The Gate of Gods (Fall of the Ile-Rien)

by Martha Wells

  Giliead shouldered the pack with the extra spheres, Gerard took charge of his bag and Tremaine took the provisions and ammunition, letting Ilias take the heavier bag with their canteens. She checked to make certain the explosives Nicholas had tucked into the bag before leaving with Reynard were on top and easy to get to.

  The birdsong seemed hushed, as if even they were reluctant to attract Gardier attention. After a moment’s thought, Tremaine dropped the key to the touring car on its front seat and rolled up the window. If the war ended in their favor and the owner of these empty fields returned, he would at least find a pleasant surprise in his oak grove.

  “Tremaine, come along,” Gerard whispered harshly.

  “All right, all right.” She hurried back through the trees, trying not to trip on the roots buried in the dead leaves. Ilias was already ranging ahead, scouting, and Giliead strode along, scanning the countryside for movement. They didn’t stop until they were well away from the road, with two more low hills and several scattered stands of trees between them and the Gardier.

  The air was cold and crisp but as Gerard consulted the map and the compass, Tremaine already found herself sweating. The wind brought them snatches of voices speaking Aelin, and the grumble of truck engines. The daylight and the lack of tree cover made her feel terribly exposed. If we’d moved faster, got to this point while it was still dark… But that was pointless. If they had moved faster, they would still have come up on the Gardier troops.

  “Right.” Gerard nodded briskly, folding up the map. “We need to head that way.”

  As soon as they were far enough from the Gardier, Gerard cast the illusion charm that would conceal them from casual view. It made Tremaine feel a little better, but not by much.

  The sky was clear and the tall grass wet from dew. Tremaine reflected that you might almost be fooled into thinking this was a country hike on an ordinary day, except for the strange hushed quality to the birdsong and the occasional scent of smoke on the wind. Ilias and Giliead took turns ranging ahead, finding a route that wound through the low hills and small pockets of trees and undergrowth, then backtracking, making sure they weren’t being followed. If they could do this alone, they’d be in Lodun, have handed out the spheres, and be eating lunch by now, Tremaine thought dryly. They crossed through an untended apple orchard and skirted a vineyard that had been burned down to the scorched ground, but the Syprians kept their route well out of sight of any houses.

  Tremaine had an abundance of nervous energy so wasn’t really noticing the distance, but she saw Gerard was turning a bit red, and it wasn’t from the sun. Finally, he paused, breathing hard, to consult the map. Tremaine peered over his arm and when Giliead came jogging back for a report, Gerard told him, “We’re just within the range. Please start looking for a sheltered spot for the circle.”

  Giliead nodded thoughtfully and took off again. Gerard wiped sweat from his brow and folded the map. “You all right?” Tremaine asked, eyeing him. She was sweating too, despite the cool air, and the singlet she was wearing under her sweater was damp. But she didn’t think she felt anywhere near as bad as Gerard looked.

  He gave her a glare. “I’ll be fine.”

  After they had gone a short distance Giliead came back to lead them to a low spot near a stream with a little footbridge, sheltered by brush and saplings and a large willow. The ground was mostly flat and strewn with gravel from past floods. As Gerard dropped his bag and immediately began pacing off the circle, Tremaine peered through the screen of brush. She saw the stream wound through a field to pass near a group of thatched cottages and a couple of larger fieldstone houses, all silent and deserted. Some distance past that she saw yet another Gardier airship, floating above a hazy dome of storm clouds. It’s going to rain over there, she thought stupidly, then felt a shock that made her scalp prickle as she realized what she was looking at. That was the barrier.

  The cloud was light gray on the edges, shading down to dark and roiling in the center, and a flash of lightning streaked across it as she watched. She retreated from the brush, a thorny branch catching at her sweater, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the cool air. “Damn,” she commented to Giliead. He stood nearby watching Gerard as he started to lay out the first of the cork pieces with the circle symbols. “Did you see that thing?”

  He grimaced. “I’ve been able to smell it since before dawn. It smells like a thunderstorm, and like death, all wrapped together.”

