The Gate of Gods (Fall of the Ile-Rien)

  That was when it dawned on Tremaine that Cimarus would actually be swimming out to these waterpeople, to ask them to carry a message to Cineth. She had decided she didn’t want to know any more about it.

  Even though Gerard had carefully copied a couple of key symbols off the circle, then used the sphere to burn them off the rock, Tremaine still didn’t feel safe. They didn’t know yet if the Gardier had had a chance to reestablish the base. With the invasion force moving across Ile-Rien and able to construct circles wherever they wanted, the Gardier didn’t need the island, except to keep the Rienish in the staging world off it. But Tremaine wouldn’t be able to stop her nerves from jangling until Ilias and Giliead returned.

  Now Aras climbed out of the boat, dusting off his hands. “So we’ve been following the footsteps of your friend Arisilde in reverse. He found this circle on the island first, after he separated from Valiarde. He used it to go to the fortress, marked the circle he arrived in with a coat button, chose another—how?”

  Tremaine looked up wearily. “Arisilde’s random choices aren’t as random as other people’s. He probably had a feeling that was the right one to take.”

  “Yes,” Gerard agreed. “He was—is—rather known for that. So he arrived at the circle cave in the lower chamber of the mountain, didn’t bother to mark the circle because it was only one of seven.”

  “But why did he put up the illusory wall?” Aras wondered, planting his hands on his hips.

  “If he felt something was following him…” Tremaine hesitated. Following Arisilde’s thought processes had never been easy. She still thought he had planned, if he didn’t return himself, for Nicholas to follow him, and that he thought Nicholas would have easily found the trick of the false wall. “I bet the wall looked just as solid from the other side. Or he thought he might be leaving in a hurry and wanted to confuse pursuit.”

  “He drew the arrow to let us know he went upstairs, and marked the circle again with a coat button and a note.” Gerard paused, took a deep breath. “So we know he didn’t arrive via the circle he gave us in Capistown, he left the mountain through it.” Gerard shook his head, pacing on the hard-packed sand. “All these new circles have to have two circles to work, one to leave from and one to arrive in. Once our copy of the circle in Capistown was destroyed by Nicholas to keep it out of Gardier hands, its counterpart in the mountain ceased to work. Yet the Gardier were able to arrive through it.”

  Tremaine nodded, her mouth twisted grimly. “Because they came from the original counterpart. If it was broken until they realized we were using the circles, and they fixed it so they could come after us…”

  Gerard lifted his brows. “And it may have been intentionally broken, because at one point a very powerful Rienish sorcerer came through it, and though he was injured and driven off, even if he left his body behind—”

  “They weren’t sure where he was, if he was coming back.” Tremaine took a deep breath. “Now they know.”

  It was sunset when Ilias and Giliead returned, the sky darkening to a stormy blue-gray past the perpetual mist and cloud cover that hung over the island. Cimarus had arrived an hour or so ago, bedraggled, though not drowned, and reported that he had encountered waterpeople out past the rocks, and that they had promised to take the message to Cineth. They were supposed to take it to Giliead’s father-in-law, Halian, but apparently they had a great deal of trouble recognizing individual humans, and would just tell every Syprian they encountered in Cineth harbor, so the message was bound to get to Halian eventually. Tremaine hoped “eventually” meant soon; there wasn’t much in the way of food or potable water on the island and they had a lot more mouths to feed now.

  She went up the stone-cut steps to the surface to meet Ilias and Giliead, finding them in the little clearing just outside.

  The stairs opened into a square shelter, dusty and empty, made of the long black stones that looked so much like logs. They showed no signs of mortar or anything else holding them into place except their own weight. Outside, the remnants of a small stone plaza were shielded by overhanging trees and vines, twisted and dark-leaved and faintly foul-smelling. His scabbarded sword propped on his shoulder, Ilias was telling Cletia, “Nothing there but howlers and bones. We didn’t go too far in—”

  Tremaine came out of the shelter, violently shaking out her hair after an encounter with a cobweb, and Giliead summarized the situation with, “No Gardier, for now.”

