The Spear of Stars

by Edward W. Robertson

  "My experience was identical to my first trip. I was offered two doors. I chose the one that brought me here."

  Blays materialized half a minute later. "Wasn't gone too long, was I? It's like those stupid kids want to fall off the cliffs."

  They couldn't see the city, and as usual the sun was high in the sky hidden behind dense mists, providing them no helpful sense of orientation, yet as they started off, Dante could somehow sense they were headed in the right direction. The fog on the ground was denser than usual, swirling so much that Dante couldn't see his own feet. The soil felt springy, almost unsteady.

  The mists flowed like mountain streams, revealing patches of trees and turf, only to conceal them again moments later. Chunks of mossy rock rose before them with no warning. The land always had an uncertain, almost tidal feel to it, but on that day, it was more like it was moiling, objects bubbling up and vanishing again like the contents of a thick stew.

  A drizzle of rain began to fall. Dante had only taken three more steps before it intensified to a downpour.

  Blays tipped back his head. "What the hell is this? Now we can't even travel to the land of the dead without getting soaking wet?"

  As if the skies had heard him, the rain stopped as quickly as the closing of a curtain. Dante bent his head, willing the water to depart his clothes. It dripped behind him, drying him out within another minute.

  They hiked up a ridge of clouds, then through a valley of bobbing rocks. They began to ascend again, yet as steep as the climb was, even Gladdic wasn't breathing particularly hard by the time they came to the top.

  Below them lay forests and farms interrupted by odd spots of mist. In the center of it all, a great city owned the land, with the gray glint of an ocean beyond it and a river that gleamed like mercury cutting it down the middle.

  Yet it had changed since the last time they'd seen it. Now it was slashed and gouged with blank spaces, some black and others gray, as if it was a parchment drawing that had been attacked by an angry critic with a large knife.

  "Odd," Blays said. "I didn't know cities could catch the plague."

  "This has to be from the portals," Dante said. "Whatever they are, they ripped holes right through the Mists."

  "Uh…is it safe to go down there?"

  "It looks about as safe as skinny dipping in a barrel of ziki oko. But doing nothing is even less safe, so we've got a job to do."

  Dante marched down the long slope toward the divine reflection of Bressel. Smoke rose from numerous chimneys, and he could see carts and carriages making their way through the street. The city, while damaged, was still alive yet. But as they took the road through the farms and cottages outside it, every building felt still and empty.

  The road brought them straight to the city gates. These had previously been open, but were now closed fast, thick doors of solid iron carved with fantastic monsters and beasts that felt like wards.

  They came to a stop in front of the doors. No one stirred on the walls.

  "Hello?" Blays said. "We'd like to go inside, if you please. It's pretty important."

  Three full seconds passed before a man poked up his head from the battlements. "What is this important business of yours?"

  "The sort of thing city guards get hanged for delaying."

  The guard turned and snapped his fingers. Ten more rose from behind the walls and stared down at them. Dante felt his footing slip beneath him. His body and mind went fuzzy, like waking up after fainting. In fact—

  He gasped: he was falling. He splashed down into water, tasting salt in his nose and mouth. The water felt cold, yet he wasn't uncomfortable. He got his head above water.

  Blays spat water. "Not this again."

  "Faugh!" Gladdic said. "What has been done to us?"

  "This is how it works here," Dante said. "You can't kill people. I don't think you can even hurt them. But you can will them away from you. Next time, you have to will yourself to not be moved."

  "How ought I do that?"

  "Pretend you're a tree or something. In your case, a very old and gnarled one. That's been chewed on by a bunch of beetles, and probably would have died a long time ago if not for equal parts stubbornness and sorcery."

  "I doubt the sincerity of this suggestion."

  "You can will yourself through the water, too. We'll practice on the way back to the gates."

  "The gates?" Blays said. "You want to go back there because why?"

  "Well you see," Dante said, "the gates have the unique property of opening into the city."

