The Limbreth Gate

by Megan Lindholm

  Vandien headed the team toward the fallen Brurjan. She showed no signs of rising, damn her foolishness. He didn’t need to be fussing over her right now. Here were the Limbreths and Ki was nowhere in sight. He wanted to give his mind to that, not to some crazed warrior.

  When he reached her and knelt by her side, she was conscious and not much hurt; her thick hide protected her where her armor didn’t.

  ‘Anything broken?’ he asked her gently before touching her. But her dark eyes stared up past him, her pupils dilated, and breath hissed between her parted teeth. In a supple movement that startled him, she flowed all the way to her feet. ‘Look at them,’ she cried brokenly. ‘Look at them!’

  He turned his own eyes on the Limbreths that her spread arms encompassed. They were the same as they had been. But Hollyika was waving her arms and her face was bright. ‘I told you! This is how I dreamed them! That, up on the ridge, that was the deceit! Look at them!’

  ‘Let me see your head,’ demanded Vandien, coming to his feet. She danced out of his reach, a mad look in her eyes.

  Then he felt it. It seeped around him like a cool mist, a tenuous groping that was not physical. It slid over him, seeking for something he did not provide. He blinked, and for an instant beheld the Limbreths standing sleek-sided and momentous in their power; but as swiftly it was gone, leaving his vision blurred.

  ‘Damn you!’ Hollyika shrieked. She, too, had lost sight of them. ‘Liars! Cheats! You made me want to die for you!’

  With a lunge she gripped again the hilt of her sword to wrest it loose. It did not come. A blue halo flashed around Hollyika and sword both, flinging her away. Vandien was on her as she tried to rise, heedless of her temper as he gripped her shoulders. ‘Sit still!’ he hissed; suddenly he sensed the life that coursed through the monoliths, and his tongue was a dry stick in his mouth. It was not the massiveness of this being that froze him, nor this display of its peculiar powers; it was its foreignness. This Limbreth was more different from Vandien than he had ever supposed any living thing could be; it made Hollyika his sister by comparison. Even the grass at his feet was more kin to him than this creature rearing up hill-high.

  ‘Your violence is not needed. I will speak to you if you wish it.’ The voice rang faint in their ears but clear. While the words were in the air, the Limbreths shone with power, but as the sound faded, they were no more than mossy pillars again.

  ‘Speak, hell!’ roared Hollyika. ‘I don’t want you to speak at all, you pile of bricks! Understand only this: we have come for Ki.’

  ‘Ki is not here.’ No emotion, a flat statement.

  ‘Did you think us as eyeless as yourself, rock? Where is she?’ Hollyika’s voice rasped.

  ‘She is gone on, to better things than you could ever offer her.’ Even in his present straits, Vandien had to smile. Had not he heard those very words from Hollyika?

  ‘Pumped full of peace and goodwill, no doubt,’ Hollyika snarled. ‘How can you say she is gone on to better things? What could a piece of masonry know of comradeship, or the lives of moving things?’

  The chiming voice of the Limbreth became stronger in an eerie way, ringing more in Vandien’s mind than in his ears. ‘What can a drop of dew like you know of the great world it falls upon? Ki came to me as a moth comes to the candle, knowing that to be consumed by my fire is not death but eternity. Are you jealous, little furred one? Your mind wriggles with nasty little uglinesses when I speak to you. No servant falls so low as the one who nearly attains the true path, and such are you. Will you try to turn Ki aside so that you can pretend that you lost nothing when you were seduced back to your petty organic survival? Both of you come here with your minds acrawl with temporal rubbish. Shall I make you a metaphor simple enough for you to comprehend? A child sits on a sunny doorstep, grasping at dust motes on a beam of light. That is the significance of your whole lives to one such as I. Ki at least shall have a chance to paint her thoughts from an enduring palette. Minuscule as they are, at least they shall last long enough for the great ones to peruse them. But yours shall wink out like the dust motes that vanish with the movement of a cloud.’

  Hollyika snarled in response. Vandien made his appeal.

  ‘But this does not sound like Ki’s own will. Won’t you give her the chance to decide her own path, whether to remain with you, or come home with me?’

