The Gate of the Moon

  Scholars who hold that theory generally suppose that we, the Legaleians, came from that land. This could, perhaps, solve one issue, that is to say that if humankind came from this other continent, perhaps it would have been possible for life to exist before the Wellspring of Life at the center of Argent came to be. But then there is the same question—where did we come from before that? Scholars have a tendency to try and explain human origins with, “We came from somewhere else,” but it’s a rather circular argument. . . .

  — From Secrets of Mani, by Sor the Lark

  (Quoi 14, 997—Night Season)

  The trek up the tower proved to be as long and grueling as we’d anticipated. The stone stairs seemed to never end, one after the other. The tower was perhaps a hundred feet wide at the base and tapered slightly with each row of stairs, but it was tall. So tall.

  “So . . . tired,” grunted Mydia. “I just want to—” She cut off with a yelp, clutching to my shoulder for probably the sixth time as a loud roll of thunder sounded, shaking the stone beneath our feet. We kept as close to the inside as possible, but every crash of thunder still sent a jolt of fear down my spine. Nerve-racking didn’t begin to describe it. I wasn’t really getting fatigued like the others—except perhaps mentally—but I wanted to be over with the perilous climb as soon as possible.

  The lightning flared in the sky constantly, some thundering and others silent, lighting our way but in treacherous, shifting angles. I had tried my flame for light, but as much as it actually gave us light to see by, it also distracted our vision just the same. Kymhar and Rhidea led the way. We followed close behind over the slowly tightening curve of the stairway.

  And . . . we tried our best not to look down.

  Finally, Rhidea stopped and looked back. “Here it is: the top of the tower.” She waved us up as Kymhar climbed the last steps to the top.

  I wanted to hurry there myself, but instead I took Oliver’s hand in my right and Mydia’s in my left and helped them up the last bit. They both collapsed to the ground immediately upon reaching the top. I felt like doing the same, and looking at Kaen and Rhidea, I saw that they felt likewise.

  “We made it,” I said, looking around at the roof of the tower for the first time. It was roughly fifty feet across and circular, with a floor of the same cross-hatched silver stone that made up the walls. There was a low step up toward the middle in two spots, like raised tiers, and in the center stood an arched, empty doorway of stone. Eight feet tall, four feet wide. To look at it, one could not tell that there was anything special or magical about it.

  I approached it hesitantly. “Is that . . . ?”

  “The gateway to Gaea?” Rhidea asked in a tired voice. “We can only assume so.”

  Mydia picked herself up beside me with a grunt, and I helped her to her feet. “The Gate,” she murmured upon seeing it. “But . . . how is it supposed to work?”

  I shrugged. “One way to find out.”

  We approached the Gate and inspected it closely. Oliver caught up to us in time for his curiosity to get the best of him.

  “Don’t touch it,” Rhidea muttered, swiping aside his reaching hand. She proceeded to run her own, more scholarly hand carefully down the side of the stone, and I gave Oliver a quick grin. He responded with a pouty face.

  The sides of the Gate were curved all around except for the flat inner arch, and engraved with foreign letters on the side that Rhidea was looking at.

  “Isn’t that the same Gaean script that was on the mural in the Well?” I asked.

  She nodded in response, brow furrowed in thought. “It must be of Gaea.” Her tone seemed to imply that we would know more had we been able to browse the libraries at Redufiel.

  A shiver ran down my spine. On a hunch, I went around to the other side of the Gate and looked at the opposite end of the arch. Sure enough, there were letters here that I could identify, although the writing was a bit old-fashioned and the engraving hard to make out, so I had some trouble trying to read it. “Rhidea, Mydia . . .” I waved them over.

  “Oh, look!” cried the queen. “It’s in our tongue! Well, it’s High Legaleian.”

  “‘The Gate of Mani,’” Rhidea read. She traced her finger farther down and began to read: “‘Upon this ancient tor, this monument of trust stands. Between two peoples distant, formed by no mortal hands. Hold to these pillars and speak the name of the world you wish to enter’ . . . there’s more, but I can’t make it out.”

