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

  * * *

  “One woman?” said Filista, her voice eerily calm. She stood tall, nearly as tall as the man standing before her. “Let me do my best to understand this. A single woman somehow slipped through your fingers,” she paused to take a deep breath, her eyes burning like molten lava, “then managed to elude every soldier in the village, and make her way safely into the forest? Is this report more or less accurate?”

  The nervous soldier avoided her condemning eyes. His gaze wandered about the familiar room. He had been in the temple many times before, seen the fine art that Shantis held so dear. But now it looked...different somehow. Everything was the same—the furniture, the fine oil paintings. Many a time he had sat here, talking to Shantis about the day’s events. He had always found her to be kind and fair. Now, standing here in this same room, he felt intimidated. “That is—is not entirely correct. There were...other factors involved. She did not act alone, Filista.”

  If her eyes were lava before, they were now the sun itself. “Address me properly,” she whispered. Her voice was so quiet it was barely audible.

  The man’s knees buckled, nearly giving out from under him. His voice was even softer than hers. “Forgive me...High Priestess.” He had to think about that a moment. Of the many times he had spoken to Shantis, had he ever addressed her by title? Was that the difference between the two of them? Shantis was secure in her stature, whereas Filista needed to be fed constant reinforcement. He shook away the traitorous thoughts, fearful she might actually read his mind.

  “And who was the traitor who aided in her escape?” she asked, appearing much calmer now.

  The soldier paused, not knowing what to make of this obvious question. Nearly the entire village had witnessed her escape. Surely someone had already told her? “It-It was Brinkton,” he stuttered uncertainly. “He-He set her free then blocked off pursuit. If not for him, she would never have gotten away.”

  “And what became of Brinkton?”

  Again, the soldier didn’t know what to make of her calm demeanor. Was this a test? The answers to these questions were common knowledge by now. “He’s dead. The other soldiers eventually overpowered him, but the incident was not without high casualties. He killed many of our men before he fell.”

  Filista glanced down at her own hand, examining her fingernails. “And what became of Brinkton?” she repeated.

  Chills rattled down the soldier’s spine. Exactly what answer was she looking for here? She looked up from admiring her nails, her cheeks pulled in as if she were sucking on something. With the corners of her small mouth pulled up, she appeared to be smirking at him. Was she mocking him? He just wasn’t sure. Dare he repeat himself word for word? “Dead, High Priestess. The traitor was killed, cut down by our men.” Now he could see the difference. This time she was definitely smiling, and blinking her eyes in an almost flirtatious fashion.

  “And what of Shantis Sondere?”

  The man swallowed, possibly seeing a pattern here. “The deserter fled like the coward she is. Ran into the forest, no doubt to seek refuge with the other traitors. Of course, they will all be hunted down like dogs!”

  “Very good. Dismissed,” she said calmly, looking once again at her fingernails.

  Relief washed over him, and he turned to leave. So that’s how it’s going to be, he thought.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” she said. “Gather his remains and bring them to me.” He nodded, then rushed off.

  Filista paced about. Despite her calm demeanor, frustration gnawed at her insides. Brinkton was dead, and of course she had already been aware of that. That bothered her far more than she let on. After all I’ve done for him. Why did that beast show her such loyalty? Would he have done the same for me? She knew the answer, and again, it bothered her.

  She marched over to the silver food tray and poured herself a glass of water. This does not ruin any of my plans, only changes them. Constant adaption comes with the territory. She threw back the silver goblet, draining it in one gulp. She poured herself another while going over the facts in her head. Despite the soldier’s overly optimistic answer, she knew Shantis was long gone. She had protection from the rebels now. If her soldiers attempted to pursue her, even more of her men would be killed. She could not afford to lose cryton soldiers on such a pointless mission.

  She walked over to Shantis’s favorite painting. It was a vivid, colorful scene of superb quality, of humans and crytons holding hands in a circle, joined together in some sort of ritual. Exquisite quality, she thought, running her hand across the delicate canvas, feeling the coarse paint under her fingers. Without warning, she balled her hand into a fist, tearing away the middle, then threw the crumpled piece across the room.

  Only children would ever believe in such ludicrous fantasies. Crytons and humans joined together in celebration. Why, the very idea— She looked back to the crumpled piece, still rocking back and forth on the floor. She walked over and picked it up, then began to straighten it out. Once it was spread, she looked at it again. White lines crisscrossed the ruined painting, making the image much harder to see.

  Perception. That’s all it is, she thought. There is no reality in this painting, yet it gave her some level of false hope. That is why so many followed her blindly. It’s nonsense, but she believes in it so definitively. Well...if a noble cause is all it takes, I can certainly provide that.

  There came a rap at the door. She eyed the crinkled piece in her hand and let out a small laugh. No need to try and explain this. She placed it behind a dresser along with the old frame. When she opened the door, there were four cryton soldiers holding Brinkton’s torn body; one raising each limb. Even ripped and torn, it was still plenty big enough to justify four men. She looked down at his body thoughtfully. “This way,” she said, motioning for them to enter. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  “Keep moving, Priestess. It’s only a little farther,” said one of the winded crytons running next to Shantis. Even while running through the forest, over and through difficult terrain, they had insisted on keeping her completely surrounded. A living wall of protection in case of an ambush. The group had been running for several hours now. The strength and stamina of the crytons was legendary, but even this was pushing their limits.

