Road's End (The Narrow Gate Book 4)

by Janean Worth

  The pale orb that he held aloft illuminated the way ahead softly, revealing bit by bit the darkness ahead, always showing him too little. He wanted to see more. He wished, momentarily, for Otto’s blindingly bright light so that he could see every detail of the fascinating place.

  He wondered at the purpose of the iron tracks set into the floor. What had they been used for?

  He meandered further into the darkness in front of him, more interested in finding out what lay ahead than in finding fodder for a fire. A tingle of excitement sizzled up the nape of his neck. What if this tunnel was the secret way to the Narrow Gate? What if this dark path led to what they had so long sought?

  He wandered forward blindly, seeking the end of the tunnel, thirsty for the sight of where it led.

  Finally, a niggle of concern gripped him. He should not be wandering so far from Kara. She was cold and needed a fire. And alone in the darkness. He knew he should return, but he crept forward a few more steps. He really wanted to know what was at the end of the tunnel. If the tunnel itself was so extraordinary, what lay at the end could be even more so.

  He stopped and turned around to look over his shoulder. Perhaps he’d already been gone too long.

  A faint sound caught his attention. What was it?

  He quickly started back toward where he’d left Kara with the books. He’d rejoin Kara, find a way to start a fire, dry their clothing and the saddle blankets, and then they’d both traverse the tunnel together.

  He smiled to himself and picked up his pace, eager to show Kara the marvels of the tunnel.

  He’d only gone a few yards when he heard her voice.

  “He’s gone!”

  Her words were barely audible, but her voice was unmistakable. It was Kara.

  A stab of fear lanced through his stomach with such force that he gasped. He should never have left her alone. What had he been thinking? Once again, he’d let his own selfish desires interfere with doing what was right!

  Mathew began to run, his feet tripping over themselves in the darkness in his haste.

  Her voice came again, an anguished scream that echoed down the tunnel and turned his blood to ice. Something was hurting her!

  He ran faster, his breath sawing in and out of his throat so loudly that it rivaled the sound of his pounding footfalls.

  As he neared the place where he’d left her, he heard the unmistakable jabbering of Fidgets. He slowed his steps and crammed the light into his pocket, shoving it down deep to hide the glow.

  He sidled over to the wall and approached more slowly, creeping ever nearer to the opening where the ramp lay.

  Seconds passed. His fear threatened to choke him. His body urged him to hurry, yet he knew that his only chance was stealth. If the Fidgets heard him, his moment of surprise would come to nothing.

  He had reached a point in the tunnel where he could barely see a warm glow of orange light that gleamed faintly against the concrete walls and coated the iron rails with a pale sheen. He tried to calm his racing breath, creeping even closer.

  A shape hurtled into the channel in front of him, and Mathew bit back a yelp of surprise. Seconds later, he recognized Kara’s form. She’d been shoved into the channel by a group of Fidgets that stood on the platform above.

  Mathew slowly withdrew the fully charged shielding device from his pocket, readying it for use.

  Kara glanced over her shoulder, and he thought for a moment that she saw him huddled in the darkness, but her eyes passed over his location and did not focus on him. Instead, she turned toward the other tunnel opening and took off at a dead run.

  The Fidgets, gibbering, hissing, and screeching, tumbled after her.

  Mathew clenched his fists as tightly as he clenched his jaw trying to hold back his shout of warning. There was no reason to give away his surprise advantage—she would know that they were chasing after her. Still, it was hard to remain silent when she was in such danger.

  A multitude of Fidgets boiled into the channel, rolling and tumbling and tripping over each other, hissing and clawing and even biting the others around them in order to hurry after Kara.

  There were so many. What could he do?

  Seconds passed while he agonized over a solution. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his hands began to shake. How was he going to save Kara from so many vicious Fidgets? The shielding device was of no use since Kara had run in the other direction. It would not protect her unless she was behind it.

  Ahead in the tunnel there was a commotion, and then the angry screeching of the Fidgets stopped. The beasts were jabbering in tones of triumph. Mathew’s heartbeat escalated at the sound. Their sounds of glee could mean nothing good for Kara.

  He crept forward, attempting to see into the darkness, but it was no use. All he could make out in the dim light was a shifting mass of Fidgets and some sort of large shape inside the tunnel ahead. He could see no sign of Kara.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gemma sat under the shadowy umbrella of a pecan tree, munching on a handful of the nuts, enjoying the rich taste of them. After so many days of going without food in the House, the nutmeats tasted like ambrosia to her.

  After popping another pecan into her mouth, she cast her eyes toward the Strays, furtively watching them beneath her lashes. They stood some distance from her, gathered into a tight clump, deep in a whispered conversation with the giant metal man who was their constant companion.

  Gemma tried to act as if their discussion did not matter to her, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded in keeping the interest in the outcome from showing in her expression. Their decision would mean life for some, and death for others.

  She knew that she had convinced the girl, Merrilee, to come back with her. The girl had been completely enamored of the idea of setting out on an adventure and seeing a settlement filled with other people who had not been known to exist before. It had not been hard to convince the girl or a few of the others. But the boy, Jack, did not want to believe her story.

