The King's Gate

by K T Munson

  “You’re not real,” she said, still shaking her head.

  He put on his pants. “Elsariel?” he asked, sounding concerned, and then pulled a shirt over his head.

  Every hair on her body stood on end. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t her name, she wanted to rail against him, and she wanted to cut him in half again. Instead, she found herself immobilized by the way he said her name. She stared into his dark eyes and saw genuine concern.

  She bolted for the door, but he was quicker. He caught her around the middle and held her against him. She tried to focus enough to attack him, but the wild panic within made it impossible to grasp onto her power. Instead she tried elbowing him in the face, but he jerked back and she missed. No matter how much she wiggled, he was too strong, but she couldn’t give in that easily.

  “What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “Let me go, you monster!” she shouted.

  His arm went slack and she wrenched free. She dashed down the hall. “Malthael!” she shouted.

  She’d nearly made it to the stairs when a soft voice called, “Mommy?”

  Elisabeth stopped in her tracks, her stomach in her throat. Slowly she looked back and saw a little black-haired girl with blue eyes. Her eyes were an exact match to Elisabeth’s. It was like looking in a mirror. The little girl was beautiful. She couldn’t be real.

  Aryan came running down the hall and protectively put his hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “Sera, go back to bed.”

  The girl’s expression was apprehensive, but she listened to Aryan.

  “Elsariel,” Aryan said, coming toward her slowly, as if he were approaching a skittish animal, “let me help you.”

  “You’re evil,” she said, “but you’re not like you were.” She felt like throwing up.

  His features were softer, and his eyes weren’t haunted. He felt almost warm to her—normal, in a way. She had a deep-seated belief that this was not the same man. And yet the fear could not be erased.

  “You’re talking nonsense,” he said, holding his hand out to pacify her.

  “Stop,” she said as she fought down her hysteria. “You need to explain to me what is going on.”

  “I don’t know. Someone must have done something at the celebration last night. Gotten to you.” His voice was distressed. “You don’t remember me? Do you at least remember Seraphine?”

  “Seraphine?” She glanced toward the little girl’s room. “No, I most certainly do not remember you or her. At least not in the way you are now.”

  “We’ll figure it out. We always do. Now…” A gong sounded, cutting off his words. He instantly came to attention, like a hunting dog on a scent.

  He came toward her, and she backed away. “I need to go down the stairs.” He pointed in their direction.

  “The gate,” Elisabeth whispered. “What do you want with the gate?”

  “I’m its guardian,” Aryan said, and she backed up further. He hurried by her but then stopped and glanced back toward the girl’s room.

  “I won’t hurt her,” Elisabeth said, gathering his silent line of questioning.

  He didn’t seem to believe her. “I’ll get your father. Perhaps he will know what to do.”

  “Malthael?” Elisabeth said hopefully.

  “The Golden Demon? Why do you keep calling for him?” Aryan demanded as the gong sounded a second time.

  Elisabeth was confused. “You said my father was here.”

  “Darienith,” Aryan said with a frown. “He should be back any minute.”

  “What is all this yelling about so early in the morning?” a woman called.

  Elisabeth craned her neck. At the bottom of the stairs a woman in a fine powder blue dress stood with her hands on her hips. It was a summer dress and only came to her knees, which was almost scandalous by Ashladian standards. She wore simple shoes and was holding a bag. Her hair was blond like Elisabeth’s and her face had the same classic beauty.

  “Mom?” Elisabeth asked as she slowly moved to the top of the stairs.

  “I know I promised to be here for your anniversary last night, but I had to go halfway across the continent to get this.” Serena smiled, and it was like the sun filled the room with light and warmth. “It is that extremely rare book you’ve been wanting for a year.”

  Elisabeth couldn’t breathe. The one thing she had wanted all her life was to meet the woman who had sacrificed everything so that she could live. Tears immediately sprung to her eyes, and she was halfway down the steps before she knew what she was doing. Serena gave a startled laugh and dropped the package as Elisabeth wrapped her arms around her mother. Sobbing, she clung to her.

