Beyond The Gate - Book 2 of the Golden Queen Series

by David Farland

  Gallen glanced at her, and there was a gleam of anger in his eye, and Orick's heart froze at the sight—anger at the peaceful Tharrin, a folk who'd never done Gallen any harm.

  "Thank you," Gallen said coldly. "But I do not want your help."

  "Why?" Ceravanne asked, unable to hide how his tone had hurt her.

  Gallen's face took on a closed look. "I'm not sure I trust you—or any Tharrin."

  Two of the Im giants got up, throwing the remains of their com cake to the ground, confused and hurt by Gallen's words. They brought their hands to their short swords, as if ready to do battle over such talk. And Gallen half pulled his own sword.

  "Wait!" Orick said. "Gallen here has always been a trusty lad. I've never seen him back away from any bandit or outlaw! So if you're going to draw swords on him, you'd best be sure of your cause. And you'd better be ready to die."

  "Orick is right," Ceravanne said. "Put your weapons away. We are all friends here. I'll not force Gallen or anyone else to serve me." Ceravanne stared deep into Gallen's face, and the giants rested, seeing no immediate danger. But Gallen held his own sword halfway drawn, as if ready to sweep the blade free. The sunlight shone on Ceravanne's platinum hair, and her pale green eyes reflected the light like cut gems. The sunlight caught her blue-white dress, and it gleamed like a bolt of lightning here under the dark pines. In spite of her strength and wisdom, she looked like little more than a frail child who could be easily swept away, and Gallen's sword was nearly out. If Gallen had wanted to cut her down, he could have put a swift end to her.

  "If you are willing to go to Moree to risk your life, then I will walk beside you," Ceravanne said. "I know that the Inhuman teaches that I am its enemy, that the people of this world are but pawns in our hand. But you can trust me, Gallen. I desire harm for no one. I've come to bring peace to this land, not war. I have long been a friend to the people of Babel."

  The Im giants stirred restlessly at these words, studying her, and Fenorah said hopefully, "Unless I miss my guess, you are an Immortal? But I am not sure that I have heard of a Tharrin who was a friend to Babel."

  "For three hundred years I have been studying with the Bock," Ceravanne whispered. "And for over two hundred years before that, I exiled myself. But I lived here before your grandfather was young—for two thousand years. In Chingat they called me the White Lady. On the island of Bin I was Frost Before the Sun, and in Indallian they called me the Swallow—she who returns. If you have memories from the Inhuman, Gallen, then you have heard these names, and you know why I have come here!"

  "By the gods!" Fenorah swore. "The Swallow has returned from the dead! The Immortal is with us!" And the giants of Im all fell to their knees. Some lowered their eyes in respect, while others stared at her in amazement. One man drew his sword, as if pledging it to her service, while the others set their weapons on the ground before them, as if swearing to put them ,away forever. It was obvious that all of them knew her name and her reputation, but none of the giants was certain how to react.

  For one moment, as the giants sat with their heads lowered, it looked as if Ceravanne stood among a field of huge boulders.

  And to Orick's utter amazement, Gallen himself, who seemed but a moment before ready to draw his sword on her, suddenly opened his mouth in surprise and fell to one knee at Ceravanne's feet, as if she had slapped him for some insult and he were begging her forgiveness. He watched her steadily. "I know of the Swallow, and how her gentle people fell in ancient days at the hands of the Rodim," he said, "but I have not heard that she was a Tharrin. Truly, you are a friend of the people." Gallen's voice became husky. "I would be more than honored, if you would accompany me to Moree."

  "My Lady," Fenorah said, "will you again build the Accord?" "For long I've tried to bring peace between all peoples," Ceravanne said. "And the Accord was my best effort. When the Rodim slew whole villages, I could hardly bear it. In anger I turned my back on them, and let my disciples ruin them. The slaughter was horrible, and I could not live with what I'd done. I had sought peace by giving in to war. For centuries I have been in the North, studying the ways of peace at the hands of the Bock, purifying myself. But now I must return to my people. The Tekkar and the Inhuman are forming a deadly alliance, one that could shake the stars."

