The Gate of Fang and Thorn

by R. M Garino

  "No," Logan said. "I guess they would not have."

  "They didn't," Angus said.

  The pronouncement about the glyphs tattooed on the Lost Guard played back through Logan's mind. What prompted such a betrayal was beyond his understanding. He wanted to believe the E'ine had sound reasons beyond his own limited perspective, but he knew that was his training speaking. For decades he was taught to follow orders, not to question them. That was the purview of slipshod soldiers like Kal'Parev.

  "I think you should rethink your intention." Garrett watched the map with the intensity of a hunting dog spotting its prey. When the fog vanished, the stub of charcoal he held flew in a frenzy across the vellum, sketching the path. "Life's not so bad here, once you get used to it. Better than throwing your life away on a fool's errand."

  “Because a thing has never happened,” Angus said, “it never will. Because it has never been done before, it cannot be done now. I’ve lived my life avoiding absolutes such as those. A thing is impossible only if you make it so.”

  “That sounds like a very naive view,” Garrett said without looking up from the map. “But coming from a Keeper gives it weight. I'll think on it."

  Angus stepped forward, and offered Garrett a Magi salute: his fist pressed against a vertical palm.

  "Chart your own path," he said. "Keep your head about you, and do what you know to be right."

  Garrett nodded and returned the gesture.

  “This is where we part,” Angus said to Logan. He extended his hand. “I’m glad I witnessed this small part of your journey, my friend. We will meet again.”

  Logan regarded the outstretched hand a moment before he decided to shake it.

  “Charge against your enemies,” he said, “and bathe the blades.”

  A commotion further down the hall demanded their notice. Brigit stalked toward them, her face grim and determined. She took the steps to the raised map room two at a time.

  “I would speak with you a moment alone, Angus,” she said.

  “We have nothing to discuss,” Angus said. “I’m parting ways with you and yours as well.”

  "Seven Hell, Kal'Parev," she shouted. "Have you forgotten your honor? I have not. Do not make me remind you of your duty."

  Logan saw how the question pierced him. Angus met his gaze and gestured to the charts.

  "Get your things," he said before turning back to her. "Be quick with your exit."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Aenir

  Logan hitched his pack higher on his back and adjusted the straps. After replenishing their water and rations from the Lost Guard’s stores, it was heavier than he was accustomed to. He focused on his surroundings. His gaze wandered without pause, suspecting an enemy behind every rock or tree. The Sur’s red sun hung heavy and still in the sky.

  Cormac jogged to his left. Neither of them tried to hide their enthusiasm to be on their way. The chaos from the council room seeped out into the common ranks. The tensions mounted when someone called general quarters. Logan doubted if Garrett and their promised escort would aid them.

  Logan was grateful that they did and five members of the Guard filled out the diamond formation. Their gaze never static, they kept to a steady, ground eating pace.

  "It's good to be on our way home," Cormac said.

  Logan nodded at his friend.

  He allowed himself a small smile at the thought. It was a long time since he called someone that. It was a wonder Cormac still chose to call him friend. To call him brother.

  Logan did not realize how lonely he was in truth until he welcomed his cohort - his Pride - into his affections. He regretted not doing so sooner. How many years did he waste with his foolishness?

  The landscape changed and they entered a temperate forest. The canopy soared far overhead and the trees reached impossible heights. The trees were thicker than any he beheld before, save the great tree of Reven Marthal. The trunks were capable of hiding any number of enemies. The ground was covered with a carpet of soft loam that muffled their footsteps.

  "Company, hold," Garrett ordered. The Blades stopped and stepped into a defensive perimeter, with each of them facing differing directions.

  "Suit up," he called out. "Satyagraha."

  Their sin'dels pulled tight against their flesh and transformed with a crystalline peel. Logan was amazed with their proficiency. The technique was exceptionally difficult, but provided an impenetrable armor. It was made of a soldier's life force, concentrated and hardened by their will.

  "Move out," Garrett said.

