Beyond The Gate - Book 2 of the Golden Queen Series

by David Farland

  Maggie whispered, "Speak softer. There's no telling how well they hear." She bent closer, and Orick listened tight. "Orick, those things may not be Inhuman, but it's just as possible that they are. We're on a ship full of people from Babel, and it's likely that at least one of them, and probably more, are Inhuman."

  Orick grumbled, turned away, and padded over the deck, his claws scratching the well-scrubbed planks. Maggie's voice had sounded calm enough when she talked of the creatures, but Orick noticed how quick Maggie was to follow at his heels.

  That evening, Orick and the others dined at the captain's table. The dinner was a fine feast, with a unique wine that both stimulated the mind and elevated the mood, and along with it they had plates of candied meats, five types of melon, sweet rolls, and breads with cheese baked in them. Orick was delighted, for he seldom found a table larger than his appetite.

  In the captain's cabin, the brass lamps kept the room well lit, and the captain had only two other guests at the table—a fat merchant and a shy albino girl.

  Captain Aherly sat at the far end of the table from Orick, with a steward boy in a gray smock at one shoulder and his nervous bodyguard at the other.

  They made polite conversation for a while at dinner, and Orick was plainly curious about the other guests at the table, so he was almost relieved when the captain said to Gallen, "I've never heard someone who spoke quite the way you and your friends do."

  "They're from the village of Soorary, in the north," Ceravanne put in, covering for them.

  "Ah, a far country," the captain said, plainly trying to disguise the fact that he wasn't satisfied. "So, do you travel to Babel on business, or pleasure?"

  "Adventure," Gallen said. "My friends and I are out to see the world, and I understand that a lot of it is south of here."

  "Hah." The captain laughed. "Well, if you're going south, there are some sights that will have your eyes popping out." "What of our other guests?" Gallen asked. "Why are you aboard?" The albino girl, a shy girl who had not spoken all evening, looked to the merchant as if asking him to speak, but when he remained silent for too long, she leaned forward and said softly, "I went to the City of Life, for Downing."

  Ceravanne supplied the proper response. "You seek resurrection? I hope you were judged worthy!"

  The girl looked away demurely. "I was not. They read my memories, but felt that my contribution to society does not merit—" She choked off the words.

  Orick felt a small shock go around the table, and wondered what it would be like to be judged unworthy of future life. It would be as bad as getting a death sentence, he decided.

  "You are young yet," Ceravanne said. "Redouble your efforts. All is not lost. I am but a lowly Domorian dancer, yet I got the Rebirth."

  The young woman looked at Ceravanne, gratitude in her pink eyes. "As one whose skin is young, but whose eyes are old, I appreciate your reassurance. But—I am considered to be a great teacher among my people. I have worked so hard. I don't know what more I can do. . . ."

  She abruptly drew her head back, a graceful gesture, like the movement of a deer in a forest, and Orick realized that she was not shy or reticent as a personality quirk, but that her timidness went much deeper. Her life might well be defined by it.

  "Be kind and generous, as is your nature," Ceravanne offered. "It is said that the Immortals value such more than other accomplishments."

  The albino woman lowered her eyes, blinking them as a sign of acceptance.

  "Perhaps, instead more life, seek meaningful death," the captain's bodyguard said, pacing across the room. The guard, a woman named Tallea, was like a panther, stalking to and fro, and she spoke in quick, sharp tones, as if unable to slow her speech down. She was well muscled and wore a short sword on her right hip and a dueling trident on her left. Her decorative tunic of gray with blue animal figures was covered by a thin leather vest. All in all, her clothes seemed to be merely functional rather than protective. Despite her pacing and her bunched muscles, she seemed serene.

  "A meaningful death?" Gallen asked.

  Tallea paced across the room, flexing her hands. She wore many rings of topaz and emerald. "Among Roamers, death is accepted. It comes to all, even those who run long, as Immortals do. They say, is duty of young to live, to care for herd. But when you old, is duty to die, to free others from caring for you. Death, like life, should have purpose. So, seek meaningful death."

  "And how would you do that?" Gallen asked.

  "Life has meaning only if serve something greater than selves. Give life in service."

  "You mean, in battle?" Gallen asked.

