The Legend of the Gate Keeper Anthology: The Shadow, Land of Shadows, Siege of Night, Lost Empire, Reborn, The Trials of Ashbarn, End of Days

by Jeff Gunzel

  The leader swallowed uneasily, but the temporary doubt was short-lived. So the boy could twirl a stick; the soldier had been training his whole life. Besides, this boy was loyal to that monster, and needed to be taught that some villages would fight back. The demon’s plan to purge town after town would not be achieved so easily. With a roar, he rushed in.

  Jacob lunged forward, firing out three quick thrusts. The man parried each one at the last second, now even further surprised by the speed of this boy. Right after the flurry, Jacob shrunk back down like a coiled snake waiting to strike. The man circled him slowly, twirling his staff in wide, looping circles as he carefully studied the boy’s stance.

  The soldier thrust downward with speed, but little force. When Jacob blocked the light strike, the soldier reversed direction and struck hard with the other end of his staff. The side shot rang out with a crack as Jacob easily blocked that as well, then fired out five thrusts of his own with viper-like speed. The soldier instinctively blocked the first but howled as fire shot through his head, neck and shoulder. He staggered back a few steps, but recovered quickly, holding his staff out defensively. He shook the ringing from his head and tried to refocus on Jacob, who was back in his low, snake-like crouch.

  The soldier did his best to resist touching the lump swelling quickly on his temple. The hardened veteran had seen it all, but this... He hadn’t come across a boy, who couldn’t possibly be in his mid-twenties, working a staff like it was an extension of his own arm. It took at least a decade to become this fluid. Sure, the kid was a natural, but that didn’t matter. The soldier was a seasoned veteran and would find a way to overcome, as he always did. The first step was to stop playing into the boy’s strength. Clearly he was a counter-striker, so he had to try and remove that element, take him far out of his comfort zone.

  Jacob stayed in his low crouch, his staff constantly rotating toward the soldier as he calmly circled, his own weapon moving in slow, looping revolutions. Again the veteran rushed in, unleashing a vicious flurry of strikes. Although moving like a tornado, again there was minimal force behind the blows. All the focus was on speed and making the boy work to deflect the barrage of strikes. The soldier whipped his head in a tight circle, then leaped back before Jacob could unleash one of his precise counter attacks.

  Jacob suddenly grimaced, bringing the back of his hand up to his burning cheek. The warm trickle of blood running down his face now spotted his hand. He looked to the man with a stunned look, watching as he snapped his braided hair in the air like a whip. It was obvious what had happened now: a tiny blade woven into the leader’s hair was now dulled by a touch of red after having slashed Jacob’s face. Jacob growled in frustration but still held his low stance.

  Again the soldier rushed him, but stopped just short of Jacob’s range. He whipped his hair in a circle toward Jacob, who flinched at the cracking sound, then instantly paid for the split-second hesitation with a hard shot to his shoulder. He growled again and leapt to his feet. The man’s plan had worked perfectly, as Jacob’s anger made him rush the soldier. The boy had been taken out of his game, simply due to the veteran’s frustrating tactic.

  Jacob unleashed an eye-popping flurry of his own. High, middle, low—the lightning-quick strikes seemed to come from all directions at once. The startled soldier had to use every ounce of speed to block the vicious barrage. The cracking sounds of wood crashing against wood rang out in a song of violent harmony. The veteran quickly whipped his head in a circle while backing away, a desperate attempt to gain some space so he could mount some kind of offense. Jacob ducked the tiny blade easily and began to press even harder.

  Wide-eyed and now purely defensive, the leader realized he had clearly underestimated this boy. His strong arms were quickly growing numb, working feverishly to fend off the inhuman flurry of strikes. He fell backward, holding his staff in front of his face, hands weak but still gripping the weapon as if his life depended on it.

  Jacob gripped the end of his staff with two hands and brought it down like a hammer over and over again. The sturdy weapons began to fray and splinter under the savage impacts. All his technique and skill were long forgotten as an animalistic rage took full control. Not even the slight thoughts of defense, or worries of a counter strike, entered his mind as the reckless assault continued. The poor man just clung to his staff, each blow further decimating his quickly disappearing weapon. I’m going to die.

