Gates of Heaven

by Pamita Rao

  “You have taken the child and hidden him in your house. Now you will pay,” he said, squeezing her throat.

  A few villagers rushed towards Alaira. “They are telling the truth, sire,” said a villager. Other villagers nodded along with him. “This child was born on the last full moon in Nimah. He cannot be the prince.”

  Walahal turned to the villager and seemed to consider what he had to say. He released Alaira from his grasp. She heaved and coughed, taking huge gulps of air as his fingers left her throat.

  “All right, then, I will give you one more chance. I will test the pendant on another child, and if it does not glow, then I will behead you and your family in front of the entire village. Bring the entire village and their families in front of me!” ordered Walahal to the other soldiers.

  Villagers looked terrified as soldiers searched their houses and pulled women and children to the streets. Men tried to resist the soldiers from taking their wives but were pushed to the ground and punched in their faces. Many women held their infant children to their chests as they were dragged to the center and lined up one behind another.

  Walahal strode to the women who held infant children in their arms and snatched one of the infants in the group, ignoring the mother’s protest. As soon as he held the pendant on the infant’s forehead, the pendant shined bright, its rays erupting like it was the sun. Walahal and the soldiers looked at each other, their brows furrowed, their foreheads creased.

  “How is that possible?” asked a soldier to Walahal.

  Walahal shook his head. “This can’t be. This pendant belongs to Drahim. It cannot be wrong.” He walked from one villager to the other, dangling the pendant on each child. The pendant continued to glow.

  “Sire, even I am not a fool. But all of them cannot be children of the king.” Walahal turned to Alaira as she smiled.

  “We already told you, we do not have the prince. None of us left the village. We have been here the whole time.”

  Walahal glowered at Alaira but did not respond. He did not understand what was happening as he inspected the pendant again on his palm. He turned it upside down and shook it, as if trying to fix it. He held the pendant on another child, checking if he had mended it, but the pendant continued to glow.

  For a while, he simply stared at the villagers. Alaira could guess that he had come unprepared for such an occasion. Finally, he placed the pendant back in its pouch and climbed onto his stallion. The other soldiers released the villagers and followed him. Alaira, Horace, Klink, and a few others held onto their swords while Walahal addressed his own soldiers to retreat to the palace so he could have a word with Drahim. After speaking with his own men, Walahal glanced at Alaira.

  “We will be back for the prince and will not rest until we find him,” he said. “If he is here, you cannot hide him for long.” Walahal then reined his stallion and rode back towards the castle, while the other soldiers raced behind him. Alaira watched until the clatter of hooves lessened, dust settled back onto the ground, and the last soldier went out of sight before releasing her held breath. She turned towards the villagers to congratulate them. They had all aided her in tricking the most powerful soldier in Tireol, but all she received was a glower from Inglan.

  “Do you know what you have done?”

  Alaira shook her head. “I do not know what you mean.”

  He came running towards her, his hands fisted on his sides. Freddic rushed towards Alaira and forced Inglan to stop. “Father, what are you doing?”

  Inglan tore himself from Freddic’s grasp and charged at Alaira once more. He came to stand in front of her and pointed at her with his finger.

  “You could have been the death of all the villagers today,” he shouted at Alaira. “Your little trick could have spoilt everything I worked so hard for.”

  “You have mistaken my intentions, Inglan. It was a harmless trick, and the soldiers did not suspect a thing.”

  Inglan shook his head. “Were you not present when the soldiers dragged those poor women and their children outside? Did you not see how the soldiers treated the men who tried to protect their wives?” Alaira turned towards the villagers. Some of the women still cried in their husbands’ arms, clutching their infants to their chests, while other villagers averted their eyes from her.

  Reddan strode towards Inglan and shielded Alaira. He glared at Inglan. “My son and daughters have always fought for their land and their people. Alaira is a trained warrior the same way her sister was and can protect this village with her swordsmanship. She has assisted the villagers many times and so has Horace. Why do you keep accusing her when she only has the best intentions at heart?”

