The Portal and the Veil

by Ted Sanders

  She spotted Horace and blew a laugh out between her fingers. “So this is what you’ve been up to all summer?”

  “Not every day,” said Horace.

  “Good.”

  Gabriel bowed his head, cradling his staff.

  “The cloister,” Chloe said. “Remember, Horace? It’s across the river.”

  Mr. Meister actually slapped his forehead. “Of course. And young Joshua saw our cloister map. He knew it was there.”

  The old man led them over the river and across the field beyond. Horace had made this walk just two nights earlier, but he’d been in such a daze that he barely remembered it. He still didn’t recognize the cloister when they found it in the woods beyond the meadow, the bricks of its high walls rounded and weathered.

  “Dowsim, if I’m not mistaken,” Mr. Meister said, naming the place. He stepped up to the wall, scanning it. “And here is the passkey.”

  “But why did they come here?” Horace asked. “Isabel isn’t Tan’ji. She can’t travel by falkrete.”

  “I suspect they sought the protection of the leestone within,” said Mr. Meister.

  “No one’s inside,” April reported, looking up at Arthur, who was perched on the wall above.

  “They didn’t go inside,” said Horace’s mother. “They went somewhere else.” Everyone turned to look at her. She stood a little ways off, moving her hand through the air as if feeling an invisible shape. Mr. Meister hurried to her side, then beckoned Horace over.

  A portal. Horace took the Fel’Daera in his hands. The breach was at five hours and twelve minutes, plenty wide enough for what he had planned. He prepared himself, gathering all the threads of action that had led them to this moment in time, and letting them drift into a future full of possibilities. When he was ready, he opened the lid and—with Mr. Meister’s guidance—laid it against the unseen plane of the fading portal.

  And there through the blue glass—the tumbling tunnel of shapes, a kaleidoscope of motion. His mother knelt, opening her harp in the bed of leaves before her. She played the strings, and gradually the kaleidoscope began to slow, much more quickly than the last time.

  “This one’s not quite as messy,” she said. “Joshua is getting better.”

  “As are you,” said Mr. Meister.

  After just seventeen seconds, the tunnel revealed by the box came to a stop, and a vision began to resolve—a wide-open morning sky; an expanse of long grass; a half circle of stones on the ground.

  “It’s the meadow,” Horace said, hardly believing it. “By April’s house.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Chloe. She glanced over at the high cloister walls.

  “You are sure it is the same place?” asked Mr. Meister.

  “Positive. I can’t see the barn—it must be behind me—but I can see the falkretes and the leestone and everything.” Not that Horace even needed to see those things. He wouldn’t soon forget this place.

  “Why is Isabel going back to all our recent battlefields?” said April.

  “Mere coincidence,” said Mr. Meister. “As I suspected, they are seeking a leestone. The leestone near the barn is damaged, but Isabel thinks it will protect them while Brian attempts to . . . fix her.” He shook his head gravely. “But it is a foolish hope. I fear the worst.”

  “And this portal is only a few minutes older than the last one,” Horace’s mother said. “They passed through hours ago.”

  “Let me think,” said Horace. “Let me look. I can’t see anyone there now, but I’m five hours out. Let me dial it back.” Still looking through the portal at the meadow, he focused on the breach and began to close it. Not too fast. It was now 3:31, so it was 8:43 in the meadow. And as he watched through the box, as he carefully rewound the morning still to come—the morning sun, sinking in the eastern sky; a flock of birds streaking backward over the distant trees. Seven o’clock. Six o’clock. Still nothing. The sun dropping over the horizon, a sunrise in reverse; a paper-thin crescent moon, now revealed, chasing the sun down the sky. Five o’clock. The breach was approaching an hour now, and still nothing in the meadow had changed. That was bad—he guessed April’s house was at least forty-five minutes away by car.

  Suddenly he saw a moving shape, but when he gasped and pinned the breach in place to see, he laughed to himself—deer, a mother and a fawn. He continued on. A darkening sky; stars now, sliding down and to the left; the moon, a thin crooked smile, still sinking. Horace’s heart began to sink, too. Four o’clock, only a half hour in the future. It was hopeless. Even if he saw something now, it would be over before they could possibly get there.

  Horace slammed the box closed. “I’m under a half hour now, and there’s still nothing,” he said aloud. “What if they’re there, but I just can’t see them? Maybe they’re right behind me.”

  “Or maybe we’re about to go get them,” Chloe said, “and it’ll all be over in a half an hour.”

  “Impossible,” he said. “April’s house is a long ways away. Even if we left right this second, we wouldn’t get there until like four fifteen at best. But I already saw four fifteen, and we’re not there.”

  Chloe squinted at him. “Don’t you think it’s weird you didn’t see us at all?”

  Horace frowned. That was weird. If they were going, why didn’t he see them?

  Chloe’s face, meanwhile, split into a slow devilish smile.

  “What?” said Horace.

  “I’m just . . . I’m savoring this. Me getting it before you.” She stepped up to the cloister wall and turned to April. “This cloister here. The leestone inside is a brown bird with blue on the wing, right?”

