Beyond the Dark Gate

by R. V. Johnson

  Camoe had not heard the man’s arrival. The big sword rested easily on his broad shoulder. “Though a home-cooked meal made with a woman’s deft touch is sorely missed, I must decline your gracious offer. There is a need for swift travel.”

  The rancher nodded. “I thought as much. Allow me a half bell with the mounts. Then we shall meet in front of the cabin.”

  “How will you acquire another saddle?” Camoe asked. “Gray Dust is two days away.”

  “Three days. The two older horses you leave me with can pull the wagon still, though at a much slower pace. I shall purchase two more horses and let them drag the wagon and new saddles back,” he said, striding away down the gentle slope to where the horses grazed.

  True to his word, the rancher led the four horses from the back to where Camoe and the others waited under the shade of the wide front porch of the main cabin. He no longer carried the great sword; the long handle rode high upon his back. Four bedrolls lay strapped behind the saddles of the three that had them, two on the bay.

  Anxious to get moving for reasons Camoe could only guess at, the foretelling hammered him with the feeling that a major event would occur somewhere soon and he and his party needed to be present for it; he met the rancher below the porch almost as soon as he came to a standstill.

  Taking the reins of the dark horse, he mounted, motioning for the others to do likewise. Interestingly, each selected the horse he had picked for them without his having to mention it.

  “Treat them well and they will carry you far,” the rancher said.

  Camoe stroked the dark horse’s great mane. The tall horse shuddered but did not grow skittish, a sign of even temperament. “Rest assured of that,” he said. He had no doubt the horse would do well for him.

  “The whole lot is prime horseflesh, from the Great Plains, I suspect. A surprising discovery to find pastured with a simple rancher this far in the highlands,” the Alchemist said, his voice soft, though it carried.

  Backing toward the porch, the rancher ignored the comment.

  “You have done us a great service,” Camoe said, nodding a thank you to the man as he urged the great horse into motion. Which did not take much, only a slight pressure from his knees. The dark horse’s powerful muscles bunched, springing into a trot.

  The horse carried him easily down the gentle slope of a faded wagon trail. He looked back once before the trail dropped him from sight. A woman, slender in profile, the backdrop of the evening sun highlighting her golden hair, stood beside the man watching them go. Camoe turned back to the trail ahead growing gradually steeper.

  Leaving the highlands, they rode over the Great Road Bridge leading into Gray Dust. Camoe veered around, circling to the south at a full gallop, putting the place behind him in the dark of night.

  Riding until the sun rose in the afternoon, he rode to a secluded spot in a copse of trees, the last before the Black Road. “Setup camp here. Peers, you have first watch, then Kerna. Awaken me for the last.” Dismounting, he let the black horse graze.

  The Alchemist sat his horse. “Why did we not go to Gray Dust? I control the topaz gateway. We would have already arrived at our destination.”

  Camoe untied the bedroll. “Yes, I know you control the great gate. For that fact alone, I chose not to follow that route. Such a thing would have many guarding it, and the temptation for betrayal of hostile assistance is too great.” Holding the bedroll under one arm, Camoe gazed at all of his companions, hostile or not. “If you must know, since the highlands, the true sense has led this way. Do not ask for more explanations. I shall not have the answer.” Turning his back on them, he strode away. Finding a flat grassy spot, he unrolled the soft mat made from several large pieces of kell.

  No one protested.

  Tied to a pine tree limb, the bay horse stood still while Kerna rummaged through its saddlebags. Peers led her buckskin off to graze. “The rancher was generous,” she observed. “There are enough foodstuffs for two in this bag for several meals and to break our fast in the mornings.”

  The Alchemist looked up from where he squatted, unrolling his bedroll. “For the amount he was paid, a tent should have been included,” he hissed.

  No one bothered with a reply.

  Camoe gathered firewood thinking that no matter how much some people had it was never enough. Led around by the whim of his cursed ability most days, he was glad for some small morsel to eat. As he added dried pined needle clumps for Firestarter, he wondered what his blasted true sense had in store for him this time.

