The Gate
Chapter 16:
A string of red lights spread out along the walls of the corridor, each one connected to the others like leaves on a vine. A wail like some maimed beast’s shrieked through the passage, echoing through labyrinthine halls and mixing with the crack of gunfire.
Yuri and I shared a terrorized glance. “Go.” The word was forcefully expelled from my lips.
My body turned to the right, involuntarily, unconsciously, starting down the route to Zealot’s chamber. Yuri shouted something after me that I didn’t comprehend. I couldn’t spare time to parse what he was saying - my instinct had fully taken over. I had to get the Key. I could only hope that Yuri would follow my orders and we would somehow link up after this was all over.
Each adrenaline-soaked pound of my boots on the floor seemed to stretch for ages as I sprinted down one corridor after another. The cry of the alarm washed over me in waves, joining with the rhythm of my mad dash through the building. Screams erupted from distant figures to my sides. The clash of steel against steel, blade against blade. I brushed past hastily-armed airmen who clambered down a ramp to repel the attack, seemingly oblivious to my ascent in the opposite direction.
Sliding around the corner of a junction the object of my desire came into view. The Key. It swung from Zealot’s neck as he hurried into his chamber. I halted, regaining some wind, and my eyes widened at the figure that stood in front of the chamber doors, now rapidly sliding shut behind the self-styled prophet.
Zanenir, bare-chested and muscled like some giant predating animal, met my gaze with disdain and challenge in his eyes. He held a haft of repurposed wood studded through with iron scrap that gave me pause as he lumbered the end of it to point in my direction. With a snarl unlike anything I have ever heard from a human, the titan slammed the end of the mace into the wall next to him, leaving a dent in its adamantine surface and sending a reverberating metallic thud through the air like he’d hit a gong. His lip curled upward and I saw that he’d filed his teeth into sharpened wedges. Blood inexplicably dripped from them.
All the muscles in my chest and abdomen clenched in fear. I brought my fists up and realized even though the human monster was some distance away from me, I was cowering in a defensive stance. My eyes passed over the space around me, looking for a weapon.
Zanenir began to take deliberate, walking steps towards me. He returned his mace to a resting position at his side and closed his mouth, letting the rivulets of blood trickle down the corners of his lips, where they dribbled down his chin and onto his chest. His expression went blank, as if all emotion had been drained out of him as he advanced.
My feet took unwilling steps backward. I turned to run, but something within me couldn’t let me do it.
No.
I grimaced. There was no way I could take on Zanenir in my current state, weaponless. My eyes darted about frantically, searching for a way to level the playing field.
A wholly unexpected explosion rocked the building, causing the red pulsating patterns on the walls to flicker. I lost my bearing and fell to the floor. When I turned back to look at Zanenir, he had barely moved, though one hand now lay against his left wall to acquire some balance. His eyes hadn’t moved from me, though his advance had stopped.
I noticed that one of the glyphs I’d fallen against had turned amber briefly, then flashed violet. A streak of light spiraled along the floor towards Zanenir.
He flinched. The giant man was clearly bewildered by this for a second, before his face turned into stone again and he resumed his advance.
Looking back at the floor, I saw a whole plethora of lights ringing my position from the floor to the ceiling. I hit one of them. Another streak of light sped towards Zanenir. This time, he didn’t flinch.
In a panic, I started tapping all of the glyphs around me, trying desperately to overwhelm the titan’s senses. It worked again. His eyes slammed shut and he growled, attempting to advance through blindness.
My hand slammed against another glyph, and this time, something hard and metallic broke its fall against my arm, causing a swell of pain to rocket up my spine. I cried out as the long, thin object clanged against the floor. I spared it a glance.
A spear, made out of pure metallic strangeness. Its luminescent shaft crackled with amber beads of light, as if it was made out of the same material as the very walls that surrounded us. I instinctively grabbed it and felt a surge of energy pulse through me as I tried to comprehend what had just happened. A glance spared at the glyph I’d slapped showed that its color had faded.
My head jerked back towards the monster that was almost on me. I leveled the spear in his direction. Zanenir did not stop. I lunged forward, aiming at his torso, intending to gore him through the midsection.
His arm moved faster than I could sidestep, slapping away the offending shaft, but not before I saw bolts of energy travel up his arm, into his shoulder. His muscles tensed briefly. No reaction showed in his face. Terror boiled over inside me.
