The Gate Chapter 1ish

Prologue
It is lonely here, by the Gate, water dripping down the stone walls, moss growing in splotches. The air is damp and smells of the spores of a peculiar type of mold that grows in this harsh environment. The Gate itself creates an unearthly glow that fades down the long stone hallway until the mouth of the cave where the sun shines in, or the moon, depending on the time of day. The water that drips down the walls settles in dark pools on the floor before running down the gentle slope out of the tunnel, towards the freedom of the open air. The water has been dripping here for so long that it has carved shallow channels in the floor that look like an ancient language, the words of which describe the way to the Gate. I sit on the cold, damp stone, leaning against one of the few dry patches on the wall. My ragged, filth-stained robe barely keeps in enough heat to keep me alive; the remnants of my boots no longer protect my feet from the harsh, sometimes jagged rocks. The eerie light of the Gate illuminates my dirty, unshaven face when I have the nerve to look at it. Most times I can only clutch my knees to my chest and stare at the puddles.

Every now and again, someone attempts the Gate, to achieve the fabled riches, to gain the paradise that's implied but not promised. I once had that same ambition long ago, but when I finally faced the Gate, I couldn't do it. I couldn't go through. So now I sit here, surviving on the scraps of food and clothing and stories that others leave behind the Gate. That horrid damnable Gate.

It was said it was a myth, that it could never be reached. It was said that beyond lay what everyone dreams of: a fertile land filled with peace and laughter; and despite the warnings, I had gone looking. The biggest problem was that I had found it. I had stood in front of it, gazing at its beauty. The brilliant white pillars thrust up to support a delicate gold arch, the filigree wings that made up the doors of the Gate. It looked to be a thing of vapor and candy with clear mists swirling beyond, taunting me with their promise of undiscovered wealth and treasure. And it was there that I fell to my knees and wept, for I finally knew that I was not worthy, or ready, to pass beyond.

Memory
I puff my way up a treacherous slope of scree, my feet occasionally slipping, kicking up large quantities of dust that seems to collect in my sinuses, causing a headache that pulses beneath the bridge of my nose. After a steep climb up a small gully filled with gravel, I come to the top of a small plateau. The view before me is stunning as well as disappointing. Not twenty yards from me is the dark maw of a cave. Several feet from the entrance is a game trail, leading away down the slope at a leisurely angle across the steep mountainside. I can even see where I could have picked it up earlier in my climb. The rock formation housing the gaping maw is granite, exactly like what was described to me in countless taverns and inns. The granite has a peculiar greenish hue, with large, black crystals flecking it like diamonds.

I rest a moment while I gaze at the unexpected sight before me. I never thought I’d live to see this place. After staring long enough, I begin to see a ruined castle in the greenish granite. That projection there would be the ramparts, that one there: a tower with arrow loops in the side, and directly above the cave entrance, a portcullis, the gate precariously perched as if it will slam down at any moment and prevent me from entering. A moment of panic overtakes me, and I sprint for the cave. I will not be denied my prize after coming so far, but indecision strikes through my mind; what if I am trapped in that cave? The doubt is quickly overridden, I must claim my prize! I sprint forward again, certain this time that I will find my love beyond the Gate. Once again though, I am stopped in my tracks, even sent backwards a few paces when doubt and fear assails me. I stare at the granite outcrops, quavering in my indecision, but… No! I must see my love again! I conjure up her image in my mind and hold it there as I once again charge forward to the mouth of the cave. My haste and inattentiveness conspire together and trip me on a loose rock just inside the entrance. I land with a splat in a mixture of mud, gravel, and water. I lie on my stomach, sprawled out on the rough floor, water soaking my shirt, and laugh. I roll over and clutch my stomach as I laugh some more. It wasn’t a gate! It was just a jumble of rocks, twisted by my imagination.

After the cold has sapped some strength from my muscles, I stagger to my feet, still giddy from finding this place, as well as my brief moment of panic. A trickle of water runs down my jaw to my chin. I rub my forearm on my chin to take care of it and notice that it comes away muddy and bloody. I touch my fingertips to my chin, they too come away with a bit of blood. I must have scraped my chin when I fell. I lean back and laugh again at the absolute absurdity of my situation. I am about to attain the ultimate! I will wrest my lost love from the Gate, and claim whatever gifts it has to offer, and here I am, concerned about a scratch on my chin! I let loose with another bout of laughter. Finally wiping the tears from my eyes, I trudge forward, towards an eerie glow just ahead.

The floor quickly changes from loose gravel and wet earth to solid granite with strange channels running through the otherwise sold stone. Water slowly leaks out, carving the channels deeper one speck at a time. The smell of moisture and minerals is heavy in the air. Water drips from small fissures in the ceiling into small pools in the floor. They make small plinking sounds when they hit. When I stop and listen, the dripping all around me sounds like music, strange, staccato, and off-beat. The eerie light and mist ahead soon resolves into the most awesome structure I have ever seen. I barely have time to comprehend what I am looking at when a flash of steel catches my periphery. I focus on the source which appears to be a knife. I begin to make sense of what I am seeing, a hand, an arm, torso, head and... horns? Large spiraling horns protrude from the being’s head which is covered in a thick, black mane. Piercing yellow, dead eyes swivel to stare at me, rooting me to the spot. My limbs begin to shake uncontrollably, my bladder threatens to lose control, as do my bowels. I shake so violently that I collapse onto the stone floor. My head strikes the stone with enough force to make lights dance in front of my eyes, but the blow destroys much of my fright, which allows me to sit up and look once more upon the demon by the Gate.
I’m not shaken as badly the second time I look upon the monster. I now notice little details that I had missed before. The creature has a large gash in its side, difficult to see because the fluid coming from the wound is a dark blue, almost black, against purplish-black skin. The creature also has numerous other small wounds and is breathing heavily, leaning its head back against the wall once it has finished scrutinizing me. The black fur that covers most of its body is matted and dirty with large patches missing completely. Confidence picks me up off of the cave floor and spreads a grin onto my face. I slowly unsheathe a long dagger from my hip and take a step towards the wounded creature.

