Alexa Drey- the Gates of Striker Bay

by Ember Lane

  But Billy was singing, wailing, and screaming, and that was all I was going to get out of him, but it was enough.

  Billy had confirmed it.

  The ships were in trouble.

  Marching forward, I came to a marble dais, a broad sweep of steps leading up, two stone lions either side. Pog waited for me at the top.

  “Come on!” he urged. “The place is creepy as anything.”

  I hurried up, grabbing his hand, and marching through a pair of open double doors. “Let’s get this shit done, and get out of here,” I said, my teeth part clenched.

  We entered a broad hallway, a black-and-white, checkered floor, portraits of long-dead folks dressed in cloaks, pale faces with pursed lips and faraway eyes, hung on the walls, watching, waiting. Pog steered me to a large room, already warmed by a hearty fire. Sutech sat in one armchair, Mezzerain opposite.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Mezzerain muttered. “Did that old bag of bones have anything to say for himself?”

  “He said we need to hurry—that time was running out.”

  “That it?”

  “He said something more.” I crouched by the fire and warmed my cold hands.

  “Well?”

  “Variant won’t be the last.”

  Mezzerain grunted. “Sounds about right.”

  Pog sat next to me. “Where are all the ghosts?”

  Melinka laughed. “We have to rouse them.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” I muttered under my breath.

  Melinka brought out some food—simple fair, nothing fancy, yet we all ate it like it was the finest fare we’d ever tasted, and when we’d cleaned our plates, I calmed my heart, and then stood.

  “Let’s get this done.”

  Melinka led me to a large, round table, sitting me down and then walking around until she was opposite me, sitting and staring at me. “Pog, take the next cardinal point.”

  Pog sat to my right.

  “We need one other,” she said. “Choose between you.”

  Without any discussion, Mezzerain got up, strolling over, and sitting. “My duty, my job.”

  “Join hands,” Melinka said, her voice hushed, and then she waited until we all settled.

  “Barath G’arag no goch.” She said it once then again and again. “Barath G’arag no goch.” The fire flickered, roaring one minute, nearly petering to nothing the next. “Barath G’arag no goch.” The air cooled, my breath misting. Pog’s wide eyes stared forward. I swear I saw his teeth glint. “Barath G’arag no goch.”

  Rain suddenly lashed against the windowpanes, a howling wind then rattling them. The fire burst into life, snapping and cracking the dry logs as it consumed them. Then our table began to shudder, and my head swam, the air now heavy around me. A hint of something to my left, a ruffle of a long, dusty curtain.

  “Barath G’arag no goch.”

  The smell of cinnamon filled the air. A dry cackle passed through my mind.

  “Barath G’arag no goch. Call Cassandra.”

  Melinka’s head sagged.

  “I call Cassandra,” I said softly. “I call Cassandra,” I said with more force.

  A chink of crystal, a very faint breeze, the room chilled further.

  A figure formed, barely an outline. A hint of fabric, gray and see through.

  “I call Cassandra.” My words felt like power as if they were sucking at something, pulling it from its rest. But it didn’t feel like the figure even though it was thickening. It felt like a sack, a fluid-filled membrane that I had to tease out of its hiding. “I, Alexa Drey, do choose Cassandra to leave this place and travel to the land of Kataspay. It is time to rouse their souls.”

  Once the words came, the sack popped, and the figure became clear: a small woman, surprising me with her youth and dressed in a single-colored tunic yet not quite fitting this scene. It was a uniform—military, not medieval.

  She looked dazed, confused, as if her sleep had been long and fitful.

  “Do you understand?” I pressed.

  She became clearer, then fuzzed, then sharpened. “I do,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She clicked her feet, standing straight, and then vanished.

  “Barath G’arag no goch.” Melinka began her chant again. “Barath G’arag no goch.”

  Another name came to me, Pascalle, but I waited. The fire flickered once more.

  “Barath G’arag no goch,” Melinka chimed.

  A figure formed, and I saw that rather than faint, rather than coming into being, the outline was blurred, almost like it was just a twitch of a dimension away.

  “I, Alexa Drey, do choose Pascalle to leave this place and travel to the land of Trappas Shyl. It is time to rouse their souls.”

