The Forever Gate Compendium Edition

by Isaac Hooke

  After some moments security guards restored order—most of them were human conscripts, she noted—and the bodies were dragged to the side. The line proceeded once more.

  The gol behind the customs desk was slobbering, and waved her past with barely a look, as it did every transitioner. She could have passed through if she'd been trying to smuggle snortroot.

  She stepped from the transit center onto a height that overlooked a vast, snowless cavern. The Dhenn cave city. In the main cavern below, which extended at least two or three miles distant, giant stalagmites towered from the floor, paired with stalactites reaching down from the ceiling. The overall effect was rather unsettling, just as if a giant maw were closing on the place.

  Most of the stalagmites in that vast cavern had been hollowed out for the residents, the insides filled with streets and byways and houses and shops, and she could see tiny lights dotting the surfaces. Other tunnels broke away from the main cavern and led away to the various sections and subsections of Dhenn.

  She walked down steps carved into the rock. Though there was no snow, which was a nice change, the air was still cold and her breath misted. I'm a gol, she reminded herself. I can ignore the cold. Torches were set in brackets at intervals along the cave wall. She reached the main street—a meandering path through the giant stalagmites. Globes of light lit the way. Magic, she would have thought in times past, when she didn't know the truth. When she didn't know that anything was possible when you grew wires into your brain, connected an umbilical to your spine and plugged yourself into a machine.

  There were a few buskers about, banging out tunes on cymbals and lutes. An olive-skinned foreigner tried to sell her salted meat. "Best meat. Very good, very good." Squatting beside the entrance to a stalagmite that held a street which curved up and out of sight, a withered boy extended a palm, not raising his head. She placed ten drachmae in the boy's hand and curled her fingers around his. He looked up and smiled.

  So this was Dhenn. There were a few other cities she could have visited to obtain what she needed. But Dhenn was only one portal-hop away, so it made the most sense. She'd asked Tanner why he couldn't just create what was needed. She'd angrily told him, "You can make fire swords but you can't do this?" He'd explained that it had to do with not having the source again.

  So the plan required that she come here and procure the necessary concoction. The New Users had wanted to send someone in her place, but she refused to risk anyone else's life. Besides, she was more than capable of completing this task, despite the dangers.

  Her boots echoed from the bare rock, and she almost missed the comforting crunch of snowpack. Almost. She'd seen what a sunny, snowless day could look like, seen it in the glimpse of the past Tanner had shown her. If sunny days invited conquerors and destruction like that, she preferred the snow thank you very much.

  The directions Jacob of the New Users had given were as follows—seek Watership Street just past the Black Market. Knock on the fourteenth door, the one with the mortar and pestle symbol hanging above. Ask for Merry-Death.

  Ari pulled up the city map in her head, using the gol trick Tanner had taught her, and she found the necessary streets and byways easily enough. Soon she found herself in a wide square hemmed in by smaller stalagmites and jam-packed with activity. Black Market. Wary of thieves, she clung tightly to the satchel slung over her shoulder.

  She walked past vendors offering snortroot, imitation goods, and crank-loaded crossbows. Illicit wares, all of them. The pungent scent of skunk weed mingled with the stench of sweat and feces in the air.

  She left the market, and passed from the main cavern and into one of the many side passageways carved into the mountain. The tunnel opened into a smaller cavern, where stalagmites roughly half the size of those in the main cave sprung from the floor. She went to the giant stalagmite labeled Watership Street and ducked inside.

  A spiraling street had been carved inside the stalagmite, and she followed the ramp upward. A ditch that stank of sewage carved a runnel along the floor near the wall, though the gentle flow of water—ice melt maybe—kept the runnels clear. Wooden doors were set at intervals in the winding passageway.

  When she came to the door that matched the description Jacob had given her, she knocked. On the sign, a happy face was drawn over the mortar, and the pestle was distinctly phallic-like, suggestively placed above two smaller cloves of garlic.

  The door opened and a middle-age woman appeared, stiff of face and back. "Can I help ye?"

  "Is Merry-Death in?" Ari said.

