Gatewright (7 page)

I
knew this, but it was nice to confirm it. 
Toran, Kusay, and Becot,
I recited to myself.  Originally named after the heroes who had founded
each.  Emor, according to Jack, was solidly in Toran territory.  I
wondered which clans Hazel and Riven belonged to.  The
more
subtle
differences that a fey might pick up on were beyond me.

“I
heard you mention Second Queen earlier.”  I asked.  “The Queen who
built this castle.  Which clan did she belong to?”

Hazel
brightened.  “Toran, of course.  Technically, she was one of
three
queens, but the only one that did anything of note around here.”

Riven
coughed loudly without looking up, and Hazel’s cheeks reddened. 
“Although, that’s just around here.  The Becot Second Queen formed the
Citadel of Trees, and the Kusay Second Queen created the Citadel of
Fountains.  You’ll visit it soon.”

“I
love the stonework here, but this all looks like it was created by the same artist. 
Are these intended to be portraits?”  Isabel asked.

Hazel
frowned.  “Portraits?  They are stone.”

I
recognized the error in translation and jumped in, speaking in Anowir. 
“Life-like representations.  She’s asking if they looked like that in real
life.”

“Oh!” 
Hazel smiled.  “Yes, quite.  The artist was very talented… he used
scrying and meditation to touch their spirit.”  Hazel indicated the
jewelry on each Queen.  “Their jewelry – and yes, that was actually theirs
– provided the conduit.”

“Huh.” 
Isabel mused. “I wonder if human spirits would also respond.”

Hazel
shook her head.  “Unlikely.  Magic is what links them, and humans
would have no magical link to the stone.”

Isabel’s
shoulders slumped, and she refocused on her dinner.

“So,
Isabel,” I asked.  “Do you know if there’s a way to tell one clan member
apart from another clan?”  I carefully didn’t look at Hazel.

Isabel
perked up.  “Yup!  Toran tends to wear more colorful clothes,
especially greens and golds.  The Queen is an earth mage, an
elohi
,
so the fashion tends to follow her.  They’ve also started incorporating
some modern human styles, when they have the chance to import alternative
fabrics.”  She swiveled toward Hazel.  “Let me guess, you’re a
Toran?”

I
internally winced.  Getting that wrong could have consequences, but Hazel
only smiled and nodded.  “My family has been in clan Toran since the
founding.  I’m a descendant of the Fourth Queen.”

With
Hazel’s accidental encouragement, Isabel continued.  “Becot likes flowing
clothes, often in light colors, since their territory predominantly covers the
Gulf states.  Kusay is more conservative, preferring layered clothes for
flexibility, since their territory is essentially the Appalachians.  Both
Kusay and Becot Queens are water mages,
amayi
, but Kusay’s accent colors
tend to be the blue-green spectrum while Becot favors the blue-purple
spectrum.”

I
couldn’t help but peek at the end of the table, where Riven had paused in his
meal to watch us intently.  Becot, Jack had told me, was not friendly toward
humans.  I didn’t think Toran would send two of their own, since that
would likely antagonize Kusay and Becot. He carried himself confidently, and
Hazel deferred to him more than she probably realized.  She’d told us they
were co-hosts, but I wasn’t feeling it. 

I
weighed the two choices in my mind.  From Jack’s obsessive attention to
fey politics, I knew clan alliance was incredibly important.  I scanned
him for clues.  His tunic was light brown, with intricate blue
embroidery.  No layers, not particularly flowing.  Not Toran, I was
more and more convinced of it.  Kusay was unpredictable; Becot was
unfriendly.  Either one didn’t leave me much room for trust.

Riven
must have felt my scrutiny, and met my eyes, quirking an eyebrow.  I
shrugged apologetically.  I couldn’t help that I was curious.

Isabel
noticed my gaze.  “Riven, which clan are you from?” she asked him,
straight-out.  She
really
should start thinking before she opened
her mouth.

He
took a long drink before he answered.  “That’s an interesting
question.  Why do you ask?”

“I’m
just curious,” she claimed.

“It’s
currently irrelevant,” he asserted, and returned promptly to his meal. He’d
managed to avoid the question entirely.  I imagined him and Jack trying to
pry information out of each other and tried to hide my sudden grin.

