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Chapter Thirty-Three

Beyond the Gate

Kristoph Vals

The sound coming from outside was indescribable. Unseen beasts were howling for their souls. The noise so primal it turned his bowels to water. Kristoph made others afraid. He did not like experiencing the sensation himself. He had to maintain control.

“Chankov, Darus, see to our defenses.” He didn’t really know how to fortify a mill, but that’s what officers were for. “What do you see from up there, Ms. Baston?”

“Nothing yet,” the scout called back from the landing.

He could not see Illarion Glazkov’s face hidden away inside the giant armored suit, but his tone had been clear even through the distorted voice of the Object. He was shaken, but certain. Kristoph had hoped for a mighty magi to carry them through, but instead he had a boy who thought he talked to all-powerful goddesses. But after so much time in this place, Kristoph had begun to think that such things were not so strange after all.

The men moved quickly, taking up positions at each of the windows and checking their rifles. They were all dusted with clumps of coagulating blood from the unnatural snowstorm. Kristoph looked over his shoulder to where the ever-watchful Vasily waited, silent. “What are you looking at?” Kristoph snapped, expecting no response.

Surprisingly Vasily’s head tilted, just a little.

That was truly unnerving, and Kristoph turned back to the preparations. “How long can we hold?”

Darus responded, “It depends on the nature of our adversary.”

Glazkov’s voice came from the suit again. “I know what’s coming. At least part of the force, but I don’t know what else She’ll allow. They look like giant armored cats, with scorpion tails, and many eyes. They’re venomous, can climb, and are extremely fast. The untattooed scar on my other shoulder is from one biting me and throwing me across this mill like I was nothing.”

“Well . . . ” Darus scowled. “In that case I’ve got no idea. But even if this was a proper fort we don’t have enough supplies to withstand a siege.”

Chankov picked up the shovel and looked at it. “You killed one with this?”

“And the mill wheel,” Glazkov added. “But while I did, the rest of them slaughtered the whole village.”

“That was before you were in the Wall.” Chankov put the shovel back down. “But the fact you killed one, means that they can die. Did you hear that, men? Glazkov killed one of these with a shovel! How many bodies will we stack with the finest weapons in the empire?”

It was clear that Chankov was trying to rally them, but no amount of optimistic leadership could cut through the oppressive feeling of doom that pervaded this place, and suddenly Kristoph was filled with an intense desire to escape.

“Where’s the scout?” Kristoph demanded. Soldiers pointed up. “No, the crazy one.”

Someone roughly shoved Eliv into the middle of the room.

“Eliv, how far is it to gate?”

“Not far, Oprichnik. Not far at all. Can’t you feel it?” the fool said with a sneer. “It should shine like a beacon to you. It’s your only hope. The mistress of this land has forsaken you all, but She’s coming for you in particular.”

“Enough foolishness.”

But Eliv laughed in his face. “The Dead Sister will say when enough’s enough. And She’s got a message for you.”

Kristoph drew the pistol from the holster on his belt and cocked the hammer with his thumb. “This message will serve as your last words if you fail to show us to the way out.”

“She said there’s a price for killing one of her anointed. You shouldn’t have murdered her priest.”

Kristoph flinched. How could he know?

“A priest who is breaking the law is one thing, but what manner of beast murders an innocent boy, just to set an example?” Eliv shook his head disapprovingly. “She says there’s a price to pay for killing Her worshippers, Policeman. The way back is straight that way. Good luck.” He pointed a filthy hand further up the village’s main thoroughfare.

The Object creaked as its bucket of a head turned in the direction Eliv was pointing. “Of course. It’s a mirror of home,” Glazkov said. “I know where the boundary stones are. I can get us there.”

“Are you certain?” Kristoph asked Glazkov.

“Yeah.”

Kristoph raised his pistol and shot Eliv in the heart.

The mad scout crashed back against the millstone, staring at him with a mad, knowing smile splitting his lips, but then he slowly went limp as the life pumped out his chest. He slid to the floor, dead within seconds.