  "Blessy-help ye!" The woman said. "Surely you mean Meredith, lass?"

  "Sorry, yes Meredith," Ari said, reddening.

  "Well a wee bit late you are today, lass, we was just about to close. But come on in! The Merry Pestle's always open to entertaining new customers, no matter the hour, no matter the need!" The woman opened the door wider and beckoned her inside. "Come now, don't be shy! Even ladies need an aphrodisiac now and then, especially when the man is a dead bat in the sack! I'm Bethy by the way."

  "Ari." She followed Bethy inside a room carved into the stone.

  The woman closed the door behind her, and shouted into a side chamber. "Up with you mama! We's gots ourselves a customer, we do!" She smiled at Ari. She had three gaps in her front teeth.

  Ari bit back her unease, and smiled back.

  An old woman hobbled inside, hunched over a cane, massaging her lower back with a skeletal hand. That nose reminded Ari of a hawk's beak, and there was a small hairy growth near the tip. Her chin was long, so that nose and chin together resembled pincers when viewed in profile. The old woman wore a black robe, with the hood raised, though the fringe covered only about half her head so that her white hair spilled out in profusion.

  Despite the old woman's somewhat unsettling appearance, Ari felt immediate empathy for her. She herself had been an old woman not so long ago. Her eyes fell to the bronze bitch at the woman's neck. This woman had aged naturally, at least. Everyone did, when they were collared.

  "How can I help you?" the old woman said, the air whistling between teeth that had even more gaps than the daughter's. Her hands shook with palsy.

  Ari stared into those ancient, watery eyes. One eye bulged, while the other permanently squinted. Still, there was intelligence in them. Shrewdness. "Meredith?"

  "Aye." The old woman regarded her suspiciously.

  Time to see if Jacob was right. "I heard you can make me a White Poultice."

  The old woman's hands stopped shaking. She didn't breath. She didn't blink.

  Possession of the White Poultice was punishable by death. You could be arrested just for asking around for the stuff. Those who made it had to be very selective about their customers. Ari wished she'd brought her sword along, though Jacob had advised against it.

  "I can pay you a handsome sum," Ari said.

  Still no answer.

  Ari glanced at the daughter. Bethy stood at the far side of the room, behind a shelf filled to the brim with various jars and containers. Bethy held a hand-crossbow at eye-level, and she had it aimed between the jars at Ari.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ari slowly raised her hands in surrender.

  Meredith smiled suddenly. "I'm sorry, we're closed lass."

  "Four hundred drachmae," Ari said.

  Meredith edged past her to the door.

  "A thousand," Ari said.

  Meredith opened the door.

  "Five thousand drachmae," Ari said.

  Meredith closed the door, and returned, hunching, until her face was practically nose-to-nose with Ari's. The old woman exhaled, and a blast of garlic filled Ari's nostrils. She did her very best not to flinch.

  Meredith narrowed those mismatched eyes. "What interest does a gol have in White Poultice?"

  Ari had a hard time hiding her shock. She hadn't opened her cloak to reveal the numbers on her chest, yet Meredith somehow knew what she was.

  "Oh yes, I know you're a gol," Meredith said. "You're feat
ures are far too perfect to belong to any human, despite the fake collar you wear. So I ask again, what interest does a gol have in White Poultice?"

  "What's an apothecary doing selling it?" Ari shot back.

  "I never said I had it." Meredith turned away, all nonchalance, and shuffled over to her daughter. The old woman's gaze swiveled to the hand-crossbow. "With a word, just a word, lassy, I can have you curled up on the floor, vomiting your insides like there was no tomorrow. Gol or human, the poison works the same. Fast. Deadly. Just a scratch is all it takes."

  Ari had nothing to say to that, so she merely returned that gaze defiantly. The two stared each other down for what seemed long moments. Ari's gaze drifted to the poisoned hand-crossbow.

  Finally the old woman scowled. "Six thousand drachmae, no less."

  "Done," Ari said. "Now put that crossbow away and make me the White."

