by R F Hurteau
A few hesitant hands went up. “What can you tell us, Lyle?”
“Because it grew?”
Willow nodded in approval. “That’s right. You see, Antiquity’s Gate was not always a Gate. It began as a large, solid mass of crystal. It was first discovered by an explorer named James Clark Ross a very long time ago, in 1843. When he returned on a later journey, he was unable to locate it again. The people of his time called him a liar and chalked it up to a failed bid for fame. For a long time the crystal lay forgotten, until it was rediscovered nearly two hundred years ago.
“Technology had come a long way, so scientists began all sorts of experiments on it. They tried to move it somewhere warmer but discovered it was rooted deep in the ground. No tool seemed able to chip away at it, so they experimented with other ways to take samples. We aren’t sure what made the crystal start growing, but we do know that they tried to stop it, because they were afraid. But by then it was too late. Antiquity’s Gate had taken the shape we’re familiar with today.” S
he watched the little faces as they imagined the story unfolding. After a while, she broke their contemplations with a question. “Now, who was the first Human to go through?”
She looked around again, but no one answered.
“His name was Gabriel Thurston,” Willow supplied.
“I knew that!”
“Thank you, Lyle. Now, here’s something you might not know about poor Gabriel. He didn’t mean to do it! When the Gate began to form, everyone was confused, and a little scared. Gabriel was the only person to approach it. And when he stepped beneath its arch...”
She threw out her hands dramatically, and the children jumped and giggled. “Poof! He disappeared!”
She waited until the giggling had subsided before continuing. “No one knows what happened to him, but it was a while before anyone else was brave enough to go through to search for him. That’s when the Humans and the Therans met for the first time.”
She watched the tiny faces, all of them pondering the mysterious fate of poor Mister Thurston and the first meeting of two worlds.
“Unfortunately, exactly how it functions was not determined before the Sequencing began, so we still only have theories even after all this time.” There were several looks of dubious skepticism. “Therefore, it is still a mystery how Antiquity’s Gate came to be, or where it came from, or how and why it connects Earth and Thera. Some have even suggested that the Gate itself is a living being!”
The room broke out in whispered exclamations of disbelief.
“Perhaps some of you will be scientists someday. Maybe you’ll discover some of these answers, so that future generations will have a better understanding of Antiquity’s Gate. What do you say to that?”
Several students nodded enthusiastically, but for every bright smile in the room, Willow could see at least two scowling faces.
It was a cruel world, indeed, where children had to endure the bitterness of such harsh realities. Simply because their parents chose to love the wrong person, these kids were ostracized and looked down upon. Many of them were likely thinking about how unrealistic it was to dream of making important discoveries, given the small number of career opportunities that would be accessible to them.
At that moment Willow found herself hating her father. Halfsies had never been popular, it was true, but his personal vendetta against them had swayed many who used to view them with only polite indifference.
Things were getting worse for Halfsies, and she feared for them.
Shaking her head to clear her mind, she looked up. “Alright, so let’s see who’s been paying attention. Can anyone tell me the Theran name for Antiquity’s Gate?”
“The Evenmire!” squeaked a boy who sat cross-legged on the floor, one toe peeking out from the worn sole of his boot.
“Very good, Jacob, but please remember to raise your hand next time, alright?”
“Excuse me, Willow.”
A kind-looking woman with olive skin and dark eyes had appeared in the doorway. “Have you finished with the projector? I’d like to use it, but only if you’re done.”
“Oh, yes. Of course, Molly!” she replied, flipping the switch. “Children, please get out your arithmetic books. We’ll be working on our multiplication next. Start with the problems on page thirty-seven.”
There were several groans, but the students complied. She picked up the projector.
“Hurray!” shouted Eloise, “I don’t have page thirty-seven!”
Molly had walked forward to take the machine from her.
“Here, let me.” Willow followed her to the door, so that they could speak without being overheard. At least, that’s what she told herself. Many of the children had hearing as good as any pureblood. Her quiet words would be no secret to any curious enough to listen.
She looked back over her shoulder and saw that the students were bent over their papers, busy writing down problems and working them out.
“I hate to ask this of you, but would you mind terribly if I left right away after school today? I...have somewhere to go.”
Molly’s warm smile lit up her whole face. “Not at all! I’ll just tidy up a bit for you after they leave. And I’m sure a few of the children wouldn’t mind staying behind to help. Is it another appointment, then?”
Willow bit her lip, not wanting to talk about her situation right now. If she did, she knew she would cry, and the last thing she wanted to do was expose her students to more pain than they already had to deal with. “Yes, I suppose you could call it that.”
“Well, you do what you need to do, love. I’ll take care of things here.”
“Thank you, Molly.”
Molly’s eyes flickered over the students and back to Willow. Her smile faded.
“They’re only children,” she said softly. “It’s terrible that they are made to carry the burdens of these troubled times.” She shook her head and, without further explanation, disappeared with the projector into her own classroom.
