Lichgates

by S. M. Boyce

  He chewed through a second roll. “Tonight, you are my daughter and those gentlemen are various nephews and brothers of mine. We are on a farewell trail ride before you go off to—dang it. What is it called? College.”

  “I can remember that, but have you ever wanted to tell her the truth?”

  He shrugged. “We can’t. The truth would be too much to handle. Even if she believed us, even if she did not forever bar us from this inn, which I happen to love, the treasures would go unappreciated. No, it has to be a subtle friendship, one neither she nor any of our other human friends will ever see.”

  Kara nodded and stood with him for a short while, but the conversation had run its course. The other Hillsidians were engrossed in their own discussions of the strategies they’d used and the friends they’d lost to the Stelian ambush. It was not a place for her, so she left them and trotted up the stairs.

  There were eight doors and, of them, only the last door on the right stood open. Within, framed landscapes covered the little room’s walls. A twin-sized bed sat in the corner, a thick red comforter neatly tucked around the mattress. A small fireplace filled part of the wall on the far end of the room, and above it was a painting of a cliff. A river raged beneath the watercolor mountainside, and a wide, wooden bridge scaled across it. She studied the canvas as she walked closer, recognizing it as the very river over which she and Goliath had just escaped. Someone had given the lichgate caretaker a painting of Ourea!

  She laughed and became suddenly dizzy. She sat on the bed, waiting for the black and white spots to fade as the last of the adrenaline dissolved in her system. Her head reeled. She set her cheek on the soft pillow, which melted the tension in her neck, and pulled the far end of the comforter over her like a sleeping bag. She dangled her filthy, mud-drenched boots over the side of the bed as she fell asleep, but even the deep exhaustion couldn’t suppress a dream that was too tormenting and violent to let her sleep.

  The world was hazy, immersed in a thick layer of smoke. Without understanding why or how, Kara knew this was a dream. She was looking at the world through someone else’s eyes, and it annoyed her that she knew this.

  Several guards burst into her otherwise empty room, each of them so massive that they barely fit in the tiny space. They had large wings: some black, some white, some gray. They grabbed her arms and dragged her upright. She fought them, twisting and struggling out of instinct, but she was shackled within seconds. Sharp needles bit into her skin. The blurry outlines of the spiked cuffs which had confined Braeden in the Stele peeked back at her from her own wrists.

  The world went dark until a single ray of unexpected light sprung into view. More sunshine appeared, radiating from the windows above, and echoed off the brilliant white stone walls. It burned her eyes as they adjusted.

  Another of the winged yakona stood before her, his skin a pale shade of silver that glistened in the sunlight, iridescent and beautiful from beneath a white fur cloak. She recognized him, but couldn’t think of a name.

  A dawning realization crawled over her skin like a frost, icing her blood with a wave of panic—something terrible was about to happen.

  The winged figure looked her over and sneered, as if he smelled something foul. “You call yourself a hero, but you're nothing more than a thief.”

  “I don’t call myself a hero,” she heard herself say. The muffled sound wasn’t her voice, but in the hazy echo of the dream, she couldn’t tell whose it was.

  “You threaten the safety of my people and of my bloodline,” the man said. “For this, you and your minions will pay with the very blood you stole.”

  A guard carried in a beautiful woman with dark skin. She was limp in his arms, and bright red blood trickled in rivers down her hands and bare feet. The guard tossed the woman on the floor as if she were garbage and not a real, breathing creature. Kara leaned in, breathless and afraid for the woman, who couldn’t have been more than twenty. Dozens more yakona from every kingdom were brought forth in a similar manner, some of them unconscious, and all of them chained.

  “You offered them freedom, but lies and heresy always lead to death. None should have the power you bestowed upon these strangers, these enemies of all yakona bloodlines. Your reign over our people will end here, tonight!” The winged tyrant pulled out a sword.

  Kara sat upright in her bed and heard herself screaming.

  She clamped her hands over her mouth and leaned into the pillow, hoping that it would help to settle her racing heart. The door burst open, shedding hallway light into her dark room. The captain ran in, wearing his uniform and gray socks.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The five other guards followed suit, all dressed for battle and missing their boots. A few minutes later, the old woman raced in as well, draped in a black shawl that swept dust from the floor. Kara blushed.

  “I’m sorry, it was just a nightmare. I’m sorry.” But she was shaking, the dream far too vivid to have truly been just a nightmare.

  “What happened?” The captain sat next to her on the far end of her bed, dismissing the other soldiers from the room with a wave of his hand. The old woman nodded as well, apparently believing that she saw a father talking to his daughter, and closed the door when she left.

  “What did you see?” he asked again.

  Kara just shook her head. Her entire body still trembled, the image of the winged man and his sword still imprinted on her eyelids. She was afraid to close her eyes.

  Demnug cleared his throat and slapped his hands on his knees, pausing for a second before he pushed himself to his feet.

  “Very well,” he said. “Try to get some sleep.”

