The Lost Gate Part 6

"I know that," said Danny. "Got my share of them back home."

Eric slapped him on the shoulder. "See, Tony? This is a man of the world!"

"I'm not," said Danny. "Never been out of the... homeplace. Farm." He had almost said "compound" but he decided that would have conveyed a wrong impression. Like he was from some religious group somewhere. Though come to think of it, the Family were were G.o.ds, or at least descended from them, and that was kind of like being from a religious group, wasn't it? G.o.ds, or at least descended from them, and that was kind of like being from a religious group, wasn't it?

"Country boy!" cried Eric. "Yee-haw!"

"n.o.body in my Family ever said 'yee-haw' in their lives," said Danny. Though he wouldn't put it past Lem and Stem, if they ever thought of it.

"I'm just thinking something, kid. You got a name?"

"Danny," said Danny, since there was no particular reason to lie.

"I tell you, Danny," said Eric. "This is a hard world and you're just too d.a.m.n young to do the road by yourself. You need somebody looking out for you."

"What he means," said Tony, "is that he's thought of a use for you."

"Well duh," said Eric. "Pitiful kid, and I can say, 'Got nothing to feed my kid brother, you spare us a couple of bucks, ma'am?' Bet we do okay with that."

"Not with his clothes looking all new like that," said Tony.

"Well, he's going to have to dirty himself up anyway," said Eric. "He's not going to make it far with all his clothes looking new like that."

Danny looked down at himself. "They won't look brand new for very long. And I'm not going to dirty them up. I could have kept the clothes I came here in if I wanted to look dirty."

"Any chance you can still lay hands on those clothes?" asked Eric. "I mean, not for wearing now or anything, but so you can change into them when you need to beg."

"Are you kidding? I don't want to beg."

"Oh, you got a junior executive job in a Fortune 500 company waiting for you in Philadelphia? Atlanta maybe?"

"No," said Danny.

"You don't look big enough to be worth anything at digging ditches," said Eric. "You box flyweight? What about tag team wrestling? Or maybe you're a mechanic for a NASCAR team. Begging's how you stay alive on the road, Danny. You too good to beg? You better go home to mommy and daddy."

"I've just never done it," said Danny.

"You go get those clothes. They far away?"

"Back in the woods."

"You go get them," said Eric. "I'll be here waiting for you. You can keep all this stuff you stole, that's good, you must be one h.e.l.l of a lucky thief to get away with all this on your first try."

"How do you know it was my first try?" asked Danny.

Tony hooted. "The tags? The labels?"

"So I was lucky," said Danny. "I'm good at getaways."

"A useful skill," said Eric. "But this is my home town. Don't steal anything more from my home town, get it?"

"Got it," said Danny.

"I still got a lot of friends here, like Tony. You planning to steal anything from his store?"

"No," said Danny.

"Good thing, because then we'd have to beat the c.r.a.p out of you."

"If this is your home town, what do you you know about the road?" asked Danny. know about the road?" asked Danny.

"Because I've been on the road since June. Came back for Christmas. Say hi to my mom, tell my dad to eat s.h.i.+t and die."

"You already do that?" asked Tony. "Cause I don't see any bruises."

"I left him a note," said Eric. "And besides, he's not as big as your stepdad. I don't think he could lay a hand on me now. I'm taller."

So neither one of these guys felt safe living with their families. Danny wondered how they'd feel if their family had a Hammernip Hill.

"Go get your clothes," said Eric. "I'll wait here, and then we'll get us a ride up north. No money for begging around here. But in DC now, there's plenty of people with a few bucks for a guy and his kid brother. You'll see."

"Who's going to give us a ride?"

"Somebody," said Eric. "You getting those clothes, little brother, or do I kick the c.r.a.p out of you?"

"Think you can?" asked Danny, getting into the spirit of the game.

"Think I can't?" said Eric. "Move your b.u.t.t, little bro. Don't make me wait any longer than the next cigarette."

So Danny jogged and then ran back around behind Wal-Mart, put back on his discarded s.h.i.+rt and pants, stuffed the new ones into the backpack, and ran barefoot back to where Eric and Tony were still waiting.

"Man, the kid wasn't kidding," said Tony.

"His name's Danny," said Eric.

"I don't have to remember that," said Tony. "I'm not going with you. I'm a working man."

