The Sixth Gate

by K T Munson

  “It is so warm here,” Kerrigan replied softly.

  “That is Hystera’s spirit lines that run throughout the planet. You’ve connected to just one of many. Try to move along it.” Jinq instructed.

  She tried. In her mind she tried running, jumping, and walking from where she was, but she stayed rooted in the same spot. It was like the night sky was swirling around her in a dark purple but she was caught in a steam of glowing lavender. The warmth of the planet remained around her, but she couldn’t seem to move. Her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to fight the planet’s hold.

  “How?” she whispered, struggling to keep the connection amidst her frustration. She had to remind herself to relax.

  “They are like rivers. You have to let yourself go and let them take you,” he said. His voice gave her the confidence she needed.

  Kerrigan tried to imagine herself falling and swimming, yet the planet kept her rooted in place. Every inch of her will fought to free itself from the gravity. Just when she was about to give up, she was pulled free, and the spirit line pulled her along like a river current. Her senses filled with the rest of the planet as she floated by. She felt the life of the grass and the animals. Further away, a soft rain soaked the earth—she would have to remember to mention that when her senses weren’t overwhelmed. Cav was awake, floating along with her in a sea of perfect melody, beaming. They were together on this journey.

  “Are you on the river?” Jinq asked.

  “Yes,” she said and felt like a child, free from her worries.

  “Come back,” Jinq told her. “Swim up the river.”

  Kerrigan felt herself turn and try to swim, but the river was too strong. She fought it, but the pressure was immense. It was as though something was fighting her, pushing on her body to keep her going down the river. She tried again to return to her original location, but a wave of discord crashed over her, which left her gasping. Startled by the sudden force, she started to slip downstream again. It was though something in the spirit line was working against her. The waves were growing more persistent, and panic set in. Something was dragging her to Himota.

  “I can’t,” she cried, her voice shaking.

  “Don’t fight the waves. Float over them,” he said, but it was too late.

  Her panic overcame her reason, and she felt something dark touch her. Her hands tightened into fists as she started being dragged to the center of the village. It wasn’t the calm gentle floating she first experienced, but instead an insistent jerk.

  When it slowed, she gasped. A burning planet was before her eyes. It was superheated from the inside to the outer core, and fire burned everywhere. A dark figure suddenly reached for her, and on his hands were bloody red letters carved into his skin. She gasped because it was the same word her mother had written under the suicide tree—Croatoan.

  Just as the letters were about to touch her, she screamed. A hand made of blinding light covered her wrist. She couldn’t even see what it was as it wrapped its arms around her and brought her to safety.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she scrambled away until her strength gave out and she fell on her back in the grass. Cav made a screeching noise of concern and circled above her as she lay panting. Tears were streaming down her face, and her nose ran.

  “What did you see?” Jinq asked, casting her in his shadow.

  “Death,” Kerrigan answered, her adrenaline making it difficult to catch her breath. “I saw death.”

  Chapter 30: Ashlad

  Malthael stared at the glass of whiskey and wondered what it was like to get drunk. Getting intoxicated was extremely difficult for the eternal. It was probably possible, now that Malthael had lost his horns and most of his powers, but he figured it would still take a lot. He needed to drink away his sorrows, a planet dweller’s ideal.

  Regardless, his sorrows remained. Instead, he was three bottles into his strongest brew and brooding in his chair, listening to the emptiness of his house. Not even Nathan or Duke could bring him out of his melancholy state. When had quiet houses led to drinking?

  When his daughter had gone to the Netherworld with her assassin in order to face the Det Mor Clan and save the universe. That was when. The thought made Malthael down the last of the glass in one gulp.

  Ki, the would-be assassin, had been an unexpected factor. Malthael’s normally reliable gut told him that Elisabeth didn’t really need a guide. Her biological father was more connected to Morhaven and the Netherworld than most Soul Collectors were. He had been an elite member of the Divine Court before his punishment. Malthael was pretty sure that the moment Elisabeth stepped foot in the Netherworld, her demonic half would drive her to Morhaven.

  Hopefully their ploy would end in Ki being taken care of by King Nauberon. He’d sent word to Zod that the abomination was heading straight for Morhaven. Ki was deadly, to be sure, but he wouldn’t stand up to King Nauberon or his court, particularly if the King sent the Lord of the Hunt, Arawn. What stuck out as strange was how well-versed the boy was regarding the Netherworld. The only topic Ki had avoided when questioning him were the elders that raised him. Some sort of strange cult, Malthael imagined. It was the only thing that explained his guileless behavior. It has seemed odd that a man with mortal sins on his soul had been content to pick the grain off his toast. He had killed greater sinners than himself but it still bore a cost. It would take many deaths before Ki would face his final one, however, so there was still time for redemption.

  “Now that is old magic,” Malthael grumbled, pouring the last of the third bottle into a glass.

  He held it in his fist, trying to remember where that phrase had been used before. It had been many, many years since he had heard of such a spell—a lifetime at least. Hundreds of years, and since the beginning of his mostly mortal existence and his breaking his horns, his memory had become worse. He didn’t know how these planet dwellers did it, living nearly a hundred years with such limited mental capacity.

