Guardian of the Gate (9 page)

“We’ll be making the changeover today.” Edmund makes the declaration calmly from atop his horse as we depart the campsite.

“What changeover would that be?” Luisa asks.

Edmund stares into the mist, still as heavy as the woolen cloak about my shoulders. “The changeover to the world between ours
and the Otherworlds. The world in which Altus lies.”

I nod as if I understand precisely what he means. I do not, but that is not to say I dismiss his words, for I have felt change
in the wind as well. I felt it as we journeyed on horseback deeper and deeper into the forest. I felt it as I awoke from my
fitful slumber, still hearing the eerie, many-footed creatures as they stalked our tent in my dream. And I feel it as Edmund
leads the way once again into the dense foliage of the forest.

The day wears on, and Sonia makes nervous conversation while Luisa remains mostly silent. Edmund finally locates a place to
break for lunch and refill our canteens. As has become our habit, Edmund takes care of the horses while I pull food from the
packs for an easy meal. We are eating in companionable silence when I hear it. No. That is not quite right. I
think
I hear it, but it is more a feeling, a whispered intuition that something is coming. At first, I think it is my imagination.

But then I look around.

Edmund, still as a statue, gazes into the trees with single-minded concentration. Even Sonia and Luisa are silent, eyes turned
in the same direction.

I watch them and know that they, too, sense the creatures moving toward us through the forest. And this time, it is not a
dream.

“Get up, mount your horses, and follow me. Do it now.” Edmund speaks the words slowly through nearly clenched lips. “And do not stop for any reason until I say the word.”

He is on his horse in an instant, his eyes remaining on the woods behind us as we follow suit. We are significantly slower and louder than Edmund in preparing to ride, though I have never thought of myself as particularly ponderous or loud.

When we are ready, Edmund turns his horse in the direction we have been traveling and takes off like a shot, without a word to his horse. Our own horses jump forward without prodding, a kind of secret communication telling them that time is of the essence even though none of us gives so much as a command.

We race through the forest at lightning speed. I have no idea which direction we travel or if we are still on course for
Altus, but Edmund does not hesitate as he leads us through the forest. It is difficult to say if it is because he is certain we are heading in the right direction or if it is because he so fears the thing stalking us that he no longer cares if we run astray.

We travel so quickly through the forest that I am forced to hunch low over Sargent’s neck, and still, twigs catch in my hair and branches claw at my skin. I feel it all with a sort of detached observation. I know I am racing through the forest with only a bow and my mother’s dagger for protection. Likely I am running for my life. But somehow I cannot feel the fear I know must be lurking somewhere beneath my skin.

I hear the river before I see it. It is a sound I will never forget. When it is, at last, in plain sight, I am relieved that Edmund pulls tightly on the reins, bringing his horse, and our assemblage, to a quick stop at the edge of the water.

He stares out over the river, and I bring my horse next to his, following his gaze.

“What do you think, Edmund? Will we be able to cross it?” I ask.

His chest rapidly rises and falls, the only indication of his exertion. “I think so.”

“You think so?” My voice comes out louder and more shrill than I intend.

He shrugs. “There is no guarantee, but I think we can manage it. It’s a pity, though.”

His words are cryptic and make me feel that I have missed an important part of our conversation. “What’s a pity?”

“That the river isn’t deeper.”

I shake my head. “Yes, but if it were too deep, we might not be able to cross it.”

“True enough.” He gathers the reins in his hand, preparing to urge his mount into the water. “But if we had trouble crossing it, so, too, might our pursuers. And if they are what I think they are, we should pray for the deepest body of water we can find.”

Crossing the river is not as difficult as I fear. I do have a moment’s anxiety as we reach the deepest portion, the water nearly reaching my knees, but Sargent surges forward against the current with a minimum of trouble.

I do not have time to speak further with Edmund about the thing giving chase through the woods. We travel nearly full speed for the rest of the day after crossing the river. There are no stops for food, water, or rest until the sun descends so far that it is difficult to see one another. It is clear that Edmund would like to continue, but no one asks whether we should keep going. The safety of our party must come first. It will do no good if one of us is injured along the way.