  “You think this was not your daughter’s fault. All this is happening because she brought the prince into this village!”

  “Inglan!” yelled Reddan. “Neelahaim is my grandson! How can you not have pity for a small child?”

  Inglan ignored Reddan’s question. He pointed at Alaira. “Ask her why Drahim’s pendant glowed every time it touched a child?”

  Reddan turned to Alaira. “Did you do something to the pendant?”

  Alaira and Freddic glanced at each other before Alaira spoke.

  “Last night, Freddic and I pricked Neelahaim for some blood and held it in a vial.” Everyone stayed quiet as she continued to speak. “Today, when the guards came, Freddic went to each villager’s house and sprinkled some of that blood onto each child. That is why the pendant glowed every time he touched it to a child’s forehead.”

  Inglan roared. “You see what she does to harm us!”

  Reddan thought for a moment before addressing Inglan. “You keep accusing my daughter of risking the villagers’ lives, but we are in the middle of a war, where one cannot win with swords. Creed is too powerful, and his soldiers are brutal and ruthless. I know that hiding Neelahaim in this village will ruin your reputation in front of aristocrats and our lives will be in danger, but when were we ever living in peace?

  “The villagers continue to pay high taxes, more than they can afford. Sometimes we sleep without food and water. What kind of a life is that for our children? Do you think you will continue to herd sheep on your farm forever? Do you think your son, Freddic, will continue to have privileges after your death? This is just the beginning Inglan,” he said, lowering his voice. “Maybe if you assisted her instead of accusing her, then we could indeed find a way to end all this. Today, she sent the soldiers back with the help of our own villagers, but think of what would happen if men and women from all villages joined us on this crusade. We may finally be free of Creed.”

  Reddan then turned towards Alaira. “How did you know they would bring the pendant?”

  “When the slaves working in the palace overheard Drahim and Walahal, they informed the workers of Nimah of what was to come. Freddic and I then thought of this trick.”

  Freddic held Inglan’s shoulders. “Father, what Alaira and I did today might seem cruel at first, but there was no other way to protect Neelahaim. They have retreated for now, and that is all that matters.”

  Inglan turned away from Freddic, his shoulder hunched, his head bent. Alaira could see pain in his eyes. She knew what this village meant to Inglan; he had spent his entire life, blood, and sweat to build this village, to bring workers to work in his fields and earn a living. He toiled in fields along with Freddic and produced the finest liquor, which brought a little wealth to their village. Had it not been for him, they would be just like the slaves who lived in Groigad. Inglan cared for others, cared for his fields, and most of all, he cared for his son. He had wanted his son to follow in his footsteps, to make a change and try to live under the protection of the aristocrats.

  Inglan fixed Alaira with a stare before walking back into his house. She hoped that someday, when all this was over, he would learn to forgive her family for all the trouble they had caused him.

  As Inglan went back into his house, a villager spoke up. “We are with you, Alaira,” he said. The other villagers nodded
. “Don’t take Inglan’s words to heart. What use is our life if our children will suffer the same fate as us? We will fight alongside you.”

  Alaira felt moisture creeping into her eyes. She nodded silently as the villagers picked up their children and retreated to their homes.

  As the villagers left their sight, Alaira breathed in some air to slow her racing heart.

  “Do you think this is the last we’ll see of them?” asked Freddic.

  Alaira shook her head. “No. They will be back.”

  Freddic nodded. “We will prepare ourselves for them again. Maybe think of a new trick.”

  “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “Don’t lose hope, Alaira. We are on the correct path, and everyone is with you.”

  Freddic left her alone with her thoughts to join his father at his house. He would try to convince him once more, but Alaira knew Inglan would not change his mind. She worried that maybe he was correct, that maybe bringing Neelahaim to this village had destroyed everyone’s lives.

