Gates of the Dead

by James A. Moore

  Jahda said, “Is that necessary?”

  “Was it necessary for him to try to kill Harper?”

  “Harper could defend himself.”

  “If you can find a smaller vessel to take him, by all means let him live. If you cannot, I will not have him awaiting the chance to kill any of us while we sleep.”

  In the far distance the storms over Torema unleashed a fury of lightning strikes that lit the skies as surely as a clear day at noon. The blue-white light was brilliant enough to nearly blind anyone looking in that direction.

  A moment later the thunder roared across the seas and the air blew colder than it had before.

  Brogan swore to himself that it was not his imagination. Things were moving in those clouds. It seemed that shapes writhed and danced with the lightning and moved the storm closer still to the vast city.

  Back to the more immediate problem. “The choice is yours, Jahda. But I will not have him on this ship. I will not let him kill any of the people here or risk him using other means than combat. This ship was his and he knows all the secret places where a danger might be hidden.”

  Jahda nodded.

  “Also, did anyone else see things moving in the clouds just now?”

  Jahda frowned. “I was not looking, but I will now.” And he turned toward Torema, his face a mask of concentration.

  Harper spoke. “It isn’t my imagination then. I thought I was seeing things.”

  Faceless spoke, and Harper backed away from the thing, scowling, worried. “There are shapes moving. They are not gods. They are not He-Kisshi. They are something else. A different creature.”

  “How do you speak without a mouth?” Harper’s words were muttered, and Faceless did not respond.

  Brogan asked, “What are they doing there?”

  “They are directed by the gods. They work to destroy the city and the land. They are the punishment of the gods.”

  “And how do you know this?” Harper’s voice was as calm as ever but Brogan was not fooled. His friend was unsettled.

  Faceless turned his head with that quick, jerky motion he had and then tilted it. “I do not know. I simply do.”

  Harper said nothing, but he was as displeased by that answer as Brogan himself.

  Jahda blinked and squinted as the next cascade of lightning bullwhipped the sky.

  “There are things within those clouds. Or they are part of the clouds. Whatever the case, there are things there.”

  The men who followed Odobo mumbled amongst themselves until, finally, Brogan took note of them. “Which of you wish to stay with your captain?”

  Not one of them spoke up.

  “Which of you can pilot this vessel?”

  Two of the men stepped forward.

  “You will follow our orders and you will be rewarded with good pay, or you will defy those orders and I will offer you to him.” He pointed at Faceless. “Do you understand?”

  Both of the men nodded.

  The first of them was a short, stout man with a clean-shaven face and a thick braid of blond hair. When asked his name he answered “Arumehn”. The second was taller, and deeply tanned. His body was covered in freckles and his eyes were extremely light blue. What little hair remained on his head was as red as Brogan’s. His name was Bramsen.

  Brogan looked at each of the crew. “You have surrendered. If there is a boat, you may take your captain and go, if you prefer to stay here, you have the same offer. You are paid well or you are killed by him.” Once again he pointed to Faceless and once again the men blanched at the notion.

  Jahda barked at the crew in a different dialect, one unknown to Brogan. Within minutes three of the men had found a well-made raft and were preparing to lower it into the water.

  Jahda explained. “I told them what you said, in a language they can understand. I also told them who I am, what people I come from, and threatened any who would betray us with a horrible death.”

  “More horrible than what Faceless did?”

  “The death it offered was quick. I can promise a much slower death without any hope of mercy from the gods.”

  “And how is that?”

  “I can take them where there are no gods.”

  Brogan nodded. “What a lovely thought.”

  Jahda stared at him for a moment in silence and then, “Is that what you seek, Brogan McTyre?”

  “I seek a world where gods do not choose to kill my loved ones.”

  “That, I fear, will be a hard world to find.”

  Brogan nodded his head and looked to the storms again. “I expect no less. Still, one must have goals.”

  Thunder rumbled hungrily across the waves and the air grew colder still.

  While he watched, the captain of the ship was lowered down to a few members of his crew. He continued staring as they moved the small boat away from the ship and bobbed along with waves that looked eager to swallow all of them.

  He stayed there, deep in thought and staring, until the boat was lost in the distance.

  Chapter Six

  Unanswered Prayers

  Myridia

  The pain in Myridia’s guts grew worse and then stopped completely at almost exactly the moment Lyraal called out a warning.

  She had been standing near the cliff’s side and staring toward the vast structure they had just reclaimed. Her thoughts were turned toward the gods, the possible sacrifices they would have to make, and the real possibility that the world would end. There had been a time when reflecting on the gods had been a positive thing, but these days there was little Myridia could think of that made her happy.

  The He-Kisshi had not returned yet to offer advice, or to let her know that the sacrifices were coming to her.

  Instead there was silence from the gods and their servants alike.

  If it was wrong that she felt abandoned, then she was wrong. There was nothing she could do to change her feelings at that time and, much as she disliked that fact, she had to live with it.

  When Lyraal called out there was an odd note to her tone of voice, which had Myridia moving her way without even considering the situation.

