Winterveil

by Jenna Burtenshaw

  Baltin’s eyes were darker than usual, and he was breathing awkwardly. “This is the end of us,” he said. “We have done everything we can. We should never have let Kate Winters escape. I was weak. I should not have held back. We are paying the price of my failure.”

  “You are a small man,” said Silas. “The world does not wait for you to tell it what to do. Step aside.”

  “Stop!” protested Greta. “You can’t go in there!”

  Silas ignored her and pushed his way past.

  Inside the meeting hall twenty or so nervous people were dressed much like Greta. Of the group, three were small children, eight were around Edgar’s age, and the rest were elderly men and women. Greta and Baltin were the only people of their age who had survived. Silas doubted that was a coincidence.

  The stage at the front of the hall was empty. Chairs were stacked around the edges of the main space, clearing the floor, and in the center a large circle had been drawn in blood. The younger children were kept to one side, while the older ones followed the directions of their elders, walking around the perimeter of the space and placing old skulls evenly around the bloodied line with their empty eye sockets staring into the center of the space. Silas did not go in any further, but all work stopped the moment people sensed him in the room.

  Those who were holding skulls clutched them to their chests, and the rest looked to Baltin for some sign of what they should do. Baltin was too nervous to offer anything other than a weak hand gesture, warning them to keep their distance from the visitor.

  “Is this your worthless attempt at a listening circle?” asked Silas. “Are you trying to heal the veil here or destroy it?”

  “Neither,” said Baltin. “We are doing what we must to stay alive.”

  Silas walked toward the circle and heard the whispers of the newly dead circling it like water gushing along a channel carved through rock. He felt the soft presence of a world beyond the living, the calm silvery place of peace. The Skilled were using that circle to connect with the second level of the veil, beyond the half-life, beyond the normal reach of any living soul. They were forcing open a window into a place seen only by the peaceful dead and Walkers of exceptional ability.

  No one in that room was Skilled enough to recognize the truth of what they had done. Most of them would be able to sense a difference in the air within that space, but they would still be blind to the world beyond. They would not see the souls moving across the water or recognize the current of death when it drifted close. None of them could see the damage they had caused.

  Silas closed his mind to the veil as far as he could, ignoring the warm ebb of stillness that tempted him to step inside the circle. “You are dealing with energies beyond your understanding,” he said. “Circles like this are old work. No one has practiced their creation for centuries.”

  “This is what we have been reduced to,” said Baltin, sneaking in behind him. “The old ways are all that will save us now.”

  “No. This is an experiment,” said Silas. “You have no idea what you are doing.”

  One of the older boys spoke up. “We are calling for the help of the ancestors,” he said with well-rehearsed confidence. “They will help us.”

  Silas laughed coldly. “Your ancestors do not care about you,” he said. “They are not waiting to step in and undo the mess that you have caused. Many of them have needed your help for generations. It is pitiful that you expect them to listen to you now.”

  Baltin started to walk past Silas, but Silas drew his sword swiftly and blocked his path with the blade.

  “I am not finished with you yet.”

  Fear spread through the meeting hall, and one of the younger children began to cry.

  “You,” Silas said, nodding to one of the elderly women, “take the children into the side room. The rest of you, leave everything where it is. Do not move until I order it.”

  “You have no authority here,” said Greta, blatantly ignoring Silas’s warning and stepping into the circle of blood. “Leave us to do our work.”

  The circle thrilled with energy when Greta stepped into it, but only Silas’s eyes saw the ripple of light glow around its inner edges like flickers of lightning. The souls of the dead that were lingering in that place fled from the hall at once, but one of the shades was too slow. The circle drew the faded form toward it, and the blood line crackled as their essences connected. The shade’s energy sank into the stones of the meeting hall floor, and Greta’s cheeks flushed with health.

  To anyone else in that room it would seem that very little had changed. Greta’s mind would feel clearer, more focused, but she would not understand why. That floor may have looked like a makeshift listening circle, but the Skilled were not using it for communication. They were using it to draw energy from the veil, saving themselves while inadvertently sealing the spirits of the dead in the stones beneath their feet.

  “This is how you are staying alive?” said Silas. “You are feeding from the veil, focusing your connection, using the blood of the dead.”

  “They have no use for it anymore,” said Baltin. “It is too late for them. We are doing all we can to continue to exist.”

  “At the cost of the souls you are meant to protect!” said Silas. “This circle is a taint upon the veil, and that blood carries the mark of the Skilled. How many of your own people did you murder to create it?”

  Baltin’s face darkened. “Enough,” he said.

  “You killed your own people?” said Edgar.

  “Not all of them,” said Baltin. “The madness came too quickly. There were too many voices. Too many memories. We were not prepared for what our minds could see. When the first of us died, some took it badly. They did not want to die the same way, in confusion and pain. We sealed the doors, trying to keep everyone where we could see them so we could try to control what was happening to us, but a few escaped. We tried to maintain order, but the visions of the dead became too strong. It was hard to know what was real and what was touched by the veil. People began to arm themselves, and there were . . . accidents. Soon we lost control of the doors. Ordinary people touched by the sickness came to our cavern for help, looking for ways to close their minds to the veil. What they saw here was death. We could not let them leave! Some of them . . . fought back. The cavern filled with the cries of the insane and the dying, and I knew we were facing the end. The few of us who still had our minds sealed ourselves away and waited. For those who had gone too far into madness . . . it was a kindness, what we did to them.”

