Pathfinder Tales--Through the Gate in the Sea

by Paizo Publishing LLC.

“She’s not answering!”

  “It’s too soon!” Jekka shouted. “We’re supposed to turn port—”

  Mirian caught only a brief impression of what lay ahead: a vast wall of glowing mist circling beyond a tiny island covered in thick greenery and red-leafed trees. Ancient domed buildings poked up through a forest canopy. A ship rested peacefully against a long, narrow dock.

  And the ocean lay sixty feet below the prow.

  Telamba flipped himself backward and overboard, arcing over the water with beautiful form. She couldn’t see if or how he landed.

  For a second the Daughter hung half out of the mist, above the waves. Ensara struggled vainly with the wheel.

  “Hold for your lives!” Mirian screamed. “Brace for impact!” She sheathed her cutlass and grabbed the rail. The crew shouted in fear, and the Daughter dropped.

  Mirian’s stomach dropped with it. There was a seemingly endless moment of expectation as time unspooled.

  The jolt tore Mirian from the rail and flipped her onto the planking. Her breath was knocked away and waves tumbled over the deck. Someone up front let out a moan of pain and the ship rocked and lurched. A huge hunk of timber cracked. The bowsprit? The forward mast?

  Her eyes raked the vessel’s prow. “Jeneta, see to the wounded! Gombe, check for damage!”

  She climbed to her feet to survey the damage even as the second mate reported that the spritsails were gone by the board.

  “Cut ’em loose,” Mirian ordered, and found her spyglass. She scanned first for Telamba, but found no sign of him. Then she turned her attention to the ship at the dock a half league off and was stunned to see Ensara’s vessel there. How had it arrived so far in advance of them?

  She made out a handful of figures along her rail, pointing at them.

  She stepped over to Ensara. He wiped blood from his face but doggedly manned his post.

  With any luck the majority of the pirate crew would be ashore, which would give them the advantage of numbers.

  “Furl the sails, and bring us in alongside,” Mirian said. “Caligan, grab every spare hand, arm them, and line the starboard rail!”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  Ensara steered the Daughter toward the crescent-shaped harbor. Great stone walls, overgrown with vines, trailed from a vast complex of domed buildings of various widths. Her first thought was that the lizardfolk had incorporated the very jungle into their city, as they had with the water in the settlement she’d visited with Jekka and his clan only a few months before.

  But judging from the damage roots and vines had done to the stonework, this had gone untended for centuries. She looked to Jekka, saw his mouth opening, saw his frill rise, fall, rise again. His color darkened.

  “I don’t … what has happened, my sister?”

  Were he human she would have clutched his shoulder. All she could do was slowly shake her head.

  The city’s greatest buildings rose to multistoried, balconied heights draped in red-and-green plant growth. Long tongues of stone extended into the sea.

  Mirian made a speaking trumpet with her hands as they closed on Ensara’s ship. “Ahoy, Marvel! Surrender and stand by for boarding!”

  The sailors on deck crowded together in hurried conference. One of them pointed repeatedly toward the men with swords ranged along the Daughter’s rail.

  Finally one waved a white cloth over his head and stepped to the rail. “We surrender!” He quickly slung the cloth around in a circle.

  “Throw down your arms,” Mirian called, “and step back!”

  She and Jekka led the way over, followed by most of their crew, with the exception of Ensara, Gombe, and Ivrian, the latter keeping watch with his wand.

  A thorough search of the vessel turned up only a dozen frightened sailors. Their bosun was the highest-ranking crew member left aboard.

  “Where’s everyone else?” Mirian demanded.

  “Up there.” The pockmarked man pointed to the central hill in the city, and the domed temple atop it. The bosun supplied more details. “The wizard woman went in a day and a half ago.”

  “A day and a half?” Mirian wondered if the man was drunk. “You’re yanking my chain.”

  “I swear by Besmara’s sweet tits,” the fellow said. “We don’t want any trouble. We didn’t want to go into the city after the first men didn’t come back, but … the woman went to investigate with more of us.” The fellow licked his lips. “They didn’t come back either. We haven’t left the ship since.”

