by Ryan Kirk
The Gates of Memory
Ryan Kirk
Copyright © 2020 by Waterstone Media
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Created with Vellum
For Christie
Prologue
She observed her creation from afar even as it spun away, churning and growing into an attack she hoped would cripple an empire. It was so nearly perfect. It just needed a little something more.
So much was instinct. No manual had ever been written on these techniques. No master could teach this power. As far as she knew, no one else in the long history of this planet had developed these skills.
And she had hundreds of years of memory to draw on.
There.
She pulled some heat from far away and added it. Then she pushed with wind, a force not much stronger than blowing the seeds off a dandelion.
Every action she took was echoed by the priests chanting below her. They possessed no true skill of their own. Their greatest talent was to follow her lead without question, to duplicate her efforts in exact amounts. They were mirrors of different sizes. No more.
Perfect.
She leaned back and tracked her creation. It moved slowly now, but it gathered speed. By the time it hit the empire, there would be little warning. Hopefully her aim was true, but she could never be sure. Her talents had improved, but to even strike close required skill beyond the imagining of most mortals.
It didn’t matter.
His death would cause certain, predictable consequences she had planned for.
His survival would lead to predictable outcomes as well.
Both paths had been prepared for, and both led to her goal.
She spared a thought for him. He’d been in her thoughts frequently, a trend she sometimes worried about.
He had called her a queen.
Long ago that might have been true.
Her memories of ages long past were broken, shattered by the unyielding weight of countless years.
Once she had tried to hold onto those memories. She’d crystallized them in her mind, forced herself to remember.
But even diamond cracked, and her mind had come close. It seemed, perhaps, that a person was only allotted so many memories. When a new one was made, an old one must die.
She didn’t know. Again, there was no one to compare experiences with. She walked paths no mortal dared approach. That first emperor, he had come close. But then he had passed through the gates, his foolishness costing him his life.
It didn’t matter.
Humans sought to order their universe, to categorize all things.
The dream of a whole species of fools.
The universe was more vast than their limited comprehension. They couldn’t explain what was seen, much less unseen. She had acquired lifetimes of knowledge, but all she knew was that her knowledge only scratched the surface of the deep mysteries.
If she were to pass through the gates, all would be lost. She hadn’t yet found one worthy of her instruction.
She focused on her attack once again. These first few moments were critical. A small error here doomed the entire attempt.
It was as perfect as she could make it. Nothing more remained for her.
She allowed herself to lean back in her throne. Physically, her body was young, continually healed by powers she used but didn’t comprehend. But her body still ached. Her soul was heavy, carrying the weight of all those years.
No one understood.
She glanced one last time at the swirling mass of moisture, wind, and heat.
Perhaps if he survived, he would someday understand. In all her years, she’d never met someone with his potential. Even as he’d shattered her gate and delayed her carefully laid plans, he’d proven his worth.
He could be turned. He coveted her strength, and that would be his downfall.
She’d failed in her attempt before, a fact remarkable by itself. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come to her side.
Even if he traveled to the gate, she would meet him there and make him beg for her welcome.
Brute force wasn’t the answer. His spirit was too strong to be cowed, even by one such as her.
But there were other ways.
Subtle, yet more effective.
Like the storm she had just launched across the sea, a person could be manipulated by small degrees.
Humans always thought themselves so rational. After the fact, they could justify any action.
She understood truth, though.
Humans were emotional and chaotic, manipulated by forces they didn’t even consciously recognize.
A glance at a lover that lasted too long.
A quiet whisper between friends.
A disappointed parental glare burrowing into the heart of a child.
Small events, quickly burned from memory, but not from behavior.
She’d planted seeds when they first met. In the intervening years, those seeds had grown and would continue to grow.
Safer if he died.
But if he survived, even this attack would nudge him in the direction she wished him to travel.
He had called her a queen.
But she was no queen.
Not anymore.
She was a god.
1
Brandt gave Kurl a small nod as he walked across the courtyard. The other monk was on gate duty this afternoon. Passing the alert guardian, Brandt remembered his own entrance into the monastery so many years ago. Kurl had been on duty that day as well. He’d recognized Brandt’s compulsion and let him inside, literally opening the gates to the next stage of Brandt’s life.
Without Kurl, then, there was no Brandt. Had that gate remained closed all those years ago, Brandt imagined his life would have been darker and much shorter.
That fateful decision had been a small one, at least from Kurl’s perspective. He’d admitted a visitor to the monastery whom he had every right and reason to turn away. The choice meant little to him, but it meant everything to Brandt.
Brandt found it easy to find countless such points in his life. When one started searching, dozens of moments burned like stars, choices and decisions that seemed meaningless at the time, but eventually changed the course of a life.
