The Temple

by Cameron Mitchell

  Halas realized that though there had been light during their battle, he’d not really seen Gilshenn until now.

  “You’re a gnome!” he said. And he was. Around the beard were rosy cheeks and a thin, pointed nose. Gilshenn’s bald, rounded head stopped right above Halas’ waist. His hands were pudgy. Gilshenn smiled, and then did something that surprised Halas.

  Gnome or human, two millennia old or a mere two decades, there was no mistaking the gesture that could mean a million things at once or nothing at all.

  No, there was no mistaking a shrug.

  “Up here!” Desmond hissed before Gilshenn could respond further. Halas looked. Their glade was at the base of a small hill. Desmond had crawled to the top. He gestured for Halas and Gilshenn to stay low, and they did, shimmying up through the snow. Halas looked at where Des was pointing.

  The hill leveled out into tundra. A few dozen yards away, Halas saw Aeon and Elivain, on their knees, surrounded by armed men.

  And before them stood Raazoi.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daylight

  “Where is it?” she demanded, slapping Aeon across the face with the back of her hand. He fell on his back, red lines drawn across his cheek. Blood trickled into the snow and turned it pink.

  “I do not know!” he spit.

  Raazoi did not bother to wipe it from her chin. “If you do not tell me what I wish to know, things will become very unpleasant for you. Where is the bloody Temple?”

  Aeon shook his head. Three of the soldiers were wounded from their fight to subdue the two travelers, and Aeon had a large red mark covering the lower portion of his face that had already started to bruise. Raazoi walked to him, getting to her knees and closing the distance.

  “I can make things unpleasant if you refuse to cooperate, and yet, I can please you in ways you have never been pleased, my young prince.” She took him in hand, and he drew in a sharp breath. “I can show you things.”

  Elivain growled. He propelled himself to his feet, lowered his head, and charged. He struck Raazoi squarely in the midsection, and whatever power she had momentarily gained over the boy was lost as she crashed to the snow. One of the soldiers lunged, yanking Elivain up by his hair. Elivain jerked free and struck this man as well, using only his head to fight someone who had both weapons and armor. A second soldier pushed his friend aside and bashed Elivain with the pommel of his sword. Elivain toppled. The blow had opened up the skin of his brow, and blood trickled down his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Aeon moved to rise, but two soldiers clamped mailed fists down on his shoulders, driving him painfully back down.

  Climbing to his knees, Elivain stared icily into the eyes of one of the soldiers, the man who had hit him. The man blanched.

  Halas could hear their voices now. He, Des, and Gilshenn snaked their way across the tundra. Halas was several foot-lengths ahead of the gnome, but he could feel Desmond’s breath on his exposed ankles. He took yet another fistful of thin grass and pulled himself forward. He was tired, cold, and wet. He wanted to go home. As he crawled, he worried about Aeon. The prince had a vague idea of where the Temple was, but Raazoi seemed to want exact coordinates. What would happen if he didn’t tell her anything?

  What would happen if he did?

  Halas cursed quietly, forcing himself to think about other things. Cailin flashed into his head, smiling and laughing. It made his eyes cloudy. He thought of Halbrick, of Conroy. He thought about his cottage. His bed. His soft, comfortable bed.

  His fingers were cold and stiff. He tucked them into his sleeves and crawled with his elbows. He wished more than anything he could massage his aching leg, but there was no time to waste.

  That was when Aeon screamed. It was a piercing, shrill wail filled with anguish. It carried across the tundra, echoing off the distant mountains. Halas could not endure it anymore—his friend was in trouble. He had to move now.

  So Halas stood, and drew his sword.

  At that moment, absolutely everything went wrong.

  His fingers were frozen. He was able to hold his sword until it came from the sheath, at which point he was suddenly no longer gripping the weapon. He simply could not feel his fingers. The sword bounced off of one of the soldiers, and the momentum of the action carried Halas forward, tripping over his own feet. He cried out as he hit the ground. The soldiers swarmed him in moments. Halas could hear them bearing down. Cold, metal hands gripped his jerkin and hauled him up. Suddenly he was face-to-face with the ugliest man he’d ever seen. The soldier had even fewer teeth than Walter, and his breath smelled of stale onions. He coughed in Halas’ face. Halas tried to pull away, but another man had grabbed his shoulder. He fought down the waves of terror that threatened to drown him, and thrashed in their grip. Halas kicked out, and was suddenly free.

