20.2: The Unity Gate

20.2

Iridea

As the sun dips for the third time in our journey, we rise and spiral ever higher along Mount Linea. Each turn brings new sights of Zyrona: the dense Edelkohle mountain range stretches from the north to the south; the glimmer of the ocean beyond mighty peaks; beneath a showering of rain and humidity, the distant, thick forest I once lived in; and, to the south, amongst a cluster of square-cut fields, the detestable yet overly praised Jemtong sits invisible to the naked eye.

Passing us every so often are people on horses or lighter vehicles. Not the first voyagers we’ve seen on the road, though it's more densely populated here. Ms. Mais offers a greeting to these fellow travelers; the only sound that comes from her while sitting with me. Circling above and below us are people on foot, carts and wagons, merchants with their wares. We blend in perfectly. So far.

The views below fade into a haze as we become enveloped by a light cloud. The temperature drops and small raindrops stick to my skin. Our vision of the road shortens as fog builds and Ms. Mais yelps in surprise when the path veers sharply to the left. The last light of day filters through the cloud in breathtaking orange prisms to fall upon the mighty gates protecting the Castle of the Four.

Our cart slows as we join a line of people, offering us a minute to admire the artistry of the city’s entrance. Though manufactured from the mountain, the gate seems to hold up the curving sides of the peak, like enormous, powerful giants. Both walls of the gate rise from the base of the widened path, their slope impossibly steep and their parapets ending in sharp, differing points. Along their smooth face, four statues lift from the rock, two on each side. 

The first is a perfectly carved human man who holds the alleged document that forged the alliance and began the Castle of the Four. His eyes stare to the distant sky, his mouth one straight, serious line. 

Next to him, a female elf glides elegantly from the wall, its edges smooth, curved, and artistically swirled. I understand now that the mark on her forehead pays homage to the Star Elves and their destruction, though not many know what the collection of diamonds and circles means now. In her outstretched palm, other symbols from the remaining elf clans seem to float in a circle frozen in time: three connected spheres for the moon elves, a drop of flame for the everburning elves, a collection of flowing whirls for the shadow elves, and lastly, a leaf in flight for the wood elves.

On the opposite gate, the first statue is a tiny halfling, looking wistfully ahead. The creator exaggerated the halfling’s features and used a collection of circles to add texture in areas, but the statue still seems to fit in place with the three surrounding it. Clutched in their hand is a lute, and at their back, is a short bow and a collection of arrows.

Lastly, with his hammer to the mountain, a bearded dwarf stands with vigorous strength, constructed with energetic strikes into the gate’s face. He stares down at the people passing with an expression many debate upon. Is it judgemental, proud, or piteous? I see anger and disgust whenever I come here, which hasn’t changed. His eyes are fierce and his mouth curled into what could only be a snarl underneath his beard. I don’t know how others see pride or warmth in that face. They must be optimistic people.

This is a sight I’ve seen only a few times before but it never fails to amaze me. Curious to see Stellina’s reaction, I peer behind me to see her cheeks wet with tears, her sight fixed on the elvish statue’s sigil. Good thing we covered up her mark. No one could deny who she is face to face with that statue.

The procession in front of us slips through the gargantuan gates. Ms. Mais brings our cart forward for inspection where a short guard stands, clad in light armor, with a clipboard in his hands. I wrap my wings tight around me to avoid suspicion.

“Purpose,” the guard states more than he asks without looking away from his clipboard. His face seems particularly affected by gravity with the way his eyes droop to the floor and his mouth seems stitched into a frown. But that could just be boredom.

“Coal trade,” Ms. Mais responds. Her papers lay in her lap, at the ready. Sure enough:

“Papers.” The guard reaches out his hand. Ms. Mais places her papers, crumpled and wrinkled, into his palm. He looks them over, his eyelids almost swallow his eyes as he skims through the documents. Then, he lifts his head for the first time.