Cause and effect.
He’d been thinking too often about the concept lately. Everywhere he looked, he saw a vast web of interdependence.
He blamed Alena.
They might be separated by distance, but she had figured out a way to connect with him. They met in her mental world every week, comparing their learnings. They met in a construct of her mother’s kitchen, the place she felt most comfortable.
Together they advanced faster than Brandt believed possible.
But it wasn’t enough.
Even Highkeep served as evidence of Brandt’s concern. When Brandt had first come here the monastery had been a hive of activity. It always appeared quiet from outside the walls, but inside, dozens of monks threw themselves into daily training.
Today a bare handful remained. Brandt and Ana lived here, as did Kyla, the abbot. Kurl and six others rounded out the monastery’s current inhabitants. The rest were scattered throughout the empire, teaching their skills to the army and to city watches. Though the citizens of the empire weren’t aware of it, they were preparing for a war they had little chance of winning.
In another two weeks a group of monks were scheduled to return. Then Brandt and Ana would leave and continue the instruction while the others continued developing
their own skills.
Train yourself. Then train others.
That had been the emperor’s last command to the monasteries after Landow.
So Brandt trained. More than most monks, he was given the time and space to learn more about the powers that infused their world. Though Kyla would never order him to do so, Brandt still volunteered to train nearby city watches. He didn’t believe it was right for the other monks to bear the burden of preparing the people without him.
Besides, sometimes teaching led him to new discoveries.
Brandt finished crossing the empty courtyard, coming to the abbot’s study. He knocked and was welcomed in.
Kyla had served as the abbot of Highkeep since before Brandt’s arrival. She kept her hair cut short, betraying her own distant past in the military. Brandt gave her a short bow as he entered.
She wasted no time in pleasantries. “Ready?”
“I am.”
Kyla put her hand on her desk. Brandt heard the sounds of stone shifting within, unlocking a hidden compartment.
She pulled an uncut diamond out of the desk, clutching it tightly in her hand. “Which element shall we begin with?”
“Water.”
Without a word, she pulled some water from a nearby cup, letting it gather in the air between them. Then she pushed it at him.
Brandt heard the song of Kyla’s power and felt the water rushing toward his face. Pushing directly against the water would only cause it to disperse, soaking him.
Like a grappler, Brandt elected to use Kyla’s strength against her. Instead of fighting against her, he let his own strength redirect the water. The small sphere of water distorted as it whipped around his head and back at Kyla.
They could redirect the water back and forth for days with no winner. The task wasn’t particularly difficult for either of them. As Kyla mimicked Brandt’s redirection, sending the water back his way, she split it, not into two parts, but four.
A hint of a grin broke out on Brandt’s face. He redirected all four smaller spheres, splitting one into two. He sent three straight at her while allowing two to orbit around his head one more time.
It was training, but it was also playful, at least with water. Failure cost no more than a wet face most days. Other elements were less forgiving.
The water danced between them. Pushed, pulled, and redirected, at least one attack was always headed his way.
Stone followed water, and fire after that. In each element the pattern repeated. By the time the last flickering ball of flame was extinguished, both Brandt and Kyla were short of breath, sweat beading down their foreheads.
Kyla placed the stone back in her desk, straining against the effort of locking the hidden compartment after her exertions. She held Brandt’s gaze.
“I don’t know what more you hope to accomplish here,” she admitted.
Brandt wiped the sweat from his eyes. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“You’re as strong as any unaided warrior the empire has ever seen. Only the emperor is stronger, but without his gates, I suspect even you could challenge him.”
Brandt stood, pacing Kyla’s small room. He wanted to argue with the abbot, but to what end? They’d explored the problem from every direction. They had no answers, and his frustration had no outlet.
He rested his forehead against a cool stone wall, imagining the solid peace of the stone seeping into his bones. “It’s not enough.”
“I still think you should leave to study with the other abbots. Even a change of scenery may lead to the breakthrough you seek.”
Brandt thought of his last encounter with the queen of the Lolani. Two years had passed since that moment, and every day he felt her strength, imprinted somewhere deep in his heart. He might be one of the strongest in the empire, but whatever light he displayed was a dying candle against the roaring bonfire of the Lolani queen’s ability.
He could wander the empire for an age, meeting new teachers in every corner. It still wouldn’t be enough.
Now that he knew what was possible, nothing less was acceptable.
Given the futility of his efforts, why not stay where he was comfortable and welcome? In Highkeep he could put away daily concerns and focus on developing his skill.
“I’ll consider your wisdom.” They both knew it was a lie, but neither would point it out. “Thank you for your time, as always.”
