Gates of the Dead

by James A. Moore

  “Have you considered begging mercy from the gods?” Opar turned, fully expecting to see his cousin with a foolish expression on his face.

  Instead he stared into the cavernous mouth of a He-Kisshi and at the vast rows of sharp teeth that filled that maw.

  He was suitably terrified. The Undying were not kind at the best of times and as they were currently speaking for gods angry enough to end the world, Opar felt justified in backing his horse away.

  The creature floated in the air, its wings snapping softly on a breeze that spilled from the messenger of the gods and pushed the damp earth below it away in slow waves.

  “Have I not already made my loyalty known?” Opar’s voice shook with a blend of fear and anger. “Have I not obeyed every order I have been given?”

  He resisted the urge to draw his sword. The creature was a messenger, not the source of his troubles. “Even as you have destroyed all that I ruled over, I have made the sacrifices that were demanded of me. I slit the throat of my own son for the gods!” His vision broke into shards at the memory. He’d ridden from Stennis Brae with his entourage and returned to his camp a hundred leagues away, while the other kings discussed how they would avoid doing what the gods demanded. Opar loved his son, loved his wives, but in the end had sacrificed his firstborn to appease the gods for another month.

  That month was not yet gone, but his kingdom was shattered and the greatest city in the Five Kingdoms, the very heart of Giddenland, Edinrun, was gone just the same, ripped away from the world.

  The hooded form tilted its head, the vast teeth falling into shadows as lightning shattered the skies above Torema yet again. “Your capital city is still there. It is placed where it will remain safe until all is done. Whether or not Edinrun is returned to you depends on you, Opar, king of Giddenland.”

  The creature’s words confirmed what Daivem Murdrow, the witch woman from Louron, had told him. “Then stop toying and tell me what I need to do!” He bellowed the words before he could stop himself, knowing that they were a horrid mistake.

  The clawed hand of the He-Kisshi caught his throat so fast that he never saw the move coming. A moment later the man who was one of the most powerful mortals to walk the Five Kingdoms was cast into the mud.

  Opar turned his head, prepared to stand back up, but before he could even reach his hands and knees the winged shape moved past his horse and landed in the muck inches from his face. The great, clawed feet found purchase, and that same hand that had cast him aside grabbed the back of his tunic and cloak and lifted him easily into the air.

  “You dare to raise your voice to me?” The words shuddered as they escaped the vast mouth. The lips of the Undying’s “hood” peeled back, revealing the pink gums that surrounded the teeth, the nearly endless teeth that looked capable of biting through good steel.

  “Forgive me! Please! I am a fool!” Opar had never once in his life considered begging, but looking at the messenger of the gods he remembered that he was merely human and that he ruled only because the gods permitted it.

  For the second time he was cast across the cobblestones. As he rose this time around, the He-Kisshi came closer at a slower pace. Whatever anger it felt was now once again hidden behind the folded wings that made its cloak, and the teeth, the horrid, uncountable teeth of the thing, were lost in shadows.

  The rains hammered down around them but with a simple gesture of its hand the wind stopped, the storm abated.

  Rather than try to stand, Opar stayed on his knees and crawled in the filth, eager to please the Undying that stood before him.

  “I am unworthy. I have trespassed where I dare not. Please forgive me.”

  “I am Ohdra-Hun. Never speak to me that way again, foolish man, or I will peel the flesh from your bones, and I will take days to accomplish the task. Do you believe me?”

  The taste of mud and worse painted his tongue and Opar licked his lips. He nodded, momentarily unable to think of the words to say that might spare him the wrath of the Undying.

  Ohdra-Hun spoke again. “Beg the gods! Ask them how you might be spared! See if they are more merciful than I, their servant! Only do it now, before I change my mind!”

  Opar, king of Giddenland, conqueror of all that remained of Torema, looked to the lightning-clad skies and called out, “How may I serve? How can I be spared this madness?”

  The skies unleashed a flurry of lightning strikes at that moment. The buildings around the king of Giddenland were struck a hundred, perhaps even a thousand, savage blows, and the ground around him crackled with tongues of electricity.

  Had he thought Torema dead?

  Foolish, foolish man. Half-blinded by the white fire that poured from the sky, Opar saw the true death of Torema. Buildings shattered around him as lightning smashed through them and then exploded outward. Stone melted, wood burned, people, those foolish enough to think that they might, somehow, survive the chaos within the city, were incinerated if they were lucky or merely crippled if they were unfortunate.

  The very ground split not a hundred feet in front of him, gasping out blue flames and was instantly filled with the run off from the nearly endless rains. The cobblestones shattered and were replaced with muddied trails of water that washed down toward the ruined docks in the distance.

  The air vibrated with the endless roar of thunder. He felt the bones within his body shake and shudder as the sound overwhelmed every possible thought. Surely he should have been struck deaf. Surely he should have burned with the air, the ground, the buildings, but he remained unscathed.

  The barrage continued, the fury of the gods finally, truly, unleashed before Opar’s horrified eyes. His hair, wetted by rain, stood on end and he could see sparks spilling from one finger to the next as the world around him ended.