  "I would fight them with you," Fenorah said, and all of his men shouted, "Aye."

  "Then draw your weapons upon no man, except in self-defense," Ceravanne said.

  "But—how can we fight the servants 'of the Inhuman without drawing upon them?" one giant asked.

  "Your people are tied to the sea, and I forbid you to shed blood. But that does not mean that you cannot fight. There are ships in the harbors of Babel preparing for war," Ceravanne said. "Set them afire. See that the Inhuman does not cross the ocean. And in every ear, with everyone you meet, tell them that the Swallow has returned to build the Accord, and that she begs human and Inhuman alike to lay aside their weapons."

  "But the Tekkar will not listen to you," Fenorah said. "They are as deadly and vile a race as ever the Rodim were. We cannot let them live."

  "How do we know that we cannot reason with them, if we have not tried?" Ceravanne said. "They are violent and cunning and bloodthirsty. But their men love their women as passionately as you love your own wives. And their mothers love their children."

  The Im giants shook their huge heads in disbelief, doubting that the horrid Tekkar could share any brotherhood with them.

  But Fenorah looked to his men. "Anabim, Dodeo, the Swallow has spoken her wishes. I charge you to return to Battic and raise some men. Go east along the coast, and set fire to any ships that are preparing for war. And tell people what you have learned here today—that the Swallow has returned to rebuild the Accord. It will set fire to their hearts."

  The two giants turned and ran from the grove, heading toward the bridge east.

  "You know, Great Lady," Fenorah said, "that news of your presence will put you in greater periL It now becomes imperative for the Inhuman's agents to kill you, lest some among their numbers give you aid. Legends of the golden days of the Accord abound, and long have we hoped for your return. Still, some people may be slow to believe that you have returned. In past years, there have been rumors. . . ."

  "What kinds of rumors?" Ceravanne asked.

  "It was said that you had died and that the Lords of the City of Life would not let you be reborn. It was said that they feared a new Accord. It has even been said that the Inhuman has sought to rebuild you, so that you will come and lead it to victory."

  "Those were lies spread by the dronon and their Inhuman," Ceravanne said. "The dronon tried to kill me when they learned that they could not turn me to their violent ways, when I would not champion the cause of the Inhuman. Four times the Rebellion brought me the rebirth, and each time I tried to return south to my people, but the Inhuman stopped me. "

  "Of course," Fenorah said. "Some had guessed as much, and all will be glad of your return." He lowered his head in thought. "Look, when I heard the Servants of the Inhuman talking yesterday, making plans in their cave, I knew only that they sought to turn you because you are a Tharrin, and because you brought a Lord Protector to fight them. I am sure that they did not know your real name, or the full scale of your mission."

  "I have been careful not to reveal that until now," Ceravanne said.

  "Well," Fenorah said, "what I mean to say is—we had planned to take you inland for a hundred kilometers. But maybe we could go farther."

  "Yes," one of the giants echoed.

  "And what will you drink?" Gallen said. "Without seawater, you will die of thirst in a matter of days."

  "We could buy sea salt in the villages along the way, and add it to fresh water," Fenorah said. "I have gone far inland in such a manner. Indeed, I brought a small pouch of salt just for such an emergency."

  "Bless you," Ceravanne said, and tears suddenly shone in her eyes. "But I fear that it would put you in danger. Four giants, all searching for sea s
alt in those small villages? No, I would be asking too much."

  "One giant, then," Fenorah said. "I am Lord Sheriff for this region, and I will accept the risk. I will run two thousand kilometers at your side, all the way to Moree."

  "There are vast deserts between here and Moree." Ceravanne shook her head. "You will not find the salt you need to purchase, and even water may be scarce. No, my faithful friend, I cannot accept your life as a sacrifice."

  "It is mine to give," Fenorah said.

  "Then give it in service. Two hundred and eighty kilometers you may come, to High Home, where the Old King's Road meets the Marbee Road. If we are in peril from the Inhuman's servants, that is where we will most likely find them, and I would welcome your protection."

  "Agreed," Fenorah said. "And now, we must be on our journey, for every second matters."

