The Seventh Gate (The Seven Citadels )

by Geraldine Harris

  “I shall burst,” said Kerish, “if I have to eat any more, or hold back my questions any longer.”

  “A waste of a good robe. Ask then, my dear,” answered Tebreega, with her crooked smile.

  “First, do you know what is happening in Viroc, and if my brother, Forollkin, is still safe?”

  The sorceress nodded. “I have kept watch. There was a time when I almost hated Galkis - not all the legends told about me are false - but I grieve for her now. In the north the forces of Zyrindella and Yxin are victorious. Morolk and the greater part of Tryfania are in their hands. The Empress Rimoka drowned crossing a swollen river as the Imperial army retreated back to Tryfis.

  “Viroc's danger is grave,” she continued. “Supplies are low, many have died in the fighting and the people were bewildered when they realized that the Third Prince was no longer with them. Yet they are well led. They have learned to trust your brother and Queen Kelinda is their greatest comfort. The worst attacks come by sea. The entrance to the harbor is blocked by sunken ships but the Men of Fangmere still attack from small boats and they are merciless fighters. The land forces are not so well commanded, now that the Khan is dead.”

  “O-grak?” Kerish's voice shook.

  “Ah, I forgot you could not know. The Khan was stabbed by one of his own captains. He managed to kill his attacker and the wound need not have been fatal but it festered and he did not have the will to fight the fever. They denied him the proper burial of his people because he had no soul, and burned his body and scattered his ashes out at sea. Grieve,” said Tebreega softly, “but don't condemn yourself. His wife wept for him and he died in her arms. As for your brother, wait quietly and I will show him to you. He is thinking about you as we speak. That will make the task easier.”

  The sorceress got up and unfastened her feathered cloak. She passed her wand over it three times and her lips moved in a silent incantation. Kerish stroked a grey-furred monkey, and tried to hold back the image of Khan O-grak offering the cup of friendship, and of the lone dark figure at the prow of the Soul Boat.

  “Watch!” commanded Tebreega as she tossed her cloak in the air. It seemed to fly towards Kerish like a live thing, swirling about him until his vision was filled with blue and scarlet and his ears with the beating of wings. Then he heard voices; distant at first, but coming closer.

  “There is nothing; every sunset, there is nothing.”

  Kerish's heart lurched at the familiar voice. Then a woman spoke. “Perhaps he is too far away now to reach you. “ The voice was tired and gentle and there was a blur of light at the center of the scarlet. “If anything had happened to him, if he was dead, surely you would know? You have been so close all your lives.”

  Kerish could see them now, standing by a window in the Governor's Palace in the last of the light. They both looked thin and worn and Forollkin's shoulder was bandaged.

  “You would know, “ repeated the Queen, “if the hope of Galkis was dead.”

  “Hope?” exclaimed Forollkin. “Hope is in the future. Viroc needs a Saviour now.”

  “It has you.” Kelinda held out her hands.

  Forollkin gripped them. “Yes, it has me, and I can hardly remember what we're fighting for.” He smiled wearily. “Kelinda, you're not even Galkian, but it's you I think of to remind me that what we have is worth saving.”

  He drew her into his arms and stroked the pale copper hair.

  Kerish tried to strip the jungle from his thoughts and reach out to enfold them. Borne up by Tebreega's power, he thought for a moment that he had succeeded. Forollkin's head jerked back.

  “What is it?” asked Kelinda.

  “Nothing,” murmured Forollkin. “Just for a moment I thought . . . I must go. I have to oversee the work at the South Gate . . .”

  They were fading; sound first and then sight. Scarlet and blue blotted out the vision.

  Then Tebreega was refastening her cloak and Kerish saw that Gidjabolgo was staring at him questioningly.

  “Are you answered?” asked the sorceress.

  Kerish nodded.

  “Well I am not,” muttered Gidjabolgo. “I saw nothing but an odd look on your face.”

  “They are both safe,” said Kerish gratefully.

  “They?” The Forgite's face was contorted in mock surprise. “Our Lord Commander must have more sense that I gave him credit for.”

  Kerish winced. Gwerath had let him give her so little. Even now, he had no right to mourn for her longer than Forollkin did.

