Beyond the Sapphire Gate: Epic Fantasy-Some Magic Should Remain Untouched (The Flow of Power Book 1) (22 page)

OLD HEART

Having slipped out of the side street, Garn’s guide deftly maneuvered through a dense crowd of townsfolk heading the opposite direction. Dropping farther behind, he struggled to keep her in sight. Though blue dresses abounded within the crowd, Corteezsha seemed to be the only one with a blue hat with a widened brim. He was thankful for that, particularly when she crossed the main thoroughfare.

The roadway was crowded with riders on horseback threading their way past horse-drawn carriages, and townsfolk pulling handcarts loaded with bulk goods. Corteezsha weaved between them deftly, at last darting into the maw of a dark alley.

Garn halted at the street’s center, his wind gone. Gasping for breath, he waited for a troop of pike men in burnished plate armor to file past while keeping the alley his guide had vanished into firmly in his sight. What was wrong with her? At this rate, she’d lose him before long.

The hard eyes of the pike men fixed on him to a man, as they marched past within arm’s reach. A soldier wearing a plumed headpiece marched in time beside his troops at the center row. “Make way, outlander!” the plumed soldier snarled, closing the gap between them. Garn fell backward, narrowly avoiding being bowled over. Glaring with open animosity, the officer stomped past without a single glance back. Giving them a wide berth, Garn waited until the last one moved past.

The shadowed alley began at a decent width, but soon narrowed to less than four men abreast. Corteezsha was nowhere in sight. There was only one path forward, so she must have ventured deeper inside. Striding behind dismal stone and wooden buildings, Garn rounded some storage barrels and stacked crates cluttering the path on both sides, feeling uneasy about the whole situation. He knew well how dangerous an alley could be in this place after witnessing two deaths in alleyways, so far, in Gray Water. He didn’t know what Corteezsha was up to coming in here, but he hoped she wasn’t putting herself in danger.

Garn slowed, glancing over his shoulder. Shadowy figures slipped into the alley along each side.
Damn!
What a fool he was! He should’ve seen the situation for what it was, before he’d sprung the trap. The trap Corteezsha had deftly maneuvered him toward the moment she walked by.

On higher alert now, Garn continued moving the only way open to him, the swiftly darkening alley. If only he could see well enough to find a weapon of some sort to make a fitting end for himself. And it was all for what? Not the coin he carried. The traitorous woman hadn’t given it back. What could she possibly want then, to murder him for protection from revenge? Perhaps, there certainly seemed enough knives behind him to do the foul deed. Yet, it felt like he was missing something crucial. There had to be something else she wanted from him. Something with enough worth she’d be willing to go through the messiness of dispatching him when she could’ve just vanished with his coin. He was an outlander, no one would believe his accusation if he ever caught up to her afterward.

Then he had it.

Corteezsha wanted the glimmer shard. Slipping his hand in his front pocket, Garn glanced over his shoulder, surreptitiously this time. The shadowy figures kept the same distance behind him, obstructing the way back with a wall of bodies, destroying any thoughts of escape. Not that he had harbored any.

The rectangular shard felt noticeably warmer, though it was still wrapped in the soft leather, as if it anticipated what he was about to do. First, he needed a weapon. Removing the wrap from a tiny spot in the crystal’s center, Garn let a pinpoint of light escape. His focused light beam shot forth from his palm, illuminating an area the size of his hand.

He searched quickly; if his attackers spotted his makeshift light, it may force them to act sooner than they—or he—would like. He shielded the light the best he could with his bulk. Sweeping the beam back and forth along the debris on both sides revealed a thick wooden board, which he picked up. It would have to do.

The light winked out when he covered the crystal. Letting his eyes adjust to the growing dark, he assessed the situation. Two shadowy rows—one behind the other—each three men wide, made an effective human barricade against fleeing to the relative safety of the street, as he’d thought. Well, they’d not find him as easy a mark as most. Defending against a thrown dagger or crossbow would be tricky, though. He’d have to watch for that.

The human wall made no move toward him. They stood in silence, staring at him with unseen eyes. He didn’t know what the delay was, but he was relieved for the moment. He would prefer to find room to swing his makeshift weapon.