  Below, along the cliff that each of them had scaled to reach the Sessanoh, the waters seethed as if cast into a sudden storm. The waves, placid a few moments ago, hissed and crashed and within the waters she could see the impossible. There were white forms moving through the waves.

  Pale figures with pale hair. As she watched several of them caught the rough stone with their hands and began to scale the side of the cliff.

  And each of the figures she saw was male.

  The last of the men from her species had been slaughtered by Brogan McTyre and his men. They were gentle, the men of the Grakhul, philosophers and dreamers and poets, but far more importantly they were the ones best suited for performing the ritual sacrifices to the gods. Though she had found copies of the sacred prayers and texts, and had been studying them since they arrived, Myridia still felt she was unsuited to the actual task put before her by the gods.

  And here, just possibly, was the answer to her prayers. Perhaps the gods had been listening, after all.

  Lyraal did not look quite as impressed.

  “They are very healthy specimens, Myridia.”

  Myridia watched the men scaling the rough stone. There was no easy access to this Sessanoh. There was no need. For countless centuries the vast stone keep of the Mirrored Lake had waited for one sole reason, to act as a replacement for Nugonghappalur should the great hall of the gods ever fall. As impossible as the idea had seemed, the sacred land where she had been born and raised had been tainted and then destroyed by the actions of Brogan McTyre.

  “Where do they come from?” Lyraal’s words cut through her thoughts. The woman was eyeing the men with suspicion and had begun unwrapping her sword.

  “If they are truly our kind, then surely the gods sent them.”

  The taller woman looked her way and frowned. �
��For what reason?”

  “To make us complete?”

  “Did the He-Kisshi mention these strangers to you?”

  Myridia shook her head.

  Lyraal shrugged. “Then I suggest we be prepared.”

  Without another word her second in command waved her arms until one of the younger girls noticed her and used gestures to tell the child to summon the warriors.

  They came from every part of the vast keep and they came at a run, carrying whatever weapons they had acquired on their journey to the Mirrored Lake.

  At the height of their time in the world, the Grakhul had numbered close to a million. That had been a very long time ago. Long before their murderer came along, the race had dwindled to a few thousand. Time moves on and so do the whims of the gods. Now less than three hundred women made up the sum of the species.

  Unless one counted the long line of men climbing toward them from the waves.

  That was the challenge, wasn’t it? She had to know if they were truly Grakhul, and what they planned to do once they reached the women.

  A gesture and the very best they had took the front of the lines, and waited for the men. Myridia’s own sword, Unwynn, rested across her shoulders, the keen edge kept away from her bare skin.

  “What is happening?” Memni was young and often foolish, but she could fight.

  Lyraal tried to silence the girl but Myridia answered. “There are men who look like us coming here. We must judge if they are our kind or a trick sent to fool us.”

  “Why would anyone want to deceive us?”

  “Why would anyone want to sell us into slavery, girl?” Lyraal’s voice was harsh. “We will know when we meet them.”

  They didn’t have long to wait. The first of the men climbed over the edge of the long precipice and looked at the gathered women with a slowly growing smile. He was a handsome one, with a strong jawline and a broad, athletic chest. His skin glistened in the daylight and his hair was long and left free in the breeze from the south.

  Myridia stepped forward. “I am Myridia. I serve as leader here. What are you called?”

  The blue eyes that regarded her did not share the warmth of his smile. “I am Urhoun. We have come from the north, summoned by the gods to take command of the Sessanoh and prepare for the sacrifices to come.”

  “The Sessanoh has been prepared and we are ready to serve the gods.”

  His eyes scanned her with obvious contempt. “Women cannot serve the gods in this way. You have wasted your time.”

  Lyraal cast a look toward him as if he had just insulted her heritage.

  Myridia tried for diplomacy, but the place where her stomach had been aching now frosted over. She did not like the way he spoke and suspected the men would prove troublesome.

  She was not wrong.

  “We have been told what to do by the gods and we have done it.” Myridia looked at the man and considered the various ways in which the situation might work itself out. After the time she had spent reaching the Sessanoh and the sacrifices she had made, there was only one answer that could come from the man that would satisfy her.

  “We also follow the gods and they’ve told us to take this place and sanctify it properly.” His smile fell away as more of the men climbed over the edge of the cliff and joined him. For the first time she noticed that each of them had a manacle on one arm – sometimes the left and others the right – and that each of the manacles had a length of chain running to the long blades they carried.

  Every single one of the men was armed and ready for battle.

  Myridia shrugged her shoulders and Unwynn fell comfortably into her grip.

  “You have obviously misunderstood the gods, Urhoun. You and your men should leave now.”

  Not far away she saw Lyraal smile and felt a surprising level of joy in the knowledge that the woman approved.

  There were five men on the surface along with Myridia and her fellow warriors.

  “Take them.” Myridia swept Unwynn into the air as she stepped toward Urhoun. The man’s eyes grew wide. Apparently he expected her to bow to his might. He was sadly mistaken.

