Maylin's Gate (Book 3) (54 page)

He let go a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and pulled a long steady breath. He could do this, but how? The answer would start with the soul thread. It always had. His mind drifted back to the attack on Freehold last winter. When he used Rika’s soul thread to cure. But, he knew Rika better than himself. This boy was a stranger.

Low chatter buzzed among the warriors, but not menacing. Curious. Hopeful.

He opened his eyes and rested his palm on the boy’s leg. He let his mind drift outward and mingle with the boy’s tainted soul. Sickness swept through his body and his legs buckled. He groaned.

The boy’s eyes lurched open.

The taint roared through a soul tasting sweet and pure beneath. If he could reach that part of the boy's soul, he might strengthen the core and chase away the taint. He understood a tainted soul better than anyone.

The boy’s head rolled back and the chief chattered in an alien tongue filled with worry.

A deep hiss sounded from behind him.

“Leave him,” Demos said. “He’s not hurting the boy.”

Using his mind, he burrowed deep into the boy’s soul and found pure untainted energy. The boy fought a monumental struggle that would end in death, but not this day. Not from this plague. He would see to that.

He drew on his own strength and sent a bead of silver energy blazing through the conduit into the boy’s tainted soul.

The boy’s eyes widened with surprise before letting a go a sharp gasp.

Silver soul energy roared like a bonfire through the boy’s tainted soul thread. The silver energy expanded and burned away the dim outer husk.

The sickness he’d felt through the bond eased then disappeared. He dropped his hand and stepped back.

A smile stretched across the boy’s face. The boy's orange soul thread blazed brighter than any of the surrounding sansan.

“Elther din,” the boy said to the chief beaming. The boy’s eyes sparkled and the red blotches faded replaced with clear smooth scales.

Hissing and chatter broke out among the warriors. Some gestured in his direction while speaking their foreign words at the chief.

The sansan chief grinned.

He glanced at Demos who smiled and nodded with satisfaction.

He understood little of the strange power flowing through his body. That he could use his power to heal a stranger gave him hope.

With weapons tucked away, the sansan warriors huddled around the chief. The chattering continued and the chief spoke to the tribe for several minutes. The chief gestured westward and nodded before breaking off.

Two warriors dismounted and left their stallions with the chief. The warriors bowed before him. Two other riders swung around and the warriors climbed behind them sharing a horse.

Many warriors, including the chief’s son, galloped away.

The chief and a fist of sansan warriors stood in an uneven line. Two warriors held the reigns of the riderless horses.

“You have spoken true,” the chief said gazing in his direction. “You have performed a miracle on my Jothwa and for that you have given me a debt I can never repay.”

He shook his head and exchanged a wary glance with General Demos. “You owe me nothing. It was a favor. A gift. I didn’t want your son to die.”

The chief nodded wearing a solemn expression. “You are forever an honored guest among the sansan and can come and go as you see fit.”

Relief washed over him. “Thank you.”

“Take these horses to aid you in swift travel,” the chief said.

A low purring hiss came from General Demos and the chief smiled nodding.

He crossed the grass and stopped beside a black stallion that reminded him of Reggie.

General Demos mounted the broader of the two beasts, a brown and white warhorse.

He climbed atop the horse and his legs groaned with relief. “Thank you.” He glanced toward the forest. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but many of my own people are sick and dying. They need my help.”

The chief nodded but said nothing.

He turned the stallion northward. “Ready?”

Demos nodded.

He tugged the reigns and the stallion surged forward. He guided the stallion through the high grass and between the towering pines at the forest’s edge.

He traveled north toward the swamp and the Tree of Life.

Behind him, General Demos hissed a short command. The warhorse lumbered forward and entered the forest. Behind the general, the thundering chorus of a herd droned toward the forest.

He pulled on the reigns and glanced over his shoulder.

The sansan chief and the warriors entered the forest. Broken sunlight cut through the high canopy casting odd slashes of light across the sansan.

He turned the stallion about. Why was the chief following him into the swamp?

General Demos pulled up beside him and ordered the warhorse to stop.

He nodded toward the sansan chief. “What are they doing?”

“Following us,” General Demos said.

He shot Demos a look of exasperation before facing the sansan chief. “What are you doing?”

General Demos translated while the chief spoke.

“I owe you a debt,” the chief said. “We will go with you as long as my debt remains unpaid.”

Follow him? He faced Demos. “He doesn’t have to follow me.”

“To turn away the chief would be a great insult,” Demos said.

“I don’t know what to do with them.” He faced the chief. “What about your son? Where did the rest of your warriors go?”

“They are gathering the tribe and moving east.” The chief gestured toward the spot where he healed the chief’s son. “They are moving to the holy land where you lifted the sickness. Others need healing. You will return to help my people after you’ve tended your tribe.”

He glanced at Demos but the general only shrugged.

After a long pause he nodded. “I will help you, but if you are to travel with me, I need your name.”

A grin stretched across the chief’s face revealing sharp white teeth. “My name is Sura,” the chief said through the general’s translation.

He leaned over his saddle and stretched out his hand. “My name is Ronan.” The chief glanced at General Demos before taking his hand.

Demos nodded and Sura’s iron grip closed on his hand accompanied by a hearty grin.

He winced and stifled a shout of pain. “We will travel into the swamp, but you are free to return home at any time.”

Sura nodded and sat back atop the warhorse.

He faced Demos. “Let’s go.”

Over the course of the day the group made fast progress through the sparse forest. The sun slipped across the treetops and disappeared as the canopy thickened.