“Do not test me mortal,” the creature’s voice resonates in my skull, forcing my hands to my ears as I drop my dagger. With a slight gesture from the creature, my weapon is plucked from the floor and flung straight into the ceiling, burying itself to the quillions.

I fall to my knees in front of the demon, clasping my hands in front of me. “Please, oh demon, allow me to pass beyond the Gate. To attain the riches I deserve and desire.”

The demon shifts position, and opens its eyes, fixing me with a piercing yellow gaze. “You do not need my permission to enter, mortal. The choice will be, is, and always has been, yours.”

The creature’s voice drives me into a fetal position on the granite floor with my hands clasped over my ears once again.

“I oft forget how frail you creatures are,” the creature says. This time his voice is quieter, only causing slight amounts of pain.
I rise to my feet once more, trembling again. This time I tear my eyes from the demon and stare at the Gate itself. It is magnificent, gorgeous, beautiful, frightful, almost impossible to describe, perhaps ineffable. I am unaware that my mouth is open until a spot of drool lands on my chest. The easiest thing to comprehend of the Gate is the mist that swirls and dances beyond its golden wings, but it proves too much so I turn back to the demon.

“If you are not the guardian, then why are you here?”

The demon chuckles and closes its eyes again, “I am merely an observer. The structure that stands before you has no guardian. It needs none.”

“Then why haven’t you passed beyond? Why haven’t you collected the reward that lies beyond?”

The creature snorts, “I would were I able.” He shifts position again and I notice that he has cloven hooves where a human would have feet. They make a clacking noise on the stone as he shifts around.

I then notice a deep gash on his upper thigh. It oozes and weeps as though it had been inflicted several days ago. I smile to myself. I suspect that this monster is truly the guardian of the Gate. He is lying to catch me off guard and possibly get me to leave without a fight. Clearly, he is exhausted from an earlier battle. I’m pretty certain I can win this fight if I play my cards right. A drop of water falls from the pommel of my dagger, rooted in the ceiling, onto the top of my head. Sadly, I don’t look up to see it, embedded in the granite. If I had, it might have saved me from considerable pain.

I take another step towards the Gate, as though my intent is to pass through. Another drop of water falls from the dagger, missing me this time, splashing softly on the floor, creating the beginning of a depression that will bring me much ire. This close to the Gate, I can feel something like a warm wind radiating from it. I stand entranced for a moment, the golden wings of the Gate opening slowly, soundlessly, inviting me to step through. Out of the corner of my eye I see the demon watching me. I step sideways, towards the demon, and turn to face him, his yellow eyes staring at the wall behind me. Clearly he is uninterested.

“Tell me then, if you’re not the guardian, why are you here?”

The demon’s eyes focus on me, nothing moves for several heartbeats. “I can see your thoughts mortal.” He has put enough power into his voice to cause me to double over in agony.

I cover my ears and hang my head in the shame that a young boy feels when he is caught with one hand in the cookie jar. I stand there in silence, my mind buzzing with the idea that this being could read my thoughts. Finally, weak at the knees, I slump down on the hard, wet stone and clutch my head with both hands. I now feel as though the demon is in my head, tampering with my thoughts. The nearby chuckle snaps me partially back to the moment. The demon stands with difficulty, one hand on the wall for support, before slowly advancing on me. His fiery yellow eyes hold my gaze until he stands, towering over me.

“Mortal, you are not worthy.” He makes a small gesture to the right, sending me crashing backwards into the granite wall, leaving me crumpled on the floor in struggling for breath. “The fact that I have allowed you to remain in the presence of this awesome structure for so long was merely the mistake of a tired body.” The demon approaches me as I lie, whimpering on the ground. He kneels slowly beside me, his yellow eyes two bright points of hatred in the strange light of the Gate. “I would end you now, but I see that you need this place. Consider what I am about to do, a gift, though you will most likely see it as a curse.”

The demon reaches towards me, sending waves of aversion through me, and I try to back away, but I am in too much pain and can only lie there and whimper. It feels like more than a few ribs, collarbone, and my arm are broken. His gnarled, black-skinned, broken-clawed hand reaches near the crown of my head, hesitating before finally gripping my skull like an egg. He gently turns my head until the Gate fills my vision. Then he utters a guttural string of words and digs his claws into my scalp. There is a flash of light, a smell of brimstone, and the demon is gone.

I lie on my side, wallowing in pain, misery, and bodily fluids. Damn them, damn all those fools that manipulated me, compelling me to come here, to this wretched place, in front of this wretched gate! I fume, allowing my anger to consume my thoughts until I am exhausted and have no more energy for anger. A tear leaks from my eye and slowly crawls down my cheek as some insect or other crawls across my broken arm. Despite the tickling itch that the bug creates, I am in no mood for any more pain and force myself to lie there until I can blow the irritating bug off with a sharp exhalation. The beetle lands upside down in a puddle and begins struggling for its small life. Strangely enough, I feel enough pity to help it, but don’t want to move even more, so I lie there, and watch until the tiny life is snuffed out by the cold water.