We work together to prepare food, care for the horses, and set up the tents. For the first time, Sonia and Luisa help as well, and I wonder if they, too, feel their nerves wound tight with fear. I assist Edmund with supper, fill a bucket of water for the horses from the nearby stream, and feed them each a few apples. And all the while, I listen. All the while, my eyes stray to the trees surrounding our campsite. All the while, I wait for
the creatures that chased us through the forest to burst into the clearing.

Sonia and Luisa sit silently by the fire after dinner. Their new silence with each other makes me uneasy, but there are more important concerns at the forefront of my mind. I wander over to Edmund, who is brushing down one of the horses where it is tied to the trees.

He nods as I approach and pick up an extra brush from the ground. I run it through the coarse gray fur of Sonia’s horse and try to order the many questions running through my mind. It is not difficult to choose the one at the forefront.

“What is it, Edmund? The thing that follows us?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t even look at me, and I am wondering whether he heard the question at all when he finally speaks, though not to answer my question. “I have not traveled these woods, have not been in this in-between world, in a very long time.”

I stop brushing and tip my head at him. “Edmund. I would trust your suspicion over another’s certainty in a matter such as this one.”

He nods slowly, lifting his eyes to mine. “All right, then. I believe we are being followed by the Hellhounds, Samael’s own demonic wolf pack.”

I spend a moment trying to connect my knowledge of the mythological hellhounds with the possibility that they could be following us. “But… the Hellhounds aren’t real, Edmund.”

“Even so,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “there are those
who would deny the existence of alternate worlds, demonic souls, and shape-shifters as well.”

He is right, of course. If the measure of reality is based only on things in which the rest of the world believes, there is no Samael, no Lost Souls, no prophecy. Yet we know them to be real. It only makes sense, then, to accept the reality in which we find ourselves, however far that reality may be from everyone else’s.

“What do they want?” I ask.

He places the brush gently on the ground before rising to stroke the horse’s mane. “I can only guess that they want you. The Hellhounds are chosen disciples of Samael’s army. Disciples who have made their way here beyond past Sisters. Past Gates. Samael knows that with every step through this wood, we draw closer to Altus. And drawing closer to Altus means drawing closer to the missing pages of the book that may help close his door to our world for all of eternity.”

His explanation doesn’t shock me as much as it should. It is not that I am unafraid, exactly, for even now I feel the blood race faster through my veins at the thought of meeting my death at the mercy of the Hellhounds. But I know that in order to get to the end of a thing, one must start at the beginning.

“All right. So how do we escape the Hounds? How do we beat them?”

He sighs. “I’ve never encountered them myself, but I have heard stories. I suppose that is all we have to go on.” He pauses before continuing. “They are bigger and stronger than any
wolf in our world, you can be sure of that. Even so, they do occupy a living body, and that body is vulnerable to death just like any other. It takes more to kill one of the Hounds than it would take to kill something found in our world, but it can be done. The thing is…” He rubs the stubble that has sprouted on his cheeks in recent days. I hear it scratch the flat of his palm.

“Yes? What is it?”

“We don’t know how many of them there are. If they travel in a large pack, well… we only have one rifle. I’m a good enough shot, but I’d rather not bet on me against a whole pack of demon hounds. I’d prefer to bet on another weakness.”

“What sort of weakness?”

He looks around as if afraid to be overheard, though I cannot imagine who would be about other than those in our party. When he speaks, it is with a lowered voice. “I’ve heard it said that there is one thing in particular that gives the Hounds pause.”

I remember Edmund’s words just before we crossed the river:
If they are what I think they are, we should pray for the deepest body of water we can find.

I meet his eyes as realization dawns. “Water. They are afraid of water.”