  POWER OF HER SYMBOLS

  Founded at the base of a nearly vertical cliff face rising over twelve stories, Brown Recluse thrived from the commerce of the lush wine, wheat, corn, and fruit fields it overlooked. The farther Crystalyn progressed toward the center, the more she admired the brown stone buildings built to last with large blocks of granite, trimmed with white marble columns at entrances and windows. The buildings were a much different style from the sun-faded wooden buildings and merchant stalls they’d passed on the outskirts. Fewer people moved about the opulent areas giving rise to her suspicion they were nearing their destination.

  Crystalyn gestured with her free hand toward a cobblestone courtyard of river rock set around a circular display of weathered bronze statues turning green. “Is that the place we’re meeting?” she asked RaCorren. “Your people need temporary dwellings until we find permanence for them. I want to have the town leaders’ assurances of this in writing before they change their minds.”

  RaCorren peered in the direction she’d indicated. “I believe it so, Sarra’esiah. Allow me to verify one of the bronze monks presiding eternally over the Patron Gather has a bald head, as the prominence’s acolyte mentioned.”

  Crystalyn laughed. “It’s a statue of a monk, right? Most of them will have a shaved pate.”

  RaCorren blinked. Then jogged ahead, giving Lunge Bite a wide berth even though his tough kell leather would likely repel most nips from the big warhorse if the stallion chose to bite at covered skin. In short order, the Valen vanished around the monks, whose large backsides faced them. Lore Rayna took his place.

  The warhorse Murk had nipped at anyone who came close once the little group had clomped into town. Hastel had promptly taken to calling the horse Lunge Bite after the first episode. Yet, the big stallion left Lore Rayna alone for reasons known only to the horse. The name was growing on Crystalyn. “Is RaCorren always so accommodating?” she asked the big woman.

  With an abrupt movement that swung her long golden hair, a color Crystalyn envied, behind her, Lore Rayna’s luminous orbs fell upon her above Lunge Bite as the stallion too, tossed his mane of glossy black hair. Another color she coveted. “RaCorren is obstinate and demanding in all things, except when it comes to relations with you. What motivates this is beyond me. No one comprehends the actions of males, as it is.”

  “That’s a statement I can agree with completely,” Crystalyn said with a smile. Lore Rayna had proven to be a friend in many ways. Crystalyn was glad to have her around.

  Lore Rayna’s answering smile brightened her radiant eyes as they rounded a large circular rock the size of a Valen carved with the names of people she hadn’t heard of.

  RaCorren spoke with a portly monk at the feet of a two-story bronze of a stern-faced man in monkish robes located in the center of the wide courtyard. Both men quieted at their arrival. “We have been honored with the revered of the monastery coming in person, Sarra’esiah. Please greet Prominence Caven Shadoe, most high of the devout monks of Brown Recluse.”

  Caven bowed low, his wide girth of little hindrance. “With great pleasure I greet you. Onan has blessed me with the exquisite radiance of the Divine Vessel.”

  Handing the stallion’s reins to Lore Rayna, Crystalyn joined them, keeping her face smooth. She had no idea what the proper response to the greeting was, but she knew someone who may know. “Broth, how should I respond to such a formal greeting?”

 
Broth slipped into view on the opposite side of the courtyard and halted not far to the side of the two men; his sleek feline body made no sound as he sat on his rear haunches. His now azure hourglass eyes inset on his wolf face took in everything and missed nothing. “This human has no care for such courtly rituals. I do not know the reason for it.”

  Crystalyn was relieved. She had no use for such pomp either, though a bit of drama now and then helped throw people off, particularly new acquaintances. Her old adage from acting school popped into her mind. Wear the right emotional mask and people will respond. She put on her bored and deplorably important face. “You may dispense with the pleasantries your… Prominence. Contrary to what you’ve heard, I won’t blow apart half your town in a fit of rage for informalities. Well, I shouldn’t anyway. Not if I’m watered, fed hot food, and bathed, in that order. The journey here has been such a long ride across those horrid dusty plains with naught but cold rations.”

