The Infinity Gate

by Sara Douglass

  Nothing else to aid him or to identify him.

  Suddenly the man on the staircase looked upward, then turned to Georgdi and gave a signal.

  “Now!” said Georgdi.

  Axis wanted to say something, share one last moment with Georgdi, but Inardle grasped his wrist and Axis gasped as frost penetrated deep into his arm until it felt as if the bones had been frozen.

  “Now,” Inardle whispered, and pulled Axis forward.

  Axis found it difficult to do anything but think about the pain in his arm. He stumbled slightly, then found his footing.

  Everything about him seemed grey. Even Georgdi, staring in his general direction with a surprised expression, seemed cloaked in grey hues. Axis looked at Inardle, and found that he could barely make her out. There was a faint gleam from her eyes, and he thought he could see the rime of frost on one shoulder, but if it had not been for her painful grip around his wrist, Axis thought he’d miss her completely with any stray glance.

  “Move!” she hissed, and Axis started forward.

  They slunk out a side door set deep into the arch — not even the keenest eye would see it open briefly before closing again. There was a sound from high above, some mocking laughter, the beat of wings, which Axis assumed was one or two members of the Strike Force hovering close to the boundary of Elcho Falling’s protection zone and taunting the Lealfast.

  It was almost full night outside and Axis and Inardle started their way down the causeway, sliding their feet through the thin covering of water over the causeway’s surface so that splashes would not attract any attention. They remained very close. Axis could feel Inardle with every move, feel her hand on his arm (and, stars, now that cold ache was gnawing into his shoulder), feel her hip brush against his, feel her breath from time to time across his cheek.

  There was movement in the air above them, a Lealfast swooping low, and Axis’ heart lurched in his chest.

  Inardle’s hand tightened even more — if that were possible — and Axis felt understanding seep into his mind. Not words, just understanding. Don’t look up. Don’t use your power.

  Axis wanted to hiss and snap at her, but couldn’t, so he kept on grimly, one careful slide of foot through water after another, every muscle in his body tense, his heart thudding in his chest.

  And again, the feel of another winged creature in the air above him, the sweep of wings, the swish of their passing.

  Axis could feel Inardle growing ever more panicky. There was something happening that he could not discern, something going wrong that she understood, but could not (or would not) share with him.

  Damn it! Axis wanted to shout his frustration, or at least ask Inardle what had gone so wrong, but he could do nothing.

  They were halfway across the causeway now, drawing closer to the deserted Isembaardian camp.

  Then Axis saw a figure walk out from behind one of the tents, and stand, looking down the causeway toward Elcho Falling.

  It was Ravenna.

  Axis prayed to every god he had ever known or had heard vague rumour of, that Ishbel had indeed stripped Ravenna of her power, because otherwise Ravenna would be able to see them as clear as day. He glanced at Inardle, wondering if she had spotted Ravenna, but saw by the gleam of her eyes that she was staring into the southern skies. She intuited Axis’ look and caught his eye, then tipped her head once, twice, to the sky in the south.

  Axis had no idea what she was trying to say. He wished she would communicate with him as she had a few minutes ago, but apparently Inardle was too scared to even use that means.

  Again she tipped her head south and now Axis thought he could see pure panic in her eyes.

  He stared south, hating to take his eyes off Ravenna, and suddenly his stomach dropped away in horror.

  The stars in the southern sky were obscured by a moving cloud.

  Oh dear gods! It was the Lealfast Nation about to arrive!

  Then that horror was eclipsed by a sudden rush of wings as Eleanon alighted on the causeway some ten paces in front of Inardle and Axis.

  They stopped dead, staring at him, barely able to breathe.

  Eleanon turned about slowly, his eyes narrowed, looking about.

  Axis held his breath, fighting pure panic at Eleanon’s arrival, and the sudden dramatic increase of pain in his arm as Inardle intensified the power she used to cloak them.

  Axis hoped Eleanon could not see through it.

  Then he thought . . . what if he can see through, but will pretend not to? What if this is all a fabrication on Inardle’s part? What if this is all a plan she and Eleanon had devised long before to trap me?

