House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (8 page)

One of the other soldiers had a bow prepared, and they loosed an arrow at the carnivorous snow. The arrow landed in the snow bank and stuck there, to no apparent effect. Black fletching stuck out at an angle from the pristine white. The soldier stopped screaming and fell over, a gurgle escaping his mouth as he died. The snow growled again and leaped at another soldier. The rest of them finally got the hint and fled, some throwing down weapons as they ran.

The young Traveler kept his eyes shut and his right arm moving, palm flaring with red light. The fire from heaven, raining down from nowhere onto Cormac, never slowed. Cormac shouted, straining to keep the fire off of him.

Seeing his enemy distracted, Alin brought both hands up. A golden, shining tear in reality appeared before him, and it spewed forth a ragged wave of solid light that slammed into Cormac like a hammer. Blue light flared from his back, blending with the red light from above and gold from behind in a confusing rainbow that left Simon blinded.

When his eyes cleared, Cormac lay on his back. The thunderstorm hung in the air underneath the stream of falling fire, still keeping the fire off of him. It was almost the size of a pony now, and it floated five feet off the ground. Lightning crackled and black clouds swirled, silently consuming the torrent of fire from above.

Cormac stirred, groaning. When he saw the thunderstorm above him, his eyes widened, and he reached out as if to pluck the storm from midair. For a moment, nothing else happened. The cave fell into an eerie silence.

Then the floating storm, out of Cormac’s control, exploded into a thousand screaming bolts of lightning. The fire, with nothing left to stop it, poured in a waterfall down on Cormac’s head. Lightning and fire crashed into him.

Simon expected to hear him shriek, or scream, or call for help, but the thunderous detonation of power swallowed anything the Traveler might have said. A sound like trapped thunder rocked the cave, and a searing wind blew Simon off his feet, along with most of his fellow villagers. Only Alin and the two strange Travelers remained standing, and only barely.

When the smoke, dust, and light cleared, no sign of Cormac remained. The ground outside the cavern was littered with abandoned spears, swords, and body parts belonging to the soldiers. Simon saw a few in the distance, still running.

Fire still fell in an endless torrent, blackening the ground. The younger Traveler made a slashing gesture with his red-branded right hand, and the fire vanished. Then he clenched his left fist and spoke a word, and the living snow died—releasing one still-breathing Damascan soldier who stumbled uncertainly away. The snow crawled away from the cavern and back into the snowy portal, purring contentedly. One black arrow still stuck up from its otherwise-pristine back. Once it crossed the threshold of the blizzard, the portal vanished.

When both ice and fire vanished, the new Traveler opened his eyes and blinked.

“Uh...is everybody okay?” he asked. Orlina’s mother began to weep. Simon looked down at the corpse of his mother, bundled at his feet, and had to choke back a sob himself.

The older woman sighed loudly and patted him on the shoulder. “You did well, Gilad. Now let me take it from here.”

The young Traveler—Gilad—nodded, and sat down against a rock. His face showed exhaustion, but he also just looked relieved to be done with the fighting.

The woman faced Alin, who still glowed like a sunrise. He had an arm half-raised, and light drifted up from it like luminescent smoke. “My name is Miram, and I speak for myself and my companion Gilad. We are Travelers, from the free city of Enosh. Who are you?”

Alin’s eyes held steady on her for a moment before he spoke. “The last time I gave someone my name,” he said, “his head burst like a dropped fruit. I’m not sure you want me to answer.”

Miram had her small silver key up in an instant. “Is that a threat?” she asked.

Sheepishly Alin smiled, but he didn’t lower his arm. Wisps of light drifted up from his hand. “No, I’m sorry, it was a poor joke. I am Alin, son of Torin, born in Myria village inside the realm of Overlord Malachi. If you are truly from Enosh, we are not enemies.”

Oh sweet Maker, Alin was trying to make a speech. Nurita was the only one in the village who would talk like that, and everyone knew she was too pompous by half. Alin sounded ridiculous trying it, as though his new powers made him the equal of some lord or lady from the stories. Then again, he was a Traveler now. Maybe that was how he was supposed to talk.