  The company stepped off into a casual march. Each soldier looked about with an easier, more confident gaze at their surroundings.

  Within several yards the sight of the sun vanished, but there was still illumination enough to see. Logan was unable to detect its source. Large puffs of pollen drifted on the slight breeze, interspersed with small flecks of light reminiscent of a si’ru. A sense of peace and tranquility permeated the space.

  “Be on your guard,” Garrett said, his words soft. “There is a false serenity here. It is meant to lull you into complacency and circumvent your defenses. Once they have a hold on you, you are lost.”

  “I did not know shrulks to be so devious.” Cormac seemed to heed the warning and resumed his visual scan. The Lost Guard shook their heads and tightened their formation.

  “Shrulks do not enter this place,” Garrett said. “The foes we face here will be much, much worse.”

  A small speck of light drifted before Logan. The glow it presented shifted through a rainbow spectrum as if it possessed a miniature sin’del. It was captivating, and it drew his attention. It drifted closer, and he stepped forward to get a better look. It had a small body, more sprite than insect, and opened its arms to him. It was really was like a si’ru, he thought, but only larger. He lifted his finger, inviting it to alight.

  Garrett crushed it in his fist.

  Logan jumped back and reached for his sword.

  “Were you not listening?” He drew a cloth from his belt pouch and wiped his gloved palm. He tossed the cloth aside. “I warned you of the enemy and you all but invited it to take you.”

  Logan looked to where the tiny creature once floated, and then back to Garrett.

  “That was the enemy?” He found it difficult to believe that something so beautiful was dangerous.

  “Do you forget where you are?” he said. “This is the Sur. It is designed to kill you. Not all of its intentions will be broadcast. Everything here is your enemy.”

  With a brusque wave he urged the company forward again.

  “How can that little thing harm him?” Cormac demanded. “Is it poisonous?”

  “Worse.” Garrett resumed his pace, but kept near the two Yearlings. “They infiltrate the sin’del. They burrow inside your energy field, push out your si’ru and feed on it. They then mimic the si'ru's presence in your sin'del. A single sprite has subtle effects on a person’s disposition, their basic personality. What's worse, they create a hole in the sin'del's armor that the Lo'ademn can exploit. When the sprites swarm, it is merciless. They can destroy an entire sin’del in minutes.”

  “What’s left in its place?” Cormac said.

  Garrett regarded them.

  “A thing with no will,” he said. "Under the complete control of a Lo'ademn."

  Logan was stunned by the revelation. In all his training he never heard of such a thing. His mind raced along the different paths of probability the concept offered.

  “Do they only exist here?” he said.

  “They can be found everywhere in the Sur,” Garrett said.

  “So, any of the other cohorts could have brought one back through to the Patresilen?” Cormac said, voicing the fear that crept into Logan’s belly.

  “It is possible.” Garrett hesitated with his response.

  How many crossed over, Logan wondered. How many Lethen’al were contaminated? How many sprites were expelled when a contaminated Lethen’al died? For the first ti
me in his life, Logan questioned the practice of entering the Sur. Now, he was glad he decided to return. This was a piece of intelligence of even greater value than the map.

  The company entered a clearing, and the Lost Guard stopped. They fell into a defensive position and blocked the path. Garrett moved into the line, Logan and Cormac followed.

  A wall of fog ranged between the trees on the other side. It was not as thick as Logan expected, but it undulated in the invisible wind.

  “This is where we leave you,” Garrett said. “It is late. Will you continue on or make camp?”

  “I think we will make camp for a bit.” Logan glanced up at the sky. The sun still hung in the exact same position, and he knew sleep would be hard to come by. “We will head out shortly.”

  “So be it then,” Garrett saluted them. “Farewell, Logan. Farewell Cormac. Do not be afraid to bathe the blades. I pray you find what you are looking for on the other side.”

  The rest of the Guard offered similar wishes, and with reluctant, hesitant steps they departed.

