The Gate of Fang and Thorn

by R. M Garino

  Why do you care?

  Because I know you, Cormac, the voice crooned. I know what you are capable of. I know the greatness you can attain if you were to but step out from beneath his shadow. I can show you.

  How can I trust you?

  I am Aenir. Of course you can trust me. Come to me, the voice sent. I will show you the greatness that lies within you.

  Cormac ignored the voice, though it continued to drone on. It never let him be, and he wondered, would it be so bad to listen?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Corruption

  You would think those straps would be adjusted by now.” Logan counted the length of rope, using the width of his arms as a measure. He watched Cormac settle his pack for the fifth time. His nervousness was a concern, and he wondered if the Yearling was up to the task.

  Elc’atar, he reminded himself. All they had to do was return home to formally claim the title. Cormac held against the horde at the gate. Why should now be any different?

  The fog was a source of terror, he knew. It almost unnerved him. The idea of passing into its midst and giving up the advantage of sight made him second guess his decision to try this path. He tried so hard to avoid touching anything here. He kept his gloves on all the time. But would the mist be different? Would the vapors trigger his clairvoyance when they touched his skin?

  He had no choice. It was the only way for him to keep his word.

  He beckoned Cormac over once he had enough rope played out. He circled one end around his own waist twice and tied it off with a simple square knot. He tied the other end around Cormac’s waist.

  “So we do not get separated in there,” he said. Cormac visibly relaxed once they were tethered. “Same procedure as a water crossing.”

  “You go first, I follow after,” Cormac said. “I’ll be sure to leave some slack, but not enough for the rope to touch the ground.”

  “I am glad you have my back, brother.” Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “This is it. The final push. You have your map?”

  Cormac tapped his belt pouch, gave a silent nod and held his thumb up to signal his readiness. Logan returned the gesture. They each carried a crude, hand drawn chart with their path marked. Of course, everything after the fog was sheer conjecture, but Garrett sketched it during the intervals when the fog was gone.

  Logan drew his sword and stepped to the edge of the bank.

  “If anything happens to me,” he said without looking back, “you keep going. Press forward, boots in the blood.”

  “We go together.” Cormac gathered up the rope, to play it out while he waited his turn.

  “That’s not a suggestion, soldier.” Logan peered at him over his shoulder to make sure his orders were understood. He waited until Cormac acknowledged his words.

  He drew a deep breath, out of fear of breathing in the mist. He took a step forward and white clouds subsumed him. Two steps and he paused. He was unable to see anything beyond the tip of his outstretched fingers. He let out his breath. Thankfully, his concerns about his clairvoyance were unfounded. His eyes were useless here. He expanded the range of his sin’del, pushing it away from his body. Although he was not an adept at manipulating his life force, he possessed sufficient training to do this. It gave him a slight advantage, and acted like an early warning system. He knew of everything his sin’del encountered, and that gave him double the reach of his arm to react.

  It would, of course, alert any shrulk within sensing distance, but that was a price he was willing to pay.

  If nothing else, it would prevent him from walking into a tree.

  With his precautions in place, he stepped off again.

  The rope pulled taut, and Logan paused. He waited and counted the seconds. The cordage went slack and he blew out his pent up breath.

  Cormac entered the fog.

  Boulders reared in the mist, and he navigated around them. Roots protruded and the ground fell away into holes. He knew to side step each of them. Step by cautious step he progressed, his sword held at the first position. At each obstacle he spoke its nature aloud for Cormac's benefit.

  He wished he was able to send a telepathic message, to warn him of the dangers in silence, but it was a passing thought. There was no point dwelling on what he could not do. Better to focus on what he was capable of doing. The ground rose with a slight incline.

  Minutes turned to hours. His stomach rumbled with the first stirrings of hunger and he worked his tongue within his mouth to work some moisture in. He did not want to stop even to take a drink.

  The fog disappeared with the next step.

