Beyond

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Which of the packs is yours, milord Duke?” the Doll asked, as he stood there, taking it all in. He eyed the bed dubiously; the Doll hadn’t specified that there was a bedchamber for Beltran. Was he expected to share it with Beltran? He could, it wasn’t as if the idea offended him, but—“Uh, the blue one,” he replied absently.

  The Doll carrying the blue pack took it to the wardrobe, opened it, and began putting his clothing away. The Doll carrying Beltran’s brown canvas pack began taking it out of the room, then turned and looked at Beltran, who had not moved. “If you would come with me, Duke’s Companion?” it whispered. “I shall show you to your chamber.”

  Well, that’s a relief.

  Beltran followed the Doll apprehensively, as the other Doll opened a door in the left, non-curved wall. “This is your chamber of bathing and personal hygiene,” it said, gesturing to him to come and look. And sure enough, there was a bathroom like the exceedingly convenient ones in his own manor, with an enormous tub, the kind of close stool where the waste flushed down, presumably into a sewer or tank, and a sink and mirror. And a door in the opposite wall. “You will be sharing this with your companion?” The Doll sounded tentative, as if it expected him to disapprove.

  “That will be fine,” he said, still a bit dazed, because this was nothing at all like his experience here as a foster, where he’d shared a tiny little sliver of a room with Hakkon, and a bathroom with a dozen other male fosters.

  “Will this serve?” it asked anxiously.

  “This will be fine. More than fine!” he told the Doll.

  “Milord Duke will be served by three of us, if that is sufficient,” the Doll said. “This one, and the two pack-carriers. Will that be sufficient?”

  He wanted to tell the thing that he’d rather not be served by any of them, because to be honest he found them unnerving, but he suspected that would only cause the Doll distress. “That will be fine,” he repeated.

  The Doll pointed to a copper chain hanging beside the bathtub. “The Duke must merely pull one of those chains, and one of us will come to serve,” it said. “And we will be at hand at all times. We will also come to guide you to all functions and appointments.” It handed him a copper chain bracelet. “If milord Duke will put this on, the Duke has but to approach a Gate and speak the name of the chamber he wishes to enter, and the Gate will take him there. The Duke’s companion has been given one as well.”

  Kordas knew that this kind of formal speech was a Court standard, but he found it stilted, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What do I call you?” he said at last.

  The Doll suddenly froze. “Please forgive,” it said after a long pause. “This one does not understand.”

  “What do I call you?” he repeated. “Your name, what is it? I can’t just call you ‘Doll.’”

  It froze again. “Why . . . would . . . milord Duke . . . wish this one to bear a name?”

  “Because it’s polite?” he replied.

  This time the pause was very long indeed, and he was afraid that he might have broken the poor thing. Finally, though, it responded. “Milord Duke may call this one what he pleases.”

  Well . . . I’m sure of one thing. Whatever is bound in there, it’s no demon. It’s intelligent, it’s aware, and it’s a slave. Bile rose in his throat. “Come with me, please,” he said, and left the bathroom, followed by the Doll. The other Doll had finished putting up his clothing, leaving the pack neatly folded in the bottom of the wardrobe, and he signaled to it that it was to follow as well. They all entered Beltran’s bedroom, which was identical to his, just in time to find the third Doll opening the door to the shared bathroom and explaining the chamber to his Herald. He waited while the Doll went through its patter, and cleared his throat to get its attention.

  “Beltran, do you have anything on you that will make a permanent mark?” he asked, knowing that Beltran certainly would, since one of Beltran’s functions was to be his personal secretary.

  Beltran produced a tiny pot of ink and an equally tiny metal pen from a belt-pouch with a flourish. Kordas took them from him, and turned to the first Doll. “Am I allowed to make a mark on you?” he asked.

  “The Duke may do what he wishes with this one, and any other Doll,” the Doll said. “The Duke may break a Doll’s limbs, burn a Doll, practice marksmanship upon a Doll, paint upon a Doll—”

  “Stop!” he said, sickened. “We have no intention of doing any such thing to you, do you understand? I just want to add a little mark on each of you so Beltran and I can tell you apart.”