  “So, the portal is activated by voice,” I said slowly. “Do you think it still works?”

  “One way to find out,” Kaen said. He approached the arch and placed one hand on the left side, one on the right. “Gaea,” he said in a commanding voice. “Take me to Gaea.” He looked up at the great blue moon hovering in the sky among the stars, then back down at the arch. “Blasted door. Take us to Gaea! It’s no use. It’s broken.”

  I brushed him aside gently. “It might not be that simple, Kaen,” I said. “Remember, there were more words. One must probably possess the gift of magic to open it, and . . .” I looked up into my teacher’s eyes and saw the same thought there.

  “It may take one from both worlds to open the Gate,” she said. “You give it a try, Lyn. You’ve got the best shot at it. We can—” She cut off, looking around. “Kymhar? What are you . . . ?”

  I glanced behind me and saw the assassin standing near the steps, the only exit from this high tower perch. He held the remaining orb that we had never used, whose use we never knew. He spoke now, so quietly that I could barely hear him over the storm. “Stay where you are. You have all done well to come this far. I couldn’t have done it without you. On behalf of my master, I thank you.” He gave a small bow and then raised the hand that held the orb.

  “What are you playing at?” Kaen hissed, hand on his sword. “Your master sent you to help us because he believed in us. What purpose would he have to try and sabotage the mission now?”

  “Ask him yourself.”

  “Wait!” shouted Rhidea. “Stop this at once, Kymhar. We trusted you. Was this trust misplaced? Should we kill you now?”

  The Dalim smiled faintly and brought his hand up as though to smash the orb against the ground. Rhidea immediately cast her gravity Authority on him, freezing him in place. She approached him, Kaen at her side with sword pointed toward the assassin. “Give me the orb,” she commanded.

  Kymhar looked at her from his frozen position. “Too bad,” he hissed. “It’s too late.”

  The orb began to pulse just as Kaen reached for it, sending out a black shockwave that swept over the surface of the tower, causing each of us to stumble. It pulsed every second with the same effect, and then it shattered, falling apart in Kymhar’s hand. A piercing whine sounded, and then a beam of light erupted from the sky right beside Kaen. He and Rhidea stepped back in time to see a figure emerge from the light in a crouch. He stood up as the light faded, revealing himself to be Kymhar’s master, the Archlord.

  “Domon,” I whispered. I still crouched in front of the arched Gate, where I had been trying to figure out the activation method before Kymhar’s distraction.

  “Well, well,” he said, waving a hand dramatically in front of him. “What do we have here? Oh—the Gate of Mani!” He smiled in a pleased way. “I really must thank you all. I couldn’t have done it without you.” He touched Kymhar briefly and unfroze him.

  “Domon, you snake,” Rhidea hissed.

  “Why, you can call me whatever you like, my dear,” he said pleasantly. “But I’m afraid we can’t let you through that Gate. After all, I’ve come to destroy it. And look, there’s the hybrid freak. Kym, stop her.”

  “Understood.” Kymhar zipped away toward me.

  I stood up from my crouch to face him, but Kaen leapt in the way of the assassin, swinging with his sword. “Not so fast!” he shouted as bronze rang on bronze. “You’ll have to get through me, traitor! Lyn, get that Gate open! We have to get through!”

  “Traitor,” Kymhar spat, trading blows with his protégé. “To my own master? You really think you can take me, boy?”

  “Lyn!” Rhidea shouted from the far side of the tower. “He’s right! Don’t fight, just get that—just activate that portal!” She struggled with the Archlord, Authority against Authority, just like she had against Lord Kalceron. “I’ve always wanted this duel,” she said with a smile. “For far longer than you know. To think I made a deal with the murderer of my family.”

  Mydia held Oliver behind me. “Don’t worry, Oliver,” she said in a shaky voice. “You don’t know how strong my companions are. We’ll make it through this.”