A pillar of an arm shot forward and grabbed at my neck. I barely moved in time, falling backwards onto the floor and rolling out of the way. I brought the spear back up to put distance between myself and the behemoth, backing away as I did.
My spear rang against the wall, metal striking metal and ringing back a challenge to Zanenir as I halted my backward motion. I shouted, more so to pluck my own courage out of the ground. The monster was unperturbed. He continued his slow, steady, deliberate advance towards me. I spared a glance behind me and saw another ring of light-generating glyphs. My boot came down against one and it shot a burst of light in his direction. Zanenir’s eyes closed reflexively.
I took my chance. My spear jerked forward, seeking a target in Zanenir’s center of mass.
His hand raised up reflexively, catching the tip of the blade in its palm. Metal met flesh and the spear tip ran through the exposed palm, before stopping against bone. I withdrew the spear and backed away.
Zanenir barely wrinkled his face, the wounded palm clenching into a fist and dropping to his side. Blood squeezed from the wound like a crushed fruit and flowed onto the floor.
Once again my foot slammed against a glyph, but the light that sputtered out of it wasn’t strong enough to aid me. Zanenir’s clenched, bloody fist swooshed through the air and hit my jaw, staggering me. I saw stars as I stumbled backward. Only small flickers of pain radiated outward into my head as adrenaline overtook my senses.
I’d been hit. Confusion reigned in my mind as I tried to halt my backwards retreat.
The titan lunged at me, swinging his mace at my head and barely missing, hitting the opposite wall and causing a scattering of light-beads to flicker outward from one of the malfunctioning glyphs.
My spear leveled forward in an offensive posture, seeking a strike against the oncoming mass of muscle. Zanenir held his mace in front of himself as he advanced, seeking to deflect any potential blow I could land against him.
I backed out of an exit, finding myself on a balcony overlooking the city. Zanenir slowly stooped through the doorway, and continued to approach. His wounded hand unclenched, bloodied red and continuing to leak. He laid a palm on the promethean metal balcony railing, leaving a bloodied palm-print.
The need to get to Zealot’s chamber overwhelmed my sense of security at that moment, and I made a calculated lunge towards the monster, spear tip seeking flesh once more.
Zanenir’s mace batted away the assault, and I felt his bloodied hand seek my throat once more, instead finding my shoulder.
A grip settled across my shoulder like a hundred tons of steel. My eyes widened and I cried out as my arm was immobilized and warm blood squirted over my shirt. The smell of sweat and blood mixed in the air and overwhelmed my nostrils.
With my free arm, I repeatedly thrust my spear forward, seeking to free myself from being imprisoned by the monstrosity that held me. Zanenir raised his mace, seeking to bring it down in one final crushing blow.
A stroke of insight passed through my pain-addled head. I brought up my spear in time to catch the leading edge of Zanenir’s arm on it as it swung downward for the death blow. This time, he flinched again as the spear’s head tore through flesh, tendon, and muscle. The spear ripped out of my hand and caught against the floor, providing an anchor against which the forward momentum of Zanenir’s arm fell.
Zanenir unwillingly let me go as his arm was gored completely through. His injured hand grabbed the spear and yanked it free from his arm, causing blood to gush out of the injury.
The titan’s eyes turned to meet mine. His pupils were dilated beyond anything I’d ever seen in a human eye. Beads of black almost filled the entirety of his iris as he stood and resumed his advance.
In desperation, I glanced at where he’d cast the spear, far to our side. My legs involuntarily carried me towards the weapon in a mad sprint.
He beat me there, slamming his great bulk against the wall and blocking my path. Another fist swung for my face. My head barely moved away in time before the blow broke against the wall, sending more beads of light scattering away from the point of impact.
My knee flew upward to hit Zanenir in the groin. The blow connected but didn’t have any discernible effect. Zanenir’s expression was unmoved. He threw another punch, and this time, it connected squarely with my nose. Cartilage snapped as a torrent of blood poured out of my nostrils and down my mouth. I cried out, pain overwhelming my adrenaline as I stumbled backwards yet again and fell to the floor.
The monster lifted a jackboot above my head and I rolled to the side, my scrabbling hands finding the spear.
I turned to the side and felt an iron vise crush against my shoulder as another boot slammed into it. Zanenir’s flat expression never once broke as he coolly looked down at me. An arm, streaming blood down his bare chest, raised over his head, holding the gargantuan mace in an attempt to finish me off.
