The Forever Gate (5 page)

Hoodwink nearly slipped more than once, though he had nails hammered point-first through the soles of his boots. Behind him, the shouts grew closer. He glanced over his shoulder. The guards were only paces behind.

Hoodwink took a sharp right at Down Street. Too sharp. He slid right into a foodcart.

He scrambled to his feet
—

Into the arms of a guard.

"Give 'er up, krub!" the gol said, tightening his arms round his chest. Others quickly approached—

Hoodwink angled the guard between himself and the bottom of Down Street, then kicked backward. He and the guard tumbled onto the sloped snowpack, and gravity took over. The two slid down the steep hill, picking up speed by the moment. Bumps in the packed snow jolted the two constantly. The few street-goers gave the pair a wide berth, not wanting to join in that perilous slide.

The soldier tightened his grip during the slide, slowly crushing the air from Hoodwink's lungs. Hoodwink tried to pry that grip open, but it was like trying to take off one of the collars. He focused on the spark inside him instead. He wouldn't be able to generate much. He closed his eyes, and released a flare of electricity up and down his torso. The man's arms jolted away.

Handy, that.

Still sliding down, Hoodwink turned, and gave the man a good punch in the nose. Finally the road curved up to catch them, and the two slid to a halt. Hoodwink scrambled upright, kicked the gol in the belly for good measure, and raced on. Behind him, the four remaining soldiers slid to the bottom of the street and gave chase.

There was a market ahead, one that was always crowded after the snowstorms. Sure enough the throngs were packing it today. He hurried in among the market crowd, weaving his way past peddlers, entertainers, beggars, clientele. He sat down, inconspicuous, beside a stand of skewered dog meat, and waited. The four guards jostled their way through the market, and passed almost right in front of him, oblivious.

When they had gone, Hoodwink stood up, and walked hastily in the opposite direction.

It wasn't long before he reached Forever Street, the road that lay in the shadow of the Gate. You could circle the entire city, if you walked that street long enough. Beside it, the wall that was the Gate reached into the sky, the topmost edges lost in the clouds. The stone was gray, and irregular, pocked with smooth dimples and mounds. He passed the section where Ari had placed the bomb the day before. The area was blackened, but otherwise unharmed. One would have expected the gol to beef up their presence after an attack like that, but there actually seemed less gols along the wall today. There weren't enough of them to watch every portion, every waking moment, Hoodwink supposed, especially when the wall was, by all indications, indestructible.

He soon met up with Leader. The ancient man observed the Forever Gate from the shade of a vendor who sold maps and miniature replicas of the city.

"Your goodbyes went well?" The ancient man asked, his breath misting. He stared off to the side, in that way he had of not meeting one's eye.

"Splendid." Hoodwink picked up a replica of the city.

The vendor immediately stood up. "Touch and pay," the middle-aged woman said.

Hoodwink gingerly returned the replica.

Ari came up beside him and saved him from the woman by giving him a hug.

"How did it go?" Ari said.

Hoodwink smiled sadly. "Cora says good-bye."

"You told her everything?"

He nodded.

"I'll seek her out," Ari said. "Let her know you spoke the truth."

"She knows." Hoodwink shook his head. "No. It's better if she never sees you again."

Leader rested a palsied hand on his shoulder, and turned that penetrating gaze upon him. "Time wastes. Are you ready?"

Hoodwink shrugged. "Yes, all right."

"You've committed the address to memory?"

Hoodwink sighed. "John Baker, son of Arrold Baker, 18 Market Street." Though not a User, John was a close cousin of Leader. John assumed quite the risk in being their middle man. Hoodwink hoped the gol didn't use him to hunt the rest of the Users down. But Ari and the others were too smart to let that happen.

"Good," Leader said, gazing at the sky. "The rigged diary is in the duffel bag."

Hoodwink accepted the bag from Ari, and slipped it over his shoulder.

Ari and Hoodwink walked on either side of Leader, and helped the haggard man through the snowpacked streets. Leader verbally steered them down the streets and byways to a secluded back alley of brick walls. The snow was never shoveled here, nor was it packed by the tread of passersby, so the three of them had to wade and dig through snow that was sometimes chest high. They reached a rusty iron gate that was nearly buried by the drifts, and Leader opened it with a key he'd brought along. The gate was like a portcullis, and they were able to slide it upward with some difficulty. Once through, Hoodwink saw that the alley offered secluded access to the city wall.

"Why didn't you put the bomb here?" he said.

Ari shook her head. "There'd be too much damage to the neighboring buildings. We didn't want any human casualties, remember?"

The three dug their way forward through the snow, until the sky-reaching wall consumed everything else. When you came close, you could easily understand why it was called The Forever Gate. What looked like a flat surface from far away was actually a craggy mountain of sheer, infinite stone. A silver rope dangled from the heights, and Hoodwink followed it with his eyes. He couldn't see where the rope anchored
—it became lost in the coarse texture of the wall a mile or so up.

"You expect me to climb this?" Hoodwink pulled at the rope. He felt the echo of a distant vibration pass through the material. The sensation was eerie, like plucking the string of some giant lute.

"Think of it as a symbol." Leader gazed blankly up the wall. "Of the hurdles you've faced in this life. You have overcome them all to get to this point. Now you must overcome this last."

Hoodwink glanced at Ari. "But I haven't overcome them all."
Far from it.

Leader turned his eyes downward now, to the snow drift piled against the wall. "We tried to dig under it at first. Like the sappers of yesteryear. That proved a mistake. The wall is embedded in the ground at least as deep as it is high. And digging through frozen ground isn't a pleasant thing." He pursed his lips. "It was the time of our exploratory years. When we believed the Outside a sanctuary. Erdus and Callus were the first of us to surmount the wall. They'd practiced for years, taught themselves the lost art of mountaineering. It was they who anchored the ropes. Good men. Their loss was irreplaceable."

