The Gate of Bones (50 page)

“No. I've been thinking and thinking.” Jason dropped onto the stool next to Trent so he could look eye to eye with his friend. “Jonnard isn't a real Gatekeeper, but he opened that one. It doesn't swing open and shut like a normal Gate, and as near as I can tell, it doesn't portal like a normal Gate. It doesn't lead from place to place. I think it . . . well, I'm not sure, but I think it leads from existence to existence. From life to death, from good to evil, or something like that. Whatever it is, it doesn't belong here, and it's corrupting everything every moment it stays open.”

“And your point is . . .”

“I can't allow it to stay open, and I think it will take all of a Gatekeeper's power to shut it.”

“All of their power?”

“All.”

Trent shoved back from the table as if rejecting everything he said. “No way!”

“I need you to trust me on this.”

“Trust you? When you've gone insane or something?”

Jason took a short breath. “If I've learned one thing—make that two things—since becoming a Magicker, it's to trust when I look inside myself, and to trust in my friends when I reach out to them. I can do this, Trent, but I can't do it without you. I don't want anyone else to know what I'm planning, but if you think you can help, then let me know. Either way, I know what it is I have to do.” He stood. Without another word, he left the study, and behind him he could hear muffled words that sounded like Trent muttering, “Oh, maaaaaan.”

 

Trent watched Jason walk out of the study and rocked his stool back on two stubby rear feet, balancing himself precariously. His fingers drummed the edge of the tabletop in time with his thoughts as they galloped through his mind. Although he'd come to the same conclusion, he hadn't voiced it to Jason, and he hadn't thought Jason would ever come to believe in it, too. No way would Jason say, all right, Jonnard is the big kahuna and he's right, and I'm gonna go throw myself in the volcano for everyone's sake. No way.

But he just had, in so many words.

Trent syncopated his tapping fingers and mind through every myth he could think of, without finding a way out, and finally let his stool sink back to the floor on all fours. He needed ammo if he was going to talk Jason out of anything, and he couldn't come up with it. If anything, old stories and tales and religions tended to reinforce what Jason intended to do.

There was no way Trent would let that happen. And he couldn't think that Jason would just give up that easily, not the Jason he knew, not the friend he'd come to depend upon.

For that matter, why had Jason come to him, and not to all of them? They were all in this together, always had been. There was no doubt the two of them, though, had shared thoughts with each other that no one else knew. Jason had opened up to him about things Trent knew he would never tell another soul, unwilling to vent anything that could hurt anyone else. Trent had listened to him when Jason feared he could tell no one else. Then, why his cryptic last words? Why would Jason possibly think he'd help do something so rash?

Trent blinked.

Because . . . possibly . . . Trent was the only one who
could
help.

“I'm an idiot,” he said, and got to his feet. He reached for his crystal. He couldn't find Jason through it the way the others seemed to find each other by talking and seeing, but there was no way he was going to run through the academy yelling at the top of his lungs. If, as Gavan had hinted, the walls might well have unfriendly ears, there was ample reason Jason hadn't come right out and said what he meant.

But he had his own ways of finding people, and as he held his crystal, his mind cleared a bit and he could see through the doorway a faint aura-colored pathway trailing after the way Jason had gone. Magick leads Magick, he thought, and went in search of the other.

A
HEAVY HAND THUMPED on the academy's front door. Gavan opened it, Jason at his elbow. Rain had come and gone again, but more clouds threatened on the horizon. It did not, however, dampen their pleasure at seeing who stood there, as the other Magickers raced downstairs and crowded around.

Dokr stood there, hat off. “A bargain has been made,” he said. “I have come to help.” A faint smile creased the man's face.

Henry whooped behind them. “Renart did it!”

The wanderer gave a slight bow. “He has given us seed for fields and seedlings for orchards, and land for us to hold. We would make him king for that, but he tells us it is your doing. I'm here for fulfilling the bargain.”

They hurried to get everyone packed and ready, while the wanderers stood by with the same uncurious, patient look they had held while building the academy. Gavan brought them all together.

