The Wide Gate

I woke up choking.

For one horrible second, I thought I was drowning.

My lungs burned. My chest tightened. I rolled onto my side, coughing water into sand white enough to belong on a postcard.

The panic eased.

The burning didn’t.

I pushed myself upright.

The beach stretched endlessly in both directions.

White sand.

Gray sky.

Rolling waves.

Except there was no ocean.

A strip of water barely twenty feet wide rolled toward shore. Beyond it, reality simply stopped.

No horizon.

No distant water.

Nothing.

The edge of the world folded upward into impossible angles. Clouds drifted beneath my feet while others remained motionless overhead.

Everything looked almost right.

Almost.

I struggled to stand.

Each breath felt thinner than the one before it.

Like trying to breathe through a coffee straw.

Gene sat several feet away with both hands pressed against his temples.

His eyes moved rapidly.

Trying to focus.

Failing.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Can’t hold on to a thought.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“They keep moving.”

That explained the lack of jokes.

Kristy Lee rubbed both arms.

Red patches spread across her skin.

“It feels like I’m burning.”

Gene’s head snapped toward her.

“What?”

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“Neither do you.”

Henderson scratched his neck.

Then his forearms.

Then his face.

“It feels like a thousand bee stings.”

Nearby, Geriatric Jack rolled onto his back.

“Where the hell are we?”

Little Dipper sat up and pulled the wad of chewing tobacco from his mouth.

It crumbled into dry brown dust between his fingers.

He stared at it.

“That ain’t right.”

Jack snorted.

“Neither is chewing tobacco for breakfast.”

“What time is it?”

Jack looked toward the folded sky.

“I have no idea.”

Different bodies.

Different reactions.

Mine apparently wanted to suffocate.

Ahead of us, Rachel floated down the shoreline.

Not walked.

Floated.

Her bare feet skimmed inches above the sand without disturbing it. Her dark hair moved around her face despite the complete absence of wind.

She looked stronger than she had in Liberty Crossing.

Stronger than she had at the ranch.

Every trace of exhaustion was gone.

She didn’t look back.

Like she knew exactly where she was going.

Like she had come home.

Then Bodhi made a sound.

Not a word.

A broken gasp.

Sasha lay beside him wrapped in the blanket from Felicia’s clinic.

The bandage around her shoulder had come loose.

Bodhi reached for it.

Then stopped.

There was no blood.

No wound.

Not even a scar.

He pulled the bandage away completely and ran trembling fingers through her black fur.

“Sasha?”

Her eyes opened.

Bodhi laughed.

One startled sound.

Then another.

Sasha lifted her head.

Stood.

Tested the injured leg.

Then shook so hard the blanket flew away from her.

“Easy,” Bodhi said.

Sasha ignored him.

She ran in a tight circle through the sand.

No limp.

No pain.

Whole.

Bodhi dropped to his knees.

She crashed into him.

He wrapped both arms around her and buried his face in her coat.

“You’re okay.”

Sasha covered his face in kisses.

Bodhi laughed and cried at the same time.

Gene smiled despite whatever was happening inside his head.

Kristy Lee wiped at one eye.

Even Henderson stopped scratching.

Rachel continued toward the path.

Never slowing.

Never looking back.

Bodhi saw it.

His laughter faded.

“Rachel.”

She stopped.

Not immediately.

A few seconds too late.

Then she turned.

Bodhi stood with one hand resting on Sasha’s neck.

“She’s healed.”

Rachel glanced at the dog.

“I told you she wouldn’t be hurt here.”

That was all.

No relief.

No tears.

No running back to wrap her arms around the dog she had supposedly loved.

Just impatience.

Sasha moved between them.

The fur along her spine lifted.

A low growl rolled out of her chest.

Rachel’s expression hardened.

“Control her.”

Bodhi stared.

The real Rachel would have been on her knees.

The real Rachel would have cried harder than he had.

