Gatewright (12 page)

By
midmorning the next day, hunger joined my exhaustion and terror.  My brain
circled aimlessly between hopelessness for my situation, horror at killing a
fey, grief for my friends, and fear that fey still hunted me.  Every
movement in the forest made me start, and hold my knife and walking stick in
front of me, as if that would ward off a fireball.

The
third time that happened,
Riven
sighed loudly at
me.  “No fey are coming.”

“How
do you know?”  The words were out of my mouth before I could think them
through.

“Because
I
killed them
, Jan.”  Riven was angry again, and I wondered if he’d
ever had to kill before.  Whether he felt the same way about the blood on
his clothes as I did about mine.

“I’m
sorry.”  I wanted to hug him, make it better, show him he wasn’t alone.

“For
what?” He shrugged dismissively.  “They knew the risks attacking me. 
I just regret I wasn’t able to get any information from them.”

I
had no idea which clan our attackers had come from, and wasn’t sure I wanted to
find out.  Riven said he was Kusay, and considering (according to Jack)
their loyalties shifted with the wind, it could have been his own people. 
I doubted it was Toran, just because of their long reputation of warm human
relations.  An unhappy Toran splinter group?  Becot?

“I’ve
never seen fey with short hair before,” I observed as we climbed up yet another
hill.  “Why do fey keep their hair long?”  Time with Jack had honed
my skills to finding answers ‘sideways’, so to speak.

“Our
hair is the best reflection of our abilities, as you know.”  Riven
reflexively touched a lock of his own long bright red hair.  “And how we
style it can indicate a variety of meanings.”

“So
what does yours mean?”  I asked.  Two thin braids ran along the sides
of his head, then tied back the rest of his hair in place in a complex knot.

He
hesitated, and I paused at the top of the hill, waiting pointedly.  I
could use a breather anyway.  “It’s got to do with my rank within the
clan,” he finally told me, evasive.  “Hair styles also indicate marital
status and a few other things.”

I
suddenly remembered the
adail
at the gate.  “Glass beads meaning
adail?
”

His
mouth quirked in a smile.  “Yes.”

“What
does a braid mean?” I pressed, trying to capitalize on his good humor.

“I
suppose you’ll figure this out sooner or later,” he relented.  “You asked
before who my cousins were.  They are the heirs to the Kusay clan.  I
am two steps away by blood from the Queen, fifth in the line of
succession.  Hence, two braids.”  Riven paused and lowered his voice. 
“I make them small so my cousins know that
I
know my place.”

I
whistled.  “But if you’re royalty, how did you get roped into the tour?”

“I’m
not royalty,” he protested.  “And I would
really
rather not get
into that.” He gestured me forward.  “Come on, break’s over.  Don’t
humans get any physical activity?”

Oh,
I could just
strangle
him.  I peered at the knot holding his hair
in place.  “So what’s the knot mean?”

“That’s
just to keep everything in place.  Unmarried fey don’t let their hair
down.”

A
smile threatened, and I tried to chase it away.  Silence fell as I tried
to convince myself that exhaustion was addling my brains.  The forest
rolled onwards, trees impassively stretching toward the sky.  Leaves
crunched underfoot, and a rabbit startled us by dashing from the undergrowth.

“That
could have been dinner if I’d had more magic,” Riven complained.

“You’d
also set this whole damn forest on fire.”

Riven
mumbled as if that jogged his memory. “I’m guessing you didn’t have any ill
effects creating a portal in midair, did you?”

“A
little.” I struggled to climb over a fallen tree he gracefully maneuvered
around.  “It wasn’t like when I came through the original portal back in
Emor.  This time, I just felt sick and prickly.  Will you tell me
what a gatewright is now?  Seriously, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die, I
have never heard of gatewrights before.”

“Hope
to die?”  Riven frowned at me, concerned.  “Is this a human saying or
do you actually pray for death?”

“A
saying,” I hurried to clarify.  “A vow of honesty.”

“Oh!” 
Riven understood
that
well enough.  “A gatewright is a creature who
can jump between the worlds,” he explained.

“Is
it a fey thing or a human thing?”  I asked nervously.

“Neither. 
We know little about it.  I personally suspect gatewrights are not human,
but I don’t have evidence to support that guess,” Riven informed me.

“My
parents are very human.”  I certainly
felt
human. If I hadn’t gone
to Azry, I might never have noticed. “You think I’m
not
?” My voice rose.

“Calm
yourself. You’re at least half-human.”

I
took a breath and thought a bit harder about it.  It certainly wasn’t my
mom. I’d bet on my father. Would others be able to tell? Did I need to hide?
Was that why my father left?

Riven
continued. “Being identified as a gatewright bodes poorly for your
survival.  Gatewrights have destabilized fey society for a long time, and
fey have been doing as much as they can to kill them when they catch
them.”  He paused and gave me a sly smile.  “Of course, gatewrights
are quite useful when controlled, but that control is incredibly
difficult.  And unethical.”

“I’m
glad you think so,” I drawled at him. 
Asshole.

Still,
the implications of my newfound ability loomed before me, larger than any mountain. 
DIDA would need to create a whole new security site there in the woods. 
If I kept making gates, they could never keep up.  Hell, I could make
gates for humans to go to the fey world without permission.  So, fey would
want to kill or enslave me, humans would want to either magically neuter me or
imprison me (which, was that even possible?), and Exiles saw me as their
get-out-of-jail-free card.

“Can
I close gates?” THAT also had all sorts of implications.

“From
what I have heard, it depends on the strength of the gatewright.  It’s
harder to repair something than it is to break it.  I certainly wouldn’t
expect you to be able to do that, if this was indeed your very first gate.”