Nobility
The toe of an elegant shoe prods me from my nightmares. Part of my beard and the edge of my ragged hood are soaked with what I hope is drool. I look up into a glorious face. The kind of face God would have had He decided to incarnate. Hair so blond it was almost white, falling down to broad, powerful shoulders. A thin gold circlet containing more power than any crown, rings his brow. Blue eyes, the color of tropical waters, set in a face that is young but wise. A firm jaw, no trace of a beard. His stature is that of a nobleman. What every nobleman strives to be anyway. He has a kingly presence despite the princely circlet. His garb is traveled but well cared for. The holes carefully mended; the tears repaired with a steady hand. He speaks with a fine voice, and it takes me a moment for me to realize that he is speaking to me.

"Forgive me sire," I say, closing my gaping mouth and bowing my head. "I had not realized you were speaking to me."

I hear the man kneel next to me and feel him place his hand under my chin, forcing my head up. "Do not fear me," he speaks with a voice that is rich and noble. "And neither am I your sire.” He sighs and releases my chin which I lower once more. "Alas, I am no more a man than you, for you see, I have forsaken my kingdom in search of the Gate. In doing so I have come to realize that I've abandoned my family, my friends, and my people. Everything I've ever known or loved is gone from me now... and now that I am here, standing in front of this glorious Gate, I realize that it's not been a worthy price to pay. What reward would be so great that you would give up everything you've ever known in life?!” The man presses his hands to his eyes to stifle tears. "However," he says rising. "I would be a fool if I did not claim the prize at the end. I would be a fool if I threw everything away and did not go through the Gate."

He stares back at the Gate for a moment before looking in my direction again. His gaze is so stern that I move my arm partially to protect my face. His eyes widen at the sight of the tattoo that creeps over my arm.

"You," he says accusingly. "I have been searching for you for many years.” His hand moves to the hilt of his sword which he begins to slowly remove from its bejeweled scabbard. "While I was searching for this gate, I heard tales of a young man. A liar. A cheat. A thief. A cunning man, sometimes described as handsome, most times described as vile. A predator. Preying upon the weak and stupid. I never knew what to believe exactly aside from the rumor that he was looking for the Gate. And the description of the tattoo on his arm.”

His sword, fully drawn hangs near, pointing at my throat, menacing me with its casual power. I note with some slight amusement that he has something inked on his arm as well. What I cannot tell because the sleeve of his shirt covers most of it, but I can just make out the beginning of vines.

There is a slightly mad gleam in the man's eye.

"I swore to myself that when I found him, I would destroy him,” his fevered gaze strays to the Gate, "but before I do, you will tell me of this Gate. What it is, everything that you know."

I stare at his back, the regal robe falling from his shoulders, the bejeweled scabbard stabbing away from me, the naked blade pointing at my throat. A thousand thoughts of turning his sword against him fill my mind, but they are silently extinguished by the power of the Gate. Why bother, I think. The Gate has done more to me than this sword could. It would even be a release of sorts if this handsome stranger killed me.

"That horrid Gate. I'll tell you of that vile, demonic thing. I came here, like you, seeking the ultimate treasure. Like you, I gave up everything to get it. My family, my friends, my loved ones. I lied, I stole, I cheated honest people. I became the monstrous knave that people talk about in whispers. I journeyed far to find even the slightest evidence of its existence and when I finally arrived here, the only possessions I had were the clothes on my back. No coin to purchase goods with, no food to sustain my body, no sword to protect myself. And when I finally faced the Gate, I broke down and wept. I wept for everything I had left behind. I wept for everyone I left behind. I wept to the depths of my soul because I knew I could not step through. And now you come here, asking me the same thing I ask myself every day. You, dressed in your noble attire have the gall to ask me of the Gate!” I rise to my knees, ignoring the sword’s point, and grasp the man by the hand. It comes as a whisper to my lips, "All I know of the Gate is that you are not worthy.” I release his hand and fall back to my place on the floor, not daring to look at his beautiful face.

After a moment, I hear some rustling. The sword is sheathed, the sword belt unbuckled. The man kneels next to me, sword and belt in hand outstretched. The mad gleam is gone from his eye, but his face holds no pity. “Now you have a sword for protection. Where next I tread, I will not need it.”

I take his princely offering and stare in wonder at his face.

He straightens up and unclasps his cloak. “And may this cloak warm your cold soul during the cold nights you spend here.” He hands the kingly garb to me. And lastly, he removes the ring of gold from his brow. “And where I go, there is no station, no man is above another.” He hands the circlet to me and turns to face the Gate. “May God save your pathetic soul,” he says, as he pushes open the golden wings.

He slowly disappears in the mists and as he does, they darken until he is lost from my sight. I wish him luck. He with his princely garb and noble soul, I wish him all the luck in the world, though it will do him no good. A tear runs down my cheek as yet another soul is claimed.
I gather up the things the man has given me, stand and stretch my legs. The sword is heavy in my hands, just as heavy as the cloak and circlet. The journey to the mouth of the cave, away from the Gate, is not a long one, but each step weighs on my soul. Each step away is one back that I will have to make. And as I move one foot in front of the other, the Gate pulls at me, willing me to come back. My robe catches around my legs, and I stumble, dropping the precious circlet onto the unforgiving stone floor. Resisting the temptation to look back, to even glance at the Gate, I retrieve the damaged circlet and continue towards the cave mouth.

Four steps away and sweat beads on my brow.