  But Axis could feel Inardle trembling and feel her heart beating alarmingly fast through the touch of her hand on his arm. If she could pretend this level of terror, then she was far better than Axis thought.

  Before them Eleanon had stopped to look south. He raised his arms, waving them slowly, and sent out a long, soft undulating call to his approaching fellows.

  That call prompted Inardle into action. She started forward again, slowly pulling Axis with her.

  She wanted to get past Eleanon and through the camp on the other side of the causeway before the might of the Lealfast Nation dropped down around them.

  Axis knew their disguise was good, but it would not save them amongst a quarter of a million bodies bumping about the Isembaardian camp — and Axis had no doubt the approaching Lealfast were heading straight for it.

  Why not? It had all the tents and beds and cooking equipment they could need.

  Axis and Inardle were very close to Eleanon now. The causeway was not particularly wide and they shrank together as they drew level with him.

  He moved, turning slightly, and from the corner of his eye Axis saw Inardle look downward, removing the gleam of her eyes from possible detection.

  Axis hurriedly did the same.

  Stars, if Eleanon reached out now he would touch them.

  They edged past, every movement minutely careful, and so terribly, terribly slow. Eleanon was looking just to their left, when his eyes began to slide their way . . . and then, so suddenly it made both Axis and Inardle jump slightly, there was the rush of wings overhead and Bingaleal landed in the spot where Axis and Inardle had been standing just a moment previously.

  Inardle’s grip tightened more, and Axis had to bite his lip to avoid groaning with the pain of it. It felt as if the bones of his entire arm, shoulder and now some of his upper ribs had frozen solid. Even breathing was painful.

  “They are almost here,” Eleanon said, and Axis had to remind himself that Eleanon was speaking to Bingaleal, and not to himself or Inardle.

  “It is a shame they will not arrive in the daylight,” Bingaleal said. Both of the Lealfast men were turning to stare south again, and Axis allowed himself a small measure of relief as he and Inardle picked up their pace.

  “It would make a grand showing for Axis if they had,” Eleanon said. Then, “What was the fuss with the Strike Force . . . or whatever happens to be left of it.”

  Bingaleal laughed. “Several of the Icarii came out to taunt us . . . and then one of the stupid arrogant idiots got caught within one of the revolving rings . . . she was lucky she didn’t get herself killed.”

  Axis made a mental note to reward the Strike Force member who had been that brave. StarHeaven, he thought.

  He and Inardle were moving faster now, drawing away from Eleanon and Bingaleal and close to the shoreline. Ravenna still stood waiting by one of the tents, but all her attention was on the sky rather than the causeway.

  Then, gratefully, they were on firm ground and able to move faster. Her power still cloaking them, Inardle pulled Axis into a half trot, leading him through the deserted encampment on an angle to take them southward.

  There was a heaviness in the air. Axis could almost feel the weight of the Lealfast Nation approaching, and could also sense Inardle’s increasing anxiety.

  “My arm,” Axis risked murmuring. It now felt as if it
were on fire, and he did not think he could bear the pain for much longer.

  “Not yet!” Inardle hissed. They were running now, almost at the boundary of the camp, and it was not a moment too soon, for behind them Axis heard a soft roar of beating wings and excited greetings.

  The Lealfast Nation had arrived at Elcho Falling.

  Chapter 9

  The Outlands and Isembaard

  Isaiah sat cross-legged before Hereward. He held her chin in his hand with a tight grip and her eyes with his own fierce gaze.

  Did Hereward harbour the One?

  Hereward stared back, both with anger and with fright. Isaiah had retreated into his full aloofness and power as god-Tyrant — any closeness they had once shared was completely gone and utterly forgotten.

  Would he kill her?

  Isaiah could see that Hereward thought he would. There was terror and resignation in her eyes, along with all that anger, and he didn’t know what to make of it. He tightened his fingers slightly, sending his power deeper and deeper into her being . . . and yet still he encountered nothing but unbroachable walls and dead ends.

