The Gates of Memory

by Ryan Kirk

  He beckoned her forward, offering her the opportunity for the first move. Alena knew it was a trap. Ligt excelled at countering attacks. What appeared generous was nothing more than the warrior fighting to his strengths.

  But she couldn’t defeat him standing five paces away, either.

  Well, she could. She could have him on his knees screaming in horror in a few moments.

  But she wasn’t looking to test her soulwalking.

  She advanced, every sense tuned to Ligt’s movement. He remained still, a predator waiting for his prey.

  Alena snapped a kick at his shin. He switched his stance, pulling his leading leg back to avoid her low kick. As he did, Alena darted forward, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down.

  Ligt wasn’t surprised. He allowed himself to be pulled, grabbing onto her as he fell, bringing the two of them down together. They rolled until Ligt was on top of her. He fought for a mount position.

  Alena positioned her legs between them and pushed him off, then scrambled to take control of the new position.

  She swore as he got a grip on her wrist and pulled. Although they were of similar size, Ligt was stronger, and she felt him pulling her into a lock.

  In her moment of panic, though, there was nothing she could do. Once the lock was applied, the fight was over. Alena tapped and Ligt immediately released the hold.

  That irritating smile remained plastered on his face.

  “You almost beat him,” a voice remarked from behind her.

  She turned to see Toren standing there. She was surprised to see him, but she didn’t need his sympathy. “No, not this time.”

  “Let me show you.”

  Not sympathy, then, but an observation.

  She glanced at the sky. Soon she would meet with the elders, but she had a little time. She signed an affirmative. Toren approached and grabbed her arm with the same lock that Ligt had used. They duplicated the position just before the end of the match.

  “Here,” Toren said. “If you keep your weight moving like this—” he manipulated her leg with his free hand, “you end here and win.”

  His hand on her leg was strong. For some reason, Alena thought of when she’d been torn apart by the gate and he had caught her.

  Ligt scoffed. “She can’t beat me.”

  Toren didn’t reply. But he stood up, the lesson over.

  Without another word he walked away. Ligt watched him go. “He’s a strange one, isn’t he? Rarely speaks, rarely spars, and he studies soulwalking.”

  Alena watched Toren walk away. Ligt didn’t like Toren, but it seemed few Etari did. She wouldn’t call him strange.

  She’d say interesting.

  Brushing herself off, she thanked Ligt for the match. After her last two days she had needed something physical, something that grounded her in her real body. She’d lost track of the number of times she argued with Sooni and Dunne. But she had convinced them. They agreed to present her findings to all the elders of Cardon.

  Ligt had been the most obvious sparring partner. Jace would have if she asked, but any fight against her brother, no matter how controlled, reminded her of their duel in the caves outside Landow. That was a memory better sealed in a vault than relived.

  Ligt’s willingness to spar probably reflected his own frustration. All Etari were nomadic, but to varying degrees. Sooni’s family, as one of the trading families, spent more time moving than most. Waiting in Cardon for Alena to finish her task no doubt irritated many in her family who itched for open spaces and constant movement.

  Hopefully their time of waiting would end soon, though.

  After cleaning up, Alena met Sooni. Jace had wanted to accompany them, but he possessed no gatestone, the mark of an Etari adult and necessary to speak before the elders.

  Alena kept expecting Jace to tire of all this and leave. He still had his new post waiting for him in Landow. But he made no complaint, no matter what he felt. She wouldn’t have held leaving against him, but his continual presence grounded her. She was glad he was here.

  The tent the elders held council in was quite small. In the past, Alena had visited a larger tent, when more of a crowd was present. Today only the elders, Sooni, and Alena sat under the tent.

  Sooni knelt next to Alena in front of the line of five elders. Dunne was one of the five, but Alena didn’t recognize the others. Sooni began. As head of Alena’s family, she was responsible for Alena’s conduct throughout the interview. “Honored elders. Thank you for this audience. My daughter, Alena, is known to you. She was welcomed into my family over a decade ago. She has worn her gatestone proudly for years, and her gifts helped defeat the Lolani invaders.”

  Alena winced at that. She had helped quell the Lolani invasion, but her own contribution felt insignificant. She’d simply done what she could when she could.

  “She’s the soulwalker.” The statement was half a question and uttered by the man who sat on Alena’s far right. His defining feature was the baldness of his scalp, a rare trait even among the elders.

  Alena bit back a response. She still hadn’t been invited to speak. Sooni replied on her behalf. “She is.”

  Alena worried she might collapse under the weight of the elders’ glares. But she kept her back straight and met their gazes. She would serve, but she would not let them intimidate her.

  The elder who sat in the center, a woman as thin as a stick, spoke, her voice ringing with command. “You may speak, Alena. Dunne tells us you fought hard for this audience, so say what you came to say.”

  Alena spoke of her discoveries about the gate. No doubt Dunne had already informed the elders, but Alena recounted all the pertinent details.

  A heavy silence hung over the gathering as she finished describing her conversation with the emperor.