Three steps away and my muscles burn.

Two steps away and tears stream down my face.

One step away and my soul is on fire.

At last, I'm looking out of the mouth of the cave, the cool mountain air blowing on my face, the setting sun warming my heart. I pause and drink in this moment. Then I gather all of the nobleman’s gifts together in the cloak and fling them from the mouth of the cave, watching them roll down the mountain, coming to a stop in a heap near other such oddments; and I laugh. My laugh echoes loud in the crisp air, down the slopes towards cities full of ignorant fools. “Your offerings are not acceptable!” I yell as I hop from foot to foot, capering like a fool.

When the mirth leaves my body, I turn and face the blackness of the cave that leads back to the Gate, the Gate that shines and beckons at the end of the tunnel. Once again, I begin my journey back. Each step a cruel punishment for my unworthiness. Each breath an inferno, searing my very soul; and when I collapse back down on a threadbare blanket that has been my soul comfort, my soul protection from the Gate, I weep. I weep for all those who have passed through and all those who have yet to pass through. As I weep, there is a pain on my arm. Severe as it is, it is nothing compared to the pain that the Gate causes. Even though, I look at my arm and watch as the tattoo of the crown fades from the creeping vines.

Divinity
The low-angled rays of the rising sun pierce all the way through the cave to light my wretched face and wake me. I stare at the distant sun for a moment, a pinprick at the end of a dank, stone tunnel; it is infinitely easier to look at than the Gate. The sun begins to warm my cold, aching body, and for once in many months I begin to feel warm, I begin to feel hope.

The sun is suddenly eclipsed by a rotund figure in a robe carrying a staff. More than this I cannot discern for the sun is at its back. I stare at the shadowy figure as it approaches. I feel no fear, for what is there left for me that is more terrifying than the Gate? A chance ray of sunlight glances off of a pendant that the figure wears and I sneer.

The robe the figure wears is plain, brown, and flows like silk as it moves. The staff clicks on the stone as he waddles forward. He is fat, and now that he approaches, I can see that he is quite tall too. The staff he carries is made of mahogany and topped with a golden crucifix. The bejeweled rings borne on his fat fingers twinkle like stars in the juxtaposed sunlight and eerie glow of the Gate. With every step he takes, fine, supple, leather boots make short appearances. Judging by the way he walks, the soles never last for long.

I prop myself up on an elbow and grin, "A man of the cloth traveling all the way here, to this wretched tunnel, to this wretched man, to save my soul? I'm touched but your efforts have all been a waste. My soul cannot be saved."

The man stops adjacent to me and glances in my direction. His staff points heavenward like a lightning rod. His voice is high-pitched and breathy. He is fatter than I had first thought, and the robe has fallen away from his forearm revealing a strange tattoo in which crosses feature prominently. "I did not travel here to save your soul," he laughs, a sound much like the laughter of a little girl. "I have come seeking the kingdom of God and it appears that I have, in fact, discovered it.” He smiles, small amounts of spittle leaking from the corners of his grotesque mouth which he wipes off with a red silk handkerchief.

His arrogance amuses me. "You are mistaken priest.” I rise to my knees and smile viciously. "What you see before you is the Gate. Not the path to God. I could attempt to tell you what lies beyond but all that I know is rumor. On the one hand, I have indeed heard it referred to as the gateway to the almighty but on the other, I've heard that it's the gate to Hell. Personally, I don't believe in either and have no idea what lies beyond that hellish creation.” I wave my hand in the direction of the Gate, not daring to look at it.

The priest stares at me with wide eyes, more spittle leaking from the corners of his turned down lips, his open mouth. His bald pate begins to shine with sweat which he removes with his lavish handkerchief. "Y... you... you dare speak to me so insolently!” He points an accusing finger at the tattoo on my arm. "You... you are the Infamous knave. I've heard of you while I was seeking this place. You are the liar, cheater, and thief. You are the one that is shunned by God. You are the one that walks in the shadows and steals from poor men. You are the one whose soul is dammed.” His pudgy fingers grasp the tarnished cross at his breast, holding it out towards my face. "I serve the highest power there is, ever was, and ever will be, and He in His infinite wisdom told me of this place. How dare you call me a liar. How dare you tell me lies. Your soul will only know anguish in the ashes of the deepest pit of hell for all eternity.”

With that, he rips the pendant cross from his neck and hurls it at me in disgust. It strikes my chest and falls to the floor with a loud clank. “I only pray that in time, as you contemplate the cross, you will see the light and repent.” He turns from me and reaches for the Gate.
I snigger as his fingers touch the filigree. I smile as the mists beyond the Gate turn dark. He spares me no backward glance as he opens the Gate and boldly strides through, head held high, back erect, eyes mostly closed. He is lost from view by the dark mists, swallowing his corpulent form.

When he is completely gone, I can hold it no longer and burst out laughing; rolling on the stone of the floor until my legs are impossibly tangled up in my thin blanket.

After the fit of laughter has passed, I collect the small cross that lies forlornly on the cold floor. It's even smaller than I first thought and the base metal is surely not solid gold. I stare at the cross in my hand until my gaze wanders to the cross tattooed on my forearm. It has begun to fade. I smile until my thoughts turn to the journey to the mouth of the cave. Moving slowly, but moving nonetheless, I get to my feet and turn my back to the Gate. Slowly, step by step, I leave the Gate behind and walk to the mouth of the cave. My bare feet slapping against the wet stone. Each step away, worse than the last. Finally, I'm at the entrance, once again looking down the mountainside, once again letting the sun warm my face. With a last look at the infinitely flawed idea in my hand, I cock my arm and hurl the amulet away from the Gate. It tumbles down and comes to rest near all of the other things I have thrown from this high place, its golden colored metal shining in the sunlight, eventually to tarnish and be forgotten. This time, I do not yell. This time I do not laugh, only a tear leaks from my eye and falls from my chin to the earth; before I turn back. Back to that wretched Gate.