The real Rachel would have let Sasha knock her into the sand and lick every inch of her face.

The real Rachel would have made time.

Bodhi stepped backward.

His hand tightened in Sasha’s fur.

“I don’t know that thing.”

Rachel’s face changed.

Not much.

A tightening around the mouth.

A brief flash inside her eyes.

Then the softness returned.

The performance resumed.

“Bodhi—”

“No.”

The word came out quietly.

It still stopped her.

“You aren’t my wife.”

Thunder moved through the folded sky.

Rachel studied him.

Then smiled.

Not warmly.

“Come.”

She turned toward the path.

Bodhi didn’t move.

Neither did the rest of us.

I looked behind us.

No farmhouse.

No door.

No way back.

Only the narrow ocean ending in nothing.

The sky darkened.

Jack pointed toward Rachel.

“She pushed us into a hole.”

Little Dipper nodded.

“Without asking.”

“I remember.”

“She said we’d be fine.”

“She said we’d be alive when we landed.”

Little Dipper thought about that.

“That ain’t the same thing.”

“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”

Rachel stopped at the beginning of the path.

“You can remain on the beach if you prefer.”

The strip of water surged.

Something enormous rolled beneath the waves.

Too large for water only twenty feet wide.

Gene forced himself upright.

“Walking sounds good.”

The path climbed away from the shore.

Rachel floated ahead.

The rest of us followed because staying behind felt worse.

Not because we trusted her.

Not anymore.

We reached the trees a few minutes later.

Blue trunks rose from black soil.

Not painted blue.

Not tinted by strange light.

Blue all the way through.

They shimmered like polished sapphire beneath silver leaves.

The grove stretched across our path in both directions, an island of living color inside a dead world.

Small golden lights rested among the branches.

Hundreds of them.

Still.

Sleeping.

Rachel stopped at the first tree.

Her feet lowered.

For the first time since we arrived, they touched the ground.

The change in her was immediate.

Her shoulders tightened.

Her face lost color.

She stared into the grove with something I had never seen from her before.

Fear.

Real fear.

Gene noticed too.

“Well.”

His voice sounded strained.

“That seems promising.”

Rachel turned toward us.

“This grove does not belong to me.”

Henderson looked between the trees.

“Whose is it?”

Somewhere deep inside the grove, wood struck stone.

Once.

Rachel flinched.

“Simon’s.”

The name meant nothing to me.

It meant something to her.

Gene rubbed his temples.

“Who’s Simon?”

“The reason I ask permission to enter my own home.”

Another tap echoed through the trees.

Closer.

Rachel lowered her voice.

“He permits us to pass. Do not mistake permission for welcome.”

She pointed toward the narrow path.

“Do not touch the trees.”

One of the golden lights pulsed.

“Do not leave the path.”

A silver leaf turned toward us despite the lack of wind.

“Do not speak.”

Sasha growled softly.

Rachel looked up into the branches.

“And whatever happens, do not wake the fairies.”

She entered the grove.

On foot.

The rest of us followed.

The blue trees closed around us.

Light disappeared.

Silver leaves whispered overhead.

The golden shapes remained motionless among them.

At first I thought they were fireflies.

Then we passed beneath one.

Tiny arms folded against a tiny chest.

Blue wings wrapped around a small body.

Golden eyes closed.

Sleeping.

Watching anyway.

I kept my gaze on the path.

Nobody spoke.

Even Gene.

Especially Gene.

Jack’s boot slipped from the trail.

Only an inch.

A root rose from the soil and curled around his ankle.

He froze.

Rachel looked back.

Slowly, Jack eased his foot onto the center of the path.

The root withdrew.

Little Dipper caught Jack’s arm.

Neither man said a word.

The farther we walked, the more I felt something beyond the trees.

Not following.

Observing.

A presence old enough to be patient.

The Dreamer had built an entire world from illusion.

Whatever waited beyond those blue trunks wasn’t impressed.