  With that, the giants leapt to their feet, and in a moment the travelbeast was harnessed. They did not clean their cooking pans, only pushed them under a bush for later retrieval, then Orick and the others climbed into the wagon.

  The giants were no longer content merely to run loosely behind the wagon. Instead, two of them got behind and pushed, and in moments they were off, the wheels singing down the road, the travelbeast lowering its head and huffing as its hooves thundered over the bridge.

  Orick looked out over the broad river, saw the folding wings of a fish eagle as it dove, and he gazed along the cliffs at the gray statues of the birds that rose above the trees, gazing out to sea, in to land, their wings and heads splotched green and white and yellow with lichens. Gallen sat beside Orick, an old friend and confidant, yet now Orick knew that Gallen was a stranger. Indeed, the man he'd befriended and trusted most was gone, if Orick understood correctly, becoming submerged under layer after layer of other beings.

  Orick recalled how Jesus once met a man near the region of the Gadarenes who was afflicted with demons, and he spoke to the man, asking his name, and the man said, "Legion, for we are many.”

  And Jesus commanded the demons to depart, and they begged to enter a herd of swine. So Jesus allowed it, and two thousand pigs immediately ran dmvnhill into the raging sea and were drowned.

  Ah, Gallen, Orick wondered. Will you let your demons pull you into the sea? And Orick wished that he were a priest, with the authority to cast out demons. Indeed, Gallen needed an exorcist now, as deeply as any man ever did.

  But I've always been too weak to accept the priesthood, Orick realized. Too much tempted by the things of the world.

  Orick looked at Gallen, all draped in black. And he wondered if he might yet have to fight Gallen at some lonely spot down this road.

  Orick could not examine such possibilities for long, and somehow he found himself mourning for lost Profundis and the people who had lived in hard-won peace under these sun-drenched skies. For he knew that, like them, he would never see this place again.

  Chapter 21

  For two hours that morning the giants ran west along the coast as Gallen drove the wagon. When the road abruptly turned south, heading between two low hills, the giants stopped to rest. All four of them went down to a calm sea, as blue and sparkling as sapphires, and waded into waves up to their chests. For ten minutes they stooped and slowly drank their fill. Afterward, each of them bathed, then clambered back up the long sandy beach, looking refreshed, but as bedraggled as if they'd washed up in a flood.

  Then the group headed south through the wooded hills. Tallea was healing nicely, and she and Orick took advantage of the opportunity to rest, while Ceravanne only sat gazing out the back of the wagon.

  Maggie had time to wonder. According to Gallen, during the previous night his mantle had begun picking up memories in short bursts, so she put on her own mantle of technology and questioned Gallen about the problem.

  "Gallen," she whispered as the travelbeast charged down the dirt road, rounding a corner, "you said that the Inhuman is switching frequencies, trying to communicate with you. Did it do that only last night, or has it continued today?"

  "It kept up until just past dawn," Gallen said, "then it stopped."

  That was good news, at least. As she'd imagined earlier, the Inhuman's ability to transmit seemed hampered in daylight, so it would be safer to travel by day. But she didn't like the fact that the frequencies were changing at all. "Dammit, Gallen, the Word is more complex than I thought: at the very least, it is equipped with a transmitter so that it can communicate with the Inhuman."

  "But how much can it communicate?" Gallen said. "Is it just telling the Inhuman 'I'm here,' or does it send more information?"

  Maggie considered. She'd thrown away the broken Word she'd had in camp yesterday. If she had it in hand, she might have been able to find its memory. Most likely, it would have been a small crystal, and by knowing its size, she would have been able to calculate exactly how much information was stored in the Word. But she knew that it couldn't have stored much. If the Word's memory was large at all, she'd have noticed its crystal earlier. Which meant that it wasn't equipped with much memory—probably just enough to walk and move and recognize potential targets. It was probably not much smarter than an insect, and it might have had a transmitter in it just so that it could let the Inhuman know when to begin sending messages and whether they had been properly received.