  "They also have the unique property of being guarded by a bunch of guards. Who just tossed us into the sea. And will probably dump us into a cesspool if we try again."

  "What else do you suggest? I can't use the nether to tunnel in. And if they catch us climbing the wall, I think they'll skip the cesspool and send us straight up the wrong end of a bull."

  Blays shrugged. "We're already here in the water. I say we steal a page from the lich and go in through the river."

  "That's not bad. And if anyone catches us, we'll just tell them we fell overboard. From a boat that is now…somewhere else. Somewhere far away."

  He gave Gladdic a brief primer on the use of the will, then they started back toward the city, which rested across two miles of calm sea. At first Gladdic progressed at his normal dawdling swimming speed, but as he learned to assert his will on the ether that made up the Mists, he gathered speed, and they were soon coming at the city at a good jogging pace.

  "I'm curious," Blays said. "When an animal dies, does it pass into the Mists?"

  Dante slowed, holding one hand palm-up above the water. "How should I know?"

  "Because you're the official voice for an entire religion?"

  "He wonders," Gladdic said, "if we are about to encounter the sharks we put down during the siege."

  Blays nodded. "Or the whales."

  Dante lowered his chin in thought. "According to the Cycle, all living things are animated by the nether. Hence when any living thing dies, it passes into the realm of Arawn, lord of nether and death."

  "But the Mists are not Arawn's realm," Gladdic said. "At least not as your faith describes them."

  "You don't say. What I'm getting at is that I have no idea. We have seen birds here. And bugs. And people catching fish. But we don't know if they're the souls or essences of things that died, or just phantasms of the Mists. So if you do find yourself getting swallowed by a river shark, be sure to let me know, because you'll have made a very important discovery."

  They carried on with their unnatural speed, the city growing before them. Ocean-going ships and smaller coast-hugging vessels dotted the water. Some were fishing, and if they were fishing, presumably those fish were being eaten. If Mist-fish could be eaten by Mist-people, did that mean Mist-people could be eaten by Mist-fish? Despite his earlier words, Dante became abruptly preoccupied with peering down into the water around them.

  They came to the mouth of the river. In their world, the estuary was cloudy and brown, but here it was as translucent as the sandy bays of the Plagued Islands, although silvery rather than blue. Dante kept watch on the walls, but there didn't seem to be any sentries. As soon as they were within the city, he swerved toward the eastern shore, then changed his mind and headed for the western bank instead. Halfway across the river, he felt immensely exposed, but no one seemed to notice as they came ashore. He willed the water from his clothes, shedding it like his whole person was being wrung out between two great hands.

  "We're heading to the Gods' Plaza," Dante said. "Assuming they have one here. That's where the lich opened one of his two doorways."

  Gladdic strode alongside him on a path through the shrubs and weeds. "Yet both doorways have been closed in our world. We should not expect them to still remain here."

  "I don't. But I suspect some residue of them might be kicking around. Failing that, we can ask around for witnesses."

  They entered an avenue that ran parallel to the river. For the fir
st few blocks, the buildings were vibrant stone cut in the dignified style of two centuries earlier, but they soon entered a sector that was dingy and faded in a way Dante had never seen within the Mists. Some of the doors hung open and it was somehow clear that the place had been abandoned. Perhaps that was why it felt washed out: with no people there to will it to be, it would in time cease to be.

  The colors brightened as they came to an inhabited block. Even the air tasted sharper in their lungs than it had a minute before. Dante thought they might stand out as strangers, but all three of them were of Mallish or Collenese blood and drew no more attention than anyone else.

  They left the avenue, heading west. Towers spiked ahead of them. They passed between two tall buildings and entered what could only be the Gods' Plaza.

  The plaza in their world only held three true spires, but this one boasted twelve of them, one for each god of the Celeset. And while a few of the temples and shrines in Bressel were quite venerable, some of the ones here were ancient, most resembling the ruins that could sometimes be found out in the forests and hills—but perfectly intact.