A soft giggle drifted through the branches.

Rachel stopped breathing.

One golden light opened its eyes.

Sasha pressed against Bodhi’s leg.

The fairy watched us pass.

Its mouth curved into a smile.

Too many teeth.

Then its eyes closed again.

Rachel kept walking.

So did we.

At the far edge of the grove, she stepped beyond the last blue tree.

Her feet lifted from the ground.

She floated again.

Relief moved across her face.

The pressure behind us remained among the trees.

Waiting.

Simon had allowed us through.

I didn’t know why.

I was fairly certain I didn’t want to.

The village beyond the grove looked abandoned.

Crooked buildings leaned over narrow streets. Dark windows watched us pass. Empty buckets sat beside a dry well.

Then doors opened.

People emerged.

A woman carried water with one arm.

A man swept the street with sightless eyes.

A young boy watched us from a porch. Smooth skin covered the places where his ears should have been.

Others stepped from the shadows.

Missing fingers.

Missing feet.

Missing teeth.

Pieces gone.

Not wounds.

Payments.

A strip of black fabric hung from every doorway.

Veils.

Henderson recognized the symbol sewn into them.

“The Order.”

Rachel floated through the center of the street.

“What remains of it.”

The villagers bowed.

Some knelt.

Others lowered themselves as far as their damaged bodies allowed.

They weren’t surprised to see her.

They had been waiting.

I thought about dreams.

How pieces disappeared after we woke.

Faces.

Voices.

Names.

Whole stretches of time gone before breakfast.

Maybe forgetting wasn’t accidental.

Maybe dreams took payment.

“These were people,” Henderson said.

“They still are,” Bodhi answered.

Rachel never looked at them.

“They chose to serve.”

Gene’s thoughts might have been slipping, but his anger remained intact.

“That doesn’t make this okay.”

Rachel glanced back.

“I didn’t say it did.”

The castle rose beyond the village.

Black stone climbed into the darkening sky. Towers bent at impossible angles. Massive doors stood open beneath an archway carved with faces frozen between sleep and terror.

Two figures guarded the entrance.

Nephilim.

At least eight feet tall.

Beautiful in the way lightning was beautiful.

Perfect faces.

Pale eyes.

Bodies built from muscle and old violence.

The first Nephilim looked at Rachel.

Then at us.

“Toll.”

Its voice sounded like mountains grinding together.

The second lifted two fingers.

“Two.”

Jack stepped backward.

Little Dipper looked between them.

“What does that mean?”

Rachel pointed.

“Those two.”

Jack froze.

“No.”

Little Dipper laughed nervously.

“Now hold on just a damn minute.”

The Nephilim moved.

Fast.

One massive hand closed around Jack’s chest.

The other guard seized Little Dipper by the arm.

Gene charged.

So did I.

I hit the first Nephilim low and drove with everything I had.

Nothing happened.

It felt like tackling the foundation of a building.

The creature looked down at me.

Almost curious.

Then threw me across the courtyard.

I struck the ground hard enough to empty my lungs.

Gene grabbed Jack’s arm.

The Nephilim pulled once.

Gene flew forward.

Kristy Lee caught the back of his jacket and was dragged with him.

Henderson stepped between the second guard and the castle.

“Let them go.”

The Nephilim kept walking.

Sasha lunged.

Bodhi wrapped both arms around her.

“Rachel!” he shouted.

The thing wearing Rachel’s face watched all of it.

Calm.

Still.

Unmoved.

“You knew,” Henderson said.

“Yes.”

“You brought them here for this.”

“Yes.”

Jack struggled against the hand holding him.

“You said we’d be alive!”

Rachel looked at him.

“You were alive when you landed.”

The wording.

Always the wording.

Bodhi stared at her.

“You promised they would be safe.”

“No. I promised the fall wouldn’t hurt them.”

“Stop this,” I said.

The Nephilim reached the darkness beneath the archway.