  “You murdered the weak to save the strong. How honorable.” Disgust laced Silas’s words, but Baltin was unrepentant.

  “Do not lecture me on morality,” he said. “You have done far worse.”

  “I did not torture the souls of those I killed,” said Silas. “I did not murder those who trusted me, harvest their blood, and justify it in the name of sacrifice.”

  “Then you have not seen the things I have seen,” said Baltin. “You have not had to make that choice.”

  “I am not interested in excuses. Are these the only people you decided to save?”

  “I was in an impossible situation! I protected as many as I could. Others . . . left us. There’s no way to know how many of them are still alive.”

  “What about my brother?” asked Edgar. “Where is he?”

  “Tom? He left with Artemis Winters before any of this began,” said Baltin. “No one has heard from either of them since you and Kate went missing. The newly Skilled were not affected as severely as the rest of us. If he is lucky, his descent will be slow. He may not see any effects until the veil has completely collapsed. After that, no one will care anymore.”

  “I care,” said Edgar. “I never should have left him here.”

  Silas crouched beside the edge of the circle and touched the streak of dried blood. Memories of six clear deaths played behind his eyes: four falling to blades held in Baltin’s hand, two to Greta.

  “You should have saved more of your
people,” he said, standing up. “This group alone will not be enough to stop them.”

  “Stop who?” asked Greta.

  “Kate Winters and Dalliah Grey. They are together, in Fume,” said Silas. “They will make sure the veil falls unless you stop playing with death and blood and do what the Skilled were born to do.”

  “We don’t know how,” said Baltin. “We have spent generations restraining our minds. We were not ready for any of this. We learned how to create this circle from scrolls discovered hidden within the bonemen’s graves. Most were rotten and incomplete, but they gave us enough to keep going. They gave us hope, if only for a short time. We believed we could help ourselves.”

  “If Dalliah Grey is here, there is no hope of that,” said Greta. “We are not strong enough to stand against one Walker, let alone two.”

  “You were willing enough to take lives,” said Silas. “Now is the time to risk your own. Otherwise what did those people die for? So you could hide here for the rest of your miserable days?”

  “We do not answer to you,” said Greta.

  “You do now,” said Silas. “You will listen to me, or you will prove to me beyond all doubt the worthlessness of your kind.”

  “We are far from worthless!” said Baltin. “Ask the boy. He knows what our ancestors have done for Albion.” He tried to grab hold of Edgar’s arm, but Edgar saw him coming and moved away. “Tell him! Tell him about the sacrifices that we have made.”

  “You live on the achievements of your predecessors, while ignoring your responsibilities to honor their memory,” said Silas. “You squirm here, down in the dark. Do you want to see where you are leading this land? Do you want to witness the darkness, the dread, and the pain that await every soul in this place?”

  Baltin glanced at his followers, trying to remain composed. “I know what lies beyond the veil,” he said. “I have seen it for myself.”

  “You have seen only what you wanted to see.”

  Silas moved before Baltin had time to react. Edgar tried to step between the two men, but Silas was too quick. The energy in the room was already highly charged, and Silas had decided that there was no more time for talk. He pushed Baltin so hard that the older man fell back and scrabbled across the floor, landing just inside the blood circle, and Silas was right behind him.

  “No,” said Baltin, desperately trying to find his feet. “Please!”

  Silas felt the sickly tug of the physical world fall away as he crossed the blood line and stood over Baltin, who raised his arms uselessly to protect himself. Traces of Kate’s blood surged through Silas’s veins, reacting to the broken presence of the veil. The circle was not perfect. It was a crude guess at something the bonemen might once have created every day, but it was enough to tear through the already delicate barrier between two worlds. The blood of a Walker made Silas’s own connection to the veil more powerful, and the moment he looked into it he saw a flicker of an image as if he were seeing directly through Kate’s eyes. He could see where she was at that moment. Water pooling around her feet and Dalliah Grey shouting, her words lost within the veil.

  “I never wanted any of this!” said Baltin, flailing his arms. “I wanted to help. I was only doing what I thought was best.”

  “Be silent,” said Silas. “And listen.”

  Baltin let his hands fall to the floor and felt it tremble gently. “Wh-what’s happening?”

  Every person in the meeting hall pressed against the nearest wall as the circle spluttered with new life. If that circle had been a flickering flame of energy before Silas’s arrival, now it was white hot. None of them wanted to go near it, except for one.

  Edgar walked right up to the edge, watching Baltin’s expression as it changed from panic to sheer terror and then sank into the abject desperation of someone who was looking straight into the veil’s terrifying heart.

  “This is unacceptable,” said Greta. “Stop this.” She tried to cross into the circle, but Edgar stopped her.

