Natural Magic

Chapter 13 - Instruction

“Do you all know what this is?” The gate guard held up a horn for the gate drivers to see. The group stared blankly at it with slack jaws and glazed eyes.

“No answers? Did anyone come here today with their thinker? I’ll tell you what it is. This horn here is what I blow when someone needs to come through that gate there.” He pointed at the massive stone doors, currently shut, with teams of prisoners rigged to each by long harnesses. “Would you like me to show you what it sounds like? Do you think you remember?”

One of the drivers picked his nose, clenching the handle of his whip. The gate guard pointed at him. “Hey! None of that!” he shouted, “Unless you brought enough for everybody!” The miscreant trying to hide the crime, the hand moved swiftly behind his back. The gate guard straightened before resuming his speech.

“I’m gonna go through this again. This is what the horn sounds like.” He held the mouthpiece to his lips, screwed up his face, and blew. As it had last time, the horn bellowed in a rich, deep tone, starting out low and stepping up an octave. The sound charged the sky, those closest wincing with its passage. Traffic stopped in the street with rubberneck curiosity. And all at once, the note ended.

After a brief gasp, he panted at the half dozen drivers. “There pant pant now. pant pant What does pant pant that mean?”

There was silence save for the gate guard’s huffs and puffs, which were gradually getting further apart.

“…Well?”

A half-dozen-dozen eyes stared blankly at him.

“Hey! Open the gates!” came a cry from the other side of the wall. “Where you at!”

Curses, which won’t be translated here, spewed forth from the gate guard as he turned and ran to the stairs. He called to his driving team, “Stand ready, you wall-eyed mongrels!”

Some time after the cry, the gate guard reached the top. Looking down, he saw the source of the call to action. It was a Marrowcrack and what looked like a young Skullcrusher. They each seemed to be carrying something slung over their shoulders. “Who that be?” he called down.

“It’s me you idiot, you maggoty boil-ridden slime! Open the gate!”

The guard grumbled and reached for the horn. He missed. Absent-mindedly, he missed again. Where was the horn? It wasn’t on its ceremonial stand.

“Uhhh…”

He realized he’d left it downstairs. He called down to the pair, “Hold on!” and made for the stairs again.

Curses came up from the Marrowcrack, but the Skullcrusher remained silent.

“Does that mean we need to open the gates, sire?” one of the drivers asked as the gate guard jumped off the last step and searched for the horn.

“No! Listen for the horn! They don’t tell you to open the gates, I do!” He had to stay consistent with them or else it would all fall apart.

Just then, the horn sounded. The gate guard hadn’t found it, but it was sounding nonetheless. He looked around. It was almost impossible to triangulate. The sound filled all available space. Then he spotted it.

One of the drivers, the nose-picker, had it and was blowing into it. The gate guard ran and snatched it from him. Sparing no time for curses or punishment, he rushed the stairs again. Halfway up, the walls rumbled.

“No! Not yet! Only go when I blow the horn! Me!” he cried. But it was too late. They had heard the horn, and they had heard him telling them to listen for the horn, so they were already moving their teams and opening the doors before he could get back up to the top and do it properly.