  Tremaine nodded. That was one small relief, anyway. The circle the Gardier had built in the base to transport their airships to Ile-Rien had been destroyed before they had left the island the first time; unless there were other ancient circles hidden somewhere, or unless an airship or sailing vessel arrived with another mobile circle, they were temporarily safe. Right, keep telling yourself that. At least there would be nothing to stop a Syprian ship from coming to their rescue and taking them back to Cineth where they could wait for the Ravenna, if she was still unscathed. And find out what had happened in Capistown. And tell the Capidarans about Meretrisa’s treachery, if Aras didn’t manage to squelch that. And tell the Syprians how Arites had been killed at the Wall Port. And Giliead could confront the god. Finding herself with the sudden need for outdoor air, no matter how unpleasant, Tremaine told Cletia, “I’ll take over for a while. Go get some rest.”

  Cletia lifted her brows, then shook her head, grimacing a little. “I’ll stay out here. The cave smells like dead things.”

  Giliead fixed her with a look that was slightly colder than the ruined ice city. He said pointedly, “You’ve been out here all day. Take a rest.”

  Tremaine observed this thoughtfully. In Capistown, Ilias had been the one who had hated Cletia, so much so he could barely stand to have her at the house, while Giliead had been willing to bury the past and try to be friendly. Their roles seem to have reversed, and considering Cletia’s behavior in the fortress, Tremaine thought she had an inkling why. Oh, good. Add that to the list. Ilias, for his part, stared absently up at the sky through the blue-green canopy of leaves.

  Cletia bridled, then glanced at Tremaine. Tremaine had meant to keep her expression noncommittal but had the feeling it had just slipped a little into something more dangerous. Cletia looked uncomfortable and retreated back into the cave without further comment.

  Giliead threw Ilias what could only be described as a dark look and followed Cletia. Ilias rolled his eyes.

  Tremaine sat down on a broken chunk of stone, by habit checking to make sure Gerard’s pistol was loaded. Ilias sat next to her, laying his sword across his knees. He shifted a waterskin off his shoulder and handed it to her. “We found a fresh stream, so we won’t lack for water, even if we’re stuck here for more than a few days.”

  “Good. So what’s going on between you and Cletia?” Tremaine found herself asking, then realized she could have phrased it better. Fortunately, the connotations in Syrnaic weren’t quite as accusing as they were in Rienish.

  “She apologized for acting the way she did, about the curse mark.” He shrugged, as if he hadn’t quite decided how he felt about it yet. “Nobody ever did that before.”

  Tremaine felt a bitter twist in her stomach. Very clever, Cletia. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you. What seemed a lifetime ago, Giliead had told her that Ilias wanted somewhere to belong, even before the curse mark. She could see how approval, from someone who had always withheld it, could be tempting. There wasn’t much she could say to that, so she changed the subject. “Is Giliead worried about the god?”

  “No.” Ilias shook his head wearily, looking out over the darkening forest. “He’s leaving that to me.” He hesitated, frowning. “I’m beginning to wonder… When Ixion cursed me, and the curse went away when Gil cut his head off… We know now Ixion wasn’t really dead, no more than the wizards in the crystals are dead. I think it was Gil that made the curse go away, he just didn’t know he was doing it.”

  Tremaine nodded slowly, trying to drag her attention away from her own pro
blems and the half-formed plan to murder Cletia at the earliest opportunity. “He could have. Or you know, Ixion might not have been able to keep up any other spells when the one that sent him off to the new body in his vat was triggered.” She shrugged helplessly, fiddling with the waterskin. “At least we should have beaten the Ravenna here. Giliead can tell his side of it before Pasima can flap her big mouth.”

  “That should help.” Ilias nodded, but he looked glum rather than reassured. “It’s just …I wish we knew what the god will do.” He propped his chin on his hand, poking at a tuft of grass with a stick. “I don’t suppose… if the god turns Giliead away, you’d want to marry him too?”

  This statement caught Tremaine just taking a drink from the waterskin. She choked and sputtered, nearly dropping the skin. Wiping the water off her chin, she eyed Ilias, who was watching her hopefully. “Was that a yes or a no?” he asked.

