“So, you’re a believer now, too? And that faith was enough to kill yourself over?”
“That’s only part of it. Malcolm told me The Book of Brin might be the most important thing ever created by mankind. He knew I would write everything down. He wants me to tell the truth, and he thinks I’ll find it down here.”
“You still shouldn’t have done it.” Moya’s voice was tense. “Persephone will never forgive me.”
“She will if we succeed.”
“Slim chance of that.”
Together, they walked over to join Gifford, Tressa, and Rain, who stood in a tight cluster overlooking the pool and the crowd at the door. They all glanced at her, smiling cheerlessly and nodding as if they shared a solemn secret. Brin knew what it was. They were together, but they were also dead.
Rain still had his pick, Moya her bow, and Tressa wore the same oversized shirt she’d taken from Gelston, a bit of rope binding it around her waist. Brin hadn’t finished the garment she’d promised to Tressa for learning to read, and it gave her a stab of regret that the woman would endure all of eternity in such a shabby outfit.
Moya studied Brin, then peered over the Keeper’s shoulder at the water. Her eyes darkened. “Tesh?”
Brin shook her head and pretended to smile. “He let me go,” she said in a cheery tone that sounded forced, even to herself.
Moya gave her a sad nod.
“He tried to stop me. It took a while to convince him. I was worried you might have left already, and I wouldn’t know how to find you.”
“Not much chance of that.” Gifford gestured at the mob gathered near the great doors. “There appears to be a wait to get in.”
Roan spun abruptly. “Gifford?” She stared at him in fascination.
“What?”
“You just—what did you say?”
Gifford shrugged. “I was just thinking that there must have been a big battle to have so many people waiting.”
“You did it again!” Roan hopped on her toes in excitement.
“Did what?”
“Gifford, say my name.”
His brows furrowed. He glanced at the rest of them, confused. “Roan, what are you—” Then, his eyes went wide, and his mouth hung open.
“You can speak like everyone else.” Roan reached up and caressed his lips.
“Roan,” he said, louder this time. “Roan, Roan, Rrr-oan!”
Gifford threw his arms around his wife, and the two hugged and laughed.
Brin found herself smiling. All of them were grinning except—“Where’s Tekchin?”
“He went to the gate—” Something caught Moya’s attention from the direction of the crowd, and she waved her bow over her head. “Here he comes.”
The Fhrey trotted over, moving with the same ease he had exhibited in life. “It’s locked up good and tight. No one can get in, and they don’t know why. The consensus is something is wrong.”
“I’d say so.” Moya frowned. “We go through all the trouble of dying just to get stuck here? Are we even sure where the gate goes?”
“Yep. It’s Phyre, all right. That gate is usually open,” he explained. “The light from inside attracts the newly dead. When they get close enough, they find family and friends waiting.”
“How do you know all that?”
“There’s a woman over that way who has been here before—but she was sucked back into her body. At least that’s what she told me. And according to some guy who died from a fever in southern Rhulyn, the doors have been closed for a long time.”
“Any idea how long?”
Tekchin gestured at the darkness behind them. “How can you tell?”
Moya led the others toward the doors. The crowd was nearly all Rhunes, and she became unsettled by the large number of children. Tekchin was the only Fhrey, but there were a fair number of dwarfs. The common thread was that they all looked frightened, lost, and confused.
Everyone here is dead.
The idea would take some time for Moya to get used to. None of them looked like ghosts. They were just people, although oddly dressed. Few besides those in her group wore traveling clothes. Most of the ladies were draped in gowns, and the men sported what had to have been their best tunics. None of them had cloaks or packs or so much as a bag, but they all had stones. Some hung around their necks, but most were clenched tightly in fists.
“Make way, make way!” Tekchin plowed through the mass of people, who dutifully let them pass. He used an outstretched hand like the prow of a ship to cut through the sea of spirits. No one appeared offended at his forcefulness. On the contrary, the party’s determined movement must have provided an air of authority because people approached with pleas.
“There’s been a mistake,” a man told them as they brushed by. He was dressed in shredded clothes that dangled in tatters. Unlike most of the others, he had no stone. “I shouldn’t be here. I wasn’t even sick. I was out in the forest . . .”
They walked out of hearing range, and Moya was grateful she didn’t find out how that scenario played out.
“My babies, my babies . . .” They came upon a weeping woman, who sat rocking and hugging herself. She looked right at Moya. “How will they live without me?”
A finely dressed woman with her arms folded tightly across her chest glared at them and then at the gate. “Are we expected to just wait here for eternity? If people keep dying, it’s going to get mighty crowded on this beach.”
Tekchin reached back and took Moya’s hand as they pushed into a denser section of the crowd. Drawing near the gate, she realized that the entrance was even bigger than it had appeared at a distance. Above the doors, three figures were carved from stone. The trio stood shoulder to shoulder, looking down on them: one male dwarf and two females, a Rhune and a Fhrey. At their feet, creatures were depicted perched on the lintel, throwing rocks. Below them were the great doors themselves. Far taller than those of Alon Rhist—bigger even than the great entrance to Neith—these were massive and appeared to be cast from gold. Each door was decorated with relief sculptures of people struggling in all manner of misfortune. Some were falling from great heights. Others raised defensive arms while being pelted by the stones thrown from those on the lintel. Still more were stabbed, strangled, or beheaded. Moya couldn’t help noticing a panel near the bottom where a woman was being overwhelmed by huge, crushing waves. One arm reached up for help that would never come.
Light seeped out around the edges of the doors and bathed the beach with its only source of illumination.
It’s like the moon is trapped back there.
“What’s your hurry?” a dwarf asked as Tekchin pushed past. “Got someplace to be, do you?”
The Galantian gave the complainer a nasty look, and nothing else was said. He handed out a few more shoves and glares until they reached the gate. Moya moved right up against the doors, touching the cold stone and feeling the face of the drowning woman. “Such comforting carvings they have. Makes you want to rush right in. Who do you think those three at the top are?”
“No idea,” Tekchin replied. “But as for getting in, do you have a plan?” He gave her a questioning look along with a mischievous smile. Most everything Tekchin served up came with some version of an amused grin. For him, life was an unending adventure. Death hadn’t tarnished his attitude, and Moya was grateful for that.