The sudden noise had startled the soldiers and everyone was looking his way, aghast. Kristoph calmly broke open his pistol, extracted the spent cartridge, and put in another. “Does anyone else feel like being insubordinate to one of the Tsar’s elect?” He looked around. Lucky for him, the soldier from the Wall who had tried to shoot Kristoph earlier was safely on the other side of the Object, or Kristoph might have made an example of him as well. Nobody said a word.

“Good. If Glazkov knows the way this liability is no longer necessary.” And for insurance, since Eliv wasn’t around to correct him with the truth, Kristoph added, “And I know how to make the gate work. Now, how should we best proceed?”

Chankov looked down at the dead man, trying his best to hide his contempt for Kristoph’s actions, and failing badly. Yet Chankov was still an officer in the Tsar’s army and would do his duty no matter what. It was a good thing that conviction to duty was beat into all members of the Wall from the very beginning of their training. “If we know the way, we should go for it now before they’ve got us cut off.”

“No,” Darus jumped in. “Let them break themselves against our defenses first, then we move when they are weakened.”

“Spoken like a man who hides in a trench all day,” shouted Igor.

“Shut it, Verik,” Chankov said. The two officers looked to Kristoph for the final decision, as it was his responsibility, but while he hesitated, the decision was made for them.

“There’s lots of movement,” Natalya warned. “We’ve got incoming!”

“Just because we’ve got ammo for once, don’t waste it!” Darus bellowed. “We’re probably gonna need it all. Take clean shots.”

Natalya fired first. A moment later the lookouts on the level above began firing. Then the troops at ground level. It was a tremendous amount of noise in the enclosed space and it quickly began to fill with smoke. Then the Object lumbered toward the big door as two members of the Wall pushed it open. The cannon belched fire and Kristoph pressed his hands over his ears as explosions rippled across the fake village.

While the door was open he saw terrible white shapes running through the red snow. The creatures were as Glazkov described, yet somehow worse. Then thankfully the door was closed as the cannon was reloaded, so they were temporarily hidden from view. The soldiers were taking turns at the windows, one shooting, then moving aside to reload as one of his comrades took his place. Suddenly one of the men began screaming. Kristoph looked up just in time to watch his kicking legs be dragged through the window.

“Fix bayonets!” Darus bellowed.

There was an awful sound on the other side of the mill’s walls. Claws. So many claws.

The cat-things were trying to get through every opening. The doors were being torn to splinters. Kristoph watched, fascinated and appalled, as a monstrous head snapped through a window and bit a trencher’s face off. A scorpion tail, but big around as his arm, zipped through a window lightning quick and stabbed another soldier in the chest. He fell near Kristoph’s feet. Kicking and twitching.

Kristoph looked up to see the monster trying to squeeze through the gap nearest him, despite two other soldiers spearing it with their bayonets. Somehow, its body was still slick and pale, as if the blood snow slid right off. Jaws snapped at him. Spittle hit him. Kristoph aimed his pistol and shot it through the head. The soldiers immediately shoved the body back through the gap, and another immediately took its place.

As he looked down to reload, the man who had been stung was grasping at Kristoph’s boots. It was hard to understand him, with all the foam coming out of his mouth, but Kristoph suspected he was begging for a quick and merciful death. Anything to be spared the torture of this poison. It was so piteous that even Kristoph was tempted to aid him, but he might need the ammo, so he kicked the dying man’s hand away.

A trencher cried in agony as he was disemboweled by claws. That beast had almost made it all the way inside before one of the Wall brained it with a pick, pinning it to the floor.

“They’re retreating,” Natalya shouted. “A bunch of them are milling around the yard.”

“Wallen, load shotgun rounds,” Chankov shouted. “Kuzkin, Pavlovich, get the door. The rest of you get ready in case one tries to rush in. Glazkov, break them.”

The Wall flung the door open again. Object 12 immediately began firing. Monsters were ripped to pieces. Legs were torn off. Bodies were punctured. The black of their blood marred every nearby surface of the rotting village.