  Her mother petted the back of her head over and over. “What is it my dear?” Serena asked. “What has upset you so?”

  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t real. It felt real enough. She didn’t want to let go—didn’t want to give up the one thing she’d wanted more than anything else in the world. Aryan and her daughter weren’t real. This happy place wasn’t real. But for this one moment she would pretend it was.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Elisabeth blubbered.

  She hiccupped, and her mother laughed. “Who am I going to have to get cross with for upsetting you? Aryan?” Serena sounded happy, amused even, and not at all worried.

  Finally, Elisabeth eased back and found Aryan standing by them. “I have to go, but we need to talk,” Aryan said to Elisabeth before rushing away.

  “Come on, dear,” Serena said, comforting her. “Let’s make some tea and talk.”

  Halfway down the hall, a man too tall to be human strode toward them. He was dressed all in black, and his hair was ashen white. He had a hawk nose and a stern face. She didn’t recognize him until he smiled at her, and then she knew. He had her smile—or more accurately, she had his. Elisabeth froze as she took in the sight of him—her father.

  Chapter 7: Hystera

  “How many attacks?” Malthael asked in a grim voice. Ashlad had been attacked by Netherworld creatures and so it seemed had the other planets.

  “Sixteen known ones, and they are increasing in frequency. It was only one or two a week, but now it is double that,” Meredith said.

  “How many in Oran?” Malthael asked Ruhan.

  The bags under Ruhan’s eyes were stark against his pale skin. He looked worn thin. “I don’t know how many attacks, twenty or thirty, but there have been six deaths.” He paused, as though the next words were difficult to say. “One of them was a child.”

  There was a moment of silence with heads bowed in respect for the dead. Emera’s face was pinched. They had all been working tirelessly to protect their people, sending warnings to every corner of every planet. Worse still, with Troy between life and death, they were down a Gate Guardian. Malthael was uncertain if Troy’s adolescent body could handle the power of the Keeper; there was a chance he might not survive.

  “We have been fortunate, there was only one bad attack at a dock,” Emera told them. “Unfortunately, no one survived.”

  “It will only get worse,” Meredith told them. “Where is Elisabeth?”

  “Busy,” Ki said from behind Malthael. He came out of the shadows. “I’ll go in her stead. I know the creatures of the Netherworld well. I can lend a hand until Malthael figures out our next move.”

  Malthael shot him a look. Their agreement had been that Ki was supposed to watch and say nothing. Ki shrugged in response. Emera hesitated, as did Meredith, but Ruhan appeared hopeful. Ki had helped save his daughter, and it appeared he had not forgotten.

  “I welcome your help,” Ruhan told him.

  Ki nodded. “I’ll ready my things.” He left the room.

  Emera frowned but said nothing. “Can we trust him?” Meredith asked.

  “Yes,” Malthael responded without hesitation. “Do not forget the sacrifice he made.”

  “Can one good deed outweigh all those he killed?” Emera asked, but her face was expressionless. It was a question, not an opinion.


  “He is responsible for the death of the Black King. Without him, the Aryan the Black would be down in the Netherworld beside his father,” Malthael reminded them. “It isn’t about forgiveness. It is about trust. I trust him implicitly, and so should you.”

  Emera nodded. “I trust your judgment.”

  “As do I,” Meredith agreed.

  Hearing shouting, Malthael glanced over his shoulder. It wasn’t an alarmed shout. It was an angry one. Malthael sighed—he likely knew the reason for all the noise.

  “If you’ll excuse me momentarily, I’ll see to Ki,” Malthael said. “He should be able to use my hounds to go to any you need place.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” Ruhan said. Meredith and Emera nodded.

  He closed his side of the gate, and it returned to stone. With a heavy sigh, he made his way to Troy’s study. When he opened the door, he found exactly what he expected. Kerrigan was blocking Ki’s path and insisting that she go with him.

  “Enough!” Malthael yelled, cutting off Kerrigan’s argument. “If Ki decided he needs your help or Troy recovers, then we can discuss what is the best place for you to be. Until then, Troy needs you here.”