He held Eleanora in his arms, but she sat up, smiling, looking far better than she had days ago, her hair brushed softly about her face. He kissed her temple lightly before saying, “We're never alone, as Magickers, you all know that. But we can't use the crystals to stay in touch, not right now. There is a chance, however slight, that the Dark Hand might overhear us at these distances. So, our correspondence will be as the crow flies. Snowheart or Midnight will be taking small messages back and forth when needed. We won't be far apart, or for long.”

Tomaz held up a forefinger. “Small messages,” he repeated. “And only as absolutely necessary. Crows are not jet planes.”

“Everyone ready?”

“I am staying,” Madame Qi stated firmly. “Otherwise, I think all are ready.”

“Staying?”

She nodded at Gavan and said nothing more.

“Then let's go. I don't want to attract attention to wanderers on the road this late in the year.” Gavan carried Eleanora out first, murmuring something none of the others could hear in her ear. She laughed and pinched his ear back lightly, bringing a flush to his face.

Dokr seemed unfazed by the invalid Eleanora being loaded onto the first wagon, or even FireAnn who cackled and either blessed or hexed in her Irish brogue the teams of horses hitched to the wagons, but he did give pause as they loaded Gregory in his sarcophagus.

“He is dead, no?”

“He is dead, no. I mean, no, he's not dead. Just sleeping. For a very, very long time.” Jason faltered in his explanation.

The wanderer stared as they stowed the coffin in the cargo bin of the wagon. “Very well,” he said to Jason finally, with a shrug. “I have seen stranger things, I believe.”

Freyah tapped him on the shoulder. “We're all in, young man. Time to move out.”

Ting leaned against her grandmother. “Are you sorry you're not going?”

Her grandmother smiled, her face breaking into a thousand wise wrinkles. “There is something here I must finish first. Let Rebecca get the first lessons, she has much more to learn.”

Jason watched as Rebecca and Bailey hugged each other fiercely.

“Stay out of trouble,” mother told daughter as daughter burst out, “I'll try to stay out of trouble!” They laughed at each other. Then Dokr gave orders to his drivers and the three wagons pulled out to the slap of harness and sharp whistles urging the horses, leathers creaking and wheels jolting. Eventually, they all turned away but Gavan and Bailey.

Jason watched from the doorway as Gavan leaned over and hugged Bailey tightly. Jason listened as he made her no promises, though. They might be safe for now, they might never be safe, as long as the Dark Hand valued power more than life. He turned away, thinking that this was as good a time as any. He and Trent exchanged looks, and he gave a nod.

Trent frowned and nodded back.

 

He tidied his bed and few things. He took his crystals, the one in his pocket, and the one he often wore on the chain about his neck, his old soccer shirt twisted into a headband, and sundry other items that meant something to him. His other things he left in a neat bundle at the foot of the bed. He did not say goodbye to anyone, not until he Crystaled to the edge of Dark Hand holdings.

Wolf jackals surged toward him, snarling and yipping, a wave of fur and flashing eyes, the first alarm of intruders on the land. He waved a hand, and they stilled. He rubbed the scar on the back of his left hand, the scar he had carried since before he had even known he was a Magicker, the scar a wolfjackal had marked him with, and he said, “I am yours.”

They parted to let him through. He strode across the outer boundary of the hills until he reached the blackened valley where the abyss broke through, and there he waited.

In a few brief moments, Isabella and Jonnard appeared. She was dressed in midnight-blue satin, her gown sweeping the winter grass of brown and sand, while he was all in black, as usual. “What are you doing here, Magicker?”

“I've come to close the Gate.”

Jon's eyes flashed in triumph. Isabella raised a hand. “You're agreeing to do whatever is necessary?”

“That's why I'm here. In case you're doubting me, I brought a witness. Someone so there won't be any trouble later, no blame for whatever happens.” Jason turned, quirked a finger, and Trent loped up behind him.

Jonnard's mouth curled. “The Magicker without Magick.”

Isabella put her hand on his, stilling him, saying, “I think that's wise. A witness is an excellent idea.”

