Demon of the Black Gate

Artis Ferriman, the Captain of the Guard was ready to return to Ceniago. He had been called into service a year ago when the armies of Abyssin had begun massing at the Black Gate. Armies of the past had tried to assail the Gates, and failed. Every lifetime is different, and his forefathers would have had a hard time envisioning the strange cataclysm that destroyed the guardian. Broken, the ancient king still guarded the route.

The ravages of the demonic storms in the Stands had ceased for a time, though the land and air seemed uncertain. The Abyssin army been ravaged by supernatural fires that erupted from the very cliffs. Since then, it had become little more than a nuisance, sitting importantly, but impotently in the plains below the dark basalt cliffs of the gate. Finally, a terrible wave had risen from the river, scouring away the remains of the imperial forces. In a turn of irony, the backwash of the wave had eroded a narrow shelf along the river. In the rough torn path, the way to the Stands had been partially restored. Some applauded the act of the gods, while others swore that the wave was a demon itself. “I saw them burning eyes”, they insisted. They’d not forget. Soldiers on the battlements had seen the eyes in the fire rising from the camp. Yes. These were strange times.

The armies of the empire had yet to redeploy after the last disaster. The battlements would continue to be manned at ready, but his tour would soon be done.

The rising sun was low on the eastern sky when one of the lookouts in the remains of the north bastion called that a lone rider was approaching. He looked east, holding a hand over his brow. The dark figure wavered in silhouette against the red sun, large and low on the horizon. Behind the figure, a thin funnel of dust extended from ground to sky, its dancing and twisting tail casting a haze that gave the red sun an unearthly glow. Artis called for his aide, a grizzled veteran who had seen years of service. Horses were brought and they rode out to the plains abutting the gate. A lone rider was no threat to the garrison, but a lone rider on these plains was to be remarked upon. No one traveled alone on this troubled border.

As they approached the rider, Artis could make out the features, identifying the tawny robes of the Cherros. It was soon apparent that tendrils of wayward red hair escaped from the hood, … a woman … and as the figure drew closer, the effect was like fire threading from the sun that hung behind her. The djinn of dust and grit that had followed found a fresh current and filtered into the air, a thin crest that carried beyond them to settle into the rocks of the gate. A light breeze followed, the air livening as the crimson sun finally tore free from the horizon to begin its blazing transit. The horse was a well found chocolate mare shot with white powdered spots on her forebody and haunches. The russet mane well matched the woman’s, whose curls threatened to overpower the hood she wore.

The woman stopped a few paces away. Artis signaled a halt as well and he and his aide inspected the unlikely rider. A black cat lay nested in the saddle, watching them with no more than idle curiousity.

“Good morning, Lord Captain.” came a smooth contralto voice, courteous and amused. Artis moved his horse closer. She was hard to read with the sun so bright behind her. The face was younger than he first thought, her hair a toss of red curls. She followed his motion with her gaze, a warm, brown-eyed smile.

“Lady. What brings you to the Black Gate? At such an early hour … and alone?”

“Oh, I am not alone. I have my horse, and this cat.” she said cheerfully. She had a most amazing smile he thought. “As to what brings me here, I am on the road to Bridash. And I ask you a great favor. Are you in charge of this garrison?”

“I am.”

Ardis assessed her carefully: a lovely young woman, about his daughter’s age, less than thirty to be sure. He added a rueful thought ‘though my daughter does not have such a radiant smile’.

“Please, ask your favor.” he said, a touch of patronage flavoring his tone.

She paused as if unsure how to continue. Ardis was an experienced judge of men. He carefully watched for the tics and traces that liars parlay to their eyes. Her eyes. Brown and deep. She looked past him. Through him as though he were not there. He felt oddly exposed.

“Ma’am. I have to say, your stare is unlikely. Are you of some limited sight, or seeing portends in my bones?”

She laughed. “Blind only. Your bones are quite safe.”

