The Shattered Gates (12 page)

“Ushman Dayyid and Ushman Nuritam say that when I cross into the other world, I must say that I deliver milk.” Ravishan scowled. “Why can’t I say that I’m a soldier? Or a wandering scholar? Why should we all say we are milkmen? I’d rather be something different, something interesting, like a—” he paused, thinking, “—like a pope. I might say that I am a powerful pope.”

John struggled to keep from laughing.

“No one would believe you if you said that you were the Pope.”

Ravishan sighed.

“Milkman is so boring,” Ravishan said, but offered no other argument.

“It’s a job that no one will ask you about because it’s boring.” John knew that well enough. He hadn’t asked Kyle about his work.

It was strange to think of Kyle now that John knew he had been one of the Kahlil’im. John remembered the scars on Kyle’s arms and glanced at Ravishan’s bandages. Some of the cuts had been administered by the priests in a bloodletting ceremony that supposedly drained impure desires from the body and allowed the sacred bones within to take greater power. Other wounds came from Ravishan’s attempts to jump between spaces.

When he disappeared from sight, he submerged into a soundless, gray world. It allowed him to move at blinding speeds through solid walls and over rivers. But it came at a cost. There was abrasiveness to the Gray Space. Ravishan had once described it as so cold that it seemed to burn and had said that it was filled with slicing edges that cut in and out. At times, it sliced through his flesh and left tiny blisters on his skin.

Ravishan always proudly pointed out that, because of his great skill, his injuries were far less than those the other boys in training suffered. Three other ushiri had been blinded; another two had died when they materialized inside solid objects.

That was only traveling through the Gray Space within one world. It was nothing compared to passing through the white agony that filled the space between worlds. Ravishan only knew of it through the priests, and they only knew from the writings of the Kahlil’im who had gone before. It blinded and burned and sliced bodies to ribbons. Without the sacred gateways and the keys that opened them, even a Kahlil would be killed crossing between worlds.

 As Ravishan had described the dangers, John had thought of the gash across Kyle’s mouth and his constant bandages. And he had wondered what Kyle had done while they lived together. How many times had he crossed between worlds? And what had he done when he realized his key was gone?

John never should have taken that key. Never.

“I don’t want to be boring to them,” Ravishan interrupted John’s thoughts. “I want them to talk with me, like you do.”

“The people of my world?” John asked.

Ravishan nodded.

“I don’t think you’re going to be boring to anyone even if you try,” John assured him. “You’re going to be pretty exotic looking. Once you receive those Prayerscars, you’ll have to try hard just passing for normal in my world, trust me.” Not for the first time, John considered telling Ravishan about Kyle. But he wasn’t sure how Ravishan would take it. John knew that stealing Kyle’s key wouldn’t come across as a good thing, no matter how he worded it.

He and Bill and Laurie all depended upon Ravishan’s good will for their survival in and eventual escape from the world of Basawar. Ravishan brought them clothes and food, and he’d told no one about them. Also, Ravishan would have access to a key someday. So far, that seemed to be their only hope for returning home. For now his friendship was too important, and too new, to burden with unpleasant revelations.

Ravishan sighed again and then said, “I just don’t want to say I’m a milkman.”

“Maybe you just don’t want to obey Ushman Dayyid,” John suggested.

“Maybe,” Ravishan said. “I’m tired of him. He shouts at me when I do what he wants, and if I can’t do what he wants, he shouts louder.”

 “Sounds like he’s frustrated.”

“Vun’hir wahbai,” Ravishan murmured.

“He’s an asshole?”

“You understood that?” Ravishan asked.

“Perfectly.” John smiled.

“Domu, Laman’Jahn, domu.” Ravishan grinned. “Soon you will know all of the profane words.”

“It’s the small triumphs that make life worth living.”

A noise from farther back among the trees alerted them to the presence of others. They went silent and peered into the shadows. Even now that Bill and Laurie wore the clothes Ravishan had brought from Rathal’pesha, John instantly recognized them. They were much more slender than the few shepherds that John had seen. And they moved more cautiously, as if the knowledge that they were trespassers in this world had suffused even their muscles.

“Tumah, Vur’Loshai. Tumah, Vun’Behr.” Ravishan greeted both of them with his hand raised in peace.

Ravishan had given them all Basawar names. He called Laurie, Loshai. Bill, Behr. And John’s name had shifted to Jahn.