  She wasn’t sure how they would react. In all her years with the Etari, she’d never quite figured out exactly how they viewed the empire. The forces skirmished on occasion. Once every few years, an imperial trader believed they could use a shortcut through Etari lands. The Etari would end the practice whenever they discovered it, raising tensions along the border for a year or so. Then the worry would fade and another trader would begin to think they would be the one who snuck through undetected.

  The elders’ reactions, such as they were, were muted. She’d expected outrage or questions, but none came.

  Eventually, Dunne asked a single question. “What would you have us do with this knowledge?”

  This had been the source of their arguments the past few days. Alena insisted that the Etari link someone to command their gate in the same way that Hanns commanded his. To say that Dunne didn’t view that possibility favorably was an understatement.

  The first time Alena had mentioned the idea, Dunne spat at her feet.

  The elder still hadn’t apologized.

  But Alena insisted the possibility be presented. “It is for the elders to decide. This is your gate. If nothing is done, I believe that eventually your gate will fail and the gatestones will become useless. Either an Etari must command the gate or efforts must be made to prevent more power being pulled to the other gates.”

  The backs of the elders stiffened at her first suggestion. The thin woman sitting in the center of the elders responded. “We will not consider ‘commanding’ the gate, as you call it. But how might less power be pulled from the other gates? You’ve already said the emperor has no desire to cooperate.”

  Alena had been chewing on that exact problem since she’d realized it was the most likely possibility. The Etari reticence to command their own gate complicated matters. “The most straightforward option is to command your gate and attempt to pull more of the source toward it.” She saw their reactions and charged forward. “But if that is truly out of the question, there are only two options. Either we break Hanns’ connection with one of his two gates, or we find some way to use the Falari gate.”

  “Breaking Hanns’ connection to the gate might be considered an act of war,” Dunne men
tioned casually, as though such an event wouldn’t cost thousands of lives and break the treaty that had largely held for two hundred years.

  “And it would harm his ability to keep the Lolani queen at bay,” Alena added. She’d come to the same conclusion. She hated admitting it, but allowing Hanns only one gate didn’t solve their problems. The Lolani queen was part of the problem, too. It only took the poor management of one gate to throw the balance of the system off.

  She knew she treaded the edges of proper address, but the simplest answer remained in front of them. “Why won’t you allow someone to command your gate?”

  Alena had asked Dunne the same question and never received an answer. The Etari detested soulwalking, but they rarely turned away from a pragmatic option.

  The elder in the center answered. “The gates are not to be commanded. This is an edict passed down among the elders. What the emperor and the Lolani queen do is against the very purpose of the gates, and their punishment will not be long in coming.”

  The elder spoke with certainty, but Alena intuited a hole in the heart of the elder’s words. The Etari elders didn’t know the actual reasons why they avoided the gate. They had nothing but a command passed down through the years.

  That lack of knowledge encouraged her. Perhaps they could be persuaded.

  Then she thought again. The Etari had more history to call on than the empire did. Anders I had destroyed too much of what was known before. Even if the elders didn’t understand why their edict stood, the command had the weight of history behind it. The elders wouldn’t bend so easily.

  “In that case, we must ensure that Anders VI doesn’t gain control of the Falari gate.”

  It was the conclusion Alena had hoped to avoid, but one that had appeared inevitable for days.

  Dunne didn’t approve. Any attempt to stop Hanns carried innumerable risks, and its odds of success were slim. Why waste precious Etari lives on a mission so likely to fail?

  The head elder spoke. “Elder Dunne has spoken of your ideas. But we are of her mind. Besides the possibility of sparking a war upon the land, it seems foolish to risk Etari lives on such a scheme.”

  And so they came to the crux, just as Alena had dreaded they would. She’d hoped for a different outcome, but none of the elders would bend. It left her no choice. “Then send me. Give me permission to act on your behalf.”

  She understood the weight of her request. Despite her adopted status, she was an outsider. If they said yes, they put some of their destiny in the hands of one who hadn’t even been born in their lands.

  If they were surprised by her offer, they didn’t show it. The elders weren’t fools. They likely predicted the course of this interview, just as she had. A part of Alena hated having to jump over the obstacles they put before her, but this was the Etari way. The elders wouldn’t make this decision without seeing her face and hearing her voice.

  Dunne dismissed her. “Wait outside the tent, Alena. We must talk.”

  Jace waited for her outside. His gaze was questioning. She shook her head. “They won’t allow anyone control of their gate.”

  He didn’t look surprised. “So it’s Falar, then.”

  “Hopefully.”

  Jace gave a grim laugh. “No one hopes to travel to Falar, sister.”

  “You don’t have to go.”

  “You know that I do.”

  Alena let the argument go. It was one they had already had, and she had lost. Jace refused to leave her, no matter what opportunities awaited him at home.

  She was glad, even if she didn’t understand.

  They waited together. The ring of guards around the tent of the elders ensured the two of them were out of hearing range. They had nothing to do but wait.

  Eventually, Sooni came out of the tent. She looked distraught, but Alena wasn’t sure what that implied.

  Sooni didn’t leave them in suspense long.

  “You’ve been granted permission to travel to Falar on behalf of the Etari people. You leave soon.”