  “It is said that time flows differently here,” Jekka explained. “But I thought it was metaphorical.”

  He might have mentioned that part earlier. But then, maybe both of them had been misunderstanding the text on the cones. Was there anything else they had missed? “Jekka, what do you think’s up there?”

  Her brother tasted the air with his tongue. “The mother temple. A sacred place.”

  The domes were gilt with icons of silver and gold lizardfolk, glimmering in the sunlight. Mirian wondered at the red and blue and green lights that glinted along the heights of some, then guessed they were gemstones reflecting sunlight.

  She considered the dome, then the fearful pirates. Deadly wizard, maddened pirates, a murderous Mzali sorcerer, even an army of lizardfolk—all those she had anticipated. Not a mysterious temple that swallowed all who entered.

  In short order, she set a party to securing the pirate ship, leaving their sailors under guard. When she called for volunteers to go ashore, all but a handful of her sailors raised hands, no matter the threat of the pirates’ tales. She selected Harse, the second-best swordsman, wishing she could spare Caligan, the sailmaster, who’d once been a fencing instructor. But they needed the ship ready for departure, in case they had to flee for their lives.

  Jekka, Jeneta, and Ivrian she took without hesitation. But when she saw another hand thrust up, she hesitated.

  “You need me,” Ensara said. “There’s a chance I can talk sense into my crew on the hill. Especially if they’re trapped or in some kind of danger. The last thing we need is more people trying to kill us.”

  “So long as you’re not one of them.”

  “Captain, I think I’ve proven myself by now.”

  He’d proven steady during that weird trip through a sea of mist. And he’d risked everything to save her sister. Ensara had been honest so far, and if he spoke the truth, he might be useful. He might yet plan some elaborate bid to get his ship back, she supposed. But she was tired of trying to predict people’s motives. “All right, Ensara. Gombe, see that he gets a sword.”

  29

  BEYOND THE GATE

  JEKKA

  He had allowed himself to become distracted by hope, and the truth had crept up to drive in a blow so deep he still reeled.

  He had looked on ruined lizardfolk cities in the past; but those he had known to be ruined before he reached them. He’d foolishly thought this one would be different, and now the reality of his people’s fate was like the taste of dust.

  His sister in blood and their companions seemed to know his mood. Perhaps they had enough empathy despite a vast gulf of understanding that lay between them that none dared speak of it. They talked only of keeping their eyes sharp, and of looking for tracks.

  Ivrian remarked to Mirian that if anyone had made it through the gate before this, they’d have chipped out the huge silver letters scrolled upon the city’s domed heights, and dug out the jewels ornamenting the graceful statues of forgotten lizardfolk that lined the boulevard.

  Jekka lowered his inner lids and squinted. It was easier that way to imagine the city in the long ago. The trees and plants thriving now among the paving stones might easily have been gardens.

  Mirian walked two paces to his right, brow furrowed in a faraway look, cutlass in hand. Ivrian was on his left, sword in one hand, wand in the other. Behind them were Jeneta and Ensara, followed by Gombe, and Harse, who could be heard nervously asking if Gombe thought there were angry lizardfolk watching them.
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  “No, Harse,” Gombe answered quietly. He and Ivrian brought up the rear.

  “Then why haven’t the pirates come back to their ship?” Harse pressed on.

  “I can’t say,” Ivrian said soberly, “but I don’t think it’s lizardfolk.”

  Jekka tasted the sweet, warm tropical scents in the air and found none of his people. No lizardfolk had walked this city in centuries.

  He’d been an idiot to believe this would end any other way. The humans were too numerous. They hunted too surely, bred too quickly. Once his people had arrogantly assumed the humans were a resource to be exploited, then a threat that could be contained.

  From some mistakes there was no recovery.

  The city was alive with the cries of tropical birds and the shrill calls of monkeys as well as the repetitious croaking of frogs. Blue and green vines clotted the high, oval windows.