  Once again, a tugging, teasing, brought substance to the ethereal presence that was forming. Pascalle was a tall woman, her hair cropped short, and almond-shaped eyes. She looked mid-twenties, no more than that—hardly the crone I was supposed to rouse. Her crimson tunic fitted tightly, pressing against her breasts and zipped high to her neck. She stifled a yawn then shook her head as if to clear her mind.

  “Do you understand?” I asked her.

  She clicked her heels and nodded, soon vanishing and departing on her mission.

  “Barath G’arag no goch,” Melinka began.

  And so it continued. Verizine was tasked with traveling to Cendrullia. Promethos, perhaps the oldest of these supposed hags—mid-thirties tops—took Zhang Zhou. One by one they came, and one by one they left. Only Valkyrie and Ruse were left, and of course, the ill-fated Variant.

  When it was over, Melinka looked at me, her lips pressed into a firm line. “It is done,” she muttered, and as she said it, oil lamps burst into life. The fire began roaring, and suddenly the room warmed. “We will stay in this room and rest.”

  “Something’s missing,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t completed my task.”

  “No, no you haven’t. The last one must be roused before we leave. It cannot be done before then. We must wait until morning.”

  A dread feeling ran through me. “Why?”

  “The path must be clear; at this moment it is stifled by another.”

  We retired from the table, Pog and I sitting on the floor in front of the fire. Pog held my hands, staring deeply into my eyes. He seemed to be urging something into my mind. But I was exhausted, exhausted and wary. Melinka had withdrawn into herself, and that worried me.

  Sutech Charm got up and strolled over to a sideboard, opening its doors, and said, “Ah, now that will certainly make the evening more comfortable. Where abouts is the region of Saramcell?”

  “East Coast,” Mezzerain grunted. “Why?” He perked, like he knew full well why and got that glint in his eye that a true drinker gets when sustenance is near.

  “Is the wine good?”

  “For here? For now? Even a Brokenford red would serve. An ale man myself, but if there’s an absence of hops, then I hold no objection to a red.”

  “Then we shall drink together, provided we are done with the business of ghosts and ghouls.” He popped a cork. “Who is for a goblet?”

  There were no dissenters. Sutech passed around the goblets. He sat back down, a couple of bottles at his feet. “So who wants to tell me what that was all about?”

  Melinka twirled her goblet. She looked younger as if some burden had been lifted from her shoulders. The firelight lit her pale face, its shades stroking her shock of red hair. She held Sutech in her sights, appearing to assess him, then concluded, “That depends on whether you’re still the enemy. Are you?”

  Sutech took a sip of his wine, his eyes, in turn, never leaving the Valkyrian witch. He also looked like he’d reached some tipping point as if he were finally part of a bigger picture and not just protecting his morsel of the world, and I began to wonder the depths of Star’s brilliance. Sutech let a hint of a smile encroach on the stubble surrounding his jaw. “I
t’s hard to be an enemy when the wine is so full, so rich, the company so dominant, and the setting so… How would you describe it?”

  “I would describe it as homely, but then, I’m a witch, as you’re so ready to point out.”

  “So assuming I’m no enemy at the moment, what just happened?” He took a considered sip of his wine.

  She cocked her head. “Assuming. Assuming covers a multitude of sins. But for the sake of polite conversation, I will attempt to explain it. Call it an awakening. Many slumber through life not knowing their true function. We can no longer afford that. All must fight. We rally our troops, and we drive out Ruse and the combinium. There, my temporary ally, what do you think of that?”

  “That it is worthy of celebration, yet you all seem so dour, so down. It’s like it’s no victory but a wake for what could have been.”

  “Because they were never supposed to be woken. Because the task is not yet done,” Melinka replied, her voice clipped as if now frustrated by his questioning. “And we have one to rouse yet.”

  “Ah, the mysterious last messenger. Yes, we have that to come.” Sutech rose, walking to a large, paneled window. He looked out over the gloomy gardens, the fog now cloaked by the night. “Ruse. I note you roused no witch to go to Ruse. Have you no spies in your enemy’s heart?”

  “That place has always been beyond our influence, so no.”