Isabel
snorted.  “What’s his problem?”

“The
fey are trying to give us a unified front.”  I lowered my voice. 
“We’re not supposed to be interested in their clan differences.  If we’re
too curious, we might start taking sides.  See?”

“Ooooh.” 
Isabel suddenly smiled, distracted by dinner. “That smells
good!
”

While
the young fey served us a venison and corn casserole, Hazel nodded to me
appreciatively, and added in Anowir, “Thank you for understanding.”

Yet
another
course followed: fresh trout from the river.  I couldn’t
eat a bite more by the time they offered the last course, plump raspberries
dipped in chocolate.

The
food coma fast approaching, we happily returned to our rooms and prepped for
bed.  I buried myself under the covers with a smile.  I’d never
thought of myself as an explorer, but here I was in fairyland.  And this
was just the start.

I
woke fully alert without any sense of time.  No sunlight illuminated the
glass.  I rolled over in the covers, unwilling to accept that I wasn’t
going back to sleep.  Without a window in my room, my internal clock was
off, but my watch said 5:54am.   No thanks to my previous
midafternoon nap, I had the privilege of two early mornings in a row. 
That hadn’t happened since high school.

Restless
and energized, I gave to consciousness and slipped quietly out of bed. 
Tiptoeing around my room, I quietly went through an abbreviated version of my
morning routine.  I shrugged on my leather jacket over an old Halo
t-shirt, Jack’s knife sitting snugly against my back, hidden from sight.
  While the inside of this glass castle was toasty, the marketplace
would be seasonably chillier.  I crept into the common area, hoping to
find enough light to read by.

No
lanterns or fires illuminated the room.  Faint light poured in from the
window, and my eyes widened in excitement as I approached it.  My first
real
view of Emor.  I carefully leaned on the warm glass ledge, hugging my
jacket close about me against the chilly air.  The sun stained the sky
with the promise of day, only the brightest of stars still visible. 

The
view of the city stole my breath.  For a dizzying moment, the height of
the Citadel registered with me.  I could see all of Emor, from the stone
mansions near the Citadel to the distant, smaller adobe homes at the
fringes.  The roads and buildings adapted with surprising care to the
hills and valleys of Anowir, waterways allowed to follow their natural course,
streets twisting around the sharpest inclines.  Scattered trees added
splashes of red wherever they still hung on to their leaves.

While
I’d anticipated the architecture, and to an extent, the lay of the land, the
sheer number of fey that lived here raised the hair on my arms.  The fey
downplayed their numbers.  Speaking of three clans made it sound as if
they were thriving families, not established ruling houses.

I
heard movement behind me, and turned to look.  Erikah padded to me on
stocking feet, in penguin pajamas, hair sticking out in odd directions. 
“Isn’t this amazing?” she whispered and joined me at the window.  “I feel
like I’m going to wake up at any second from this dream.”

I
nodded mutely.  We stood for a long time in companionable, awed silence
before it finally grew light enough for us to function.  Erikah
disappeared back into her room to get dressed, and I settled myself on the
couch with Neil Gaiman’s
American Gods.

Isabel
joined us an hour later, dark circles under her eyes. “I need hot water for coffee,
where do I find it,” she muttered.  Ah, happy, chipper Isabel was
caffeinated
Isabel.

We
cast longing glances at the walls, full of bubbling hot water with nary a
spout.  So close, but so far.  Then it occurred to me.  “Riven
is a fire mage.”  The red hair was a dead giveaway.  “He might be
able to do it.”

Hope
lit up Isabel’s eyes.  “Please.”  As if she was dying of thirst in
the desert.  I bit back a remark along the lines of
If you want it, why
don’t you ask him?
I hadn’t endeared myself to Riven by maneuvering him
into a vow.  The fact I’d tripped him when he’d walked through the gate
was just the icing on the cake.

I
dutifully dug out my French press and filled it with ground coffee and
water.  No one else looked brave enough to ask.  “Riven!”  I
called.  Hazel and Riven ought to be awake, and if they weren’t, well, it
was about time.

Riven
appeared mere seconds later, with Hazel on his heels.  “Is something
amiss?” he asked, cautiously alert.  I probably should have told him we
weren’t in any danger.  But coffee was indeed a critical need.