Molly taught the oldest students, and Willow didn’t envy her. Despite having been kicked out of Sigil’s school system, the Halfsies were not exempt from the law requiring every resident to register for the workforce. Those who showed little academic promise were made to register at fourteen, so that they could be put to use on jobs involving manual labor. Those more adept at their studies found reprieve until the age of sixteen, at which time they would be reviewed on an individual basis and matched with an appropriate position.
Many Halfsies registered earlier, foregoing the end of their education in favor of bringing more money into their impoverished homes. Molly had a tender heart, and each time a student stopped showing up for school, Willow knew that she wept silent tears for the loss.
While the last of the student were busy packing away their books at day’s end, Willow made her way to the Tube. She stood, lost in thought, as she waited for it to arrive. Her stomach roiled, and her heart was full of dread at the thought of approaching her father.
Though she had seen him on several occasions, it had been years since they’d spoken. Her mother had come to visit a few times, looking to draw Willow back into the fold, but never her father. He did not suffer traitors, especially those in his own family.
She knew what his reaction to the news of her pregnancy would be. She had not even bothered to try and fool herself into believing he would be happy or concerned for her. She had grown up with the man, and she knew the only thing she could count on him for was consistency.
Nero had never changed, and he never would.
She had wondered more than once what his motivation had been, back at the founding of Sanctuary. The Therans who had stayed on Earth had done so voluntarily, many in hopes of making recompense for the terrible consequences of their arrival. She liked to believe that they wanted to leave more than the Sequencing as their legacy in this
place.
But why had Nero, who hated Humans, agreed to stay? Why would someone who reviled the vast majority of the populace lock himself in a self-contained city under the pretense of aiding them? Given the long lifespan of the average Theran, and how many more years Nero had ahead of him, it didn’t seem logical for him to resign himself to living out his days here instead of back on Thera. Surely the prestige of being named to the head of the Elder Council could not outweigh his disdain for Humanity?
Willow, as a guest and not an employee, was supposed to check in when she entered Sigil. But the woman at the desk looked busy, and Willow knew if she waited she would lose her nerve. She brushed past the counter, her pace brisk as she made her way to the lifts at the far end of the spacious lobby.
How many times had her father brought her here as a girl, grooming her for a future that would never be realized? How many nights had he lain awake, fury eating away at him, as he contemplated ways to bring her back onto his side? Or had he written her off completely?
No. She was his only child. He would hold onto the dream of the day when she would come back to beg forgiveness for the rest of his long, miserable life. He would nurture his hatred for Felix, for all Halfsies, and he would wait for her to see the error of her ways.
As Willow reached the door to her father’s office she froze. The thought of the confrontation terrified her. Yet, she had to try. She owed it to Felix, to her children, at least to try. Gathering her courage, she tried the door only to find it locked. She tried a timid knock, but there was no answer from inside.
Willow stood in the hallway for what seemed like a long time. Her bravery faltered, draining with each passing minute until at last she decided to go.
She spun around, raising her hand to call the lift back when she heard it rising from the floor below. Her insides turned to ice and she stepped back, pressing herself against the office door as the lift came to a halt.
The door slid back to reveal her father. His ever-present scowl deepened as his eyes fell on her, and she dropped her gaze respectfully.
“Hello, father.”
Nero shot her a glare, looking her over but saying nothing.
The silence was deafening, and she found herself wishing he would speak, even shout, if only the unbearable silence would end. At last he moved past her without comment, unlocking his office and stepping inside.
She felt certain that this was as much of an invitation as she could expect to receive.
“Sit,” he said at last, and she did so.
Willow watched as he pulled open a drawer and withdrew a sheet of paper. She waited, obedient, as he looked around for a pen, and then sat as he began to write.
He seemed to ponder each word, pressing down hard as if wanting to be certain that his meaning transferred to the page. The pen was loud in the long silence. She didn’t dare to speak out of turn. She wanted, if it were even possible, to have his good will. At one point he let out something akin to a low growl, snatching the paper up and crumpling it into an angry ball before beginning all over again.
Willow knew he was testing her now, and she was determined to wait him out, even while every instinct screamed at her to get as far away from her father as she could.
He seemed displeased to find that she was still there. He put the pen down and sighed, leaning back in his chair and drumming his fingers on the desk as he studied her, still scowling.
Willow had long ago decided that this expression was so overused by her father that his facial muscles had simply accepted it as his natural resting position and conformed themselves to oblige.
“Why are you here?”
The question was not one of concern or caring. In fact, to Willow’s ears it sounded almost rhetorical. As if he hoped she might not answer at all.
“I...wanted to talk to you.”
She still wasn’t certain how to begin. She had practiced the whole way here, thinking of ways to tell him, but in her mind all of them ended the same way.
