Beyond the Gate

Chapter 14

Once they reached the shadowed recesses of the warehouse, the Bock was dismayed at the sight of blood on Orick’s brow, so while Ceravanne and Gallen talked in the other room and Maggie and the giant made up beds nearby, the Bock lit an oil lamp and set it on some crates. Then it brought forth a pouch of blue dust from its belt, and began slowly rubbing it into Orick’s wounds, his sticklike finger probing tenderly.

“I see blood,” the Bock exclaimed, “but your hair is so dense, I cannot find a wound.”

Orick wasn’t sure if he should tell the creature that he healed quickly-ever since Maggie had fed him some capsules of nanodocs that would extend his life for a millennium or more.

“What is that?” Maggie asked of the powder, looking up from one of the bedrolls. “Healing Earth,” the Bock said. “It will ease the swelling, mend the cuts. It is a small wound. He should be well in a few hours.” Maggie came and pinched some of the dirt in her fingers. “Where does it come from?”

“Legend says that ages ago, the Immortal Lords brought it from the City of Life and put it in the land. Now it is there for the benefit of all people, to be used in curing all wounds.”

“Nanodocs,” Maggie whispered, looking at the powder. “Does it extend one’s life? Regenerate nerve tissue?”

“No,” the Bock said, leaning away from Orick. “Only the Immortals in the City of Life have that power. But it cures wounds, mends bones. If you travel, you will find the Healing Earth in many places, beside the springs where the ground is wet.”

Maggie nodded thoughtfully, then said, “I’m going to let Gallen know that the beds are ready.” She went back behind the crates, into the main room. The Bock stood perfectly motionless, slightly hunched, and there was a vacant look in its eyes.

“Are you all right?” Orick asked.

“Pardon me,” the Bock said. “I fell asleep. I’m exhausted. I must rest soon.” The Bock stepped back into a corner, raised his arms up toward a dim window, and stood with eyes squinted, unfocused.

The Bock began asking questions, in his slow way, about Orick’s habits, his interests in theology and the possibility of becoming a priest. And with each question, the Bock grew steadily more incredulous, more awake and more interested.

The Bock asked, “So you have been working with Gallen for three years, yet never has he paid you? If you receive no compensation, why do you stay with him?”

“Oh, Gallen does buy me an odd meal now and then, but there’s more in this world than money,” Orick said. “After all, the Bible says that it’s easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. I’d have to be a wretched creature, indeed, to base my relationship with someone on money.”

“So why do you work with him?” the Bock said, his brown eyes gazing steadily at Orick.

“He’s my friend.”

“So you remain with him for companionship?” the Bock said, as if it were an alien concept, vaguely understood. “Of course.”

“But what of your own kind? Why do you not seek out other bears for companionship?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Orick grumbled, not wanting to admit the painful truth. But he was an honest bear, so he continued. “On my world, bears don’t run together. Mostly the males eat too much, and they wouldn’t want to share food with me. The females love to have us during mating season, but they commence snarling soon afterward, and then, well, they just won’t have you around, and they let you know it.”

“Have you sought company with many females?” the Bock asked.

“Some,” Orick admitted. “There was one I met just before I came here. I had hopes for her.”

“You wanted to bond with her?”

Orick hesitated to admit to such a crazy notion. “Marriage is an honorable and holy state … or at least that’s what the Bible says.”

The Bock stopped, and in the dim lamplight he opened his mouth wide in surprise, as if he had just had a fantastic idea. “You are human, Orick!” the Bock said excitedly.

“I’m a bear!” Orick argued.

“Few of us are what we seem,” the Bock said. “Our flesh is our disguise, hiding our desires and notions. Many who seem human are mere shells, so why should it be improbable that a creature such as yourself, who inhabits the form of a bear, would be a human at heart? Your thoughts, your beliefs and needs, are all those that a human would understand and agree with. And if you are human at heart, then by our law I have the right to extend the invitation: you may live within our society and enjoy the blessings of human company.”

“Great,” Orick murmured. He’d had human companionship for his whole life. It didn’t seem a great privilege. “So what does that get me?”

“A great deal,” the Bock answered. “Few nonhumans may ever enter the City of Life and obtain the blessings granted there. You will find many nonhumans here in the port, but they cannot travel the roads beyond. Instead, they must leave with their ships, returning to exile in Babel.”