  She waited for the door to latch behind him before she wished forward the Grimoire and opened it. For a while, she just stared at the first, blank page.

  That dream had been real and unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Who was that woman? She’d had red blood, after all. Since Braeden had black blood and Hillsidian blood was green, she figured that the woman had to be human. But, since the man had mentioned that they were all “freed,” she thought again.

  Were they the vagabonds? The first Vagabond’s followers?

  She doubted she could ask the Grimoire how the Vagabond died; after all, he wouldn’t have been alive to write the entry. She could summon his ghost, like she had in the forest, but she wasn’t sure how he would react to such a question. Her stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of asking him. How could she word that without sounding insensitive and nosy?

  The edges of her nightmare were already blurring. She couldn’t remember any faces, not even the tyrant’s. Words faded until only the general understanding of what had been said lingered on her mind. But the wings—those weren’t something that could be forgotten. She debated. They might have been a creative tweak her mind inserted into the memory, borrowed from her worries of meeting the Kirelm Blood.

  Either that, or a Kirelm Blood killed the first Vagabond.

  He was only trying to unite everyone. Why would anyone kill him? She rubbed her tired eyes with her palms.

  She hunched forward and pondered all of her new questions, none of which the Grimoire could answer. It wasn’t until the first rays of the morning told her to get dressed that she wished away the untouched book and peered out the window at the sunrise.

  On a sloping hill below, the old woman picked up sticks from the thick patches of grass which covered most of her yard. The woman bent for another stick and paused, looking into the forests where dozens of Hillsidian yakona hid, but the woods were tranquil. Not even a leaf tumbled across the thin spaces in the trees. Still, she watched, half-frozen in her quest for the small branch beneath her fingertips. Then she was mobile again, snatching a few more twigs before turning back inside. She glanced up to Kara’s room.

  Kara’s heart panged with the guilt of being caught spying, and she ducked away from the window. When she peered out again, the woman was gone.

  A warm bath and a hot breakfast later, Kara
was sitting on Goliath, waiting for the company to head off for the last leg of their trip. The sun stretched over everything, chasing away the dusk that still lingered between the trees.

  Goliath no longer shivered, but his ears still twitched at sounds she couldn’t hear. He was calmer, but not quite yet at peace with the summer morning that waited for the hot afternoon ahead.

  The captain finally mounted and started off into the trees, the rest of the band following behind him. Kara looked back as they crossed into the forest, glancing over the sloping barn and giant farmhouse to see a gray head dart away from the very window through which she herself had been spying that morning.

  They stopped in front of another lichgate after about ten minutes of walking. This one was smaller than the last and hidden in the farther reaches of the woods without any path to find it. It was made of thick thorny vines that spanned a tall bridge between the trunks of two oak trees. She would have missed the lichgate entirely, in fact, if the captain hadn’t pulled back a few bushes to reveal it.

  He ushered a few guards through first, and each of them flinched as they rode through. They looked like ghosts on the other side, hazy figures that crossed in and out of sight as they moved over the forest floor beyond. The captain tapped her shoulder and nodded, indicating that she was next, so she nudged her horse along.

  The familiar kick in her gut made her cringe when she passed under the gate. The forest on the other side was lush and green, dotted with twittering birds that flitted through the branches.

  “Where exactly on the Rose Cliffs are we supposed to meet the Kirelm soldiers?” she asked once the captain had joined them.

  “They will meet us at the peninsula with a few men,” he answered. “It’s the point where the cliff stretches out the farthest over the valley below. Do you know the legend of the Rose Cliffs?”

  “I read about it.”

  “Personally, I think they’re just a great big set of cliffs and that the story is a fairytale for children, but the Kirelm take it to heart. Be careful not to make light of it or you might upset someone important. Here now, we’re close.”

  A strong gust of wind ruffled Kara’s hair, and the forest broke suddenly away to reveal an endless sky. A quarter mile away, a sharp ledge stretched around to the left and right, curving until it disappeared behind the tree line. A brilliant landscape dotted the distant ground, tiny and much too far away. Small mountains framed the horizon, mere hills compared to the massive cliff on which they stood.

  The guards halted. A long stretch of cliff jutted several hundred feet away from the forest on a wide catwalk above the valley thousands of feet below. Balanced on this rock-peninsula were at least one hundred Kirelm soldiers, their broad wings tucked in tightly to their sides, silver skin glistening. They wore royal blue tunics and sleek black pants, and everything they wore was branded with an image of a silver sun with pointed beams radiating from its center.

  “This is a ‘few men’?” she asked, reclining toward the captain. He wasn’t listening, his glare instead focused on the rows of Kirelm soldiers before him.

  The rest of the Hillside soldiers filled the gaps in the trees, creating a wall of green tunics and scowling faces. Gavin must have sent this many soldiers to make a statement, not just to keep her safe. She glanced over her shoulder to look deeper into the woods, where a pack of rider-less drowngs hovered behind the troops, each tied to a mounted rider’s saddle. Guilt stabbed her as she wondered how many yakona had died in the skirmish.