  But what bothered Maggie was that the Word didn't need much memory to do some rather devastating things. With its transmitter, it might be able to download Gallen's memories, his thoughts and ideas, and inform the Inhuman. It might be able to send direct transmissions to let the Inhuman know what he saw, what he smelled, what he heard.

  In other words, without his knowledge or approbation, Gallen could very well lead them all into a trap, all the while believing himself to be fighting the Inhuman's sway.

  "Gallen, I don't know how much the Word in your skull might be able to communicate with the Inhuman," Maggie said hopefully. "But from what I've seen, the agents of the Inhuman don't work in concert. Information doesn't seem to be transferred directly between people. So that transmitter can't be sending much."

  "But . . ." Gallen said, "I can tell that something worries you."

  Maggie leaned close to Gallen and a wave of dizziness passed over her. What she was about to say was so horrific, so undesirable, that she could hardly express her fears. "If the Word has a transmitter built into it, I've got to believe that it was put there for a good reason. I don't know how much memory the Inhuman has. It couldn't possibly hope to control a million or fifty million people all at once, so it downloads thoughts to you and lets you all act as if you were autonomous. But what if you're not? What if the Inhuman Could read your mind? What if it could take control of your body the way that Karthenor's Guide took control of me? It wouldn't take a lot of memory for the Inhuman to control a couple dozen people."

  "That can't happen to me," Gallen said. "My mantle is blocking its transmissions—at least during the daytime."

  Maggie looked meaningfully at Gallen and considered the problem. She didn't want to speak so openly of such possibilities in front of Gallen and the others. She wanted to believe—she needed to believe—that the Inhuman had weaknesses, controllable limitations.

  She whispered to her mantle, You have transmission capabilities. Can you help Gallen block the Inhuman's signals?

  Done, her mantle whispered. Static will be transmitted in a steady burst. Maggie understood that as long as she stayed within three meters of Gallen, the mantle would add an extra layer of protection.

  Maggie silently asked her mantle to provide a schematic for the Word's transmitter, and the mantle provided her with an image. The transmitter, it indicated, would most likely still be inside the metal body of the Word that had burrowed into Gallen's skull. Because it was powered by a biogenic cell, the transmitter would have to be very weak, and would best communicate at ultralow frequencies, lower than those normally used by mantles. Maggie's mantle was unable to read any such frequencies emanating from Gallen's Word. And Maggi
e wondered if the Word was conserving energy. Perhaps it recognized the futility of trying to communicate during the day.

  So Maggie sat next to Gallen, her mantle leaning up against his shoulder, and she rested as he drove.

  During the late morning they began to pass others on the road-farmers with handcarts traveling to markets, old men with barrows carrying bundles of firewood, children herding pigs along the road.

  Each time they passed such folk, the travelbeast was obliged to slow for safety's sake. And on the occasions when they passed some small hamlet in which buildings made of stone seemed almost to stoop out into the streets, the beast was brought to a walk.

  But once they passed such villages, the race would begin anew, and the giants ran. They startled herds of wild pigs sleeping under the oaks by the roadside, and often deer would bound away at their approach, crashing through the brush.

  Thus in the early afternoon they topped a long grassy hill, and rested under the shade of an oak. The wooded valleys spread out wide below, thick with oak and alder. As far as they could see, the land looked barren of habitation.

  With heavy hearts, three of the giants stopped, begging Ceravanne's pardon for leaving. "You will have to go in the care of Fenorah from now on," one young giant apologized, "though he's not much good for anything but eating your stores."

  The giants were covered with sweat, but Ceravanne stood in the back of the wagon and leaned out, kissing each on the forehead. "Go with my blessing," she said, "and know that I am grateful for your service."

  The travelbeast was winded, and it lowered its shaggy head and began tearing great clumps of grass from the ground. One of the giants took a bag of rotting pears from the back of the wagon and fed them to the beast, explaining that if it was to run all day, it would need something better than grass to eat.

  Then the giants turned as if to walk back toward the sea, but they were slow to leave. And for her part, Maggie was sad to see them go. With them at her side, she'd felt safe, like a child in its father's arms. One of them told a joke that Maggie could not hear, and the three laughed.