The Bock seemed so distressed by the plight of the nonhumans that Orick found himself sympathizing with them. He imagined how things must be in Babel, a seething madhouse of incompatible species, preying upon the weak and upon one another, a vast continent laid waste by perpetual warfare. Orick’s heart went out to such creatures, for he understood what it was to be outcast, to never belong.

“So,” Orick grumbled. “Gallen will be surprised when I tell him that I’m as human as he is.”

“Are you sure that he is human?” the Bock said.

“Why, what else would he be?” Orick asked.

“He could be many things,” the Bock said. “I have not yet determined whether he is human, and so I cannot grant him the privileges that come with humanity.”

“Why, that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard!” Orick said.

“One’s flesh is often a disguise,” the Bock countered. “On your home world, did you not often meet others whose thoughts and actions seemed strange to you-so strange as to be incomprehensible?”

Orick considered the blackguards who had tried to frame Gallen. Orick couldn’t quite understand how someone would go to so much work to destroy another. It just wasn’t in his nature, and on that count, Orick had to agree. Outwardly, men looked the same, but on the insides they could be strangers.

Maggie, Gallen, Ceravanne, and the giant Rougaire came back at that moment, and Orick said in glee, “Did you hear that, Gallen? The Bock says I’m human!”

“Well”-Gallen shrugged-”I’ve always known you were a better man than me, Orick, but I wish you would do something about that excess body hair.”

Orick chuckled, but Ceravanne said quite seriously, as if she were offended, “Do not take the Bock’s word lightly, Orick. For five hundred years, this one has been a Lord Judge in the City of Life. A million times he has judged the subspecies of peoples who came before him. In many ways, this Bock knows you better than you know yourselves. If he has proclaimed you human, then he is granting you legal rights and protections. This is a great boon, though you may not know it.”

“Well, thank you, then,” Orick said to the Bock.

Ceravanne turned to the Bock and said softly, “You know a human when you meet it. So, what do you think of Gallen O’Day?”

The Bock blinked and looked at her from the comers of his eyes.

“I approved the bear, Orick, as human. Not Gallen. As for Maggie, I cannot make a determination, since I have spoken with her so little,” the Bock admitted.

“And why do you not think that Gallen is human?” Ceravanne pushed him.

“I sense within him … a struggle. He desires to become more than what he is.”

“So perhaps he is only a human with high aspirations?” Ceravanne countered.

“Perhaps,” the Bock agreed. “I suspect that his are a strong-willed people, with only minor genetic upgrades, very close to feral humans in temperament. I could name him human,” the Bock said, “but I am loath to place him so low on the scale of sentient life.”

Ceravanne laughed daintily and half lowered her eyes, as if at a private joke. “I suspect you are right,” she said to the Bock. “To be a Lord Protector, one would have to be more than human.” She lowered the flame on the lamp, then with the giant in tow made her way to the other room.

Orick lay tasting the scent of cobwebs and thinking of the spiders spinning their webs above his head. He was unable to sleep for a long time.

The next morning, Orick woke to the cries of gulls and the smell of sea fog, a salty tang that seeped through every crack in the floor boards and clung to every fold of the blankets. Rougaire the giant had roused the others, and they grabbed their belongings then made a quick breakfast of bread and cheese from Ceravanne’s pack.

Gallen and Maggie sat alone and talked for a moment by the door with the giant, while Ceravanne had gone to the back room with the Bock.

Orick went to tell them that breakfast was ready, and what he saw surprised him: Ceravanne and the Bock stood in the dim light shining through a small window, and Ceravanne was holding the Bock’s long fingers, looking down at them, like a shy lover.

Orick stopped in the shadows of a crate, and the Bock said, “Are you sure you want to go with them? They killed so easily last night.”

“I too am horrified by their violence, but what can I do?” Ceravanne asked.

The Bock thought a moment. “For three hundred years you have studied with the Bock, learning the ways of peace. You are more one of us than you are of them.”

“Three hundred years.…” Ceravanne echoed. “It is time I return to my people, and teach them the ways of peace. If I can.” Orick wondered at the words “my people.” Was she saying that the nonhumans of Babel were her people?

“We are our bodies,” the Bock said. “I fear that you cannot teach peace to these creatures. And I fear that the violence you must endure in their presence will maim you. Should that happen, do not hesitate to seek us out. In the woods, in the high mountain glens, you can find peace with the Bock.”

Ceravanne had been holding the Bock’s hand, and suddenly she bent forward and kissed it. “Three hundred years among the Bock-passed all too quickly … I often wish to see the world as you do. I often wish that I could be you.”