  “I see that my brother and I can still give you cause for amusement.”

  “I can only approve of those who snatch what they can,” answered Gidjabolgo. “I have done the same myself.”

  Indignant screeches suddenly disturbed the glade. The travelers turned to see the tall ungainly form of a banebird, half concealed in the undergrowth beyond the pool.

  “Ignore it if you can,” said Tebreega, settling down among her beasts again. “It is only here to watch us. In themselves they are not dangerous.”

  “They proved dangerous to us,” murmured Kerish, “and all the people of Jenoza fear them.”

  “As they fear me.” Tebreega's massive hands ruffled the fur along a monkey's back. “Yet the banebirds use no weapons except those they find within their victims. All they do is show you what they've learned about you.”

  Gidjabolgo grimaced and Kerish tried not to remember the sound of his own laughter. “Yes, but what are they?” he demanded.

  The sorceress lazily waved her wand at a group of birds who began a chorus to welcome approaching night.

  “The banebirds are gatherers, chiefly gatherers of dreams. You might call them thieves, for they take more than men are willing to show to the world.”

  “The people of Jenoza speak of `bird-dreams',” began Kerish.

  “Their sleeping minds are brought into the jungle. The Jenozans remember little and are safe enough,” said Tebreega. “It is the gifts given in return that are dangerous. City of Dreamers . . . it is not an idle name. During my childhood in Joze I was sent dreams from the Forbidden Jungle. In me the feelings they awoke were used to good purpose, but it is not always so.”

  “But who sends the dreams?” asked Gidjabolgo impatiently.

  “You have travelled beyond the Forbidden Hill,” answered Tebreega. “You have visited Gultim, Roac and the island of Vethnar. Can you not guess?”

  “We have seen the pictures in the caves of Gultim,” began Kerish. “so we know the lands were not all empty when men came into Zindar,”

  “No, not even Galkis,” said Tebreega solemnly, “yet they were sparsely populated compared to the great days of the Empire of the Ferrabrinth. Already their numbers were diminished by wars and by lack of desire to bring young into such a world. Vashordek, the mightiest of their cities, was powerful still, but closed in on itself, nurturing its destruction. You saw its ruins north of the Forbidden Hill. Elsewhere they still live, withdrawn from man in places such as Everlorn, among the Rocks of Lind, and here in the Jungle of Jenze.”

  “But why do they shun us?” demanded Kerish. “Why do they keep themselves secret?”

  “Secret?” Tebreega scooped up a monkey who was licking out one of the bowls and tickled it unmercifully. “Not to all. The Emperors of Galkis have always known what lay beyond their boundaries. It is written in The Book of Secrets and the High Priests can guess what it is they see when the covered statues of Joze are revealed. In the beginning, all the newcomers knew that they were not alone and they kept to agreed territories. As they stayed in seclusion over the centuries, the Ferrabrinth became legends or nightmares. Finally, they were forgotten except in those places that bordered their domains. Even there the memories are tangled.”

  “In the caves of Gultim, there were pictures of men confronting creatures . . .” began Gidjabolgo.

  “There was one great encounter, “ answered the sorceress. “It ended in death, for the Ferrabrinth cannot be quickly or easily understood. Men seized on
what was worst in their nature. That is the danger when peoples meet. The Ferrabrinth had begun to learn from their past mistakes and to change. They feared that if they shared their knowledge, humans might copy those mistakes. Shubeyash proved them right. Also, because they do not understand us either, they were afraid of what we might do to them. I don't mean through acts of violence but simply by living and thinking so differently. Down the centuries they have watched the world from their sanctuaries and tried to understand humankind. In Jenze, they created a clumsy image of themselves, the banebirds, to spy on the people of Jenoza. They sent out their own thoughts to the city of Joze, in the form of dreams, to see how they would be interpreted. What they learned did nothing but puzzle and disturb them. Then I came to the Jungle of Jenze.”

  Tebreega shook back her heavy hair and rubbed her brow. “For centuries I have tried to understand the Ferrabrinth and to explain my own people to them. It is a hard task. To master their language took the lifetime of an ordinary mortal. For all my years, I am only one person and I cannot explain everything. The Ferrabrinth have learned as much as they can through me; now I need helpers with a curiosity as great as a banebird's and a ceaseless appetite for marvels. My part is ending. Prince II-Keno could not stay, for he was born to rule Galkis, and Prince Kerish-lo-Taan has his own quest. Alas, poor sorceress!”