  Jacob roared savagely as he brought the staff up high one last time, but the killing blow never fell, as he suddenly became empty-handed. The splintered staff now lay a few feet away with an arrow cleanly lodged through it. The arrow was black with yellow swirls, and had large red feathers at the rear of the shaft. Jacob turned slowly toward the general direction where it came from. His hard breathing was labored and raspy from the savage onslaught. His clothes and hair were soaked with sweat.

  Amoshi stood nearly one hundred yards away, having accomplished what should have been an absolutely impossible shot. He gripped a small white composite bow covered with tiny jewels, all of varying colors. The bow was unusually thick in the middle but became much thinner as it fanned out. The small wheels at the top and bottom were bright red, standing out boldly against the white bow. Even from this distance, the five light-blue crystals in his eyepatch sparkled in the sunlight.

  “That’s enough, Jacob,” he called out. “If you finish this, you know you’ve sealed your fate. There will be no way to justify your actions. At the very least you will all be exiled, but we both know you probably won’t be that lucky.”

  Jacob’s breathing began to calm as his reason slowly returned. He shook his head in disbelief. I almost killed this man.

  “Come back with me, I have no intention of telling Kelus what happened here. The others are waiting for you. The observance will begin soon, and all of you need to get ready.”

  Jacob looked down to the man on the ground. His hair was frayed out, and his shallow breaths came in hard rasps. What do you say to a man after you tried to take everything from him? “What is your name?” was the only thought that came to mind.

  The man looked up at him—a beaten man whose eyes spoke a thousand words. “Yavin. General Yavin Asuma,” he rasped. Jacob reached down and helped him to his feet.

  “My name is Jacob Couture. As I already tried to tell you, I am not your enemy.

  After the man was on his feet, he continued to hold Jacob’s hand. “Jacob Couture,” he repeated softly. “I’ll remember your name for the rest of my life.”

  Chapter 6

  The filthy, ragged servants looked out of place as they ambled down the spotless shimmering silver halls. Gripping their damp rags filled with holes and grim, they carefully wiped down the smooth, glassy walls, whether they needed it or not. Cautious not to leave streaks or smudges, their movements were slow and precise. It seemed far more likely that using the filthy rags would do more harm than good.

  Gaunt and weak from hunger, they limped along as their empty bellies growled. When passing each other through a hall or random room, they never smiled, or even made eye contact. This had nothing to do with any set rules, just a belief that such behavior was probably frowned upon. There was no way to predict how Zhou or Morita would react on any given day, so they did their best not give them any excuses to dish out punishment—not that a true reason was ever really needed.

  With their thin, frail bodies weak from starvation, it was not uncommon for one of the servants to collapse in a hallway. There they would stay, sometimes for hours on end. No one dared help them or bring so much as a spoonful of water. Often they were crushed by a boachard rolling along, who would never even slow for a lowly servant, yet alone stop. It was never made clear whether or not the poor souls were even allowed to be helped, but why take any chances? The threat of death was a daily constant anyway, so why help it along?

  The ragged-looking girl carefully wiped the glass sphere, all the while doing her best not to leave a smudge as she carefully went thro
ugh the motions. For a moment, she considered using the red cloth tied up in her sandy brown hair, but decided it was just as grimy as the one she was using. Her precise, circular strokes began to slow down as she watched the tiny blue orb bounce around aimlessly. She couldn’t help but find herself mesmerized, lost in its beauty. It even seemed to slow as well, like it somehow knew it was being admired. Without thinking, the young girl allowed herself an unforgivable sin as she smiled at the radiant being.

  With a shiver, she snapped out of her trance, head frantically twisting this way and that. Did anyone see her commit the awful gesture? Were her days now numbered? Such was the mindset of all the servants. There were days when it seemed death itself couldn’t possibly be as bad as the constant fear of it.

