The Sixth Gate

  The Sixth Gate

  By K.T. Munson

  ISBN 978-1548357504

  Copyright © K.T. Munson 2017

  1st Edition

  The right of K.T. Munson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the writer. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Cover art by Asahi Art

  Copyedited by Tanya Egan Gibson

  Dedication

  For Harmony.

  A rose by any other name wouldn’t be as sweet.

  Other Books by K.T. Munson

  1001 Islands

  Frost Burn (Coauthored)

  North & South

  Unfathomable Chance

  Zendar: A Tale of Blood and Sand

  The Gate Trilogy

  The Gate Guardian’s Daughter (prequel)

  Chapter 1: Lyreane

  The screams were matched only by the roar of hollow flames and burning wood. The rest of the world had come to take its revenge on the Shadow Clan. Even the shadows could not save them. The fire cast its light against the blood that soaked the ground of the planet Lyreane. From one end of the planet to the other, every Lyreani who could hold a sword had joined to stomp every man, woman, and child under prejudicial boots. They had ridden through their planet like a deadly wave, hunting the Shadow Clan to extinction.

  Up high in the mountains, the members of the Black Council, the elders of the Shadow Clan, stood overlooking the chaos from the top of their sacred temple. Though their eyes were dulled to the violence they witnessed, their hearts were still filled with the promise of retribution. Their cities were long gone and now their people with them. They had been hunted men; now they were defeated men. In the darkness of the night, vengeance filled their old hearts.

  Plans and plots for how to exact their retaliation began as vague echoes of whispered words, until one rose up in a storm among them. All of their thoughts turned to this word and this word alone—Croatoan. It scratched at the inside of their skulls until it became a carving upon their bones as they watched the last of their people burn and their screams died into deafening silence.

  Gathering around the circle as one, they chanted as one, and the word “Croatoan” seared deeper, beyond all physical reaches of their being. They enacted an old curse, one their ancestors had feared and never used—a curse to take the souls of many and bind them into one. They feared it because they could not direct the curse’s choice; any of their blood could become the savior. The risk seemed less now that the elders believed themselves the last of their kind. They chanted until the early light painted the black sky with colors that made the ground come to life with the rusty shade of old blood of their fallen people.

  By the last of the light of the twin moons, the souls of their dead gathered together. The dawn was filled with the chaos of their screams as they were pulled, like veils upon a strong wind, into the top tower of the temple where the Black Council waited. In response, the wind became enraged and bombarded the elders around the circle, causing their robes to pull thin against their skin, but the elders would not be easily dissuaded from their task. Lifting their arms, they called out the final incantation in the lost language of their ancestors, and then silence fell.

  Shaped like an arrow, the searing white incorporeal souls of the dead shot around the room in an erratic dance. The men looked on in anticipation. Suddenly, the pale mass rocketed out the top of the tower, shattering stone in a deafening explosion and opening the ceiling up to the sky before it arced down toward their lost village. With debris still raining down, they hurried as well as old men can hurry to the edge of the temple and looked down upon the carnage once more. When nothing stirred below, they thought their last hope had just ended in failure. Had the members of the Black Council been able to cry, tears and blood would have mingled together on their faces as they scratched at their cheeks in desperation. Instead there was only blood.

  Slowly, they walked down the sacred steps to the world below, where the crackling of the fires was the only sound left. When the hidden mountain stone door was turned aside and the first light of dawn stretched her fingers across the sky, they emerged. At the edge of their town, the smell of death loomed like forgotten rotting fruit. Silence and smoke met their hopes with an unforgiving weight.

  The first man fell to his knees, his words an indistinguishable whisper. Another fell, his words matching the first. One by one they knelt until all twelve were on their knees save one. Only the crumpled bodies of the dead remained to meet their desperate cries; their enemy had fled this cursed place, and few who had joined the Wild Hunt were willing to admit the misery they had wrought.

  The one man still standing closed his eyes and listened with every fiber of hope and desperation. He believed that their ancestors and their dead would not lead them astray. Then he heard it, a stifled crying.

  For a moment he thought it was the trick of the wind or perhaps his own hope turned to imagination. But when another member rose and leaned forward, listening, he knew in his heart that it was a true sound.

  In a flurry of black cloaks, they hurried past the village and into the woods toward the source of the sound. On the ground lay a woman with a babe in her lap, partially swaddled in the woman’s shawl. Her arms were loose and lifeless; her eyes were open and glossy. Blood gathered between her breasts from a sword wound, and her skirts were soaked in blood. The newborn, still slick with blood, squirmed and whimpered.

  When the man stepped forward, the child went quiet and turned its head, seeming to hear his footsteps, but its eyes remained closed. He bent down and picked him up, noticing as the shawl fell away that it was a boy, and held him. The infant kicked a little at the sudden cold but kept its eyes closed.