He moved deeper within. The alley opened onto a cul-de-sac overlooked by buildings and high wooden fences. He approached the area with caution, wishing he had some of his men—former men, now—for backup. Twilight leaked into the area from the waning sun, enough for him to distinguish a life-sized shape standing in the center. A few steps closer revealed a female form, wearing a wide brimmed hat and bright parasol, now open.

So, this was to be the place.

Garn abandoned his pretense at caution, striding openly to the cul-de-sac’s center. Halting a board length from Corteezsha, he studied his surroundings. Several men sat on crates placed to one side, while both men and women’s shadowy forms stood in front of a wall on the other. The men behind him filled the path back to the street four rows deep. The first two rows now had enough light he could make out individual features on many a grizzled face. Committing them to memory was pointless. They wouldn’t allow him to leave the cul-de-sac unscathed.

Corteezsha spoke as soon as he strode near. “I suppose you kept coming for your coin. I hoped you wouldn’t follow me here.”

“To be honest, I never considered the coin until too late. My desire to find my daughters has made me a blind fool to one of the oldest traps there is, I should’ve known you’d have a prearranged signal to alert your cohorts of the mark following you. My guess would be that whenever you enter here with your parasol open, your cronies get a signal as blatant as any flag. I can’t believe I trusted you enough to fall for it.”

Corteezsha’s face turned pouty. “You’re not serious, are you? No one trusts me.” The woman’s rue sounded almost genuine.

A new voice spoke. “You’re right, Cor. No one should trust you long enough to for you to throw your net, not even a dried, old fish like him. There are too many holes in it.” Several voices, male and female, laughed.

A man emerged from the shadows to stand beside Corteezsha. Hooded and robed in a dark color, Garn couldn’t make out the man’s features. No weapon was visible, for which Garn was thankful. Perhaps he could come to some agreement with the man. “What do you want with me? You may keep the coin. I ask only for information in return,” Garn said, keeping his voice even.

The dark-robed man cackled without mirth. “You ask me for information? I am a
Flow Master
. Yet you have the audacity to ask me?”

Corteezsha retracted the parasol, sharply. “Can’t you see how he’s clothed, Malkor? He’s an outlander searching for his missing daughters; he’s ignorant to our ways. Why don’t you let the outlander go? We have his coin.”

Malkor sneered. “Go?” No one
goes
here. You know well.”

“Malkor doesn’t have any say in the matter.
I
decide who lives and dies here,
no one else,
” a quiet, but commanding voice said behind him.

Garn spun. A stocky, hooded man garbed in the same velvety leather covering the shard—only black in color—slipped past him. The hood covered his shoulders and fell to his midsection, leaving his stomach and most of his arms bare. Made from some soft metal, two silver bands fit snug on his biceps. The light was fading too fast to identify it.

Anxiety rose in the pit of Garn’s stomach, which he ignored. The situation had gone from life threatening to no way out alive. So be it. He was dying from old heart disease anyway. Failing his daughters was the worst of it. Part of him begged to negotiate with this den of murderers for a chance, however small, to stay alive long enough to see them home. Yet he knew with the mob watching on, it would do no good. Still, he had to try. His daughters depended on him.

Corteezsha turned away, confirming his fears. He tightened his grip on the shard.

The dark shape of the hooded man stepped beside Corteezsha, swinging her around, forcing her to look in Garn’s direction. “Malkor does have a point, however. No one
goes
. Kill him!”

Wait!” Garn shouted, thinking furiously, he raised the shard high. He required a little additional time. Not a lot, the alley was rapidly darkening. “I’ll break this into a thousand pieces. Then what use will it be to you?”

The Hooded Man’s soft voice dripped disdain. “What is it you hold that you believe
I
would care about?”

“Tell him, Corteezsha,” Garn said.

Corteezsha’s reply was immediate. “He has a glimmer shard, one of the best I’ve seen in Gray Water.”

“Infused?” the Hooded Man asked.

“Yes, quite a masterful infusion, so it could be fused with something else,” Corteezsha said.

The Hooded Man’s dark shape hesitated, his voice soft, but malevolent. “That is useful. But I think I’ll just take it from you, intact or not. Malkor, burn him where he stands, mind the shard.”

As darkness fell, Malkor’s hands illuminated with a dark red glow.

Garn sprang into action. Covering the distance with three running steps, he vaulted into the air; his right booted foot connected somewhere near Malkor’s face. The red-robe’s glowing hands winked out. Landing on his feet, Garn swept the board toward the dark outline of the Hooded Man and Corteezsha, but he encountered only air. Following through with a spin, he releasing his grip on the cloth, the glimmer shard blazed with a bonfire light.