“Can
you heat some water for us?”  I tried to smile encouragingly.

He
gave me a flat look that screamed
seriously?
The other humans, including
Kim, begged him with puppy-dog eyes.  I hopefully offered him the press. 

He
visibly relented.  “How hot do you want it?”

“Boiling,
if you can.”  I had no idea what a fire mage could do with water.

“If
I can?” he scoffed as he sat on the floor in front of the (aptly-named) coffee
table.  Riven refocused on the press as he set it carefully down.  He
took a breath, his hands glowing orange, and the water erupted.  With a
slight hiss, he yanked his hands back from the glass.  I took note: fire
mages not immune to heat.

So
far, I’d only heard what magic was capable of, and this subtle but undeniable
demonstration had me grinning like an idiot.
Riven’s careful approach to
heating the water, followed by its violent reaction, made me realize that it
wasn’t boiling the water that was the challenge, it was not setting all of us
on fire with it too. Once we filled Isabel’s thermos, we begged Riven to heat
the press two more times.  Our combined effort (and my French press) had
gotten us hot coffee.  We were a team.

“Want
to try some?”  I offered Riven my thermos.

He
grasped it hesitantly, then blinked in surprise.  “This object is
remarkable.  I can barely sense the heat from the outside.  Is this a
common human device?”

Riven’s
legitimate interest heralded a solid fifteen-minute discussion about vacuums
and thermodynamics.  His English vocabulary was outstanding, although his
accent was as thick as molasses and he regularly mispronounced words.  Why
had he learned it?
But
I didn’t spend too much time on that,
considering most of my brain was consumed with attempting to draw parallels to
how magic affected the laws of physics. 

Kim
gently interrupted us just as Riven was getting to how fire mages,
atsili,
worked
with earth mages,
elohi,
in blacksmithing and metallurgy.  “Jan,
you haven’t actually let him try the coffee yet.”

“Oh,”
I said, embarrassed.  We’d been chattering away like we were the only ones
in the room, our curiosity slowly transforming into outright enthusiasm. 
Riven’s reaction was hard to read, but I thought he seemed disappointed as I
offered him the thermos.  “Please, try it.”

He
raised it to his lips and sipped carefully, then carefully handed the thermos
back to me, struggling to hold back his distaste.  “I think I will decline
any more of this coffee.”

He
reminded me of Jack.  Did all fey have a sweet tooth?  I suddenly
recalled the old Celtic legends of the Fair Folk who so enjoyed cakes and
milk.  So there
was
some truth to it!  “I don’t have cream or
sugar, but I think you’d like it if I added those.”

Riven
leaned away from me.  “Maybe.”  It sounded a lot like ‘no’.

Young
fey brought us a small buffet of fruit, cheese, milk, and bread for breakfast,
and at 11am (and at least a fifth of the way through
Gods
), we left to
go see magic up close.  We’d already gotten a great preview, although,
coffee aside, I was surprised they were going to show us the most unique aspect
of Azry on the first day.  It would be good to get it out of our system.

Enjoying
each other’s company, we noisily marched down the stairs, out of the halls and
across the narrow green lawn that separated the Citadel from the nearest
homes.  The Citadel was on a slight hill, but not enough I could actually
see anything beyond the nearest homes. Fine stonework knit seamlessly with
etched glass windows that looked out over the spacious cobbled streets. 
The red tiled roofs reminded me of an odd cross between Roman and adobe-style
architecture.  Curious fey stopped in their errands to watch us, but
remained a careful distance apart.  Mothers summoned their children to
them politely, tracking us with their eyes while we passed.

The
piercing blue sky made me think sadly of the gate.  I wish I could have
stayed in the garden to study it.  Perhaps I could convince DIDA to give
me a job doing just that.  Then I realized with a pang, as the sole person
who got gatesick, I would be unlikely to ever get that position.

Hazel
led us about a mile to an impressive structure that reminded me of a square
Coliseum, dwarfing the homes around it.  Up the narrow stone
staircase
we went, four stories without a railing, before we
came out at the top of the balcony.  Neville and Peter panted for breath,
but Isabel didn’t even break a sweat.  Riven topped the stairs last,
bringing up the rear as he had been all day, carefully scanning the other fey
and watching our back.  Climbing the stairs had no effect on him; his face
twitched from restraining his disdain for the wheezing humans.