  Tebreega suddenly rose, spilling half a dozen creatures from her ample lap. “But that's enough for one night. Enough.” She pointed her wand at the spying banebird and it crashed away through the undergrowth. “Don't mind them. Show them a mirror and they'll stare at themselves till their feathers fall.”

  “Did the Ferrabrinth take our dreams too?” asked Kerish.

  “Of course,” Tebreega grinned, “though what they made of them, Zeldin only knows. Tonight you can sleep more peacefully. They do not penetrate Tir-Jenac. The Ferrabrinth have given me that much privacy.”

  The night had fallen but there were stars shining down on Tir-Jenac.

  “I must work,” said Tebreega. “There are a few things I should make for you. Tomorrow you will need to be clear-headed, so you must sleep.”

  Tebreega withdrew into her pavilion.

  Kerish and Gidjabolgo washed again in the crystal pool and, after several undignified attempts, climbed into the hammocks slung from lower branches. Gidjabolgo was soon asleep and snoring. Kerish lay looking up at the golden casket and thinking of Gwerath until long past midnight.

  *****

  The travelers were startled awake by monkeys and squirrels rocking the hammocks, as they clambered up to smother Tebreega's guests with ticklish affection. Then the sorceress herself appeared with bowls of dried fruit softened in some potent liquor. Butterflies hovered about her, their delicate beauty cruelly highlighting her heavy graceless movements and sad scarred face. Kerish sat up quickly, setting the hammock swinging perilously again. The animals in his lap dug their claws into him and chattered in protest.

  “You are trying,” said Tebreega placidly, “to think of a redeeming feature. My hair is lovely, you could say that, sweetheart, but there is no need. “

  She was laughing at him.

  “Since you are the guardian of a key, your mind must be a remarkable feature.”

  “Oh, I am very proud of my mind,” answered Tebreega, “though not of my heart. You are tired still. Your eyes are dark with it.” She gently touched his cheek with her strong fingers. “You've not much further to go. Get up when you have eaten, we must talk.” Tebreega took the second bowl to Gidjabolgo. “Wake up, friend sharp-tongue, not only the blind need leading.”

  She gathered up an armful of squirrels and strode away too fast to hear the Forgite's impolite rejoinder. Kerish rocked the hammock gently as he ate, one hand absently caressing a monkey who had designs on his breakfast. He was tired, it was true, but some of Tebreega's calmness had rubbed off on him. Now the last key was within reach, his quest no longer seemed so urgent.

  Kerish finished his fruit and tumbled out of his hammock. He saluted Gidjabolgo who was sharing his breakfast with a fresh crop of squirrels and strolled across to the pool where Tebreega was scrubbing at the dishes from the previous night's feast. Kerish knelt down to help her.

  “What, a Prince of the Godborn waiting on a humble Galkian maid? Never! Besides, do you know how to clean a dish?”

  “I have learned a few things since I left the Golden City,” said Kerish mildly.

  “Courtesy for one,” answered Tebreega and yielded him the dishes.

  She squatted down, resting her head on her thick, mottled arms and studied him.

  “Forbearance too. A virtue I still haven't acquired. You may ask if you wish.”

  Kerish did not look up from the bowl he was polishing dry. “Lady, will you give me your key?”

  “The other sorcerers all have their high purposes,” began Tebreega softly. “Elmandis has his kingdom and Ellandellore is his heir. Vethnar has his library and Saroc and Sendaaka have their love, which is purpose enough for most lives. All of them still feel the desire for life. I do not.”

  “Lady,” protested Kerish, “surely your task here, teaching the Ferrabrinth and learning from them, is more important to Zindar than anything the others have done.”

  “The task is important,” agreed the sorceress, “but I am not. As I told you, my work is nearly done. Don't think I am unhappy. I have peace here and I value that too much to destroy it by clinging on too long. I will take you to the Valley of the Rocks again and afterwards we will consider the key.”

