melinka laughed then, and the fog glowed rusty through the window, and Mezzerain roused, Pog stretched, and Sutech Charm finally set his goblet down.

  “Billy Long Thumb is not the first man to dither when it comes to love,” Mezzerain pronounced.

  We breakfasted on biscuits and water, and it was as dour as it sounded. Gloom gripped us as we waited for Melinka to ready herself. We all wanted it over and done with. Speaker’s Isle had held us long enough. There was little else here that concerned the living. Sutech fidgeted nervously, clearly dreading what was to come.

  “A night in a haunted house, and now we dwell? Why not get it over and done with?”

  Mezzerain perked. “I’m for that too. The dead have their own problems, and after the demise of Variant, are no doubt busy welcoming new souls to their lands.”

  But Melinka seemed to be waiting for just the right time, and there was no hurrying her. “Certain things have to align. The dead, as you are so fond of calling them, might need time to prepare as well. This one, especially.” Her words unsettled me.

  Pog glanced at me then ambled over to the lofty window, rubbing it free of its mist coating, and pressing his nose against it. “The fog’s lifting.”

  “A good omen,” Mezzerain said, throwing a log on the fire.

  Melinka joined Pog, her hand draped on his shoulder. “Do you think she’s ready?”

  “Yes.”

  She moved to the table once more, sitting there, expecting us to follow immediately. But our bones were weary. Mine strained to rise, and when they did, each step to the table took all my will. Trailing my finger over its dusty surface, I took my position opposite Melinka. Pog sat on my right, and Mezzerain walked to his place.

  “No.” Melinka’s voice rang out like the toll of a signal bell. “This is not your task. Today, we rouse Mandrake, and so it is only fitting that the table is set with those from that place.”

  She stared at me, and I suddenly understood, and what I’d thought might be—what I’d discounted as being too horrific even for Barakdor, now looked likely. I began trembling, shaking uncontrollably. “No.” It was the only word I could find, all others having fled. “No,” I said again.

  Sutech stood, his face paled. Of all of us, he sat the least well with the notion of the afterlife. Strange on the face of it, seeing as he was supposed to be the personification of evil. Wasn’t that what the Lowland hordes were, devil worshipers, dark-art practitioners, and necromancers? He staggered over, using the backs of the chairs for support.

  “The dead should remain dead. There is nothing for them here.”

  At that point, I wholeheartedly agreed with him.

  Melinka reached out, taking his and Pog’s hand. They reached to me, but I flinched away.

  “No.”

  “It must be done,” Melinka snapped.

  “It’s too cruel.”

  Melinka’s steel eyes focused on me. “It is the only way.”

  My whole body revolted at it, but my fingers crawled toward Pog’s outstretched hand, into Sutech’s sweaty palm. He glanced at me, his eyes devoid of emotion, shocked, his face drawn and as pale as those we would summon.

  “Barath G’arag no goch,”
Melinka began. Those ancient words curling toward me like a heavy fog, words of the daemon, words of dread. “Barath G’arag no goch.”

  Sutech’s hand snapped away from mine.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, his teeth gritted together. “It’s not right, not natural.” He stood, slamming his fist onto the table. “The dead should not be roused, no matter who.”

  Melinka stiffened. “Sit!” she commanded. “Sit down now!” She glared at him. “No matter that you fought while she was alive, do not obstruct her in death.”

  Sutech wavered. “By all the gods, no.” His knees gave way but then locked into place. He leaned heavily on the table, both knuckles white. “She planned all this?”

  “Did you really think your daughter would accept any outcome other than the one she desired?”

  Silence crashed down around us, Melinka’s words confirming what I suspected. Mezzerain opened a bottle of wine, pouring a goblet full. “It may be early, but what’s good enough for a priest, is surely good enough for a father.”

  He handed it over to Sutech, who took a sip as he slumped back in his chair. “It appears my mind is no longer my own. My daughter directs me.”

  “What part of parenthood didn’t you understand?” Melinka asked.

  Sutech grunted, the wine appearing to have calmed him a little. “I was never the ideal parent.”

  “Sometimes it’s never the ideal time to be one.” Melinka arched her hands. “Now, can we complete our tasks here, and then leave all the rest to their slumber?”

  “You mean there are ghosts here that you aren’t putting to work?” Sutech asked, regaining his color and composure, showing the true depths of his strength.

  “Like parenthood, ghosts take a bit of understanding. If one is useless and slovenly in life, what makes you think death improves? Most dead are of no use to us. May I begin?”

  Sutech took one last sip of wine then pushed his goblet away. He reached out, taking my hand, squeezing it. “We shall do this together, Alexa.” Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and jutted his chin out, like a man waiting to be put to death and knowing he only had his dignity left to preserve.

  “Together,” I whispered, squeezing back, closing my own eyes, and settling.

  “Barath G’arag no goch,” Melinka chanted, and it was somehow more soothing with my eyes shut. “Barath G’arag no goch.” I calmed further, my heartbeat slowing, my meditations starting up without any prompt, not surprisingly, gathering shadowmana with ease. “Barath G’arag no goch.”

  I was ready, ready to see her again.

  “Barath G’arag no goch.” Melinka’s voice intensified, her chants becoming closer, louder, barked like some exorcism.

  I dared to open my eyes.

  And then she appeared, but not as Star before. She had the same stunning blonde hair, full figure, but her tunic shimmered silver, her knee-high boots too. I swear she had glitter peppered on her cheeks, her dimples twinkling. But she was ethereal, here but not here: with us, yet distant.

  She was still my Star.

  “Well?” she asked. “Is no one going to compliment me on my outfit?”