  ‘Home?’ the Limbreth mocked. ‘Home? A quaint idea. You have no home. It vanished in a puff of cosmic dust ages ago. Say, rather, that you will take her back to the niche of ecological and social pressures that the Gatherers designed for your kind. Ki’s will has nothing to do with it. No one goes home from any world of the Gatherers. Why shouldn’t she stay here and entertain me instead of them?’

  Vandien was blasted suddenly by a vision of worlds beyond worlds; a sudden realization of his insignificance squashed him. When next he drew breath, he sucked in air as if he had surfaced from the bottom of a lake. Hollyika gazed at him curiously.

  ‘Are you in health, man?’ she demanded.

  ‘I think, yes, I am all right!’ Vandien gasped. ‘Didn’t you see it?’

  ‘I saw you look up like a fool and gape as your eyes went wide and dead, and the muscles stood out in your face and throat. I expected you to fall down dead, but instead you took a breath.’

  ‘But - what I saw -‘

  ‘Limbreth visions, huh? Never mind. Whatever you saw, you can’t eat it or trade it for Ki. Thing!’ she roared suddenly. ‘We want Ki back. Give her, or take our vengeance!’

  ‘I cannot give her, nor can you take her. Seek her if you wish. It is all the same to us. Perhaps a last meeting with you would give a sharper edge to her final vision. Do as you will; it is all immaterial. But do not expect our aid or protection.’

  ‘Meaning you can’t really stop us!’ Hollyika taunted then.

  They both felt the pause. Hollyika’s sword clattered suddenly onto the plain. She was not swift to take it up. The horses pricked up their ears and tossed their heads, sensing a change. ‘What is it, what is it?’ Vandien muttered to himself and suddenly knew. The Limbreth no longer harkened to them, no longer paid any attention at all; its thoughts and will were withdrawn.

  Hollyika stared at the smooth side of the Limbreth. How had her sword clung when it had not even notched it? She shrugged and bent gingerly to retrieve her weapon. She sheathed it and looked to Vandien for a rare meeting of eyes.

  ‘Do you really think it can’t stop us from following Ki?’ he asked her seriously.

  ‘Who cares?’ she replied, typically Brurjan. ‘Thinking, feeling, guessing, wondering,’ she muttered under her breath, flaring her nostrils at him. She caught her horse as Vandien clambered back to the wagon seat. They were going on. There was nothing more for them here; the Limbreths had gone, as if these stony bodies were not where they resided at all. The valley seemed empty as a tomb, and the Limbreths themselves monuments to forgotten wizards.

  Hollyika stirred her horse. ‘Before you ask,’ she called back grudgingly over her shoulder. ‘There’s only one other road out of here. We may as well follow it, for the Romni fool did. Come on, will you?’

  With a sigh, Vandien slapped the reins on the broad grey backs in front of him. He could not quell a nagging feeling that something more should have happened here. The Limbreths should have told him more, should have done more, been more. But their attention had turned elsewhere, listening to voices he could not hope to hear. A brooding fear hung over him and sneered at him more harshly than the Brurjan. He no longer felt his life was his own; he had become a chip on a gaming table. The vision the Limbreths had given him still colored his thoughts, and he had a horrible prescience that when he found Ki, she too would know how insignificant they both were. How could she care? He watched Hollyika’s straight back before him rising and falling steadily with the pace of her mount, and longed for her stoicism.

  SIXTEEN

  Cerie tried to shift quietly in her cushioned throne, but even the light rustl
e of her robe against the embroidered cushions made Rebeke shudder. Cerie froze, cursing herself for having disturbed the other Windsinger’s concentration. As one entrusted with a speaking egg, she was aware of how it painfully heightened all senses in the user. A sigh left her silently as she resumed her long vigil.

  She had left orders with her acolyte Windsingers that they were not to be disturbed, no matter what crisis loomed, until Cerie herself came to the door and ordered otherwise. All her attendants had been dismissed; lessons had been canceled for the day. The room looked bare without her white-robed students; the deserted looms hung heavy with half-finished tapestries and books lay in neglected heaps on the long trestle tables; nor was there the group of little white-robed Singers that usually clustered at her feet to learn their notes and letters, and fly to her errands. She regretted this interruption of their routine, but it was necessary, or so Rebeke had said, and she was inclined to believe. Even so. She swallowed vainly at the lump of unease in her throat. If they were caught; if word ever leaked out that she had loaned to another the speaking egg entrusted to her care; if Rebeke were clumsy or unskilled and damaged the sensitive little organism; Cerie closed her eyes, willing away her visions of disaster. There was nothing to be gained by worrying. The High Council would know that she had been closeted privately with Rebeke for the longer part of a day; that would stir wrath and questions enough without her borrowing trouble.