  Kerish heard Gidjabolgo approaching. “Lady, there is one other thing. I could never have reached Tir-Jenac without Gidjabolgo. He deserves so much and I have no means of rewarding him.”

  “You are mistaken there,” murmured Tebreega, “but go on.”

  “He has asked a boon from all the sorcerers we have visited, but none of them would grant it without impossible conditions. Please, give him what he desires,” said Kerish earnestly, “and if there is a price, let me pay it.”

  “You know what his desire is?” asked the sorceress.

  “It is not hard to guess,” admitted Kerish, “but it would be better if he told you himself.”

  “Told her what?”

  The Forgite was only a few steps away. Tebreega rose to meet him and Kerish followed her.

  “Your Prince says that there is a request you would make to me. Name it.”

  “I'll leave you . . .” began Kerish.

  “It doesn't matter anymore,” snapped Gidjabolgo. “Either she'll grant it and you'll see for yourself, or this is the last time of asking. Stay and enjoy yourself. Sorceress, take away my ugliness. Make me handsome enough for women to drool over and men to turn sick with jealousy. If you can do for me what you've failed to do for yourself, take away my ugliness.”

  “I will,” answered Tebreega.

  “And the conditions?” demanded Gidjabolgo. “What small impossibility will you set in my way?”

  “I have no conditions, only two requests, and those you may refuse.”

  “Name them,” said the Forgite warily.

  “I will work the change you ask for,” promised Tebreega, “and let you see yourself, but before it is made permanent I wish to tell you a story. Secondly, I want you to ask Kerish-lo-Taan how he sees you, both before and after the change. All you have to lose is a little time.”

  “What cause have I to trust you?” asked Gidjabolgo.

  “None,” said Tebreega. “Make your choice.”

  “All right,” muttered the Forgite. “Since I was born a fool, all right.”

  “Come here then, and receive your desire.”

  Cautiously he approached the sorceress. Tebreega untied her cloak and passed her wand over it seven times.

  “Kneel!” she ordered. “It may hurt a little at first. I will take the pattern from your thoughts. You would hardly trust my idea of handsome, would you?”

  Clumsily the Forgite knelt, staring past her to where Kerish stood. Tebre
ega cried out three times and dropped the cloak over Gidjabolgo.

  The Forgite screamed. Kerish ran forward but the sorceress stilled him with a gesture. Gidjabolgo tried to throw off the cloak but it enveloped him and the screams were muffled.

  “When the self-image is so strong,” said Tebreega, “it is hard to tear it away.”

  Smothered in scarlet feathers Gidjabolgo writhed across the glade to Kerish's feet and then lay still.

  “Help him,” commanded the sorceress.

  Kerish stripped away the cloak and helped a stranger to his feet. He was taller than the Prince, but nearly as slender. In features, they might have been brothers, but the hair was gleaming silver and the eyes a marvelous green, flecked with grey and gold.

  “Let go of my wrists.” The inflection was Gidjabolgo's but the voice was softer and more resonant.

  Wordless, Kerish released him and Gidjabolgo walked unsteadily to the pool. The Prince could see the edge of an incredulous smile, strange on that perfect face, as the Forgite looked at his own reflection.

  “Now,” said Tebreega, “I will tell you a story. Once in Joze, the City of Dreamers, a child was born, a child so big her mother died during the birth. She had three beautiful sisters and a father who could not love her. She grew up from clumsy child to ugly girl. Some shouted names at her in the street, but most people were distantly kind, as they would have been to a lack-wit or a cripple. She had a studious nature and far outstripped her sisters in learning. But they won the husbands they desired and she went veiled to their weddings.

  “There she saw a young captain and loved him. She thought her love well hidden but the city gossips, who saw everything, whispered it to him as a fine joke. She saw the disgust in his eyes. Shortly after that, she stole a dagger and slashed her cheek over and over. The festering of the wounds nearly killed her but at least, when she was well again, people saw nothing comical in her face.”

  “Her father, so long as he did not have to see her, denied her nothing to further her studies. Many wise men, who might have refused to receive an ordinary woman, gladly taught her. When her father died, she left Joze and then Galkis, seeking knowledge. Over long years she found it: deep and ancient knowledge to help her win the key to immortality and the power to be beautiful.”