  Opar looked on, too scared to think clearly, too frightened to even consider moving.

  And after what felt like an eternity, the lightning moved, shifting toward the north and cutting a trench that led away from Opar, from the ruins of Torema to Opar knew not where. He watched on mutely, as the skies burned with that horrid, pale blue light and carved the world a vast scar.

  Eventually that light moved too far away for him to watch.

  Opar shook. He turned his eyes back to the Undying before him, and the creature loomed high above, looking down at him.

  “Stand up.” The words were a command and he obeyed without question.

  He looked around as Ohdra-Hun gestured, and saw that amidst the ruins an army of statues stood. Those statues were flesh and blood, but frozen for a moment in time. His cousin looked where the closest building had been, his eyes wide, his mouth agape, water running down his face and then down his torso. He did not move. He did not breathe.

  Below his cousin the horse looked ready to rear up in fright, but it did not move.

  Around him the dead burned on, or smoldered as the rains extinguished their corpses. Not far away he could see other horses, other figures standing or caught frozen in the act of riding. Humans and equines alike were unscathed by the fury that had shattered Torema beyond all repair. They remained motionless while all around them buildings burned, and the dying cried or moaned in agony as they got about the business of suffering.

  Every last one of those frozen forms sported the colors of Giddenland. Each horseman was his, every foot soldier obeyed his commands.

  Ohdra-Hun spoke. “You are spared. The gods have granted you this blessing.” One of those clawed hands pointed to the north, where even now he could see a trail of glowing embers that marked where the lightning had cut its swath across the land. “Follow the trail that is provided. Ride hard, as if your very life depended on it. When that trail ends, you will wait and you will be ready to kill for your gods.”

  The He-Kisshi stepped closer, until that hideous cowl was inches from his face and he could smell spices and rot spilling from the maw of the servant of the gods. Opar held his ground, though it was true he flinched back
a bit.

  “You have asked for mercy and been granted it. The blasphemers who defied the gods will meet you there. Be prepared to kill them. Do not fail, or I will be allowed the pleasure of killing you myself. Do you understand me, Opar?”

  He could not speak. He dared not. What if he offended the nightmare standing before him? For the first time he saw the eyes of the He-Kisshi, an endless streak of small orbs all along that vile mouth. Eyes as those belonging to a spider, or some other hideous creature best not considered.

  He nodded his head and bowed before the messenger of the gods.

  When he could no longer stand the silence, Opar raised his head and looked around. The Undying was gone and, as he watched, his people began to move again, to blink and cough the water from their mouths and gain control of the horses that were spooked by the unexpected changes around them.

  “Opar?” Rithman’s voice was strained as he looked to towards him, his face a mask of dread. “What has happened to Torema?”

  “The gods, cousin.” Opar’s throat hurt from the screams he never realized he’d let loose. “The gods happened. We have been spared and we will earn back their graces now, before the world ends.”

  As he spoke Opar reached for his mount and the horse, well-trained and worth every coin he’d spent on that training, waited patiently.

  “We ride!” Opar’s voice cracked, but the people around him heard and because he was a king, they obeyed. “We ride now! We ride to honor the gods!”

  The king of Giddenland rode to the north and his cousin followed and so did all of his people, though some took a while to fully comprehend the level of death and destruction around them.

  They rode, oh, how they rode, to get away from the corpse of dead Torema.

  Tully

  The men they’d fished from the waters were sailors, and one of them screamed a great deal as he was pulled aboard. The reason why was soon clear enough. His hand was gone, hacked away just above the wrist. He howled and yelled out in a language Tully did not know and finally a doctor was brought up from below decks.

  The man was held in place while the surgeon worked hastily to first clean the worst of the shredded meat from the wound and then to cauterize it. Five people held the man in place as hot metal was removed from a fire and used to seal the bleeding flesh. By the time it was done the man sobbed but no longer tried to move.

  One of the other sailors explained what had occurred and why.

  Tully looked on and considered that the man responsible for ending the world was still alive. According to several of the people on the ship the man was wanted by the gods themselves, and a deckhand from Hollum said if the man was given to the gods the world would be spared.

  Tully did not know if those words were true, but she suspected they had at least a seed of truth to them. She was not, however, among those invited to discuss the fate of the ship.

  Neither was Temmi and that fact nearly enraged the girl.

  “We’ve been on this journey, we’ve both lost people to the gods and their games, and yet when it comes time to decide if we should hunt down the fucking bastard that started all of this, we are told to stay put.” Temmi spat into the sea.

  “There can only be so many people deciding where a ship goes, Temmi.”

  “Well, I volunteer to be one of them!”

  “You aren’t big enough, mean enough, or wealthy enough.”

  “I’m plenty mean!”

  “Not so mean as the ones in charge, or you’d be over in that cabin and sharing in the discussion.”

  Lightning flashed and Tully looked into the skies above. “I’m for going below decks.”

  “Why?” Temmi frowned.

  “Because I might have seen something rather large floating in the clouds.”

  “How large?”

  “Undying large.”

  Temmi nodded. “Below decks. That’s the place for me.” They could say they were tough as long as they wanted and they’d proven themselves capable enough, but one of the He-Kisshi still wanted them dead, and Tully felt no need to advertise her whereabouts.

