The Gates of Memory
Ryan Kirk
Copyright © 2020 by Waterstone Media
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For Christie
Prologue
She observed her creation from afar even as it spun away, churning and growing into an attack she hoped would cripple an empire. It was so nearly perfect. It just needed a little something more.
So much was instinct. No manual had ever been written on these techniques. No master could teach this power. As far as she knew, no one else in the long history of this planet had developed these skills.
And she had hundreds of years of memory to draw on.
There.
She pulled some heat from far away and added it. Then she pushed with wind, a force not much stronger than blowing the seeds off a dandelion.
Every action she took was echoed by the priests chanting below her. They possessed no true skill of their own. Their greatest talent was to follow her lead without question, to duplicate her efforts in exact amounts. They were mirrors of different sizes. No more.
Perfect.
She leaned back and tracked her creation. It moved slowly now, but it gathered speed. By the time it hit the empire, there would be little warning. Hopefully her aim was true, but she could never be sure. Her talents had improved, but to even strike close required skill beyond the imagining of most mortals.
It didn’t matter.
His death would cause certain, predictable consequences she had planned for.
His survival would lead to predictable outcomes as well.
Both paths had been prepared for, and both led to her goal.
She spared a thought for him. He’d been in her thoughts frequently, a trend she sometimes worried about.
He had called her a queen.
Long ago that might have been true.
Her memories of ages long past were broken, shattered by the unyielding weight of countless years.
Once she had tried to hold onto those memories. She’d crystallized them in her mind, forced herself to remember.
But even diamond cracked, and her mind had come close. It seemed, perhaps, that a person was only allotted so many memories. When a new one was made, an old one must die.
She didn’t know. Again, there was no one to compare experiences with. She walked paths no mortal dared approach. That first emperor, he had come close. But then he had passed through the gates, his foolishness costing him his life.
It didn’t matter.
Humans sought to order their universe, to categorize all things.
The dream of a whole species of fools.
The universe was more vast than their limited comprehension. They couldn’t explain what was seen, much less unseen. She had acquired lifetimes of knowledge, but all she knew was that her knowledge only scratched the surface of the deep mysteries.
If she were to pass through the gates, all would be lost. She hadn’t yet found one worthy of her instruction.
She focused on her attack once again. These first few moments were critical. A small error here doomed the entire attempt.
It was as perfect as she could make it. Nothing more remained for her.
She allowed herself to lean back in her throne. Physically, her body was young, continually healed by powers she used but didn’t comprehend. But her body still ached. Her soul was heavy, carrying the weight of all those years.
No one understood.
She glanced one last time at the swirling mass of moisture, wind, and heat.
Perhaps if he survived, he would someday understand. In all her years, she’d never met someone with his potential. Even as he’d shattered her gate and delayed her carefully laid plans, he’d proven his worth.
He could be turned. He coveted her strength, and that would be his downfall.
She’d failed in her attempt before, a fact remarkable by itself. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come to her side.
Even if he traveled to the gate, she would meet him there and make him beg for her welcome.
Brute force wasn’t the answer. His spirit was too strong to be cowed, even by one such as her.
But there were other ways.
Subtle, yet more effective.
Like the storm she had just launched across the sea, a person could be manipulated by small degrees.
Humans always thought themselves so rational. After the fact, they could justify any action.
She understood truth, though.
Humans were emotional and chaotic, manipulated by forces they didn’t even consciously recognize.
A glance at a lover that lasted too long.
A quiet whisper between friends.
A disappointed parental glare burrowing into the heart of a child.
Small events, quickly burned from memory, but not from behavior.
She’d planted seeds when they first met. In the intervening years, those seeds had grown and would continue to grow.
Safer if he died.
But if he survived, even this attack would nudge him in the direction she wished him to travel.
He had called her a queen.
But she was no queen.
Not anymore.
She was a god.
1
Brandt gave Kurl a small nod as he walked across the courtyard. The other monk was on gate duty this afternoon. Passing the alert guardian, Brandt remembered his own entrance into the monastery so many years ago. Kurl had been on duty that day as well. He’d recognized Brandt’s compulsion and let him inside, literally opening the gates to the next stage of Brandt’s life.
Without Kurl, then, there was no Brandt. Had that gate remained closed all those years ago, Brandt imagined his life would have been darker and much shorter.
That fateful decision had been a small one, at least from Kurl’s perspective. He’d admitted a visitor to the monastery whom he had every right and reason to turn away. The choice meant little to him, but it meant everything to Brandt.
Brandt found it easy to find countless such points in his life. When one started searching, dozens of moments burned
