Gallen studied the wight’s face. The old creature was not bluffing. Gallen pulled out the glowing mask of Fale, considered putting it back on his face, but decided against it, and then walked unmasked down through the apple grove in long easy strides.
As he passed the china shop, he looked into its windows and thought, I shall never see this place again. And as he passed the quay with its little boats pulled up onto the pebbled beach, he inhaled the sea air. He moved like a wraith through the streets, and all ahead of him, people stepped aside, and the wights drifted in behind him.
He stopped at his own home, and his mother stood outside the door of the little pine house-tree, looking more haggard and world-weary than he’d ever seen her. He hugged her briefly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be back,” he whispered into her ear as he stooped to hug her, and she reached up and managed to hug him around the ribs.
“Where will you go?” she demanded in a tone of disbelief.
“To another world, to dance with the fairy folk and fight demons.” She squeezed him tight. “Be good,” was all she managed to say between sobs. Gallen reached into his pocket and pulled out his coin purse, gave it to her. “The money, wedding gifts, the inn-they’re all yours,” he said.
Then he went into the house, retrieved his sword, daggers, and the incendiary rifle he’d brought home from his previous trip. Maggie had already gone to fetch her own things.
When Gallen got out of the house, Sheriff Sully came out of the crowd, and growled in a bitter voice. “You-you made me kill a man,” he said, rubbing his hands on his shirt as if they’d been soiled.
“Not I,” Gallen said. “I told you only to do with Mason Flaherty ‘what you will.’ You came here with murder on your mind, and murder is what you’ve accomplished.”
Gallen pushed him away, and some of Sully’s own men grabbed him, placed him under arrest.
Orick rushed to Gallen’s side. “I’m with you, Gallen!” the bear called in his deep voice, and a young female bear padded along beside him. Gallen was glad to finally meet Grits.
Maggie Flynn was calling, “Out of my way! Get out of my way!” and Gallen could see her trying to break through the crowd over by the inn. Within moments she came huffing through the crowd with nothing but a small valise in her hand.
Her uncle Thomas nearly skipped at her side, and he came bustling up with his own bag in one hand, his lute over his shoulder, smiling. “‘Tis good that I didn’t even have time to unpack!” he told Gallen. Then he bowed to Gallen’s mother and handed her his purse. “Everything that I own is now yours, good woman. Spend the money in good health.”
Some wights had moved in behind the crowd. They’d gotten into the stables across the street from the inn, and they pulled out the bodies of the dead Vanquisher and Everynne’s defender, then carried them toward the sea.
Father Brian pushed his way through the crowd, a look of profound fear on his face as he studied the wights who’d gathered behind Gallen. He looked as if he would speak, but he managed to say only, “God be with you, Gallen. I don’t know what’s happening here.”
“Perhaps it’s best if you never know. Look in on my mother from time to time, will you?”
Together, the little band began moving through town, and the townspeople parted to let them pass. Some of them shouted out, “God be with you, Gallen, Maggie,” and “Go with God!” Their voices were high and troubled, like the voices of small birds that call querulously in the night.
It was obvious that the townspeople did not understand what was happening, but they were afraid. Only witches and sorcerers and those who knew too much were ever taken by wights, and they never returned.
Gallen looked about the town with a profound sense of loss, feeling as if someone had died. He wondered at his own numbness, at his sense of mourning, and knew that it was because everyone he had ever known, everyone he had loved and trusted and played with and hated, all of these people with their odd quirks and petty vices would be dead to him now.
And thus it was that he walked stiffly out of town, an army of wights dogging his step, a few loyal friends beside him. None of the townsfolk followed, for most of them feared that Gallen and his friends were going to their deaths, and none wished to share their fate. Gallen took out his glow globe and squeezed it, let it light his footsteps as they made their way into the forest.
Thomas stopped at the edge of the wood and whispered, “I want to give them one last song, Gallen.” He sang thunderously, yet sweetly,
“Many roads I’ve traveled down,
And many more I’ll follow,
Past lonely woods, and shadowed fens,
And fields too long a-fallow.
But when night breathes on the land,
“When fear makes my walk unstately,
I’ll remember you, my friends,
And good times we’ve shared lately.”
When he finished, Thomas waved good-bye, and the whole town shouted farewell.
“That was kind of you, Thomas,” Maggie said as they walked, “to send them away with a song. It eased their hearts.”
“Ah, well,” Thomas said, “being as it costs me nothing, a song always makes a fine parting gift.” After an hour they reached a secluded glen at the foot of a mountain. Lichens hung thick on the trees, and the leaf mold was heavy.
There, sheltered under the dark pines, lay Geata na Chruinne, an ancient arch of dark stone with dancing animals and glyphs carved into its side. The forest was alive with the blue and green lights of wights, circling the small group.
The air around the arch was cold, and Gallen fumbled through his pack until he found the gate key. He picked it up, realized that he didn’t even know how to use it. He handed it to Maggie, asking, “Show me how to work this thing.”
She thought a minute, punched in a sequence of numbers on the key, and suddenly the arch shimmered. A pale lavender light shone beneath it. Maggie handed the key back to Gallen and took her uncle Thomas’s hand. “Come on. This way,” she said.
They walked through together first, followed by Orick.
The small female bear stood and watched Orick go, apparently too afraid to follow. She had not voiced a word since they’d left town. Gallen bent and whispered into her ear. “There are marvelous worlds beyond the gate, but if you come, it is doubtful that you will ever return to this place. “ He could see the confusion in her eyes.
“Tell Orick good-bye for me,” she said, then she licked Gallen’s face.
He sighed deeply, patted her head, then walked to the gate. She gave a short growl, lunged toward him just as he stepped into the cold light, and he realized that she had come too late, for she couldn’t enter behind the key-bearer. Then he felt the familiar sensation of winds blowing, as if he were a leaf borne by turbulent storms between worlds.
* * *
Chapter 9
Orick stepped through the opal wind between the worlds and found himself in a clearing surrounded by a lush forest, thick with undergrowth. A cool dawn breeze whispered through the trees. Overhead in a sky full of lavender, twin suns rose above the forest, weaving shadows in the woods, while white birds swirled among the trees calling out in creaking voices.
Thomas was staring up with mouth open, and Orick remembered his own sense of awe upon first visiting Fale. “‘Tis a sight to behold,” Maggie whispered. And Thomas nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.