Shadow Gate Read Free Page B

“Great Lady . . .” Prayers failed.
    That girl named Barda had stated that she had intended to marry tomorrow, an auspicious day made especially so because it was also the Year of the Blue Ox.
    Marit was pretty sure she had been stabbed by an assassin’s dagger in the Year of the Black Eagle. Three years before the Year of the Blue Ox.
    The cloak fell open as she extended both arms and stared at the paler skin of her palms, like a ghost’s hands against her brown complexion.
    Joss had “gone wild since her death.”
    Three years it had been, according to Ladiya.
    Three years.
    Now she understood the punishment laid on her.
    M ARIT WALKED OUT of Copper Hall, one clean foot set in front of the other clean foot and the first again and the second again, out to the turning, and there she stared one way along the North Shore Road and after that the other way. People were out and about, going on their business and their lives. They couldn’t see her, because she was dead.
    Is this what it means to be a wandering ghost, one whose spirit has failed to cross through the Spirit Gate?
    She wept without sound because no one could hear her. At length she got bored of standing there and crying to no purpose. She turned north and walked toward Haya. The mey passed smoothly; no wonder she didn’t tire. Questions dove like stooping eagles.
    Do I even exist?
    If no one can see me or hear me, then why can I see and hear myself?
    What do I do now?
    Late in the afternoon with the waters of the bay settling into their twilight calm and the light fading in the east, she saw the triple-gated entrance to the temple of Ilu beside the road and wondered if she could overnight in the lean-to. The bored young apprentice sitting as gatekeeper would not care. He would not even see her.
    He was playing ticks-and-tacks in the dirt with a stick and pebbles. His dog whined and cowered, and the youth looked up and down the road and, seeing nothing, scratched its head absently. The temple compound was set back from the road, separated by gardens wherethe envoys and apprentices grew vegetables. The last workers were shouldering their hoes and rakes and laughing together as they headed up the track toward the compound walls. One shuffling figure wandered through the rows, bending to finger the strong green shoots.
    A woman broke away from the laborers. “Here, now, Mokass. Come along. It’s time for our gruel.”
    The lone figure skipped away from her, gabbling in a singsong voice. With a most unholy oath, the woman chased after him. He bolted, giggling, for the gate, a white-haired old man with bent shoulders and bowed back but nimble legs. The dog lifted an ear and barked once. The young gatekeeper heaved up, muttering.
    â€œOh, the hells. Not again.” But he wasn’t really angry.
    The old man skittered to a halt beneath the gate, staring at Marit. He leaped back a single hop, and raised both hands palms-out.
    â€œDeath, death!” he chanted. Tears flowed suddenly. “Go away, fearsome one!”
    â€œCan you see me?” Marit demanded.
    â€œI never did it! I never stole that coin. Anyway, you don’t want anyone here. Just walk on.”
    The woman caught up with him and took hold of his right arm. “Here, now. Don’t go running off. It’s time for our gruel.” She nodded at the gatekeeper. “Good work, Lagi.”
    â€œI did nothing. He just stopped of his own accord and started babbling.”
    â€œHe’s gods-touched,” said the woman with as much fondness as exasperation. “Poor old soul.”
    â€œI beg you,” said Marit. “Mokass. Is that your name? I need your help.”
    â€œYou’ve got no call to be knowing my name! Go away! We don’t want you here.”
    The dog took courage from the old man’s defiance and began to bark at Marit. In sympathy, more dogs within the compound started up a yammer.
    â€œAui! Mokass, just