Charging back the way he arrived, he stretched his palm out before him. The shard’s brilliant light illuminated the wall of humans. Tossing the board out front, he caught it near the center, braced it at his waist, and plowed into the wall at his top speed. Though he prepared for it, the impact sent a shock reverberating through his bones, nearly doubling him over.

Caught with hands shielding eyes, most in the front row flew into the row behind. Staggering through tumbling bodies, Garn bounded forward, pushing with all his might, using his momentum to stay on his feet. The board snapped, dropping away. He punched and kicked, fighting with his elbows and knees as he’d trained, smashing into all who stood in his way.

Suddenly, there was no resistance, and he shot forward, the way ahead clear. Sprinting to the corner, he careened off a stack of wood barrels on the far side. Righting himself, he could see the busy street ahead.

Something was wrong. His breath came in ragged gasps, forcing him to slow. The sweat on his skin turned cold and clammy. His chest thrummed with pain. Forward movement ceased to a standstill.

He toppled. The pain fogged his mind, darkness closed in. Dully, he heard booted feet drawing near, but it no longer mattered.
My old heart picked a bad time to give out,
he thought, his sadness acute. He’d failed his girls. Remorse settled in with the darkness enveloping him.

FEAR

Fear is an unproductive emotion. It doesn’t aid blood flow, it doesn’t clean tear ducts, and it doesn’t increase euphoria. Therefore, it’s useless. Succumb at your own detriment.
Crystalyn clearly recalled the dispassionate nasal tone the med instructor had used to lecture the class after interrupting a holo-presentation of dissected body parts. Even now—seasons later—she could still see his sneer of disdain when buff-bodied Jake had fainted at the beginning.
Fear is an unproductive emotion
.
Succumb at your own detriment.
Crystalyn silently repeated each sentence over and over, until her fear slid away, replaced by rage.

Now she could function. She was
through
with giving away blood,
through
with the helplessness of hanging in a macabre candy roll pillar,
through
with providing the protein drink for spiderbees. She’d make the bloody creatures pay; blast her, if she wouldn’t! Anger
was
a productive emotion. How well she knew. There had been many days where only anger kept her going. Most times, she didn’t know why or where it had come from, only that at any given moment, she’d shift from euphoric to livid for no apparent reason. She’d learned to focus that anger into a kind of manic energy, to make it work for her. She welcomed that energy now, letting it fill her. Now things would get messy. She didn’t care if she destroyed the entire bloody hive.

Sorting through the
Tiered Book of Symbols
stored in her memory, Crystalyn selected a black net-looking one under the ominous title: Group Aggression. Once the symbol hovered before her, the anger inside burned away her doubts and anxieties. She felt no need to combine it into something new. It should suffice for rounding the spiderbees up and popping them like repulsive, overfilled leeches.

Tilting back, she found a spiderbee above her, finishing its grisly work. Pushing away from the ashen man, the blood-laden creature dropped a few feet toward her before its silent beating wings halted its downward fall. Hovering slightly above her, it provided a decent target.

She took it. Releasing the net symbol, it sailed toward the spiderbee. The net unfolded to triple its size. Black, pole-length spikes sprang from every knot on its octagon shape and its snowflake center. The spikes were longer and sharper than the black icicles on the splintery one she’d used at the meadow on Glacier Mountain. Floating straight and true, the symbol enveloped the creature…and passed through. Unimpeded, it struck the cavern roof and shattered, dissipating as smoke would colliding with a gusting wind.

The spiderbee spun to face her, regarding her with its many-faceted eyes.

Crystalyn gaped. She couldn’t have missed. Gathering her will, she selected the knock-back symbol with its concentric circles. The trusty symbol she’d used in the alley, which now seemed so long ago. Quickly, Crystalyn redrew it into her own design, the one she’d originally toned down for fear of killing Atoi. There was no such compunction here. A second spiderbee appeared beside the one carrying the payload. It too paused, regarding her. Taking advantage of the delay, she sent the symbol gliding toward the new creature as it flew toward her. Without a single deviation to its aerial course, the spiderbee flew through her pattern as if it were a translucent parody of a bird flying through clouds.

Crystalyn gawked, unable to believe her eyes.