  The plaza's center held the fountain, a vast bowl of gleaming gold. Its faucets were of gemstones and crystals and the water that flowed from them was so sweet Dante could smell it from where he stood.

  Blays scratched the line of his jaw. "If we can take objects from our world into the Mists, do you suppose we can take things from the Mists back into our world?"

  "You are not stealing the fountain," Dante said.

  "I'm not going to steal the fountain. I don't have pockets nearly that big. Just a ruby or five. They can always will themselves more."

  "In Bressel, the portal was opened right over there." Dante nodded past the fountain. "I'm not seeing any sign of it, but maybe the ether will tell another story."

  They crossed the square. People took water from the fountain, chatting with each other, but their faces looked more serious than typical gossip, and they lowered their voices whenever the three strangers drew near.

  Dante came to a stop. A bit of mist blew from the statues spouting water into the golden bowl. "It was right here. Be extremely careful. The last thing we want to do is accidentally reactivate it."

  Gladdic nodded. "Or blunder into a trap left behind by the lich."

  Hesitantly, Dante opened his mind to the ether. Everything around him brightened, outlined with a soft inner glow, for everything here was ether. He moved into it with the stealth of a child trying to sneak up on the family cat. Like a leviathan rising from the black depths, a second layer of being emerged behind the first.

  "There are scratches upon the firmament," Gladdic said. "And tears as well."

  "I see them," Dante muttered. "Parts of it look…stretched out. Mangled."

  "This is like nothing that I have ever seen. It is troubling. Deeply so."

  Blays cleared his throat. "Apparently we're not the only ones who think so."

  He was gazing pointedly across the plaza, where a woman was walking directly toward them. She had a short-brimmed hat pulled low over her eyes and she wore dark gray fitted pants and jacket. These were made to appear quite stylish, but to someone who was used to doing a lot of fighting, they were also recognizable as clothing you could brawl in without restricting your movement.

  Dante turned away. "What do we do?"

  "I know you're not used to talking to women," Blays said, "but I suggest not acting totally weird."

  "We died in the Eiden Rane's attack," Gladdic said. "Just like the many others who must have arrived here within the last day. We will make no mention of who we are, nor our powers, unless recognized otherwise."

  This sounded reasonable enough, but even if it hadn't there was no time to come up with a better cover story, for she was almost upon them. She looked to be approaching thirty and had a face that could turn heads, but there was a watchfulness to her eyes that gave Dante pause.

  "You there," she said without formalities or introduction. "You from here?"

  "To tell you the truth," Blays said, "I'm not quite sure."

  "Not a hard question. Either you are or you aren't."

  "I'm from Bressel. This place looks like Bressel, but my friends and I were just sent here—without being asked, I might add—and barely know where here is."

  The woman looked them up and down. "Who are you?"

  Blays clapped Dante's shoulder. "Soldiers. Sent here by those ghoulish things that follow the White Lich. Have you heard of him?"

  "Who's the old man?"

  Gladdic raised an eyebrow. "A servant of Simm. When they were wounded in battle, I offered these two men shelter within our temple. To my disgrace, that same temple is where we all perished."

  "You a priest?"

  Gladdic was wearing his gray robes, but they were plain and unmarked. "I never developed the skill."

  "One more question. And be careful with it. Why are you lying to me?"

  They had all been accused of lying so many times before that none of them were at all phased by it any longer, even when the accuser was completely right about it, and all of them reacted with tempered but not overblown indignation.

  "Lying?" Blays crossed his arms. "And who exactly are you?"

  "Someone you don't want to meet," the woman said. "Someone you really don't want to lie to."

  She moved her right hand to her waist. Dante grimaced, assuming she was going for a sword, although there were at least two very good reasons this made no sense: first of all, he didn't think that swords could hurt people in this realm, and second of all, she didn't have a sword.