Simon knelt down, adjusting his mother so she looked more comfortable. She was beyond caring, of course, but he couldn’t stand to see her like that, with her neck twisted at almost a right angle.

He almost wept, but he had to pay attention. This was likely one of the most important exchanges he would ever witness. His mother—the one he remembered from her few lucid periods when she was both sober and sane—would have wanted him to pay attention.

“I am Miram, Master Traveler of Tartarus,” the woman said. “This is my companion, Gilad.” Gilad looked up at the sound of his name, blinked, and gave a startled wave.

“We will give you whatever help you need,” Miram continued, “and we are willing to transport the surviving people of Myria to Enosh for medical care and supplies. But first”—and here her voice sharpened— “I must know, Alin son of Torin, what Territory have you summoned?”

Alin hesitated. “Territory?”

“The power you’re using right now,” Miram said impatiently. “It comes from somewhere. Where?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Could you show us?” Gilad asked. “Just do whatever you did before.”

Alin took a deep breath. “Okay. I think I can...” his voice trailed off. His hand moved uncertainly in front of him, questing, until his fingers seemed to find something in empty air.

His eyes blazed, the glow around him intensified, and a golden sword appeared in his hand. Translucent and softly golden, it looked like the shining ghost of a real weapon.

“And a little more,” Alin murmured. Light poured up from his left hand again, and he released it to hang in midair. It hung in a golden globe, lighting the cave and the surrounding area up like midday.

The battle with Cormac had made it clear, but somehow it only really sank in now. Alin was a Traveler. Alin was a Traveler, and Simon wasn’t.

His mother’s sightless eyes were bloodshot. Simon slid them closed with a gentle hand.

Miram dropped to her knees in front of Alin, and her face softened. “I greet you, Eliadel, the Rising Sun, and I bid you welcome to the gates of Enosh.” She bowed until her head rested against the stone floor, and when she next spoke, her voice sounded of unshed tears. “You have not come too soon.”

Gilad joined her, mirroring her position more awkwardly.

The other villagers stared at Alin with open mouths. Some of them bowed, though Simon was sure they had no more idea what was going on than he did. One woman wept with joy and relief, reaching out as though to touch him.

Simon glanced over to see how Leah was taking it, and fear jolted through him. He slid away from his mother’s body, rose unsteadily to his feet, and walked over to tug on Alin’s sleeve.

“Alin,” Simon said. “Where’s Leah?”

***

Since they had been tied together, of course, all of the prisoners had vanished.

The golden glow had faded from Alin seconds after he had realized Leah was missing, but the Travelers all obeyed him when he ordered a search. For that matter, so did the villagers. But after two hours of exhaustive searching, aided by the powers of three Travelers, no one had found a trace.

“Enough,” Miram finally called. “Gilad, signal everyone to return.”

Gilad raised a hand and launched three orange sparks into the air. Three flares: the signal for all those searching to return.

“We just need to spread out farther,” Simon insisted. “They could still be out here.”

Alin looked troubled, but he didn’t say anything to agree.

Miram walked over and put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your friends. Or perhaps your family?” When Simon glanced over at his mother’s body instead of responding, Miram went on. Her voice sounded a touch more sympathetic. “It looks like Cormac stowed the prisoners away in a Gate when no one was paying attention. He probably didn’t want to keep watching them. Or maybe there was a second Traveler among the soldiers; who knows? But there are no tracks. I assure you, we would have found them. Your friends are on their way to Malachi by now.”

“Alin, we shouldn’t—” Simon began, but his friend cut him off by shaking his head. Simon was too startled to be offended. At first.

“She’s right, Simon,” Alin said. “They’re with Malachi. The only way we’re going to get them back is by force.”

How would you know that?
Simon wondered.
 

“But first we must return to Enosh,” Miram said, “and gather our forces. Alin, you should come with us, along with any wounded. Everyone else should return to your village and wait for word and supplies.”

“But why do you need me?” Alin asked. “My people are in need, and I would not abandon them lightly.” Again, he spoke as if he had real authority. Or a swollen head.

Miram smiled a bitter smile. “There is a bigger picture here than just your family and friends, Alin. Even if we bring them back from Malachi, they will never be safe. Not until King Zakareth is no longer in control.”