Oblation
It is morning, and I have made the agonizing trip to the entrance of the cave and a little way beyond so that I might relieve myself by a tree. Just as I'm finishing, I see a man coming towards the cave with a young boy following close behind. The man, with his simple peasant haircut, is dressed in simple, well-worn linen clothes and heavy boots. The boy is wearing a tunic and belt and unremarkable leather shoes and his hair unkempt and shaggy. I quickly cover myself and move so that the rough trunk of the tree is between the travelers and I. Peering around the rough bark, I watch them. The boy idly swings a small wooden sword at the tall, dry grasses as he climbs up the steep slope. I listen with amusement as the boy complains about his sore feet and his hungry belly - to which the father replies that they have finally found what they were looking for and to stop complaining, after all, he is doing this for the sake of the son. I also watch in amusement when the father winces with barely controlled pain at the cave's mouth, while the boy just stops, holds his wooden sword at the ready and refuses to go any further. After much coaxing and pleading and promising, the father takes the boy by the hand and, sweat forming on his forehead, vanishes from sight into the darkness. No longer amused, I follow. The way back to the Gate is so well known to me that I hesitate not at all when the force of the Gate hits me.

Up ahead, in the gloomy light of the Gate, the father and son are struggling to approach it. I quicken my pace. My dirty, unshod feet making almost no sound on the rough-cut stone. He is completely oblivious to my presence until I lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks up into my face, fearfully at first but then a sneer comes quickly to his lips.

"So you're the Infamous Knave.” He leers at me. A few of his teeth are missing. "What's it like to be such a coward? To steal from people that have next to nothing?"

My hand cuts him off as it connects with his face. He falls onto his ass, holds his cheek, and looks at me like a wounded kitten. "You dare criticize me? You who have brought your son with you as sacrifice. You have the gall to stand in the presence of the Gate and judge me?” I point back at his son who is sitting against the wall, hands wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. "When was the last time you talked to your son? Did you even ask him if he wanted this? If he wanted to be here? If he wanted the riches that the Gate might promise?” I laugh. "You will be allowed through the Gate, but I warn you, do not take your son through against his will.” I stroll nonchalantly up the tunnel to my blanket near the Gate. Through sheer force of will I make it seem effortless, which it is not. Sitting with my back against the wall on my thin, greasy blanket, I look back to the man. "If you think you are worthy then be my guest.” I gesture to the Gate. "Pass through and reap the rewards, if there are any...."

The man struggles to his knees and crawls, weeping, to his son. The boy hardly spares him a glance as the man grasps his hand. There is a hurried, whispered conversation which I cannot hear, but which leaves the boy in tears. Then the man slowly stands and pulls his son up next to him, the wooden sword forgotten on the floor. Turning towards the Gate, he drags his son, silent tears on both their faces, towards the Gate. When they reach it, the boy stretches out a hand to caress the delicate filigree wings of the Gate. The swirling mists remain clear at his touch and the Gate swings open. Awe and wonder visible on his face, the boy slowly disappears as he moves into the mist. The father stands weeping in front of the Gate for some time. As he does so, I rise and quietly move until I am standing just behind him. When he starts to turn away, I push him violently, shoving him through the open, waiting arms of the Gate. The mists darken and the doors slam shut as the father is lost from my sight. I return to my place on my blanket, tears dripping slowly down my cheeks, to find the boy's small wooden sword. Slowly I retrieve the item, running my hands across its smooth, worn, handle, and I cry. The tears flow freely as I make my way to the cave’s entrance, where I fling the mock sword from me. I turn back, back towards the Gate before the wooden sword strikes the ground, point-first and sticks, quivering like a blade of steel. On my arm, the tattoo of the father fades as the sword comes to rest.

Sorcery
A flash of lightning and crack of thunder tear me from my nightmares. I flail awake and quickly sit up looking blearily about. Lightning flashes and crackles once again and with a bang, a man appears in the tunnel, power radiating from his body in waves that begin to ebb. I blink my eyes in an attempt to clear the spots from them while I rub my abused ears. After regaining my senses, I find the man staring at me, blues veins of power visible in his eyes. He carries a staff that is blacker than the night, infused with blood-red runes that shift and twirl away from my eyes. He wears a magnificent robe that is covered with symbols and signs that shimmer in the weird light of the Gate. His face is wizened, and his hair and beard are both long and devoid of color. His gaze upon me unnerves me almost as much as the Gate and I scrabble backwards until my head hits the wall somewhat painfully.

The magician advances towards me until his face is inches from mine and his beard brushes my belly. For what seems like eons he holds my gaze, searching the depths of my soul. After some time, he sneers, his lip curling up like a rogue wave, then he grasps my arm with a strength that amazes me. Brushing away the tatters of my sleeve, he searches the tattoo that crawls on my arm until he spies the lightning bolt. He releases my arm but then makes a grasping movement at the blue ink of the lightning tattoo. My flesh crawls as the tattoo begins to squirm. Pain flares as blue-white energy flares beneath my skin. When I am at the threshold of pain, unconsciousness threating with its fuzzy darkness, the mage rips the lightning bolt from my arm and hurls it towards the glittering wings of the Gate. The bolt earths itself on the wings of the Gate. The mage, swings his staff and strikes it on the ground, and wraps the lightning bolt around his forearm before leaning on his staff and pulling on the arcing tether.