  The nightmare resurfaced when she turned back to the rows of immobile Kirelm soldiers, but she forced a deep breath. Even if her dream had been the Vagabond’s memory, these were different people. They wanted peace. She could make it happen.

  She dismounted Goliath, who nickered and nudged her as she passed him, and walked alone to the silent party of Kirelm yakona on the jutting strip of rock. The ground on either side disappeared into a dizzying drop to the far-off valley, so she held her breath as she walked. If she fell, she would lose her voice screaming before she hit the ground.

  A Kirelm soldier walked forward to meet her. His uniform was more elaborate than the rest; its hems were lined with silver trimming, and several medals were pinned across his chest. He stretched his pale white wings, which glowed in the sun. She squinted at the sudden influx of light, so he tucked his wings in close once more. He took a deep breath and sighed as he looked her over.

  “I am General Gurien,” he said, bowing. “I will warn you, we were expecting someone, uh—taller.”

  “No, you were expecting a big burly man,” she corrected. “I’ve heard this already. Let’s get on with it.”

  He chuckled and stepped aside to reveal a griffin covered in black fur and gray feathers. Its massive eagle head tilted as it saw her, mildly interested in the color of her hair, but it clawed at the cliff rock when it once more became bored. The general turned to Captain Demnug and arched his shoulders in what Kara assumed was a suppressed sigh.

  “I can’t help but notice, Captain, that several of your dogs”—he said the word with distaste—“are without their riders. May I ask what happened?”

  “We were ambushed by Carden’s men. The Vagabond will tell you the rest.”

  “Unfortunate,” Gurien said, clicking his tongue in forced disappointment.

  Kara turned toward the griffin, shaking her head and trying to avoid any more forced pleasantries. Someone nearby cleared his throat. She turned and caught the gaze of a Kirelm guard with rich black eyes, his brow furrowed with worry. He winked when she looked over, and it took a moment before she noticed his white shell necklace. She hid her relief that Braeden had found them and pulled herself onto the griffin.

  Soldiers jumped off of the cliff at a silent command from General Gurien and one-by-one spread their wings to catch the drafts coursing around the edge. Gurien soared over her and waved for her to follow, but she peeked out over the cliff. A thick wind ran through her hair as the sheer drop below made her head spin. She clung to the griffin’s neck and urged him over the edge with a timid tap of her heels.

  The creature bolted as if she’d kicked it and jumped into the air, opening its wings as a draft caught them and lifted them higher. It took every fiber of her being to suppress the scream that so badly wanted free as she jumped off what had to be the tallest cliff on Earth on the back of a flying lion-eagle hybrid.

  They flew into a thick cloud cover. Her griffin directed itself, weaving in and out of the flying soldiers until she completely lost sight of both Braeden and the ground. The swarm climbed in and out of clouds as a single unit, confusing her until she had no idea of where they were going. She gathered that this was the point of the whole show, though, so she just held on for the ride.

  The Kingdom of Kirelm

  Kara counted the hours she spent in the sky by the growing soreness in her rear. Luckily, the griffin kept its head high enough to block the wind, so all she could feel of the icy altitude was a quick breeze that tickled her elbows if she didn’t tuck them in. The steady pump of the beast’s wings beneath her made her legs go numb, and it wasn’t long before pins and needles replaced all sense of feeling in her lower back. She was about to cave and ask for a break when two clouds parted and a glimmer on the horizon caught her eye.

  It was a flicker of light, like the sun glinting off of a piece of glass. They flew toward it, and after a few minutes, the light became a spire. She could make out another tower, and another, each blinking into view with a spark. A floating castle bled into sight, peeking around gaps and breaks in the cloud cover until a vast, teeming city of spires rose out of the clouds.

  The city was surrounded by a thick circular road paved with polished silver stones. The entire kingdom was covered by a huge dome made from millions of intertwining metal wires, each curled around its brothers in an intricate pattern. The wires were thin, woven loosely enough that they appeared invisible unless an onlooker was close. A tall wall enclosed the city and ended in a single, massiv
e gate, its doors composed of the same curling wires as the dome. A hundred thick, sharp spikes fortified the top of the gateway in what Kara assumed was mere show.

  The massive gates opened as they drew nearer. Kara expected to land—no, needed to land—but the army sailed through the gates like a flurry of snow. The swish of air over their wings echoed as they passed. The wind howled over her. The company breezed by houses and buildings too quickly for her to make out anything more than white roofs and gray streets.

  General Gurien appeared above her, snapping his wings in sharp bursts, just out of reach. The army broke away after a few moments and pulled behind, so that she and the general led the way.

  The sun began to set behind the castle, bleeding red light onto the purple horizon. Kara paused. They hadn’t been flying that long. Then again, it was possible that the lichgate this morning had taken her to another “time zone,” as Braeden put it. After all, the Stele had been snow-covered and bright; and yet, back at the rental in Montana only hours later, it was still dark and only hours had passed.