“We have a prophecy, Alin, uh, I mean, Eliadel,” Gilad said. “It is prophesied that a Traveler of Elysium, the City of Light, will return and lead the free city of Enosh against the King of Damasca and bring him down.”

“And that’s me?” Alin asked. He sounded a little excited.

Gilad shrugged. “It seems like it.”

Miram nodded. “Please come with us, Alin. We will treat you as royalty, and teach you. You will become powerful, so that you will be able to protect your friends, your home...and ours.”

Alin straightened his shoulders and met Miram’s eyes. “I will join you for now,” he said. “So that I can see if you are telling the truth.” Alin sounded serious, but Simon thought he still looked childishly eager.

Miram almost smiled. “Good enough. Gilad, open a Gate. Take us through Helgard to the nearest Naraka waypoint; we need the fast route home.”

Simon hesitated to speak, but he felt like he had to say something. “Do you think I have time to bury my mother?” he said. “I want to make sure she’s taken care of before we leave.”

Alin and Miram exchanged glances, and Simon got the impression that his friend was years older instead of only a few months.

Alin took him by both shoulders and looked at him compassionately. “Simon, I think you should stay with the village. They will need your help in rebuilding.”
 

Simon had to crush the thought of punching Alin right in his condescending face. Alin could probably set Simon on fire with his thoughts or something, but he had no right to speak like that. Besides, after Simon buried his mother, what was he supposed to do? Go back to the smoldering ruins of an empty house?
 

“There are lots of our people missing,” Simon said, making his voice reasonable. “Not just Leah and the others. A bunch of people ran off. Malachi may have caught dozens of villagers. And I want to help.” Even to his ears, it sounded like a child’s plea.

“Simon, you’ll be helping build something they can come home to. Besides, I will bring back as many as I can. I promise.” Alin’s voice was earnest, but it left Simon feeling hollow.

Simon agreed, though he felt sick. All he had done to prepare, all those hours practicing, and he had been useless against a real Traveler. Again.

“Thanks Simon,” Alin said, and there was real relief in his eyes. “Tell my sisters not to worry, all right? I’ll be back for them.”

Simon nodded and trudged back to the cave where his mother lay, silent and motionless. She was not near the other corpses but separate, alone, wrapped in the same filthy rags she wore for clothing.
 

And so she died as she had lived.

Simon gathered her in his arms and turned to watch the Travelers depart. They stood under the moonlight, leading the wounded villagers one by one through a Gate and into another swirling blizzard. Each villager hesitated when he or she first looked into the portal, but no one bolted. One at a time, they forced themselves through.

At last, only Alin and Gilad were left. Alin turned, saw Simon, and smiled a little. Then he waved good-bye and passed through the portal. Gilad glanced around nervously and followed, and with his passing, the Gate vanished.

Simon hefted his mother’s corpse in his arms and followed the few other weary villagers, heading for what remained of their home.

***

Leah stood on the gray plains of Lirial, still leashed to the nine other prisoners.

Above her, in a sky locked in perpetual night, a dozen moons whirled and shifted. One orange harvest moon drifted slowly overhead, full tonight, while a smaller silver-blue moon whirled from new moon to crescent to half moon to full in the space of five seconds, then back again. A red moon and a purple crossed each other, then switched positions.
 

There was a pattern to each of the Lirial moons, and understanding their interactions was vitally important to any Lirial Traveler. To Leah, they spoke of a steadily shifting interaction of subtle forces.

But, of course, Leah the daughter of Kelia—as the uneducated child of a Myrian villager—would know none of that. So...

“Where are we?” Leah asked, as if panicked.

One of the soldiers, a young man barely older than herself, stared at her in shock. He would have no more idea what was going on than one of the villagers, except he knew that she had done it. She had, of course—as soon as she had realized Cormac was going to lose his confrontation with Alin, she had opened a Gate and brought the sacrifices through. Along with a handful of soldiers, just to help her out.

Leah gestured quickly to the soldier, trying to signal him to catch on. At last, understanding lit his face.

“Um, yes,” he said. “This is a...Territory. For Travelers.”