The Sixth Gate

by K T Munson

  Patches of sand melded with the tall grass, but further ahead the vegetation was speckled with emerald patches. The arid air added to the feeling of dread, and Jinq felt lightheaded. Suddenly Mara stopped at the very edge of Himota, her complete halt causing Hibrius and Cav to suddenly be in the sun. They blinked back at the elephant as the blinding light shone down on them.

  “What is it?” Kerrigan asked, reaching up and touching the elephant’s side.

  Mara started backing up and shaking her head. She trumpeted, and an unhappy sound rumbled in her throat. That rumble usually meant danger, yet Jinq saw none. He pulled the staff from his waistband and moved toward the tree line.

  “What is wrong with her?” Kerrigan asked.

  “Mara feels what I feel,” Jinq whispered as his eyes swept from left to right. “Something is wrong.”

  Abruptly, a scream pierced the air. Jinq held a hand out as Hibrius recoiled from the sound and Cav began hopping nervously along the panther’s back. Kerrigan’s eyes were suddenly as wide as Mara’s.

  “What is that feeling?” she asked, her voice tight with fear.

  “Stay here and keep them safe,” Jinq commanded, and Kerrigan nodded as she swallowed hard. “Hibrius, with me.”

  Hibrius struggled forward as though he was fighting an invisible flood before pushing his head into Jinq’s hand. Cav jumped from Hibrius’s back and dove right into Kerrigan’s chest, making small distressed sounds as she held him. Mara made a sad little trumpeting noise before putting the tip of her trunk on Kerrigan’s shoulder. Eventually, the ache and wave of darkness dissipated after their physical contact; spirit companions were always strongest when they were together. Two intertwined souls working in concert could overcome almost anything.

  Jinq pushed forward into the tree line, although the brush resisted his entry. He would have preferred a path but didn’t have time to find one. After a minute or two, he could hear people calling out in distress. It wasn’t long until the two of them reached an open dirt clearing. In the middle of the field, a group of people were gathered around the only tree in the open space. It stood tall and nearly barren amongst its lush counterparts.

  He continued forward as the people yelled, seeming to call to someone. They were all looking up, so Jinq did too. Two women and a man were up in the tree. The man put his arms out at his side and jumped before Jinq had time to react. Appalled, he turned away a little as the body hit the ground. It was nauseating to see such a terrible sin being committed and not be able to pray.

  Forcing himself to look back, he realized the two women hadn’t jumped yet. He hurried across the field, moving as quickly as he could without breaking the connection with Hibrius, which allowed him to move with some ease. The pressure filled his nostrils and he was having a hard time breathing. How could these people stand around something so dark without their spirit animals? As he approached, he noticed they didn’t seem to be affected like he was. Dread clawed at the back of his brain, but he pushed it down.

  “Please come down,” one of the women called. “I beg of you to stop. Please, sister.”

  “I want to fly,” the woman said, putting her arms out as she fell forward from the massive tree.

  The crowd moved back as the woman plummeted to her death. There was a sickening crunching noise, and a halo of blood begin to form around her head. He grimaced at the smile on her face before turning his attention to the final woman in the tree. Many more were calling for her to get down.

  “Please don’t, Marta!”

  “Silence!” he yelled, pushing people aside.

  “Who are you?” someone demanded, but he ignored him.

  “Tell me, Marta,” Jinq called, as the young woman spread out her arms. “Why do you want to fly?”

  She stopped and looked down at him, her arms falling limply to her sides. She seemed to look at him and see through him. In a way, her eyes were not her own. Jinq swallowed heavily in fear, although the young woman could do nothing to him in her current position. Then her face spread into a sickeningly sweet smile, and she thrust her arms out at her sides again.

  “I want to be free before he comes!” she shouted into the sky.

  Before he could ask anything else, she leaned forward and fell head first.