  Until the moment she did.

  Light winked from her hand, coalescing into a blade little more than two feet long. It was as white as clouds and sparkled like sun on snow. "Come with me."

  Blays gripped the scabbard of his right-hand weapon, thumbing it up to expose the first few inches of steel. "I've got one of those, too. But mine's bigger."

  The woman gazed into his eyes. "Mine's the only one that can make you bleed."

  "Want to find out?"

  "This isn't where you came from. Your weapons are worthless here."

  "Are you being serious?"

  "Want to find out?"

  The three of them exchanged a brief but rich glance. Dante turned his gaze back to the woman's weapon. "What exactly do you think is going on here?"

  "I think you don't belong here," she said. "If you don't come with me, I'll be sure of it. And I'll kill you where you stand."

  "Okay, you're not altogether wrong. But we're not here to—"

  "Shut up and walk. Last time I tell you."

  It was at that moment that Dante noticed the many people who had been milling around the plaza had withdrawn at least sixty feet from them, some openly staring, others pretending not to watch.

  Dante nodded to the woman. "Lead on."

  She motioned for them to go first, offering curt directions. They left the square and walked a few blocks to an unexciting four-story structure of gray stone. She had put away her blade or concealed it somewhere, but none of them tried anything as she motioned them inside the structure.

  The doorway was dim, but as soon as they stepped inside and she closed the door it brightened like the moon coming out from behind the clouds. Which might or might not have had something to do with the fact that the inside walls had gone semi-translucent, offering them a view, if somewhat cloudy, of the street and the pedestrians within it.

  "Save yourselves some time," she said. She didn't offer them a seat. "All you have to do is tell me who you are and what you're doing here."

  Dante kept the corners of his eyes on her hands. "You're right. We're not from here. But we need to be here very badly."

  "To do what?"

  "To save our people from destruction."

  "By who?"

  "Care to tell me who you are first?"

  "Who sent you here?"

  "We sent ourselves."

  She stared flatly. "Why would innocent
people work so hard to hide the answers about them?"

  "Maybe they're concerned they might be murdered by un-innocent people."

  "You're right not to trust me. But you don't want to lie to me."

  "Lyle's balls!" Gladdic smashed his fist on the end table he'd been standing next to. "Why do you not simply ask us if we are agents of the Eiden Rane?"

  Her shiny gray eyes shifted to him. "Are you?"

  "The very opposite. We are his dearest enemies."

  "Which is the same thing you'd tell me if you were working for him. That's why I was asking other questions instead. I think you know that. That's why you just made it so there's no point to asking those questions. Do you think that was a good thing to do?"

  "If the lich is your enemy," Dante said, "then you should be down on your knees thanking us for coming here. I'll tell you why—but first, we have to know who you are."

  The woman still hadn't taken off her hat despite moving indoors and she regarded Dante from under its brim. "An agent. Of Barsil."

  "That's here? This city?"

  "And the kingdom it belongs to. You know of the Glove and Blade?"

  Gladdic nodded. "The king's spies."

  "That's what I did in Bressel. And that's what I do here."

  "You served the king in Bressel? Which one?"

  "Eorl."

  "The Third? I have studied him quite closely. He is my favorite regent!"

  "Eorl the First. Of the Sea Reavers."

  "The First?" Gladdic wrinkled his brow. "But I did not think the order was founded until late in the reign of Eorl the Second."

  "Cover story. Eorl, the first of his name, didn't want his enemies to know he was setting up a group that would soon expose and destroy them."

  "Now it is you that is lying," Gladdic said softly. "You were not an agent of the Glove and Blade."

  The woman snorted. "What would you know about that age? You said you just died yesterday."

  "Of that, you are right, or close to it. But I am—or was—an ordon of Bressel. It is from that role that I was also recruited to the Glove and Blade myself. I know its history as well as I know the Ban Naden."