  “I’ll gather some wood,” Cormac said. “Why don’t you get a fire started?”

  He gathered the fallen branches and twigs within the clearing. Logan was glad he did not need to remind him to stay close. It was just the two of them now, and they needed to remain together. Logan prepared the pit to hold the flames. First, he dug two holes within four inches of each other. Then, with a sharpened stick, he bored a hole from the top of one pit down to the bottom of the other. In one with the hole at the bottom, he laid a bundle of dried grass and kindling. He struck a piece of flint with the back of his belt knife, and sent a spray of sparks into the tinder. The second hole fed oxygen and increased the heat and caused it to burn almost smokeless.

  Within minutes they had a small taste of comfort. They filled their small pots with water, and set them near the flames to boil.

  “Do you think we’ll get home?” Cormac said into the silence. They had both settled in to either side of the fire, leaning on their elbows.

  “Of course we will,” Logan said. He broke a small branch and threw it into the blaze.

  “I don’t think I will.” Cormac studied the flames, his head tilted to the side as if listening to something only he could hear.

  Logan regarded him, worried by his strange tone.

  “What makes you say that?” Logan said. “Do you doubt my word?”

  “It's not that,” Cormac said. “It's… forget it.”

  “Not a chance.” Logan sat up and crossed his legs. “Speak to me, brother. What is bothering you?”

  Cormac was silent, and Logan studied him with greater scrutiny.

  “It was that scrub, Angus,” Cormac said just as Logan was about to repeat his request.

  “What about him?”

  “The way he looked at me,” Cormac said. “When he heard my name, he was startled. I don't think he expected to see me. You he knew, and he had no doubt that you returned. His exact words.”

  Logan saw the fear in his friend's countenance.

  “He said nothing about me,” Cormac said. “At first, I thought it made sense. He knew you. He has a history with you. And, well, you’re Logan Fel’Mekrin. The only reason I can come up with for his behavior is that he didn’t know me in his future.”

  “Angus Kal’Parev, or Tu’renthien, whatever he calls himself, is an arrogant prick,” Logan said. “He most likely said what he did to get a rise out of me. Our history is strained at best.”

  “That occurred to me too,” Cormac said.

  “There you have it.” Logan waved the matter away. “He tries to get under your skin. It's what he does.”

  “But then I thought about the way he looked at me.” Cormac drew a deep breath. “It was as if he was looking at something unnatural, something that should not be. And I thought, what if he knows that I died here, in the Sur. He would be surprised to see me alive.”

  Logan stroked his chin. He entertained the same thoughts and harbored the same fear, but there was no way he was going to admit that to his friend.

  “That scrub – and believe me, regardless of what position or title Angus holds, he's a scrub – he knows little to nothing about the Areth'kon or the people in it.” Logan said. He lifted the lid to one of the pots. Seeing that it was just approaching a boil, he poured the dried contents of a pouch into it. He stirred it, and replaced the lid. "I would not put much stock in what he says or does."

  Cormac regarded him with a flat stare.

  “I hear voices,” he said. “I have since I entered the Sur. They taunt me, call me names, tell me how weak I am. At first, there were many, and I could tune them out. But now, there's just one.”

  “What is it saying?” Logan noted how Cormac twisted his hands together.

  “Ever since we left the sanctuary, it tells me that I’ll never leave this place alive.”

  “I guess it has never met an Elc'atar before,” Logan said. “You have to ignore what it says. It is trying to discourage you. This is the Sur. Do not listen.”

  “It tells me that you will leave me behind,” Cormac said. “It says that you’re only concerned for your own glory, your own fame, and that when the time comes, you will forsake me to gain your own freedom.”

  Logan was still. How often had those very thoughts sounded within the confines of his own skull? Just days ago the words would have been true. But not now. No. Not now. Now he was different. He had changed.

  Hadn’t he?

  “Do you believe this voice?” Logan used a stick to move his pot from the flames, but his motions were slow, his attention focused on his friend.