  Jinq turned away and only heard the crunch and snap as her neck broke. Struggling to turn his eyes to her again, his heart grieved that her body looked like a discarded doll, bent and broken. To his revulsion, the three all had the same smile, even in death. Jinq glanced around at the grim suspicious faces of the people of Himota.

  “I am of the Southern Council,” he informed them. “I am here on a mission to see what is causing these deaths. I request to see Councilmen Robert.”

  His words were met with silence. Jinq could feel the overwhelming darkness fading. Whatever had compelled these people to kill themselves was tied to the wave of gloom. He glanced around at the solemn faces of the crowd until a man finally stepped forward.

  “That is Councilman Robert and his family,” he informed him and indicated the bodies on the ground.

  Chapter 12: Ashlad

  Malthael put the newspaper down with a heavy sigh as he watched Elisabeth leave. He truly did not understand how these planet-dwellers survived parenthood. He stood without touching his dinner, though he knew his cook would hiss at him later, as he walked over to the liquor cabinet. He’d saved their cook’s life long ago from a higher demon, though, so eventually she’d forgive him. She always did.

  Once the glass was full, he returned to his seat. Glancing at his daughter again, he mentally compiled how much he had kept from Elisabeth for her own safety. The less she knew about the Netherworld and the Divine Court, the better. He’d spent most of his life in service of a member of the Divine Court, and he would not go back. It had been a different life, and he had been a different demon then, but now he was reformed.

  Even just sitting there reminiscing about the Netherworld pulled Malthael mentally back to Morhaven and his home within the Netherworld. The Netherworld had always been a topsy-turvy place, but it had its own set of order. Chaos had been reined in and balanced by the inner circle, the Divine Court, but they had grown lax over the years. Malthael had told Elisabeth the harsh and brutal truth of her birth to make her turn away from the Nether and its allure. Of anyone, a former demon would best understand the temptation of the Netherworld, but he knew, too, that it would end poorly.

  “Come along, my dear,” Tiss said. Malthael looked up, surprised. He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Tiss enter.

  “Good night, Papa.” Elisabeth kissed his forehead as she walked by.

  Tiss frowned at his untouched plate, her beautiful mortal-looking face untarnished by the grimace. Her silky dark brown hair was gathered in a fancy bun, similar to what he would see in Oran. She was dressed in a beautiful robe, and Malthael wondered if her vanity would ever wane. Malthael wisely returned to his plate as she slithered by, deciding a compliment to her would solve nothing.

  The great knocker clunked thrice, filling the hall with a deep echo that rumbled through the halls. Hearing a creaking noise, Malthael looked up over his spectacles toward the entryway. His short butler, Gog, zipped across the hall. He was part dwarf and part Hysteri—the dots along his hairline a dead giveaway—who had accidently stumbled into the Nether and had somehow made his way through their gate. The dwarf spoke rarely, a trait Malthael valued, so he’d taken him on as his personal butler.

  He rushed along the floor. Something about the house and the proximity to the gate made him move swiftly. Malthael smiled as he leaned back in his chair and waited. It was not often they had visitors, and he doubted the assassin would be so bold. When the door opened, he recognized the voice immediately. Malthael stood as Gog brought in the one regular visitor they did have. He was a tall, thin male with a long willowy face and a mouth that constantly frowned. His fingers were freakishly long, and he wore a long dark grey robe that was embroidered w
ith gold decorations. The vestment dropped down to his thighs and had two twining roses, one black and one white, sewn into the edges. It was the emblem of Nauberon Det Mor, King of Morhaven and protector of the Netherworld.

  Malthael’s frown deepened. The Det Mor family meant trouble. The Divine Court lived within Morhaven, the pearl of the Netherworld, and oversaw all the worlds’ chaos with a careful eye. Nauberon was their king. The rest of the Divine Court believed the threat was dead and gone, but the King and his kin did not believe the chaos and darkness that threatened them was truly depleted. When something threatened the peace, they would send their great warrior, Arawn, the Lord of the Hunt. Malthael could still remember his black antlers, though it had been many a year since the last time Arawn had been seen among the planets. Not since the last Great Hunt.