  He was suspicious of her tale, as he had been from the start. Not that she could blame him, because she was lying to them all.

  Merrilee’s voice rose above the rest, and although Gemma could not discern her words from a distance, she could tell by the tone that the girl was arguing in favor of accompanying Gemma to the settlement. This was good. It meant that Gemma might have a chance at succeeding at the task the Sovereign had set for her. She should be happy. But she wasn’t.

  Gemma’s gut clenched in misery at the thought of taking the Strays back to the Sovereign. She knew the treatment they’d receive there. But, at the same time, she was equally afraid of failing. She knew without a doubt that the lives of the rest of her village would be forfeit if she did not return with the Strays. Even if she did return with the Strays, the Sovereign was still going to be very angry when she told him that the two Strays that he most wanted returned had already left before she’d arrived. Her stomach clenched at the thought and she stopped chewing, the rich nutmeat tasting like ash in her mouth.

  She had no other choice. She had to bring them back with her. She could not let the rest of the Elders, and the others remaining from the village, be killed. She could not. It was not kind, what she was doing. Not kind at all. But she had no other recourse.

  She turned her attention back to her handful of pecans and began to eat again. It was no matter that the food suddenly seemed tasteless or that her stomach seethed with nerves. She had to eat as much as she could before she led them back to the House. She didn’t know when she would get the chance to eat again.

  She finished the pecans and stood up to retrieve an apple from the tangle of trees at her back. She had time to finish it, too, before the Strays completed their discussion.

  When Merrilee turned away from the group and approached, Gemma knew what the news would be, just by taking a look at Jack’s face. The boy’s expression was mutinous and angry.

  That could only mean one thing. The Strays had decided to accompany h
er. She had succeeded in deceiving them.

  She wished that she could tell them the truth and beg for their help, but the repercussions if they refused were just too great. She could not risk telling them the Sovereign’s plan.

  She felt the food that she had eaten rise up in her throat, threatening to choke her. She would, most likely, be taking them all to their deaths. If not immediately, then certainly eventually. No one could survive long in the House, and the Sovereign was already very angry with the escaped Strays.

  She swallowed hard, forcing the food back down to her stomach, which churned with nausea. She pasted a smile upon her face and greeted Merrilee like an old friend, the lies about the delights of her settlement falling easily from her lips.

  For the Grandfathers, for the Grandfathers, for the Grandfathers, she thought as remorse assailed her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sky was darkening slowly, degree by painful degree. Nightfall could not come quickly enough. Gabert wished mightily for the sun’s setting so that the Fidgets and other nocturnal dangers of the Old Forest would come out to harass the Enforcers. He did not care if he himself became a meal for Fidgets. As long the Enforcers were prevented from following his careless trail to the Narrow Gate, he would be content to die.

  They had bound his feet as well as his hands, and he had been slung over the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes. His head throbbed from his upside‑down position, but he gave the pain no consideration because other, more desperate, thoughts consumed his mind. His mind raced, his thoughts torrential and jumbled, as he tried to think of a way—of any way—that would prevent the Enforcers from finding the Narrow Gate, but he could come up with nothing.

  They’d been riding for hours, and Gabert knew that they were getting close. He prayed to the Creator for strength or wisdom or both and then he threw himself off of the back of the horse and began to yell at the top of his lungs.

  He screamed as loudly as he could, hoping that the sound would alert those at the Narrow Gate, or, better yet, draw a leob to them.

  He didn’t bother trying to flee, knowing that he wouldn’t get far with bound hands and feet. He just yelled and yelled. He did not trouble to form his voice into words; he just screamed, letting the primal sound of his own failure tear up out of his throat, putting all of his regret, guilt, and helpless anger into it.

  His voice echoed out into the Old Forest, and immediately the other forest sounds ceased to be. No birds sang, no crickets chirped, nothing made a sound as he continued to bellow.

  It only took the Enforcers seconds to dismount and run to where he lay, and it took them no time at all to begin kicking him to silence his voice. As a painful blow landed to his gut, forcing the air out of his lungs and cutting off his scream, he hoped his last‑ditch effort had been enough.

  After a few more kicks to ensure that he’d not be screaming any more, one of the Enforcers hauled him to a sitting position and tied a dirty rag around his mouth. Then, five of the others picked him up and slung him facedown over the back of the horse again.

  One of them paused to grab his hair and pull his head back so that he could gaze into Gabert’s eyes.

  The Enforcer’s face was suffused with a flush of anger and his eyes were mean as he glared down at Gabert.

  “Do that again and I will shoot you,” the man gritted out.

  Gabert looked into the man’s face and realized that he’d been just like the Enforcer only a short while ago. He closed his eyes at the thought, unable to bear it. How had he ever been so cruel and uncaring?

  The Enforcer released his hair with a sound of disgust, and Gabert’s head flopped back down against the horse’s flank.

  His abdomen, sides, and back ached from their violent blows, and he felt a bit of blood trickle down his forehead from a gash on his cheekbone. These extra aches made his upside‑down position not only awkward but more painful to bear. When the horse began to move again, jolts of agony speared through his chest, and he knew that they had broken a rib or two with their brutality.