  Before long they broke through a final layer of brush, into an open area. The section had been cleared of all trees and bushes. Several tents had been set up in no particular pattern, just anywhere there was space to pitch one. Tents were not a thing the crytons normally used, but had collected them off the bodies of merchants and adventurers who fell to the dark creatures in the forest. Over the years, the crytons had collected many such useful things; pots, leather bags, vases, and such.

  One by one crytons emerged from their tents. Clapping and shouting ensued when they saw Shantis, still completely surrounded by the men who just didn’t know when to admit it was safe. The cheers went on and on, rising in pitch when more materialized from their tents to join in the celebration. Shantis felt overwhelmed. So much had just happened and she just couldn’t stomach all this right now. I allowed order and stability to crumbled under my rule. They should loathe me, yet they cheer for my safety? She grabbed the shoulder of the man in front, twisting him to face her. “Please. I–I just need to be alone right now.”

  He smiled at her. “Of course. Of course. Anything you need Priestess. Everyone is just so relieved you’re safe.” He turned to face the growing crowd with his hands in the air. “Our High Priestess is alive and well. As you all can see, our mission was a success!” This only brought more cheers making Shantis wilt with guilt. “This is good news indeed my brethren. But as you can imagine, it has been a very trying day for our High Priestess. Please allow our great leader a bit of well deserved rest.” There was a collective groan while he waved his hands, gesturing for them to back away. “Tomorrow is a new day. Now that Shantis is here, we will rebuilt and thrive once again.”

  Shantis breathed a sigh of relief when the crowd beg
an to reluctantly break up. The circle of men around her finally backed away as well. She touched the man on the shoulder again. “Thank you,” she said, almost in tears.

  “Of course,” he replied, smiling. “You must forgive them. Everyone is just so elated to see you safe.”

  “Not just that. I mean...thank you for everything. My rescue–everything.”

  “Oh,” he said, suddenly looking saddened. “Well, we executed the plan just as instructed. That’s all.”

  “But your timing was perfect. Who organized–” The look on the man’s face told her all she needed to know.

  “Brinkton–he had this planned for some time, Shantis. I don’t think he ever expected to survive.” The tortured look on her face pained him greatly. “Priestess, take all the time you need to sort things through.” He pointed to a large gray tent. Two black torches stuck into the ground, flickered away near its open flap. “That one is yours, all to yourself whenever you are ready.” He bowed low, nearly touching the ground with his forehead. “I take my leave, Shantis Sondere, true High Priestess of the crytons.” He turned to join another group huddled near an open fire.

  Shantis found a tree near the edge of the clearing and sat beneath it, leaning against its rigid trunk. She reached back over her head and peeled off a piece of dead, black bark. She looked at it for a moment before throwing the chunk near her feet. Why Brinkton? I don’t understand how this happened. She pulled the bow from her shoulder and lay it across her lap. It was beautiful. Even she had to admit that. Jewels of red and green ran up and down the upper and lower limbs, with four protruding blades all of equal length and width. Perfect for fighting in close quarters.

  But then something caught her eye. A tightly wound piece of twin near the top of the bow. So small and compact she hadn’t noticed it before. When she flipped over the bow to get a better look, she could see it was securing a small piece of paper. After a light struggle with the knot, she pulled the note free. At the first word her heart sank. It was Brinton’s handwriting...

  Shantis, if you are reading this now then I know I have succeeded. That alone is reason to rejoice. Of course that also means that my journey to the afterlife has begun. A bittersweet victory I suppose.

  Filista is a cunning foe. Do not underestimate her for she will not underestimate you. She has the ears of the council and fills their heads with lies. She manipulates the soldiers, discovers what they fear most and threatens to make it reality. That first day you called a meeting the entire place was surrounded. Their plan was to assassinate you. There was no way I could warn you. All I could do was convince her my loyalty was with her. I promised Filista I would betray you and serve her for the rest of my days. In return, the deal was that she would let you live. Shantis I swear I had no choice. It was the only way to keep you alive until I could figure out some way to free you. I had to play along. Every single day, the look in your eyes made me want to take my own life.

  Not all the village follows her. In fact, many have fled to the forest. If all went well, you are with them now. I’ve been in constant contact with the rebels and I know they are loyal to you. Many who follow Filista now do so because they are afraid, not because they are loyal. Find a way to remove their fear and you will win back your people.

  I have no regrets. As long as our High Priestess draws breath there is always hope. I am with you in spirit and will always watch over you.

  She crumpled the paper and brought it to her forehead, then cried like she had never cried before.

  * * *

  Filista needed time to think. She sat down in Shantis’s favorite chair, drumming her fingers along the armrest. She eyed the space behind the dresser where she had placed the remains of the painting. Perception. Complete filth can be made to appear appetizing when presented in the right light.