Except one creature must have been hanging directly above the big door, because it leapt down onto one of the Wall, biting and tearing into Kuzkin. Glazkov immediately reached down, grabbed the thing by the skull, and lifted it into the air. The beast thrashed, claws scrabbling in vain against the Object’s closing fist, but steel fingers squeezed, and its head burst like a melon.

It was too late for their man, though. That was clear from the visible ribs, but his comrades still knelt by his side, trying to staunch the blood flow. It was a futile gesture.

“Natalya, status?” Chankov was up to his elbows in his man’s blood, but he was still thinking about the mission.

“It looks like they’re running away. Now’s our chance.”

“Did you hear that, Vals?”

“I did, Sotnik Chankov. Let us proceed to the gate.”

“You heard the man!” Darus shouted. “Grab the wounded and—”

“Leave the wounded as a distraction,” Kristoph said. “They’ll only slow us down.”

“You merciless son of a bitch,” Chankov snarled. “Disregard that order. If there’s even a chance they’ll make it, we carry them. Nobody else needs to die in this place.” Then he looked right at Kristoph. “You going to gun me down like poor Eliv?”

It was a tempting offer, but the timing would do him no good. “I will defer to your experience this time, Sotnik.”

“Alright then. Let’s move.”

The soldiers hurried from the cursed mill. Despite Chankov’s bold stand, the creature’s venom was making quick work of the wounded. Though even if he’d known his defiance would have been pointless, Chankov probably still would have done the same thing anyway. Kristoph would never understand a man like that, but he could grudgingly respect him. There wasn’t a person alive who had defied him as many times as Chankov had. I almost like the man.

Kristoph and Vasily were the last ones out, but something made him pause and look back.


Eliv’s body was gone.

Beyond the Gate

Illarion Glazkov

Ahead, the outskirts of the village took shape as shadows in the red snow, then defined into buildings. Illarion knew them instantly. One was the smithy, and across from it was the blacksmith’s home. He remembered when the homes had been connected, but when the blacksmith almost lost his house to a fire from his forge, he had built a new one across the street. The Sister of Vengeance had gotten every exacting detail right, and now it was all decaying back into the ground. Boards were peeling off. Paint was shedding like skin.

It was hard to see through the red haze. Everyone was quickly covered in bloody slush. They looked like something out of a nightmare. After a few hundred yards, he had to call for one of the crew to wipe the red mess off the view port so he could see again, but Kavelerov’s sleeve was so dirty that all it did was smear the blood around.

Platon Kuzkin had died horribly, killed because Illarion hadn’t been fast enough. Even here, where the Object was like a second skin, he still hadn’t been fast enough. How many more would die before he could get them to the cairn?

The hairs on Illarion’s neck stood on end, and he turned the Object toward the smithy. In the darkness inside, four eyes suddenly opened, reflecting the red light. Another shape moved behind it, then three more appeared on the roof. More came from the alleyway connecting the smithy to its closest neighbor.

He swung the arm cannon around and fired. The hopper had been reloaded with explosive shells before they’d abandoned the mill. The smithy was obliterated. Monsters were flung into the snow.

A wailing howl turned into a chorus.

“Here they come!” Chankov yelled. Gunfire erupted, but it was drowned out by Illarion’s cannon.

He raked the big gun across Ilyushka, destroying the once familiar homes. Whenever he saw movement, he dropped a shell on it. He fired until the smoking cannon was empty, then lowered that arm and shouted for a reload, hoping that the infantry’s rifles would keep the monsters at bay during the lull.

But luckily, it appeared his onslaught had pushed them back again, and the creatures had withdrawn to hide behind the curtain of snow.

“Once past the last house, turn right and head across the field,” Illarion said.

The platoon kept moving in a tight clump, guns out, watching in every direction. They walked fast. As the injured succumbed to the poison their bodies were dropped and left behind.