  Desmond saw his friend go down and leapt to his feet, his own sword glinting in the pale sunlight. The soldiers were grabbing Halas. Desmond pitched into them, swinging his blade at the nearest soldier’s helmet and knocking him into the others. Another soldier threw out the butt end of his spear, knocking Desmond’s legs out from under him. He sprawled on his back, but managed to bring his sword up in time to parry the man’s spear.

  “Desmond!” Elivain yelled. “Raazoi is the threat! Attack the girl!”

  Desmond sprang nimbly to his feet. He spared a glance at Halas. His friend had regained his ground and was scrambling for his sword. Des wanted to go to him, but Elivain was right; Raazoi was the threat. He cleared the wreck, twirling the blade and leaving Halas and Gilshenn to deal with the men. The witch smirked at his charge. He lifted his blade above his head, roaring louder than he thought possible.

  That was as far as he got.

  Raazoi smirked, lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers. Desmond realized it was a spell a moment too late. His arms and legs were suddenly heavy; he couldn’t move them, it was as if they were encased in stone. He fell forward but rebounded back into place like a reed in the wind; his feet were firmly rooted to the dirt. The sword fell. Raazoi ran her tongue across her lips, and then Desmond couldn’t breathe.

  So occupied was she that she didn’t notice Aeon. The prince’s hands were bound behind his back. Despite this, he threw himself forward, tackling Raazoi with his shoulder and bearing her down. This woman had killed Tormod, and she would pay dearly for that. Aeon wanted nothing more in that moment than to hurt her.

  Desmond came free of the spell almost instantly. He scooped up his blade.

  “Untie me!” Elivain hissed. Des complied.

  Halas reached his sword just in time. He rolled on to his back and parried a spear thrust that would have eviscerated him. The man stumbled and would have crushed Halas, but Halas rolled away. The soldier hit the ground. Halas climbed over him and attacked his comrades. Two of them moved to face him. He slashed wildly, trying to get a better measure of their fighting prowess. The onion man batted away Silvia with his shield. Despite being half a foot-length shorter than it ought to be, Halas’ sword held up remarkably well. Halas expected it to be no better than a stick, but that was not so. He lunged again. Neither man took their eyes from Halas. Onion circled around, trying to get behind him, but Halas retreated.

  The first soldier grabbed his trouser leg. Halas screamed. The soldier had lost both sword and shield in his fall, so Halas not expected him to get back into the fight from the ground. He had drawn a nasty looking dagger from a sheath on his hip. Halas kicked the man’s gauntlet away and stumbled. The three came on strong, spear and sword and dagger flashing in the sunlight. Halas parried the first few blows, but he was being forced ever backward. Where were his friends? He saw Gilshenn, swinging his hammer at two of the soldiers. They were undeterred.

  Onion man bashed his shield against his chest and barked laughter. Halas was desperate. The men were fast and well trained, and they outnumbered him. He parried for his life, unable to press an offense. There was no way he would win this fight. He tripped over his own feet, and was once again on the grou
nd.

  That was when Elivain entered the fray. He dove in from seemingly nowhere, wrapping his arm around Onion’s neck and dragging him away from the fracas. He’d managed to push the soldier’s helmet up and to the left, blinding him. Onion staggered away, trying to dislodge Elivain. He screamed for assistance, and suddenly Halas was fighting only one man, a man still laughing as he charged. And why shouldn’t he laugh? Halas thought. He fights a gnome, a boy, and an unarmed man. On top of all that, he has a witch at his back. It’s a miracle we aren’t all dead already.