"BFD," said Eric. "Those clothes are great, Danny. You're a natural."

"Come on, he's a complete hick, that's what those clothes mean," said Tony.

"But he doesn't talk like a hick," said Eric. "He talks like he's read a book in his life. He'll be good company. I'll teach him to beg and he'll teach me how to make clean getaways. We'll be such great brothers we'll start thinking we really grew up together."

Eric and Tony said their good-byes and a half hour later, Eric and Danny were in the back of a pickup truck that was going as far as Staunton. Danny figured it was the luckiest thing in his life, that he walked behind those stores and not in front of them.

5.

THE G GATE T THIEF.

King Prayard of Iceway was a Wavebrother-a seamage with the power to make currents flow where he needed them to.

This was no surprise. The inhabitants of Iceway, lacking in good agricultural land, and so far north that the growing season seemed to pa.s.s in a few weeks, had long found that trade or pillage were essential to survival; and, rimmed with mountains as their lands were, the ocean provided the only means of accomplis.h.i.+ng either.

In such a land as Iceway, seamages were essential to making long voyages even when winds were contrary. A s.h.i.+p with a good stillsea mage aboard would never sink in a storm; a fleet led by a s.h.i.+p with a Wavebrother could always follow currents that led precisely where he wanted them to go. And if they had a Tidefather, the strongest of seamages, he could invest a portion of his outself in a particular current so that it would continue to flow exactly as he shaped it, for decades or centuries, no matter how long he himself remained alive. So long had Iceway depended on detailed maps of all the ancient currents made by the Tidefathers of the past two thousand years, and on the work of present-day Wavebrothers, that they had long since ceased to build their great trading and raiding s.h.i.+ps with sails, or with any means of propulsion except the sea itself.

In such a land, it was inevitable that great seamages would rise to political power, and just as inevitable that seamagery was the power most sought after. Thus most children were tested for seamagery, and if they showed even the slightest talent for it, they were trained to the extent of their abilities, however meager they might be.

It was not that other mages were without value, for a Siltbrother could help improve the soil, a Galebreath could turn aside an unseasonable, crop-wrecking storm, a Cobblefriend could lead miners to productive veins of a desired ore, and a Meadowfriend could bring reliable harvests, and sometimes even spectacular ones. The people of Iceway were grateful for any such mages.

But seamagery had become something of a religion with them. To have a child with such abilities was to be raised into a different rank of society; no social barriers stood in the way of a child who could flatten the sea or kindle a current in the desired direction.

Kings of Iceway almost always married the daughters of seamages, or women who were skilled in seamagery themselves, for there was a strong belief in Iceway, and some evidence, that a predisposition toward seamagery could be inherited by children.

There is a subtle distinction here: It was absolutely known and repeatedly proven that if both of a child's parents were powerful mages in any discipline, their children were likely to have great power in whatever magery they found an affinity for. But in most of the world called Westil or Mitherkame it was considered just as certain that the kind kind of magery a child excelled in had only a chance relations.h.i.+p with the particular talents of either parent. of magery a child excelled in had only a chance relations.h.i.+p with the particular talents of either parent.

In Iceway, however, the importance of seamages was so great that a seamage king, in order to produce seamage heirs, would mate only with women who were proven seamages.

Here is where King Prayard's life became complicated. For his father, King Oviak, having started a war with the Jarl of Gray and having then promptly lost it, was forced to accept a state marriage between his son, Prayard, and Bexoi, the sister of the victorious young Jarl. Bexoi had no shred of seamagery in her, and only the slightest talent as beastfriend.

It would be generous to say that Bexoi was talented enough with birds to call herself a Feathergirl-they would come when they were within earshot, and then only small and rather useless birds, not even geese or ducks that were large enough to be worth eating, or hawks or other birds of prey that might be trained to hunt.

To everyone in Iceway-and Gray, too, for that matter-it was obvious that the marriage with Bexoi was meant to put an end to the hereditary line of seamages that had culminated in Prayard, who was the most powerful Wavebrother in the recent history of Iceway. Prayard's and Bexoi's children would have sharply reduced talent, and far less likelihood of having affinities for the sea.