  “Gah.” Tremaine rubbed both her hands through her hair, her scalp already itchy with sweat and dust. She had a bad feeling about this. Even more so than usual. If we’re too late, if the Gardier have been inside and everyone’s dead… But no, they would hardly be amassing troops and airships here if they knew there was no one inside capable of resistance.

  Giliead deposited the pack of spheres beside Gerard’s bag, then took off to tell Ilias where they were and to scout the area. Tremaine paced, checked her pistol three times to make sure it was loaded, and paced some more.

  Gerard had nearly half the cork squares laid out, held down with river pebbles, when Giliead returned, striding through the tall grass, ducking under the low branches of the willow. “What?” Tremaine demanded immediately. Giliead looked urgently worried.

  “This curse circle is much louder than the others,” he told her.

  Gerard looked up, frowning at the interruption. “What?”

  “The one on the Ravenna was noticeable, once I got near it, but the one you made in Capistown, and all the others we found after that, were quiet. I don’t know about the one at Cineth—the god kept trying to talk to it so I couldn’t hear anything else—but this one—” He winced, gesturing to the half-finished circle. “This one is shouting. And the scent is strong too. It’s not a bad scent, but still—”

  Gerard stared at him, then down at the cork squares, in disgust. “Oh, damn.”

  Tremaine swore more succinctly. “Because it’s different from the other spells, because it’s cobbled together, it puts out more etheric vibrations.”

  “Exactly,” Gerard agreed grimly, putting down the next square and making the ritual gestures to connect it to the others. “There’s nothing to be done about it.”

  Giliead shook his head, giving Tremaine a frustrated look, then he went back through the trees to keep watch.

  Tremaine paced again, snarling under her breath. We should have tested it, she told herself. Oh right, when was that going to happen? And how were we going to test this?

  She realized she was distracting Gerard and went to sit near the base of the willow. Rocking back and forth, gritting her teeth with anxiety, she suddenly caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

  Tremaine turned her head, reaching for the pistol tucked into her jacket pocket.

  Something was crouched in the grass on the bank of the stream, not two paces away from her. Its face was brown and wizened, like that of a ruinously old man, but a man that thin and skeletal would surely be dead. The hands were gnarled but the nails looked long and sharp, and it was dressed in ragged brown pants and a shirt that hung off its bony shoulders. Rank strings of gray hair were collected under a grimy badly dyed red kerchief…. Cap, Tremaine corrected herself sourly.It’s a goddamn Red Cap. She thought of the old fieldstone houses standing next to the cottages down by the stream. Red Caps were traditionally drawn to stone ruins and those houses had been left standing empty. Red Caps also ate travelers, dying their caps with human blood. It said, in a grating voice with a thick country accent, “You look tasty, little girl.”

  Tremaine had never seen a real fay this big before, only the tiny bright flower fay that sometimes inhabited gardens. It leaned toward her, gray lips drawing back to reveal a mouthful of brown-stained fangs. All the advice for dealing with fay Tremaine had ever heard or read flashed through her mind. Don’t look in their eyes, don’t listen to them, don’t antagonize them, run away. Instead, she went with her first instinct. She looked into the black pits of its eyes, drew the
pistol and aimed for its head, saying in a level voice, “So do you.”

  Its eyes widened. It hesitated, seemed to sense her sincerity, then drew back slowly. It grumbled, “Bloody humans.”

  Gerard had ignored the interruption, if he had even been aware of it, methodically continuing to lay out the squares, whispering the words that made them a Great Spell rather than just a collection of cork and ink. A noisy Great Spell. Tremaine kept her hand on her pistol and one eye on the Red Cap. It crept back down the streambed and settled at the base of a stunted tree at the edge of the clearing. She wanted to just shoot the damn thing, but the noise would surely attract the Gardier.

  Tremaine sat there, trying not grind her teeth, trying not to count each symbol of the circle, until Ilias slipped through the bushes at the far side of the clearing. There were leaves caught in his hair and his queue had come mostly unraveled, as if he had been pushing or crawling through brush, and from his harried expression the news wasn’t good. Tremaine pushed to her feet, striding across to meet him. He told her, “Three patrols, coming up all around us.”