 Laurie waved. Bill made a little shrugging motion, as if he were too tired to raise his arm, which might have actually been the case.

“Tumah, Ushiri Ravishan.” Laurie mimicked Ravishan’s gesture.

Bill said, “Hey.”

“What’s up, my man?” Ravishan strode to Bill and held out his palm for Bill to slap. Today Bill only batted his fingers weakly.

“I feel like crap.” Bill sat down beside a tree and rested his head on his knees. Laurie knelt down next to him and rubbed his back.

Ravishan frowned and crouched down beside them.

“Behr,” Ravishan said, “your breathing still troubles you?”

“Yeah, same old story.” Bill lifted his head. “So what have you two been up to?”

“Just talking,” John said. “Trying to fish.”

“Any luck with that?” Laurie asked.

“I caught a few.” John tapped the reed basket with his foot. “Nothing compared to the weasels though. Those little guys can really swim.”

“Weasels?” Ravishan looked up at him. It was rare for him to not know a word, but it did happen from time to time.

“Ganal’im,” John supplied.

“Sa? Ganal’im Nayeshi’hir sa?” Ravishan asked.

“Iss. Hel shir’ro ganal’im,” John pointed out over the water where the white weasels splashed and dived after fish. “Weasel shir’ro ganal, iff otter shir’kin ganal.”

“Could we please speak English, today?” Bill broke in before Ravishan could ask more.

“Sorry,” John said. He hadn’t really noticed when he had stopped speaking English.

“Thanks.” Bill leaned his head back down against his knees.

“Do you want me to take you back to the shelter?” He had carried Bill before, when Bill just couldn’t move without beginning to choke. That had been back during the coldest days of winter. John had hoped that the warmer weather would make things easier for Bill.

“I’m sick of the fucking shelter. I just want to be somewhere else.”  Bill closed his eyes. “I want to go home.”

Laurie wrapped her arms around him and he leaned into her. Their small bodies were almost lost in the folds of their gray wool coats.

“We’re gonna go home,” Laurie said. “We’ll have pizza and macaroni and cheese and beer and hot showers—and we’ll watch movies.”

“Any movies I want?” Bill asked.

“Any movies you want.”

“Even—”

“—Erotic Coven II,” Laurie finished.

“You’re the best, you know that?” Bill said.

“Yeah, but I’m glad you do too.” Laurie kissed the top of his head.

“I don’t think I even care about stupid Erotic Coven II anymore,” Bill said. “I just want to breathe. I just...”

“I know.” Laurie pushed his hair back from his face. “It’s gonna happen. I promise.”

 “Behr,” Ravishan had to crouch down to get his face as low as Bill’s, “when I become Kahlil, I promise that I will return you home. I’m sorry that I brought you here.”

“You didn’t bring us. We—” Laurie cut herself off when she saw John’s expression. “It just happened.”

“That’s how it would seem to you, but I prayed to Parfir for an entire year. I asked him to bring me a new teacher.” Ravishan glanced up at John. “I begged him to bring me someone who would help me.”

“Well, we’ve certainly been a lot of help for you so far,” Bill said.

“You have,” Ravishan said. “Before you were here, I dreaded every day. I only thought of the pain.” He touched his bandaged arm lightly. “When I thought of crossing through the gateway, and when I imagined the pain of it, I nearly cried. I’m ashamed of myself now, but then I even thought of running away.”

“You still get injured when you cross,” John said.

“It doesn’t seem so bad,” Ravishan said. “Now I can’t wait to wake up and practice my skills and bring you things and talk with you out here. And now I know that I will be Kahlil. You are my sign that these little cuts aren’t for nothing. Someday, I will return you all to your home, and I will defeat the Fai’daum in my own world.” Ravishan smiled, one of his truly handsome smiles. He seemed to glow with belief and happiness.

It was this kind of pure enthusiasm, John thought, that inspired the Children’s Crusades in the Middle Ages. Only someone young and inexperienced could so completely and easily give himself over to faith and sacrifice. Ravishan wanted to believe this, and he would believe it. He had not yet learned that a coincidence could be just that, or worse, that adults around him might use his faith for their own needs.

“You know,” Laurie’s voice was soft, “when we first came here, I knew it had to be for a purpose.”

“You were brought for me,” Ravishan said. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to suffer, but I give you my word that I will take care of you.”