  He stood in a forest growing up between half buried boulders. The slope was steep, but passable, and it looked like it leveled out further up.

  Logan looked about and even examined his back trail. Five yards behind him Cormac stood, frozen between strides.

  With their sight returned, Cormac rushed forward winding the rope.

  “It's like the map,” he gasped when he was close enough. “How the fog lifted from time to time.”

  “But we’ve been walking for hours,” Logan said.

  “Who knows how those crazy Magi maps function.” Cormac started untying his tether. “It looked like every few minutes to us, but maybe its hours in the real world.”

  “You might be right.” Logan stopped his efforts to free himself. “But that means we also do not know how long it will be gone. Best keep ourselves connected.”

  Cormac nodded, quick as ever to accept a suggestion, and then paused.

  “Do you smell smoke?”

  Logan scanned the area. Though faint, there was a detectable scent of wood smoke on the wind.

  “This way,” he said, and quickened his pace.

  The forest thinned and the ground leveled out. Logan held up a fist to signal a stop. Opening his hand, he patted the air with his palm and crouched down. Cormac responded to the familiar instructions and lowered his profile.

  Logan crept forward, easing the branches out of his way. He paused at the edge of the clearing.

  “Seven Hells,” he swore under his breath. Casting aside all stealth, he pushed through the tree line. Cormac was up and followed without direction.

  Obsidian sat before a small fire. He stood with their entrance and extended his arms. His sin’del, which until now was pulled tight against his flesh, expanded to its usual size.

  “It took you long enough,” he said. “I was beginning to think something happened to you.”

  “How did you get here?” Cormac demanded. He held his arm out and blocked Logan’s path.

  “I have studied the Sur for a long, long time.” Obsidian waved to indicate the world around them. “It is an intriguing place, especially once you get past the initial layers. I know a great deal about it and how it functions.”

  “What of the Lost Guard?” Logan pushed past Cormac. "You lied to them."

  Obsidian looked to the flames, but he did not respond.

  “Angus was telling the truth?” Cormac said, his sin'del a wash of surprise. “You prevented them from leaving?”

  "I did what I thought best for them," Obsidian said. "The wardings prevent them from returning through the gate once it closed, and they mirror those etched on the structure itself. I crafted them, and the gate before I relinquished my role as Keeper. But, that is not the only purpose they serve. Without them, my Blades would have died long ago."

  "Did you explain that to them?" Logan said.

  "I… tried," Obsidian said. "Some of them listened. Others… did not."

  "So why are you here?" Cormac said. "Why are you not back in the sanctum?"

  Obsidian regarded them both, his gaze searching.

  "They need time to come to terms with what I have told them," he said at length. "In the meantime, I postulated that my efforts would be put to a better purpose by aiding your return."

  “What happened?” Logan moved closer, though there was something to Obsidian's countenance that made him cautious. “What did they sa
y to you?”

  “The usual things,” Obsidian said to the flames. “Threats, accusations. Some accused me of serving the enemy. Others remained loyal and rose to my defense.”

  “Rose?” Logan prompted.

  “Their disagreements surpassed the realm of mere words,” Obsidian said. His eyes held a distant cast. “My departure seemed the wisest choice.”

  “They turned on you.” Logan said.

  “What the Lost Guard did is of no concern to you.” Obsidian kicked dirt into the hole and extinguished the fire. “You are not one of us, and our affairs remain our own.”

  “Sprite,” Cormac called out.

  Logan whipped about, focusing on the area Cormac pointed to. A pair of sprites hovered at the far edge of the clearing. They floated in the direction they needed to go.

  “It seems we must change our plans.” Obsidian hoisted his pack and headed for a parallel track. He pointed at the rope connecting them. “That will hinder you.”

  “We need to add you to the tether.” Logan moved to match his course.

  “No need.” Obsidian did not stop walking.

  “Let the fog take his deceitful ass,” Cormac said. "I have no patience with traitors."