Suddenly the Bock’s face twisted into a mask of profound regret, and he reached out his long fingers to stroke her hair, cradle her head in his hand. “We are our bodies, with all their hopes and dreams, all their limitations. But you, Ceravanne, even among the Tharrin-you are special.…” The Bock wailed in its own tongue, “Assuah n sentavah, avhala mehall-” and Ceravanne stepped back as if astonished at this.

“I love you, too,” Ceravanne said. “As much as I have ever loved.”

The Bock reached up to its head and fumbled among the green leaves at its crown, then plucked something loose and held it out for Ceravanne. It looked like a small greenish-tan nut, something that Orick hadn’t noticed before among its foliage.

“You are going away, and I may never see you again. Should you need a Bock, plant this seed, and in time I will be with you once again.”

Ceravanne took the seed gratefully, held it close to her chest as if it were precious. The Bock reached out his long fingers, cradled them around her hair so that she looked as if she were caught in the bushes, and then the Bock leaned forward. His face overshadowed hers, and he kissed her softly on the lips.

Ceravanne wept.

Orick sneaked back to Gallen and Maggie, unwilling to tear the Bock and the Tharrin away from each other. In moments, Ceravanne came out of the back room and placed the seed in her pack, then ate a brief breakfast.

When she finished, she hugged the giant Rougaire and said, “You can see us off at the dock, but afterward I need you to go to the City of Life. Tell the Immortals there that the Lord Protector has come, and that we have gone to confront the Inhuman. If our task is not accomplished by mid-winter, they will have to prepare for war in the spring.”

The giant nodded, and they made one last quick search of the room.

Ceravanne wrapped her hair back with a red rag, then pulled her hood forward low over her eyes. She got some soot from a corner, dusted it on her cheeks and under her eyes, making her look worn and wasted. Obviously, she was assuming a disguise.

“Won’t people recognize you as a Tharrin?” Gallen said.

“Most people alive today on this world have never seen a Tharrin,” Ceravanne said. “And so I tell them that I am a Domorian dancing girl. They look much like the Tharrin. But few people ever even question me about my race. I wear a young body, and children are often ignored, invisible.”

She pulled her hood up, affected a slumped posture, a slightly altered body language that somehow completed her disguise. Orick was amazed at the transformation.

Then they hurried out of the warehouse into the streets, and crept to the docks in a dawn fog so thick that they could not see a dozen paces ahead.

It felt good to be on the road again with Gallen and Maggie and a Tharrin, and Orick was somehow eager for action, so he was disappointed when they reached the docks without incident and were able to quickly purchase berths on the second ship they found heading toward Babel.

Because of the thick fog, they had to take the purser’s word as to the seaworthiness of the ship; he described it as a lofty five-masted clipper-a worthy ship whose wood held no worm, a ship that could outrun pirates.

So with trepidation they left the docks as several crewmen rowed them to the ship in the fog. The Bock and Rougaire stood on the docks and waved goodbye, seeming to recede into the mist.

Once aboard the ship, the purser escorted them to their berths in three of the six small cabins near the captain’s quarters, then excused himself to handle other business.

A brief inspection showed that the ship was all they had been promised-comfortable, immaculate. The ship was already heavily laden with goods, so Orick and Maggie went up to the weather deck in the fog and watched one last time for sign of the Inhuman. Dozens of sailors came aboard in small boats, many of them obviously drunk.

“Watch for a man with bright yellow skin,” Maggie breathed into Orick’s ear, and Orick sat, listening to the creaking timbers of the ship, the water slapping against the hull. Certainly, most of the crew was made up of an eccentric lot. Dozens of small, bald men with red skin came aboard wearing little more than breechcloths and knife belts. They were filled with nervous energy and were soon everywhere, manning the lines, checking the ties. A dozen grim-faced giants in leather tunics, all armed with oversized bastard swords, seemed relegated to the more strenuous tasks of hoisting sails.

Other crewmen were more eccentric-tall men with tremendously large pale yellow eyes. Black men with horny growths sticking up under their long white hair. Two men with black hooded cloaks came in the last boat, so tightly bundled that they looked as if they wanted their faces hidden, and Orick strained to see the color of their skin. When they climbed up the ladder to the main deck, they moved with incredible swiftness. He glimpsed bare arms the color of slate. One had tattooed his right hand red.

The men passed Orick and Maggie on their way below deck, and Orick caught a glint of their eyes-a deep purple. The second of the pair bore a tattoo of a white spider between his eyes.