  “Zod,” Malthael said with a bow of his head in respect, “what brings you from the Dusky Woods?”

  “You’ve gotten fat,” he answered with a little frown. Plumpness was not considered attractive in the Netherworld. His eyes scanned the table, and he pointed at a pile of biscuits. “Are those wise?”

  “Age will do that to you,” Malthael responded with an uncaring shrug. “I know you did not come here to tell me to lay off the biscuits. So why are you here?”

  “Your request for information on this assassin has gotten the attention of the Det Mor Clan, and they are not pleased with this thing,” he said, his inflections growing distasteful near the end. “It has been using the Netherworld as a go-between so it can kill sinners.”

  “Why are you calling this man a thing?” Malthael asked, and he worried. Even the snobbish Det Mor did not call demons “things,” so whatever this assassin was must be worse.

  “It may have the form of a man, but it carries many souls,” Zod replied, revulsion in his voice. His fingers intertwined as his natural frown turned down further. “A creature such as it becomes a thing. We would dispatch Arawn, but those souls are fused, and we believe it has many lives.”

  “You’re saying he is immortal?” Malthael asked, leaning forward, his hand on the table.

  “I am saying it is very hard to kill,” Zod said with a frown. “We are searching for a way around these souls. So that we can kill it and restore balance.”

  “Do you have any of his recent movements?” Malthael asked, hoping to know where he was going.

  “It spoke with Riku before returning to this world,” Zod said with a wave of his hand. “I was here speaking with our contact when the news arrived.”

  “Riku? The Keymaster?” Malthael demanded as he stepped around the table, his chest suddenly tight.

  “Indeed,” Zod answered, giving him a strange look. “Why is that of concern to you?”

  Malthael didn’t answer. Instead, he started to run. “Elisabeth!” he yelled.

  His heavy footfalls shook the ground and the marble flooring threatened to crack under his strength, but he didn’t care what happened to such things. The flooring could be replaced; Elisabeth could not. He’d thought he would have more time to protect her, more time to prepare. This assassin, with all its souls, had wasted no time at all.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and again called, “Elisabeth!” as he ran up toward her room. He burst through the door and stopped short when he saw them. Elisabeth had a hand on the assassin’s chest. While his face was mostly covered, he had nothing in his hands, which gave Malthael some measure of relief. The pair reacted slowly to Malthael’s sudden appearance, turning their heads as though they were in a trance.

  “Get away from her!” Malthael roared as he reached into the dimension where the Netherworld existed and pulled out his demonic sword. There were not many items demons could pull from the Nether. A full demon could usually do more, but he was no longer whole. He could only pull his sword because it was bound to him—a remnant of what he once was.

  The long blade burned bright with Netherfire, and he charged without hesitation. The man stepped back from her and ducked to evade Malthael’s attack. He immediately sliced the air towards the assassin again, but the man moved gracefully to the side and out of harm’s way. Frustration drove him forward, and he pushed the masked man back, yet despite the skill of every swing, the man continually outmaneuvered him.

  Malthael stopped mid-swing and pushed the blade down, catching the very edge of the assassin’s thigh. Fire burned along the cut, but he didn’t cry out or stop. Instead, the assassin leaped up onto the windowsill before dropping out of sight. Malthael was half out of the window, intending to go after him, when Elisabeth’s voice finally registered.

  “Stop!” she yelled, tugging on his arm, which was nearly the size of her waist. “Malthael, stop!”

  “Why?” Malthael roared. “He is trying to kill you.”

  “He tried.” She pointed to a sword handle that lay forgotten on the floor. “And he failed.”

  Chapter 13: Tym Resh

  Clara Reid swept out the shop before the sun rose. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead and looked into the fog. It was strange to have fog in Loveday this time of the year. Perhaps it was one of those strange weather days she was hearing about.

