Chapter Sixty-Four. The Crystal Gate.
Sixty-Four
The Crystal Gate.
Merc halts the momentum of the sword in mid-backswing and wheels around, putting the weapon out in front of him. The tip lowers and he straightens. He’s breathing hard, and behind him there are chips out of the extraordinary barrier—
Lavante jumps in place and then starts to mince around, pawing at the dirt and tossing his head. I have to sink into the saddle and gather his mouth, and even so, he refuses to settle. Then again, there’s a disquieting gleam to whatever Merc is battling.
“Nice horse,” he says between inhales. “You decide to go for a ride?”
I soak in the presence of him, all of his weapons and his black surcoat, his long, black hair and his beautiful black and white eyes. And as he speaks, the sound of his voice goes into my body, not just my ears—
I tighten myself up, just as I would my pack. This is not a reunion. This is an intersection.
“Our gelding died,” I hear myself say.
I don’t expect him to have any reaction, but his brows lift. “I didn’t know.”
I want him to be sorry. To feel what I did.
“The stabler’s girl felt responsible even though it wasn’t her fault.” I stroke Lavante’s neck and resent my emotions. As well as Merc’s lack of them. “I see you got yourself a mount.”
A dark-colored, stout-rumped horse is standing off to the side, one of his back feet cocked at the tip as if he’s taking a nap in spite of the noise and the new arrivals.
“His name is Snooze. I believe that started out as a descriptor.”
Merc turns back to the barrier, putting his hands on his hips such that the broadsword is pointed at what he was trying to strike down.
My eyes drift away from him and up the expanse of the anomaly.
Never have I seen anything come close. The translucent, smooth plane extends up from the ground to the height of four or five houses stacked foundation-to-roof, and given its reflection, I can make out Merc’s face, his horse, my horse, me—but it’s not a mirror.
And though it can’t be man-made, I can’t see nature creating this, either.
It’s too precise: Incredibly, the seal against the cliffs and across the ground is tight and total, without gaps, and there are piles of crystal shards at the intersections of the mountainsides.
It’s as if the topography has closed in over time, and the shift has shaved parts of the thing.
“So this is the Crystal Gate,” I murmur.
Then my eyes return to Merc as if he’s the dominant fixture in the landscape. And I resent the weakness. “Do you know what it’s made out of?”
“No.” He reaches up and runs his palm across the place he’s been driving at. “It’s most … extraordinary. Nothing seems to weaken it, and I’m not the first who has tried.”
That’s when I notice all the musket balls that cover the dirt.
I’d assumed they were pebbles, given the layers of them.
There are also objects of various extraction—axe-heads, hammers, arrows—that suggest many people over many, many years have tried to break down that which has stopped their way forth.
Though Lavante remains agitated, I swing a leg over and drop to the ground.
Tightening the reins around one of the saddlebags, he stays put, but doesn’t like it, his hooves stamping at the loose detritus, kicking up musket balls and shards.
I walk over to the barrier, and feel the smooth expanse with my fingertips.
It’s cold, ever so slightly bumpy, and has a pearlized effect that prevents me from seeing anything but shadows on the other side.
Leaning into my hands, I push against it. There’s no give, and as I go over to where it meets the elevation on the left, there’s a tinkling sound at my feet. The shards that have fallen are octagonal in nature, and as I drop down on my haunches and pick one up, it’s Thale’s weapon.
Or rather, the bearded man’s—
Gong! Gong! Gong—
“By all means,” I call out over the din. “Let’s continue that approach as it’s worked so well.”
Merc halts in mid-swing again. “Have you any better idea? Or is commentary all you have to offer.”
The crystal falls from my hand, refinding its like. “I’m surprised you went this way. To the south.”
His expression remains remote. “I take jobs when they come to me and go where they take me. So I am here. What about you.”
I open my mouth to suggest we could have traveled together all along, but that’s like a declaration of failure on my part, isn’t it.