  Arthur still stood atop the wall, his head darting to and fro. April’s eyes went hazy, and she nodded. “Yes,” she reported, looking through the raven’s eyes. “A Eurasian jay.”

  “I still don’t get it,” said Horace.

  “Maybe because you didn’t make the trip between April’s barn and the Warren four times tonight,” said Chloe. She patted the brick wall like it was a horse. “This cloister was one of the stops.”

  “Oh holy cow,” said Horace. She was right. He was so focused on the time that he’d completely forgotten. From here, they could travel back to the barn by falkrete. Four or five leaps. They could be there in a matter of minutes.

  Horace digested this news, letting it alter his perception of the path they were now on. What would they do, given this new information? What would Horace himself do? He didn’t want to answer the questions he asked, exactly—making predictions was actually counterproductive—but he had to ask them, so that the right threads of possibility would plant themselves in his mind. One thing he knew for sure: he was ready to do whatever he could to help Brian.

  It was 3:33 now. He opened the box and laid it against the portal again. The breach was at twenty-eight minutes. He began to close it as slowly as he could. Through the box, the future rewound itself, the crescent moon sinking slowly.

  The breach shrank. Twenty-five minutes.

  Twenty minutes.

  Fifteen.

  Still nothing. But that was okay—by falkrete, they could get there in less than five minutes, and he knew from experience that whatever happened there might happen very quickly.

  Slower. He let his time sense zero in on seconds rather than minutes. He focused hard, closing the breach with the lightest touch he could muster, no more than a breath. He got it so slow that for every second he spent closing the breach, the breach shrank by five seconds—in other words, events in the future were rewinding at four times regular speed. The sinking crescent moon slowed to an undetectable crawl.

  Twelve minutes.

  Eleven.

  And then, suddenly—movement in the meadow; distant figures, running and clashing. Riven. Mordin. But they were too far away to see clearly what was happening. Horace kept watching, and then he saw something new. A distant black shadow, growing larger; a giant snake, rolling over the grass; a moving mass of stone coming closer. It came strai
ght at him, buried him. His view turned into a black sea of movement, and it was all he could do not to cower.

  Horace swallowed. He didn’t have the heart to tell the others—there was a golem in the meadow. It was rolling over the very spot where the box was now open in the future. Horace held his tongue, held his ground, still rewinding. Abruptly his view cleared. The golem had moved on. And once it was clear, he saw—Mordin, many Mordin. Moving in reverse, they backpedaled comically out of the meadow, slipping behind Horace where he could not see.

  “The Riven are there,” he reported now. “Lots of them.” He didn’t mention the golem. Not yet. He squinted into the box, but it was impossible to tell if any of the Mordin he could see was Dr. Jericho.

  Horace kept at it, moving back and back through time, closing the breach as slowly as he could. And suddenly, there he was—Dr. Jericho, facing away from Horace; barebacked and huge. What was he looking at? No sooner had Horace wondered than a kind of fog swept over his view. This time, he understood at once what he was seeing—a hazy curtain, drifting like gauze in the wind. “We’re there,” he said. “Gabriel has the humour up, but I don’t see him.”

  Now a wide ring, sprouting out of nothing right in front of Dr. Jericho and hanging in the air; and now figures—humans, four or five—stumbling in reverse out of the ring, appearing out of nowhere and bursting into the meadow just as Dr. Jericho slid backward, out of sight.

  Horace blinked several times. The vision had gone by too fast. And backward, too. He pinned the breach in place and closed the box.

  “What is it?” asked Chloe.

  “I think I see a portal,” Horace said. “Joshua opens a portal in the humour.”

  Mr. Meister hummed heartily. “He truly is its Keeper, then.”

  Horace had seen Dr. Jericho. Did he need to see more? Suddenly it struck him that something more important was at stake. If they were going to the meadow now, to face Dr. Jericho and the golem and a host of Mordin, Horace had now also witnessed the Wardens’ escape. Sort of. He needed to get a better view, risk or no risk.

  He settled himself quickly, and reopened the box. He let the future run for a moment. He watched—in regular forward motion this time—as Joshua opened the portal, inside the humour. Mr. Meister and Brian were there too—but no one else. Joshua pulled a metal ring free from the little blue globe and somehow hung it in the air. With a spin, the ring grew wide and opened onto a forest scene.

  A freaky little burst of déjà vu stabbed at Horace—this new portal was open right back to the very place they now stood. He got dizzy just trying to follow all the loops of space-time he was piercing right now. Should he report this news, or not? He decided not. He kept watching.

  Brian, carrying Tunraden like huge, heavy manacles, being pushed through the portal by Joshua; now Mr. Meister; and now a new figure, not a Mordin—a girl with blond hair, grabbing Joshua before he could escape. Horace almost gasped. It was Ingrid, the former Warden now working with the Riven. A traitor. And as he watched—Joshua, tussling with Ingrid; the two of them falling together toward the portal as a Mordin sprang at them; the portal going transparent, merely an empty ring now that Joshua had passed through; the Mordin falling, and a second later—Dr. Jericho, bursting onto the scene.