Illarion could barely see out the blood-soaked view port. The magically enhanced vision had spoiled him. Yet even without seeing the creatures, he knew they were there. He could feel them, watching, circling, waiting for their chance. The storm had grown into a blizzard. He could barely see his crew, covered in red, slogging and slipping along. At least he was dry and clean, and the snow had cooled the Object’s interior, but then he felt guilty for thinking of his own comfort while they were suffering out there.

Illarion flipped off the switch that would carry his voice outside the Object. This message was not for them. “Please, Sister, let them free. These are good men. They’ve done you no wrong. They have been forced to serve the empire you despise, against their will. Most of them don’t know the old ways at all. They don’t believe in the Witch, and the few who do, fear her. I’m the only one who has seen her face. Send your wrath against me. I deserve it, not them.”

Too late, Illarion saw the snow-covered lumps ahead. He alone knew that Ilyushka had taken great pride in its flat, well maintained cobblestone main road. He flipped the switch and shouted, “Stop!” but the first of the soldiers had already run into the waiting ambush.


Beyond the Gate

Natalya Baston

Natalya slipped on the slush and fell as the monsters rose from the ground in front of her.

They were just as Illarion had succinctly described. Some unholy cross between the biggest mountain cat she had ever seen, and a scorpion. Soldiers screamed as they were bitten, slashed, and stung.

Natalya’s scope lenses were too covered in filth to see through, but she knew her weapon well, and pointed at the nearest creature’s odd humanlike eyes and fired. It shrieked, then collapsed. It appeared no matter the world, eyes were still a weak point in any living thing.

Her instincts screamed, and she rolled hard to the side. Another of the cat-things had jumped down from a roof. Its tail spike drove into the ground where she’d just been. The monster snapped out with its jaws, caught a soldier by the head and strained. Blood and brain exploded outward. Another landed on a nearby man. The monster held the soldier down, then speared him in the chest with its tail. The beasts were among them. Claws ripped. Guns fired.

Natalya calmly worked the bolt of her Remek and reloaded, as she saw a cat-thing about to pounce. She fired as it jumped, hitting the underbelly, killing it in midair. The thing crashed to the ground and slid through the snow.

Illarion was firing over their heads. The men of the Wall, distinguishable now only by their size, were fighting the monsters with picks and pry bars. Darus’ men were doing their best, but the things were too fast, and there was too many of them.

A terrible demon face appeared right in front of her. Jaws opened wide, stretching for her neck.

With an oddly normal, feline sounding yeowl, the creature was suddenly sliding away, being dragged by the Cursed Vasily. He had the beast’s tail in one hand, and in his other was a wickedly curved blade. He slashed the monster, so strong that its thick hide instantly parted. With incredible speed he slashed it over and over as it struggled and tried to escape his grasp. Vasily kept his grip, yanked the beast closer, and stabbed down through its head with such force that his blade sank deep into the ground. The monster thrashed for a moment, spasmed, and went still.

Vasily rose. His blindfold had been knocked off. The skin beneath was the only part not painted red. His eye sockets were two black holes. Natalya shuddered, because looking into that darkness was worse than looking into the humanlike eyes of the monster that had been about to kill her.

Another creature launched itself at the Cursed, but Vasily stepped to the side in a blur of motion. In the same movement, he drew a second knife, and dragged it across the thing’s belly as it flew by. It landed in a heap, yowling, entrails spilling into the snow. Kristoph stepped up behind it, pressed his pistol on one of the eyes and pulled the trigger.

Vasily looked toward his master, and for just a moment, Natalya thought she saw actual human emotion on the Cursed’s face—jealousy? Anger? but then it was gone, and he was once again blank faced and slicing monsters to bits with his inhuman speed.

She was an expert shot. Staying in the open was foolishness, so she got up and ran for the nearest home for cover. One of the trenchers had a similar idea and was just ahead of her. He lowered his shoulder and crashed right through the wooden door. She dove in after him.