  She set the broom down and turned back into the shop as the baker stepped out. Fretrik Brok was a tall man, large but not excessively so. In fact, the “too thin” people were mocked in Loveday. Many people called Clara too boyish to be pretty as well, because of her slight size. Yet Clara didn’t care much about that; she was young, only seventeen, and had tons of time to grow. What bothered her was when people made fun of the dark red birthmark on her cheek.

  “Brown sugar batch is bad,” Fretrik said with a frown and walked over, dropping the sack on the countertop. “I need it to finish the streusel. Go and get some.”

  “Aye, sir,” she said with her backwoods-twang accent, but Fretrik didn’t wait for her response. He was already back to making his goods.

  Clara lifted the stiff sugar and put it into a bright red wagon for easy transport to and from the grocer’s. Accustomed to such treatment, she went around the corner and pulled out a book. Leafing through the pages until she found the receipt that corresponded to the sugar, she realized they’d only bought the sugar two days earlier. She shoved the receipt into her pocket and squeezed the bag, which felt like it held rocks. The grocer must have lied about its age or exposure to moisture. Sugar never really went bad after all, but no one wanted to bake with sugar that hard. She pulled on a dull purple shawl before going out the front door.

  The first light of day spread across the sky, but the fog had yet to give. Clara took hold of the small wagon’s handle and headed toward the grocer’s store. Humming to herself as she walked, she pulled the apple from her pocket. She took a bite and let the juices fill her senses, savoring the taste. Before she’d gotten the bakery employment, she’d only been able to afford an apple a week. Now she could eat an apple every morning, so long as they were in season and in stock—a more comfortable life to be sure.

  Something shrilled in the distance, making her stop. Clara glanced around the fog, her eyes straining. The morning mist was thicker than she ever remembered it being, and it only seemed to be getting worse. She swallowed the apple, but it no longer had the same effect. Frowning, she continued on, but hurried, her feet moving twice as quickly.

  When she heard a soft whistle, Clara stopped again. She smiled. She’d heard that sound before—it was a flock of birds. Feeling silly for getting worked up over blackbirds or sparrows, she told herself it was probably just a startled bird that had made the earlier piercing noise. She waited in anticipation to see them fly overhead. When she finally saw them coming toward her, as full and thick as a storm cloud, she took a step back in surprise. She had never seen that many before!

  The wheels on her wagon squeaked slightly, and suddenly the birds changed direction at the sound, flying directly toward her. Clara dropped the wagon handle as the small tan and black birds with red eyes swooped down, swarming her completely. Sh
e screamed as they pecked at her, each sharp beak taking a small chunk of her skin. She heard someone call her name in the distance.

  “Help me!” she screamed.

  She stumbled blindly toward the person calling her name, unable to see anything but tan feathers and flashes of red eyes. Their wings whistled as they tore at her clothes and flesh. Clara tried to run, but there were a hundred or more of them. She tried desperately to pull free, but they were everywhere, working together.

  The innkeeper appeared by her. She could see him trying to push them off her with a broom. “Try to run!” he bellowed.

  The birds let out a terrible shriek together, as if they were one creature, and turned toward the innkeeper instead. She covered her ears as they rushed past her so quickly that she tumbled onto her backside. The man fell back as she scrambled to the other side of the street. She could hear other voices now and could see the birds starting to lift the innkeeper up into the air. He struggled against them, but they would not be deterred.

  “Help! Someone help!” Clara screamed.

  When she realized everyone around was lost in the increasingly dense fog and couldn’t help, Clara stood and rushed toward the innkeeper. She tried to push the birds off, but they began to attack her again. One poked at her eye, and she staggered, tumbling on her back with a hand to her wounded eye. She could hear the man yelling as he tried to swat the creatures away. Then the birds’ wings whistled, the man’s scream was cut short, and all went silent.