  Before they made it to the hatch the rain started in harder, pelting the wood enough to make the water splash up in fits.

  Once below deck they stayed together and moved to the room they were sharing with Stanna. There was no space on the ship to spare. Tully didn’t mind the close quarters, though she expected the other two would like privacy from time to time.

  “I still don’t see why we can’t be in on the discussion.”

  “Because we offer nothing special, do we?” Tully sighed and looked at her friend. “You are the daughter of merchants who delivered goods to the Grakhul. I am a cutpurse and pickpocket from Hollum. Yes, the He-Kisshi killed your family, which is a misery to be sure. Yes, I was chosen as a sacrifice and escaped. I’d just as soon not mention that to too many people. I may not be on the shortlist of people the Undying are actively hunting, but I’d rather they forget that I exist.”

  “I’ve proven myself.”

  Tully sighed. “Yes, you have. I’m wrong. Go right up there, head into the captain’s quarters and demand to be heard. Me? I’m going to get some sleep. I’m tired.”

  “Come with me.” Just that fast the indignant tone faded and was replaced with a slight note of begging and a dash of whine.

  “Are you mad?” Tully shook her head. “You’ve Hillar Darkraven and Stanna both in that room and you want to go in and demand that they listen to you? Stanna is your friend. She’ll likely listen, but right now she is here on the graces of the Darkraven herself, and we could all be tossed overboard if you offend.”

  The entire ship shuddered around them, and Tully was obliged to push her hand against the wall to avoid falling over.

  “I’m going anyway.” Temmi stood and shook her head. “I’ve every bit as much a right as they to decide where we go.”

  “Temmi, think this through, please. The Darkraven has a long history of not liking the people who cross her. That history includes making examples.”

  “I don’t intend to cross her, I just want to hear what they have to say and help convince them to do the wise thing.”

  “And what is the wise thing?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m still thinking.”

  “You are mad. You’ve lost your senses completely.”

  “What are your thoughts? I figure we continue on until we hit another land and hope the gods decide they’ve made their point, or we actually please the gods and stop them.”

  Temmi headed back up the stairs and despite herself, Tully followed.

  They reached the captain’s deck at exactly the right moment to be too late. The leaders who decided what must be done were stepping out, engaged in pleasant conversation. There was Hillar, looking grim but still managing a brisk pace. There was Stanna, looking more like a hunter at that moment than anything else, and behind her–

  “No.” Tully’s voice was very small as she stepped back and tried not to see what she was seeing.

  Theryn, the Blood Mother, walked out of the door behind Stanna, surrounded by her seconds.

  Theryn smiled as she saw Tully.

  Tully did not smile back.

  “Tully. So good to see that you are alive.” If a cat had a voice as it found a wounded mouse to toy with, surely that was the voice of Theryn in that moment. She’d sought after Tully for so long, and now she had her in a place where Tully could not hope to escape.

  Behind her Rik shook his head subtly and the others with Theryn smiled.

  “I’ve no quarrel with you.” Tully retreated a few steps as the rest came forward. Stanna frowned, Hillar pushed past, and those gathered around the Blood Mother spread out.

  Theryn’s smile did not change. She stepped closer, despite Tully’s best efforts to avoid that very thing, and looked down on her. “Nor I with you. What matters a few gold coins when the world is ending?”

  “I did not
take your coins.”

  “So you have already told me.”

  Stanna stepped closer, turning her back to Tully. “This one is with me. Should you have issues, discuss them with me. She is under my protection.”

  Oh, the change was subtle, but Tully saw it. Despite the best attempts to hide her disappointment, Theryn’s smile faltered a bit as she considered the larger woman.

  Without even considering the risk, Stanna looked away from the Blood Mother and said, “We are changing course. We go after the men who started this war with the gods.”

  Temmi opened her mouth and then closed it, slowly smiling when she realized the powers that be had agreed with her assessment.

  Tully’s feet shifted themselves into a better position as Theryn and the rest moved past her, each of the Blood Mother’s followers promising her she would die soon, either with an expression or a small gesture that would mean nothing at all to someone outside of the Union of Thieves.

  Tully noted each and every one of those gestures and promised herself that they would die first. She’d make it happen though she had no particular desire to do so.

  Just after Theryn passed her she saw shapes in the dark waters.

  They were slender and pale, and moved as much like fish as they did women, but she could see the streamers of white hair, and enough of their bodies to know they were at least human in shape if not design.

  The pale women glowed in the waters as Stanna and Temmi and then Hillar all joined her in looking. Not a dozen paces away, the Blood Mother and her ilk did the same.

  The women were a sight to see. Their bodies undulated, their arms cut the water before them and their legs moved as well, so fast that they seemed to blur. The shapes moved to the north like a school of fish and even as they did so the ship started turning, moving to follow in the same direction.

  “What are they?” Hillar frowned as she spoke.

  Temmi answered. “I think they are Grakhul. I saw enough of them in the water over the years.”

  Stanna frowned. “Those are the women I held as slaves for Beron?”

  Temmi nodded. “Best you surrendered them when you did.”