  “Mydia,” I said, looking back at her, “protect Oliver. I’ll handle the Gate.”

  She nodded firmly, and I turned my attention to the Gate. It was hard to ignore my friends who fought for me, but I couldn’t fail them now. I racked my brains for something to do in order to get the Gate of Mani to activate. I spoke the name of Gaea, infused the arch with magic, heated it up, pushed on it, all to no avail.

  Lightning flashed all around us, and whatever was going on between the Archlord and Rhidea was sending tremors down the tower and rippling the air. Sparks flew and explosions sounded, but I kept my attention fixed on the Gate. How do I make it open? I thought frantically.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kymhar and Kaen leap into my field of vision for a moment, blades flashing in the light as they whipped them back and forth in a dangerous dance. I knew that Kaen was good, but could he really hold back Kymhar? Certainly not for long.

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  Focus. “Come on, come on, think!” I muttered to myself. Then it clicked. I was trying to use Coaction, but if I could somehow use my Gaean powers . . . but what even were those? I still didn’t understand how they worked, aside from that I could metabolize food into energy far quicker than a normal human and could make my body perform at unnatural levels when needed . . .

  But there was something else. I had felt it before, like a distant connection with something. The world itself . . . but no, not this world. Another. I looked up, gazing at Gaea. There was a connection between me and my homeworld that had always pulled me unconsciously, I’d just never recognized it as such. I searched within myself, looking for that connection, and finally saw something. I lowered my hands to the stone of the tower, feeling the cold dampness of it. Mani and Gaea . . . was there a link between them, too? Could I restore it somehow?

  I closed my eyes and concentrated. Dimly, I began to feel it. Not because of my focus or the positioning of my hands or something silly like that, it just . . . clicked. I felt that same power within me that I had on only a couple occasions in my life, drawing from the power of Mani itself. It was weak, and not capable of much. In fact, it had never really helped me at all.

  So I pulled on the power of Gaea as well. It came from the Gate itself, creeping into my hands like dew condensing on grass. As the two powers met, I felt the stone coming to life.

  The connection was restored.

  “Rhidea, I think I’ve restarted—”

  I looked back to see the Archlord pinning her to the ground, a hand raised with black electricity crackling from his palm. But he stopped and looked at me and the Gate. His eyes widened. “Kymhar, I told you to—”

  I watched as Rhidea shoved a hand into his side, blasting him up and off of her. She rose shakily to her feet. “Lyn, is it ready?”

  “It’s activating!” shouted Mydia from behind me.

  I turned and saw Kymhar kick Kaen to skid across the slick surface of the tower, right up to the edge. Then the assassin turned on me.

  I stood up, back against the portal, unsure of what to do. Mydia, holding Oliver, backed up toward the tower’s rim, eyeing the Archlord as he approached me. He held the orb that had been in Rhidea’s hand—the same one that had absorbed the energy from the lightning around us—a wicked grin on his face.

  “No!” shouted Rhidea, rushing toward him. Everyone seemed to converge upon me and Domon as he held up the crackling orb.

  “Goodbye,” he said, and vanished. The orb exploded a split-second later, hitting us with a shockwave tenfold that of the other orb. All of the pent-up energy it had absorbed from the lightning thus far condensed into a ball of shadowy essence that detonated in a blinding flash of light. I was knocked straight backward through the glowing Gate of Mani, feeling the stone of the archway breaking as I was pushed through.

  The last thing I saw was a blazing white flash before I lost consciousness.

  The last thing I heard was the sound of panicked screaming and pure destruction. And then nothing.

  ??

  There she was, the girl I called White. She stood on a pale hilltop. The foggy land beneath, whatever it was, sloped gently up to the peak, where she stood an indeterminant distance from me.

  But I could see her smile from here. “Come on,” she said, so faintly that it wasn’t audible, yet I knew what she was saying.