  He grumbled some more and took another sip. Nathan raised his head in question, hoping for something to do, no doubt, but when Malthael said nothing else, he settled it back down. They had both been taking turns keeping an eye on him since Elisabeth had left. The last time she’d been gone, when she’d left to finish her dissertation project, he had sulked around the house for weeks. Nathan and Duke had taken turns watching him then, too—meddlesome dogs. Yet a part of him appreciated the company. Although he couldn’t communicate with them anymore like Elisabeth did, he still felt them. They had been his in the Netherworld and continued to be his, although he was no longer bound to them. The price of tearing off his horns had not only been his immortality.

  He did not like the idea of his daughter out in the Netherworld with her assassin, and the hope of getting drunk was the only solace he had. Blood oath or not, what Elisabeth was doing was still a risk. Yet Ki was the least of Malthael’s worries. He knew King Nauberon would try to entrap Elisabeth.

  “She won’t find out,” Malthael whispered, taking a hearty swallow and finally feeling the lightheadedness of intoxication. Serena had died trying to keep Elisabeth alive.

  “You remember her, don’t you, Nathan?” Malthael asked.

  They were called hounds, but they really looked more like boars with wolves’ heads. Looking at Nathan’s narrow face, Malthael revised his assessment to foxlike. They were cunning for sure, and their deadly tails reminded him multiple fox tails. Nathan lay back down with a harrumph.

  “She sure knew how to pick a fight,” he chuckled. “You nearly took her head off when she showed up on my doorstep.” Malthael sighed. “Luckily, she had bought my favor from a member of the Divine Court. She asked only that I keep her daughter safe. It wasn’t until she mentioned the baby that I noticed it in a pack on her back.” His face contorted with confusion. “Who’d ever heard of a mortal buying demonic favors?”

  Nathan just stared contentedly “No one!” Malthael cried.

  He chuckled again and took a drink of
his whiskey. Perhaps if he had another he would feel the full effects of being drunk. Then he could forget that Elisabeth would one day know the truth about how her mother had died. He downed the last of the glass, pushed himself up from the chair, and lumbered over to the liquor cabinet. Squinting over his spectacles, he frowned deeper when he realized there wasn’t any left.

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” he said before going back across the room and collapsing in the chair.

  He watched the fire silently. It was always so cold in this place compared to the Netherworld. The Netherworld never knew cold of night. He laid his head against the side of the leathery chair and acknowledged that he’d pay for his indulgences in the morning. But for now, he wanted only to sleep. He wondered, as he drifted, what his daughter was experiencing. What strange wonders and horrors would she stumble across as she traversed the landscape? Malthael hoped he had made all the right choices. If not, he intended to cash in his favor with the Det Morian King and see to it that Elisabeth was released from the Nether. It would cost him his life, but his life meant nothing without her. With that sobering thought, he passed out.

  Chapter 31: Netherworld

  Her dreams were that of nightmares, every single one. Nanette grew restless in her sleep until finally she could not rest a moment longer. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw dark stone. Her ribs protested as she made herself sit up, letting out a little groan of pain as she did.

  Blinking away some grogginess, she realized she was in some sort of little cave, one hardly large enough for the bed she was in, a dresser next to it, and a little chamber pot. Pushing the blankets away, she pulled her skirt up and looked at her leg. She was pleased to see it so well dressed. The bandages were pristine and had been wrapped to stay in place, but not so tight that they hurt. Blushing, she remembered the way he had exposed her leg. She felt a rush of gratitude for his concern and care.

  Nanette glanced around. The rock face had been scratched with many intricate designs she didn’t recognize. Slowly getting to her feet, Nanette hobbled over to the wall and rested her hand on it. Moving carefully along it, her fingers tracing the designs, she realized it would have taken years of carving to do this. It made her a little sad but also impressed. It took dedication to do this. When she felt the bald man come up beside her, she stepped back and nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “I’m sorry,” she immediately said on instinct, feeling as though she had violated something precious.

  He reached up and slowly pulled off his goggles and mask. She could see the markings on his head. They were tattoos, but they seemed alive and twisted in the light. His green eyes almost glowed as he stood there watching her. Nanette swallowed down the fear that the intensity of his gaze and his imposing posture brought out in her. If he were going to hurt her, he would have already done it. When she didn’t react, he moved into the cave, ducking to get through the smaller door, and dropped the sack on the ground before setting his mask and goggles down on top of the dresser.

  Even with his lack of hair, he was handsome, in an alien sort of way. His arms rippled with muscle as he crouched down and rifled through the pack. It was twice her size, and it was hard not to stare at his glistening tan skin. Nanette couldn’t pinpoint his age, but he couldn’t be more than a decade her senior. She watched him set something on the dresser by his pack, her injured leg growing tired from her weight on it. She glanced toward the exit but didn’t have any idea where to go.

  When she turned back, he was standing so close to her that she nearly fell backwards. He reached out and caught her arm with one hand, doing it so quickly that she almost didn’t even see the movement. Nanette stared into his eyes, entranced, and felt her cheeks warm up. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He nodded his head to the side, gesturing for her to sit. Nanette wobbled a little, and he put his arm around her waist. She felt her face grow warmer. Never had a man except for her father and Prince Jason touched her. And even he had never touched her as gently as this stranger did. She dared not look at him. Instead she concentrated on getting back down onto the mattress.

