Gates of the Dead

by James A. Moore

  It let out an enraged roar and flew toward Brogan’s best friend, but before it could reach him Faceless lashed out and caught the shape in his long arms and pulled it toward his chest.

  Oh, how it struggled and growled, trying to break the grip and failing. Faceless made no sounds as it pulled the form closer still, wood-like fingers spreading and sinking into the thin fur of the Undying until the flesh beneath ruptured and blood flowed.

  The shapes above the ship dropped then, falling like stones and then adjusting to spiral down toward the wooden deck, even as the frost painted that wood a bitter white.

  Brogan moved his boots lest the vile stuff overtake him. Faceless stayed still and squeezed harder at the Undying even as frost grew on his body. The skin of his unusual companion grew white, but still Faceless continued to hold the struggling form, squeezing until bones creaked and then broke in his impossible grip.

  One of the things came down to aid its captured brethren and Harper planted several shafts in the body with the aid of two of the others. The remaining He-Kisshi were wiser. They did not land and they stayed out of arrow range as well.

  Harper added two more arrows to his work before the Undying rose out of range. One by one it pulled the arrow shafts from its body and cast them down into the waters. Each arrow that dropped steamed in the cold air and even in the dark of the overcast sky, Brogan could see that they, too, had frosted over.

  And each of the arrows that struck the waters hissed as it made contact. They splashed down and did not sink as they should have, but instead floated and skimmed along the surface of the sea. Each of them trailed lines of frost wherever they moved.

  The frost thickened and the waters slowed, growing white across the surfaces touched by the fallen missiles.

  Harper spat, his lean face set and furious.

  Brogan stared on, his mouth open in the cold air.

  Faceless let out a sound and his skin cracked where the frost was the worst. Despite that, he did not release his prey and the Undying let out a screech as the arms constricted even more. Something cracked loudly and the chest of the He-Kisshi caved in. Blood vomited from the oversized mouth.

  The shape in Faceless’s arms sagged and moved no more.

  Still the waves slowed and finally halted. The air grew bitter, cold enough that Brogan feared frostbite.

  Roskell Turn, slight and shivering, began to chant words. Moving his body in an effort to stay warm, perhaps, or as part of whatever it was he was attempting.

  The Galean cupped his hands around his mouth and exhaled. The air that came from him stretched and writhed like a wineskin filled with wriggling fish. It grew larger and he took that moving, seething thing and shoved it into his coat, shivering violently as he did so.

  The He-Kisshi came closer, staying just out of arrow range, and one of them settled at the top of the mast again.

  “You will die. All of you.”

  Brogan smiled. “And so will you.” It was not a kind smile. He was not in a kind mood. If he had any say in the affair, the Undying would join the gods in their fall from power.

  He intended to have much to say on the subject.

  The Undying circled the ship, high in the air, in most cases.

  Faceless took the broken thing he’d been fighting and cast it out onto the waters where it lay on the hardened surface, wings fluttering in the harsh winds.

  While they waited, the dead thing slowly stood and staggered, still broken but no longer dead. Brogan could see it mending and loathed that talent.

  “All of you will die!” The thing on the mast screeched the words and then rose into the air, rising higher and higher as it spiraled into the clouds.

  Brogan looked around and spotted what he wanted. The ship was equipped for long voyages and that meant sometimes resupplying from the offerings of the ocean itself. He had seen the harpoons earlier and asked one of the remaining sailors about them. There were ten of the things and each had a line attached. They would throw them at whatever fish they could find, or the dolphins that sometimes danced in the waves near ships. If they caught something in lean times, the crew managed to eat.

  As the one standing on the frozen waters started to spread its wings, Brogan took aim and hurled the harpoon. His aim was true and the force of the throw was good enough to let the barbed end puncture its belly. Already wounded and nowhere near at its full abilities, the thing fell again and shuddered.

  Brogan grabbed the thick rope, braced his foot against the frozen railing, and began hauling his new prize toward the ship. Harper did not help. Instead, with no encouragement needed, he notched an arrow and waited.

  The thing about his mates was, as surely as he could count on them to come to his aid, he could count on them to use their brains. Laram, who had every reason to hate him, was still below decks, but a few of the others made themselves useful and grabbed his rope, joining in tugging his prize aboard.

  The other Undying had been circling but they once more dropped lower, even as Brogan and two others began pulling the He-Kisshi’s dead weight up the side of the ship, grunting and straining.

  Like as not they’d have never gotten the thing onboard, but Faceless came over and helped. He had at least the strength of a dozen men, and when he pulled the body fairly leaped to join them.

  The other Undying came closer this time and Harper stared blankly at them. His face was serene and his eyes were soft and when he breathed there was a sense of peace and balance that came from him.

  His aim was true and the first arrow stuck in the side of an Undying’s “hood,” drawing blood and a scream from the thing.

  Brogan looked down at his bloodied prize and drew a large knife. “I’ve skinned one of you! I’ll skin another!”

  One of them spoke, “You cannot kill us all. And we will come back. You no longer have the power of Walthanadurn to aid you.”

  Brogan shook his head. “Are you so sure of that? Would you like to test it?”