  The woman half nodded, half shook her head. "Maybe. Or in work." Captain Aherly laughed. "You must forgive Tallea. She is a pure-bred Caldurian, but she is also a devotee of the Roamers, with their odd ways."

  "Why do you want to be reborn as a Roamer?" Ceravanne asked.

  The woman turned, her dark hair flying. "Peace. Caldurians never at peace." She turned away, began pacing. "And what great thing do you serve?" Ceravanne asked.

  The Caldurian woman shot a glance over her shoulder, a bright-eyed, mocking look. "I raised in wilderness of Moree, but I left. I serve truth."

  There was an uncomfortable silence at the mention of Moree. By saying she'd left to serve truth, the woman seemed to be openly siding against the Inhuman, and none of the others at the table would dare be so bold. The burly merchant who was sitting beside Orick spoke evenly. "My name is Zell'a Cree. I'm a trader myself. For fifteen years now, I've been traveling."

  "And what do you sell?" Gallen asked.

  "Oh, this and that," Zell'a Cree said. "It used to be that trade was good between continents, but now, most folks don't want to go to Babel.

  I keep thinking it's time to get out of there, come home and settle down."

  "So you are human?" Orick asked, somehow unnerved by the man. All evening, Orick had found that Zell’a Cree sat a bit too close. And now, his tone of voice was off—too mellifluous. The women had just been talking about death and hope, their deepest fears. Yet this man’s tone hinted that such things did not bother him. It struck Orick that the man lacked social graces, or some quality that Orick couldn’t quite name. At the very least, he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

  “Yes,” Zell’a Cree said, affirming his humanity.

  “Liar,” Gallen countered, unaccountably furious at the man.

  The fellow raised an eyebrow, but did not recoil at the accusation. Gallen raised a hand, as if to strike him.

  Zell’a Cree just looked at him calmly. His pupils did not constrict. He did not tremble or sweat.

  “You’re not human,” Gallen said. “You don’t even know how to fake it. You have no fear at all, do you?”

  “Here, now,” the captain said. “We all have our secrets. I make it a policy never to dig too deeply into the private lives of my passengers. A man’s subspecies is his own business. Why, I even have a pair of Tekkar aboard—the black-hearted devils.”

  Gallen put his fist down, but carefully watched the burly Zell’a Cree.

  “Tekkar?” Ceravanne asked, and Orick could tell by the tone of her voice that these Tekkar had a nasty reputation.

  The captain’s face took on a closed look. “Aye, two of them. I invited them to dinner, but they declined, so they’re holed up in their cabin. They said that they too went to the City of Life, seeking the Downing.”

  “But you think they have other schemes in mind?” Gallen asked.

  “A Tekkar?” Captain Aherly laughed. “You think they would get the rebirth? Weasels will sooner get reborn as doves.”

  “Is this what things have come to?” Ceravanne asked. “You knowingly transport agents of the Inhuman?”

  “It’s not something I can prove or disprove,” Captain Aherly said. “I may suspect that a man is a scoundrel, but even the guards at the City of Life will turn no man back who desires the Downing. As long as we keep the gates of the city open to all, I can’t prove that the Tekka
r have no business in Northland.”

  “I suspect,” Ceravanne said, “that the Immortals would have closed those gates to the Tekkar—if not for the presence of the dronon. Now that the dronon have fled, the Tekkar will not be allowed into the northlands.”

  “A shame, a shame,” Captain Aherly said, “that things had to come to this. Ah, it’s not like the old days, when the Tharrin judged men honestly, and there was goodwill among the peoples.”

  “You believe there ever was such a time?” Zell’a Cree said. “Some say that it is a myth.”

  “The harbor at Tylee has old dry-docking facilities for a hundred vessels,” Aherly said. “But I’ve never seen more than ten ships put up at any one time. There must have been more people coming and going, not too long ago."

  "It's true. There was never such fear or animosity between peoples when I was young," Ceravanne said. "The gates to the City of Life were unguarded, as were the ports. People traded freely, and it seemed we were rich."

  "If ever there was such a time, it is long past," Zell'a Cree said. "You were born after the dronon came," Ceravanne said. "Ask the old ones you meet, they will tell you. Our world was at peace."