  Sutech sat back, crossing his legs, clearly at ease with the conversation’s new thread. “Wretched things, spies, absolutely wretched, yet necessary. Only a fool lays siege to a city without good intelligence coming from within. You need to know the temperament of your enemy at all times. Is Ruse just a shadow to you?”

  Melinka stiffened. “Ruse is closed to us. It always has been.”

  I listened to their sparring, knowing that Ruse lay in front of me and knowing how little I knew of the place—that it was eternal night, that gemstones lay on the open ground, and that it scared me. Since I’d come to the land, all had told me of its evil duplicity. All had talked with dread in their hearts.

  “Then perhaps,” Sutech continued, “that was the hag you needed to rouse.”

  Melinka scowled. “And what would you know? Have you ever met anyone from Ruse? Have you dined with ShadowDancer? Where did your allegiance bud?”

  “Visions, direction, the priests came. The Forbane seemed allied with them—”

  “Then you know as much about Ruse as us. How dare you judge our efforts when all you have done is swim with a dark tide.”

  I expected Sutech to bite back, but his ensuing silence spoke volumes. He shrugged. “I am nothing if not honest. You are correct. I apologize.” Sutech drained his goblet and returned to his chair by the fire. “Swimming with a dark tide, though, infers I had little direction. Let the truth abound.” He threw his arms wide before picking up the wine and pouring another for him and Mezzerain. “The truth is, I believe I can rule Mandrake better than a farmer or a spoiled lord; that is what I pursued, and I make no apology for it.”

  Melinka dipped her head. “We need no apology for ambition. Travel to Ruse. Escort Alexa—not that she needs your protection. See your god Belved, and then decide.”

  Sutech smiled, a savage grin that told me he may have salvaged a win in the dying moments of their discourse.

  “I intend to.”

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte

  A whine of a rusted hinge, my eyes snapped open. Pog’s breaths were deep and content, tidal, flowing in, flowing out, his head nuzzling my middle. Mezzerain sat slumped in his chair as did Sutech; the warlord still held a goblet in his hand. Even in sleep, he looked sharp, ready to attack: a tiger, watching, waiting. Melinka had made a makeshift bed from some cushions. Of all of us, she looked the most content.

  I held still, listening to their slumber. The hinge whined again. Easing Pog away, tucking his folded cloak under his head, I sat up, straining to look through the gloom. My vision was foggy through sleep, clearing slowly to a gray haze. The edge of the door became clear. There was a pale hand on its brass knob.

  “Who’s there?” I whispered, pushing myself up to my feet and crouching, wondering whether to equip my sword.

  “Shush!” The reply came back like the fizz of an arrow. “Alexa?”

  “Yes.” Easing myself all the way up, I took a step forward. Sweat peppered my lip, the dulled fire still spreading its muted warmth. My heartbeat thumped, and my throat was dry from the wine.

  “Come with me.” Whoever she was, nerves riddled her words.

  “Where?”

  “Not far. You won’t lose your friends.”

  “Who are you?” And as I asked, she came into view. She wore a nightdress, one befitting a ghost, long, pale, her body quite see through. Blonde hair fell in curls, covering her narrow shoulders. She was moderately attractive, a hint of an imp, and miserable. She seemed quite miserable.

  “Charlotte,” she replied.

  “The Charlotte?”

  That teased a grin. “Follow me.” She swept around, hurrying out the door. I followed her onto the checked floor of the hallway. Charlotte had a slight radiance to her, enough to illuminate our way. A stairway rose up, rich paneled wood cladding its side, turned spindles of the same color marching up like rigid soldiers. Charlotte glided past them until she came to a door tucked under the stair’s head. “This way.”

  She pulled it open, vanishing into the black, lighting it instantly to show me the way. The steps were narrow, unvarnished, and they led to a cellar—a scullery or servants' kitchen—in the gloom. I couldn’t quite tell which. She sat upon a stool, her hands clasped together, and trapped between her knees.

  She nodded toward another, and so I sat.

  “Billy said you needed to talk to me.”

  “You’re Charlotte, Charlotte?” I gushed like a schoolkid.

  “Yes.” Charlotte tilted her head in confusion.