  Was she hiding something? Or was it that Hereward had somehow managed to block him out through sheer force of will? Heavens alone knew she disliked him enough for such to be the case.

  There were others in the tent: Lamiah and several of his senior captains. They stood restlessly, shifting occasionally from foot to foot, glancing among themselves before looking back at Isaiah and Hereward sitting close together. They, too, thought Isaiah would likely kill her.

  They wanted it over and done with, so they could go back to the business of rallying the army against the Skraelings massing to the south. Hereward wasn’t worth the trouble . . . if Isaiah wanted her dead, so be it.

  “She’s Ezekiel’s daughter,” Isaiah said, quite suddenly, and Lamiah and the other men blinked.

  Ah, no wonder he hesitated . . . or was it due to something that had grown between them on their journey from the Lhyl into the Salamaan Pass?

  Isaiah simply did not know what to do. He was now certain the One had escaped whatever destruction Ishbel and Maximilian had wrought at DarkGlass Mountain . . . and the Skraeling seemed to believe that the One had taken up residence within Hereward. There had been that strange re-opening of Hereward’s neck wound at a particularly crucial moment, and her tarter-than-normal demeanour afterward.

  Did that mean the One had taken refuge within her, or were all of these clues a subterfuge? Did the One simply want Isaiah to believe he’d taken up residence within Hereward? Wanted Isaiah to waste his time on the woman while the One lurked elsewhere?

  Isaiah hissed in exasperation, and released Hereward’s chin with a little shake.

  She leaned back from him, trembling in a release of tension.

  Isaiah rose to his feet in a fluid movement and turned to Lamiah. “Guard her with several men. She is not to be left alone at any point. She is to have no privacy afforded her, and every word she says is to be reported to me. Tell those men who guard her to do so as if their lives depended on it, for well they might.”

  With that he was gone.

  Maximilian rose toward wakefulness, enough to feel Ishbel beside him and tighten his arm about her so that they cuddled tighter together. The reed boat rocked gently in the night breeze and Maximilian spared a thought for Serge whose turn it was to sit by the tiller and watch their way upriver.

  He sighed, comfortably warm, and sank deeper into sleep.

  After a few minutes he began to dream.

  Maximilian found himself walking atop a cliff. To one side the cliff plummeted down into a placid sea, to the other, hills rolled away into infinity. Grass and meadow flowers cushioned the passage of his feet.

  Maximilian walked on, enjoying the breeze and the scent, but feeling a trace of anxiety which he could not define.

  Time passed.

  As he walked, so his anxiety levels increased. Now he could recognise the feeling. He was here to meet someone, but they were out of reach.

  Not yet here.

  But coming.

  Maximilian began to feel ever more fretful. He sensed no danger from this person, but he did understand that he needed to meet with him (him, it was a man) as soon as possible.

  The man had a message of great import for Maximilian.

  Maximilian began to toss and turn in his sleep, finally jerking fully awake.

  He lay on his back for a long time, staring at the beams of the deck above him.

  He did not sleep again that night.

  In the morning Maximilian sat by Avaldamon as they ate breakfast. He waited until the others were chatting between themselves, then, in low tones, told Avaldamon of what he had dreamed.

  Avaldamon frowned. “You dreamed of the Otherworld,” he said. “Someone who has passed over needs to speak with you.”

  “But they could not reach me,” Maximilian said. “I felt they were struggling to do so, but could not. What does that mean?”

  Avaldamon thought for a moment. “Possibly that they have not yet completed their journey into the Otherworld. It takes a while, sometimes. Nonetheless they are terribly anxious to meet with you, and it is their tension that has pulled you into the Otherworld to wait for them in your dreams.”

  Maximilian sat, his empty bowl held loosely in his hands, watching the land slip past. They still had not seen any live animals or people on the land, although the river was full of frogs and fish and eels, and even one or two of the great water lizards.

  “Who has died and wants to contact me?” he said, softly. “Why?”

  “Someone with a powerful reason,” Avaldamon said. “This is not ever done lightly.”