  Tremaine took a deep breath. Sometimes she forgot just how different Syprian attitudes toward marriage were. It added another world of complexity to her feelings for Ilias, which needed more complexity like Ile-Rien needed more Gardier. She held up a hand. “Let’s worry about that after we find out what the god does, all right? We’ll… think of something.”

  Ilias subsided, poking at the grass again, obviously not satisfied. Tremaine could tell she had disappointed him. What, you disappoint someone? she asked herself with a sardonic twist of her lips. What a surprise.

  The other chamber in the upper part of the sea cave had a canal running through it, and Giliead found Cletia there. She was retrieving one of the younger children, who had managed to fall in.

  He asked her bluntly, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Waist deep in the green water, Cletia looked up with a frown. “You wanted me to leave the boy in here?” She handed the dripping child off to Eliva, who carried him away, scolding him and drying him off with a corner of her shawl.

  “With Ilias.”

  Her frown deepened and she climbed out of the water, wringing out the hem of her shirt. But she didn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing.” She started to brush past him.

  He caught her arm, saying deliberately, “I’m a Chosen Vessel until the god says otherwise. Don’t lie to me.”

  She pulled free, standing stubbornly, still not looking at him. “It’s not a real marriage,” she said through gritted teeth. “Everyone knows that. She lets him do whatever he wants.”

  He lifted his brows. “Everyone’s different, Cletia. If you ever really talked to anyone outside the upper rank of families in Cineth, you’d know that.” He eyed her for a moment, reminding himself she was younger than she looked and acted, that Pasima and her mother had kept her closer than they should, trying to make her into their own image. “You’re telling me you want Ilias? Or you just want to make Pasima angry?”

  Now she did look at him, her eyes furious. “I’m not a child.” She started away, still dripping dirty water.

  “Tremaine knows that, and she won’t treat you like one when it comes to it,” he said after her. She didn’t stop and he shook his head at himself, grimacing. He hadn’t handled her particularly well, but her interference made him angry. Ilias and Tremaine had a hard enough road in front of them, they didn’t need this. And knowing he might not be there to help them on that road just made it all the worse.

  Florian bit her lip in concentration, carefully rolling the small toadstone in the saucer of dried salamander’s blood. Niles only had half a jar of salamander’s blood left, and she couldn’t afford to waste any. And just looking at the powdery substance made her want to sneeze.

  She sat at the writing desk in the room assigned to her, which she hadn’t slept in once yet. It was one of the smaller First Class rooms, with a bed, a small seating area with a set of overstuffed armchairs, and a dressing area and attached bath. It was also bare of any of her possessions, with the somewhat depressed air of an unused hotel room, and far too quiet. But she couldn’t do this in the suite in front of Kias and Gyan, no matter how enlightened they had become about Rienish magic.

  Frowning in concentration, Florian lifted the now dust-covered stone and wrapped the wool thread around it, setting another word of the charm each time the strands crossed. This was the tenth one she had done and she no longer had to glance at her notes to make sure she was getting the pattern right. I don’t know why I’m making so many—chances are I’ll only be able to use one, if that. She wasn’t looking forward to taking those chances.

  Tying off the last strand, she put the little stone on a square of colored foil borrowed from a discarded candy packet and wrapped it neatly, setting it aside with the others. Checking the clock above the bed to see if she had time for any more, she winced. The electric clock had never been reset for time in this world, but she knew how many hours it was off. Outside, past the dark green curtains and the metal dead lights that covered the portholes, the sun was setting over the sea.

  Florian was starting to dread the evenings. She pushed her chair back, rubbing her aching neck, and got to her feet. Despite everything, her stomach grumbled and she realized her throat was dry. She went to the attached bathroom but there was no cup or carafe, so she drank enough from her cupped hands to survive until she got to the dining room. Pocketing the foil-wrapped stones, she hesitated. I have to convince Nicholas to take some.

  Of all the defensive spells and charms she had researched that she felt she could perform, this was the one that would most likely be of use against Ixion. It also didn’t require her to obtain anything that belonged to the sorcerer or to be in contact with him at any time.