The Gate moves not at all.

The mage bares his teeth and narrows his eyes, striking his staff to the ground once again where it remains upright as he grasps the lightning bolt with both hands, and pulls mightily, the Gate almost shuddering in its moorings. His brow furrows, and the lightning begins to singe the ends of his hair and beard as he speaks two words like thunderclaps. More power crawls up from his forearm to join the existing bolt, dancing and jerking like an epileptic child. With the cords of his neck standing out in sharp relief, and the muscles in his arms straining almost to breaking, the wizard rips the Gate from its foundation, hurling it in pieces through the cave and out onto the side of the mountain where the gold filigree begins to tarnish, and the wings and gilded dancing reliefs lie broken like so many of the things that I have thrown out.

When the dust and noise settle, the wizard is sweating, kneeling on one knee, grasping his staff for support, breathing heavily, but smiling triumphantly. His singed hair and beard continue to smoke slowly as he steadies both hands on his staff, rises, and slowly walks forward towards dark mists, his staff striking the stone with a sound that does not echo. The mist twines about his ankles as he advances, then his knees, waist, and finally, he is lost from my sight.

Fear pulses through my body as I watch the mist, no longer contained by the Gate, advance toward me. But something curious happens, the mist stops, precisely at the point where the Gate was. It is then that I discern another thing about the Gate. The Gate is not a physical thing. It is intangible like thought, or fear. Slowly, my fear abating, I crawl across the damp, dirty stone towards my blanket, and as I do, there is a deep thundering from the mists. My face goes slack and my eyes widen as I turn and watch the increasing chaos of the mist. Suddenly, the black mass of the wizard’s staff hurtles from the mists and embeds itself into the stone cave walls with only a few inches left protruding. The stone around the staff cools quickly from a bright, white-red, to a dull, angry orange. Without looking away from the staff, I scoot backwards until I find my blanket. Grasping the tattered edges, I roll the worthless thing about my shoulders and hug my knees to my chest, shivering.

Dreaming
The Gate howls at my mind, tormenting my dreams with visions of a most gruesome sort. My dream begins and I am a child of eight. A cousin of mine is playing with a dagger he received on his birthday. It was nothing special, just plain, good steel, with a leather hilt. I sit under a tree and watch him fencing with imaginary enemies, making childish battle cries and inexpert lunges which almost throw him into the dirt. The sun flashes off of the blade into my eyes and with it comes the need to possess a dagger of my own. One that I can vanquish my foes with, one that my loving family has given me, one that will protect them should the need arise. Unfortunately, my family has been taken from me, my father and mother, sister and brothers, slaughtered by an upstart nobleman because the nobleman was offended by my father. Just like that the setting of the dream changes. Our small house is burning. My father, still inside, screams like a banshee. The echo bouncing merrily around the small clearing that the house sits in. My mother is bound and unconscious, slung across the nobleman's saddle like a sack of grain, blood oozes down her face from a small wound on her scalp.

I finally possess a sword. It is my father's from above the fire. I had run in to retrieve it when the nobleman rode up with his lackeys. My father's sword is heavy in my hand, the point resting on the ground. I know that I shouldn't allow it to drag in the dirt, but I lack the strength to keep it pointed at my enemy. The sword was made for a man, not a boy. The nobleman glares at me haughtily. "You dare test yourself against me boy?" he says, drawing his sword slowly. With the last of my strength, I manage to lift my father's sword from the dirt and point it at him, "You're a coward!” I yell. "A yellow bellied, knock-kneed, fat waste of flesh!” My strength fails me, and the sword falls from my already exhausted fingers. The nobleman sneers as my sword strikes a deep furrow in the soft earth. "You will die like the rest of your family. You are nothing but pigs!"

Just as he is about to spur his horse into moving, my sister appears at a dead run from the edge of the woods, a pitchfork held awkwardly in her young hands. Just before she reaches the nobleman, she lets loose with a blood curdling shriek and stabs inexpertly at him.
The nobleman, surprise plain on his face, parries the thrust and with well-trained movements, nearly removes my sister’s head with his riding sword. There is a short pause while the event registers, but the sneer quickly returns to the nobleman's face as he eyes my sister’s body as it bleeds out in the dirt. The dull thud of her head hitting the earth reverberates in my mind, echoing back and forth. Taunting me, torturing me. The focus of the dream shifts and all I can see is my sister's bleeding form, head nearly detached from her body, bleeding amid the dirt and leaves. I try to run to her, but each step forward takes me further away, further into the darkness.

Finally, the scene dims, and I awake in a pool of sweat, breathing heavily, with the need to relieve myself foremost in my mind. I lie on my back for a moment and try to collect what little there is left of my sanity. Glancing towards the Gate in order to reassure myself that it's there, I turn back to stare at it until I recall what the magician had done to it. The gaping black maw with its dark, swirling mists resembles nothing of the peaceful, almost angelic structure that stood previously. The Gate before was haunting, beckoning to me with subtle whispers and half truths. The Gate now is an angry demon, thrashing within the confines of its prison. I shy away and feebly attempt to shield myself with my arms. I can feel that my presence here is coming to an end. I can either leave this place and try to forget, try to piece back together the life I once led, or I can pass through the Gate. I can no longer stand its awesome presence.