  When she was sitting, he knelt by her leg and started to pull up her skirt. Instinctively, she put her hand down to stop him. He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise as her hand rested on his. She quickly curled her fingers around the hem of her dress and bowed her head in embarrassment, focusing on her bandaged leg. She saw his hands hesitate a tick before checking the dressing. He was careful, likely making sure she hadn’t ruined it in her sleep. When he was done, he looked up at her, and she became acutely aware of his closeness. They stared at each other, frozen. Her breath caught in her throat as she wondered what he was going to do next.

  He stood up abruptly and went back to his pack. Exhaling, she nervously pushed a loose batch of hair behind her ear. She tried to look away, but curiosity won out, despite her awkwardness. Not exactly sure what he was or why he wasn’t trying to kill her, she tried to assess his intent. He pulled out something out of the pack wrapped in cloth before turning back to her.

  He held it out to her and waited. Whatever was in the cloth was no bigger than her fist. Nervous, she took the bundle. He watched her eagerly as she unfolded the contents. She was shocked to find a persimmon on her lap. She inspected it closely as her belly rumbled in anticipation, but instantly felt terrible.

  “I can’t,” Nanette said, setting it back down. “I’m not of the Netherworld.” She didn’t want to be trapped in this place.

  He pointed up and nodded his head. Her eyebrows furrowed as she watched him try to tell her something in gestures. She attempted to put the pieces together, but nothing made sense. Shaking her head caused him to stop.

  “I don’t understand,” she admitted.

  He frowned before taking a seat next to her. He held out his hand and nodded toward her arm, indicating he wanted to hold it. She lifted it, and he took hold of her wrist and started to trace something on her forearm with his other finger.

  Nanette giggled, “That tickles!” He instantly stopped and gave her a reproachful stare. She gasped at his silent censure, worried that he might toss her out into the Netherworld. “I’m sorry, I’ll pay attention.”

  He tried again, and she realized he was writing letters on her arm. She ignored how badly it tickled, or at least she tried to. She understood that this was a serious matter, but she was having trouble keeping a straight face. She was very susceptible to being tickled—her sister used to torture her when they were children.

  “Oh, ‘planet!’ You got this from one of the planets.” She cried when the letters came together.

  He nodded and she smiled at the persimmon. Nanette picked it up and was about to take a bite but faltered. He went back to whatever he was doing with his pack. Looking down at the fruit, she wondered if there was any reason he would trick her. Since she had come here, everything had tried to kill her, from bunnies to shadows.

  Nanette peered at him and then back at the soft outer skin of the fruit that she had always loved as a child. It was orange and inviting, and she was starving. Its temptation was too great, so she took a bite. She figured she would have been dead without him anyway, so he had no reason to kill her. The honeyed flavor filled her mouth. She chewed slowly, stuck between devouring it quickly and enjoying it.

  Her savior set items out on the floor next to his pack before he began put them back in their places throughout the room. She wondered what his story was and why he wouldn’t speak. Instead of asking right away, she observed him. He moved like a dancer, fluid and confident, which fascinated her. It reminded her of the performances at home; the dancers had been flawless. His jawline was strong and his skin was perfect besides the tattoos. She wondered what they meant. How did they slither over his skin like that?

  After a moment, he came over and held out a teardrop-shaped sack. Nanette hesitated. He uncorked the top and she realized it was a water canteen. She took it, but glanced up at him and made a circle with her fingers before po
inting up, making sure the water was from the planets.

  He nodded before returning to his work. She took a sip, figuring that if he was lying about the persimmon, what did she have to lose by drinking water? When nothing happened after a while, she took a full drink. It felt good running against her dry throat, but she was careful not to drink all of it. She rested her head back against the wall of the cave. This little bit of excitement had exhausted her.

  She watched him through tired eyes as he came over once again. He uncurled her fingers to take the water and the cloth stained with the persimmon’s juice. She curled her fingers around his wrist before he could walk away.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, wanting him to understand how much it meant, “for your kindness.”

  Chapter 32: Netherworld

  Ki glanced over his shoulder and saw that Elisabeth was keeping up with him. She didn’t seem at all fazed by their trek. In fact, he was sure that he was more tired than she. Since he had given her some of his life force, she had seemed energized, even after hours of walking.

  He couldn’t believe she had never taken another’s life force, but it did explain how she’d remained innocent. She had looked so startled by everything that was happening, but when it was done, she had stabilized. Elisabeth was lucky he had known what was happening, or she might have lashed out and hurt someone.

  He nearly stopped short at the thought. That was exactly what he wanted her to do. He wanted her to commit a large enough mortal sin that his sword would work. Though he had not yet acquired a new one—the elders were busy with that—he still needed her to lash out at an innocent. Elisabeth’s soul needed to be ready for harvesting when another sword was found. He could still do that, he thought, glancing at her.

  “You don’t need to keep checking on me. I am keeping up just fine.”