  He threw himself forward, smacking the soldier’s dagger with enough force to knock it out of his hand. The man reached for it, but Halas pushed in close, driving his jagged chunk of steel into the gap between breastplate and helmet. The man choked and fell away with a spray of blood. Halas shuddered as it struck him, pleasantly and shockingly warm. He stumbled, feeling numb to the whole experience. Everything was a blur. Desmond and Aeon stood over Raazoi. Elivain had stolen a soldier’s spear and killed three of the men. He and Gilshenn were closing in on the fourth. They finished him quickly. With Elivain involved, the men had never had a chance. It had lasted seconds, and just like that, Raazoi was alone, and she was surrounded.

  “It’s over,” Elivain declared.

  “Halas, Des,” Aeon said, “you’re alive!”

  Desmond nodded. Halas, his breath hard in coming, offered the prince a weak smile. In truth, he was glad to see him, and overjoyed that they had arrived in time. He put a hand on his chest, could feel his heart pounding beneath the surface.

  Raazoi’s eye was already swollen. Bruises dotted her face and neck. There was a series of cuts from where she’d scraped her cheek on hitting the ground. Her dress was torn in several places, revealing shapely leg and stomach. Halas forced his eyes upward. She looked at Gilshenn. “You. You know where it is. Tell me.”

  “Are you mad?” he snapped.

  “We should kill her,” said Elivain.

  “I agree,” said Aeon. He bent down and took up a sword, cutting himself free as he did so. An uneasy rumble came up from Halas’ gut. Now that the fight was over, he found himself thinking again. Raazoi was in their custody. They could not kill her.

  “No!” said Halas. “She’s harmless. We take her back with us.”

  “For what?” Aeon demanded. “To stand trial for her crimes? She has my mother in her pocket! For the love of Aelborough, Halas, she has to die. She is far too dangerous to be left alive.”

  “I don’t care. I will not murder an unarmed woman, and neither will I let any of you.”

  As they argued, Raazoi stared at Gilshenn. The gnome was silent. Dropping his hammer, he put grizzled fingertips to his forehead. One of the nails cracked and flaked off. There was no blood. “My head,” he whispered.

  “You are very old,” Raazoi whispered. “The last of your people. Why don’t you roll over and let them go?”

  “He is not the last!” Halas snapped, pointing his sword. “Do not listen to her, Gilshenn. Your people live side-by-side with mine all across Aelborough.”

  “Heed not the words of a snake,” Aeon whispered through gritted teeth.

  “He is the last. The last free gnome. His descendents were made as slaves.”

  “You lie,” he whispered.

  “My people suffered a similar fate. But we fought. We fought against the unjust, the corrupt, the tyranny of man, and that is why we were banished.

  “Well, I must thank you, Gnome.”

  “For what?”

  She disappeared.

  Elivain lunged, but she was already gone. Gilshenn fell forward. Halas rushed to his side, rolling him over. He was bleeding from his eyes and mouth. For the first time, his skin showed signs of age. Gilshenn’s already gray hair turned an unhealthy black and fell from his scalp in patches. Wrinkles cut through his cheeks and chin like a lance. His forehead tightened. What few teeth he had left began to follow his hair, cracking, breaking, and falling into the back of his throat.

  “Dammit!” Elivain screamed. “We should have killed her!”

  “Gilshenn? Gilshenn!” Halas shook him gently. He was suddenly aware that the gnome’s body was very old, very fragile, and Halas had no wish to hurt his new friend further. “Gilshenn, please. Where is the Temple?”

  Gilshenn coughed. “It is my time,” he croaked. “That girl was right. Time to sleep, Gilshenn Sidoor. Good night.”

  “No! Gilshenn, where is the Temple?”

  Gilshenn closed his eyes. Halas shook him again. “Gilshenn!”

  “Let me sleep, boy.”

  “GILSHENN!”

  “What!”

  “Where. Is. The. Temple?”

  “It’s—oh, you’re making this complicated. Come here, take my hand.”

  Halas did, tentatively. He didn’t know what Gilshenn was thinking, but he suspected the poor gnome was simply delirious. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Just hold on. This is going to feel odd. It did for me, at least.”

  Gilshenn was right. It did feel odd.

  The world went black, and then changed. Gone was the snow, the cold, the smell of blood. Gone were his friends. The harsh tundra was replaced by a familiar and wonderful scene. Halas Duer had been transported from the arctic wasteland to the site he had often shared with the love of his life. Their knoll.