  25

  Though they knew a war party waited in the open, Weylen observed every caution as they approached. The loose column broke further apart, the Falari warriors leaving the path and scrambling up and down the rocky terrain like gazelles.

  Archers nocked arrows as the group advanced. Their progress slowed to a crawl, each warrior alert for traps, ambushes, and other unforeseen unpleasantness.

  Brandt, Ana, and the imperial guards closed tighter upon Regar. The maneuver was half noble, half self-preservation. They might take an arrow for him, but close to him, most hoped his powerful affinities would prevent them from having to.

  Brandt rarely regretted not practicing more archery. He possessed a basic competence, as all imperial soldiers did. As he watched Weylen’s war party advance, though, he was reminded of how little a blade meant in these mountains. Even if he made himself light, in the time it took him to scramble from one enemy to the next, he’d be riddled with arrows.

  Even at their cautious pace, they came face to face with the other war party before long. Brandt took the scene in with a glance. If this was an ambush, it was either far more clever than he could comprehend, or it had been set by an overeager child.

  The location was terrible. The opposing war party stood in a clearing. Brandt couldn’t spot useful cover for almost two hundred paces. If he’d been in charge, he saw a half dozen better locations.

  The other war party held their bows loosely. Arrows remained in quivers. They gave no sign of hostility, but at the same time, Brandt didn’t see a relaxed face in the group.

  Regar approached to within a hundred paces. Brandt followed a pace behind, eyes searching for any clue as to the war party’s intentions.

  Ren, Weylen, and a handful of their Falari escorts joined them. Weylen spoke softly to Regar. “Their warleader is named Merek. They are a mountain clan, and I am not sure of their intentions.”

  Regar nodded. Brandt saw the plans forming in his eyes. “Remain in place.”

  Without further warning he stepped forward, alone. After ten paces he stopped again. Brandt forced his hand to relax its grip on his sword. Regar was skilled enough to protect himself from attack for the two heartbeats it would take Brandt to close the distance, but Brandt’s heart still raced as he saw the prince standing alone before a Falari war party.

  Merek stepped forward. He surpassed Regar’s ten paces, stopping halfway between the forces.

  A gust of wind coming down the mountains kicked up a cloud of dust. Brandt tensed. The momentary distraction was all an astute enemy required. He searched the air for arrows but saw none.

  When Merek spoke, his voice wasn’t loud, but it reached every ear. “Word has spread through the mountains that Weylen’s village hosts a strong warrior. Where is he?”

  Regar stepped forward, but Merek shook his head. “Not you, prince. The man who fought on the rooftops when Shulin attacked.”

  Brandt glanced at Ren, who gestured him forward. “Don’t kill anyone if you can help it.” A hint of a smile played across his face.

  Brandt stepped forward. Merek nodded once. “You match the description given. Are you the warrior who defended the prince’s rooftops the night of the raid?”

  “I am.”

  “Then we have come to test our skill against you.”

  Merek waved, and a single warrior emerged from his ranks. A woman, smaller than average, but she carried herself with a deadly grace. Too often warriors confused size with danger.

  Brandt didn’t.

  This woman would slice him open in a heartbeat if he gave her the chance.

  He cursed under his breath as the woman drew not one, but two short blades. They danced a quick, intricate pattern he barely followed.

  With no other explanation, and no chance for him to understand what was proper, the woman charged, her footsteps light over the ground.

  She was fast.

  Brandt reacted, years of training forcing his muscles into motion. The
woman’s blades were shorter and lighter than his own sword. She would expect him to retreat, to use his longer reach to his advantage. In response, her own strategy would be relentless advance.

  So Brandt did the unexpected. He charged forward the moment she was within ten paces.

  If the move caught her off guard, she didn’t show it. One of her blades caught his attack while the other aimed for his throat.

  Brandt pressed harder on his blade. He couldn’t slide past her defense, but the extra pressure pushed her off her line, and the stab at his throat missed wide.

  She twisted her blade and sliced at his neck.

  Brandt expected the move. He lowered himself, and her blade passed over his head.

  Then he stood up quickly and smashed his forehead into her nose.

  The blow caught her by surprise and she staggered back two paces.

  To her credit, she recovered quickly, but Brandt was too fast. The point of his sword rested at her throat. She froze. Brandt remembered Ren’s advice and moved the tip of his sword away.

  Brandt looked over to Merek, who grinned from ear to ear. He clapped once and the woman disengaged. She stepped back into line, doing nothing to staunch the flow of blood from her nose.

  “Impressive.” Merek looked at his assembled warriors, noting the various affirmations he received. “We will join you on your journey to the elders and add our voices to your own.”

  Behind Brandt, Weylen spoke. “We would be honored.”

  With that, Merek turned and walked back to his people.

  The tension between the two groups vanished as though they had always been allies. Merek’s warriors slung their bows over their shoulders and Weylen’s war party returned from their vantage points to the trail. Not a single Falari seemed concerned that just a few moments ago the forces had been ready to fight.

  Brandt frowned.

  What had he just done?

  Merek’s war party joined their own as easily as if the whole episode had been planned. Brandt held onto his questions. The path was now crowded and he figured his wondering could continue until they made camp that night. Then he could take Ren or Weylen aside.