A jab from my spear flew upwards, finding the wounded giant’s arm and tearing at his wound again. Muscle and tendon tore. Blood ran freely. Zanenir’s hand opened unexpectedly, releasing the mace to slump against my head.
The titan stepped back, bewildered at his ruined hand, not comprehending why he had lost control over it. I scrambled up and saw weakness in his blood-streaked form. I took my chance and threw the entire weight of my body behind a single spear thrust to his midsection.
The tip of my spear met first with toughened muscle, then passed through into his interior. I buried the head of my spear deep into his stomach and saw the comprehension of his own mortality flicker through Zanenir’s eyes. One more thrust carried my spear further, upward, into his chest. The titan collapsed against the wall.
For one last time, the giant’s eyes looked up at me, and I saw… peace flooding through him. His pupils had returned to their normal size. His head lolled back and he closed his eyes, falling still and silent in a pool of his own blood.
I reached down to his abdomen to recover the spear, but it was caught on muscle and flesh. I staggered back away from the entrance of the balcony, the sounds of fighting echoing from down below.
The thought of the Key beckoned, taking over my mind and submerging all other worries.
***
At the closed door to Zealot’s quarters, my mouth curled in a snarl.
The sounds of combat behind me were fast approaching. My eyes darted from side to side, searching for a way through the block of metal.
Three down from the left-most. Then two right, turn counter-clockwise.
My palm reached out towards the wall, following unknown thoughts from unknown sources. It danced across the panel, and in a few quick motions I’d gained access to the room beyond. The doors slid apart, revealing Zealot deeply engaged in meditation. His eyes popped open as I entered and closed the door behind me. A look of disbelief crossed his face, before it was rejoined with anger.
“You.”
I rushed forward, meeting his gaze. “Me.”
“Traitor. Infidel.” He spat.
“Not in the way you think. It just worked out this way.”
A moment of confusion passed over his features.
“You have a habit of making enemies. I’m not responsible for the mess outside. And I’m not really here for your life.”
“Then why are you here, Ms. Zintan?”
I stepped forward, my hand clenching into a fist. A ripple of fear barely flashed through Zealot’s eyes before he stood his ground against my advance.
“Give me the Key.” I said quietly.
Zealot’s eyes widened. His hand flew to the alien icon swinging from his neck. A muttered statement in some sacred tongue I had no idea the meaning of.
“What do you know of the Key?” he challenged.
“I know you’ve used it. I know it changed you - your eyes betray that. That’s how you know what glyphs to use.”
“And?”
“I know you have only one half of the Key.”
“You lie.” Zealot gritted his teeth.
“Otherwise you would have even more influence over the city’s workings.”
Zealot’s hand went to his face.
He is unworthy.
The alien thoughts spoke through me. “That’s why you bear a mark of shame.”
Zealot staggered back, fear writ large across his face. “Who are you, Haye Zintan?”
I blinked, wondering briefly at the strange bubbling in the back of my mind. Weird convictions and unknown knowns coalesced in my subconscious. “Nobody.” I answered.
“That can’t be true.” The would-be prophet shook his head.
“You see in me someone special. You’ve said as much before. But the truth is that I’m not. What acts in and through me is special. But I know I am not special. I am just Haye Zintan.”
Zealot’s eyes narrowed. He looked me up and down, his hand outstretched in a questioning gesture, almost drawing prayer lines in the air to meld with the ones covering his arm. The tassels on his coat shuddered frantically.
My words were firm. “Give the Key to me. I will find its mate and keep it safe.”
He is the gate.
“You are the gate, and I am what lies beyond.” I said in a voice that was not my own.
The air shimmered behind Zealot. For a ghost of a moment, I thought I saw a darkened figure, bulbous whitened appendages boiling over its surface, wrinkled like andironback skin, bent to whisper in his ear, to dissuade him.
A moment of time passed while we each regarded the other. My hand was still clenched, ready to take by force what was necessary to acquire for our survival.
Bless the River, flow well.
My fist unclenched.
A look of peace cascaded down Zealot’s face. He closed his eyes and exhaled. All pride exited him at that moment, and I saw him accept his vulnerability. He unclasped the Key from his neck and held it out. Two words tumbled out from his lips:
“Take it.”