  "Yes," Captain Aherly said. "It's true that we had some peace, an unequal peace. There was always peace in Northland. But even without the dronon, it was harder to come by in the south. You can't let people like the Tekkar mix with folks like . . . the Champlianne here"—he waved to the albino woman—"and hope to have any peace. You might as well raise wolves in the rabbit pen."

  "Yet even the Champlianne had the faithful Caldurians to protect them," Ceravanne said, looking up to the warrior woman who paced the floor. "And as long as the Caldurians are strong, there can be peace again. Especially now that the dronon have fled."

  "Ah, the dronon have fled but the Inhuman remains," Aherly said. "And I fear that those who desire peace will be swept away before it. Those who have just come from the City of Life say they have seen preparations for war. Armies gathering in Northland."

  Maggie gasped, unable to hide her astonishment.

  "It makes sense," Zell'a Cree said. "With the dronon gone, someone will have to take charge."

  "I have heard this rumor, too," Ceravanne admitted reluctantly, eyeing Gallen for his reaction. "But mark my words, the Immortals will not let their human soldiers cross the oceans. They wi]] not carry their war to the Inhuman, whatever the provocation."

  "Pity, Inhuman does not feel same," the Caldurian guard said. "No one has counted people of Babel, but they outnumber humans. They will strike first, and they will strike hard. Humans can't stand against them."

  "You seem certain," Ceravanne said, setting down her fork, watching the Caldurian for a confirmation.

  The Caldurian shrugged. "I hear things."

  "What kinds of things?" Ceravanne asked.

  "Rumors." Aherly laughed, too nervously. "Rumors are all you've heard."

  The Caldurian studied his face, and seemed to take a warning from it, as if perhaps it was unsafe to speak further. "Rumors," she agreed.

  That night in Gallen and Maggie's room, when the waves rode high and the boat tossed on the sea, Orick lay sprawled on the floor while Ceravanne reclined on his stomach, as if it were a pillow. Gallen and Maggie gathered round and held a council, speaking softly.

  "What is this about a war?" Gallen demanded from Ceravanne, his voice almost a hiss. "You said nothing about it last night!"

  "It's a rumor started by the Immortals," Ceravanne said. "So long as the hosts of the Inhuman believe that we have troops massed and prepared, we hope that they will not march against us. Meanwhile, we are trying to gather armies. A muster has gone out. Our lords fear that now that the dronon have left, the Inhuman will try to seize power. As to whether the Inhuman has gathered armies, we do not know. So far, we have heard only rumors, no more substantial than those we have spread ourselves."

  "What if those rumors are true?" Gallen asked, incredulous. "You want us to march into an armed country?"

  "We have no choice," Ceravanne said. "But think of this: if armies are now gathering, a muster could work to our advantage by drawing soldiers away from Moree. It could aid our quest.

  "Gallen, you must understand something," Ceravanne said. "We don't know how many foes we are up against. As the Caldurian told you, the people of Babel have never been numbered, and we can't even guess how many have joined the Inhuman. But there is one thing we do know: we know the quality of their troops. The Tekkar are swift and brutal in ways you cannot comprehend. They live in dark warrens carved into the stones, and no one can guess their numbers. They alone would sorely test our defenses. Their swift-winged scouts can fly long and far, coordinating armies in ways that we cannot match. And there are thousands of lesser races in Babel, each with its own unique strengths.

  "Gallen, the message we sent to the rebels was recorded six months ago. It took a long time to contact you. I've been waiting for you now for months, and you may have come too late to do much good. It may be that we cannot avert a war.

  "I fear that the hosts of the Inhuman will sweep across Northland, and the human hosts of Tremonthin may be decimated.

  "But no matter what our quest may accomplish, we must at least try."

  "If I'd known this last night," Gallen said, "we could have hurried!"

  "Hurried where?" Ceravanne said. "It would have been foolish to try to leave port in the dark, even if we'd had a trustworthy captain handy who was willing. We left as soon as we could, and we cannot make the wind blow us any faster. We've hired a lofty ship—but until we reach port in Babel, you and I have no power to even begin the race to Moree.