  Prominence Shadoe grimaced as if something he had eaten had soured his large stomach, but he masked it quickly by flashing a thin smile. “Consider it dispensed then, my lady. Please, walk beside me so that we may accommodate your necessities as soon as I can arrange it.”

  Prominence Shadoe set a fair pace toward the south and east; Crystalyn had to scramble to reach the path beside him. For a portly man, he moved well. Her estimation of him rose a notch. “Where do you take us, Prominence? My companions led me to believe the monastery lay north and west from here on top of the cliffs.”

  The monk glanced up at the sprawling stone structures peeking majestically over a high wall that followed the cliff edge with a rectangle formation before vanishing around the ends. As a stronghold, Brown Recluse Monastery had high defensibility, both figuratively and literally. His blue-eyed gaze swung to rest on her, sharp and alert, as if he waited for something from her. “Please call me Caven… Caven Shadoe. The monastery is going through some tumultuous times, I am afraid. The safest places are not as they once were.”

  “Caven Shadoe. Camoe is—”

  “Camoe is my brother, yes, as Jade Creek is your sister,” he interrupted with a quick glance behind, checking for anyone within earshot. Crystalyn also looked. No one kept a close pace. “We must discuss a malevolence I believe seeks you both,” he went on.

  Crystalyn slowed and then dashed to catch up, his words taking her by surprise. “Which malice? There has always been someone or something after my sister and I since arriving on your world, it seems. I have come for the sole purpose of securing a writ of promise for the Valens. They need to camp in the fields outside the city until we find a home for them. You did hear what happened to their homeland, didn’t you?”

  Caven glanced at her, his blue eyes bright as he scrutinized her sharply. Abruptly he looked away and scanned the tall brick and wooden houses and wide brown granite streets they passed. He spoke in an undertone. “The vileness I speak of has its foul roots south of the Dark Citadel. This evil has lain dormant for countless seasons. The Order of Brethren, my order, has been content to observe and gather knowledge and arm ourselves against it. Now, with the two of you traipsing about Astura, it stirs. Prior knowledge of such power growing in strength is advantageous, perhaps crucial to survival, and not a thing one should take lightly. Do you not wish to hear more?”

  The glare Crystalyn shot the portly man’s way went unnoticed, lost in the folds at the back of his thick neck. The fact he had a pressing concern didn’t justify speaking to her as if she were young. She was, after all, nearly twenty-three, but he was right. Awareness of a potential enemy beforehand may serve to keep Jade safe from harm. Crystalyn could take care of herself but not her little sister; trouble flew at her with the accuracy of a dragon on the hunt.

  Following Prominence Caven’s example, Crystalyn perused the fronts and sides of the buildings, front foyers, gardens, streets, and well-groomed alleyways they strode passed. Though what she looked for, she only had a vague notion. Perhaps for things that stood out beyond ordinary, such as two cloaked figures who stopped moving along an alley as they passed by. Though their actions could be a normal occurrence at Brown Recluse, for all she knew.

  When she looked in her guide’s direction, his eyes, bright with expectancy, gazed at her. Crystalyn smiled. “Yes, I do want to hear what you know. Go on,” she encouraged, even though the conversation sounded similar to the warning Durandas had went on about. Perhaps the monk could explain it better.

  Caven’s return smile was brief. “I had thought to wait for a colleague before discussing the matter at length. His particular insight shall add much to the conversation.”

  Crystalyn gaped. Then why bring the matter up until he had everyone present? There was no understanding the mind of a male.

  Crossing yet another street intersection, the area they strode into had obvious differences from the one they’d left behind. Constructed solely of wood, some structures owed their assembly to whole logs nailed and caulked; others had fastenings of iron at the edges cobbled together with rough-hewn lumber varying in length, crude shanties at best.

  With no green gardens or statuesque courtyards to keep dirt in place, the dry-rutted streets and alleys stirred up the dust with every footstep. The effect was compounded by the additional townspeople they now passed, even though Caven chose the routes less populated at every turn.