  She stared at the Myrth sun that started its slow descent in the west, its rays slanting and causing shadows of trees to fall upon her. A hush fell over the village, and Alaira could hear the chirp of birds again. It was like their lives in Taelk, where she and Elora played around trees. Elora loved the chirps of birds and brought home a nest one day with eggs. Mother had immediately laid the nest outside their house for the birds to find. They watched in awe as the eggs hatched from the warmth of their mother’s body and scrawny little creatures emerged from beneath intertwined twigs.

  These babies do not resemble their mother, Elora said to Mother.

  Mother smiled and patted her on her head. One cannot say how a baby looks until it matures, my darling.

  Alaira and Elora fed the birds every day, but did not dare to touch her babies, as the mother bird guarded them ferociously.

  I promise to protect your son with the same ferocity, she said to herself as her memory faded. I promise that we will meet again, my dear sister. We will bring you back home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Three years later

  Searches continued in various villages, in various kingdoms, in forests, in deserts, across the seas. Soldiers came back to Nimah every year in search of the prince, but Alaira and the villagers came up with a new trick every time. The villagers came together to build a basement inside Freddic’s home, where they hid Neelahaim during one of the searches. Walahal was suspicious that something was going on in Nimah village but did not have sufficient proof to tell Creed. He did not want to face the wrath of Creed’s anger if his search did not bear any results. Hence, he just kept a close watch on Nimah.

  Creed grew more and more desperate in his search for the gate. He sent more men through the enchanted forests, hoping that someone would find the gate, but as had happened in the past, the men who went into the forests never came back.

  Many said that enchanted creatures killed them, while some said that they had escaped through the gate themselves. What happened within those forests was a mystery even now.

  Three years passed, and Creed was losing hope. Either the boy had died, buried deep into Myrth soil, or someone was still protecting him.

  One day, when Creed was resting in his chamber, Walahal came bearing news about the prince.

  “The prince lives in Nimah, my lord.”

  “Are you telling the truth, Walahal?”

  “Yes, my lord. I have been watching them all these years and find the happenings in Nimah very strange. At first, I dismissed my suspicion, but these strange occurrences do not occur anywhere else, my lord. That is why I suspect that the villagers are hiding the prince in Nimah.”

  Creed’s interest grew but so did his anguish. He had been searching for the boy for three years without any success, and he did not want to be disappointed again.

  “What do you mean by strange occurrences?”

  “My suspicion started when we searched Nimah the first time and Drahim’s pendant glowed for every child.”

  Creed nodded. He remembered Drahim’s anger when Walahal announced the pendant was not working. This pendant has powers of the Gods. I have seen it work with my own eyes, Drahim had said, trying to convince Creed. Creed respected Drahim like his own father and followed his advice. The love Creed felt for him spared Drahim’s life that day.

  “Yes, I remember,” he said.

  Walahal continued. “What I found strange was that the pendant did not glow in any other village.”

  That piqued Creed’s interest. “Did you send soldiers again to that village?”

  “Yes, my lord. I sent soldiers to Nimah again but could not find the prince. I did not approach you earlier, but during this search, something happened. I always count the number of children in each village, and this time, one child was missing in Nimah. If they hid a child, then he must be the prince.”

  Creed pushed himself up from his chair and paced the hall. “If the boy is indeed in Nimah, then the villagers are all helping one another hide him from me. Do you know which aristocrat owns the slaves who work in Nimah?”

  “Yes, my lord. His name is Inglan, and he is not an aristocrat but a merchant. He prepares liquor for the aristocrats, and in return, they allow him to have his own slaves.”

  If the boy was indeed alive and living in Nimah, then Creed still had a chance at fulfilling his dream. “Bring Inglan to me,” he ordered.

  Walahal bowed before Creed and left his chamber with a promise to bring him his child. Creed smiled to himself. For three years, he’d lived with the thought that he had lost the boy, but Walahal’s announcement was like fresh liquor. He could envision himself crossing the gates of heaven once more. His destiny was calling to him, and he would not allow anyone to stand in his way.