Struggling to my feet, I stumble away from the demonic hole, towards the light of the setting sun. As I near the cave mouth, the combination of the Gate, my nightmares, my weakened body, the pressing need to relieve myself overcomes me and I cannot stop from pissing myself. As the urine drips from my robe, tears leak from my eyes, and I finally stand facing the setting sun. Soaked and weeping, I collapse at the mouth of the cave and cry myself to sleep.

Confidence
I am once again awakened from my nightmares by the gentle prodding of a foot. The sleep takes some time to clear from my mind and the voices I hear confuse me profoundly.

"No, he aint dead. He's still breathin'.” The voice is young but gravelly. As if the owner had had his throat cut but survived.

"He's kinda scrawny.” The second voice is somewhat deeper but almost as scratchy as the first. "Don't look like he's got anything worth the takin' that's for sure.”

A boot prods my arm again and I'm finally able to open my eyes. Initially, the sight of the two men frightens me so much that I almost soil myself. The one on my left is staring down from wide, bulbous eyes. Light from the full moon glints off of the circlet that I had thrown from the cave as it now sits atop his oily brow. His balding hair hangs down in black clumps behind ears that stick out just a little too far, almost as if they're trying to escape, for which I would not blame them. His neck is almost non-existent, being composed almost entirely of chins. His facial hair grows in clumps like grass on the tundra. His worn clothes are almost as greasy as his hideous face, torn and stained and stinking. He is repulsive to every one of my senses. The cape I had thrown from the cave hangs off of his weak shoulders and is already stained with sweat and grease though he can't have had it on for more than a few minutes.

His companion stands a little back, almost completely opposite in every way. He is tall and probably handsome though a hood obscures his face. A raven sits on his strong shoulders eyeing me with what I am sure is distaste; it caws menacingly when it feels my gaze upon it. It was very picturesque with the full moon behind him, outlining his tall, black-cloaked form, but I recognize them now, and I can't take them as seriously as they take themselves. I had dealings with them in the past. A slight smile finds its way to my lips as I recall how I framed them. Fortunately for me, they don't appear to recognize me... yet.

It had been raining that night.

It seemed like it always rained here though. It had brought a smile to my lips; I liked the rain. Two men had stumbled out of the tavern across the street from me. A short fat one and a tall skinny one. Kinda cliché now that I think about it.

The tall one had stumbled and grabbed his companion's shoulder for support while the short one had bent over and vomited all over the street. I could hear their laughter from my place next to the bank. Back then, I was in my prime. I was fit, could run at least five miles without being winded, I was strong and flexible, and I had devoted a significant portion of my life to the study of combat. I had felt like I could take on anybody, especially these two drunken idiots, and they were certainly my type. They had had the look of thieves everywhere that had spent their "earnings" on booze and women. I had also seen them earlier in the market, silently and skillfully lifting purses from nearly everyone they happened to encounter. That meant that they were good at a certain few things, but not good at what to do afterwards.

I had watched them stumble down the street a little way before I got up and approached them. "Good evening gentlemen," I had said confidently, striding up to the taller of the two. A small breeze had brushed my black cloak, causing it to billow dramatically in as I stuck out my hand. "I have a proposition that two fine men such as yourselves, would, I believe, find appealing."

The tall one had scrutinized my outstretched hand blearily for a moment, then brushed his long black hair from his forehead before shaking my hand quickly, afterward I had absently wiped my hand on my pants. The short one had sat in the street and vomited noisily between his legs. I had merely smiled and kept talking since neither of them seemed inclined to do so. "Gentlemen, I will be blunt. I have a method and a means of liberating all of the money from that building over there.” I had swept my arm back to point at the bank. "Sadly, it requires two extra pairs of hands, or I would do it myself.” The short one had looked tired for a moment, but then he stood up, wobbled, regained his balance, and looked at me. The transition he went through was nothing short of amazing. He had gone from dead drunk, to almost sober in the space of a heartbeat and as he mulled over the thought of robbing a bank, his face lit up.

"How much money'd there be for us?" he had asked me suspiciously.

Typical. I smiled, having guessed my targets so accurately.

I had spread my hands and looked towards the street momentarily. "Sadly, I do not know. What I do know is that there are at least three thousand coins of the purest gold in there. I watched a man deposit them earlier today.” I had raised my head and bared my teeth at my new acquaintances. It took a moment to sink in but when it had, a gleam came to both men's eyes and the short one rubbed his greasy palms together.

"How do we do this then?" the tall one had asked.

"If you gentlemen would care to follow me, I will show you.” I had turned my back on them and headed towards the bank, with a grin forming slowly on my face.

The tall one prods me with his boot again. "Ya know, this little rat looks familiar.” He strokes his oily pointed goatee. "It's like we've seen him somewhere before.” He kicks me in the ribs halfheartedly, while his raven jostles around on his shoulder.

I wince and look towards the mouth of the cave. I wonder about my chances of getting to the Gate before they recognize me and beat me to a pulp.

The fat one comes over and scrutinizes me closely, his wretched breath makes me gag. "Yeah... He does bear a slight resemblance to the infamous knave that got us thrown in prison so long ago.” He straightens up and kicks me too. "But this one here's too scrawny and scared, like a rabbit when the wolves are about."

I roll over and get to my knees, groveling and favoring my side, trying to put some distance between myself and the two men.
"Oh look, he's crawlin' around like a little bug.” The fat one sniggers. "If only he really were the knave we were looking for..." he sighs, then smiles so wide it looks like it rings his head. "Then again, we can always take out our anger on the innocent.” He cracks his knuckles as the tall one advances, the raven on his shoulder flapping its wings and cawing loudly.