  "Gallen, there may be more dangers ahead than I have told you, depending on our route. There are peoples in Babel who do not think as we do, and we may be unsafe among them. Some, like the Derrits, are uncivilized and eat other peoples for food. Some, like the Tekkar, are civilized and more brutal. And we are just as likely to find unexpected friends. It has been five hundred years since I left Babel, and I do not know what people occupy the lands now. Mostly, I fear the Inhuman and its Tekkar. But I do not want to burden you with possible dangers."

  "Tell me this, then, at least," Gallen said. "Why are you here? Why did you insist on coming? Why do you insist on facing the Inhuman yourself?"

  "I came for many reasons," Ceravanne said. "I came because you need a guide, and few in the human lands could do this. I came because I fear that you may not have the heart to do what is required, and I hoped to give you strength, and to help rally the people of Babel to our need, if possible." She leaned closer and said softly, "Gallen, it is not enough to destroy the Inhuman-I have come to undo the damage it has wrought."

  "Ooh! How can you do that?" Gallen asked.

  "I'm not sure," Ceravanne said. "I can only try." She plainly did not want to say any more.

  "Right, then," Gallen mumbled. He turned away from her in frustration, bit his upper lip. There were volumes that needed to be spoken between them, but they would not be spoken now. "We must take stock of our situation.

  "What did you think of our dinner guests tonight?" Gallen asked, looking between Ceravanne, Orick, and Maggie. "It seems to me that other folks had secrets to keep. Not just us. I don't trust Zell'a Cree."

  "Why not?" Ceravanne asked.

  "He claimed to be a merchant, but when I asked what he sold, he didn't tell. Every merchant I've ever met is quick to grab your collar, and if he's any good, he'll try to unload half his wares before you get away. That man is no merchant, and he's no human."

  "He is a Tosken," Ceravanne said. "Outwardly, he can pass as human. Inwardly, he is something else entirely. Still, they are a peaceful people."

  "You don't think he is dangerous?" Gallen asked.

  "He has no fear—of death, of pain, of strangers. And because he has no fear, he is not likely to harm us."

  "And what of the captain?" Maggie said, bending down close to Gallen, taking his hand in hers. "He practically admi
ts that he transports those who are in league with the Inhuman."

  "If he were secretly in league with the Inhuman, would he admit to transporting them?" Ceravanne asked. "No, I think he is like any merchant. He would rather make money than ask dangerous questions."

  "And if he is loyal only to money," Orick said, "then he's loyal only to those who pay the most-or last. As long as our purse has a bottom, I won't trust him."

  "Tallea said she was loyal to the truth," Maggie whispered.

  "Yes," Orick said, excited. "A curious sentiment. Which truth, do you think? And why did she leave Moree? To escape the Inhuman?"

  "She's not loyal to the Inhuman," Ceravanne said.

  “How can you know? Maggie asked.

  "She wore no belt."

  "What do you mean?" Gallen asked.

  "Tallea is a Caldurian," Ceravanne said. "Her people are often called 'the Allies.' They were created long ago—long before the Tharrin were formed—by corporate warlords who sought total devotion from their workers. When they are young, Caldurians may bond to a certain patron, and they remain faithful throughout life. And when they bond, they wear a belt as a sign of their bondage. She is not bonded to Captain Aherly, or to anyone else."

  Orick looked at Ceravanne appreciatively. She seemed to have a keen eye, and he saw now that her presence on this journey would be invaluable.

  "Which means that she might hire her services out to us," Ceravanne considered. "She would make an excellent escort." "Wouldn't you rather have a man?" Maggie asked. "Someone who is stronger?"

  "A Caldurian woman is stronger than a man of most other races," Ceravanne said. "You saw the rings on her fingers? Six master rings of emerald for her swordsmanship. Four rings of topaz for staff. When a Caldurian proves equal in training to a master, he or she gets a ring. To win more rings, they must cut them from the fingers of their dead foes.

  "She is an accomplished warrior, and it is rumored that the Caldurians cannot be turned by the Inhuman."

  "Why not?" Gallen asked.

  "Some think that it is because they are so highly disciplined," Ceravanne said. "Others think that their minds are just too different from ours, so the Word cannot function properly with them. It is whispered that the Inhuman does not even bother to try to convert them now. Instead, they are killed outright."