  “You can’t go in there,” he said. “Silas knows what he’s doing. Baltin has to understand. We are not your enemy.”

  “Is that the face of a friend?”

  Edgar looked behind him, where Silas had begun pacing around the inner edge of the circle. Baltin was curled on his side, trying to block whatever Silas was showing him from his senses, and Silas’s eyes shimmered white, looking like the eyes of a predator captured in the glare of moonlight.

  “I know it looks bad, but he knows what he’s doing.”

  “He is polluting the circle with his presence,” said Greta. “He will attract too many souls. He will ruin everything!”

  Edgar looked at her. “I thought you were worried about Baltin,” he said, “not your precious circle.”

  “Baltin is one man,” said Greta. “He is more than expendable.”

  “It’s a good job we don’t all think like you.”

  “Move aside!” she demanded, but Edgar held her back.

  Silas took no pleasure in exposing an unwilling mind to the black, but Baltin had been quick to end other people’s lives in the name of his cause. Risking his own sanity was a small price to pay in return.

  Baltin writhed. His fingers clutched at empty air. “We killed them,” he whispered. “We had to do it. I had to do it. I—” His body tensed and fell limp. Silas continued to pace.

  Time passed strangely within the circle. What felt like a minute held within its influence was almost an hour in the meeting hall. When Baltin fell still, Edgar was left to calm the Skilled and reassure them about something he knew little about. Greta was determined to break the circle and disturb the process, but some of the older members of the group, worried that she would cause more harm than good, helped Edgar to keep her away from the blood line.

  Only Silas would ever know what Baltin had witnessed inside that circle. Only he would remember the sight of Skilled souls trapped beneath the meeting hall. He would see them, frightened and lost, reaching out to Baltin for help the man was unable to give. When Baltin’s soul threatened to break away from his body, Silas helped him find his way back to the living world, where he lay horrified by the torment that his actions had caused.

  Silas reached an arm out and helped him to stand. Greta looked flustered as he stumbled from the circle, breathless, dazed and determined.

  “Greta,” he said, “it is worse than we thought. This effort of ours is not enough to stop what is coming. I saw the prison that lies in the dark. I walked within it. I think . . . I was dead. Was I dead?” He turned to Silas, who said nothing. “Those people we killed, Greta. They are suffering now. These hands . . .” He raised his palms in front of his face. “They are stained with more than blood. What we have done should never be forgiven. We have to put this right. I thought I knew the veil, but I knew nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Greta looked at him with disdain. “You are allowing yourself to be misled,” she said. “Our first duty is always to protect those who are still alive. The children need us, and those who are missing may yet return. We cannot afford to risk our lives on the word of someone whose very existence in this world is an abomination against everything we know and trust about the veil. He is a bound soul, Baltin. He is less than a shade, and we cannot trust him. We cannot even be sure his mind is his own.”

  “I trust what I have seen,” said Baltin. “Gather the ones who are strong enough to travel. We are not finished yet.”

  He hurried over to those of the Skilled who were still clutching old skulls and took them from them to lay each skull carefully on the floor. While he tried to rally the others, Silas scrubbed his boot through the blood circle, severing its link to the veil.

  “Stop that!” cried Greta. “These circles cannot be made in the same place twice.”

  “Then perhaps you will listen,” said Silas. “The veil is under threat, and much as I would like to leave you and your people to rot here underground, you are its guardians.”

  “That does not give you the right to inv
ade this cavern and spread your soulless lies among my people.”

  “Yes, it does!” said Edgar, stepping forward. “We are here to help you. We could have stayed away.”

  “My role here is to enforce order and to protect the group,” said Greta. “I have done that to the best of my ability. As a former soldier, your master should respect that.”

  “He’s not my master,” said Edgar.

  “I knew the Winters girl was too dangerous to be set free,” said Greta. “I did not approve of Baltin’s treatment of her in the end, but we were right to contain her. If it were not for the boy”—she stabbed an accusing finger toward Edgar—“we would not be in this situation. He interfered where he did not belong.”

  “Nothing could have prevented this,” said Silas. “Everything that has happened was seen within the veil long before Kate was even born. Dalliah deliberately created the chain of events that brought us here. She has manipulated all of us, and now she intends to finish her work.”

  Greta looked grim. “Do you believe she has gained some degree of control over the girl?”

  “They entered the city together, but it is impossible to say how much of Kate’s will has been lost.”

  “Then you are right,” said Greta. “This is bigger than any history we may have shared. Baltin is good at reacting to events. Whatever you showed him in there certainly provoked a reaction, but he is like an excitable dog. When he runs out of energy, he will lose focus. I, however, will not. I assume you and I are contemplating the same solution to this mess?”

  “Yes,” Silas said, without hesitation. “This has already gone too far.”

  “Then, at last, we agree,” said Greta. “For Albion to survive, the Winters girl cannot be allowed to live.”

  10

  RELEASE

  Lake water seeped slowly into the records house, spreading across the floor and into the corners, where stacks of old papers became swamped. Loose pages floated just beneath the surface as the freezing water swallowed entire books, devouring their ink and rendering them worthless.