As
we quietly journeyed together, our occasional jibes at each other grew less
heated and more companionable, despite our pain and growing anxiety.  My
knees started to hurt, and then my hips.  Blisters formed on my
feet.  I was already dreading night when I heard a distant whooshing, that
brought me back into the here and now from the dark places I’d been wandering
in my mind.  Water?

We
hurried towards it, a game of “warmer…. Waaaarmer…. No, cooler!”, and finally
came out on a rushing stream.  It probably was related to the same one on
the fey side, but the fey had diverted theirs when they built the road.  I
lunged forward, putting my whole head under the freezing water, then using my
hands to greedily cup the water and suck it into my parched mouth.  I knew
drinking river water in this area was a terrible idea; I just didn’t have a
better one.  I crossed my fingers that I wasn’t killing myself in a much
more mundane fashion. 
Gatewright survives carefully planned fey
attack; dies of dysentery.

We
spent most of the next hour drinking the potentially hazardous water and
letting our joints and muscles relax.  The water dulled the fierce hunger
in my stomach.  I had no idea how our human ancestors wandered about
without the constant panic.  The river showed no signs of life. 
Although, even if I caught a fish, I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it, although
Riven might have been able to roast it.

I
had water.
 I would live
; I tried to convince myself.  All
water goes to the ocean.  I’d just have to walk a bit, but I’d get there,
even if I had to walk all the way to Richmond.  Even though my stomach
felt like a black hole, I didn’t think starvation would kick in for a
while.  But sooner or later, I’d start eating random plants in the forest.

Riven
found a spot on the side of the stream where the earth made a natural shelter
from the wind.  “Can you collect some brush for a fire?” he asked, and I
painfully pulled myself to my feet.  How had resting made everything
worse? 
I took off my shoes, unable to bear the blisters anymore, and hobbled
about, careful not to step on any poisonous plants or thorn bushes.  When
I returned,
Riven
had collected some larger pieces of
wood for the foundation.  He discarded a third of what I’d collected with
a frown, and I couldn’t restrain an irritated sigh.  Riven raised his
eyebrow, challenging me to correct
him
on what would or would not
burn.  I declined to take the bait.

“Can
you start the fire or do you need flint?”  I asked.  “Does magic even
work here?”

He
gritted his teeth.  “The flow of magic here does not move.  It is
brittle,” he tried vainly to describe it.  “Sleeping.  I have to use
the magic of Azry that is tied to my soul to do anything.  And that is
limited.  I do not know how long it will last, so I will be very
careful.”  Saying that, he touched the tinder delicately with his
forefinger.  A small flame flickered into life, consuming the twigs and
leaves.  Riven carefully fanned it until it caught on the thicker pieces
of wood.  
So magic does work in this world.
It showed me just how
little he had left that he was rationing it like that.

“Have
you known any other gatewrights?”  I asked as we shared a handful of
mushrooms that Riven assured me were safe for consumption.  I crossed my
fingers as I bit down.  At least it didn’t taste as terrible as I feared.

He
shook his head.  “No fey has caught a gatewright in over two hundred
years.  Gatewrights are a favored excuse for mayhem, and so it’s hard to
tell how many times your kind has actually been seen in the years since. 
You are the first I’ve met.”  He studied me with curiosity.

“I’m
a special fucking snowflake right now, that’s for sure,” I muttered
unhappily.  Another fey secret the Exiles protected.  I don’t think
the fey actually realized how loyal the Exiles were, even after banishment.

The
temperatures dropped that night from chilly to downright cold.  I crawled
as close as I could to the fire without catching on fire myself, but it did
little against the bitter cold that leeched away my body heat.  Shivering
overtook me, and when I heard Riven move, shame warmed my face.  I hadn’t
meant to wake him.  I just couldn’t stop shaking.

His
footsteps stopped behind me.  What was he doing?  More shuffling in
the leaves, then warmth at my back.  He’d lain down behind me. His arm
reached over, around my waist, squeezing me against him.  Sandwiching me
solidly between the fire and his warm body.

“You…
should be closer… to the fire,” I stammered out through chattering teeth.

“I
have enough magic that the cold doesn’t bother me.  It’s almost killing
you.”  Riven’s breath tickled my ear.

A
faint smile tugged at the corners of my mouth and I snuggled closer to
him.  He was
bony
, that was for sure.  But warm.  And
warm is what mattered.  Slowly, my shivering subsided.  Tension
uncoiled from my shoulders and neck until I was finally able to sleep.

Yet,
I still woke up shortly after, running from nightmares that threatened to
swallow me whole.  I was afraid to sleep… I was afraid not to sleep.

We
stamped out the fire in the morning and started following the stream.  I steeled
my expression against the wince that followed every step.  The likelihood
fey still hunted us declined by the hour.  Yet I couldn’t shake the
fear.  Fey didn’t like to be on this side, and I couldn’t imagine a gate
that small would leak very much magic.  Mine was perhaps a third of the
size of the one near Scottsville.  I’d keep following the river downstream
until I found people.  And then I’d beg a phone call, get my mom on the
phone, and have someone come and get me.  Then this whole nightmare would
be over, and I would spend the rest of my life in therapy.

Riven
would be allowed back through the gate to Azry, right?

Not
going to think like that.  Can’t afford to worry.

After
a few miles, we walked up a high ridge, looking for signs of human habitation
in the valley beyond.  I almost cried with happiness when I spotted a
distant town.  Before I started charging down the slope after it,
Riven
took careful note of landmarks and the position of the
sun in the sky in order to make sure that we didn’t get lost again.  The
rough terrain, our agonizing, blistered feet and inflamed joints slowed us
down.  Dizzy with hunger, the cold got into my head and confused me. 
My stomach ached constantly.  We’d left the river, and thirst burned my
throat again.  I felt queasy, and hoped the river water wasn’t catching up
with me.