  “As you will,” the Doll said. “But one Doll is the same as any other—”

  “No, you are not,” he said forcefully. “I know that, and you know that, and it’s only decent to acknowledge that. Now, since you either don’t want us to know your names—which is fine, that’s your right!—or we can’t pronounce your names, or there is some other reason, and you’ve said I can call you what I like, I am going to give you names.” He dipped the pen in the inkpot and very carefully scribed a five-pointed star between where the eyebrows would have been. “You are Star.”

  “This one is . . . Star,” the Doll repeated, and it sounded a little stunned.

  He went to one of the other two, and scribed a five-petaled flower on its forehead. “You are Rose.”

  “Rose,” the Doll said obediently.

  He went to the third Doll and scribed a three-leaved clover on its head. “And you are Clover.” He pointed to each of them in turn. “Star, Rose, and Clover. Is that all right with you?”

  “As you—”

  “Please answer the question,” he said patiently. “Is that all right with you? Are there some other names you’d like to be called?”

  “These names are . . . fine,” said Star. “These names . . . are . . . lovely,” Star added, wonderingly.

  He heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Now, I have a question, and I hope it’s not intrusive. Are you three just going to hang about the apartment all the time?” I really hope not. It’s going to take a while to get used to these things. He hated feeling that way, because it seemed wrong, but on the other hand, the Dolls were . . . well . . . creepy.

  “Oh no, milord Duke!” Star said with what sounded like a shocked gasp. “That would never do! There is a storage chamber behind the middle door of the common room. That is where we are, until needed.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure that was any better, but . . . “Are you all right there?”

  “It is where we belong,” Rose said simply. “Clothing belongs in a wardrobe. Dolls belong in a storage chamber.”

  Ugh. But . . . all right.

  “Well, now what are we supposed to do, Star?” he asked. “Is there somewhere we are supposed to be? Some function we are supposed to attend?”

  Long silence. Finally Star spoke. “If . . . this one . . . may presume?”

  “Presume away,” he replied, preferring this to utter servility.

  “Milord Duke’s wardrobe is . . . inadequate by Court standards. This one could, if the Duke wishes, draw a bath, take the Duke’s measurements, and order luncheon to be brought up, and an adequate wardrobe will be delivered before the Court meets at dinner?”

  He ran his hands through his hair and puffed out his cheeks, thinking this over. On the one hand, he didn’t want to be completely embarrassed, and if the Doll had noticed that his clothing was “inadequate,” then he might be the equivalent of a stablehand at a High Feast. Ludicrous. Maybe dangerously so, because the one thing he did not want to do was leave the impression that he was to be treated like trash.

  Not good.

  “Can I ask for modifications to that idea?” he said, finally.

  “As you will,” all three of them said at once.

  “An adequate but simplified wardrobe,” he stated. “Cut ornamentation to a bare min
imum. Absolutely nothing that stands out. Austere, if you understand. Very conservative.”

  The three of them then turned to face each other in a little huddle, and stood there in long silence for a very long time.

  “Milord, what are they doing?” Beltran asked. The lad didn’t seem to be as nervous now, a fact that spoke well of him.

  “Conferring with each other, I suppose?” he hazarded, just as Clover turned back to face them.

  “This can be done,” the Doll stated. “And it can be done for the Duke’s companion—”

  “Beltran,” the lad said firmly. “Call me Beltran. I’m the Duke’s Herald and acting secretary.”

  “Ah!” Rose exclaimed. “Yes, this can be done for Beltran, now that we know your rank.”

  “A conservative wardrobe will be even easier to fabricate,” said Star. “We will have it after luncheon.”

  “Then let this be done,” he said, and felt some tension draining out of him. “Just one thing. Boots, not shoes.”

  “As you will,” said Clover . . . with just a faint hint of disapproval.