And though neither man had the markings that Orick sought, he found that the hair on his neck raised just a bit, and he fought the urge to turn and see if the men were staring at him. When at last he did turn, they had gone off into the fog, yet he wondered what those men might be able to see with such eyes.

When the last sailors boarded the ship, Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank heaven,” she whispered. “Not a yellow man nor one of those bat people among the lot.”

The crew weighed anchors and hoisted a single sail, and the ship slid out of port slowly, still under cover of the thick fog.

And Orick soon forgot the chill he’d felt at the sight of the dark-cloaked men. Now that they were away, he found that his heart was light. He heard children laughing out over the water, and spotted some tots-little girls and boys swimming among the many jellyfish alongside the ship. He was amazed at the children’s speed, till he noticed that they wore no clothes, and they had tails like fishes.

“Hello!” Orick called to them, and the children laughed and waved at him and Maggie, shouting, “Hello, funny man! Hello, funny lady!” Then one of them threw a jellyfish and they all dove deep, as if they were afraid that he and Maggie would hurl rocks at them.

“Oh, do you think they’ll come back?” Maggie cried in delight, and they watched the white-tipped waves for a time, but saw no more of the water children.

Maggie and Orick ambled over the decks for the next half hour till they reached the open sea, where the air swirled and the oppressive fog was left behind.

Orick’s spirits soared as they came out under blue skies. The giants began hoisting all sails, and when they filled with air, the ship suddenly surged over the water.

Orick glanced up to the white sails, full of wind, his heart thrilling, just as three giant bat shapes swooped out of the fog to land in the rigging.

He cringed and Maggie cried out, and they moved a bit to see where the creatures went. All three of them scurried to a roofed crow’s nest, where they began to cover their eyes with their wings, hiding from the sun.

One of them shouted, “All clear! Night watch out!” then blew a seaman’s whistle.

Orick had heard that voice dozens of times in the fog, but never realized that it came from one of the loathsome batlike scouts.

“Hah, they’re just part of the crew,” Maggie laughed in mock relief. “Who better to sit watch in the crow’s nest?”

“A crow would be better,” Orick growled, recalling how the scouts had blown their little seaman’s whistles in town. “I don’t like the looks of them!”

“You can’t damn them for their looks,” Maggie said, studying the creatures as they huddled in their dark nest.

Her red hair was flying in the wind, and she brushed it out of her face. “Just because they’re scouts, it doesn’t mean they’re Inhuman.”

“But it does mean that they’re ugly, and I’d just as soon not have their kind near me!” Orick grumbled. “I’ve seen no good from them.”

Maggie whispered, “Speak softer. There’s no telling how well they hear.” She bent closer, and Orick listened tight. “Orick, those things may not be Inhuman, but it’s just as possible that they are. We’re on a ship full of people from Babel, and it’s likely that at least one of them, and probably more, are Inhuman.”

Orick grumbled, turned away, and padded over the deck, his claws scratching the well-scrubbed planks. Maggie’s voice had sounded calm enough when she talked of the creatures, but Orick noticed how quick Maggie was to follow at his heels.

That evening, Orick and the others dined at the captain’s table. The dinner was a fine feast, with a unique wine that both stimulated the mind and elevated the mood, and along with it they had plates of candied meats, five types of melon, sweet rolls, and breads with cheese baked in them. Orick was delighted, for he seldom found a table larger than his appetite.

In the captain’s cabin, the brass lamps kept the room well lit, and the captain had only two other guests at the table-a fat merchant and a shy albino girl.

Captain Aherly sat at the far end of the table from Orick, with a steward boy in a gray smock at one shoulder and his nervous bodyguard at the other.

They made polite conversation for a while at dinner, and Orick was plainly curious about the other guests at the table, so he was almost relieved when the captain said to Gallen, “I’ve never heard someone who spoke quite the way you and your friends do.”

“They’re from the village of Soorary, in the north,” Ceravanne put in, covering for them.

“Ah, a far country,” the captain said, plainly trying to disguise the fact that he wasn’t satisfied. “So, do you travel to Babel on business, or pleasure?”

“Adventure,” Gallen said. “My friends and I are out to see the world, and I understand that a lot of it is south of here.”

“Hah.” The captain laughed. “Well, if you’re going south, there are some sights that will have your eyes popping out.”

“What of our other guests?” Gallen asked. “Why are you aboard?” The albino girl, a shy girl who had not spoken all evening, looked to the merchant as if asking him to speak, but when he remained silent for too long, she leaned forward and said softly, “I went to the City of Life, for Downing.”