  And she was there with him.

  Cailin curled up in the crook of his arm, warm against his side. She smelled of daisies, her favorite flower. She ran a light fingertip up his chest. Halas’ flesh prickled at the touch, even through his tunic. He sighed, but then everything came upon him in a rush, a physical blow that made him reel. Halas jolted to his feet and whirled around. What happened? What is going on?

  “Halas,” Cailin asked, straightening, “are you all right? What’s the matter?”

  “I’m…Cailin, how long have we been here?”

  “Forever.”

  “I have…” he stopped. Forever? “What?”

  “You and I began here, and we will end here. This place is forever. You know that.”

  “Cailin, I’m not supposed to be here right now. I haven’t been here in months.”

  “I know. This isn’t real, and it’s not a dream. I don’t know what to call it, frankly.”

  Halas was warming up already, but his blood froze as she spoke. “You aren’t Cailin, are you?”

  “I’m afraid not. Would you like me to be someone else?” Cailin’s body shifted then. Her skin darkened, her breasts filled, her legs lengthened. He knew this to be some illusion, but felt a pang of regret nonetheless as she disappeared. “Jassia, perhaps?”

  He took a step back. If he hadn’t seen the transformation himself, he would have believed this to actually be Jassia. It was a perfect replica. “How do you do that? Who are you?”

  Jassia sighed. “I’m a lot of things. Once you’ve been through what I have, you pick up a few tricks. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to look upon me as I truly am.”

  “Try me.”

  “No. Your mind would explode. Literally. Humankind cannot behold me.”

  That seemed to be an acceptable answer. Halas took what Jassia said as truth, solid fact. He didn’t know why, or how, but he knew that whatever this thing was, it wasn’t lying. Perhaps it couldn’t lie. That seemed to make about as much sense as anything else.

  “I am a servant of Equilibrium. Do you know what that is?”

  “I have heard of it.”

  “Good. Without us, without stability, there would be nothing, chaos. Good or evil, no one desires this. Chaos would mean the end of all things.”

  “Are you a god?”

  “No. I am more than that. Aren’t you listening?”

  Suddenly Halas was in the Gate pavilion. The people around him were wraiths. His father stood, clear as stars in the night sky, at the wall, a proud statue. Fire spewed above his head. Jassia appeared beside him. “There is much in store for you, Halas Duer. Gilshenn Sidoor was my pupil, the
vessel from which I operated on your plane. He was loyal, obedient. He will be missed, but I have made a place for him in Heaven. He shall be happy there. My people are fairly rewarded. You will be one day, too.”

  “Gilshenn—is he dead?”

  “Not yet, though he will be soon. We haven’t much time, and all the time in the world. Things are funny here.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Many. None you would understand. Let us stick with Jassia, or would you prefer someone else?”

  Jassia began to change rapidly before his eyes. She became Halbrick; Halbrick became Desmond; Desmond became Conroy; Conroy became Garek. Halas fell to one knee at the spectacle of it. Something was digging at the back of his head. He put a hand to it and felt a lump. Something throbbed and twisted beneath his fingers. Halas’ vision blurred, and Garek faded before him. There was a hard ball of pressure building in his skull, like an everexpanding rat burrowing deeper into his brain. He was sweating. I’m in the middle of the tundra, why am I sweating?

  “You’re not there anymore,” Garek answered. “Not even on your plane of existence. I’m sorry about your head. I get ahead of myself sometimes. It happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.” Approaching Halas, Garek stopped and chortled to himself. “Ahead. Ha!”

  His brother laid a hand on his forehead, and Halas’ pain disappeared immediately. He stood on shaky legs. Now even his injured left leg felt good, better than it had since before the incident with the tigers. Garek looked solemn. “I’m afraid that won’t last,” he said. “When you return home, all your aches and pains will be restored. An unfortunate side effect.”

  And then he was at home, sitting with his brother in their bedroom. The window was an opaque mist, and the beds were made of red, pulsing straw. Halas tested one. “Why am I here? What do you want with me?”

  “I didn’t bring you here. You were sent.”