Wrath Gate

Airi was seven years old. She lay in bed as Mom read her a bedtime story.

“One more, Mom, please!” Airi begged.

“Okay, okay. Only a short one. It’s getting late,” Mom said, smoothing the covers. “Which one do you want to hear?”

“The Sleeping Princess,” Airi said. Odd, she couldn’t remember reading that book before. Maybe it was so long ago that she’d forgotten.

“Once upon a time, a king and queen had a beautiful baby girl.”

The words sounded familiar after all. Airi snuggled closer to Mom.

“The princess was blessed by the good fairies, who gave her gifts of grace, beauty, and wit. However, the wicked fairy was angry that she had not been invited, and she cursed the princess. ‘When she is fifteen years old, the princess shall prick her finger on a spindle and fall into a deep slumber, never to awaken!’” Mom said dramatically.

Airi giggled. The next part was her favorite.

“As the princess grew, so did her beauty and grace. Everyone who saw her couldn’t help but love her." Mom looked at Airi as she spoke.

"One day, the princess stumbled upon a room in the highest tower of the castle. There was a strange old woman inside. ‘What are you doing?” asked the princess, for her curiosity had grown with her beauty. ‘I am spinning thread,' the old woman replied. The princess reached to touch the spindle, and the curse was fulfilled. She fell to the floor, fast asleep. Everyone in her kingdom fell into a deep sleep as well, never to awaken.”

There was a long silence.

“That’s not the end, is it?” Airi said. “Mom?”

Mom looked at Airi. Instead of her pastel-blue eyes, eyes that looked just like Airi's, a million purple crystals winked jaggedly at Airi.

Thump.

The horse trotted over a bump in the road, and Airi opened her eyes with a gasp, wiping her eyes.

“Airi, look!” Nestor pointed at the horizon. “It’s Magisbury!”

In the distance, there was the silhouette of what looked like a tiered wedding cake. Magisbury wasn’t so much built on a hill as it was carved out of it like a giant staircase. Candy-colored towers and jewel-bright domes brushed against the pastel-blue sky.

Nestor shaded his eyes. “I think that’s the palace at the top!”

Airi squinted. From a distance, she could see ivory spires piercing the blue sky.

“We’re nearly there now,” said the farmer, “if you two don’t mind walkin' to the Wrath Gate. It's straight ahead from here.”

They bid goodbye to the farmer and continued on foot.

When they got closer, Airi saw that the Wrath Gate wasn’t a gate at all, but a foaming waterfall that plunged over a hundred-foot wall into the river. Above the wall, she glimpsed marble terraces and carefully draped flowers.

“Move along! Single-file! Keep moving!” shouted the guards, weaving through the throngs of people on either side of the river. Unlike the Stormhaven guards, these were real guards, with royal insignias and real armor.

Evidently, Airi and Nestor weren’t the only ones trying to enter Magisbury. Everywhere she looked, merchants, nobles, and adventurers squabbled over who’d gotten there first, while guards tried to keep the line moving. Airi and Nestor joined the end of the line.

Ahead of them, some of the people had carriages and horses. Airi wondered how they were supposed to get all that up the waterfall, until she saw that the water was flowing upwards. A lily pad with a frog on it flowed lazily up the waterfall and disappeared over the top.

At the front of the line, there was an exhausted mage flanked by two guards. He held a quill and a stack of parchment in his hands.

“Next!” yelled the mage, and a farmer drove up.  “Not that close. Further back. Okay. What’s your business in Magisbury?”

“I’m a carrot farmer, sir, and I have—”

“How many bundles of carrots?” the mage asked, quill scratching furiously.

“50, sir.”

“Your name?”

It reminded Airi of the checkout aisle at a supermarket. When the interrogation was finished, the mage read a few words on the parchment, which enlarged and folded neatly into a paper boat. The farmer tossed his carrots into the boat, and it sailed smoothly up the waterfall.

Next, an extravagant carriage pulled by two white horses rolled to the front of the line, and a noble poked his head out the window. Mud and weeds were tangled into the wheels of the carriage.

“Ah, Lord Adler. Back so soon from Swamp Glade?” the mage asked while scribbling away at the parchment.