  After a final wipe, she jumped down off the stool and bolted past the thick wooden door, as if some unseen force would pull her through if she didn’t move with haste. Aware that both the siblings were inside, she whipped around the corner and kept on running, all the while wiping her tear-streaked face. No one must ever find out what she had done.

  Inside the room, Zhou and Morita leaned back in their large plush chairs. The three-pronged figurine in the corner shimmered with the flickering light of four oil lamps, each filling the room with a spicy scent. The crystal device remained dormant and partially covered by a yellow canvas. Magic would be of little use right now. Old, thick books lay about the room and across the thick wooden table, while others were piled high on the floor. Many were practically unreadable, with faded letters and pages yellowed with age. However, a few held up quite well through the years. Those were made to last, with thick leather covers and tight binding straps that helped to keep the pages from being exposed to air.

  Hashiki perched on a stool near the corner, cooing softly as he thumbed through yet another thick, ancient book. His soft dark eyes glistened under his glass mask, which reflected the light of the dancing flames from the oil lamps. His eyes moved back and forth rapidly as his lips jittered, mumbling incoherent sounds. The physically broken, yet very intelligent creature had a rare ability to absorb random information at an incredible rate. His frail body rustled now and then, fluffing out grey feathers like a wet songbird as he turned the pages with its one good hand.

  Zhou eyed the broken creature with disgust before looking back to Morita. “You can’t be serious. We’re supposed to trust that thing?”

  Morita’s expression never changed with the crude comment. With her lovely full lips and flowing red hair now a bit frayed and messy, she was still the spitting image of royalty. Her calm voice was nearly musical. “Once again, your prejudice blinds you, Brother. Hashiki has been working day and night, trying to unearth the truth behind this mysterious being, constantly cross-referencing ancient books that haven’t seen daylight in centuries. I don’t suppose you would like to help him.”

  Her brother snorted arrogantly, before leaning back further in his plush chair. “The imp is free to waste as much time as he pleases. That doesn’t mean I should join him in his foolish search for nothing.” He rolled his eyes sarcastically, locking his fingers behind his head. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I would love to hear the respected opinions of so many dead men. I’m sure their ancient theories carry plenty of relevance in today’s world.”

  “I’m no longer sure which is worse, your prejudice or your arrogance.” Morita’s patience was growing thinner by the minute. “I will do all I can to explain this, as if talking to a simple child.” Zhou let out a low growl, but still managed to hold his tongue. “These ancient books were retrieved from all different corners of the world. Father was quite the collector, you know.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” he grunted, eyeing the clutter around the room.

  “If I may continue,” she said dryly. “These authors had never met one another, and varied greatly in their professions. Some were prophets, others priests, scientists, historians…are you seeing a pattern?” The blank glare on her brother’s face made her want to scream. “Don’t you understand?” she growled, now fast approaching her limits. “The ancients spoke of this supernatural being over and over again. Vastly different cultures from completely different eras all mention him. True, this being goes by multiple names throughout history, but the descriptions of him never change. The man who can create and destroy rips in time. The one who is sent by the gods to save mankind from—”

  “Silence!” Zhou leapt from his chair, his head swiveling, looking around as if afraid someone had been listening. “Blasphemous whore.” He even placed his ear to the door before continuing, “You know exactly who it is you’re talking about, and he has already been found. I serve this great man, as do you. If you want to betray the great lord, the very one who gave you your...gifts, then so be it. I’ll have no part in this deception.”

  Morita swallowed had, realizing she was walking on thin ice here. “Look, I’m just saying—”

  “What, that there are two? Two! Although I haven’t sat around for hours, digging through ancient books, trying to piece together all the mysteries of the world, I still have eyes.” Zhou’s muscles tensed, veins popping out across his neck as his arms swelled with blood. “I’ve watched him decimate entire platoons of men, using almost no effort. I’ve seen him rip holes in time itself using only his mind, and you dare to say he is not the—”

  “Alright, I get it, I’ve made a mistake,” his sister pleaded. Morita then turned to Hashiki. “Stop what you’re doing and get rid of all this.” Even she couldn’t deny the terror swelling up inside her. What if he found out? What had she been thinking, taking a chance like this? The little creature chirped and gurgled in protest. “I don’t care if all the information proves it’s him. We’ve-We’ve made a mistake. I said get rid of it. No, burn it. Each and every book.” Hashiki let out a long, sorrowful moan. Burning a virtual library of ancient books was a task he was not looking forward to.