  “What is best for me?” Kerrigan demanded. “Elisabeth is in the Netherworld, and I am the only other half Soul-Collector.”

  Ki and Malthael exchanged glances. Ki had told Malthael the truth. Kerrigan was the daughter of Aryan the Black, which made her the granddaughter of the Lord of the Hunt. They didn’t yet know what Kerrigan could do, but her abilities would not be like Elisabeth’s. Kerrigan’s eyes narrowed as she clearly sensed their hesitation.

  “What is it?” she demanded, her gaze passing back and forth between them.

  “Have you ever pulled a soul from a body?” Malthael asked. “Did you ever even accidently pull one?”

  “No, of course not.” Kerrigan answered, sounding baffled. Then a light seemed to come on behind her eyes. “Is that weird?”

  Malthael glanced at Ki, who shrugged. Frowning, Malthael replied, “Elisabeth struggled with her ability all her life, but you haven’t. Do you know what that means?”

  “My…father”—the word seemed stuck in her throat—“did something to me?”

  “No.” Malthael tried to think of a way to soften the blow. “He didn’t do anything. He isn’t a Soul Collector.”

  “Of course he is,” Kerrigan replied, hysteria growing her voice. “What else would he be?”

  Malthael wished more than ever that Elisabeth were there. She would deliver the news better than he or Ki ever could. Of everyone, she understood the pain and turmoil of being different.

  “Your grandfather is Arawn,” Ki said, “the Lord of the Hunt. All of Aryan the Black’s abilities were inherited from his father.”

  The blood drained from Kerrigan’s face. Her hand went to her stomach and her breathing quickened. Her face went from white to green as she covered her mouth with her hand. Malthael shifted from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. Kerrigan sunk to the ground.

  Before Malthael or Ki could do anything, the door opened from behind them. Glancing back Malthael saw Selene come in with a tray of food. She nodded to him as she elbowed the door closed with a small smile.

  “Kerrigan?” Selene said, seeing her on the ground. She set the tray on a table and quickly crossed the room, throwing them both disapproving glances. She knelt in front of Kerrigan, who was rocking back and forth.

  “What did you do to her?” she asked Malthael.

  Malthael turned to Ki to help him explain and found that he was no longer there. He looked around the room and saw the open door. He’d been abandoned. Selene watched him expectantly as Kerrigan continued to fight to get air into her lungs.

  He cleared his throat. “We told her she isn’t half Soul Collector.”

  “What?” Selene gasped, sounding as surprised as Malthael had been when Ki had first told him.

  The sound of footsteps came from behind him. Malthael turned and found Nanette breathing heavily on the threshold. Ki looked in sheepishly from behind her. Nanette gave Malthael a glare—eerily similar to the one his daughter had mastered—that told him he’d get an earful from her later.

  “Oh Kerrigan,” Nanette said, crossing the room. Selene moved out of the way as Nanette knelt in front of her. “Look at me,” she commanded in a voice that demanded attention. “Breathe in and out. Come on, do it with me. That’s it. In and out.”

  When Kerrigan’s breathing returned to normal, Selene and Nanette helped her to her feet. Supporting her on each side, they took her from the room. Malthael followed them out the door.

  “I really wish Elisabeth was here.” Malthael said aloud, as much to Ki as to himself. They both sighed.

  “That’s why I went for reinforcements,” Ki said.

  Malthael clapped him on the back. “Let’s get you through to Ruhan.”

  “Anything to take my mind off of her,” Ki said, moving toward the door that led down to the Gate.

  Malthael’s heart twisted in understanding. They didn’t know was happening to her, and Malthael didn’t like to think about what she could be going through. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach when he thought about her. Despite Ethandirill’s spoken protection, Malthael knew how clever Arawn was. He would come up with something, and it wouldn’t be good.

  Chapter 8: Divine Court

  “Elsariel,” Darienith said. His voice was solemn, but not in a sad way. For some reason she had a distinct feeling that Darienith was always like that, as serious as she was.

  “Father,” she managed, though she was wary of him.

  “Daughter,” he replied, his eyes appraising her, “is something wrong?”