Ceravanne supplied the proper response. “You seek resurrection? I hope you were judged worthy!”

The girl looked away demurely. “I was not. They read my memories, but felt that my contribution to society does not merit-” She choked off the words.

Orick felt a small shock go around the table, and wondered what it would be like to be judged unworthy of future life. It would be as bad as getting a death sentence, he decided.

“You are young yet,” Ceravanne said. “Redouble your efforts. All is not lost. I am but a lowly Domorian dancer, yet I got the Rebirth.”

The young woman looked at Ceravanne, gratitude in her pink eyes. “As one whose skin is young, but whose eyes are old, I appreciate your reassurance. But-I am considered to be a great teacher among my people. I have worked so hard. I don’t know what more I can do.…”

She abruptly drew her head back, a graceful gesture, like the movement of a deer in a forest, and Orick realized that she was not shy or reticent as a personality quirk, but that her timidness went much deeper. Her life might well be defined by it.

“Be kind and generous, as is your nature,” Ceravanne offered. “It is said that the Immortals value such more than other accomplishments.”

The albino woman lowered her eyes, blinking them as a sign of acceptance.

“Perhaps, instead more life, seek meaningful death,” the captain’s bodyguard said, pacing across the room. The guard, a woman named Tallea, was like a panther, stalking to and fro, and she spoke in quick, sharp tones, as if unable to slow her speech down. She was well muscled and wore a short sword on her right hip and a dueling trident on her left. Her decorative tunic of gray with blue animal figures was covered by a thin leather vest. All in all, her clothes seemed to be merely functional rather than protective. Despite her pacing and her bunched muscles, she seemed serene.

“A meaningful death?” Gallen asked.

Tallea paced across the room, flexing her hands. She wore many rings of topaz and emerald. “Among Roamers, death is accepted. It comes to all, even those who run long, as Immortals do. They say, is duty of young to live, to care for herd. But when you old, is duty to die, to free others from caring for you. Death, like life, should have purpose. So, seek meaningful death.”

“And how would you do that?” Gallen asked.

“Life has meaning only if serve something greater than selves. Give life in service.”

“You mean, in battle?” Gallen asked.

The woman half nodded, half shook her head. “Maybe. Or in work.” Captain Aherly laughed. “You must forgive Tallea. She is a pure-bred Caldurian, but she is also a devotee of the Roamers, with their odd ways.”

“Why do you want to be reborn as a Roamer?” Ceravanne asked.

The woman turned, her dark hair flying. “Peace. Caldurians never at peace.” She turned away, began pacing. “And what great thing do you serve?” Ceravanne asked.

The Caldurian woman shot a glance over her shoulder, a bright-eyed, mocking look. “I raised in wilderness of Moree, but I left. I serve truth.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at the mention of Moree. By saying she’d left to serve truth, the woman seemed to be openly siding against the Inhuman, and none of the others at the table would dare be so bold. The burly merchant who was sitting beside Orick spoke evenly. “My name is Zell’a Cree. I’m a trader myself. For fifteen years now, I’ve been traveling.”

“And what do you sell?” Gallen asked.

“Oh, this and that,” Zell’a Cree said. “It used to be that trade was good between continents, but now, most folks don’t want to go to Babel. I keep thinking it’s time to get out of there, come home and settle down.”

“So you are human?” Orick asked, somehow unnerved by the man. All evening, Orick had found that Zell’a Cree sat a bit too close. And now, his tone of voice was off-too mellifluous. The women had just been talking about death and hope, their deepest fears. Yet this man’s tone hinted that such things did not bother him. It struck Orick that the man lacked social graces, or some quality that Orick couldn’t quite name. At the very least, he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

“Yes,” Zell’a Cree said, affirming his humanity.

“Liar,” Gallen countered, unaccountably furious at the man.

The fellow raised an eyebrow, but did not recoil at the accusation. Gallen raised a hand, as if to strike him.

Zell’a Cree just looked at him calmly. His pupils did not constrict. He did not tremble or sweat.

“You’re not human,” Gallen said. “You don’t even know how to fake it. You have no fear at all, do you?”

“Here, now,” the captain said. “We all have our secrets. I make it a policy never to dig too deeply into the private lives of my passengers. A man’s subspecies is his own business. Why, I even have a pair of Tekkar aboard-the black-hearted devils.”

Gallen put his fist down, but carefully watched the burly Zell’a Cree.