  He smiled. “Now about that bath—”

  “If the Duke will come to the chamber—”

  “And the Duke will undress himself, if you please,” he said firmly.

  Was there a hint of a sigh?

  “As you will,” said Star.

  * * *

  —

  The best way to keep one’s mind off troubles, at least in Delia’s experience, was to work. And since Jonaton and the Six needed her to “anchor” them while they made that temporary Gate for Ivar, as soon as Kordas and the tribute-train had gone through the Gate to the Capital, the subterranean workroom was where she took herself.

  All seven of them were already there, muttering and disagreeing and then agreeing again, and doing things with herbs and stones and bits of string and candles and chalk that all made no sense whatsoever to her.

  “Is Isla going to help?” she asked, once there was a lull in the proceedings.

  “Isla? No, we don’t need Isla, and she has things of her own to do,” Jonaton said absently. But then he looked up and really saw her, and beckoned to her. “Sit here,” he ordered, pointing to a stool that was behind the pair of stone “horns.” She saw now that he had moved them farther apart. “She needs to make sure none of the cats gets down here. Herding cats is enough of a job for ten people, but Isla is an army unto herself. Ivar should be here any moment.”

  And just as he said that, Ivar did appear, from a different entrance than Delia had come by. His unruly blond hair was confined by a practical sweatband, and he was burdened with a pack and a belt festooned with weapons. There was a crossbow and a quiver of bolts, a good long knife, an axe, a sling, and a bag of shot, and perched on the top of his pack was a helmet.

  He himself wore a good set of leather armor: tunic, bracers, and upper arm pieces, a gorget, and a pair of the stoutest boots Delia had ever seen in her life. His great black mastiff Bay was at his side, looking solemn and business-like, right up until Ponu exclaimed, “Doggo!” and Bay’s tail wagged. Sai confirmed, “That’s a fine big pupper, that is.”

  Jonaton glanced over and asked, “He didn’t go after the cats, did he?”

  Ivar patted Bay on the side with firm thumps. “Didn’t need to. They fled at first sight.”

  “What a good boy,” Ponu declared, despite a glare from Jonaton.

  Dole looked Ivar over skeptically. “No sword?” he asked.

  “Swords are good against humans, not so much against animals. Not that we’ll actually fight unless we have no choice,” Ivar replied easily. “If we run into anything like that bear, Bay will harry it on one side while I plink at it on the other, with the idea of making it run away. I’m not there to do anything more than look for your body of water. Not even long enough to need my horse. Besides, the horse won’t fit through this Gate.”

  “Well said,” Ponu agreed. “You’re smarter than you look.”

  “If I wasn’t, I’d also be deader than I look,” Ivar laughed.

  Delia had to smile a little. Ivar really was smart.

  “All right, then, let’s make this thing happen!” said Sai. It seemed to Delia that despite his eager tone, he was covering up a lot of anxiety. She was pretty sure she was right when she noticed that, as he lined up two sets of six large crystals with each of the two stone horns, his hands shook a little.

  He looked up, caught her staring, and schooled his expression into something other than tense. “Curious, kitten?” he asked, his tone far too jocular. “A Gate has to be powered by something, and we don’t want to alert anyone in the Capital by pulling on the energies that power that Gate down by the village. So we’ve been making these storage crystals for as long as the Plan has been in existence. Twelve is probably too many—”

  “But better too much than not enough,” interrupted Ceri, and gestured to Ivar to come stand opposite of Delia.

  “Am I going to feel anything?” she asked, just a little apprehensively.

  “Not a thing. You haven’t a spark of magic in you,” said Dole. “That’s why we want you here, we told you. You’re the rock that’s going to keep everything weighted down.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be compared to a rock, but—

  At that moment, the entire room lit up as all the inherent diagrams and lines and most of all the twelve crystals and the two stone horns flared into life. It was so bright, in fact, that she had to shield her eyes for a moment.