Any sign of the banthers had eluded him on their trek north. They’d also not seen the wildlife present like when Tarbin led them southward.

Early on the second day, worry clouded his thoughts. He leaned over to General Demos and whispered. “Something here is wrong. Where are the sounds of the forest? I haven’t heard a single bird since we left the savanna."

General Demos nodded. “I share your concern, but I’ve tasted nothing afoul in the air.”

“Maybe our time in the savanna has dulled that tongue of yours.”

General Demos’s expression soured.

“Just keep a look out,” he said. “My senses are telling me to run.”

A half day’s travel saw the forest turn to swamp where the high trees gave way to rotted tree stumps and muddy loose soil.

“Wait,” General Demos said.

He ordered his stallion to stop before following the general’s gaze to the path ahead.

Behind a gnarled cypress, a shock of silver fur peeked out.

His stomach sank.

General Demos’s tongue flickered. “Death.”

He gripped the reigns and forced the stallion into a cantor.

Around the curve, dead banthers littered the heart of the swamp. Nothing stirred. Birds didn’t chirp and treetop monkeys didn’t chatter.

He opened his mind to the living souls among the fallen banthers. Nothing. “They’re all dead.” With a quick snap of the reigns, he forced the stallion into a gallop moving faster toward the Tree of Life.

For a quarter mile, banthers littered the forest floor, none living.

He followed the path where it opened into an airy glade. The same glade where General Demos stood frozen by a magic he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

General Demos and the sansan warriors galloped into the clearing. This time the general didn't freeze.

Dead banthers, sometimes three deep, littered the forest floor leading to the Tree of Life. A fatal crack split the tree in half exposing red pulpy wood.

He opened his mind to any living souls and gasped.

A dim sky-blue soul thread surrounding the tree. Despite whatever force had attacked, the tree lived. Behind the tree, another soul stumbled out from behind its great trunk. Unlike Zeke's soul thread, the figure glowed with a shade of blue deeper than the Tree of Life.

The figure stumbled past the wrecked trunk clutching a spear adorned with skulls.

“Tarbin. You’re alive?”

The banther’s shoulders sagged. Tarbin dropped the spear. Blood streaked Tarbin’s silver fur.

He’d watched the banther die before his eyes. Had Zeke saved Tarbin? “What happened?" He said "Where’s Zeke?”

Tarbin gazed ahead wearing a stunned expression. “Tarbin not know. Zeke go through hole and chase away creatures.”

“What sort of creatures?”

Tarbin knelt and scooped up a handful of rich soil. The banther pointed to a hard-shelled bug crawling atop the dirt. “Like this.”

A swarm of insects? That didn’t make any sense. “Insects?”

Tarbin nodded and dropped the soil. The banther's arms stretched out. “Bigger than Tarbin.”

His thoughts drifted back to a conversation with the visitor. Aurelia had warned of the ickaret. Was Tarbin describing the ickaret? He traded a worried glance with General Demos. “Are any banthers living?”

Tarbin’s shoulders drooped. “Tarbin live.”

His stomach sank. “I’m sorry.”

“You help Zeke?” Tarbin said.

Could he? He hoped Zeke would help him.

General Demos faced him. “You said this place was special. That it was easy to build a portal here."

He nodded. "That's what Zeke told me."

“Can you try?”

“Try to build a portal? I don't know how.”

The soft glow from the Tree of Life hummed like a beacon behind Tarbin.

“The tree…,” he said under his breath. “That’s it.”

“Explain,” Demos said.

He dismounted the black stallion and stepped over the corpses. Focusing his mind on the tree’s fading soul thread, he pulled on its aura and mingled it with his own. In his mind, he imagined a doorway to another place. Energy surged through him and he gasped.

Beside the Tree of Life, a pinpoint of silver light popped into existence. The air hummed and the light broadened. A moment later, a circular portal rimmed with silver hummed before him.

Through the doorway, blue sky and a shining sun cast a warm glow across the glade.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Maylin’s Gate

Inside Trace's preserve, radiant light bathed the grove. Robins fluttered among the pine trees and a comforting gurgle rolled along the brook. A pair of honey bees buzzed around blooming daisies laden with pollen.

Danielle circled the triangular gate. A structure symbolizing the Brotherhood's greatest fear. She rubbed her chin and checked the connections for the hundredth time. If she had to check them a hundred times more, she would. She wouldn’t rest until the portal to Maylin opened. She would see the heartwood grove with her own eyes and smell its sweet nectar with her own nose.

At the apex of the triangular structure, Trace’s sphere hummed inside a socket that fit like a glove. Elan and Lora’s spheres blazed in the lower right and left sockets. Black metal struts decorated with alien symbols held it all together. Despite all their attempts, no gateway appeared.

She folded her arms and let go a held breath. “Why won’t the gate work?”

A slight smirk crossed Keely’s face. “Centuries of hiding the secrets surrounding this hunk of metal and it won’t even turn on.”

“Maybe we’ve built it wrong,” Brees said while focusing on the top socket.

“I don’t know how many more ways we can assemble it,” she said. “The way we’ve put it together is the only way that makes any sense.”

Arber stepped over the base strut and through the opening. “It looks just like the mural in the ruins.”

She nodded. “I’m sure we have it right.”

“Maybe you have to interface with Lora’s Sphere,” Jeremy said, squinting at the green and red orb.

Arber gripped the triangle’s left beam. “Trace would know,” the guardian said under his breath.