  The charms were called turnbacks, meant to turn any spell back against the caster. The best thing about them was that the charm was all contained within the toadstone, ready to be released at the first touch of hostile magic, so they could be used by people who had no magical ability. They were a traditional magic of Rienish hedgewitches, who had used them against Bisran Priest-Sorcerers in the old wars, and kept the art of making them concealed until this century. The only disadvantage was that they worked only for a limited amount of time, so you could only use one just before you thought someone was about to cast a spell on you. Florian had to admit that it was a pretty sizable disadvantage.

  Surely she could talk Nicholas into carrying a few with him. She cast the familiar concealment charm on herself, then stepped out into the quiet corridor, locking the door behind her. She knew Nicholas’s room was down one deck, so she went to the nearest cross corridor and down the narrow flight of stairs to the deck below.

  Florian heard voices somewhere up the stairwell, but this corridor was also empty and too quiet, the lights too dim. Suppressing a shiver, she dropped the concealment charm and knocked at the door. She froze as it drifted open at her touch.

  For a moment she thought the room was empty. She could see Nicholas’s black overcoat, thrown over a chair, so she was sure she had the right room. Then the shadow by the dressing table moved and Ixion was suddenly there, watching her.

  She backed away into the corridor, cursing herself for dropping the concealment charm too soon. “What do you want?” It took every ounce of willpower not to drop a hand to the pocket where the turnbacks rested, but she couldn’t let him see her do it.

  “Now what do you think?” He stepped out into the corridor, tugging the door shut behind him. “I want you to bring me one of the spheres. Every wizard on board has one except for me. It seems unfair.” He smiled at her, showing perfectly even teeth. “Tell your friend Niles you wish to practice with it.”

  Oh, I knew that was coming. Florian took a sharp breath, knowing this was it, that there would be no putting it off this time. Because his coy manner infuriated her and she wanted it out in the open, she said, “Or you’ll kill one of my friends, correct?”

  His expression went blank. It was more frightening than the smile, than shouting, than threats. “Would you like me to?” he asked quietly. “I’m not playing a game, like your friend Valiarde
.”

  Florian swallowed in a dry throat. Where is he? What did you do to him? she wanted to ask, but knew it was a mistake. She had told Nicholas she wouldn’t make any more mistakes.

  “Yes, I know you speak to him. I have those on board now who tell me things. They don’t know they tell me things, but they do.” Her expression must have given away her shock. He shook his head, mouth twisted in annoyance. “Oh, your little man in the sphere is not so powerful as you think. He can’t see everything I do.”

  “How do you know he isn’t just giving you enough rope to hang yourself?” Florian tried. I hope that’s what he’s doing.

  “What a clever expression.” Ixion gestured back toward the room, adopting the smile and the teasing manner again. “I was hoping to find Valiarde here, you know. I wanted to witness the results of my afternoon’s work.”

  Oh, no. If he had done something to Nicholas, she had to get to Niles immediately and pray it wasn’t too late. Florian stepped back, gesturing sharply and mouthing the last word of the illusion charm she had prepared. It was only a brief obscuring of the lights, just enough for her to bolt up the corridor to the nearest cross passage, ducking down it.

  Behind her, as she pounded up the stairs, she heard Ixion laughing.

  An alarm blared through the ship’s loudspeaker as Florian reached the top of the stairs, punctuating her urgency. It was the one that meant “go back to your cabin or station and stay there,” which was confirmed by a hurried announcement immediately afterward. She ran down the corridor to the foyer where First Class passengers entered the ship and bolted up the stairs into the main hall.

  She slid to a startled stop. A few Capidaran and Rienish sailors, some men and women in civilian clothes she didn’t recognize, and a couple of men from the Viller Institute were clustered around a makeshift stretcher made from a bed mattress. They were taking it forward, toward the other stairwell that would lead downward to the deck with the ship’s hospital. They were speaking in an anxious angry mutter and between the men supporting the mattress she saw something half covered by a blanket, something with dark scaly ridges…