Besides, I haven’t told him about my change in plans, and I don’t want him to think I’m just following him.
I wonder where he spent the night? Somewhere in the Outpost?
Or the bed of another woman, maybe this time someone he could finish with—
Well. I might as well stab myself at this rate.
Returning my palm to the barrier, I sweep it up and down as I walk over to him.
It occurs to me, as I examine the height and breadth of the gate, that the unevenness on the surface is concentrated in a band that is somewhere between the chest and the upper arm reach of a grown man.
Clearly, efforts to break through have focused in this area, though there are pockmarks farther up, too.
“What created this,” I murmur.
“It’s ancient.” He puts his own hand on the pane. “And there has been plenty of trying.”
“So you’re in a hurry, then. To go south.” When he doesn’t reply, I glance over at his grim profile. “What about heading around the other way?”
“I already attempted that. Rushing storm runoff, and a mud bog that if it were water could be boated across, but as it is, everything’s impassable at least for days.”
He nods to his horse, and that’s when I notice the muddy hocks.
“Then you’ll be returning to the Outpost?”
Merc shakes his head. “No, I shall be getting through this.”
“By will alone, I presume.”
“As I said before,”—his tone becomes sharp—“if you have a better idea, by all means, woman, have at it.”
He bows and sweeps his arm forth with mocking gallantry, and then he walks off for his horse, stabbing the broadsword into its holster on his back.
When he arrives at his saddle, he shoves the various rolls and packs around, and takes off a bladder.
After a stout drink, he turns to me, and doesn’t meet my eyes.
In fact, he hasn’t looked at me properly since my arrival.
“And if you don’t get through it.” I glance around. “Were you camping out here?”
He glowers at the barrier. “Is that your plan?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“I figure you’ll be wanting to get back to the pub.”
“No, my way is only forward—”
“Your friend in the top hat must be heartbroken.”
My brows go down, and the next thing I know, I’m marching over to him. “Hit it for me, will you?”
When he seems confused, I point at the gate. “I’d like to see you fail at something. It will cheer me up, and be far more fun than arguing with you over a man I haven’t touched.”
Now he looks at me properly, and we just stand there, glaring at each other.
“Let me guess,” he mutters as he’s the one who breaks the eye contact. “You want me to use my head for the job.”
“Certainly would give it something to do for once.” As he slants a look over at me, I shrug. “Or use your sword. The sword will be less painful, of course.”
“Will it,” he mutters as he unsheathes his weapon once more. “There are advantages to concussive events, loss of consciousness among certain company, for example.”
“Must you flatter me. I’m blushing.”
Merc curses his way back to where he was when I arrived. Through gritted teeth, he says, “Step back, sometimes there are shards.”
Sinking down into his thighs, he winds back with the broadsword over his shoulder, and I can’t help but admire the form of him. He ripples with muscle and power as he bends back and then hurls the razor-sharp blade at the milky white—
Gong!
All my concentration focuses on the barrier as I look for any changes in the surface. After the sound fades, I nod toward him.
“Again.” I step forward and put my hand on the pane. “Please.”
Merc winds up and brings the sword to the gate once more. Gong!
Closing my eyes, I feel the nearly imperceptible vibration in the … whatever it is. And then I look up, way up, at the pearly expanse.
“I think if I had some explosives,” Merc announces. “Or a cannon—”
With a snap of cognition, my mind takes me back to Mr. Lewis’s pub.
“I know what to do.” I stride over to Lavante. “I have to return to the Outpost. They have what is needed there.”
As I’m swinging up into the saddle, Merc goes over to his horse and likewise mounts. The sight of him urging his slowpoke toward my stallion fills me with a relief that I refuse to acknowledge.
“Coming back with me?” I ask.
“Unless you think you can drag a cannon back by yourself, you’re going to need me.”
I could tell him that’s not what I’m going to get, not even close. But then he might change his mind, and I want him by my side.
Even if it’s just for a little longer.
Merely for safety, of course.
Nothing more.