The dragon snorted, its amusement creeping through her head.

  “The Gatekeepers have always told us what to do,” it said.

  “Gatekeepers?”

  “You will see when we arrive.”

  “But what are the gatekeepers?”

  Again, the mental shrug came. The dragon was no more enlightened than Vestera.

  “Perhaps you can ask the Gatekeeper, when you see him.”

  “Him?”

  “Or her,” the dragon said, the tone inside her head indicating it did not care either way.

  They travelled in silence, Vestera gripping the spine for comfort, more than balance. The steady rhythm of the dragon’s wing-strokes lulled her, but her awareness of just how high up they travelled kept her wide awake.

  The higher they flew, the colder it got, but the plains fell far away, and, with them, the riders and their blue-robed leader.

  Why was a member of the Seekers’ Guild leading the pursuit? she wondered.

  The dragon made a rude noise inside her head.

  “Seekers, Schmeekers,” it mocked. “Fancy diviners with delusions of grandeur. They cannot follow you through the gates, and, now, you have another question for the Gatekeeper.”

  Why that should please the dragon, Vestera didn’t know.

  “Because you need three questions to gain admittance,” the dragon explained.

  “Three?” Vestera felt panic bubble in her chest. Three? But where was she going to find a third?

  “Don’t worry; you will think of one,” the dragon reassured her.

  Well, she supposed she could ask this Gatekeeper about the things she’d found beneath the city. That was when all the trouble had started. That was when she had realized there were shadows, and faces, that kept reappearing around her, like bad pennies, or admirers she hadn’t asked for. And, shortly afterwards, she’d received the message telling her she was hunted, and she’d left, dodging, by the barest of margins, whoever had kicked in her door.

  “Yes, that was close,” the dragon agreed, “but how did they know what you had seen?”

  That thought had been bothering Vestera, too.

  “I only tried to sell one item,” she said, remembering. “The merchant was interested, until he saw what it was…and then he said he would ask around, but he didn’t like my luck. It was very strange.”

  “Odd,” the dragon agreed, then, “Hold on.”

  “Hold on?” Vestera wondered, and then the beast slowed its flight, beating its wings hard to balance its descent.

  “We’re here.”

  Vestera sat still, until she was sure she had her balance, and then she slid down the dragon’s shoulder to the ground.

  “Farewell,” the dragon said, its voice containing the barest of roars.

  Vestera stared at it in surprise. It hadn’t been kidding when it had said it would learn her language faster by being inside her head.

  She waved as it walked to the edge of the mountain plateau, and then gasped as it leapt off. A short moment later, it reappeared, soaring upwards and away on its copper-colored wings. Copper. Now, why didn’t I notice that before? Vestera wondered, admiring the play of sunlight over the creature’s scales.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” The voice came from behind her, and Vestera gasped, before turning to face it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Pushing aside the idea that startling her was exactly what the owner of the voice had had in mind, Vestera took in the sight before her. The plateau was really quite small, barely three dragons in length.

  No wonder, her mount had worked so hard on landing; she hadn’t had much room to work with, landing in a small bowl of grass and tufty bushes, half of which were cupped by cliffs reaching to the mountain’s peak. Standing in front of the cliff’s centre, was a man dressed in what looked like a baggy stealth suit, but he wasn’t what caught Vestera’s attention.

  Behind him, set into the cliff side, stood three doors.

  Three doors, three questions, Vestera remembered, and looked to the man standing before them.

  “Who are you?” she asked, approaching until she stood two arms’ lengths away.

  “I am a Gatekeeper,” he said.

  “Why am I here?”

  “You are a seeker.”

  “I am not.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “Why?”

  “You sought the treasures beneath Hivrala. You found them, and you made them glow. And, so, you are a seeker.”

  Vestera wanted to deny it, but could not. She had, indeed, looked for the treasures rumored to be hidden in Hivrala’s depths. She had, indeed, found them, and made them glow. She did not know how he knew that, nor how that made her a seeker, but his words were true.