  “The protections you were granted by the gods are gone. They no longer want you as a sacrifice. They merely want you dead.”

  The thing gestured and the wind that hit Brogan threw him back as easily as he might throw an infant. His footing on the ice was precarious at best and gone in an instant. He staggered and then hit the frozen deck, grunting at the unexpected impact. His blade slipped from him as he sought to stop the wind from casting him away.

  Faceless watched him slide, head tilted and likely considering what to do. Harper did not waste time with thought. He drew and loosed an arrow, and a second later the cloak around Brogan’s shoulders and neck stopped moving. The arrow drove deep into the deck and held the thick fur. Brogan grunted and shivered as the winds continued unabated. His attempts to stand were failures.

  He saw Jahda moving but barely had a chance to recognize the man before the harpoon he was carrying cut the air and struck the wind caster. The barbed tip slid through wing and arm alike and the He-Kisshi let out a shriek and the winds stopped.

  The skies above rumbled and shook and lightning cast false daylight across the ship, the sea, and the distant shoreline. The He-Kisshi screamed, “I’ll kill you all!” The beast reached with its other hand and pulled the harpoon through the bloodied arm, grasping the area under the barb and hauling the shaft of the weapon further along, until it was freed.

  Faceless stepped closer to Brogan and he felt an inordinate rush of affection for the creature. This was not its battle and yet here it stood, ready to fight beside him.

  The He-Kisshi lashed out. It threw the harpoon aside and spread the fingers of both hands. The hairs on Brogan’s body stood on end, and breathing became a challenge. He knew that he was as good as dead. That was all he needed to know. Perhaps the creature would strike them with lightning. Perhaps with another assault of wind.

  Instead of dying he saw the He-Kisshi explode into flames. One moment the creature was ready to attack, and the next fire licked across the whol
e of its body.

  Anna let out a scream of her own as her hand caught fire. He hadn’t even seen the woman come to the top deck, and now she fell to the wooden planks and waved her hand furiously in an effort to quell the flames licking at her fingers and trying to run higher up her arm.

  Next to her Roskell Turn stepped closer, as if to protect her, and at the same time he cast something into the air. It looked like a handful of pebbles, but they rolled in the air and rose, soaring in a widdershins gust of wind that lifted them higher until they faded from view, rising as high as the other Undying.

  Whatever he’d thrown into the air made itself known. Flashes of light made the sky as bright as day for one moment and then the He-Kisshi were falling from the skies to crash into the frozen waters.

  Faceless looked at the creatures on the ice and took in a massive breath. It looked as if the creature was thinking of how to attack, but instead it merely stared at the closest of the Undying.

  Roskell dug in his pockets, eyes wide and face a mask of panic. Brogan grabbed at another harpoon, desperate to find a weapon to take out the creatures before they could attack again.

  Whatever the Galean found, he threw it toward the waters and then ducked. Something dark rushed through the air and scattered toward the He-Kisshi. A moment later the skies were filled with lightning that danced across the frozen waves and found each of the Undying and caressed them with electrical tongues. The air roared. The sea broke. Frozen waves exploded and then melted in the heat of the electrical storm, sinking the Undying even as they burned.

  Jahda grabbed at the man who was supposed to be piloting the ship and pointed to the north. The man nodded, eyes wide and terrified, and then reached for the wheel.

  Jahda gestured and called out words that Brogan could not hear. The sound of thunder still drowned out everything else.

  The sky changed. One moment there were clouds and afterimages from the lightning and the next a hole ripped into the world directly ahead of the ship. The hole was filled with impossible lights in colors unknown to Brogan. The ship fell into that maelstrom of seething lights and a moment later the darkness was gone.

  Nausea caught hold of Brogan and dropped him to his knees. The impact was painful but the feeling in his guts was worse. He had eaten bread and cheese a few hours earlier and that meager meal forced itself from him. All around him the people on the ship seemed to suffer the exact same fate. The only one unaffected by the change was Faceless, who looked around at the fallen, his nearly featureless mask of a face revealing as little of his thoughts as ever.

  Brogan felt his body shake but could do nothing about it. Even his attempts to continue looking around were thwarted a moment later. He closed his eyes and fought against the wrenching of his stomach, but to no avail. His body was crippled by dry heaves for several moments.

  And then the nausea and pain were gone and the waves slapped at the ship and cold air that was much warmer than they’d felt a moment before moved across Brogan’s flesh.

  When he opened his eyes properly and looked around, he saw everyone doing their best to recover.

  Faceless looked at him and moved closer. “You are unwell?”

  “I’m alive.” It was enough for the moment. A glimpse over the side showed that the waves were moving and gave no sign of the Undying.

  “We are alive.” Jahda nodded his head and climbed to his feet, leaning heavily on the railing.

  “What happened?”

  Jahda looked around some more, even as he answered. “I moved the ship. I have begged a favor and had it granted. We are further along our journey than we were. I cannot guess by how much.”

  “What did you do?”

  “As I said, I have begged a favor. I moved us from where we were. The Shimmer provided the aid. I do not know that I could ever do that again.” His voice was weak, shaken.

