All I see is the raven-haired man in black leather who has his boots braced and is hauling a broadsword over his shoulder again and again…
At a milky pane of glass as tall as the sky itself.
Sixty-FourThe Crystal Gate.
Merc halts the momentum of the sword in mid-backswing and wheels around, putting the weapon out in front of him. The tip lowers and he straightens. He’s breathing hard, and behind him there are chips out of the extraordinary barrier—
Lavante jumps in place and then starts to mince around, pawing at the dirt and tossing his head. I have to sink into the saddle and gather his mouth, and even so, he refuses to settle. Then again, there’s a disquieting gleam to whatever Merc is battling.
“Nice horse,” he says between inhales. “You decide to go for a ride?”
I soak in the presence of him, all of his weapons and his black surcoat, his long, black hair and his beautiful black and white eyes. And as he speaks, the sound of his voice goes into my body, not just my ears—
I tighten myself up, just as I would my pack. This is not a reunion. This is an intersection.
“Our gelding died,” I hear myself say.
I don’t expect him to have any reaction, but his brows lift. “I didn’t know.”
I want him to be sorry. To feel what I did.
“The stabler’s girl felt responsible even though it wasn’t her fault.” I stroke Lavante’s neck and resent my emotions. As well as Merc’s lack of them. “I see you got yourself a mount.”
A dark-colored, stout-rumped horse is standing off to the side, one of his back feet cocked at the tip as if he’s taking a nap in spite of the noise and the new arrivals.
“His name is Snooze. I believe that started out as a descriptor.”
Merc turns back to the barrier, putting his hands on his hips such that the broadsword is pointed at what he was trying to strike down.
My eyes drift away from him and up the expanse of the anomaly. Never have I seen anything come close. The translucent, smooth plane extends up from the ground to the height of four or five houses stacked foundation-to-roof, and given its reflection, I can make out Merc’s face, his horse, my horse, me—but it’s not a mirror. And though it can’t be man-made, I can’t see nature creating this, either. It’s too precise: Incredibly, the seal against the cliffs and across the ground is tight and total, without gaps, and there are piles of crystal shards at the intersections of the mountainsides. It’s as if the topography has closed in over time, and the shift has shaved parts of the thing.
“So this is the Crystal Gate,” I murmur.
Then my eyes return to Merc as if he’s the dominant fixture in the landscape. And I resent the weakness. “Do you know what it’s made out of?”
“No.” He reaches up and runs his palm across the place he’s been driving at. “It’s most… extraordinary. Nothing seems to weaken it, and I’m not the first who has tried.”
That’s when I notice all the musket balls that cover the dirt. I’d assumed they were pebbles, given the layers of them. There are also objects of various extraction—axe-heads, hammers, arrows—that suggest many people over many, many years have tried to break down that which has stopped their way forth.
Though Lavante remains agitated, I swing a leg over and drop to the ground. Tightening the reins around one of the saddlebags, he stays put, but doesn’t like it, his hooves stamping at the loose detritus, kicking up musket balls and shards. I walk over to the barrier, and feel the smooth expanse with my fingertips. It’s cold, ever so slightly bumpy, and has a pearlized effect that prevents me from seeing anything but shadows on the other side.
Leaning into my hands, I push against it. There’s no give, and as I go over to where it meets the elevation on the left, there’s a tinkling sound at my feet. The shards that have fallen are octagonal in nature, and as I drop down on my haunches and pick one up, it’s Thale’s weapon.
Or rather, the bearded man’s—
Gong! Gong! Gong—
“By all means,” I call out over the din. “Let’s continue that approach as it’s worked so well.”
Merc halts in mid-swing again. “Have you any better idea? Or is commentary all you have to offer.”
The crystal falls from my hand, refinding its like. “I’m surprised you went this way. To the south.”
His expression remains remote. “I take jobs when they come to me and go where they take me. So I am here. What about you.”
I open my mouth to suggest we could have traveled together all along, but that’s like a declaration of failure on my part, isn’t it. Besides, I haven’t told him about my change in plans, and I don’t want him to think I’m just following him. I wonder where he spent the night? Somewhere in the Outpost? Or the bed of another woman, maybe this time someone he could finish with—
Well. I might as well stab myself at this rate.