Rachel looked at Sasha.

“The gate requires two lives.”

Then she smiled at Bodhi.

“Would you rather I offered the dog?”

Bodhi pulled Sasha tighter against his chest.

Whatever remained of his denial died.

The Nephilim turned.

Their beautiful faces opened.

Not their mouths.

Their faces.

Skin separated from chin to forehead, revealing rows of teeth descending into darkness.

Jack screamed.

Little Dipper prayed.

Promised money.

Loyalty.

Anything.

The Nephilim lifted them.

Their screams vanished inside those impossible mouths.

Bone broke.

Once.

Then again.

The faces closed.

Beautiful once more.

The castle doors opened wider.

Payment accepted.

Silence settled over the courtyard.

Gene stood with Kristy Lee’s hand locked around his.

Henderson stared at Rachel.

Bodhi held Sasha.

I pushed myself off the ground.

We moved closer together.

Not toward Rachel.

Toward one another.

Rachel floated beneath the archway.

“Come.”

Nobody moved.

Behind us, the villagers had filled the street.

Beyond them waited Simon’s grove.

The path to the beach was gone.

Only the castle remained.

Rachel looked over one shoulder.

“You came for answers.”

Then she entered.

We followed.

Not because she commanded us.

Because whatever happened next, we faced it together.

Inside, the castle was dying.

Wilted vines clung to cracked walls. Black water dripped from the ceiling. Candles drowned in pools of old wax.

People waited in the corridors.

At least, they had once been people.

The Dreamer had taken so much from them that some no longer resembled the bodies they’d begun with.

One dragged a useless leg.

Another turned an eyeless face toward us.

A woman smiled through missing teeth.

No one threatened us.

They bowed as Rachel passed.

The deeper we walked, the harder it became to breathe.

Not because the air was thin.

Because the castle felt hungry.

Rachel entered the banquet hall.

Everything changed.

Dead vines burst with green life.

Flowers bloomed across the walls.

Candles ignited.

Music drifted from somewhere above us.

Cracks sealed themselves through the black stone.

The smell of roses filled the room.

Then something underneath.

Sweet.

Rotten.

A villager collapsed.

Another cried out.

The woman with one arm looked down at her remaining hand.

Two fingers were gone.

No blood.

No wound.

Simply taken.

A crack vanished from the wall behind her.

Another flower opened.

An old man’s remaining eye clouded white.

Music swelled.

The castle wasn’t healing.

It was feeding.

Golden threads rose from the kneeling villagers.

Light pulled from their mouths.

Their eyes.

Their missing pieces.

Every strand flowed toward the throne.

The thing wearing Rachel’s face moved through them.

Radiant.

Restored.

A figure without hands approached carrying black robes embroidered with silver thread.

Rachel accepted them.

The robes settled around her body.

Another servant offered a golden crown.

Rachel lowered her head.

It fit comfortably against her dark hair.

Like it had been waiting.

A third carried a golden chalice.

The golden threads pouring from the villagers twisted through the air and filled it.

Rachel drank.

The nearest villagers sagged.

Flowers spread across the ceiling.

The scent of rot grew stronger.

Rachel climbed the steps toward the throne.

The performance wanted us to see a queen returning to grateful subjects.

A beloved ruler restoring her wounded kingdom.

But the villagers weren’t being healed.

They were being consumed.

They bowed because worship was the only piece of themselves they had left.

And even that belonged to her.

Rachel sat.

Not like a conqueror claiming victory.

Like someone returning to a chair that had always belonged to them.

She lifted the chalice again.

Drank.

Then sighed.

It looked like relief.

Peace.

Happiness.

With her, looking was dangerous.

The crowd parted.

Rachel stared down at us from the throne.

Golden light moved across the face of the woman Bodhi loved.

Her smile was warm.

Beautiful.

False.

“Welcome, my friends,” she said.

The castle doors slammed shut behind us.

“Make yourselves at home.”