“Says you have one person permitted to traveling with you,” he stops to let us fill in the rest of the sentence. Ms.Mais nods,

“That’ll be the girl in the back. The other two are catching a ride.” The guard’s eyes narrow and he delivers his next line like it’s a threat,

“I’ll have to check their papers, then.”

“Very well.”

I dig my folded documents from a disguised pocket in my skirt. Evelena bore it into Amara and me to keep our papers on us at all times. She used to frighten us by bringing up ‘the silver test’, an exam the old King used to mandate when she was a child to root out those touched by evil: deprecors, werewolves, and those unfortunate enough to have escaped from the Cursed One’s experimentations and return to a world that no longer loved them. In my case, it was the latter and my fae heritage. Evelena was often anxious that the current King would begin testing again and that we wouldn’t pass. Her worry and demands were one of the ways she showed her love for us.

I present my papers to the guard, who I catch tearing his sight off of my fake cloak. I should’ve known my wings would’ve been caught by the castle guards, they’ve never avoided suspicion but I always hope I can dodge the wave of questions I receive because of them. He swipes my documents, containing my identity, from my hands. Before he even looks through the whole thing, he begins the interrogation.

“Confirm your name.” I do. Iridea Laudene, no middle name like most Myaners. Next, my age, date of birth, guardian’s name, et cetera. The list seems longer than it usually is and when he inquires about my height, my temper gets the best of me.

“Use your cursed eyes,” I snap. He scowls but looks me up and down. Then, he clears his throat and asks the question that usually closes each mini interrogation. 

“Why are you here?”

“To see my uncle.” I respond, ready.

“And that is…” he leans forward, itching to catch me out. He’s going to regret he asked.

“Eric Laudene, you may know him.” I smirk. His face pales and his jaw grows slack. He takes several glances at my papers again before sputtering,

“Y-you don’t look like him.”

“And you look more like a goblin than a halfling. My papers.” He fumbles them into my hand and I safely tuck them back into my dress. The bumble of noise behind us increases as weary travelers begin to wonder what the big hold up is. I lift an eyebrow, “You should probably go handle that.”

He scampers off to check Hawthorne’s papers. In no time at all, he’s back again, ushering us through the city’s entrance, which makes me wonder if he asked Hawthorne any question at all. Ms. Mais urges her horse forward and, as soon as we pass through the thick, beige rock the gates are carved from, I breathe a sigh of relief. I got through and no one questioned Stellina, seems luck is finally turning on our side. 

We push past the shadow the gates cast and into the softly lit main street of the Castle of the Four. The city is structured in tiers, from the presentable middle class to the rulers of Myan. The poor are swept away to the back of the city where goods are processed for repurposing and selling, far from the watching eyes of the welcome gate. Main street, a well-tiled road that swirls up the remaining of the mountain, is lined with colourful little buildings; storefronts, and living spaces. Flower beds rest under windows, clothes hang from lines above, and the wooden infrastructure of buildings poke from painted plaster in crisscrosses and zig zags. Official documents with the King’s crest are plastered to the available space on the colourful walls, probably some new law or tax being enforced. We’re too far away to see the contents, anyway. At every point in the city, the palace can be seen in dreamy royal blue and striking white as a reminder to the people below who controls their life.

Ms. Mais halts off to the side in a space between the barracks and the main street where a wide clearing has been made exactly for this purpose. Horses and wagons crowd the space, making it seem awfully small. Activity teems as people tether or untether their horses to available stables or poles. Wagons are packed uniformly with minimal room to squeeze in between. People from across Zyrona stretch their legs from the long climb leading to here before gathering themselves and moving on to their next destination within the city.

“Should I drop ye off here? I’m heading to the back of the city.” Ms. Mais turns to ask Hawthorne at the back of the cart, like he knows where we’re going. I graciously answer for him,

“Yes.” And then, as an afterthought, “Thanks.” I hop from the high seat and rejoin Hawthorne and Stellina at the back of the wagon. Ms. Mais joins us. As Stellina’s fingers meet the ribbon that ties the hat neatly to her head, Ms. Mais raises a hand. 