“Tekkar?” Ceravanne asked, and Orick could tell by the tone of her voice that these Tekkar had a nasty reputation.

The captain’s face took on a closed look. “Aye, two of them. I invited them to dinner, but they declined, so they’re holed up in their cabin. They said that they too went to the City of Life, seeking the Downing.”

“But you think they have other schemes in mind?” Gallen asked.

“A Tekkar?” Captain Aherly laughed. “You think they would get the rebirth? Weasels will sooner get reborn as doves.”

“Is this what things have come to?” Ceravanne asked. “You knowingly transport agents of the Inhuman?”

“It’s not something I can prove or disprove,” Captain Aherly said. “I may suspect that a man is a scoundrel, but even the guards at the City of Life will turn no man back who desires the Downing. As long as we keep the gates of the city open to all, I can’t prove that the Tekkar have no business in Northland.”

“I suspect,” Ceravanne said, “that the Immortals would have closed those gates to the Tekkar-if not for the presence of the dronon. Now that the dronon have fled, the Tekkar will not be allowed into the northlands.”

“A shame, a shame,” Captain Aherly said, “that things had to come to this. Ah, it’s not like the old days, when the Tharrin judged men honestly, and there was goodwill among the peoples.”

“You believe there ever was such a time?” Zell’a Cree said. “Some say that it is a myth.”

“The harbor at Tylee has old dry-docking facilities for a hundred vessels,” Aherly said. “But I’ve never seen more than ten ships put up at any one time. There must have been more people coming and going, not too long ago.”

“It’s true. There was never such fear or animosity between peoples when I was young,” Ceravanne said. “The gates to the City of Life were unguarded, as were the ports. People traded freely, and it seemed we were rich.”

“If ever there was such a time, it is long past,” Zell’a Cree said. “You were born after the dronon came,” Ceravanne said. “Ask the old ones you meet, they will tell you. Our world was at peace.”

“Yes,” Captain Aherly said. “It’s true that we had some peace, an unequal peace. There was always peace in Northland. But even without the dronon, it was harder to come by in the south. You can’t let people like the Tekkar mix with folks like … the Champlianne here”-he waved to the albino woman-“and hope to have any peace. You might as well raise wolves in the rabbit pen.”

“Yet even the Champlianne had the faithful Caldurians to protect them,” Ceravanne said, looking up to the warrior woman who paced the floor. “And as long as the Caldurians are strong, there can be peace again. Especially now that the dronon have fled.”

“Ah, the dronon have fled but the Inhuman remains,” Aherly said. “And I fear that those who desire peace will be swept away before it. Those who have just come from the City of Life say they have seen preparations for war. Armies gathering in Northland.”

Maggie gasped, unable to hide her astonishment.

“It makes sense,” Zell’a Cree said. “With the dronon gone, someone will have to take charge.”

“I have heard this rumor, too,” Ceravanne admitted reluctantly, eyeing Gallen for his reaction. “But mark my words, the Immortals will not let their human soldiers cross the oceans. They will not carry their war to the Inhuman, whatever the provocation.”

“Pity, Inhuman does not feel same,” the Caldurian guard said. “No one has counted people of Babel, but they outnumber humans. They will strike first, and they will strike hard. Humans can’t stand against them.”

“You seem certain,” Ceravanne said, setting down her fork, watching the Caldurian for a confirmation.

The Caldurian shrugged. “I hear things.”

“What kinds of things?” Ceravanne asked.

“Rumors.” Aherly laughed, too nervously. “Rumors are all you’ve heard.”

The Caldurian studied his face, and seemed to take a warning from it, as if perhaps it was unsafe to speak further. “Rumors,” she agreed.

That night in Gallen and Maggie’s room, when the waves rode high and the boat tossed on the sea, Orick lay sprawled on the floor while Ceravanne reclined on his stomach, as if it were a pillow. Gallen and Maggie gathered round and held a council, speaking softly.

“What is this about a war?” Gallen demanded from Ceravanne, his voice almost a hiss. “You said nothing about it last night!”

“It’s a rumor started by the Immortals,” Ceravanne said. “So long as the hosts of the Inhuman believe that we have troops massed and prepared, we hope that they will not march against us. Meanwhile, we are trying to gather armies. A muster has gone out. Our lords fear that now that the dronon have left, the Inhuman will try to seize power. As to whether the Inhuman has gathered armies, we do not know. So far, we have heard only rumors, no more substantial than those we have spread ourselves.”