  Chapter 10

  Elcho Falling

  The Lealfast Nation landed in a massive swarm of wings and greetings and drifting frost. They revisibled themselves a few paces above the ground so that it appeared to anyone watching (and that was most of those within Elcho Falling) as if a great wave of snowy wings suddenly appeared rolling and breaking along the far shore of the lake surrounding the citadel. There were hundreds of thousands of them, almost a quarter of a million, and within an hour of the first one landing the Lealfast Nation took up the entire western shore of the lake where the abandoned camp of Armat’s army stood.

  “How much gear and food did you bring in with you?” Georgdi asked Insharah as they stood on a balcony watching.

  “Absolutely none of it,” Insharah said.

  “Then the Lealfast will be well fed,” Georgdi said dryly, and Insharah nodded in agreement. “What did you leave behind that can be used against us?”

  Insharah thought a moment. “We brought in most of our hand weapons . . . but there are engines of siege there, Georgdi, and military supplies . . . gods alone know what they can find useful.”

  Georgdi sighed.

  Eleanon and Bingaleal spent most of the first part of the night in greeting their fellows and helping to organise them into the abandoned encampment. They had recognised its potential and, while the Lealfast could indeed live on wing and air for extended periods, they vastly preferred more corporeal accommodations and comforts.

  And comforts they had aplenty. There were tens of thousands of tents fully equipped with bedding, supply dumps of food and clothing and medicines and other sundries, stocks of fuel and water. Neither Bingaleal nor Eleanon felt there was any real threat from Elcho Falling: after the debacle of the Strike Force, and after that the horror and deaths in getting the Isembaardian army inside Elcho Falling, both felt it was highly unlikely either of those forces might assay back out of Elcho Falling in the near future.

  Not against the Lealfast.

  Everyone within Elcho Falling was well and truly trapped.

  Late in the night, a few hours before dawn, Eleanon and Bingaleal were sprawled before a large fire with several other of the most senior Lealfast. They had eaten well, and were getting slightly inebriated on some of the liquor that the Isembaardians had left behind.


  The Lealfast rarely drank alcohol, and when they did it did not make them drunk in the same manner as humans or the Icarii. Rather, it gave them a sense akin to sexual arousal — a mildly erotic sensation that tingled up and down their nerves and left thick trails of frost over their bodies.

  Eleanon was feeling very mellow, pleased with himself and the situation. He and Bingaleal had told their fellows — Falayal, Sonorai and Kalanute — what had transpired since last they met, and Sonorai had told them what news the Nation had, as well.

  “Have you heard from the One?” Falayal asked Eleanon and Bingaleal.

  Both birdmen narrowed their eyes, then Eleanon spoke. “No. He remains quiet . . . lest he be discovered, I suppose.”

  “What should we do?” Kalanute said, his words very slightly thickened with alcohol-induced arousal.

  “As we always planned,” Eleanon said. “Within Elcho Falling rests the Dark Spire.” He held out his hands, and for a moment an image of the crazed twisted form of the Dark Spire appeared between them. “We can use it to destroy the citadel — if we wish — or to take it for ourselves . . . and the One, of course. The spire is growing with the power of Infinity, but under my direction.”

  It wasn’t quite what Eleanon had planned for the Dark Spire, but it was enough for his fellows. He could take them further into his confidence later.

  “And when will we be taking Elcho Falling?” Sonorai said. He spoke this with no impatience or ill-will, merely a languid curiosity.

  “When we can be utterly certain of victory,” Eleanon said. “We tried once and failed . . . Elcho Falling even rejected the One. The next time we attempt to take the citadel, we must be certain of victory. The One, even now, works his way with the unwitting occupants of Elcho Falling. We will take our time, brothers, but we will succeed.”

  “And where is our dear sister, Inardle?” Kalanute asked. “I miss her and this wine,” he made a lewd gesture, “is making me think most ardently of her.”

  “Inardle preferred to throw in her lot with the StarMan and Lord of Elcho Falling,” Bingaleal said. “She is lost to us. You must sate your desire on another of our sisters this night, Kalanute.”