“You knew my rank:

“I’m blind, but not senseless. It was a guess and an obvious title. You are senior to me. You command respect from your men. Your aide is a veteran I am sure, yet he offers no opinion. It is plain he respects yours. And I wager you have a daughter my age. Your voice changed in such a way that I have heard many men talk to the women in their houses.”

This caught Ardis unawares and its accuracy made him laugh.

“I shall not play cards with you.” he chuckled. “But it makes me wonder all the more why you are here … even more remarkable as you cannot see your path.”

“As I said, I have a very good horse, and a most remarkable cat. I am in wonderful hands. I have seen a great deal of the world, such as it is given to me to see. I miss the grandeur sometimes. My poor imagination is no substitute for the beauty of this earth.”

She appeared to gather herself. She was coming to the point.

“If I could see, I would love to have seen the beauty of the gates that guard my home. Everyone has heard of the great kings who built them. I am glad I cannot see the desolation, though the effects are felt everywhere. The silk markets on the plateau are in disarray, the Inns and traders in Oskara are idled. The regents demand more taxes. Blame is cast back and forth by those who know little of the events. And then there is another cry for war. What I have seen, what anyone can see, is needless waste.”

The woman cast her gaze in the direction of the gates. “I am here to bless the gate, Captain, to restore their protection to the land. I wish to heal the wrong done here.”

She turned her slightly misdirected gaze back to him. She was totally at ease. Her rosy cheeks and eager smile certainly gave life to her bright brown eyes. They may not see, but they comprehended. He could not help but presume her sincerity.

“That’s it?” he felt a little foolish. He was not a man given to the congregations. “Bless away, then. You have my permission.”

“A further request. This you won’t grant so easily, but I assure you it is most necessary.” She looked off to the gate. “It is best if you remove your men from the garrison while I bless the gates.”

“Madam, please.” Artis scoffed. “And leave the pass undefended?”

The woman laughed merrily. “Captain. You are well aware there is no army behind me. I am of no threat to your camp. A blessing is all. Then your fortifications are yours once again.

“If there is any doubt,” she continued, “have your archers ready to fire. I ransom my life on my good will.”

Ardis eyed her carefully. There was something about her that let him abandon caution. When she looked at him, her earnest and bright mien invited collaboration. He already felt like an accomplice to her wishes. He had little to lose, and the men hadn’t had a training exercise in a few days. He turned to his aide.

“Kassan. Have the horn sounded for assembly. Here. And take an accurate muster.”

“Aye, Captain.” gruffed the aide. He turned his mount and galloped back to the Gate. The sound of signal horns blared, with answering calls from the battlements.

The woman sat quiet on her horse. The cat sat in the saddle. It had been watching the conversation with active disinterest.

“These are strange times. And my archers aim well.” he said.

“If they are your troops,sir, I am sure they are well trained. If they should miss I would chide them greatly.”

He watched her reaction. There was no change. No sudden fear. He found himself liking her very much. No archers would take their station. If there was treachery. He would handle it himself.

Cerra sat still in the saddle as the companies of men marched out of the remains of the Gate. She looked for all that she was merely enjoying a morning reprieve.

Cerra did not try to count their numbers, but there were not as many as she expected. There couldn’t be more than three hundred. She could hear a little of the mutterings and grumbles of the men, but the muster had taken on an air of curiosity as they passed to gather their ranks behind her.

She remained on Sugar, composed. She had heard the tales of the Gate and how the Kings had been carved into the mighty cliffs that crowded the Emerald River. The south face of the gate abutting the Camelbacks had been spared destruction. The northern king was forever shattered at the base.

“All have been removed.” came Yutan’s voice to her mind.

She had no real prayer, just the words of a very old song that Jessann had taught her. It was a song of death and birth. Of going back to the elements that give us life. She understood the lyrics much better these days.

Sitting on her horse, she held her hands out and softly began to sing a song Jessann had taught her.