  “Mind your tone,” Obsidian cautioned. “I am one of the last E'ine. And the fog is gone.”

  “It will be back.” Logan shook his head, annoyed.

  “No it will not,” Obsidian said.

  “Listen,” Logan said,” I understand that you know this place well, but this is just a pause in the fog. Just like on the map.”

  “As the current Keeper pointed out, the map is wrong.”

  “Are we supposed to trust him?” Cormac waved in Obsidian's direction, though, Logan noted, he surreptitiously picked at the knot. “He lied to his own -”

  Obsidian pivoted and spread his hands apart. An ethereal blue field like on the display showed their current location. There was no fog to be seen.

  “It will not return,” he said. “I cannot explain it to you in terms you will comprehend, for you lack the conceptual understandings to grasp it.”

  “But we just passed through it,” Cormac said. “Less than five minutes ago.”

  “Yes.” Obsidian pointed to the direction they came from. “It was there. Now, it is not. Let that be enough for you.”

  “That makes no sense,” Cormac raged.

  Logan watched the exchange. He agreed with Cormac. It made little sense to him, but he did not know the extent of his own ignorance on the matter. Obsidian was an E'ine, and he did seem far better versed on the matter. Recent events, however, disinclined him to follow on blind faith.

  A glance behind him revealed the presence of more sprites.

  “They’re gathering,” he said. “Lead on. We’ll worry about the fog later.”

  Obsidian closed the image and moved on. Logan tugged the rope to get Cormac moving with them.

  ****

  See, he already sides against you, Aenir whispered in Cormac’s mind.

  He has a good reason, Cormac sent back. The E'ine are not to be questioned. That is law.

  That is a convenient law, is it not? What makes them demand such obedience? Aenir sent.

  It is their right, Cormac sent. They are the first born. The first reshuffling. A child does not question their parents.

  But they must, in time, once they are no longer a child, Aenir sent. And Obsidian is dangerous. He lied to his own followers. The E'ine are not what you believe them to be.

  That is not my concern, Cormac sent. I am not of the Lost Guard.

  Logan follows him without a single argument, Aenir sent. He takes the path offered to him, even though you know it is wrong. He wants to be one of them. He said he had no intention of returning home.

  Just wait, Cormac sent. Logan will put him in his place.

  You are wrong, Aenir sent, a subtle sadness to his mental voice. If you challenge his decision, he will side with the E'ine.

  Cormac rolled his eyes. The Lo’ademn were supposed to be fearful, with an incredible store of knowledge. But, apparently, they did not know everything.

  Go on, Aenir crooned. Question him.

  Cormac ignored the voice. He did not want to challenge Logan. He trusted him.

  ****

  Logan divided his attention between their path and the sprites that paralleled them. They grew in number, with more joining them with every passing moment. Their light filled the trees.

  Obsidian increased his pace and cast the occasional worried glance to the side. The small company was forced to hurdle fallen boulders, and duck beneath grasping limbs.

  They appeared to be in a valley of sorts. The ground before them sloped down, and the mountains to the sides of them rose up. Obsidian chose a path that angled to the right. It pulled them closer to the walls of stone.

  “We’re not leaving much room to maneuver,” Logan gasped. Another glace showed the sprites tripled in number. The swarm filled the forest and moved through the trees in a tumbled, churned mass.

  “We will be past this soon,” Obsidian said. He increased his pace to a full run.

  “What lies ahead?” Cormac called out.

  “This drops down to a plane.” Obsidian used his hands to vault over a fallen trunk. “But it will bring us close to another Lo’ademn’s domain.”

  “Whose?” Logan hit the same obstacle, but cleared it in an easy jump.

  “Aenir’s.”

  “This is a bad idea.” Cormac hit the tree, but the pronouncement made him stumble over it. “I think we should go another way.”

  “There is no other way,” Logan said without looking back. “We move forward. Stick with the plan.”