Prayard was a gracious man, and accepted Bexoi as his wife for the sake of the nation, even as he grieved over his own lost progeny. Not for a moment did he expect that any child of his and Bexoi's would be seamage enough to succeed him as king. Rather, he expected that the royal succession would pa.s.s into another house-whichever n.o.ble family of Iceway did did produce a notable seamage in the next generation. In other words, it did not cross his mind that Iceway would have a ruler who could not command a fleet of sailless s.h.i.+ps; rather, he took Gray's action in forcing this marriage to be an act against this particular royal family. produce a notable seamage in the next generation. In other words, it did not cross his mind that Iceway would have a ruler who could not command a fleet of sailless s.h.i.+ps; rather, he took Gray's action in forcing this marriage to be an act against this particular royal family.

But the terms of the treaty did not stop with the marriage. For along with Bexoi there came to Iceway a host of Grayish "servants" and "stewards," all of whom were a.s.sumed to be, and were in fact, spies and overlords, and sometimes both at once. And it soon became clear that Gray would not accept any change of the royal house. The Jarl's goal was not to end the power of Prayard's family, but to force upon Iceway a king who was half-Gray by birth and magically weak and misdirected into some channel other than seamagery: in other words, the perpetual subjugation of Iceway.

So the fortress of Na.s.sa.s.sa, where King Prayard lived, became a constant silent war between the Icewegians and the Grays. Prayard gave every outward respect to his wife, even to the sharing of her bed at least once in every month; her lack of children was blamed entirely on Bexoi's barrenness and not on lack of effort by Prayard. She sat beside him in court, attended all his official meetings, and was given an ample allowance with which to support the large contingent of servants and stewards who constantly meddled with the government and business of Iceway.

At the same time, Prayard was well known to have a mistress-no, a concubine, Anonoei-who had given birth to two sons, Eluik and Enopp, whose resemblance to Prayard was constantly remarked upon by Icewegians who already regarded them as their father's heirs.

If Anonoei had been a seamage, or even a powerful mage of any sort, then those sons would long since have been murdered in some untraceable way by one of the Grayish agents in the queen's employ. Or, failing that, their mere existence would have provoked a war. But as far as anyone could tell, Anonoei had no magical ability at all, not even Bexoi's feeble beastmagic. She formed no clant, practiced no discipline, served no aspect of the natural world. She seemed to live for no other purpose than to please King Prayard and lovingly raise her boys.

Thus King Prayard could be believed, or mostly believed, when he declared to the Grays that his sons by Anonoei, though he openly acknowledged them, would not inherit the throne, but would merely be his support and comfort in his old age. Yet at the same time, the common people of Iceway, as well as the n.o.ble houses, constantly hoped that Eluik and Enopp would be trained in the early aspects of seamagery like most other children in Iceway, and would show great talent and be worthy to succeed their father. Then they could lead a fleet to avenge their grandfather Oviak's defeat and their father Prayard's constant humiliation by the Grays.

So the Grays in Na.s.sa.s.sa kept constant vigilance to make sure that Eluik and Enopp never received any training in seamagery-indeed, they insisted that the boys should never so much as ride in a boat or see the waves beating upon the sh.o.r.e. Meanwhile, the Icewegians of the royal house kept equal vigilance to try to find some hopeful sign that despite all the outward evidence, the boys were actually getting that vital training.

It was into this castle of intrigue, distrust, resentment, and barely contained violence that a stranger came, who might have been a slight and slender man or a tall-grown lad, whose face was beardless yet whose eyes were deep with the wisdom of age, and who spoke not a word of any language for long enough that most people in the castle of Na.s.sa.s.sa a.s.sumed that he was mute.

They had no idea how many centuries he had lived inside a tree, or how such a thing might even have been possible; they could only have known it if they had talked to a certain peasant girl from the high country.

The strange silent boy showed up one summer in the kitchen garden, wearing peasant clothing that did not fit and looking miserable and hungry. It was nearly night and Hull, the night cook, was up to her elbows in flour dust, kneading each of the prentices' wads of dough to see if they had the consistency right. Each prentice stood across the table from her as she worked his or her dough, sweating as much from dread as from the bread ovens heating up across the courtyard.

