The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 51 - Trapped

TRAPPED

*

Panic threatened to slip past Harric's lips in a wail. Like a breath held too long, it pushed to escape as he dove for the cabinet where Rurgich had stowed the Gate rod.

Fink leapt from his back and crouched alongside him. Th imp's trembling seemed to have reached its peak.

Flinging the cabinet open, Harric found the rod resting on a cushion and snatched it up. The thing was so much heavier than he anticipated—surely solid witch-silver—that he nearly dropped it. In the Unseen, it appeared as a lightless black line, but bright pearl had been laid along its length in letters of an unfamiliar script. Were these instructions? Passwords?

He set it on the fur carpet, his breath coming in rapid, shallow puffs.

Another boom shuddered the complex, rattling a trellis above.

"Hurry..." Fink breathed the word as if his lungs were paralyzed with fear.

Harric grasped the rod at each end, like he'd seen Rurgich do, and lifted it vertically.

No Gate appeared beneath it.

"Try it again!" Fink squeaked.

A tremor of vibration like giant wings pulsed down from somewhere above them, beyond the ceiling, followed by a thump on a roof high above. Harric imagined a giant glowing snow owl Kwendi lifting the roof like the lid of a basket and snatching them in cruel talons.

Harric tried again with the same results.

Fink's head jiggled with the tremors of his limbs. "Say the word! He said a word. Say it!"

The booming sound repeated, louder. Nearer. Outside the door, he could hear the now familiar sound of Kwendi hands slapping trellises. Lots of Kwendi hands. Kwendi voices shouted.

"Hy-ta!" Harric lifted the rod.

No Gate.

Cobs! "Hy-tu. Hy-to. Hu-ty. I wasn't listening, Fink, I don't remember!"

Fink reached for the rod and Harric released it. The instant Fink touched it, he froze. His face went slack with surprise. Then he closed his eyes and lifted the rod from the rug and the tarry black Gate rose below it. Fink's skinny arms buckled when it reached the height of his knees.

"Help me!" he hissed.

Harric laid his hands over Fink's and lifted. The already heavy rod had tripled or quadrupled its weight, as if the Gate itself were indeed a curtain of heavy tar.

When Harric had pushed it to the height of his chest, he stared into the void beyond. "There's no forest gate!" he whispered. "Where is it?"

Fink shoved Harric from behind with his small hands. "Go! Go!"

Somewhere in the trellises high above them, the complaining shriek of metallic hinges erupted, and a breath of air stirred in the room. A beautiful baritone voice filled Harric's mind in a language he did not understand. Harric froze in fascination. He wanted to hear the musical tones again, but something slammed into his back and he stumbled through the doorway.

And the world disappeared.

Falling, he flailed to catch himself, but there was no ground. Everything but the doorway beside him had vanished, and that remained beside him—despite his sensation of falling—like a soundless window into Brolli's map room. There he saw Fink diving toward him. As Fink collided with him, the imp's snake-like tail hooked on the rod at the top of the door and slammed it down behind them.