  Somehow, Shantis had convinced the village that this ordinary human was something special, someone worthy of their unconditional loyalty. But this was certainly some sort of human ploy, a deceptive ruse put together by the humans in order to trick the crytons into letting their guard down. Of course it was. What else could it be?

  But even Filista couldn’t deny the mounting evidence that this being, human or otherwise, was truly a force to be reckoned with. As badly as she wanted to convince herself otherwise, he most certainly was not ordinary. He couldn’t actually be... No. He’s nothing but a lowly human...right? “Bah!” she barked, shaking away the doubt, angry at herself for such a moment of weakness.

  There was a knock, then one of the men from earlier entered the room. He was wearing a long, green apron that covered most of his front. It was completely stained with blood. Splotches of red covered his forearms and hands as well. “We’re all finished, Filista. It’s done, exactly like you commanded.”

  “What is your name, soldier?” she said, that smirking expression fixed on him. Yet her eyes were intense somehow. Her right eyebrow kept twitching irritably.

  “D-Drongle,” he replied, suddenly shaken by her forwardness.

  “Drongle,” she repeated softly. “I’ll remember the name. Now please allow me to see your work.”

  He led her through two rooms, down a short hall and into a small room near the back. Here stood three other men wearing similar aprons, each holding small saws. If there had been any furniture here, it had already been removed. Towels and cloths were laid down everywhere. A few had been loosely rolled up and pressed against the walls. Brinkton’s body was now cut into manageable pieces, no small feat for a cryton of his size.

  Filista strolled around the room lightly on her feet, as if she were trying not to step on flowers. The saturated towels squished underneath her feet with every step. She tucked her toes underneath a loose arm, then flipped it against the wall. It hit with a thud, leaving a red stain. She continued to move about the room, flipping over body parts. It appeared as if she were looking for something. “Where is it?” she asked.

  “Where is what, Priestess?” said a shorter man to her left.

  “The head. Where is his head?” she repeated, a bit more frantic this time.

  The same man hurried over to the corner and began delicately picking at one of the towels, as if he didn’t want to get any more blood on himself. On the third try, he lifted it with his fingertips, and its hidden prize spilled onto the floor. Brinkton’s large head rolled a short way, then stopped.

  Filista walked towards it, but then stepped over the head, approaching the shorter man instead of picking it up. She took the saw from his hand and went back, again stepping over the head. She stood beside Drongle, eyeing the jagged blade. Suddenly, she turned and thrust it into his gut, all the way up to the wood. With a gasp, he doubled over, clutching at the handle. She ripped it free in a spray of blood. When he fell, she stepped over him. With a tug, she pulled his head back, exposing his throat. He looked at her upside down, wide eyed with shock, blood already dripping from the corner of his mouth.

  She gazed around at the other three, holding their eyes while pulling the saw’s teeth across his throat. He let out a long, wet, gurgling sound, eyes rolling back into his head. She dropped him to the floor, still holding their terrified gazes, daring them to look away. “Drongle here failed to address me properly. I will not forget his name, for I suspect he will be the last to ever make such a mistake. Do you three believe my suspicions are correct?”

  They immediately spoke over one another, babbling agreement and using the phrase “High Priestess” over and over.

  “Good,” she said, regaining her composure. She looked at the fresh body. “Get rid of all this, including him. And be careful not to draw attention to yourselves.” She picked up Brinkton’s head. “Everything except this. Now get started.”

  They immediately began pulling up saturated cloths and blankets, blood, body parts and all. “Oh, and one more thing. Village meeting, here, tomorrow morning. I want you three to spread the word.” She turned and left with her prize tucked under her arm.

  * * *

/>   The next day, Filista woke on what had formerly been Shantis’s bed. With eyes half open and a smile on her face, she stretched and rolled over. “Today is going to be a wonderful day,” she said sleepily. “Don’t you agree, Brinkton?” She glanced at the head placed on a brown-stained wooden stand. His yellow eyes were wide open, staring off to the side, his tongue hanging partially out. The skin had begun to take on a waxy complexion. “Of course you agree, don’t you?”

  She rolled out of bed, tucked her trophy under her arm, then went into the front room. Shantis’s former servants were busy at work as if this were like any other day. Two men were busy dusting the front room, but hurried to finish when they saw Filista coming. They each eyed her package for a moment, then left casually as if nothing were wrong. The smells of cooking wafted in from the kitchen: the distinct scent of roasted vegetables and cooked porridge. Even in Shantis’s absence, it was business as usual for those in charge of the temple’s upkeep.

  All of this was really not so strange. After all, it was the cryton way. The servants were not necessarily loyal to Shantis; they were loyal to the temple and its preservation. Whoever was in command at that time meant very little in their daily routines. The village citizens were not all that different in their views. They needed guidance and leadership like any other culture. But it didn’t necessarily matter who led them as long as someone fit the role. Soldiers helped to protect the village; hunters brought back meat... Everyone’s responsibilities remained the same. The disruption caused by Shantis’s departure would be minimal.

  Filista knew this all too well. It had been a major consideration right from the beginning when devising her plan. The people would come around quickly. Most would accept her leadership without question. Sure, there were a few who remained blindly loyal to Shantis, but Filista was confident they were a minority, and would change their allegiance in time.