  Jekka had never walked these streets, but it felt more like home than any human settlement he’d ever visited. It was arranged in a proper, organized manner and the colored marble and decorative touches worked into the buildings thrilled him. Here was true craftsmanship, not the shoddy human semblance of it. Art and function blended seamlessly as one.

  Mirian crouched suddenly beside clumpy spoor and scanned the brush on the right. Sure enough, there were a series of splayed, three-toed tracks about the size of a lizard man’s foot. But these were from no intelligent creature.

  “D’vaak,” he told her, adding, “the pack hunters.”

  “This is fresh,” she said.

  Jekka nodded his head once. “Within the last few hours.” The heaviness in his heart had rendered speech difficult, but he heard himself address his companions, sounding calm. Some part of him still cared, or pretended to. “Stay very sharp, friends. They like the ambush, and they must be close.”

  “You think they’re what killed the pirates?” Harse asked.

  “They certainly could have. We can hope so,” Jekka added, “for then they would not need to feast for some time.”

  He ventured to the boulevard’s overgrown edge of bushes as he tasted the air again and again.

  It had been a long while since he’d hunted d’vaak, for they, too, were being driven from the wilds by humans. Not that he felt any particular sympathy for the beasts.

  He hissed softly, recalling his last hunt with his father and uncle and the striped d’vaak he’d slain. She had been large and powerful, and his hunting of her had become been part of his song. He had not heard that song for a year or more. He did not expect to hear it again. What point was there to sing a song of praise to oneself, or to hear it from a single relative?

  “Close ranks,” Mirian commanded. “I wish that witch didn’t have our other wand.”

  “Technically,” Jeneta said, “she’s not a witch.”

  “I think she’s going for more of a behavioral descriptor,” Gombe suggested.

  “Their first attack’s always a lure,” Mirian told her group carefully, and Jekka nodded agreement. His sister always knew exactly what to say. “If we all turn to attack one or two, then the others hit from the flank. So, if something obvious leaps out, only the two nearest should handle it. The rest should form a circle. Am I clear?”

  “Clear,” the humans answered.

  They continued their walk along the dead boulevard as it sloped gradually toward the glistening marble dome and its shining letters. In the far distance, the mists towered into the sky, an ever-swirling wall from which a whistling wail rose to the cloudless azure sky.

  “How big are these d’vaak things?” Ensara asked. “What are we looking for?”

  “They’re a little taller than a man,” Mirian answered, “with sort of a crocodile mouth and huge claws. They’ve got the same claws on their feet. They’re swift and can leap as well.”

  “Fabulous,” Ensara muttered.

  “But they taste like chicken,” Gombe added, which set Ivrian to making a noise that meant he felt amused.

  “Any scent of our ‘friends’?” Mirian asked Jekka.

  There was, and he should have said as much. He had to pay more attention to the now, and distance himself from sorrow. “A faint one, Sister. They continued for the hill.”

  He saw Mirian’s dark eyes narrow as she stared up toward the steps. “If they’ve posted sentries, there’s no missing us.”

  She was right. They were walking straight up the boulevard. Yet Jekka detected no human watchers.

  “What do you think happened to the lizardfolk?” Ensara asked quietly. “It couldn’t have been war, not with that weird gate protecting the city.”

  “I don’t know,” Jekka answered simply. “It wasn’t humans, or the place would be looted.” He was repeating information Gombe had already said. He must truly be distracted.

  “And where are we, really? We’re not inside the reefs. Is this truly some sort of pocket dimension?”

  “That’s what the cones suggested,” Mirian answered. “Although the cones haven’t been entirely clear.”

  “On starboard!” Gombe shouted.

  He heard the rattling growl of the d’vaak on his right, but Jekka whipped left. He sought the hunter he knew would be stalking from the other direction.

  He’d predicted accurately. From behind a statue broken off at the shoulder came another d’vaak, silent, a fit young female with a scaly hide covered in ochre feathers.

  It charged on its back legs, front arms thrust forward, mouth open to reveal blade-like teeth.

  Jekka danced in, swung, and caught the scythe end of his blade in the meat of the creature’s right leg.