Landing with its forelegs on her shoulder, she felt the stab of the bee’s stinger for a moment, but only for a moment. Thankfully, the paralysis was fast.
What happened?
She wondered. Perhaps she wasn’t as strong as the Lore Mother had believed. Already, she felt much weaker. This spiderbee was wasting no time draining her lifeblood.

An image of her pale corpse swinging inert as the spiderbee suckled its hungry offspring sprang up with a disquieting clarity in her mind. Perhaps she’d picked up a vision of the near future. Or, her oxygen-deprived brain had conjured the scene to make sense of her life siphoning away. Her death would be painless, but it was small consolation. She’d much prefer leaving this world screaming in agony than to die not knowing what happened to Jade. Had a similar fate befallen her sister? Did little sister cross through the dark curtain of the Sapphire Gate only to cross over to the afterlife?

The cold seeped into her extremities, replacing the blood siphoning away. Seconds passed, and a great weariness pressed upon her. The strength to keep her eyes open fled with each drop of blood stolen. It wouldn’t be long now. The Great Sleep would end her weariness. At least her last sight encompassed a beautiful banyan-like tree strolling toward her, swinging its many thick, intertwined, arms in all directions, flanked by its sister, shadow trees. Jade had always flanked her too, wherever they went. Where had she seen banyan trees? Oh, yes, on an island surrounded by a wondrous ocean in a holo image. She’d longed to see an ocean before she died. It was one of the few things the Farm hadn’t been able to terraform. Several ponds with a single large lake, but not an ocean: the land was too scarce, too precious. Now, she’d never see an ocean with a vibrant ecosystem still intact.

Spiderbees swarmed around the tree, popping wetly like the heat-seeking water balloons she’d launched off the second-story balcony of the King’s Administration building at a titanic cleaning robot, once. Crystalyn tried to smile but lacked the strength for the memory of one of the many synth-enhanced escapades with her friends.

The struggle to hold weariness at bay grew too great. Closing her eyes, she succumbed to it, saddened to the core. In the end, her symbol magic had failed when she needed it most.

*****

Crystalyn struggled to surface. A bright light beckoned above. Stoical and enduring, the light radiated supreme compassion, tinged with knowledge so vast, her mind shied away from it lest she be lost for an eternity. At any moment she’d break surface, fling her head into the wonderful radiance, know the secrets of creation, and be filled with utter joy. Only a few kicks left.

Stretching to full length, she extended her fingers. Almost she could reach, to thrust a fingernail into the light; it would be all she required. This close, Crystalyn felt warmth bathe her face, bringing a profound, unadulterated love from within the light, just one additional kick.

Something cold and firm wrapped around her ankle, pulling her away.

No!

Flailing her arms and legs, she fought with everything in her, sapping strength from deep inside. She’d been
so
close!

The light held, growing brighter and beaming jets of brilliance to the surface’s edge, seeming to reach out to her, to offer encouragement, to be there in her time of need. So close, so close! She stretched her arm out.

She couldn’t hold on. Her strength collapsed, the light receded.

Nooooo!

She kicked feebly. The light faded to a slit then vanished. Despair, dark and deep, replaced her joy. She looked far into the gloom about her and despaired, to the point of not caring. Let the gloom swallow her.

A great weight settled into the part of her she knew as her body.

The world shifted from darkness to gray and brown. Gray cirrus clouds floated lazily above brown treetops. Confused, Crystalyn forced her eyes wider. Blurred, colorful images bled into her vision.

A female voice spoke from nearby. “She’s coming around.” The voice seemed familiar, but her mind refused to provide the facial image. “I wonder if she’ll live,” the voice mused, expressing much interest.

A new voice, heavy with fatigue, spoke from somewhere close. “Move away, child. I am uncertain the effects of so much healing will have on her perceptions. I would not want her to destroy you and everyone here before the mistake could be explained.” Again, Crystalyn felt she should recognize the voice, but she found it hard to care.
Where was the lovely light?
She’d been so close.

A third voice drifted to her hearing. “Is she blind now? Look at her eyes.” This voice, a low masculine rumble, carried an inflection of imminent harm.

A melodious fourth voice spoke above. “Who can say for certain? She’s been through great trauma. The leechers had nearly drained her life fluid. Perhaps her eye fluids dried beyond recovery. Our strange young User is alive, that’s what counts. We need to get moving.” Crystalyn strained her eyes as wide as she could, but the images refused to form. Gray and brown blurred together, but there was a tiny flicker of color, up high, in a corner.