  Cormac did not answer. Unnerved by the silence, Logan lifted the lid off Cormac’s pot and filled it from his own stores.

  “Should I?” Cormac said. “Should I believe it?”

  “That is a question you do not need to ask,” Logan said. He fought down his annoyance at the question. “I stayed with you when the gate closed. If I was leaving without you, I would have done so then. I swear to you now, brother, I will do everything in my power to bring you home.”

  “But that’s not like you, is it?” Cormac said. “All these years, and you’ve only thought about yourself, your own glory, your own honor. Why did you pledge yourself to us? You had to realize it was binding. Why would you want to be tied to us after we went home? That’s not like you.”

  Logan was silent. He knew how they saw him, what they thought of him. And they had every right to do so. He never missed an opportunity to place himself before them, to claim the adulations of the crowd and grow his own reputation. How often were they denied the praise his own inflated ego demanded was his alone?

  “I realized how empty my life was,” Logan said. The distrust was evident in Cormac’s eyes, and his sin’del drew away. “Can I tell you something? A truth I have told no one else?”

  Cormac was slow to respond, and his eventual nod was cautious.

  “I had no intention of leaving the Sur,” Logan said. The words surprised him, for although he admitted the truth to himself, he betrayed it by neither word nor deed. “I planned on dying here.”

  Cormac drew back and hissed.

  Logan offered him a rueful smile.

  “Arielle left me for Angus,” he said. “There was no getting her back. Her time with me was just as you described it. I thought only of myself, with no regard for her needs or feelings. When she spurned me, I grew irate, peevish. I beat a squad of graduates within an inch of their lives just to get back at her, at Angus. I promised I was coming for them next. I didn’t believe her. I thought he had tricked her in some way. And then…” Logan paused to swallow past the lump forming in his throat. “And then she came to my apartments the night before we departed. She showed me her truth. She touched my hand, Cormac.”

  Logan watched his friend, waiting to see if he understood the reference. Cormac nodded.

  “Things were not how I envisioned them,” he said. “What she showed me was so beautiful, so pow
erful, so much more than I had any hope of attaining with her. It crushed me, and I wanted to die. So, I came here with that one thought etched firmly in my mind. But then, after I was separated from all of you, after I fought to get back, I realized that I could not do it. I had too much to live for. You, Cormac. McAlister. Sionid. Alis. Bryan. Even Senet and Vadin. You are my friends. You all mean more to me than my family, my name, my honor, or my glory. That is why I pledged to you all. You gave me a reason to live.”

  Cormac’s sin’del settled, and his hands lay still on his lap.

  “I will see you home, my friend,” Logan said. “Or I will give my life in the effort. Now eat. We need our strength for whatever lies behind the fog.”

  Cormac lifted his pot from the flames and dug into his meal. Logan did the same, but with less enthusiasm. The doubts his friend harbored about him were legitimate, and would take a lifetime to erase. He knew there were many back at home that would feel the same. He would be required to prove himself for a very long time.

  ****

  Cormac watched Logan while he ate. His words were convincing and he wanted to believe him. The thought that after all this time Logan regarded him as an equal, as a friend filled his heart with joy. He wanted this more than glory and praise. For so long he made excuses for Logan's behavior and pretended he was nobler than he was. He did not want to see the selfishness, the avarice, the greed that consumed his friend. Cormac knew he could be more, wanted him to be more. But for so long, Logan dashed each and every of those pretentions.

  Do you really think anything has changed? The voice sent to him.

  You heard him, Cormac sent in reply. He was glad Logan had no telepathic talents. It made having a private conversation in his presence so much easier. He’s changed.

  He has a silver tongue, the voice sent. He tells you what you want to hear. Hasn't he always? In the end, his truth will be revealed. He is who he is, and you are who you are.

  Why do you taunt me like this? Cormac sent. Does this give you some sick pleasure?

  I derive no joy from your misery, the voice said. I only wish to see you saved from the pain that comes from trusting him.