The furniture appeared to be melting into the floor, but the living room was clear. This was probably one of the bigger homes in the village. It even had real curtains and windows made of glass. She used the curtain to wipe the blood from her scope, then shattered the glass with the butt stock, and began firing out the hole.

Natalya killed monster after monster, her hands moving in a blur, plucking Davi’s quality shells from the bandolier across her chest, feeding them into the action of her Remek, and then splitting another skull.

The creatures broke and ran. There were bodies everywhere. Mostly cat-things, but there were far too many humans among them.

“What now?” a trencher asked her.

Natalya blinked; she hadn’t even realized more had followed her through the door. That the Kolaks would be looking to her for guidance was a further surprise. The rest of the soldiers were regrouping outside while the Wall reloaded the Object’s cannon. “Get back out there, and no matter what you do, follow that Object. Glazkov knows the way.”

The soldiers nodded in understanding and began running out the door. She started to follow them, but then hesitated. Something inside the home was calling to her. She didn’t know if it was her gods, or this realm, but there was something in here that she needed to see.

The kitchen was small but had a nice table. Blood covered the floor where someone had died horribly. The blood was still fresh—a falsehood, she knew, but still unsettling. She found another room, where it appeared a massacre had happened.

She pieced the story together even without seeing the bodies. One of the family had died in the kitchen. The next had died trying to hold back one of the monsters in the hallway. The last had died here on the bed, protecting something. She edged around to the far side of the bed and saw the crib.

It was empty, unbloodied. That absence of violence was far worse than the rest. Where was that child now? She remembered Illarion had said everyone in the village had died but the babies. Goddesses be damned. No wonder Illarion had struggled to tell her about this. She truly believed he might be one of the only decent men in Kolakolvia, but this horrible event was what had made him.

She saw something odd. Something shiny amidst the dried blood. Something that seemed real, and she knew it was what had been calling to her. It was a silver medallion, with a design that she didn’t recognize on it. Natalya picked it up by the chain, and immediately knew that this didn’t belong here. It was from the real world, and it needed to go back. She pocketed the medallion, left the room, and hurried after the others.

They got away from the buildings and moved through a field. The ground was rising. There were trees ahead. Natalya looked back toward the haunted village, and through the swirling blood she saw new, different kinds of figures. Man shaped, but tall, and unnaturally thin. Their limbs, too long. The vicious cat-things stayed away from the new arrivals.

One of the old races had come to watch the spectacle.

“Move!” Illarion commanded. “We’re almost there.”

A small movement caught her eye. A raven circled overhead, somehow staying airborne despite the fierce wind. Then it flew in the direction Illarion had told them to go, almost as if it was trying to lead them to safety.

The soldiers ran, only stopping to fire at the onrushing monsters. A cat-thing bounded past, lowered its head, and collided with the man ahead of her. He screamed as it crushed his ribs. She shot at the creature as it ran away and was rewarded with a thump of impact and a screech of pain. She grabbed the fallen man by the arm and pulled him up, only realizing a moment later that it was Darus. He threw one arm over her shoulder and limped along.

Now that they couldn’t use the houses as cover, the monsters were falling back again. Two more rushed the group, but Vasily handled them with relative ease. The Cursed got a gash on one arm, but no blood leaked from the wound. It was like the only thing in his veins was ghosts.

“Come on, Darus,” she yelled in his ear. “Your chest is hurt, not your legs. Use them!”

He grunted what may have been a laugh, and Natalya felt his weight lessen as he tried to keep his feet under him as they stumbled and crashed through the dead trees and brush. Object 12 rushed ahead to break a path for them. Illarion smashed the bushes flat, kicked logs aside, and pushed trees out of the ground. It was hard to believe a week ago the same machine would have gotten tripped up by a length of wire or unexpected board.

The wind lessened. The snowfall slowed. The realm’s unnatural stillness seemed to be returning the further they got away from the village. And for just a moment, Natalya felt a spark of hope. They were going to make it.

Natalya looked up again, searching for the raven. She spotted a black shape high above, but then realized that this was something else. Something much, much bigger.



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