“No need.” She shakes her head, “I’ve plenty spare at home.” Stellina thanks her graciously with a small bow. Unexpectedly, Ms. Mais reaches forward for Stellina’s hand and places something in her palm. Stellina squints and tilts her head quizzically as Ms. Mais begins to speak to her softly. I can just about hear her over the bumble of people all around.

“This journey of yers is dangerous, my dear. Keep them you trust close and scrutinise everyone else carefully. There’re enemies in even the unlikeliest of places, but also allies. There’re many willing to help you, yer not alone. Focus on yer end goal and you will meet it.” Stellina’s eyes widen, and her attention flits to me. A nervous tangle of knots builds up inside of me. Blood rushes to my face. If an ordinary dwarf can draw conclusions from Stellina’s appearance, who else can? Ms. Mais catches me staring and rolls her eyes,

“Of course I knew, Ms. Laudene. I’m not daft.” Stellina unfolds her fingers to reveal a small pouch, delicately clinking. Ms. Mais addresses it,

“That there’s some coin if ye need it. It's not much but it’s what I can offer yah. If ye ever need my services again, don’t hesitate to find me.” She smiles up at Stellina who cradles the money pouch to her chest, unshed tears shine in her crystal eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Ms. Mais nods, her curly hair bounces freely without the cage of her straw hat. She bounds back to her place behind her massive horse and wheels the cart around to face us one last time. Hawthorne steps forward and kisses the back of her hand. She looks upon him fondly, wrinkles formed by decades of laughter and gaiety form around the corner of her mouth as she smiles.

“I’ll let yer mama know yer safe. You better stay that way.” She sends him a meaningful glance which is countered by her uplifted lips, “I don’t know how you got into this mess, but yer in it now. Stick it through.” 

“Yes ma’am, I am indeed,” Hawthorne chuckles but the energy isn’t fully there, “Thank you. I’ll write her something but I appreciate you letting her know.” Ms. Mais’ eyebrows draw close together,

“You’ll write her?” She asks quizzically like it's the most obscene thing he can do. Hawthorne’s lips purse together as he nods. It feels like there is more to what they are saying but I don’t have the energy to care. 

“Alright…” Ms. Mais trails off. Then, shrugs and ruffles his hair. She pushes him lightly back towards Stellina.

“Good luck, child,” She says to the latter. Then, she turns to me. I lift my head, surprised she’s caring to address me. The laughter lines disappear from her face as she frowns.

“And Ms. Laudene…” she begins. She seems so much taller than me now up on her perch. A glint of sunlight flashes through the open gate and surrounds her with a mighty, glowing aura. My forehead burns and sweat coats my upper lip. I have an irresistible urge to fold into myself, so I cover my chest with my arms and take a minute step back. Ms.Mais hands me her judgment on a platter of red sunlight, just before day slips into night.

“Forget your pride and learn the word cooperation. Do that for yourself, and for them.” She clucks her horse forward, “Saints be with you all.” Her cart leaps into motion and quickly disappears in the shadow of the path that circles the city, lying between the bowl created by the mountain’s peak and the buildings carved by men. An awkward silence rests upon us in her wake as the last few travelers filter through the massive gates and the lamplighters illuminate the darkening street. Hawthorne attempts to alleviate the uncomfortable tension with a clap of his hands,

“So! What’s the plan? Are we just gonna waltz up to the King’s front door?” The irritation of his cheerful chatter writhes my stomach uncomfortably. The annoyance is almost painful. My lips draw into a scowl. To Fantom’s deep with Ms. Mais’ grandiose guidance. She doesn’t know me.

“Obviously not.” Hawthorne’s waning grin falls apart. A glimmer of guilt is bashed to the side by satisfaction. With a deep breath, I lay out the next part of my staggered plan, “We’re going to find a place to stay for the night. And then…”

“...then?” Stellina presses after my pause carries for too long. A faint mixture of childlike excitement and dread bundles to create a strange reluctant optimism. I know we’ll have an audience with the King. I’m unusually certain about that. How it will go, I’m not so positive on that.

“Then, I’m going to write a letter.”