  "No need. Have some already prepared. And the crossbow stays." Meredith reached high up, nearly losing her balance. She dropped her cane and had to grab onto her daughter for balance.

  "Mother!" Bethy swayed, and pressed the trigger. Ari felt the cool brush of air as the bolt whished past her cheek, a little too close for comfort. It hit the wall with a thud behind her.

  Meredith glanced at Ari sheepishly. "Sorry."

  Bethy shoved her mother away and loaded another bolt. Keeping the crossbow aimed at Ari, Bethy knelt and returned the cane to her mother.

  Meredith retrieved a glass jar containing a thick white salve from the shelf just below the topmost. "This here is the most potent White you'll ever find, it is. Nothing like it in all the cities of the world. My recipe is especially concentrated. You're looking at the extracts of over three hundred snowroots. Be very careful with this, lass. But a little caveat for you—though it's powerful stuff, there's only enough for three applications, no more."

  "Perfect." Ari accepted the jar. "Thank you." She examined the contents. She held the jar motionless, but the white substance inside oozed back and forth as if it were alive. Perhaps some insect housed within. Suppressing a shiver, she stashed the jar in her shoulder satchel.

  The old woman turned away.

  Ari frowned. "Don't you want payment?"

  Meredith swiveled back. "Oh yes, I almost forgot." She held out her hand and grinned, the gaps in her teeth giving her an oafish appearance. Behind her, Bethy rolled her eyes.

  Ari dug the money bag from the satchel and dropped it in Meredith's cupped palm.

  The old woman bobbed away happily.

  "Not going to count it?" Ari said.

  Meredith only smiled. "I can feel the weight of wealth, don't you be worrying."

  In truth, the bag contained ten thousand drachmae. More than enough to cover the cost of the Poultice. Even at ten thousand Ari considered it a bargain. She'd brought along two more bags, each containing the same amount, in case the bidding had gone even higher.

  She reached for the door, feeling for all the world like she'd just won some incredibly difficult battle. But it wasn't over yet. The hand-crossbow was still aimed at her, she knew.

  Ari opened the door.

  Seven gols clad in the armor of the Dhenn city guard stood outside.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ari nearly slammed the door. Instead, she forced herself to remain calm. None of the gols had drawn their swords. Yet. She ran he gaze across them, calculating her chances of escape, taking into account the fact that she had no sword.

  They all had the sword-and-shield symbol stamped into their breastplates, but about half of the gols were slobbering. That increased her odds, a little bit.

  "Greetings, Nine," the leader-apparent said, a brick-jawed gol with hints of gray in its hair. Its mustache was grown and trimmed into long, thin points, as was the fashion of the men here. They couldn't be Jeremy's soldiers...

  Still, Ari remained silent, not understanding. Nine? And then she remembered. The symbol stamped into her chest designated her as a gol higher-up. But these gols couldn't see that symbol—her cloak covered it. She resisted the urge to look down. Obviously the gols had a way of picking her out regardless of that number. Probably some trick similar to how she was able to bring up the city map in her head.

  Ari had to choose her reply very carefully. She could feel the hand-crossbow trained on the back of her neck, and she knew that Meredith and her daughter would be hanging on every word.

  But before she could answer, the gol spoke again, perhaps interpreting her silence as disdain.

  "The good lad here—" The guard nodded at the youngest gol in the group. "Noticed you traveled Cutthroat Square unescorted, and unarmed. He gathered us up, he did, and we came as fast as we could to remedy that." Cutthroat Square. The nickname for Black Market.

  Ari released a gentle sigh. The gols would have noticed her relief, but even so, she kept her expression neutral. So they weren't Jeremy's after all.

  She inclined her head slightly, as though deigning to accept the offer, and she stepped through the door. When she turned back to close it, she saw, on the far side of the shop, that Meredith and her daughter looked relieved. Bethy still had the hand-crossbow aimed at Ari however.

  Ari quickly shut the door.

  She moved among the guards without a word and made off. The men formed a protective shield around her with their bodies, creating a circle roughly four paces in diameter. Enough room for each of them to draw and swing a sword without hitting her or each other, if it came to it.