Jason looked at the Gate, and took a deep breath. It sensed him, its voices growing louder, calling incoherently for him, for the power he carried. A moment of regret filled him. He wouldn't see his families again, either one. He hadn't told the dragon what he intended to do. And he'd dragged Trent into this. He turned around. “You don't have to stay,” he said to his friend.

“There is no way you're getting me to leave.”

He put his hand out. “Whatever happens, then.” Trent took his handshake, then pulled him in for a hug. In his ear, fiercely, Trent whispered, “Never alone!” before letting go and moving back.

“The Gate is quiet,” Jonnard pointed out. “It would be wise to do whatever you're going to do before the fiends start emerging. Their taste for flesh is . . . not pleasant.”

“I don't need encouragement,” he answered flatly. He took Gregory's crystal, warm to his touch, out of his pocket. He thought about it a second, then passed it to Trent. “See Eleanora gets that.”

“But—”

He shook his head quickly. “I won't need it.”

Trent whistled softly. “All right.” He tucked it away, his own crystal swinging from its chain on his belt loop.

Without any more thoughts, he stepped into the whirling edge of the Gate, into the mists at the lip of its abyss, bones snapping underfoot, and a skull caught in the maelstrom of its movement bobbing around in vacant-eyed mockery of him. Power licked at him like cold green flame. It wanted to crawl inside of him, but he thrust it away. He didn't want any part of it or its false promises. He looked up and saw Trent's tense face, watching him, and he smiled. With a hand to his crystal, he began to do that which he could do best.

He learned the Gate. Without taking its powers, he learned its fury and its weakness, its purposes and its ending, and he began to deny it pulse by pulse. Jonnard leaned close. He had to shout to be heard over the whirlwind and the moaning.

“What are you doing?”

Jason smiled at him. “Closing the Gate. What I came to do.”

“Fool. You're doing nothing. Step inside it!”

“It will devour what it wishes,” Jason told him calmly. He continued to set up his matrix, and for a moment, he thought he could do it, actually do it, and survive. He drew on himself, and he drew on the Chaos of the wolfjackals circling the Gate, their eyes glittering with hope and anger at the nearness of their freedom.

Then the Gate awoke. Like a great beast that sensed prey within its grasp, it truly awoke. A thousand Magicks erupted inside of it, bathing Jason, dragging him back and down. He thought he felt hands on his ankles, Leucator flesh, grasping him. Jonnard licked his lips.

“Power,” he said. He leaned closer.

Jason felt the Gate open him up, atom by atom, tasting him, deciding how it would devour him. Stricken, he stared at Trent, his plans evaporating. He thought he knew it because he'd taken Bailey from it. He realized now that nothing the Gate truly wanted would ever escape. He lost his grip on the earth. The maelstrom of energy bore him upward and then began to drag him back into the mists and carnage, back into its throat of an abyss.

Jonnard reached out. He grabbed Jason's outflung hand, crying, “Give it to me!”

Jason hung between the two of them, Jonnard and the Gate of Bones, power draining in both directions, his life flowing out, a candle burning wildly at both ends. So quickly! He thought he might have more time. . . .

Trent moved. He reached out and grasped Jason's forearm, his other hand untangling line after line of magical force only he could see. The Gate groaned and wailed as its strands snapped one after another, and Jason could feel himself flowing back. He gripped Trent tightly. Then, he pulled Jonnard in with his right hand.

The Gate seized them both. Jonnard yelled in fury and thrashed about. Jason anchored on Trent and let himself be pulled out, even as he continued to shut down the Gate, its attention fastened on Jonnard. It had him by the throat. His cries ceased, but his thrashing grew wilder.

Isabella flung herself at her son and heir. Whether she intended to push him in, or pull him out, no one could tell. Jonnard grabbed her fiercely, his face in a snarl, even as she screamed at him to let go and just feel the power.

Trent hauled Jason out, hand over hand, and the Gate snapped shut with a tremendous roar. It sucked itself inward, imploding, with a sound and fury that deafened them. Like a land sink, it filled itself in and the two had to scramble for it, dirt collapsing into a tremendous crater and they running to keep from being sucked down into it after all.