Young Jib, a promising soup girl, came and stood at the end of the table, waiting. Hull saw her at once and was irritated-how could anyone be fool enough to interrupt her when she was doughing? Yet Jib was doing exactly what she had been taught to do when a matter had some urgency but she did not want to break Hull's concentration. So despite her annoyance, Hull could find no fault with the girl.

Hull finished with the current wad by splas.h.i.+ng a double handful of flour onto the table, then plopping the dough onto it with a distinctly wet-sounding splonk. "Have we given you a name yet?" she asked the prentice.

"No, Mistress," said the hapless boy, who had dared to offer her a wad that was still spongy.

"Good," said Hull. "Because if you thought that dough was ready for loaving, you'll never have a name in the King's house."

The prentice blanched and immediately plunged his hands into the wad, kneading in the flour Hull had added. It would take more flour than she had put there, Hull knew-it would be interesting to see if the boy had sense enough to add even more. In fact the prentice was promising-his breads had a good flavor to them-but it did them no good praising them too much or too early in their prentices.h.i.+p.

"Well?" said Hull, turning to Jib at the head of the table.

"A boy in the garden," said Jib. "Or a man. In the dark it's hard to tell."

"And this boy or man sent you in from the garden, your hands empty of the herbs I sent you for? Coriander? Rosemary? I don't even smell them on you."

"In the shade garden, when I went for the c.u.min," said Jib. "It was locked from the outside, and nothing broken inside, yet there he was."

"What do you think, then?" asked Hull. "The peppers are bearing a strange new fruit?" But she was was.h.i.+ng the flour and dough off her arms. She would go and see what was going on.

Jib made as if to lead her there. "Do you think I can't find my way to the shade garden without you to lead me, Jib? Go get the rosemary, and try not to find any strange intruders there."

Jib hesitated for a moment, as if she thought to defend herself from the ludicrous idea that finding intruders was a matter within her control. Poor girl-like all the others, she was utterly without humor. Or, rather, she was unable to conceive of Hull having a sense of humor, which meant her jests were all counted as madness in the lore that grew up around her. Well, the mighty authority of night cook carried a heavy burden of loneliness. Again, an ironic joke; but since she didn't voice it, her entire audience-herself-was filled with mirth.

An intruder, with no locks opened. Hull refused to let herself feel any hope, though a person appearing in a locked room was a sign that had been drilled into her as a child. In this case it meant nothing-the shade garden would be easy enough to slip into, since the gossamer covering could be loosened at a corner-or torn with a fingernail.

Jib had relocked the gate when she left-Hull marked that as a sign that the girl had some sense. Hull could easily imagine one of the other kitchen servants leaving it open, so that Hull would find the garden empty and some a.s.sa.s.sin would then have free rein of the castle.

Hull unlocked the gate, stepped inside, and closed it behind her.

The boy-the man-sat on the ground in the middle of the garden, between planting beds. The full moon was much dimmed by the gossamer roof, as it should have been, but the intruder was plainly visible. He hugged his knees and looked at her impa.s.sively, then looked back down at the planting bed he was more or less facing.

"So is it the coriander that fascinates you?" asked Hull. "Or were you hoping for a midnight a.s.signation with a fat old cook?"

The intruder did not look up at her.

Hull walked around the perimeter inspecting the gossamer where it was joined to the roof. No sags, no gaps. It was as tight as when she last had it tightened two weeks ago. If there was one thing the sailor folk of Iceway knew how to do, it was stretch a cloth tight. She glanced back at him from time to time-he made no movement and showed no interest in what she was doing.

She stifled her excitement. It was not possible. Even though her grandfather had taught her the signs, her father had taught her even more sternly that there were no gatemages in the world.

But the first sign, the very first, was a person appearing in a locked place with no sign of how he got there.

Not possible. Gatemages existed, yes-grandfather had been one, to his sorrow. It was gates gates that could not remain. that could not remain.

So the question now was not whether this intruder was a gatemage, but whether he had been discovered by the Gate Thief. Perhaps that's why he sat here in the middle of her shade garden, unable to leave because the gate he came in through was gone and he could not understand why.

"I know what you are," said Hull. She approached him from the side, so he could see her but would not feel confronted by her. She took care to move at a middling gait-not so slowly that she looked furtive, not so quickly that it would seem to be an a.s.sault. "I know you came here by way of a gate no other can see. Did you make it yourself?"

He showed no sign of hearing her.