  All I could do was wonder with a muddy mind, What I am doing here? Where was I? I was . . . reforging something. Had it worked? Or had it broken?

  I shook my head. Slowly, a trickle of memory, memories of memories, came back to me, of these places with White, and why I was here. This time, I hadn’t simply used my Gaean powers, but had drawn on the dormant energy inside Mani and Gaea and . . . fused them. It had triggered something in my mind.

  A sense of purpose slowly built within me, and I knew what I had to do. And so I climbed. The hill was not steep, yet my ascent felt slow and tiring. But I didn’t stop, and I didn’t take my eyes off of White. I wouldn’t give up now that I had a goal. I was here, and my mind was conscious—ironically, more conscious than I’d ever been in a dream. I would not give it up until I had the answers I wanted from White.

  As I climbed, an image flashed across my vision of a foreign world, a desert place with windswept dunes. Roaring waves of a dark sea—an endless sea filled with water. A cave. A man and a woman. My . . . father and mother?

  The images were gone almost as soon as they came, and my gaze was still fixed on the smiling girl ahead of me. She was closer now, still beckoning with hopeful eyes.

  A new image, that of a troop of warriors in dull-colored, armored uniforms, bearing complex metal weapons I didn’t recognize. They were marching toward me. The vision swept from my sight and was gone just as quickly as it had come.

  I struggled on. So close—I could see the top of the hill now, and White’s little hand reaching out. So close . . .

  Fire and smoke. The stench of everything around me burning. I heard my mother screaming. And then that, too, was gone.

  At last, I reached White. I grasped her little hand, and she pulled me up to the crest of the hill. I grinned and took a deep breath.

  “You finally made it, Lyn,” she said cheerfully, yet with a touch of sadness. “I can tell you’ve discovered something. You came of your own free will this time?”

  I hesitated. “I’m . . . not sure. I think my plans were just ruined. Either that or I succeeded. But I did discover something.”

  “Okay. And what have you come to see?” she asked.

  “My memories,” I said firmly.

  “Which ones?”

  “All of them. I want control again.”

  “Are you sure you want this burden?” she asked. “You’ve hidden me away all these years. It will be painful. It will be overwhelming at first.”

  “I need them. I can’t hide from them anymore,” I said. “I want them all back.”

  The little girl nodded. “All right.” And she stepped aside, waving down toward the other side of the hill. I looked and saw a multitude of places and times and people, near and far, yesterday and distant past, of both Mani and Gaea.

  It was disorienting, fatiguing, almost painful just to maintain my own consciousness, but I managed.

  “Lyn? Are you all right?” White asked. I nodded, and she said, “You’re not going to stuff me away again?”

  I shook my head through the pain and blurriness. “No, not again. Although . . .”

  “I know, Lyn. You can only see me in your dreams. It’s the only place where you can handle your own Vault. Your mother’s mind was stronger, but yours is only half Hellebes. But at least now you can see that you never forgot a single one. The Vault does not lose memories.”

  “I just stuffed them in here with you,” I said, “a figment of my own imagination that I nicknamed White. You sit here in the darkness of my dreams—my Vault—and wait for me to come back. But now I have the key.”

  “So, what do you wish to see in this dream?” she asked.

  I took a breath. “I want to see the day I came to this world.”

  “Very well.” The little girl disappeared, and my dream changed.

  (Mani’Tor 7, 984—Waning Day)

  I was behind the eyes of a small girl, very small. Around me was the constantly jostling sight of a familiar city: Nytaea. Mother was carrying me, so I couldn’t see anything too clearly, just over her shoulder and off to the sides.

  I saw it all in a strange, detached way. The little me was staring around, as I had on that day, and focusing where she wanted to focus. I caught the details mostly as she did, except that I was able to process them with information I had now. So I didn’t quite know how to feel when I saw my mother’s face again.