  Silent tears of defeat flowed from his eyes as they continued on toward the Narrow Gate.

  Please forgive me . . .

  Another violent spear of pain lanced through his chest, and Gabert groaned against his filthy gag.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kara slowly surfaced from unconsciousness, and the first thing she noticed was the incredible ache in her head. It pounded through her temples, jagged and sharp behind her closed lids.

  She bit back a groan and attempted to take stock of her surroundings only using her hearing, for she was afraid to open her eyes and risk increasing the pain in her head.

  Listening intently, she could hear but a few sounds, all of which were terrifying. Nearby, she heard the harsh rasp of breath in many sets of lungs and knew that she was still in the company of Fidgets. Many Fidgets. More faintly, as if some distance away, she could hear the single grating voice of a Fidget as it spoke, and then the soft human voice of someone answering. Hearing the human voice, Kara nearly gave in to her need to open her eyes, jump up, and yell for help, but some quiet survival instinct, honed in the dangerous wilderness, kept her quiet.

  “Companion,” a harsh Fidget voice rasped.

  “Yes, I see that, but she is also one of the thieves of our Old Tech, is she not? I told you to kill the thieves and bring me back a different companion from the group of others that they were now with.”

  “Companion,” the Fidget said again.

  The human voice was rife with derision when it spoke again.

  “Yes, yes, I heard you.”

  There was a deep and prolonged sigh.

  “Very well, bring her here so that I may talk to her. If she is intelligent, I will keep her. If she is not, you may eat her now.”

  At the words, Kara heard the other Fidgets around her hiss with pleasure.

  A couple of them muttered quietly.

  “Eat . . . Eat . . .”

  Kara shuddered and pried open her eyelids and then bit back a gasp of horror. She could see nothing but blackness.

  Was she blind? Had the blow to her head severed her brain’s connection with her eyes?

  Kara blinked hard, but her surroundings remained pitch black. She could see nothing at all.

  A shiver of terror scuttled down her spine. If she could not see, she might as well be dead, for she needed her vision in order to survive the harsh place that the world had become after the Fall.

  She blinked repeatedly, still trying to see, her heartbeat quickening in her chest.

  She felt clawed hands grasp her in the darkness and draw her to her feet and she gasped as renewed pain lanced through her head at the motion.

  They dragged her forward through the darkness and she was able to see, finally, a tiny flickering flame of light guttering in the bottom of a small candle placed upon the floor near a throne‑like chair.

  The flame did nothing to illuminate their surroundings, but by its feeble light she was just barely able to make out the figure sitting in the chair as she was dragged forward by the Fidgets and then dumped on the floor at the figure’s feet.

  It was a human man, but unlike any she had ever seen before. He was very small, his face wizened with age. His skin, stretched tight over his bones like the hide covering a drum, was alabaster white as if it had not seen the sun’s rays in many years. It was so pale that it almost seemed to glow in the darkness surrounding them. He wore very fine clothing, such that she had only seen in pictures, resplendent with elegant buckles and buttons that gleamed with a high shine in the faint light. He had no hair, no eyebrows, and, if she was seeing correctly in the dim light, no eyelashes, either. His face and hands were marked by deep pock marks and ragged, sunken scars, as if he had once had some disfiguring disease that had long since healed.

  He stared down at her with an odd expression on his face, his lips curved upward and pressed tight against his teeth in a strange imitation of a smile.

  “Welcome,
” the old man said, his voice incongruously melodious and softly pitched. “I am Custodian here, to these Fidgets. They have brought you to serve as my companion.”

  Custodian of the Fidgets? And she was to be his companion?

  Kara could think of no fitting reply, so she remained quiet, staring up at him from her position slumped upon the cold floor.

  “It is quite an honor. I have had no companion for years now. Tell me, can you read?”

  Kara squinted at him in the darkness, wishing that she could interpret his expression, but he continued to keep his lips pressed tight against his teeth in that odd way, and she could discern nothing of his intent.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I can read.”

  “Good, good,” he said, clasping his hands in front of his body in a manner to suggest that he might be pleased. His lips pulled up at the corners even more, forming a frightening rictus.

  Kara immediately looked away, toward the guttering flame, unable to bear staring at the badly disfigured face drawn into such an odd expression. It was a horrifying sight.

  “Do you enjoy reading?” he said immediately, continuing with the odd questioning.

  Kara started to nod, but the pain in her head burst forth again, so instead she swallowed hard and said, “Yes, I do enjoy reading. Very much, in fact.”

  A sound that might have been a giggle burst out of the man and Kara glanced back at his face, surprised.

  The odd rictus was gone, replaced by a hungry look.

  “And do you enjoy reading aloud?” he asked, his voice pitched low and quiet.

  Kara realized from his intent tone and avaricious look, that this last question was quite important to him, which meant that it was probably quite important to her as well. She didn’t relish the idea of becoming fodder for Fidgets just yet.

  “Yes,” she whispered, hoping that it was the right answer.