Laurie’s smile was nearly as childlike as Ravishan’s. “I knew there was a reason for all of this.”

Ravishan straightened. He looked up at the sky and frowned.

“I have to return to Rathal’pesha. Ushman Dayyid will expect me early today since I was late yesterday.” He began to lift his hands in peace then paused. “Behr, I will see if I can find a medicine for you. There is a drink that our healer, Hann’yu, gives us when our lungs are torn. I’ll bring it two days from now.”

“Thanks, Ravi.” Bill raised his hand in the symbol of peace. “Tumah.”

Ravishan smiled and returned the gesture to all three of them.

“Tumah,” he said, and then he closed his eyes and was gone.

John waited a few minutes in silence. He didn’t know why, except that he couldn’t quite believe that Ravishan had simply gone. Some superstitious part of him worried that atoms of Ravishan still lingered in the air, listening and watching.

“You shouldn’t encourage him to take responsibility for us being here,” John said at last.

“What do you mean?” Laurie asked.

“I mean that he has enough problems in his life. He doesn’t need to think that he did this to us on top of everything else.”

“How do you know he didn’t?” Laurie asked.

“Because I was there when we went through that gateway. I was the one turning that fucking key, and I’m the one who lost it.” John didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he stepped closer to Laurie. “I did this to us, not him.”

“How can you be so closed-minded after everything that’s happened?” Laurie demanded. “We don’t know what brought us here, and we don’t know why. Maybe Ravishan does.”

“She’s got a point, man,” Bill said.

John glared at Bill. “Ravishan did not bring us here. He’s just a teenager.”

“Children can have tremendous psychic energy, John,” Laurie said, “particularly teenagers. A lot of people believe that the conflicted energy in a troubled adolescent can even create—”

“This isn’t some tarot reading at a strip mall!” John cut her off. “This isn’t some New Age feel-good movie.”

“Hey—” Bill began.

“Shut up,” John snapped. “This is a place where they burn people alive. This is a place where they cut the shit out of Ravishan and whip him for disobedience. He could be killed for what he’s doing for us. We have no right to make him take total responsibility for us!”

“I didn’t say he had to take total responsibility,” Laurie shot back, fire in her eyes, “but we don’t know why we were called here. Maybe we were the answer to his prayers.”

“Or maybe we were fucking around with something, and it just happened,” John replied. “Maybe Ravishan should have run away, but now he thinks that he has to stay and suffer to save us.”

“How can you be so negative?” Laurie demanded.

“It’s called realism,” John replied.

“It’s pretty negative realism,” Bill put in.

“Look,” John shoved his hair back from his face, “I don’t care what bizarre ideas you choose for your own life. I don’t care what you say when you’re helping your beautician clientele decide what hair color resonates with their higher powers. I don’t give a damn about that. But this is Ravishan’s life. If he needs to get the hell out of that monastery, then he should be able to. We shouldn’t be stopping him.”

 Laurie didn’t say anything. She just stared at John like she was about to cry.

“You know, John, you can be a real asshole when you’ve got a crush on a guy,” Bill said. “I never noticed that before.”

“That has nothing to do with this— and I do not have a crush on him. He’s a kid,” John snapped.

 “Yeah, whatever.” Bill shrugged. “Laurie and I should probably get back to the shelter and start dinner.”

Bill struggled to his feet. Laurie got up quickly and helped him. John suddenly felt like an ass.

“I’m not trying to—” he began, but Bill cut him off.

“It’s okay, Toffee. We get it. Nobody is gonna feel good about anything ever. Don’t worry.”

“I didn’t say that,” John said.

“No,” Bill said. “You don’t need to say anything more. We stupid flakes can only take so much of your super-smarter-than-everyone-else Realism. We’re just gonna go back home and pick our butts like we always do.”

“I didn’t say you were picking your butts,” John said.

Laurie made a weird noise like she had been crying and then laughed. Her hair hung over her face. She wouldn’t look up at him.

“I’m sorry,” John said. “I am an asshole. I’m just really worried about Ravishan.”

Laurie pushed her hair back. Her eyes were red, but there weren’t any tears.

“It’s okay. You’re right about pressuring him.” She sniffed and wiped her nose. “But, you know, sometimes it really hurts when you won’t even consider what I have to say. You just put all of my beliefs down like they didn’t mean anything.”