  She was gorgeous, as always. Features strong but refined, smooth-cheeked and point-nosed. Her eyes sparkled blue, like my own, and her hair, tossed to and fro by the wind behind her . . . it was like mine, but long and vibrant. Not just white. Not just white-like-the-sun as everyone described mine, but I could swear it actually shone, giving off a faintly . . . green? Yes, a green glow.

  Mother’s head was tucked against the wind, which blew cross-angled against us. She glanced side to side frequently. I realized that she was running fast, inhumanly fast. I heard shouts from bystanders around us, such as:

  “Whoa, make way!”

  “Why, look at that hair! How is she . . . wh-where’s she going?”

  Mother ignored them all, of course. In fact, my toddler mind in the memory couldn’t quite grasp why, but I could tell that the shouts worried her. Somehow, I knew she was used to being hunted as a freak, a novelty, a monster.

  But what a beautiful monster she was.

  Mother stopped suddenly and ducked down a side alley. I experienced it oddly, looking from a child’s eyes at an upward angle, but I could tell what was going on. She hesitated at the next intersection, and then headed left. Was she . . . following directions? Yes, my child’s mind thought just then. The kind man she had spoken with, he told mother where to go to find the orphanage.

  And then we were there. Even from my poor vantage, I could tell where we were. As the child-me squirmed, I got an even better look. Unmistakably, it was Lentha’s orphanage. Mother glanced down at me, stroking my head with hands that felt comforting, strong. “Darling, we’re here: your new home.” She didn’t actually speak those words—it was in another language—but I realized with some surprise that I could understand it as a toddler. Better than a child twice my age would have.

  Mother put me down gently, giving me a quiet order to stay put and not be afraid. And then she approached the door, hesitating before knocking twice.

  A moment passed, and then I saw her face. Lentha, the one who would raise me from this day forward. Her face, only slightly wrinkled then, was as kindly as ever. She glanced up at my mother, down at me, and then doubled back to my mother’s face. “Stars above,” she breathed. “It’s—it’s an angel. Or a demon. Who . . . who are you?”

  My mother shook her head, hunching her shoulders up slightly. I could tell that she didn’t understand the woman’s words.

  Lentha opened the door and stepped out slowly, bending down to look me in the eye. One-year-old me looked aside bashfully, but I caught my mother’s hesitant step backward. She must have been so frightened.

  Lentha smiled warmly at me and reached down to pinch my cheek. “Hello, little one. What’s your name?”

  I looked up at my mother. She seemed as skittish as a kitten. Or . . . more like a mother cat with a human touching her kitten. Nervous about what would happen to her child, because . . . because she was planning to leave me here and never return. I could tell, somehow, even if my child self did not understand.

  Lentha stood back up and looked at Mother. “No . . .” she whispered. “You’re not a demon. I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but . . . here. Here, you need a hug.” She motioned with her hands, and when Mother did not oblige, she stepped forward and took hold of my mother in a tight embrace. I realized how much taller Mother was than she, so tall that she dwarfed the kindly woman. Strong though she was, she seemed to melt in that motherly embrace, and I watched as she carefully put her arms around Lentha and began to cry.

  “It’s all right,” Lentha said as she pulled away. She smiled at my mother, and then at me. “You look like you’ve been through a lot.”

  Mother bent down and scooped me up in her arms. She smiled down at me through her tears and hugged me to her face. And then she held me out to Lentha. My child self was confused and a bit panicked, but I understood. Lentha took me gently, grunting at the weight.

  I looked up from Lentha to Mother and back as Lentha asked, “Are you sure?”

  My mother nodded as though she understood. “Take her,” she said, tears staining her cheeks. “I cannot. Soon, my sickness will take me. Her name is Lynchazel.” She repeated the name, and Lentha repeated it back. Mother reached out a pale hand and patted my head one last time. “I’ll always love you, my dear, sweet Lynchazel,” she croaked.

  And then she turned and fled, gleaming hair trailing faint, green light behind her.

  I looked up at my new mother, Lentha, and began to cry.

  ??