The nobleman curled his moustache. “Far too damp for my family’s taste. We shall head to Stone Valley next month; hopefully that makes up for it.”

“Next month. Ridiculous,” the mage muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Lord Adler. I'm looking forward to seeing you and your family again next month. Please keep your arms and legs inside the carriage.”

“Not a drop of water on my clothes, you hear me?” Airi heard Lord Adler say.

“Never, Lord Adler.”

The mage stamped the nobleman’s parchment with a red seal and muttered a few words, and the parchment expanded into a gigantic paper swan. He cast the levitation spell, and the carriage floated onto the swan’s back, nestling between its paper wings. The swan glided up the waterfall, carriage and all. Airi saw the nobles inside calmly sipping tea.

Suddenly, the crowd parted for a green-robed mage. Airi and Nestor were shoved aside. He walked to the bottom of the waterfall and opened a book, which Airi recognized as Tale of Flight. She watched enviously as he sailed into the air and disappeared over the top of the waterfall.

“Imagine if you could do that," she said to Nestor, wistfully.

Nestor shook his head. “I haven't practiced that spell enough!”

There was nothing to do but wait. Most of the people were turned away at the gate. Occasionally, Airi saw the guards escort someone away in chains.

Finally, it was their turn. Airi pushed Nestor in front of her.

The mage looked coldly down at Nestor. Like Snow White, he wore a starry crest over his heart, except his was bronze, not gold. “What’s your business in Magisbury?"

Airi saw Nestor suck in a breath. "I'm a mage," he said.

"A mage? Where's your crest?"

"Um, I don't have one. It's my first time in Magisbury. But I can prove that I'm a mage." His sweat-slicked fingers opened River Runs Away. "Once upon a time, there was a little river in the village..."

The mage tapped his foot impatiently as Nestor read the spell.

"...and they lived happily ever after. The End." Holding her breath, Airi waited. After one terrifying moment, the air shimmered with droplets, and a ball of water coalesced in Nestor's hands.

The mage frowned, poking the ball of water, which held its shape. "Your own spell, I'm assuming?"

"Mm-hm!"

"Very well. You may proceed."

A sheet of parchment folded itself into a boat. It was only big enough to fit one person, but that made sense—surely, they would give Airi her own boat. She stepped forward, light-headed with relief. This was it. She'd finally made it.

"What's your business here in Magisbury?" the mage asked, looking down his long nose at her.

"I'm here to deliver a letter to the king." Airi held up the letter, letting the royal seal glimmer for all to see. "It's from His Royal Highness, Prince Snow White."

The mage took the letter, and his tired eyes widened. "What is the meaning of this? You dare to conspire with a traitor?"

The guards pointed their spears at her, and the people in line behind her backed away. Nestor looked back with terrified eyes, one foot inside the paper boat, which strained, trying to follow the current.

"Traitor?" Airi backed away a step. "I don't understand. I thought—he said—"

"The former crown prince was exiled for a reason! By His Majesty's decree, no message from the traitor shall enter this city!" The mage tore the letter to shreds and stamped on the shreds with his boot. "Guards! Take this girl to the dungeons."

The two guards grabbed Airi's elbows. Her head whirled, trying to process how it had all gone wrong. The crown prince had tricked them; he'd known that the letter would get them in trouble. How could he be so selfish?

"Wait!" she cried. "Don't do this! My friend Mildred will be angry; she's waiting for me in the city."

The mage looked at her as if she were crazy. “The prodigy Mildred, friends with a filthy peasant? You’d be lucky to lay eyes on her. I’ve had enough of your slanderous lies!"

Twisting out of the guards' hands, Airi darted to the river’s edge.

“Get in the boat,” she told Nestor, pushing him in. Behind her, the guards stomped closer.

“But, Airi!”

“I’ll meet you in the city.” She put on a brave smile. “Go to the palace. I’ll meet you there. I promised not to lie, right? Wait for me.”

The guards approached. Before they could snatch her satchel, Airi hurled it at Nestor. “Catch.”

He stood peering over the edge of the boat. “Airi!”

“Nestor!” She caught his hand one last time before the flow of the current carried him higher than her hands could reach. “Don’t be nervous! Remember, it’s pronounced ‘winged,’ not—”

Then the guards dragged her away by the elbows.