  ****

  The statement made Cormac stumble, though he was quick to regain his footing. The others did not notice.

  Do you see? Aenir sent.

  Cormac was numb. How could he? He sided with the E'ine, even after his subterfuge was revealed.

  Do not fret, Aenir sent. That is the path you want to take. Step through the fog. Become what you were always meant to be. Forsake the pompous fool, for he has already forsaken you.

  Cormac continued to run, not really seeing where he went.

  Come to me, Aenir sent, his voice enormous and filled with desire. I will guide your path.

  ****

  “I think the other cohorts might have been infected when they passed through,” Logan said, voicing the concern that was gnawing upon him.

  “That is a possibility,” Obsidian said. “All the more reason to see you both home. You will have to inform the council. You will be a hero, Logan. None have ever returned from the Sur once the gate closed. They will listen to you.”

  “They’re pulling back,” Cormac yelled. He pointed to the forest edge.

  The sprites had indeed withdrawn, and the light they cast dimmed beneath the trees. The ground opened before them. The granite walls of the mountain fell away, revealing another bank of thick, undulating fog.

  “Be careful.” Obsidian stretched his hand out to Cormac, who stood a pace or two from the fog’s edge.

  Logan glanced over. Cormac shook his head. His sin'del twitched, the energy fields roiled and pitched. The look on his friend’s face filled him with dread. It was pulled into a grimace of hate, but it was not directed at Obsidian as expected. It was directed at him.

  “I forsake you.” Cormac slashed the tether with his blade. “I renounce you. I’m tired of your lies. I’m tired of your hubris. To the Apostate with you, Logan Fel’Mekrin.”

  Cormac dashed forward and disappeared into the fog.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Hint of Salvation

  Logan extended his hand, as if to pull Cormac back from the void. He cast a glance at Obsidian, who offered a defeated shake of his head.

  Without a sound, Logan plunged into the fog.

  Plumes of viscous mist curled about him and marked his passage. He disentangled himself from the rope and cast it off.

  A
shrulk lunged for him. Logan severed its head with a single sweep of his blade. Explosions sounded, and the subsonic flare of electric discharge raised the hairs on his arms. He rushed forward, and skewered a beast through its throat. A quick pivot, and he hammer fisted another that sought to sneak up behind him. The sound of a breaking skull propelled him onward. Ducking low, he caught an onrushing shrulk with his shoulder. The impact fractured its sternum and with his legs he lifted it into the air, only to shatter it against the stones under his feet. A quick flick of his wrist eviscerated another.

  To his left, arcs of fire illuminated the surroundings. Obsidian followed him in after all. The trunks of trees were darker columns in the mist. They resembled marble pillars, standing equidistant from one another. Logan listened, hoping to ascertain Cormac’s direction.

  A spike of pain through the center of his forehead made him stumble.

  HE WON’T ANSWER ME, Obsidian's telepathic voice screamed in Logan’s mind.

  His knees buckled with the agony the sending produced, and the carnage around sounded far away. He pressed his palm against the bole of a tree to steady himself.

  I’M ANGLING TOWARD YOU.

  Logan wanted to call out, to curse, to rage against the disregard the sending displayed. He hated how his kin assumed they were able to communicate with him in such a fashion. Without knowing anything about him, they expected him to be just like them. It was feckin' presumptuous, nothing more than a painful violation of his mind.

  Logan schooled his negative thoughts. Obsidian did not know, had no way of knowing that he was crippled in this regard, that he possessed no telepathic ability to speak of. A shred of information flittered across the plane of his memory; telepathy was a rare thing among the E'ine. Maybe it hurt him just as much to send as it did for Logan to receive. The possibility did not make the agony lessen.

  He laid his forehead against the cool stone of the pillar. Thankfully, there was no repeated attempt to communicate with him. He drew a deep breath, and stopped midway.

  He should be in a forest. There should not be any pillars here.