  That slowed the d’vaak’s charge, enough that Ivrian had time to blast its chest with his wand.

  Jekka almost pitied the creature as it collapsed, kicking and clamping its mouth open and closed.

  But there were three others yet to contend with—the one now engaged with Ensara and Gombe, who barely kept it at bay with their cutlasses, and the two who’d run toward Jeneta and Harse.

  Ensara’s wild swings forced a horned male back; Jeneta jabbed another with her longsword, her blade already slick with blood. Ivrian didn’t seem to be doing anything but standing there, which wasn’t like him at all, but there was no time to contemplate his choices.

  Jekka raced to Jeneta’s side, swinging at the creature’s head.

  He connected just above the eye, which set it roaring. He saw the tail lash, the hint of a crouch, knew it gathered to spring.

  “Down, Jeneta!” he yelled. She threw herself to the left, but not far enough. As the monster leapt, he saw it tilting the claws on its feet to land on her chest and throat.

  He swung desperately, caught one of those outstretched limbs in midair with his blade staff. He sliced six inches from the creature’s foot and sent the claws and flesh and blood splattering over the weedy cobblestones.

  Jeneta contorted frantically but still the thing landed across her lower back. She cried out more from startlement than injury, for the d’vaak struggled to stand on one good foot. A brutal cutlass swipe from Ivrian tore through half its trunk.

  Jeneta turned and finished it with a solid slice to the back of its neck. It was still a long time dying.

  Jekka quickly surveyed the rest of the melee. Harse and Gombe had driven theirs off. Mirian had made short work of the other, and the one Ivrian had blasted twitched where it had dropped, smoking.

  “Are you all right?” Mirian asked Jeneta.

  “It’s a scratch,” she said, though blood streamed down her arm and back. She closed her eyes, lips moving silently.

  “Will the other one come back?” Harse asked Jekka.

  “I don’t think so. They’re not stupid animals. We killed its pack. The survivor will have to fend for itself and seek smaller prey. It will see us as one large animal, not to be trifled with.”

  He wasn’t sure why he had added so much additional information. He felt oddly separate from himself. Distant, almost, as if he were processing everything a
t two levels: one where he functioned at the side of his friends, another where he grieved for all that his people had lost—all that might have been for him and his cousin.

  He was dimly aware of Mirian and Ensara talking, him responding, her checking with the others.

  “There’s something up there,” Ivrian said, his voice strained and faint.

  Everyone stared at him, but Ivrian’s gaze was focused far beyond the temple.

  “What did you see?” Mirian asked.

  “I felt it,” Ivrian shook his head. “There’s a … presence up there, and it’s aware of us. It’s powerful.”

  “I didn’t know you were a magic-user, lad,” Ensara said.

  “He’s better than me with the wand,” Mirian said. “He has some kind of natural affinity, but he’s untrained, and this kind of thing is new. What are you sensing, Ivrian? Is it Rajana?”

  Again he shook his head. “No. I don’t even think it’s human.”

  “How do you know?”

  Ivrian’s brow furrowed. “I just … know.”

  “Maybe someone’s using the dragon’s tear,” Jeneta suggested.

  The other humans stared at her.

  “If one of our enemies has figured out how to use it,” Mirian said, “we’re going to be in a lot of trouble. All right, Ivrian, you keep us posted if you sense anything else, okay?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Another few minutes saw them to the weed-choked stairs below the central dome. Ensara ran his hand along the edge of the banister, half hidden and cracked by yellow lichen. Each post was a unique lizardfolk warrior.

  The pirate’s voice was quiet with awe as he took in the long length of the stair. “This must have taken years to craft.”

  “Generations,” Jekka answered. “It might have been an extended family, all devoted to their profession.”

  “That’s amazing.” Ensara’s gaze remained fixed sideways upon the carvings as they advanced.

  “Your people sure love their art,” Gombe said.

  “Yes.”

  “You sensing anything else, Ivrian?” Mirian asked.

  The writer didn’t answer right away. “No—I mean, there’s something there, but it’s not attacking us. It’s just waiting.”