  When she could look again, she saw . . . absolutely nothing. From this side of the Gate, there was nothing whatsoever going on between the two arcs of stone.

  But Ivar’s face reflected a rippling light, and she could see just a little bit of it in the reflections from his eyes and the metal bits of his armor and weapons.

  “Go!” shouted Ponu.

  Ivar and Bay walked confidently toward her.

  And vanished from sight as they passed between the stone horns.

  “Don’t move!” shouted all seven of the mages as she stirred a little, wanting to get up and see whatever it was they were seeing.

  She froze.

  Silence filled the cellar. Finally she broke it.

  “Um—”

  “You stay there until Ivar comes back, even if that takes until sunset,” said Ponu sternly, as Jonaton sagged down onto a stool. It appeared that he had done the brunt of the work. “I certainly hope it won’t take that long. The longer this thing stays open, the more likely it is someone in the Capital will sense something.”

  “And if he’s not back by sunset, he’ll have to camp there,” added Dole.

  “Does he know that?” she asked, alarmed now.

  “Of course he knows that! Why do you think he was carrying that pack?” Koto snapped, speaking for the first time. “We’re not idiots! We gave him a thorough lecture!”

  “Well, not complete idiots,” Sai snickered, earning himself a glare from the usually silent mage.

  “Do you have something you can do?” Ponu asked. “A book you can read or something?”

  “I—uh—”

  “You didn’t give her a thorough briefing,” Sai pointed out. “You didn’t give her a briefing at all.”

  “I thought that was your job,” Wis accused.

  “Why should it be my job?” retorted Sai.

  “Because you aren’t good for anything but talking and baking?” said Ceri.

  Well, the resulting bickering that erupted was good for one thing, at least. It was entertaining. Entertaining for her, anyway.

  It was just as the bickering was dying down that Jonaton sprang to life again, pointing at the (to her) empty space between the stone horns.

  “He’s coming back!” he shouted.

  Elation mixed with alarm erupted on all seven faces, and
before she could ask what was going on, Bay suddenly appeared in a leap that carried him tumbling into Jonaton, knocking him to the ground. A moment later Ivar dashed into view as well, skidding to a halt on the floor of the chamber. The Circle burst into confused shouting, of which she could make nothing except extreme agitation.

  So she did the only thing she could think of. She stood up and moved.

  Light erupted from the crystals and the horn again, then blinked out, leaving her half blinded.

  “Well . . . that worked,” said Jonaton, as she rubbed her dazzled eyes. “Good job, Delia.”

  “Why were you running?” “Was it a bear?” “Was it wyrsa?” “Was—”

  “I was running,” panted Ivar, “because the seven of you pounded it into my thick head quite thoroughly that as soon as I found a body of water that suited us, I needed to get back here as quickly as possible to avoid alerting the mages in the Capital. So I did.”

  Silence.

  “Ah,” said Jonaton, finally. “Uh, well done.”

  “I want it known right now that I do not much care for that Gate you built,” Ivar said crossly. “It wasn’t like any Gate I have ever used before. It felt as if something was stretching and pulling me like taffy, and there were entirely too many things in the darkness between here and there that fancied a nice piece of taffy.”

  “Really?” Koto stood up and came to stand over the kneeling Ivar. “Can you—”

  “Later, Koto,” Jonaton cautioned. “We’ll go over all of this later. Right now—you said you’d found what we need?”

  Ivar began laughing, in between panting for breath. “Good gods, I could smell it, it was so close! More to the point, so could Bay, and it was his nose I was counting on. When I got to the other side—this Gate dumped me out in the middle of a lot of trees, facing west.”

  “That’s good, because that’s what I was going for,” Jonaton said with satisfaction.

  “Well, I could smell water, and I told Bay to find it. We hacked our way through some brush, got to the other side of the trees, and found ourselves above a sort of bowl, a flattened, round valley. Most of the valley was filled with a lake in the shape of a crescent. A big lake, bigger than anything in this Duchy, for sure.”