  “Sorry,” I said quickly. “It’s just that I—”

  “You’re nervous. Of course you are. So am I. I’m a ghost—a dead one—and you’re Alexa Drey. Even the demons speak your name. You’re very much alive.”

  “I like to think so,” I said then wondered why I’d gone to pieces. “Why aren’t you in Talayeh?”

  She slumped. “Because Billy won’t judge me—says he wants me to stick around until he gets judged.”

  “But—”

  “Yes, I know it’s your task,” she said. “But he must judge me, and only he knows if I was mostly good or mostly bad. What if our outcomes differ? We would be forever apart.”

  I saw the impasse. She reached forward, touching my knee. “Of course, if you were to watch him judge me, and then judge him exactly the same way, then we can be together forever.”

  Her eyes made half-moons, pleading with me to accept her solution. I sighed. “I’m not sure it works that way.”

  Charlotte’s expression morphed to angry-evil in an instant. “You had no such qualms with Sakina! You just judged her exactly how she asked. Why are Billy and me any different?”

  She had a point. “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t know enough about Billy to judge him.”

  “Oh!” She laughed. “You want to know about Billy?” She sat back, crossing her arms. “He’s a rogue, through and through. He’d cheat you; he’d cut your purse and catch your coin with his hat, and he’d lie to you like you were nuts, but he had a heart of gold.”

  “A heart of gold,” I repeated. It was what my instinct told me. “What did he do?”

  “Do?” Her twisted face calmed, serenity falling over her like a shroud.

  “His job?”

  “Billy?”

  Either Charlotte was stupid, or I just had no patience left. “Yes, Billy Long Thumb.”

  “He was the ferryman. It was his job to link Ruse to the next, and then the next. Next, next, next, next, next, that was all he went on about. As one land came alive, he’d set sail. Valkyrie was his favorite; that’s where he met me. I was looking
out over the rolling ocean thinking the world was empty, apart from Valkyrie, and then Billy sails in, bold as brass, demanding the gates be opened. He makes port and instantly becomes a celebrity.”

  “Why a celebrity?”

  She jumped up, swooning about the scullery. “He was dashing. He was intelligent, disarming, and coy, could talk a bird from its perch, could Billy, and boy, he didn’t stop talking, like he was pleased to be free of Ruse, like he hadn’t talked to anyone in an age.”

  “But what about his crew? Surely he’d talked to them?”

  “Crew?” she squawked, like a bird. “Billy was a one-man crew. No one else aboard his ship.”

  “So Billy, what did he say about Ruse?”

  She jumped off her stool, crouching in front of me. “He said Ruse was dead, had been dead for an age, and so he was just going to go back and forth, taking what he wanted and sell it on. And Billy got rich.” Charlotte began swooning again. “Rich as he was handsome, and I fell in love with Billy Long Thumb, and you know what they say, long thumb, long—”

  “Yes,” I said, far too quickly. “So Billy plundered Ruse. A boy woke the place, roused some souls, and put a stop to it?”

  “Not quite,” Charlotte said. “Close, but not quite.

  “But Ruse was awoken?”

  “By the boy,” Charlotte said. “Billy said that the dead were woken by a boy, and that boy knew far too much.”

  “ShadowDancer?”

  “One and the same. And that boy was in league with the Cers, and the Cers took over.”

  “And Ruse was reborn.”

  “What happened to him? How did Billy die?”

  “He never died yet, not Billy, no. We courted first, and a proper gentleman he was too. He’d wine me and dine me in Striker Bay’s finest restaurants. We’d eat on balconies, looking over the deep blue seas, and then one day, he bent his knee, sweeping his hat off, all dashing-like, and he asked for my hand in marriage, and I said yes with my whole heart.”

  “So, husband and wife,” I said but bit my lip.

  “So everyone thought, but we never got married. Billy set sail the very next day. He told me of a place, a place in Ruse, a valley as black as larva dust, where even the sun never shines, and the Cers never roamed. He said, ‘There.’ Then he said, ‘There, my Charlotte, my love, my future; there lay the largest sapphires in all the world.' He told me he would take one last trip, a final journey, and he said he’d bring me back those sapphires and have a ring made, the likes of which the world would never have seen, and earrings too, a bracelet, and a necklace.”