“I see the wind blowing past the trees.

The river sings melodiously.

The earth breathes deep

in rest and sleep.

I am making my way to my home

my home.

Life blooms forth like fire in the Spring,

life completes us as we sing

The seas are everywhere

and endlessly blue

the world lays beyond our view

I am making my way to my home

my home.

Endlessly ... endlessly … blue

Making my way to my home.”

The shivering of the ground began almost as soon as she began to sing. The vibrations and groans came from the depths. The quake grew and the walls of the cliffs began shuddering as well. Artis was beginning to regret his decision, but his eyes, like the company behind him, were riveted on the Gate. Boulders and great slabs of rock began rising in curtains of dust. Carvings rode on the backs of pebbles and gouts of steam rose from the river where it let go of the debris that choked its path. There was more to her song, but the words went unheard as the roar of grinding stone deafened the company. A wave of dust and steam rolled from the churning Gate, obscuring all sight.

Artis fought to control his horse, and looked wildly around. The song still echoed, but the blind woman was nowhere to be seen. Nothing could be seen in the choking wave of fine dust. The shouts and confusion from the gathered companies obscured the dwindling roar until Artis realized the quake had ceased. He cried for order and the attention of his lieutenants. The pandemonium settled with the dust. As it diffused, Artis, and indeed everyone in his command, gaped as the morning sun bathed the ramparts of the Gates.

They were whole, entire. The great slide of rock that had choked the passage was gone. The cobbles that paved the road were in place. Artis looked up, and the battlements were secure and restored as though the Gate had never collapsed. It was the same as it had been before the empire had set its armies before it. Artis smiled. Nearly the same.

The dust had enveloped Cerra completely. She felt herself and Sugar being borne upon it. She saw a wave of fire cradling them much like she would hold a cat. The motions were like the ship at sea, floating and surging. She was driven, dizzy and disoriented, and Sugar thrust and fidgeted as though trapped in an unpleasant stall. Kamir lay buried in her robes, and she felt she was hanging onto an unbroken mount. It wasn’t until Sugar started stepping and prancing in a wild canter that Cerra realized they once again had solid ground under their feet, for they had surely left it.

She turned, bringing a frightened Sugar under control, and casting her senses for clues. She heard the river that flowed to her left. It must still be the Emerald, by its size, but the power of the cliffs was no longer felt. She turned in the saddle looking until she saw the glimmering of Yutan finally form.

“That was extraordinary.” she gasped. “Please, let’s not do that again.”

She caught her breath. “I’m glad you never tried that before.”

“I could not have done it without great harm to you. I did not know how to care for you before.” he replied. “I have carried us past the city.”

Cerra laughed. “Just as well.” She turned and untied the bundle at the back of her saddle. “You’ll be needing this.” She tossed him the Charros robe. “Not that it matters to me of course.”

She looked down at his glowing form as he stood by the horse and donned the robe. The one intrusion into her dark world, her secret garden. His was the most beautiful light.

“The Gate is whole I trust.” she said.

“Better than before.” he replied.

“Then let’s go home … my demon.” she said with warm invitation.

“Yes” said Yutan, looking at her warm smile. He had never felt stronger. “I have a wall to build.”

Artis sent parties out to search for the blind, red-haired woman, but no trace was found.

The Gates had been restored. The ancient king of the south wall stood regally, intact again. The parapets and bastions had been placed back in their aerie perches, the same except much cleaner as though freshly scrubbed. The only thing that had not fared the same in the restoration was the guardian of the north wall. The king guarded it no longer. Instead, the crown was replaced with the waved lines depicting locks of hair framed by a cowled robe. A staff was held in her hands, and the sightless eyes gazed out over the plains. A cat was carved into the rocks at her feet.

Artis smiled as he looked at the gate once again. No stone mason could have captured the wild ringlets or knowing eyes so well.

Surely the gods had a hand.