  Forced to let a group of sun-browned men clad in serviceable leather swagger past, Crystalyn fell behind Caven. The group’s confident gait and bold glances made her think that, to a man, each one knew how to use the swords, axes, or bows that hung comfortably from their hips or were strapped to their broad backs. Their lingering stares turned to outright leering.

  Swallowing something gritty and worrying Lunge Bite would get cranky from thirst, Crystalyn hurried to catch up with the surprisingly agile Caven, pulling the warhorse along with her. “Where are you taking us?” she demanded to know when she got close.

  Caven swung into a nondescript alley that resembled a number of those they’d passed. “Somewhere we can talk without disturbance,” he replied over his shoulder. Moving quickly, they soon came to the alley’s midpoint. “And, we have arrived,” he added with a flourish.

  Caven stopped at an unadorned wooden door faded from the sun. A man and a woman wearing half cowls pulled low enough to hide their features in shadow stood at each side. Both had long swords hanging from their right hips, the hilt grips scarred and pitted from use. They made no move nor uttered no challenge to stop them.

  Though she kept her gaze on the two at the door, Crystalyn halted beside Caven, her ire rising. If his words were supposed to generate enthusiasm, she hadn’t seen enough yet to judge. Why couldn’t he simply tell her where they were meeting? Why all the secrecy?

  Ignoring the silent warrior sentries, Caven rapped twice on the top, middle, and bottom of the door, bending slightly to perform the latter. The door flew open before he fully straightened. A wide muscular man of shorter height than the monk held the latch. The man fixed a glare at the monk and Crystalyn and then looked behind them, his bushy brown eyebrows dropping lower still. “There is room inside for two or three people, Prominence, not horses, wardens, and Valens,” he said.

  Caven swung around, his gaze taking in her companions, and his face flushed. “I must apologize to my lady for my failure to consider space requirements.”

  Wear the right emotional mask and people will respond. Crystalyn slipped into her captain-commander mask. Smoothing her face, she widened her stance, clasped her hands behind her, and assumed an air of authority. “Let’s just get where we’re going and get on with it, shall we? Atoi and Hastel will stay with me. Lore Rayna, take care of Lunge Bite, please. He seems to tolerate you; anyone else is likely to lose a finger, or worse. Afterward, ensure that the rest of our little group has a meal and drink. Is there a place close by for her to accomplish these tasks, Prominence?” “No matter what the man at the door may say, you’re coming with me, Broth.”r />
  “Yes, my Do’brieni.”

  The stocky man barring the way inside flashed a tiny smile, so small Crystalyn wasn’t certain she’d seen it.

  Caven gave a brief nod. “Aye, my lady. There is common access to the tavern from the main street at the front of this alley, though the local patrons will not appreciate some who travel with you openly.”

  Though she managed to maintain her smooth-faced air of importance, Crystalyn detested the implications of his words. “My companions are exceptional in many ways; you’d better have a good explanation for a statement like that.”

  Lore Rayna spoke, her melodious feminine voice booming without intending too. “He means I shall not have welcome in this inn—drinking establishment is closer in truth, I—”

  Hastel cut in before the big woman had finished, the tone of his voice a growl. “We know what it is you want to say, monk. The town locals dislike our giant woman for manipulating the Flow; they hate anyone or anything having to do with any aspect of Using. Is this not right, Prominence?”

  Caven gave a brief nod. “Yes, there is history behind it. Their frightened disdain comes from a tolerance for Dark and Light Users in the town’s early seasons. The repayment for such forbearance was near destruction of the town and seasons of enslavement at the hands of those most powerful. They do not know your group, but it would not make a difference if they did.”

  Pointedly resting his hands on the axes at his side, Hastel’s one blue eye narrowed. “They don’t have to get acquainted with us. All anyone has to comprehend is what happens right after a derogatory word with any member of our party. They get to meet Onan in person—”

  Crystalyn brought her hand up, silencing whatever he was about to say next. “Keep your axes sheathed, for now, Hastel. We did not come to fight the entire town. At least, not yet.” She eyed everyone else in turn, lingering last on Lore Rayna. “This matter is decided. Now go, see to the others.”