  “What now?” she asked, her mouth dry with nerves.

  “You must ask me three questions,” the Gatekeeper replied.

  “I have already done that.”

  “Three questions that have greater meaning,” the man explained patiently.

  “What is a seeker?” she asked, and the Gatekeeper nodded.

  “A good first question. What is your second?”

  Vestera stared at him. He wasn’t going to give her an answer? Fine! She lifted her head and glared at him, only to have him to return her gaze without rancor.

  “What is a gatekeeper?”

  “Also an excellent question. Tell me, do you have one more?”

  “What were the things I found beneath Hivrala?” Now that she had started, Vestera found she had more questions. As she opened her mouth to ask them, however, the Gatekeeper held up his hand.

  “That is enough,” he said. “There are others who will answer the rest of what you want to know.”

  “But…” Vestera started, only to have the man ignore her.

  “In answer to your first question, Seekers are those who can make the magic of tech work on this world. They carry the memory in their blood. We don’t know how; we just know they do.

  “To answer your second, gatekeepers grant seekers access to a world where tech can do no harm, and where the seekers can develop their skills without endangering an entire world and its inhabitants.

  “As for your third question, the things you found beneath Hivrala are all that remains of an ancient civilization whose inhabitants wielded tech in much the same way as wizards handle magic, except that wizards are more responsible. The civilization was brought to ruin, and tech was banned, as was blending it with magic. Very few recognize the artefacts are valuable, let alone bring them to life as you almost did. This gate is for you.”

  And he moved to stand beside the gate to her right.

  “But…” Vestera began, and the Gatekeeper held up his hand.

  “I cannot answer any more of your questions,” he told her, “but there are those beyond, who can. I suggest you do not keep them waiting.”

  He gestured toward the door, and it opened.

  “Please, go through.”

  Vestera looked at him, and then looked at the door. She thought about running, about calling for the dragon, and asking it to carry her to the other side of the mountain, and then she decided it would do her no good. The Gatekeepers told the dragons what to do, and, if the Gatekeeper wanted her to enter the right-most door, he would hardly let the dragon carry her away.

  Casting one last look at the plateau, Vestera took a deep breath, and walked through the door. The world that awaited her looked very different to the one she had left, but, in many ways, also the same.

  In time, she thought, I will learn exactly where I fit.

  * * *

  Far below, at the mountain’s feet, Sandfire swooped over the riders headed by the man in blue. She saw them look up, and then she passed over them and banked. They had, as she expected, reined their sweat-lathered mounts around, and started charging toward her, the blue-robed man shouting as he came.

  “Take me!” he cried. “Take me. I am the true seeker. Take me!”

  Sandfire snuffed the air, as she spiraled up and then descended in a lazy turn, lining up the riders and their beasts. All she smelt was the sweat of man and beast, and the bitter tang of a self-deluded lie. She curled her lip, and stretched her wings wide, slowing her approach.

  “You!” she roared. “You are no seeker. You seek knowledge that has been put beyond your grasp. You are a would-be technomancer!”

  The riders around the man, gasped.

  “You lie!” the man in blue screamed. “I. Am. A. Seeker!”

  The riders scattered.

  Sandfire did not even bother to deny his claim. Breathing deep, she opened the pouches in her throat, closed the gateways from her nostrils to her mouth, and, when she was close enough, exhaled. Her breath burned grass and bush in a straight path to where he sat, shouting at her, shouting his confession of greed, until she burnt him to ashes, and melted the beast beneath him.

  All around her, riders fled across the plain, horses panic-stricken by the fire, and the great beast that breathed it. Sandfire beat her wings, gaining height, spiraling up and circling once, before heading for home.

  Let them run. Let them carry the word that man in blue had been a technomancer. It would make the rest of his guild think twice before pursuing another of the chosen out onto the plains. Technomancy was forbidden for a reason, but the Gatekeepers monitored the ruins where pure tech lingered. The Gatekeepers, alone, marked those who should be taken. The rest would find only death.