  Brogan opened his mouth to answer but shut it quickly when he saw the shape far above them. One of the He-Kisshi. There was no doubt.

  It did not come closer, but instead hovered a moment and then moved on. The masts groaned and Brogan looked up to see thick ice forming on both of them. A moment later the ice spread down the masts to the ship itself. For a moment he thought the attack was done, but no, the cold came again with a vengeance.

  Jahda spoke. “There’s no escaping this. If we stay here, we will be frozen like this ship. We must leave.”

  Brogan shook his head. “And go where?”

  Jahda shook his head. “There is only one place to go.”

  Within minutes the crew and Brogan’s associates were all following the same trend and heading for the water. The ship groaned and creaked and steamed as the ice took it inch by inch at a slowly increasing pace. What had been frost became a thick layer of ice.

  Anna favored her burned arm. Roskell Turn once more pawed at his pockets and the satchel he carried until he found what he was looking for. He cast a powder toward the waters and Brogan watched as the waves where he had gestured mimicked exactly what the Undying had done. The waters calmed and then froze. The ship continued to freeze and the water did the same and as quickly as they could the entire group disembarked. Two of the crewmembers lowered a plank and then they tried to draw the horses from the inside of the ship, but despite their best efforts they failed.

  Brogan and company stood on frozen water and looked on as the ship turned white and then shattered. Around them the ice continued to do its business and grew in a widening circle.

  Brogan tried to find something to say, but there was nothing. He had no words. Oceans did not freeze. Ships did not become ice. That said, he stood on the ice and looked at the ruins of the ship, with absolutely no idea how they were going to reach their destination.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What Demons Demand

  Beron

  The pain finally stopped. It did not fade away, but instead merely ceased.

  Beron opened his eyes and looked around at the world Ariah had made for itself. The bodies of countless people still littered the ground and hid under foliage that crept across the land. Vines and blossoms and trees were everywhere and some bore the oddest fruit he had ever seen. Not far away the heavy, head-shaped fruit on one massive hardwood moaned and cried as the winds blew across their faces. Blind eyes wept nectar and strange bugs greedily crawled across faces to drink their sweet tears.

  Madness.

  All of Ariah’s world was filled with the dead and the things that fed on them, but it was disguised to look beautiful.

  Ariah stood near him, once again clothed in a human guise. He smiled as he examined Beron.

  “Can you move, Beron?”

  Beron nodded and then frowned. Though he wanted to move, his body seemed incapable for a moment. He looked down and saw that his body was not what he remembered. There were two arms, and he had a torso, but lower down, there was more of him. His body was–

  “What did you do to me?”

  “I made you better, Beron. I made you larger and stronger.”

  As Ariah spoke it changed shapes again, this time to reflect what Beron himself now looked like. There were four legs and a broad, powerful body. His shape was similar to a war dog, sinewy muscle and claws and thick fur.

  “Ahhh…” It was all he could manage to say. He had never been a vain man, but he had always been a man – and now?

  Ariah sighed. “All that I have given you can be replaced by what was there before, but for now, learn to use your new shape. Learn to appreciate the power.”

  Beron closed his eyes and swallowed. “You can remake me as I was?”

  “Of course. After you have settled matters with my enemies and helped Brogan McTyre in his quest.”

  “Why do I now help him?”

  “Because the old gods must be put away, and he is the best option for that.”

  Beron nodded his head.

  Slowly, he tested his new limbs. They obeyed his commands, but he had to
make certain he knew what they were doing and so he walked carefully and did his best to observe the new shape of his body even as he grew accustomed to it.

  “I feel the strength of this body, but I cannot manage this feat alone. I will need another army.”

  “You have one already, waiting for you. You will have another when you leave here. I prepare them even as we speak.”

  Around them the trees creaked, the vines rustled and the bodies of the dead remained where they were.

  Beron felt a shiver run through the whole of his new body.

  “You will not wander alone, Beron of Saramond. You will have an army of devoted soldiers. They will answer to you for so long as you answer to me.”

  Beron lowered his head in submission.

  Always there are those who rule and those who are ruled. He could accept following a god that offered him power and weapons, and who trusted him to fight for him.

  He stretched his new body, pleased with how quickly, even changed, it became a familiar form. He had learned to walk at an early age, but feared that acquainting himself with this form would take too long. He was happily mistaken. In a matter of moments he walked smoothly despite the change of gait. He had no doubt in his mind that the quick adaptation was another gift of his new god.

  “You are too kind to me, Ariah. I will always serve you, and gratefully.” He spoke the words. He meant them.

  Ariah stepped aside to show a feast laid out on a table grown from the very plants. “Eat and gain your strength. Soon enough I will send you out to fight for me again. Do not fail me, Beron. I am fond of you, but there are limits to my patience.”

  Beron nodded and moved to the table. Fresh meats, fresh fruit, an abundance of cheeses and breads, all awaited him. Sweet wines and potent ales were provided to wash down each part of the feast.

  While he ate, the lord of the pocket world spoke and told him what was expected in the coming battles. He listened, and asked questions, and prepared himself.