  She opened her eyes. One look at Rebeke and doubt ate away her resolve like acid. Rebeke no longer sat straight on her cushion, the egg pressed to her brow. She drooped, her tall cowled head bent so far forward that it nearly brushed the floor; the blue fabric of her robe was damp and Cerie smelled the musk of her sweat. The tray of wine and food that Rebeke would need when she came out of trance sat untouched beside her. Cerie tried to remember if she had ever heard of any Windsinger holding the trance this long. It was an effort of will, comparable to gripping a razor-sharp blade and holding it as someone tried to wrest it away. But there was more to using the egg than merely enduring the pain. One had to have the will to ignore the pain and direct the egg, to command it to one’s own bidding. That sort of will took training to shape. Rebeke claimed that she had been able to train herself, working from the old writings of the Windsingers. Cerie wondered. Perhaps Rebeke sat lost before her, her mind jerked free of her body by the egg’s questing, taken to some far place it would never return from. That had happened before. There was a hall maintained for them by the High Council where they sat in honor for their service, speechless, sightless, neither alive nor dead. Rebeke would not look well among them.

  Her heart began to beat faster as she wondered if Rebeke were already lost. Yet to touch her, to speak to her, would be certain to shatter her concentration and lose her to the egg. So Cerie sat motionless, gripping her hands together.

  A sound came, a gurgle of breath drawn with difficulty. Rebeke slid sideways like jelly, and Cerie sprang hastily to her feet. But even as Rebeke collapsed, her hand reached to deposit the egg safely in its nested cushion. Cerie heard the slight hiss of it against the silk, and saw a tendril of near-colorless smoke rise from it. Heaving a sigh of relief, she knelt by Rebeke and picked up the pot of healing unguent that would soothe the peculiar burns of the egg. Rebeke sprawled limply, allowing Cerie to smooth it into her blistered hands and ease it softly over the circular mark on her forehead.

  ‘Wine?’ Cerie asked, and Rebeke’s eyelids fluttered slightly. She raised Rebeke’s head and held the cup to her lips. Rebeke took two tiny hesitant sips, and suddenly her blistered hands rose to clasp the cup on their own, heedless of pain, as she drained it off. Her eyes opened and her trembling hands snatched at the food on the tray, cramming the cakes into her wide mouth, gulping like a feeding Harpy. Cerie turned her head aside. It did not disgust her. Too often had she returned from the trance of the egg, and felt the savage hunger of a body mercilessly drained. Even before Rebeke had finished, she rose to go to a side table, bringing back with her a large bowl of fruit, and a basin of scented water with a small towel soaking in it. Still Rebeke did not speak as she laved her hands and sponged her face. But she sighed as she reached for the first piece of fruit, and her eyes finally met Cerie’s.

  ‘I spoke to them.’ Triumph vied with exhaustion in her voice. And something else; an unidentifiable emotion that jabbed at Cerie’s fears.

  ‘Were you able to strike a bargain?’ Cerie demanded.

  ‘No.’ Rebeke poured herself more wine. ‘Or perhaps I should say, not yet. I hope I have left them little choice.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Cerie poured wine of her own. She glanced at her comfortable throne longingly, but Rebeke had not moved from the carpeted floor.

  ‘We began well enough. Very flowery courtesies they employ. They were surprised to hear me; Yoleth had told them she was the only Windsinger powerful enough to speak to them. They were very wary of me. I told them there had been a grave mistake; that we wished Ki and Vandien returned, and that we would return the two from their world. The Limbreth politely said it was impossible.’ Rebeke hesitated. ‘It is difficult to speak to them. There is such a sense of many in one, that I did not know if I dealt with one mind or many. Very distracting. Tell me, has Yoleth said aught to the Council of a calling gem? The Limbreth claimed that it had given her one as a final sealing of the bargain.’