  Tears streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. I smiled through them. Sobbing, I brought my hand up to my mouth, trying to stop. Star crouched down, brushing my cheek with the tips of her fingers.

  “Don’t cry for me, brave Alexa. My purpose is my own, as yours is your own. We know this. We faced it in the crafter's lair, and you already mourned my loss by the one true tree. So be brave for me one last time. We have a stubborn oaf to persuade and not much time to complete the task.”

  I laughed at that. A blurt of a laugh mixed with a scoff and a sob. “He’s no oaf.”

  She sat on the table, sliding close to me, facing her father. Reaching around my back, she draped her arm over me. “What say you, Alexa? One last challenge to face together?”

  I cuffed away my tears. “He’s not so scary.”

  She cocked her head. “As maybe, but I’m to travel to Mandrake and rouse the slumbersome. Do I really only get to rouse half in case the others turn against us? Is he still our enemy?”

  “I think you just rouse the Irydians, the Apachalant, the Kobane, and Petreyen. The Lowlands are yet to be convinced,” I told her.

  Sutech thumped the table. “Same in death as in life—always thinking you know best.”

  His anger was real, but half hearted also. Whether that was Star or his own internal conflict, I couldn’t tell.

  Star giggled. “What? Not even a hello. No love you?”

  “It is…” Sutech’s voice broke. He picked his wine goblet up, spinning its stem, but thinking better of draining it. “Yes, hello…” He gasped, like his breath had fled him. “Why?” he said suddenly, and his anguish surfaced like his thoughts were a thousand constricting snakes all vying for dominance. “I can’t just turn around and forget everything.”

  Star slumped a little. “But you must, Father. You’ve been sold a lie. Mandrake is the only hope. All the others fail; that is why they come for us.”

  Sutech studied his goblet and then replied without looking away. “Then why don’t they drop the mists, end our isolation, and attack?”

  “Because Poleyna holds the mists in place, none other. She strains to keep it there. I see it all now. Everything is much clearer to me.”

  Sutech reached out. Star offered her hand.

  “Then you have an advantage, Daughter, but do you think I would bend the knee to a farmer?”

  Star recoiled, like his suggestion abhorred her. “You must never bow to another; it would break you, destroy the father I loved. Not every outcome to every conflict has to be a win or loss. Accommodations can be made. Foes become allies; enemies begin to understand each other then become distant friends. No, you don’t dare kneel to a farmer, god, or woman. You are too strong for that, though I do think you should command his force.”

  Sutech scratched at his stubble, her words clearly alien to him, their concept and outcome beyond the place his musings had taken him. “Outcomes sparkle pretty when words spread them, but the business of man invariably gathers dark clouds rather than stunning rainbows—Irydians, Apachalants—none would accept this. That is fact not idealistic musings.”

  Star scoffed, “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  Sutech pushed himself away from the table, standing, his anger gathering behind his eyes. “Get what? Get that you wish to undermine me? Get that you want me to fail? I get that you engineered my doom. My ship is gone; my forces are leaderless. I get all of that and more.”

  “More?”

  “You, your mother, your sister, you all wanted me to fail.”

  Star shook her head. “No, you’re wrong. We just wanted you to be a father.”

  He walked around the table, falling to his knees, Star shifted around.

  “So am I allowed to kneel before you? You wanted a father. Tell your father what else you desire. Do not dress it in any way but the truth. The business of politics is not for family that profess to love each other.”

  “That’s all we ever wanted,” she whispered. “Love, not words.”

  “So you want me to defend all of Mandrake?”

  She leaned forward, hugging him tightly. “No, that is not what we need.”

  “Then what?” he asked, his head nuzzled in her shoulder. “What else is there?”

  Star’s words fell on him like a dusting of snow. Words could have been shouted, cried, used to rally, but that, though, would have done them an injustice. “Variant is gone. Valkyrie needs salvaging. Zhang Zhou, the others, what of them? The strongest must lead. You are him, no other.”

  “Then I must defeat Ruse. I must defeat ShadowDancer.”

  “No,” Star hissed. “You must defeat his army. Alexa must deal with the boy.”

  She stood but then knelt one last time, hugging me, holding me like she’d never let go. “When the time comes, don’t hesitate.”

  “I won’t,” I said,
but my sobs had returned, and though I stifled them, it just made them worse. She pushed me back, brushing my tears away with her thumbs. “You are the strongest person I know.”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  “But you are.” She turned. “And little Pog, and my Mezzerain, I wish we had more time. Melinka? Are you ready to send me on my way?”

  Melinka dipped her head slightly.

  “Father, go with your heart, and remember, if we are to win, every corner of Mandrake must unite.”

  “I will think about it, my daughter. And thank you for my gift.” He brought out the salamander and the stag. Star picked them off his palms, pinning them to his collar.

  “You should always wear black with a white shirt: it suits you.”

  “Your mother told me that very same thing.”

  “Have you a word for her?”

  “Tell her, tell her high noon. She will know what it means.”

  “I will, Father.” Star kissed him on both cheeks and then stood. “Now, please, Melinka.”

  Melinka waved her hands, and just like that, Star vanished.

  And it was over, and she was gone.

  Like a glimpse of the sun on a cloudy day, my Star had faded once more. I slumped onto the table, my head in my hands, not wanting any to see my anguish. It was like she’d died twice, and I’d had to endure it both times.

  Congratulations! You have passed through the fifth Veil of Lamerell. The land awards you 3000 XP, 2000 gold. Your reward is a guide who doesn’t know, a rock when chaos abounds, and a shelter when storms threaten to tear you apart.

  Your sixth Veil will be given to you when Striker Bay rises.

  “What next?” Mezzerain asked softly.

  “The gates of Striker Bay,” I said. “We drive the black from where it all started.”