  She descended the ramp and left behind the stalagmite that housed Watership Street. She and her escort emerged into the cavern and passers-by gave them a wide berth, allowing her to make good time to her next destination.

  The map brought her to a section of the city that was cut into the very rock of the mountain. It was kind of an overflow district, or shantytown, for those too poor to afford a room in the stalagmites of the city proper. Many of the dwellings seemed little more than alcoves with a door wedged in front and a slot for dumping chamber pots. A tiny ditch had been carved along either flank of the street, and was filled with fecal sludge. The place reeked of a special kind of sewage—the smell of eggs left to rot overlong, magnified tenfold by the confined space. There was supposed to be ice melt flowing along those ditches, sweeping them clean, and barring that, some sort of system of drafts to replenish the air and make sure no one choked to death, but as far as she could tell neither system was working. The empty streets said as much. One old man did hunch past, but he held a black cloth to his mouth and nose. He watched Ari and the soldiers warily.

  She realized that it didn't really matter if there was air in the cave or not. The denizens of the Inside didn't breathe. Or even need food for that matter. It was only the realism of the illusion that made them inhale. And eat.

  She led the guard retinue to a small area near the end of the street, a darkened little corner of cave set apart from the troubles and confusions of humanity. If you didn't want to attract any notice, this was the perfect spot to live. Ari might have chosen it herself if she'd based the New Users in this city.

  She instructed the gols to watch the door in a half circle behind her, and her escort promptly obeyed. When each of them had swiveled to face the street, she knocked on the wooden door, hardly able to concentrate for the anxiety she felt.

  The door opened.

  "Hello, mother," Ari said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Ari didn't recognize Cora at all.

  The hunched, small woman before her was nothing like the proud matriarch she remembered from eight years ago when Ari came to rediscover the mother who'd been erased from her mind. Crow's feet stamped each eye. Or rather, crow's legs—those wrinkles were deep, extending far into her temples. Her forehead was an angry sea of ridges. Her cheeks sagged, and the skin around her eyes was swollen as if she cried permanently. Her nose had been broken since Ari last saw her, because the smooth bridge she remembered had been replaced by a bumpy knot. Robbed in the street, probably.

&n
bsp; Cora glanced at the gol escorts outside, then lowered her eyes and retreated into the murk of the alcove without a word.

  Ari followed her in and shut the door, careful not to step on the bowl of potpourri that masked the smell of the sewage outside. A single candle lit the alcove. A mandolin lay against one wall, with a dirty mattress and a chamberpot beside it. A small table, a cupboard, and a stash of carrots and potatoes completed the scene.

  Ari lowered her satchel to the floor, hardly able to believe that her mother was living in such conditions. Well, at least the air seemed a little warmer in here, and her breath no longer misted.

  Cora fetched a stew pot from the cupboard, filled it with water from a bladder, and set it over a small metallic pad near the table. When the pot touched it, the pad immediately reddened with heat. Cora began cutting carrots and tossed the pieces into the pot.

  "Never seen one of those before," Ari said, nodding toward the heat pad. Small talk seemed like the easiest way to get started.

  Cora glanced at her and smiled. "It's a bit of magic, it is. We all get one for free. Like the potpourri. Part of the Dhenn resident program, see?"

  "You're sounding more and more like Hoodwink every time I meet you," Ari said.

  Cora's faced darkened, and she returned her attention to the cooking pot. "Wish I could offer you more, but all I got is soup. Carrot and potato. But you'll like it. Promise."

  "Ma, I didn't come here for soup," Ari said.

  But Cora seemed adamant. "My daughter comes to me house, I'm going to feed her."

  Ari sighed, then sat crossed-legged beside the small table and watched her mother prepare the soup. "It won't matter, you know. Besides the fact I'm a gol now."

  Cora looked up, the horror obvious on her face. "What?"

  Ari pursed her lips. No, Cora probably wouldn't be able to handle the truth. "Just kidding, ma."

  "I could almost believe it," Cora said. "Your face. So young. So smooth. But those eyes don't match. Haunted. Old."