Leader motioned to the duffel bag slung over Hoodwink's shoulder. "Dress please."

Hoodwink opened the bag and donned the padded gloves, ermineskin cloak, and the toque. These over the existing gloves, cloak and toque he wore. He wrapped the scarf around his face, and Ari tightened it for him. His breath sounded loud in his ears with that scarf on.

Hoodwink secured the duffel bag and the supplies it contained over his shoulder.

"The climb will take about five hours." Leader's palsy seemed to have spread to his face
—his lips twitched, and his eyes blinked spasmodically. Maybe he was just excited. Or nervous. "You'll find a new rope every half hour or so. There are ten ropes in total. Use the rigged diary. Keep us updated."

The Users had either found the diaries or created them in years bygone
—it wasn't made clear to Hoodwink. Whatever the case, the books came in pairs. When you wrote in one, your words appeared in the other, no matter how far away you were.

"You never told me," Hoodwink said. "Did you give diaries to the others who went over this wall?"

Leader was shaking all over now. "We did."

Hoodwink wanted the man to look at him, wanted to stare into those eyes and see what he could read there, but Leader didn't oblige.

"And what did you get back?" Hoodwink said.

A smile came to those twitching lips. It reminded Hoodwink of a slithering snake. "The truth."

Leader removed one of his gloves, and extended the palm toward Hoodwink. The start of a handshake.

Hoodwink peeled the gloves from his right hand, and accepted the palm.

A massive surge of current passed through him, and he couldn't move. When Leader released him, both of them collapsed.

Hoodwink scrambled drunkenly to his feet. Leader had recharged him.

Ari helped Leader rise. The old man had stopped twitching, and his face had become deathly pale. When he spoke, his voice was weak. "Now go. Before you change your mind. And good luck."

Ari kissed Hoodwink on the cheek. "Thank you. You're saving me by doing this. You're saving us all."

Hoodwink slid the glove back on, feeling rejuvenated, and eager to climb. "I doubt it. But I'll do my best. I will."

He began the long climb into the sky.

Hoodwink walked his feet along the rocky surface and raised himself hand-over-hand. He hadn't known what to expect, but this wasn't that bad. "Aid climbing," the Users had called it. Rope laid over a route to make it easier for future climbers. He couldn't imagine what those first two climbers must have gone through to lay the rope.

And to be honest, the climb proved a little monotonous. Similar to trudging along snowpack on the ground, bent-over, holding a rope for balance. He understood now what it felt like to be a crooked old man like Leader. Except Leader was only twenty-nine, prematurely aged by the power that flowed through him. The same future awaited Hoodwink and his daughter. Well, whether or not he'd see that future was the question, wasn't it? He had to make it past the next few hours to start with.

The first rope went by easily enough. He was traipsing along, hand-over-hand, foot-over-foot, when the second rope came into view. It overlapped the first route by some paces, so that he could've switched or used both of them if he wanted. The first rope ended in an anchor of small cords that passed through metallic loops wedged into the stone wall.

One segment down. Nine more to go.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. Maybe a little more than half an hour. He bounce-tested the second cord with a quick pull, and when he felt the faint answering vibration, he slowly transferred his weight until the rope carried his entire body.

He climbed onward, hesitant at first, and then faster as his trust confidence grew. He was growing tired, true, but he covered the second segment almost as vigorously as the first.

He started slowing down on the third rope. The climb was beginning to wear on him.

By the fourth, he felt like going back. His shoulders ached. His biceps throbbed. The sides of his back behind his armpits felt numb. His extremities throbbed painfully from the cold.

By the fifth rope, he was thoroughly beaten. He couldn't go on. By his reckoning, he'd been climbing at least three hours.

He knelt against the rockface, secured the bottom of the next rope around his waist, and rested. He ate some of the salted meat from his duffel bag, and balled his hands beneath the gloves to warm his fingers. He released a trickle of electricity into his extremities, and it was enough to improve the blood flow to fingers and toes, and prevent frostbite.

The urge to look down was almost overwhelming. Just one peek. He was secure. What was the worst that could happen?

He'd lose heart, that's what. Not to mention the vertigo would probably overwhelm him. The same vertigo he felt if he looked up too far, and saw the hopeless, infinite grade above. By focusing on the rockface before him and nothing else, he made the climb doable. And by not knowing how far he'd plummet, by pretending he was only a few feet off the ground, well, that helped calm nerves that would otherwise paralyze him, or lead to a fall.

But while he didn't look, he didn't climb either.

He just stayed there, waiting.

For what?

Resting, he told himself.

And he was cold. So cold. And it would only grow colder the higher he went.

Halfway. Come on Hood. You're halfway.

He sighed, and reluctantly untied the sixth rope from his waist, and pulled himself up along it, his body rebelling at every step. Resting had proven a mistake, because he just wanted to stop and rest again. His muscles ached all over. He had no energy. He wasn't a climber. What was he doing out here on the Forever Gate, a mile above the city?

Saving Ari, that's what. Now climb damn it.

He climbed, not daring to overthink his motivation, knowing how easily he could poke holes in it. He climbed for Ari, and that was good enough.

Each handspan became a small battle. Though it was a battle he was determined to win.

The air became thin, and he found himself panting constantly now. Or was he just tired? The frigid wind tore into him incessantly, and at times it felt like he wasn't even wearing a double layer of ermineskin.

He reached rope number seven.

Then rope number eight.

His double layer of gloves was pretty chewed up by now, and his fingers were exposed in places. He had to constantly expend some of his charge just to keep the frostbite at bay.