  This isn’t real, Elisabeth reminded herself. “How are you here?” she asked. “How are you not trapped in the Netherworld?”

  “Trapped in the Netherworld?” Darienith asked, looking at Serena for an explanation.

  Serena stared at her daughter with confusion. “Elsariel?”

  “You’re a Soul Collector, but where are you robes?” Elisabeth asked, ignoring her mother’s baffled stare.

  “Of course, I’m a Soul Collector. I only use my robes when I am collecting souls. I’m not right now,” Darienith said. “You know all of this. Erl-King gave me leave to come here for your anniversary.”

  “Erl-King?” Elisabeth asked, perplexed. “Nauberon is not the King of Morhaven?”

  “Nauberon? Erl-King is the King of Morhaven and the Divine Court, caretaker of the Netherworld. You have met him many times. Don’t you remember?”

  That’s what’s changed, Elisabeth thought as she glanced between her parents. Somewhere along the line, the leader of Morhaven changed.

  Serena and Darienith froze. For a moment she thought they had stopped moving, but then she realized they had simply stopped everything. They weren’t breathing or blinking. Elisabeth reached out for her mother’s face.

  “Do you see it now?” Arawn’s voice made her jump. She turned and found him standing at the end of the hall. His great horns and black skin were like a void of light and color.

  “Do I see what?” Elisabeth demanded, glancing around for an escape. Had he been watching her the whole time as she fumbled around in this other life?

  “What the world could have been,” Arawn said, raising his arms. “This place shows you all the possible realities. All the veins of thought and all the different paths your life could have taken, from the happiest to the darkest.”

  Elisabeth crossed her arms. “Where exactly are you in this scenario?” Elisabeth asked bitterly.

  Arawn smiled. “Erl-King was my name when I was the King of the Hunt—before I was reduced to the Lord of the Hunt. I would have been a different man had I been not only King of the Hunt, but King of Morhaven. You would have been happiest here.”

  “So you are telling me that my happiest memory is tied to your happiest memory?” Elisabeth asked with a frown.

  “Actually, this is not my happiest,�
� Arawn said. “It is yours.

  He waved his hand. The room phased out, like someone had thrown a bucket of water on the image, distorting it. When the distortion stopped, the hallway was empty, and day had turned to night.

  “This is mine,” Arawn said, gesturing behind her.

  Elisabeth took a few steps back. Out in the open foyer a young boy ran around. An older man with horns on his head chased after him. He had black hair and a broad face. His smile was quick as he pursued the boy. It wasn’t until a thin woman with narrow features walked into the room that she realized who she was looking at—Arawn and his family.

  “That’s Aryan’s mother. I can see the resemblance, which means”—Elisabeth turned back to the boy and his father—“that is you and Aryan.”

  “The world could be so much greater than it is,” he said, and was suddenly right next to her. She jumped in fear. “To think that we could have been family. I will give you this chance to give my son back to me.”

  He had promised her misery, and instead he had shown her a happy outcome, a life where she had not suffered, where she had been loved. Her mind jumped to Ki and Malthael for a moment. Thinking of them reminded her she was loved in this life, in her real life. Elisabeth’s heart was in her throat as she realized Arawn wanted her to understand, to make the choice willingly, not under duress. When she refused him, Elisabeth knew he would not be forgiving, but perhaps she could make Arawn realize what his real son, the one she’d help kill, what he truly was.

  Elisabeth shook her head. “That isn’t your son.” Elisabeth pointed at the young boy. “Whatever he may have been, that isn’t what Aryan is now. He is evil and cruel. I cannot let him out.”

  “Like me, Aryan became what he needed to be to survive,” Arawn said passionately. “Now that I rule, he won’t need to be that way anymore. He’ll be free from the constant threats that made him callous.”

  “He can’t get that back,” Elisabeth said, knowing that it was the truth, “I saw him on Croatoan. I saw what he was. He loved that he had killed them. He was proud of it. It didn’t matter that he had caused genocide on an entire species. All that mattered to him was that he had power. That kind of insatiable need will never be filled. You have to see that. He would have continued to be a destructive force, with or without you.”