We
all gathered around Hazel as she gestured toward the interior, the size of
perhaps half a football field, ringed with tall, black stone pillars. 
“These are the Testing Grounds.  Most fey in Anowir, including me, were
down there at some point testing our magic and our will.”  She pointed to
the pillars.  “We use the pillars as anchors to protect the
audience.  Obsidian is very hard for
elohi
to work with, and the
other elements can’t budge them.  Depending on the contest, we usually
have between 5 to 10 professional mages monitoring the contest, at least one of
each element.”

How
did
they judge
nagali
battles?  Until someone passed
out?  How did
nagali
fight?  I tried not to growl too loudly
with frustration.  Too many things we didn’t know.

“We’re
going to watch three matches today.  The first is a teacher testing a
young student, the most common use of this arena.  In order to unlock
potential, the young often need the security of the pillars to let loose and
understand their capability.  Since Emor is a long journey for many fey,
they usually will duel daily for a week or more.  This is the student’s
third day practicing here.

“The
second match is between a pair of local mages who have secured the space to
practice with each other in good faith.  These mages want to join the
ranks of the
adail
for the honor of their clans.  The third match
will be between two feuding members of clan Becot, a contest that requires ten
mages protecting the audience.” I noticed she didn’t mention protecting the
duelists themselves as she scanned the field for signs of activity. 
“Looks like we’re about five minutes out from the first match, so I encourage
everyone to get comfortable.”

I
dubiously eyeballed the stone benches.  Comfort was not going to happen,
but I took a seat anyway next to Isabel.  From our perch in the second
tier, I could see the few scattered audience members in the first level. 
Our guides were obviously keeping us from having
too
close an encounter
with magic.

“Once
we’re done here,” Hazel continued, “We’ll have a chance for those with fey
blood to try out some magic.”

I’d
never seen Erikah so excited.  She practically bounced.  The “cool
girl” vibe evaporated like water on a hot day.  I sighed with irritation,
once again reminded of my deficiency.

No
loudspeaker system announced the matches, so I was caught by surprise when I
saw two figures, as small as my hand from this far away, stride onto the field,
bow briefly, and then…
magic
happened.  One of them wobbled against
a strong breeze, then the other fell down for no reason I could see. 
Hazel narrated for us.  “As you can see, the student is a wind mage, a
kawoli,
and his teacher is
elohi
.  Aside from its myriad practical uses,
such as creating roads, earth magic is ideal for quickly constructing
fortifications and destabilizing the enemy.”

Their
match was sadly unimpressive.  The teacher wobbled, trying to stand up to
winds and gusts, and the student fell down.  A lot.  Riven’s demo had
been better, and I almost told him so before I caught myself.

For
the next match, a pair of fey placed a large trough in the middle of the arena,
and an
amayi
with blue hair spent ten minutes coaxing water up from the
earth before the match even started.  She (or he, I wasn’t entirely sure)
fought another
elohi
, but this one bent the earth to their will much
more efficiently, so much that it cracked the ground here and there.  The
amayi
manipulated water like a whip; their fellow mage winced and tried to shield
themselves by building a wall in front of them.  From the pure amount of
water being thrown around, the ground slowly turned into a mud pit, and the
elohi
took advantage, making the
amayi
fight for each step.  In
retaliation, the
amayi
threw icicles and froze the ground until they had
immobilized each other.  As the
elohi
started to create another
wall of protection from the flying ice shards, the
amayi
threw her hands
out, a whip once again appearing.  It reached over the wall, wrapping
itself around the
elohi
’s neck and dragging them out from behind
it.  The
elohi
clawed at the water, but their fingers simply passed
through it.  I shuddered a little, glad when the horn blew, signaling the
match was over.

We
broke for lunch, and I was relieved to have a reason to move around…the stone
was decidedly painful on my tailbone. We trudged down all those steps to find a
buffet of fresh food laid out for us, including an absolutely delicious raisin
bread. Afterward we climbed back up, some of us slower and straggling behind.