  Cerie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps that is the secret satisfaction behind her smile these days. What can it do?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Limbreth uses it through a Keeper to call folk into its world, or to summon folk from its own world into its service. The Limbreth claimed no knowledge of what Yoleth would use it for; she asked for it and got it. I had the strangest feeling that they were disclaiming responsibility for it.’

  ‘So Yoleth’s wind blows strongest this time. I am sorry, Rebeke.’

  ‘Yoleth wins nothing,’ Rebeke hissed. ‘I did not give up so easily. I asked them what was possible, then. They were quick to offer me Vandien and a Brurjan for their own folk, or any two I wished to be rid of. I received the distinct impression that Vandien had made a nuisance of himself over there. Of the Brurjan I know nothing, except that she is no use to them, being unsuitable for their visions, and having a nasty temperament as well.’

  ‘I know nothing of any Brurjan sent through.’

  Rebeke smiled sourly. ‘I wonder how much Yoleth has done that the Council is unaware of.’

  ‘Did you agree to the exchange they offered?’

  ‘Certainly not. If Vandien annoys them, all to the better. It may make them more willing to strike a bargain. I told them that without Ki, I would make no trades. I bid them ask of me what gifts they would to make the trade possible. They refused me totally.’ Rebeke fastened her strange eyes on Cerie. ‘Sending Ki through has had a side effect Yoleth scarcely planned. The Limbreth is exceedingly pleased with her. Its contacts with Humans in the past have been rather limited. Who can say when last that Gate was used? The Limbreth has had to be contented with what was offered; rather ordinary folk, if villainous. But in Ki they have found the exceptional, and they won’t surrender her. Guess what it is about Ki that intrigues them so?’ Rebeke challenged wryly.

  ‘I’m sure I have no idea. A commoner person I couldn’t imagine.’ Cerie sipped from her glass.

  ‘On the surface. But if she were truly so common, Yoleth would never have put her through the Gate. The Limbreth senses in her the aura of a Windsinger, and delights in her unconscious sensitivity to the network of life and power around her. The Limbreth looks forward to consuming a Windsinger.’

  Rebeke fell quiet, but Cerie looked more uncomfortable every moment.

  ‘Rebeke,’ Cerie ventured. ‘Why not let it go? Are the Romni teamster and her man worth all this effort? Show your displeasure with the High Council in another way. Deny them access to the Relic. Charm the winds away from them. Send a peasant-killing wind to rage through their holdings.’

  ‘No!’ Rebeke’s refusal was
vehement. ‘That would teach them nothing new. They already know that to cross me means my ill will. What they must learn now is that they cannot cross me, cannot infringe on my will in any matter. I said the Romni teamster would be allowed to roam in peace, and so she will. Ki will be returned to this world. They shall learn what the power of a full Windsinger is.’

  The might and majesty in her voice had grown to fill the chamber. A chill ripple of wind rose from the very floor, fluttering the robes of the two Singers. Rebeke breathed harshly for a moment; then she drew in a deep breath and with it her temper.

  ‘I am sorry, Cerie. I should not vent my anger on you, who has given me more than an egg and a place to use it. I know what the Council will say of our little consultation. I know it will not go easy on you. But be sure you have made the right choice. My cloak will be over you, and my winds will be at your back, when I am come fully into my own.’

  ‘I believe you, Windsinger.’ But somehow the belief was small comfort. ‘Yet you say that Ki will be returned. How?’

  Rebeke measured her carefully. When she spoke, her words came slowly. ‘I threatened them. I told them first that they could name a price for the return of Ki. They demurred. Then I told them that they would return Ki and Vandien, or pay my price for them. I threatened to go to the Gatherers.’

  If Rebeke had suggested going to the moon, Cerie’s look could not have been more incredulous. ‘They will know it for an idle threat. It is impossible.’

  ‘No. It is not. I can and would do it. A speaking egg, I have come to discover, has more ability than we have guessed. Its possible range was suggested to me when I wished to make contact with the Limbreth, and now I am sure my source was correct in his claims. I could inform the Gatherers of the Limbreth’s Gate-making.’