  “Oh, my poor dear sister,” Zhou moaned, fluttering his eyelids. “Why all this back-pedaling? No, please, do go on with your search for the truth.”

  “No, no, we are done here. None of this ever happened, you hear me? I would never doubt the great lord, for he is powerful and all-knowing.” She looked around the room, speaking loudly as if to convince herself, hoping their lord and master would hear her kind words of praise.

  Zhou turned his back to her, mostly to hide his growing smile. “You do understand I’m now obligated to tell him what you’ve done.” His voice was soft and quiet, as if whispering so as not to wake a baby.

  Morita’s unshakable demeanor had always been smooth as silk. The steel-hardened woman had never been rattled in her life, but the horror growing inside her now was impossible to contain. She was truly terrified. Her long, red hair began to quiver as uncontrollable trembling took hold. “You wouldn’t,” she squeaked. “You can’t.”

  The pleasure Zhou felt in the presence of his terrified sister was nothing short of bliss. For years she had always gotten the best of him, but now for the first time he held the upper hand—a rare position, and he wasn’t going to give it up easily. “Oh, but I have no choice now. If I am caught withholding such information, I might also share in your fate.” He slowly swiped a finger across his throat. “And I most certainly don’t want that. I will miss you...dear sister.” He started for the door.

  “Wait!” she shrieked, throwing herself against his back. He could feel her rapid panting against his neck. Never had he seen her this desperate. “Sur–surely we can work something out.” She cackled like a witch, her mind now flirting with madness. “There must be something you want. Yes? Please, I’ll do anything.”

  “Anything, you say?” He could feel her head nod against his back, moisture seeping through his shirt. “I can’t hear you,” he said softly.

  “Yes, anything.” Her voice was even softer than his.

  He spun into her suddenly, grabbing the back of her hair. He jerked it hard, tilting her head straight backward. Looking over the top of her chest, h
is eyes locked onto Hashiki. He smiled, before silently mouthing the word “go”. With a sad look, the broken creature hobbled past them and out the door. With her long hair entangled in one hand, he gripped her throat with the other, hoisting her up effortlessly. With a jarring thump, he slammed her down onto the table, scattering books in all directions.

  With most of the air driven from her lungs, she gasped, struggling to speak. “Wha—what are you doing?” came the breathless words.

  Still holding her by the throat, he removed his hand from her hair, then slowly slid it down between her breasts. “I’m going to hold you to your word,” the beast said softly, his hot breath coming in long deep bursts.

  “No, no, not this,” she pleaded, eyes wide with panic. She began to thrash, pushing helplessly against the brute.

  “Must I remind you of the alternative?” he whispered with a grin. Her struggling stopped instantly. That particular fate was simply not an option. “That’s better.” With a quick tug, the front of her green dress easily tore away. He slinked his way down toward her feet. “Who knows, you may actually enjoy this.” His mouth took in her entire foot, forcing a light squeak to escape her lips. After a few plunges, he released it from his lips with a popping sound. “But somehow, I doubt you will.”

  Morita lay perfectly still while his rough, sandy tongue worked its way up the inside of her leg, leaving a cold trail of saliva. How many women had he done this very thing to over the years? Shivers rattled through her shoulders as his tongue moved up between her legs, then gasped when it penetrated deeply. Disgust and repulsion flooded through her, to the point where she thought she might burst.

  In a form of self-defense born of pure instinct, her mind went dormant. She had no idea how long she laid there. No idea how many minutes...how many hours had passed. The ordeal seemed like some sort of drugged nightmare. She was only partially conscious to the merciless pounding, experiencing it in brief segments before her consciousness retreated back into the only safe place it could find...blackness.