Kyla nodded and Brandt took his leave. Kyla, aided by Highkeep’s gatestone, could barely keep up with him. As he continued to get stronger, that would become untrue. Then he would have no one to train with, no one to push him.
Perhaps Alena could construct some sort of mental training ground where he could further hone his skills. She claimed she had done something similar for herself.
He ran into Ana in the courtyard and his worries dissipated. If anything, the years had only increased her beauty in his eyes. She stood straight, her long dark hair undone today. He stepped close and grabbed her hands.
“How did it go today?” she asked.
Brandt sighed. “Well. Even when she is aided, I suspect that I will soon surpass her.”
“That is something to be proud of. But?”
“But it still doesn’t matter. This new strength still equates to nothing against the Lolani. I might win against their warriors, but against their queen I am nothing.”
Ana stepped closer to him. “I don’t like to hear you say that.”
“What?”
“That you are nothing. A person is more than just their strength. Once you begin to forget that, I’m not sure there’s a return.”
She was right, of course. Ana always was.
They’d all come back changed from the caves outside Landow. Alena discovered powers not yet developed by anyone in the empire. Brandt lived with the knowledge of his own limits and the power they faced. And Ana had become something of a philosopher. Each of them had brushed death. By Alena’s accounts she had even been to the gate. But Ana had perhaps been changed the most by the experience.
She held onto serenity now, a quality he admired more with every passing day. She would say it was because she had discovered what mattered to her, but Brandt wondered if the change went even deeper than that.
“I’ll try. I promise.”
Then he frowned. Ana’s presence had distracted him, but the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. Why?
Ana sensed the disturbance at the same time he did.
“What is that?”
It felt familiar, yet his memory refused to dig up the appropriate event. Where had he felt this?
Then it hit him. The heavy air, filled with moisture and unseasonable heat. The atmosphere held a menace to it, an intent.
This was what it was like before the queen had tried to assassinate the emperor years ago.
Brandt shouted. “Everyone run! Down the road! And ring the bell!”
The few monks in earshot hesitated, then leaped to action. The bell began to clang. Monks came out into the courtyard, ready for danger and confused when none appeared. They looked to him for answers.
“Get away from the monastery,” he said. “Leave, down the path.” They didn’t understand the queen’s ability to manipulate the weather, but they knew the attack couldn’t be aimed at a person, not exactly. Instead she aimed for a place where she knew a person would be. In this case, the monastery was the only reasonable target. If they put distance between them and the walls, no lives would be lost.
Orders were passed among the monks. Kurl opened up the gate as the first handful rushed to safety. Storm clouds appeared over the mountaintops, darker and taller than any storm had a right to be, racing across the sky with unnatural speed. Brandt wouldn’t have much time to effect his own escape.
He made himself light, running through the hallways and corridors of his home. Off in the distance he heard the first rumbles of thunder, deeper than normal. He felt the reverberations in his stomach. He woke one monk sleeping undisturbed through th
e bells and shooed him out, still groggy. Other than that, the monastery was empty.
The rain started, a sudden downpour that drenched every stone in sight. Brandt ran, sprinting toward the gate as fast as his legs and lightness could carry him. He passed the gate just as the first bolt of lightning struck behind him, a blinding flash and deafening roar washing over him.
For several agonizing moments he ran on instinct alone. Off to the edge, the path ended precipitously, but he needed every bit of distance he could get between him and the monastery.
Fortunately, his instincts guided him well. He remained on the path and his vision cleared after just a couple of heartbeats.
A second flash hit, far more powerful than the first. His world became light and sound. The blast threw him into the air and tossed him to the ground face first. Brandt knew he needed to move. He was too close.
But he couldn’t convince his body. He cowered, burying his face into the stonework of the road and covering his head with his hands.
In time, the echoes of the blast faded, the mountains echoing the final reverberations.
Brandt blinked and slowly raised his head.
He lived.
He lifted his gaze higher, to the threatening sky. The impossibly tall clouds had already diminished as they passed beyond the monastery. So many forces of nature had been manipulated to bring one powerful event into being. As unnatural as it was, it couldn’t last.
The order of the world reasserted itself in time.
Perhaps that was some consolation.
It was all that he had. Brandt sat up and for the first time saw his home.
Or what remained of it.
The queen’s attack had struck true. Perhaps it had looked and sounded like lightning, but it had been something more. The blast had destroyed three of the monastery’s buildings and damaged the rest.
Brandt couldn’t conceive of the energies required for such an attack.
He knew he was weak compared to the queen, but the ability to work this technique seemed impossible. For every step he took toward her skill, she ran a league.