  The man’s blade was quick and he blocked her attack, though it cost him dearly to defend against her sword. He staggered back and reached the edge of the cliff, his balance lost. She kicked him even as she brought the sword around a second time and the man who’d challenged her authority fell over the side, dropping toward the waters below.

  Lyraal’s chosen target let out a scream of pain as her sword sheared through half of his forearm. He had tried to block her attack and failed. She pulled the sword back and the man dropped his weapon and stared, horrified, at the blood flowing from his arm. While he was so occupied, she brought her blade around again and drove the tip through his chest.

  Not far away the other men who’d managed to scale the cliff realized how badly they were outnumbered and did their best to retreat. Two of them managed to dive back into the water. A third died with a pitchfork through his chest. Verla, the wielder of the aforementioned weapon, pulled the pitchfork back and left him bleeding on the ground.

  “This is going to get very bloody.” Lyraal spoke, but did not sound unhappy about the idea.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “I have never answered to men and I don’t plan to start now.” She shook her head. “Where would they get this notion?”

  Even as they spoke more men were scrambling over the side of the cliff and standing. The women were ready and repelled them as they climbed.

  It might have been an easy task. It should have been easy, but Memni called out and pointed. “There are so many of them!”

  With her heart thudding heavily, Myridia moved closer to the edge and risked a look over the side.

  They had the advantage of being on the high ground.

  The male Grakhul had the advantage of numbers. Near as she could tell somewhere around three hundred men were scaling the cliff directly below her and another two hundred or so were climbing to either side of the main group.

  Easily two thousand more men were still in the waters.

  Lyraal looked over the side and shook her head.

  “We may not win this.”

  Myridia said nothing. She was too busy praying to the gods.

  Chapter Seven

  Moving On

  Tully

  By the time they reached the docks the flow of people trying to leave Torema had grown from a trickle into a flood. It was the armies as much as anything else. The sheer volume of people trying to seize the city proved to be a tipping point and the majority of the travelers who remained looked to the sea and saw the possibility of escape.

  The only good news was Stanna and her closest allies. The men who rode with them were hardened and desperate. They wanted to live and they wanted to get away from Torema. That meant they followed Stanna’s lead and currently she was leading with devastating sword strokes.

  The Bitch drew blood with every strike and those confronting Stanna tended to find retreat was a wonderful notion. The horses smashed into anyone who failed to move fast enough and more than a score of people had been crushed under their mounts by Tully’s count. Not that she was keeping count, exactly. It just sort of happened. She saw them and kept a tally even as she moved forward and added her own strikes to the bloody swath they made on their way to the docks.

  Once there the situation was no better. People were in a panic. Some were trying to swim to the ships in the harbor, several with all they owned strapped to their bodies. Many valuables did not float, and what might have been as many as half the people trying their luck with that method sank beneath the violent waves.

  And the waves were truly violent. The weather had turned sour hours before and the waters seemed higher than should have been possible. Water and mud and blood all washed into the bay, staining the waves in shades of black and red alike. Corpses bobbed along those very waves and among them people tried to tre
ad water while seeking a haven on the ships. Stanna dropped from her horse and moved toward the farthest part of the docks, hacking her way through the crowds without any noticeable remorse. Tully and Temmi stayed close to her and followed in her wake, keeping the area open with threats and screams and the occasional jab of a blade. More of the slavers followed, just as determined to get out of the entire affair intact.

  People, horses, dogs, goats and more cats than Tully knew could exist were all along the docks and seemed to gather directly between them and their goal.

  Stanna knocked them all aside, excepting only a substantial ox that looked angry enough to defend itself. The ex-slaver was strong, but not foolish.

  When they finally reached her destination, she let out a shrill whistle and waited. Within minutes a small boat came toward them. People all around them grew agitated, sought to get the favor of the man steering the thing, but Stanna shoved and cut her way through them as well. It was not a large boat. Tully eyed it dubiously, and considered taking her chances on the shore, but ultimately decided she wanted to risk living if she could manage it.

  Still people tried. They begged, they sobbed, they cried and they fought. The slavers took on all challengers and Tully and Temmi joined in. By the time they’d climbed into the vessel, which teetered on the edge of sinking under their combined weight, Tully had half a dozen scrapes, one boxed ear, a split lip and a hank of missing hair to show for her battle. Others were in worse shape, but Tully was faster than most and excellent at dodging.

  The people on the shore did not give up easily and several tried to swim out and climb aboard the boat, risking capsizing the entire affair. Stanna watched them all as they approached and warned each one off. Those who did not listen lost their lives to the woman’s sword.

  The motion of the waves was enough to make her feel ill, but Tully was still glad to take the ride. Back on the docks full scale warfare seemed to be the order of the day, with people being shoved into the waters, diving in, or trying in vain to find a way to the ships in the harbor. Even as she noticed that, she saw sails being lifted in the distance and oars cutting the waves as more vessels turned, ready to flee to the Kaer-ru.