I look to the side, my head almost level with the fat one's crotch. My brow furrows and the corners of my mouth turn down into a sneer. "I AM the infamous knave!” I launch a fist at the fat one's crotch while kicking out with a leg towards the tall one's knee. My atrophied muscles don't cooperate nearly as much as I had been hoping for, but both blows land. The fat one doubles over and the tall one jumps back, rubbing his bruised knee. While they are momentarily distracted, I stumble to my feet and stumble towards the cave and the safety of the Gate.

The fat one looks up frowning, "Now you've gone and made me angry.” He stands straight, winces a little, then starts heading my way.

The closer I get to the cave, the stronger the presence of the Gate is, and for once, I am grateful for it. I have been so fearful of the Gate in the past that its presence would push at me, but now that I am in danger, I embrace it, knowing that the two behind me won't be able to follow quickly, if at all. I'll figure out what to do when I'm standing by the mist, the dark, ominous mists. A smile creeps up my face to replace the open mouth and wide eyes of terror, and the force of the Gate pulls me ever stronger towards it.

After I've run a few paces into the cave, I slow, straighten up, and stride confidently towards the Gate. I glance over my shoulders to see the two men struggling to follow me. Sweat runs down the fat one's face while the tall one's face bulges red with the effort of standing with the weight of the Gate on his shoulders. The raven has flown from his shoulder to settle on a tree a little way off. It peers warily at the figures disappearing down the tunnel.

Finally, I stand before the maelstrom mists of the Gate and turn to face my adversaries. It takes them a full twenty minutes to reach me. The fat one is so exhausted that he falls to the floor panting. The tall one's face is purple from the effort until he too collapses on the wet stone.
"Gentlemen," I say spreading my arms, confidence in my voice... "Welcome to my domain. I trust your journey was fruitful?"

The tall one looks at me, narrowing his eyes, frowning. His voice comes with little breath to back it, "You tricked us."

"So I did," I say shrugging. "Does it matter? When all that I've done is lured you here to the ultimate treasure?"

The tall one's brow lowers even further. "Treasure? That's the same lie you used last time, and it won't work again. We spent a year in prison afore we broke free, and another ten tracking you down so that we could exact revenge. We will not be deceived by cleverness and fantasy."

"Suit yourselves," I say shaking my head. "But what you may not have noticed, is the maelstrom behind me.” I gesture to the mists.

They both glare at me for a moment before staring at the roiling mists of the Gate. The fat one's eyes widen. "Is that...?"

"Indeed," I cut him off. "That is the Gate. The Gate of legend. The Gate of Heaven. The Gate of Paradise. I could go on for ages with different names, but in the end, this is the Gate.” For a moment, the only sounds are the heavy breathing of the two thugs and the dripping of water, patiently eroding the rocks from above. "I won't waste your time by trying to explain what lies beyond, we've all heard the stories.” I pause again. "Yet here you two are, angry and seeking revenge when all I have done was to lead you here. You should be thanking me for my generous gift.” I sigh and shake my head as I look at the floor.

The fat one tears his gaze from the Gate to look at me. He scowls again. "What, do you think we're stupid?" he looks to his skinny accomplice. "We know as well as you that the Gate is supposed to be beautiful, not this,” he shudders, “gaping, dirty hole in a cave."

I sigh again, step to the side, lean against the wall and slowly slide down it until I'm sitting. "I know. And it was. But when I arrived, there was a magician here. I only caught a glimpse of the actual gate before he tore it asunder.” I put my arms across my knees and rest my chin on them, ignoring the cold water that has begun dripping from the wall down my back. "It was a thing of beauty.” As I speak, the mists beyond the Gate begin to calm and lighten. "Gold filigree wings, marble columns supporting a gold arch… cherubs and nude women depicted in gold, frolicking through a meadow...” I let my voice drop to a whisper. "It was beautiful."

I glance up at the two thugs who are entranced by the shapes changing in the mist. The fat one is on his feet again, leaning forward, drawn toward the Gate. He glances my way, but quickly looks back to the Gate. I can tell that he can almost see the Gate as it was, and to my surprise, I can see a vague outline of the marble columns and gold filigree too. The fat one takes a step forward. I smile. "The Gate offers wealth beyond imagining," I say in a soft voice. "The Gate offers peace and prosperity.” The fat one takes another step toward the Gate. The tall one is on his feet again too, pulled by the irresistible strength of greed. "Just imagine," I continue softly. "The wealth, the power, the women…”

The fat one slowly vanishes into the mists. The marble columns seem more solid, the gold filigree of the open wings of the gate inviting, seductive. The tall one takes a step forward, staring intently ahead. The grin on my face widens. "Just think, the Gate offers it all. No consequences, no repercussions, no responsibility.”

The mist has wrapped around his boots.

"Everything your heart could ever desire,” I whisper.

The tall one is finally beyond the wings of the Gate, the structure gaining solidity by the second. Finally, he hesitates and turns back towards me. A question framed in his mouth.

"So why haven't you gone through?"

As the sound escapes his mouth, the winged doors of the Gate slam shut and he is lost from sight.
"So long imbeciles!!" I yell as I jump to my feet. My robe is soaked and getting colder, but I don't care. I run to the entrance of the tunnel. "Is that all you've got?! Is that all you can throw at me?! It isn't enough!” I caper wildly at the tunnel mouth. Spinning and jumping flailing madly at the air, laughing the entire time.