‘Can we not stop that noise?’ hissed Beltzer and Chareos nodded. He walked swiftly to the first lance and held his hand behind the severed head. The scream stopped instantly. Chareos lifted the head and placed it on the ground, then repeated the action with the second. All was silent now, save for the gusting wind. The other questors approached. Chareos squatted down and lifted the silent head, turning it in his hands. Taking his hunting-knife he plunged it deep through the scalp, peeling back the skin, which stretched impossibly before snapping clear of the wooden skull beneath. Chareos stood and lifted the wood to his lips – immediately the blood-curdling scream sounded. He tossed the object to Finn. ‘It is merely a kind of flute,’ said the former monk. ‘The winds enter through the three holes in the base, and the reeds set in the mouth supply the sound. But it is beautifully crafted.’ Stooping, he gathered the skin, lifting it by the hair. ‘I do not know what this is,’ he said, ‘but it is not human flesh. See, the hair has been stitched in place.’
Kiall picked up the second head and looked closely at it. It was difficult to know now why it had inspired such fear. He turned it. The wind whistled through it and a low moan came out. Kiall jumped and dropped the head, cursing himself even as the others laughed.
Chareos moved on to the edifice. There were two stone pillars, twelve feet high and three feet square, covered with an engraved script he did not recognise. An enormous lintel sat above the pillars, creating the impression of a gateway. Chareos squatted before it, running his eyes over the script.
Kiall moved around to the rear. There are symbols here,’ he said, ‘and the stone seems a different colour. Whiter, somehow …” He stepped forward.
‘Stop!’ yelled Chareos. ‘Do not attempt to pass through.’
‘Why?’ Kiall asked.
Chareos picked up a round pebble. ‘Catch this,’ he said, tossing it through the opening. Kiall opened his hands, but the stone vanished from sight. ‘Throw one to me,’ commanded the Blademaster. Kiall obeyed. Again the pebble disappeared.
‘Well, do we go through?’ asked Beltzer.
‘Not yet,’ Chareos told him. ‘Tell me again all that Okas told you of the Gateway.’
‘There was precious little. It leads to another world. That is all.’
‘Did he not say it leads to many worlds?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Beltzer, ‘but we do not know how the magic works.’
‘Exactly,’ said Chareos. ‘Did Okas give an indication of when he would pass through the Gateway. Daytime, midnight, sunset?’
‘Not as I recall. Is it important?’
‘Did he say which side he entered, north or south?’
‘No. Let’s just go through and see what we find,’ urged Beltzer.
Chareos stood. ‘Take my hand, and hold to it tightly. Count to five, then draw me back.’ He moved to the entrance and held out his arm. Beltzer gripped his wrist and Chareos leaned forward, his head slowly disappearing from view. Beltzer felt the body sag – he did not count, but dragged Chareos back. The Blademaster’s face was white, and ice had formed on his moustache; his lips were blue with cold. Beltzer laid him down on the grass, while Finn began rubbing at the frozen skin. After a while Chareos’ eyes opened; he stared angrily at Beltzer.
‘I said count to five,’ he said. ‘Not five thousand.’
‘You were in there for only a few heartbeats,’ Finn told him. ‘What did you see?’
‘Heartbeats? It was an hour at least on the other side. I saw nothing, save snow and ice blizzards. Not a sign of life. And there were three moons in the sky.’ He sat up.
‘What can we do?’ asked Beltzer.
‘Build a fire. I’ll think on it. But tell me everything you can remember about Okas and his tribe. Everything.’
Beltzer squatted down on the grass beside Chareos. ‘It’s not a great deal, Blademaster. I never had much of a memory for detail. They call themselves the People of the World’s Dream, but I don’t know what that means. Okas tried to explain it to me, but I lost hold of it – the words roared around my head like snowflakes. I think they see the world as a living thing, like an enormous god. But they worship a one-eyed goddess called the Huntress, and they see the moon as her blind eye. The sun is her good eye. That’s all.’