“It hardly seems necessary to talk now.” Bitterness dripped from every word. “You have made every effort to avoid me ever since your sharp decline into rebellion. Unless you are here to tell me that you are ready to repent, and to return home where you belong. Is that why you are here, Willow? Do you wish to grovel at my feet and beg forgiveness for your sins against your people? Against your family?”
She willed the tears back, knowing her father would only see weakness. She could not remember a time in her life that she had shed more tears than over the last few days, and it infuriated her to succumb to it here, now, in front of him. He did not empathize; he did not sympathize. She knew this. Compassion was beyond his understanding.
She didn’t want him to know how much he’d hurt her. That would be like letting him win.
Oh, how she wished Felix were here with her now. Felix had given her the courage to stand up to her father, he’d shown her that it could be done. If he had been here, she wouldn’t be so afraid.
She drew a deep, steadying breath. Felix had always been strong for her. Now it was her turn to be strong—for him.
For their children.
“I came to ask for your help,” she said, and waited. When he didn’t respond, she pushed on. “I would like you to intercede for me with the Council...to ask...to ask special permission.”
His next words were slow, accusing. “How dare you. How dare you have the nerve to ask favors of me, when you’ve made your choice clear. You chose him. Over your own family, you chose him.”
It was as if he couldn’t even bring himself to speak Felix’s name, as if it were too vile a word for civilized conversation.
“Please, father, just listen to me—”
Nero stood, taking Willow by surprise. He came around the desk and loomed over her, cloaking her in his shadow.
“I know why you’ve come,” he growled. “Do you think anyone in this wretched city can do anything without my knowing about it? I knew about the abomination in your belly before you left the hospital wing.”
Willow’s hands moved over her stomach in a protective motion as she flinched.
“If I had it my way, anyone senseless enough to marry outside their race would be sterilized before such a travesty could occur. I have spent each day since you made such a choice thinking of ways to kill your filthy mutt of a husband. Slow ways. Painful ways.”
He stepped back from her, a look of disgust on his face, as if she might contaminate him. “Did you really believe that I would help you? That I would open my arms and help bring not one, but two of his spawn into the world?”
She stood then, looking him in the eye, quivering with anger.
“His name is Felix. And they aren’t an abomination. They’re your grandchildren, whether you like it or not!”
Nero’s expression was incredulous. “You come in here, to my office, and have the nerve to associate me with...with the likes of...” His breath came in small, angry huffs, as though he were having trouble getting enough air. “I don’t want to hear anymore. Get out.”
“Father, please—”
“Do not ‘Father, please’ me. Do not presume to call me father when you have dishonored me in such unforgivable ways. I don’t think you understand, Willow. I am not refusing to help you because the law ties my hands. I am refusing to help you because I wrote the law, and I have never been prouder of that fact than I was when I discovered the mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”
She stood in stunned silence, unable to breathe as his gloating face loomed over her.
“Now get out! I hope you lose them both!”
Willow turned and ran to the door, pushing it open, barely hearing his words as he continued to shout at her back.
“How could you possibly expect me to accept some disgusting, squalling, half-breed whelps—”
Willow slammed the door behi
nd her, shutting out his vitriol.
She’d never known. She knew he hated Halfsies, hated Felix. But to extend that hatred to his own grandchildren? His own flesh and blood?
She looked up to see a man standing in the hall before her in stunned silence.
“Excuse me,” she said, before rushing past him.
She just wanted to be alone.
***
Willow found her way home by instinct, unaware of how she’d managed to get there. She couldn’t think straight. She longed to speak to Felix, to feel the comfort of his arms. He would know what to say to make her feel better.
But Felix wasn’t here. She walked around the tiny apartment, as if she might find him hiding somewhere, but she was alone. Curled up under the blankets, squeezing Felix’s pillow tightly, she fell into a fitful sleep.
In the morning she rose early. She was still tired, and her stomach was quick to remind her that she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Sitting up and looking toward the kitchen, she spotted a piece of paper on the table and wondered how she had missed it. She sat down, unfolding it.
My dearest Willow,
I promise you that everything is going to be alright.We have a plan. I am not sure how long it will take. Don’t leave. Don’t go to the celebrations. I will come for you — be ready. I love you, always.
Felix.
Be ready? Be ready for what?
She looked around again, wondering what she should do. Her heart felt lighter. The note left her with many questions, but she felt almost at peace for the first time in days. If Felix and Ripley had a plan, any plan, there was hope. Felix had never broken a promise to her, and Ripley was as close as family. Closer, really, considering her actual family.
Not knowing what else to do she got up, went to the table, and dumped out the contents of the satchel she used for carrying her school supplies. Then she began filling it with anything she thought could be useful.
Willow grabbed a few ration packs, some fresh vegetables, and a loaf of bread. She wrapped it all in a cloth and placed it in the satchel. She added some bandages and ointment, fuel cells, and a flashlight.