He nods. “That’s right. Well, I believe it is, though I’m not sure
afraid
is the right word. I’m not sure the Hounds are truly afraid of anything, but it is said that deep, swiftly moving water gives them pause. It is the death they most fear, and I have heard it said that when confronted with a dangerous
body of water, they are more likely to turn heel than to give chase.”

Death by drowning
, I think before remembering something else.

“But can they not shift into another form, say… a fish or a bird or something else that can better navigate the water? At least until they are out of harm?” It was Madame Berrier in New York who informed me of the Souls’ ability to change shape. I have not been able to look at a crowd in the same way since.

Edmund shakes his head. “The Hounds, unlike those Souls who shift from shape to shape, live and die in their form. They are honored to sacrifice themselves to such a role, for there is only one appointment more coveted than that of the Hounds.”

“Which appointment is that?”

Edmund reaches into his pocket for an old apple to feed the great gray horse. “Assignment to the Guard, Samael’s personal contingent of Souls in the physical world. The Hounds secure only this in-between place on the way to Altus while the members of the Guard walk freely among our people and can shift at will in order to do Samael’s bidding in our world. Though you should fear any Soul in human form, those of the Guard should be feared above all others. They are carefully chosen for their viciousness.”

“But how will I know them? I already distrust any stranger, any animal, even, for fear it is one of the Souls in disguise. How am I to watch even more carefully for members of the Guard?” I can hardly fathom this new fear, this new threat.

“They have a mark. One that is present when they are in any human form.” He studies the ground, avoiding my eyes.

“What kind of mark?”

He waves in the direction of my wrist though it is covered by the sleeve of my jacket. “A snake, like yours. Around their neck.”

We stand in the darkness, each lost in our own thoughts. I have stopped petting the horse, and he nuzzles my hand to remind me of his presence. I stroke his face, trying not to picture something as horrifying as a particularly cruel legion of Souls with the hated mark branding them about their necks.

“How much time do you think we have?” I finally ask, turning my attention back to the Hounds.

“We rode hard today. Hard and fast. I tried to keep us on course for Altus while also winding us through the woods in a way that might throw them, even for awhile. And then there was the river… True enough it was not very deep, but even a river such as that could be intimidating for the Hounds. We can hope, at least, that they stopped to think before crossing it.”

I try not to let my frustration and fear get the better of me. “How long?”

His shoulders sag. “A couple of days at most. And an extra one if we ride just as hard tomorrow and are very, very fortunate.”

Before bed, I break the news of the Hounds to Sonia and Luisa. It is a testament to our strange situation that they do not seem surprised to hear about the threat to our safety, and we are all moody and quiet as we prepare for sleep. Edmund has insisted on guarding the camp, shotgun in hand, while Sonia, Luisa, and I sleep. I feel guilty as I lay in the relative comfort of our tent, but I know I cannot offer to help Edmund keep watch.

This night my greatest concern lies not with the Hellhounds but with my sister.

I have given much thought to meeting her on the Plane in the Otherworlds. In truth, the thought has lurked in the corners of my mind ever since Edmund told me about her and James. Meeting her would be dangerous, but so is the game she plays with James. And I’ve no doubt that it
is
a game.

All of Alice’s actions revolve around her desire to bring Samael into our world so that she can assume the position of power she believes is rightfully hers. It is impossible not to be hurt by the news that she and James have grown close in my absence, but I cannot find an ounce of anger in the knowledge. Only fear for James and, if I am honest with myself, more than a twinge of jealousy.

And so I must meet Alice. There is no other way, really, to take the measure of her intentions. I might hear of it from Aunt Virginia or Edmund, but I am her twin. The Gate to her Guardian, however twisted our roles have become.

Traveling the Plane has always felt private, and I wait until I know Sonia and Luisa are asleep, their breath slowing into the steady rhythm that only accompanies deep slumber.

It does not take me as long as it once did, nor as much effort, to fall into the eerie half-sleep required for my soul to rise out of my body and enter the Plane. It is hard to remember a time when leaving my body felt frightening. Now, traveling the winding road through the Otherworlds, I feel only free.