“What if those rumors are true?” Gallen asked, incredulous. “You want us to march into an armed country?”

“We have no choice,” Ceravanne said. “But think of this: if armies are now gathering, a muster could work to our advantage by drawing soldiers away from Moree. It could aid our quest.

“Gallen, you must understand something,” Ceravanne said. “We don’t know how many foes we are up against. As the Caldurian told you, the people of Babel have never been numbered, and we can’t even guess how many have joined the Inhuman. But there is one thing we do know: we know the quality of their troops. The Tekkar are swift and brutal in ways you cannot comprehend. They live in dark warrens carved into the stones, and no one can guess their numbers. They alone would sorely test our defenses. Their swift-winged scouts can fly long and far, coordinating armies in ways that we cannot match. And there are thousands of lesser races in Babel, each with its own unique strengths.

“Gallen, the message we sent to the rebels was recorded six months ago. It took a long time to contact you. I’ve been waiting for you now for months, and you may have come too late to do much good. It may be that we cannot avert a war.

“I fear that the hosts of the Inhuman will sweep across Northland, and the human hosts of Tremonthin may be decimated.

“But no matter what our quest may accomplish, we must at least try.”

“If I’d known this last night,” Gallen said, “we could have hurried!”

“Hurried where?” Ceravanne said. “It would have been foolish to try to leave port in the dark, even if we’d had a trustworthy captain handy who was willing. We left as soon as we could, and we cannot make the wind blow us any faster. We’ve hired a lofty ship-but until we reach port in Babel, you and I have no power to even begin the race to Moree.

“Gallen, there may be more dangers ahead than I have told you, depending on our route. There are peoples in Babel who do not think as we do, and we may be unsafe among them. Some, like the Derrits, are uncivilized and eat other peoples for food. Some, like the Tekkar, are civilized and more brutal. And we are just as likely to find unexpected friends. It has been five hundred years since I left Babel, and I do not know what people occupy the lands now. Mostly, I fear the Inhuman and its Tekkar. But I do not want to burden you with possible dangers.”

“Tell me this, then, at least,” Gallen said. “Why are you here? Why did you insist on coming? Why do you insist on facing the Inhuman yourself?”

“I came for many reasons,” Ceravanne said. “I came because you need a guide, and few in the human lands could do this. I came because I fear that you may not have the heart to do what is required, and I hoped to give you strength, and to help rally the people of Babel to our need, if possible.” She leaned closer and said softly, “Gallen, it is not enough to destroy the Inhuman-I have come to undo the damage it has wrought.”

“Ooh! How can you do that?” Gallen asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ceravanne said. “I can only try.” She plainly did not want to say any more.

“Right, then,” Gallen mumbled. He turned away from her in frustration, bit his upper lip. There were volumes that needed to be spoken between them, but they would not be spoken now. “We must take stock of our situation.

“What did you think of our dinner guests tonight?” Gallen asked, looking between Ceravanne, Orick, and Maggie. “It seems to me that other folks had secrets to keep. Not just us. I don’t trust Zell’a Cree.”

“Why not?” Ceravanne asked.

“He claimed to be a merchant, but when I asked what he sold, he didn’t tell. Every merchant I’ve ever met is quick to grab your collar, and if he’s any good, he’ll try to unload half his wares before you get away. That man is no merchant, and he’s no human.”

“He is a Tosken,” Ceravanne said. “Outwardly, he can pass as human. Inwardly, he is something else entirely. Still, they are a peaceful people.”

“You don’t think he is dangerous?” Gallen asked.

“He has no fear-of death, of pain, of strangers. And because he has no fear, he is not likely to harm us.”

“And what of the captain?” Maggie said, bending down close to Gallen, taking his hand in hers. “He practically admits that he transports those who are in league with the Inhuman.”

“If he were secretly in league with the Inhuman, would he admit to transporting them?” Ceravanne asked. “No, I think he is like any merchant. He would rather make money than ask dangerous questions.”

“And if he is loyal only to money,” Orick said, “then he’s loyal only to those who pay the most-or last. As long as our purse has a bottom, I won’t trust him.”

“Tallea said she was loyal to the truth,” Maggie whispered.

“Yes,” Orick said, excited. “A curious sentiment. Which truth, do you think? And why did she leave Moree? To escape the Inhuman?”

“She’s not loyal to the Inhuman,” Ceravanne said.

“How can you know? Maggie asked.

“She wore no belt.”

“What do you mean?” Gallen asked.