  Everyone on the planets knew that the horrors of the Netherworld waited for baby killers. This child had been spared by their enemy because it was new to this world, and the Black Council’s curse had found its way to him. He pushed the cloth back. Using his thumb to wipe the bloody membrane from the infant’s chubby shoulder, he saw the infinity mark; the child was the chosen. He was their savior.

  The man looked down at the woman then, admiring her determination to save her child. She would be the first they would bury and give final rites.

  He spun toward the others. Holding the child up in both hands, he declared, “The undying!”

  Chapter 2: Lyreane

  50 years later

  Guards patrolled the walls and the ground, their lanterns casting shadows that danced with every step. Ki’s lithe body moved in the darkness of the courtyard as though it was a part of him. Many fools were scared of the dark and what it held, refusing to allow it to become a part of them. Then again, though, perhaps those fools were right to fear the dark. He was, after all, a part of it.

  The high towers of Valhaul, principal palace of the great continent Hibarr, had spires that looked like hardened mushroom tops. Slipping into the darkness against the palace wall, he held perfectly still as a group of men walked by. As they were talking, the light shone off Ki’s eyes an instant. He closed them quickly so he could meld fully with the dark.

  “I feel as though the night is watching me, Fadi,” the first man said, glancing around nervously. Ki opened his eyes into narrow slits. He could see the sweat on the man’s brow and bald head.

  “You’ve been reading those horror stories to
your children again, and now it has gotten to you,” Fadi replied heartily, his round belly shaking as he clapped the other man on the back.

  The thinner man shuddered, raising the lantern as he peered into the darkness in front of him. “I tell them those stories, and I swear they sleep better than I do.”

  “Children these days,” Fadi said, shaking his head. “In my day those stories meant something…”

  Fadi’s voice trailed off as they walked away. Ki faced the wall. He put his hands up and started crawling up the side like a spider. His fingers felt the soft, worn groves of the wall’s face as he scaled it. It was a long climb with only one window at the very top of the tower. The spires rose up all throughout the dark castle like someone had thrust mighty spears into the ground so that the tips pointed to the heavens. Ki’s only way in was from the bottom up.

  It had taken him months of hard training to figure out how to scale a wall of such height. Luckily this was an old castle, made of stone, and it had been weathered with time. During his practice on less guarded towers, he had fallen more times than he could count, but in the end he had figured out the secrets. If he fell now, though, he would not survive.

  The further he ascended, the more the wind began to press against him, but he had accounted for that. His cloak blended perfectly with the black tower rocks. Unless someone was looking for him, he knew he could not be seen. This was one of his final tests and he would not fail. Even death could not stop him. His mentors had trained him for this and he would not allow himself anything but success. Reaching the tower’s window, he crawled over the side and gracefully dropped into the room in a low crouch.

  Ki’s eyes scanned the darkness for any movement as sweat slid down his neck. Aside from the door on the other side of the room and a few fine furnishings, it was relatively empty. He could see the sleeping figure that remained unmoving in a luxurious bed. He pulled a dagger from his belt. It looked like a vengeful tooth in the moonlight.

  The young woman in the bed breathed softly as he approached. Her hair was blond and her face young. She looked about fifteen. He lowered the dagger toward her and, with one quick, clean slice, held up a fist full of her long blond hair before he shoved it into the sack on his hip.

  Blond hair was rare in Lyreane, and coveted. It was said those with it were blessed by the light. Since most Lyreanis served the Sun God, it was good for a kingdom to have at least one Blessed One to bring good fortune.

  Ki stood for a moment over the woman the ruling king had taken and held prisoner to bring his kingdom good fortune, then scurried over the edge of the window before she had the chance to awaken. As he dropped out of sight, he could hear the rustle of bedding. He hesitated before beginning his descent, finding himself curious about a blessed one. Pulling himself up again, he could see the Blessed One already sitting up in bed. Her face held the edges of sleep and fear. She wasn’t paying attention to the window, so he continued to watch, his interest piqued. She frantically regarded the door, pulling the blankets up close against her chest. Apparently his elders were right about the Blessed Ones also being cursed ones. They were the lovers of kings or, more accurately, the bearers of the King’s children, which is why many of the blessed ones were hidden by families until they were discovered or betrayed.

  Most of Lyreane had adopted the rule that women couldn’t marry before their fifteenth year. Yet given the history of the kingdom, this girl was likely already being bedded by the fat king with an insatiable appetite. Ki severely hoped that once his training was done he would have the visions that would allow him to exact revenge for this innocent soul.

  When her head started to turn toward him, he slipped all the way over the side and started his descent. His movements became more careful as the wind pushed him harder. Though the climb had been complicated, it had been child’s play in comparison to returning to the ground safely, as he still needed to escape unseen. Time seemed to pass slower. Despite his needing to hurry, he had to be more careful here, for as night turned to twilight, the early mists would wet the stone and the dawn would not hide him.

  Ki sighed when he could see the ground. He glanced to the sky. Daybreak was coming. With careful precision, he dropped into a crouch. The jump had been no more than double his height, but the grass was flattened where he had landed. Taking a final assessment of the area to be sure there were no guards, he hurried across to the adjacent wall and around the corner.

