“Those four doors”—Alfred pointed—“the ones that are slightly ajar, each lead to the four worlds. The door over there leads to the Labyrinth. That door—the one that is shut—must go to the Vortex, which, if you’ll remember, collapsed, and that door”—the pointing finger shook slightly—“that door, the one that’s wide open, leads to Death’s Gate.”
Haplo grunted. “I told you to stay away from that damn table. That door doesn’t lead anywhere except out into the hall. In case you’ve forgotten, my friend, that was the door we went through last time we were in here. Although, as I recall, you shut it when we left. Or rather, it almost shut you.”
“But that was in Abarrach,” Alfred argued. He looked around helplessly, the knowledge suddenly terrifying. “We’re not in the Chamber of the Damned. We’re not on Abarrach. We are inside the Seventh Gate.”
Haplo frowned, skeptical.
“You’re here,” Alfred said. “How did you get here?”
Haplo shrugged again. “I woke up, half frozen, in a prison cell. I was alone. No one was around. I walked out into the corridor and saw the blue runes shining on the wall, I followed them. Then I heard your voice, chanting. The warding runes let me pass. I came down here, found the door open. I walked inside. You were sitting at that damn table, whimpering and apologizing ... as usual.”
Perplexed, Alfred looked at Jonathon. “Are we on Abarrach still? I don’t understand.”
“Because you went to the Seventh Gate, you found the Seventh Gate. You are now in the Seventh Gate.”
“. . . Seventh Gate . . .” said the echo and it had a joyous sound.
“That door”—Jonathon glanced in the direction of the door with the sigil marking it as Death’s Gate—“has stood open all these centuries. To close Death’s Gate, that is the door you must shut.”
The enormity of the task overwhelmed Alfred. It had taken the Council of Seven, and hundreds of other powerful Sartan, to create and open that door. To shut it—only him.
“Then how did I get here?” Haplo demanded, obviously still not believing. “I didn’t use any magic—”
“Not magic,” Jonathon replied. “Knowledge. Self-knowledge. That is the key to the Seventh Gate. If my people, who found this place long ago, had truly known themselves, they could have discovered its power. They came close. But not close enough. They could not let go.”
“. . . let go . . .”
“I need proof. Open a door,” said Haplo. “Not that one!” He purposefully avoided going near the door that already stood ajar. “Open another door, one that’s closed. Let’s see what’s out there.”
“Which door?” Alfred asked, gulping.
Haplo was silent a moment, then said, “The one that you claim leads to the Labyrinth.”
Alfred slowly nodded. He thought back to the Chamber as he had seen it just before the Sundering. He saw again the door with the fiery red sigil.
He located the correct door. Edging his way around the table—careful not to touch the runes on the white wood—he came to stand before the door.
He reached out his hand, gently touched the sigil etched into the marble. He began to sing, very softly; then his song grew stronger. He traced over the sigil with his fingers and the sigil flared to life, glowed red.
The song caught in Alfred’s throat. He coughed, swallowed, tried to continue singing, though now the song was cracked and off-key. He pushed on the door.
The door swung silently open.
And they were inside the Labyrinth.
27
Traveling through Death’s Gate, the two Sartan ships arrived in the Nexus. The ships landed near what had once been Lord Xar’s house, now a mass of charred wood. On landing, the Sartan stared out the portholes, shocked into stunned silence at the sight of the destruction.
“You see the magnitude of the hatred these Patryns bear us,” Ramu could be heard saying. “They wreak destruction upon the city and land we made for them, although it means they will be the ones who suffer. There is no reasoning with such savagery. These people will never be fit to live among civilized men.”
Marit could have told him the truth—that it was the serpents who had destroyed the Nexus—but she knew he would never believe her and she refused to let him provoke her into a meaningless argument. She maintained a haughty, dignified silence, kept her face averted so that they would not see her tears.
Ordering the majority of the Sartan to remain safely on board ship, where the runes could protect them, Ramu sent out scouting parties.
While the scouts were abroad, the Sartan of Chelestra came to tend to the needs of their Abarrach brethren. They were gentle, patient, and kind, giving of their own strength unstintingly. Several Sartan, passing by Marit, even paused to ask if they could do anything to aid her. She refused their help, of course, but—astonished and touched by the offers—she managed to be gracious about it.
The only Sartan she came close to trusting (and not all that close, either) was Balthazar. She couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps it was because he and his people also knew what it was to watch their children die. Or perhaps it was because he had taken the time to talk to her on their journey through Death’s Gate, to ask her what was happening in the Labyrinth.
Marit waited impatiently for the return of the Sartan scouts, who went immediately to Ramu. Marit would have given several gates to have heard their report. She could do nothing but wait, however.
At last Ramu left his cabin. He motioned—grudgingly, Marit thought—to Balthazar. The Councillor obviously didn’t like sharing his position of authority, but he had little choice. The Abarrach Sartan had made it clear during the journey that they would follow no leader but their own.
“I don’t like what I am hearing,” Ramu said in a low voice. “The scouts’ reports are conflicting. They tell me—”
Marit could not hear what the scouts reported, but she could guess. The scouts would see whatever it was the serpents wanted the scouts to see.
Balthazar listened, then halted Ramu with a polite gesture. The necromancer looked over to Marit, motioned to her to join them.
Ramu frowned. “Do you think that wise? She is a prisoner. I do not like giving away our plans to the enemy.”
“As you say, she is a prisoner and would find it difficult—if not impossible—to escape. I would like to hear what she has to say.”
“If you are interested in lies, then, by all means, Brother, let us hear her,” Ramu said bitingly.
Marit came up, stood silently between the two.
“Please continue, Councillor,” said Balthazar.
Ramu remained silent for a moment, displeased and angry, forced to rethink what and how much he was going to reveal. “I was going to say that I plan to go to the Final Gate. I want to see for myself what is transpiring.”
“Excellent idea,” Balthazar agreed. “I will accompany you.”
Ramu did not appear pleased. “I would think, Brother, that you would prefer to remain on board. You are still very weak.”
Balthazar shrugged this off. “I am the representative of my people. Their ruler, if you will. You cannot, by Sartan law, refuse my request, Councillor.”
Ramu bowed. “I was thinking only of your health.”
“Of course you were,” Balthazar said smiling, smooth. “And I will take Marit along to act as my adviser.”
Caught completely by surprise, she stared at him in astonishment.
“Absolutely not.” Ramu refused to consider the matter. “She is far too dangerous. She will stay here, under guard.”
“Be sensible, Councillor,” Balthazar returned coolly. “This woman has lived both in the Nexus and in the Labyrinth itself. She is familiar with the surroundings, with the inhabitants. She knows what is transpiring—something that, in my mind, your scouts do not.”