Skull Gate by Robin W Bailey Page A

view and beckoned.
    They rode, leaving Shadamas to burn.
    â€œWhere?” the stranger called.
    â€œMy shack!” Oona responded, awakened by the rush of wind. Her voice faltered, and only Frost heard her first words, but she gathered strength. “There're some things I can't leave behind."
    Frost nodded and turned Ashur in the proper direction. They arrived breathless, the horses panting and lathered. Oona slid to the ground. Apparently recovered from the shock of her beating, she moved with sure quickness.
    â€œMy garden!” she moaned. Frost dismounted and went to her side. The little plot was ruined. The villagers had trampled the tender shoots flat and raked over the earth. Oona threw up her hands with a sigh and went inside. “I'll need some light,” she said halfheartedly, and began rummaging in the dark, picking up things, squinting at them, casting them down with a clatter.
    Frost went to the hearth, took Oona's apron from the nail where it always hung, wrapped it around a broken stool leg, and made her way through the rubble to thy rear door. The coals, all that remained of Oona's fire, still glowed with a dull heat. By blowing on them, she produced enough flame to ignite her makeshift torch.
    The two men were standing in the front entrance when she returned, watching Oona sift the debris. Tras looked up, shook his head, and shrugged. Frost shrugged, too, but held the torch higher.
    The villagers had been thorough. Not a piece of furniture remained intact, not a jar unbroken. “Over here,” Oona called. Frost moved closer with the light, tripped, nearly fell over part of the table. “Ouch, damnation!” she hissed, and scattered pieces of the poor board with a kick. Oona said nothing but took the torch and bent over the remains of her trunk. The lid was nearly ripped off; the hinges were badly twisted.
    â€œI can't quite manage it,” Oona finally admitted. The stranger hurried to her side, lifted the trunk, and set it upright. The lid groaned and lurched suddenly, pinching his fingers. He snatched his hand back without an oath.
    Oona felt along the underside of the lid. Frost heard a click, and a section of the felt-lined interior popped out. Oona extracted a flat, narrow drawer. “My few treasures,” she confessed.
    There was the new dagger Frost had given the old woman. Oona slipped it carefully down the front of her dress. There was a bracelet of gold; that went on her wrist. A couple of tiny vials filled with colored powders followed the dagger. Only a jewel remained in the drawer, crimson and shimmering in the torchlight. Oona passed it to her young friend.
    â€œBeautiful,” Frost said admiring. “Has it a name?"
    Oona scoffed. “Korkyrans never adopted that custom of naming inanimate objects. More important is what it does, not what it's called.” The old healer rose, her knee joints creaking.
    â€œWhat it does?” The stranger peered at the gem curiously. Even Tras Sur'tian leaned closer to view it.
    Oona closed Frost's fingers around it, squeezing them into a tight fist. “Hold it so,” she instructed, “and it will protect you from the evil things of the elements, the creatures born of earth, air, fire, and water."
    â€œA talisman,” Frost muttered.
    â€œMagic!” Tras Sur'tian spat the word. “Get rid of it."
    Oona kept hold of Frost's fist with the gem gripped inside. “Samidar, child, you've told me your suspicions about Aki's disappearance. Sorcery, you thought.” The old hand trembled around hers. “We turned the cards together. Remember the gate of destruction? That card means an evil place. And the three stars?"
    Frost nodded. “Mysterious influences,” she interrupted, “and hidden enemies."
    â€œAnd the demon,” Oona pressed. “Danger to the mortal soul! Keep this stone, I beg you. It's only a shield against evil, but sometimes a shield is enough.” She glared