“Tallea is a Caldurian,” Ceravanne said. “Her people are often called ‘the Allies.’ They were created long ago-long before the Tharrin were formed-by corporate warlords who sought total devotion from their workers. When they are young, Caldurians may bond to a certain patron, and they remain faithful throughout life. And when they bond, they wear a belt as a sign of their bondage. She is not bonded to Captain Aherly, or to anyone else.”

Orick looked at Ceravanne appreciatively. She seemed to have a keen eye, and he saw now that her presence on this journey would be invaluable.

“Which means that she might hire her services out to us,” Ceravanne considered. “She would make an excellent escort.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have a man?” Maggie asked. “Someone who is stronger?”

“A Caldurian woman is stronger than a man of most other races,” Ceravanne said. “You saw the rings on her fingers? Six master rings of emerald for her swordsmanship. Four rings of topaz for staff. When a Caldurian proves equal in training to a master, he or she gets a ring. To win more rings, they must cut them from the fingers of their dead foes.

“She is an accomplished warrior, and it is rumored that the Caldurians cannot be turned by the Inhuman.”

“Why not?” Gallen asked.

“Some think that it is because they are so highly disciplined,” Ceravanne said. “Others think that their minds are just too different from ours, so the Word cannot function properly with them. It is whispered that the Inhuman does not even bother to try to convert them now. Instead, they are killed outright.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Orick said, “but I’m getting nervous with all of this talk. I think there’s trouble on this ship. I saw those Tekkar. Even without your warnings, I knew they were dangerous.”

“Yes,” Ceravanne agreed. “The Inhuman is with us, but does it know of our plans? Will it seek to thwart us?”

“I don’t think any of them followed us from the city,” Maggie said. “Orick and I watched the boats, and we saw no familiar faces.”

“That’s a good sign,” Gallen agreed.

“But the Inhuman is often subtle,” Ceravanne warned. “Just because you do not see it, that does not mean it isn’t here. We should take care. We should stay to our cabins as much as possible for the duration of the trip, and never speak openly about our quest again. I know that it is much to ask for you to agree to such seclusion, but it should only be six or seven days till we reach Babel.”

Well?” Captain Aherly asked.

Zell’a Cree pulled his head away from the cabin wall where he’d been listening. “They don’t suspect either of us strongly,” he whispered. “But they are wary of the Tekkar.”

“You should have left the Tekkar in Northland,” Aherly said. “They’ll be nothing but trouble. They’ve already asked my permission to kill some of our guests. I denied them, but they’re thirsty for blood.”

“Yet we may need their services before this is over,” Zell’a Cree whispered. He considered. He had only three copies of the Word left in his pouch. He couldn’t harvest all of the souls in the neighboring cabin. But perhaps he didn’t need to. The bear was expendable. Still, most unwilling converts would fight the Word, and there was no way to be certain that three copies would be enough.

“The Tharrin woman, Ceravanne, is beautiful,” Aherly said. “I have often longed to see a Tharrin. And yet I find that if I had seen this one on the street, disguised as she was, I would have passed her, never knowing what she was, knowing only that she was lovely.” His tone became hard, commanding. “Whatever happens, I don’t want you or your men to kill her.”

“She’s more than just beautiful, she’s useful. I’ll order the Tekkar to stay in their room,” Zell’a Cree agreed.

Aherly shook his head in bewilderment. “Are you sure these people are what you say they are? Gallen and Maggie look like … well, just nice kids. Not Lords of the Swarm. And Ceravanne looks like their younger sister. They’re practically children!”

“Were we not children before the Inhuman claimed us?” Zell’a Cree said.

“Well, yeah,” Aherly fumbled.

Zell’a Cree sighed, obviously fatigued. “We’ll find more copies of the Word when we reach port. It seems that time is against our friends. From now on, at night we will put the sails at quarter mast.”

“You bastard!” Captain Aherly said. “I’ve got cargo to carry. You’ll cost me days!”

Zell’a Cree scowled at the man. Aherly might be Inhuman, but he was still greedy, a vice that Zell’a Cree could not claim for himself.

“If you have complaints about how I treat you,” Zell’a Cree whispered dangerously, “perhaps you should take them to the Tekkar.” Zell’a Cree was a broad man, incredibly stocky, so that even in spite of the fact that he was not much taller than Aherly, Zell’a Cree seemed to dwarf the captain.

Aherly’s jaw quivered, and Zell’a Cree studied the movement … wondering if he could learn to simulate fear.

* * *