  He was a prowling fox, careful and alert, his eyes scanning everything. The courtyard in the receding night would be tricky. He ducked into a small alcove and waited until a group of guards passed as they changed shift. The torch light cast shadows by the tips of his toes, and he remained as still as death without daring to take a breath. When the light was beyond him, he turned and walked in time with the group of men, staying a few paces behind them, until he could see the corner of the front gate.

  He dashed across the courtyard on agile legs, but when he reached the final arch he stopped, startled to find the gate closed. Glancing up, he saw a patrolman looking over the outer wall. The archways led to various places throughout the castle and its grounds. When the guard turned, Ki rushed away from the gate toward a wide archway to his left that led into a garden.

  A good planner always had a secondary escape route. He hurried along towards the servants’ quarters, where there were fewer guards on patrol. He crawled over an ornate gate in the garden and came to a sewer grate. With a sharp pull, he jerked the bars free. He slipped into the sewer, ignoring the overpowering stench, and pulled the grate back into its original position.

  Ki took a moment to smile at his accomplishment. He had added a hardening agent on the cut edges to make the metal refit perfectly. The slight slices did little to reveal themselves. There were similar access points, mostly sewers, to castles throughout Hibarr. Valhaul, the last of his tasks, had proven to be the most challenging.

  He trudged through the increasingly disgusting water until he reached a point right before it emptied out on the cliffs and into the sea water below. Emerging from the filth, he stepped across the rushing drainage waters and onto an adjoining sheer rock face. Happy to be free of the stink of waste, he started making his way across the cliffs that continued up to the city’s outer wall. His foot slipped, but he was able to catch a handhold above him. With a grunt, his body hit a jagged section as his fingers scraped painfully against the unforgiving cliffs. He thrust his legs down, pushing up on a lower foot hold, and carefully regained his footing. Ignoring the pain in his fingers and the soreness of his rib, he began working his way along the slick rocks. He could feel the cold spray of sea water against his back and into his hair as it splashed on the cliff face.

  Before long he began to shiver, but he tried to ignore his body’s demands for warmth. The elders believed he could not die, but as yet, he had not put that theory to the test. One of his first tasks had been to win a bar brawl without killing the man and take some of his blood on a white handkerchief without it being seen. It was amongst his belongings now, though he had nearly lost that fight. He’d almost found out that day if he was truly undying. That was nearly a year ago, and now, with the harvest moon’s approach, the end of his journey was near.

  Above him he could see the end of the wall of the city. With painstakingly slow precision, he continued his way across the rock face but also began to pull himself up. The dampness of the stone hampered his progress as the light of day streaked orange across the sky. The purple of the night was fading, and so was his cover.

  When the ships’ crews in the harbor would scurry to start the day, there was a good chance they would see the lone man on the cliff face. He began to move faster, trying to reach a point where he could see the top of the cliff bent inward. His arms and legs moved as one along the rocky face, finding the rhythm of seasoned use.

  He felt relief as he pulled himself over the lip of the cliff and landed in a familiar grassy area, but there was no time to rest yet. His legs strained as he h
urried along the open ground toward the tree line several hundred feet away. Reaching the edge, he paused and looked back towards the sea. The very top of the spires of Valhaul were tipped in gold from the morning light, so bright was the sun and its golden wings as they soared across the horizon.

  Begrudgingly putting his back to the glorious daylight, Ki headed into the woods toward his waiting mount, a Kemshi, which meant spirit animal. To Ki’s knowledge his Kemshi was the only one that existed in Lyreane. They had come over from another planet, having once been a gift to the Black Council when they had been Guardians of the Gate. Now, that task had fallen to other men with other ambitions. Only the memories and the Kemshi remained.

  The Kemshi, a tiger, waited for him in a tree, his long tail swinging back and forth as he lazed about on a branch high above. He looked as though he had been there all night, but Ki knew better. The tiger was most active at night, and he had already likely gotten breakfast and returned to wait for Ki. This tree had been their meeting place in case it took Ki longer to complete his task or he’d been forced to use his secondary exit. The Kemshi turned his yellow eyes on him, which sharply contrasted with the deep purple of his face. The black stripes made it appear as though the night had fallen across his fur.

  “Any trouble?” Ki asked, but the Kemshi just laid its head back down.

  Ki dug around in a nearby bush until he pulled his sack from the brambles. He tried to control his excitement. It was not wise to count his fish before he had eaten them, as the world was an unpredictable place. He glanced up at his companion. The Kemshi watched, waiting for a word of command.

  “Kemshi,” he said with a straight face, “Come.”

  The feline stretched with a heavy yawn before jumping in a fluid motion to the ground. His long thin tail was curled and ready and his eyes watchful as he came to stand beside Ki. With a quick scratch behind the Kemshi’s ear, Ki mounted.