  ***

  “I haven’t seen him all day. Have you found him, Alaira?” Horace asked, bending to check under the bed. “Where did he go?” he asked himself loudly. He walked over to the cupboard and pulled it open. “Not in here!”

  A tiny giggle sounded from behind one of the wooden desks. Horace smiled. He approached the desk soundlessly and suddenly pulled the desk away from the wall. Neelahaim screeched.

  “I found you!” Horace yelled, lifted Neelahaim off the ground, and twirled him in his arms. Neelahaim giggled as Horace tickled him, pulled away from his hold, and ran out the room.

  “Khala! Khala!” he screamed.

  Alaira stood in the doorway, watching with amusement as Horace ran behind Neelahaim and tickled him again. Neelahaim hid behind her gown.

  “You have had your fun for today, Horace. Neelahaim needs his rest,” said Alaira.

  “But I did not get my turn to hide!” Horace whined, imitating Neelahaim. Neelahaim giggled and screamed as Horace picked him up and dangled him upside down by his leg.

  Alaira held her hands to her ears. “No more screaming!”

  Reddan walked into the house with a bucket and poured water into a cauldron. He placed it on the fire and turned towards them.

  “Chop the vegetables,” he said to Alaira. He frowned at Horace. “A child is not a toy. Lay him down on his feet.”

  Neelahaim slid down to his feet and ran to Alaira. “Khala, can we go to the market today?”

  Alaira smiled. Khala was the tongue of Taelk, a term used by nephews to call their aunts. Every time he called her by that name, her heart enlarged with unspoken love for Neelahaim.

  “We will go after we help grandfather prepare lunch.” Alaira picked up vegetables from the basket and laid them on a wooden surface. Horace peeled the vegetables while she cut them and dropped them into the boiling pot. Neelahaim watched them quietly, while Reddan pulled him onto his thigh and told him the story of Balthasar’s reign. It was Neelahaim’s favorite story, and he never tired from listening to them.

  “I do not wish to hear this story again,” said Horace.

  Alaira laughed a little. “Neither do I, but it is the only way to gain Neelahaim’s attention. It’
s a trick father uses to keep him away from us while we cook.”

  Alaira stirred the pot as vegetables bounced in boiling water.

  Neelahaim gasped. “Can I go through the gate too, grandfather?” Alaira and Horace stopped their work and turned to Reddan. Every time he asked that question, her heart constricted. Neelahaim would never know the dangers they had gone through to keep him away from the one man who wished to go through the same gate.

  What would happen if he came to know that his own father wanted to take his powers away? Alaira dipped a cloth into water and wiped the wooden plank. She remembered the day as if it was yesterday, when they had brought a child, wrapped in royal sheets, inside a food basket. They had not only taken him away from his heritage, but he would never know of his mother.

  She felt a pain in her chest at the thought of her sister. How might she be now? It had been three years, and the queen had never made an appearance again. Some had said that she was held as a prisoner now, captive in her own chamber. Her only trusted chambermaid had been killed in front of her, and it was heard that the queen did not want another. She spent most of her days in solitude in the east tower.

  Alaira had begged her father to grant her permission to visit Elora, to reunite Neelahaim with her, but it was too dangerous, as Creed’s soldiers were still in search of the prince. Alaira watched Reddan move Neelahaim down from his lap while he got up to stretch his legs. He had become weaker and thinner in the past few years. Wrinkles on his forehead had become dense and he always seemed to look tired.

  When the stew was ready, Alaira laid their table, while Horace and Reddan pulled their chairs. Neelahaim climbed on his chair, which Horace had built for him. It was smaller than the rest of the chairs but easier for Neelahaim to climb.

  “Did you think about what I said?” asked Reddan.

  Alaira poured stew into Neelahaim’s bowl and laid it in front of him. He sniffed it and pushed it away.

  “I thought about it, Father,” she said. “And I will not leave you.”