  “Great,” Tremaine snarled. She looked at the circle again. Gerard had about a third of it left to go.

  Ilias nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. “Each group must have wizard crystals—” His eyes narrowed as he spotted the Red Cap, and he stepped toward it, sword suddenly drawn.

  “Hold it.” Tremaine caught his arm to stop him. She looked at the Red Cap thoughtfully. It had recoiled in startled fear from the three feet of gleaming steel blade. Obviously, it was more used to people who ran away, not people whose first impulse was to attack. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “What?” Ilias glanced at her doubtfully. “An idea for that thing?”

  She took a couple of steps toward the Red Cap, which eyed her uneasily. “I’m not doing nothing,” it muttered. “I never hurt nobody—”

  “Shut up and listen,” Tremaine interrupted. “There’s a bunch of people in brown uniforms over that way. If you go eat a few of them, I promise not to cut you into little pieces and our sorcerer probably won’t set you on fire.”

  The Red Cap considered this dubiously, its mad dark eyes confused. She had read once that the average fay’s intelligence, for all their ability to talk and their cunning, wasn’t much better than the average dog’s. “What’ll you give me for it?”

  Tremaine swore. “What do you want?”

  It considered, an expression of almost comic concentration on its face, much at odds with the sharp fangs. “A spindle.”

  She clapped a hand to her forehead. “I don’t have a damn spindle, we’re in the middle of the woods, you stupid— All right, all right.” She dug into her pocket for the remains of her hastily eaten breakfast. She found a still-intact package and pulled it out. “How about some dried orange pieces?”

  For a moment she thought that was going to be too rational an offer for a creature who wanted a spindle. But its long nose twitched as it sniffed toward the package. Then it nodded. “It’s a bargain.”

  She tossed it the package and it clutched it tightly, still eyeing Ilias warily as it circled around him and skittered for the brush. “Will it really help?” Ilias asked, following after it at a careful distance.

  “I think so.” Tremaine nodded, ducking under the branches he held aside for her. “Making deals with them is dangerous, but getting killed by Gardier is dangerous too. And I think it was more afraid of us than hungry.” She was aware she wasn’t making sense but Ilias seemed to get the gist.

  The Red Cap vanished into the brush, at least to Tremaine’s eyes, and Ilias led the way up the slope to a slight rise, where Giliead stood in the cover of a stand of big ash trees, worriedly surveying the vista of tree-dotted hills and fields. Moving up to stand next to him, Tremaine saw the first group of Gardier almost immediately.

  There were about a dozen of them, about two fields over, spread out, their brown coveralls blending into the bare earth and weeds. The sun gleamed off the blue steel of rifle barrels and struck sparks off the chunk of crystalline rock the man in the lead held. If I had a rifle, I might be able to hit that from here, Tremaine thought, eyes narrowed. Or hit him. Of course, that would tell them exactly where we were.

  “Tremaine made a deal with a curseling to distract the Gardier,” Ilias was telling Giliead, with the air of someone who was washing his hands of the whole matter.

  Giliead frowned down at her. “What?”

  “It was worth a try. Maybe they’ll even think it was the fay the crystals were hearing.” She tried to remember if fay left etheric traces, but she had no idea. Of course, the Gardier probably didn’t either.

  Giliead twitched and a moment later Tremaine heard a distant outcry and a scatter of gunfire. “I just heard a wizard crystal. That must have been your curseling,” Giliead said. He nodded as the Gardier patrol they could see broke into a run, going to the aid of the patrol that was invisible past the trees and the rise of the ground.

  “That should buy us a little time.” Tremaine nodded to herself.

  “I don’t know.” Ilias winced, looking back toward the deserted houses, the rooftop of the tallest stone building barely visible through the trees. “The third group is over there. If they come to see what the others found, they could cut right through here.”

  “Oh, great,” Tremaine muttered, aghast. Now I know why they say not to bargain with the fay. They bugger everything up even when they don’t intend to.