A terrible tremor vibrated her very core. Darkness nearly swallowed her.

“Blast you, Hastel! I told you to keep the horses still!”

“I’m sorry Lore Mother, but standing in the open like this has them spooked. Can she make it to those trees, do you think?”

The Lore Mother’s voice was dry. “Why not ask her to sit up and take the reins herself?”

A white-haired old woman and a face-wounded man wearing an eye patch flooded in, memory returned in a vivid torrent, flashing through her mind, faster and faster. Some scenes she didn’t want to recall, so she shuffled through them as if she was forwarding a bad dream, such as killing her attackers in the meadow, and meeting the Hartwig kid. Others, she lingered on. Such as the rare outings the family had went on together where her mother’s laughter, her father’s joy, Jade’s constant smile, and the feelings of love sent an ache deep inside, begging her to release it and relive those precious times.

Hastel’s raspy voice intruded. “I am truly sorry. I’ll do what I can to be gentle, but I’ll have to go to those trees. The horses want the grass growing there. It will keep them settled.”

Shifting from one side to the other, a shocking pain coursed through Crystalyn’s body. A moan escaped her lips. For the second time, she nearly gave in to the blackness that welled up in her mind. Pushing it away with great effort, she swallowed, wanting to ask them to stop, but a tiny moan gurgled out instead. She was so weak. The simple act of drawing breath required a monumental effort, her arms, and legs felt leaden and unresponsive. She recalled incidents of nursing duties. Some patients there had sometimes gotten miraculously better for a while, only to crash hard afterward. She wasn’t about to let that happen.
I’m going to live if it kills me
, she thought. Such a stray oxymoronic thought would have brought a smile to her lips at any other time. Not now, she was much too weak. Perhaps her mind was shying from her condition, or worse, she could be crashing in reality, but her mind was shielding her until it couldn’t any longer.

The Lore Mother’s voice was heavy with concern. “Go with care; she shall feel every single motion. Rayna go help steady the horses. This is critical, we may yet lose her!”

Another flicker higher up alerted her to a shadow detaching from the distortion. As she tracked the shadow, details trickled in. Bushy hair beyond shoulder length, leafy shapes covering a large upper torso, spots of green. Dare she hope her vision was returning? Yes, colors now bled in from all directions, creating a bizarre kaleidoscope of twisted, broken landscape, a jagged blue line interspersed with blacks, grays, and browns. Dull, washed-out whites formed twisted shapes. But shapes they were. Excitement rose. She couldn’t wait to see her surroundings in the normal light and color. Grayish wagon railing turned slowly brown, growing recognizable, adding grainy wood texture the longer she stared.

From some distance away, Atoi’s voice rang out. “Something’s coming!”

Cudgel’s booming voice blared in her ears. “What is it?”  

Atoi called again. “Something is behind us, on the road.”

Lore Rayna screamed. “It’s frightening the horses!”

A terrible wrench slung Crystalyn toward the back of the wagon. Her last vision was of the gray meadow grass bleeding green before blackness rose up to swallow her.

*****

A voice called to Crystalyn, complacent, yet hinting at urgency, pleading for a response.
Are you there, Do’brieni? Come to me. We’ve much to discuss, and little time. Are you there, Do’brieni? Please, answer.

Where are you?

A surge of elation, tinged with hope, washed through her.
I am near. You will have to find the way.

Darkness blocked the way. It wasn’t going to be easy. When had anything she set out to do her whole life been easy? Moving blindly in a general outward direction, she froze. Had the darkness just moved back? Not daring to believe, she traveled a short distance in three quick spurts. The darkness vaulted away three times, each time the same distance from her. Elated, she raced into the darkness, sweeping it before her. She called out to the voice,
Am I going the right way?

All ways end the same.

What did he mean by that? She couldn’t say for certain, but she felt the voice was male. Lacking any feminine or masculine tonal inflections, there was no way of knowing if she was right about it. Except “voice” wasn’t the right word. It was a
sense
of a voice, except…
except
…she heard it as she would her own thoughts. Distinguishing between her thoughts and the voice was a
distinction
her mind sorted with ease.

How that could be was beyond her. Nor did she care. She liked the support she sensed emanating from the feeling.