  Giliead stepped away from the tree trunk. “I’ll see where they are.”

  Ilias frowned at him. “Draw them off? They’ve got shooting weapons, Gil.”

  Giliead threw him a repressive look, already fading back through the brush. “I know that.”

  Ilias looked after him, conflicted, then muttered something under his breath, watching the Gardier patrol again. Tremaine grimaced and turned to go back down to Gerard.

  In the clearing, Gerard, his face gray with fatigue, had perhaps ten more symbols to put into place. Tremaine collected the provision bag and Gerard’s pack, putting them next to the bag with the spheres so they could be quickly tossed into the circle when it was ready. Then she paced, trying not to tear her hair out. They were so close. The thought intruded that what they might be close to was an imprisoned town that had been dead since the beginning of the war, but she shook it off.

  Ilias came through the brush at a run, telling her, “They’re closing in. It’s either make it work or run away.”

  Tremaine looked at the circle again. Gerard had three symbols to go. It was either now or never, and running away meant never. “We’ll make it work.”

  Ilias glanced over the circle, nodded, and bolted off in the direction Giliead had taken. Looking after him, Tremaine felt her stomach cramp with nerves.

  Gerard laid down the last symbol, and though he made no move or gesture, she knew he was drawing the complicated gate spell to a close. Gunfire rang out and she flinched, spinning around, but there were no Gardier crashing through the trees. Yet. God, that was close, she thought, her heart pounding.

  Gerard pushed to his feet, the sphere tucked under his arm, moving as if his entire body ached. “It’s ready. Where are—”

  “On their way.” I hope. Tremaine grabbed the pack with the spheres, carefully depositing it inside the circle. “The Gardier are all around us, Gerard. They’re going to find the circle.”

  He looked around almost vaguely, utterly exhausted, but said, “I’m prepared for that.”

  Looking up as she dumped the other two bags into the circle, Tremaine saw there were pronounced hollows under his eyes and his face was pale. “You look awful.”

  Gerard mopped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, saying dryly, “Thank you, Tremaine.”

  Shots rang out, close enough to make Tremaine duck reflexively, and Ilias and Giliead tore through the brush, breathing hard. They leapt into the circle. “The Gardier will find these—” Giliead began, pointing toward the corkboard pieces.
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  Gerard stepped into the circle, gesturing and speaking. Just then a dozen brown-uniformed Gardier pounded up the streambed, shouting. Shots rang out but Tremaine felt a breath of heat and saw the air waver. The grass around the spell circle fizzed into flame like candlewicks. Ilias started and Giliead grimaced in pain, falling back a step. “There won’t be a circle,” Gerard said calmly. He lifted the sphere and Tremaine felt her stomach lurch as the clearing vanished in a wash of fire.

  Ilias winced away from the heat and the bright flare, then it dissolved into storm cloud light. He took a startled breath. The air was damp and warm now, and smelled of wet earth and pasture. They stood on a grassy lawn only a few ship’s lengths wide, under a cloudy gray sky. It was surrounded by big stone three- or four-story buildings in the Rienish style, with round and square towers and elaborate carving and colored glass in the windows. Their arrival had caused a scorched circle to form in the turf, the curse symbols visible as outlines of ash. A small herd of black-and-white cows, larger than the ones in the Syrnai, had been grazing nearby and were staring at them in faint amazement.

  Also staring in amazement that wasn’t faint at all were several Rienish. They stood on a stone terrace, at the base of a set of steps leading up into the largest building, an imposing structure with huge carved wooden doors framed by crystalline windows that stretched up nearly to the roof.

  Gerard handed Tremaine the sphere, then his knees buckled and he started to fold up. Ilias reached to catch him but Tremaine deposited the sphere in his arms and caught Gerard herself, easing him to the ground.

  Warily watching the group of Rienish, who were now hurrying toward them across the field, Ilias felt the sphere suddenly turn warm and shiver as something spun inside it. That can’t be good. “Gil,” he said, distracted, “something’s—”