  Shortly after the Mordin’s arrival, the humour came down, the night air clearing. Still no sign of Gabriel. Was he okay? And then Horace watched, horrified, as Dr. Jericho tore off his jacket and coat and reared back, roaring. Something was bulging from his spine, and Horace knew at once it was Tan’ji, actually imbedded in the Mordin’s flesh. The portal spun closed, shrinking swiftly and vanishing.

  Horace hardly knew what to think. The escape portal was gone, but only three Keepers had gone through it. No Chloe, no April. No Gabriel. No Horace, for that matter. Where were they? Apparently they wouldn’t be escaping through the portal. And Ingrid! All of this was news he felt he couldn’t say. Not yet. Fair, or unfair? But maybe it didn’t matter. This was the willed path, for him and for all of them.

  Hoping he was making the right choice, he said, “Joshua opens a portal right back to this place. People get away.”

  Mr. Meister looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Just so,” he said flatly.

  If the old man knew Horace was withholding something, Horace didn’t care. He cared about finding the others. He took hold of the breach again, closing it further, rewinding slowly, looking for the rest of the Wardens. It wasn’t easy, since he couldn’t look around. He had to hope the right things drifted across his view, like fish swimming past an underwater window. He rewound past the portal, back into the humour again, past Ingrid and Dr. Jericho, until a new figure appeared. A human, curly haired, wandering blind through the humour; now turning toward him—Isabel, near and clear; looking angry but somehow hollow, her eyes empty. Something was wrong with her. It took Horace a second, but then he realized—she didn’t have Miradel. He didn’t understand that at all. She’d stolen it back from the Wardens, and it was nearly impossible to imagine why she wouldn’t be wearing it now. Sightless and aimless, she slipped out of view.

  Horace kept rewinding, unsure where to stop. Still no sightings of April or Gabriel, or Chloe or himself. And then abruptly, out in the meadow, far off in the meadow, so far he almost missed it—a liquid tower of black, bursting high out of the shadows in the grass; a tiny figure hoisted atop it, far into the air, a gleaming dot of white at her neck.

  Chloe.

  The golem.

  No sooner had Horace seen the horrible sight than Dr. Jericho appeared, filling the frame, staring straight at him through the glass from just feet away—through the humour, through the portal and the glass, through space and time—his horrible face shifting and morphing horrendously, the way it always did when seen through the Fel’Daera. His many sliding faces grinned at Horace like ghouls.

  Horace slammed the box closed, furious and frightened. Dr. Jericho had sensed the box, as Horace had feared he might, but Horace didn’t care about that. That didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered—an unbelievable, unmistakable thing.

  The golem had Chloe.

  “What did you see?” Chloe asked him softly. Chloe here and now. Chloe safe and sound.

  “Lots of things,” said Horace. Could he do this? Was this the way? And was he sure what he’d he seen? The golem, rising up from the ground like a geyser, carrying Chloe with it.

  “Did you see Dr. Jericho?” Chloe pressed.

  “Yes, and he saw me. Felt me. But that’s not . . .” He trailed off, lost.

  “What else did you see, Horace?” his mother asked.

  Horace’s mind raced as he tried to decide how much to tell them. Or should he look again? His head was tangled, his viewing a scramble—so much of it sped up, and backward. But Mr. Meister had cautioned him against making multiple viewings of the same future. At last he spoke, keeping it simple, trying not to meet Chloe’s eyes. “I saw a golem.”

  Chloe groaned. Mr. Meister inhaled sharply. Gabriel gripped his staff in his hands so hard that Horace could hear his flesh rubbing against the wood.

  “What’s a golem?” said April.

  “First,” said Chloe, “picture a gigantic pile of creepy little rocks.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now picture it kicking your ass.”

  That was an accurate way to describe the golem. Horace remembered their first encounter with the living river of stone, when it broke into the House of Answers and nearly tore the place apart. On that occasion, Chloe had used the power of the Alvalaithen to actually go into the body of the beast. Horace couldn’t bring himself to imagine how the golem in the meadow could possibly manage to capture her.

  “What of Isabel?” Mr. Meister asked. “Did you see her?”

  “Yes, but . . . she didn’t look right. Miradel was missing.”

  All the anger drained from Chloe’s face.

  “Fascinating,” Mr. Meister said. He looked thoughtfully down at his vest, his eyes far away. Horac
e could tell he wanted to ask more but knew that he shouldn’t.

  “Will there be a battle?” Gabriel asked. “Or do we simply slip away?”

  Horace hesitated. “I did see . . . the Mordin and the golem heading down into the meadow. Like they were chasing something.”

  “Chasing us, you mean,” said Chloe.

  Horace shrugged. He couldn’t say more.

  “But we’re not even there yet,” said April, shaking her head in wonder. “This is so trippy. It feels like cheating on an imaginary test.”

  “How long, Keeper?” asked Mr. Meister.

  Horace did the math. Altogether, he’d witnessed about three minutes of the future, from back to front. “We should probably assume the Riven are there right now, as we speak,” he said. “We have six minutes before Dr. Jericho senses the box and realizes we’ve seen him. But I have no idea what happens in those six minutes—I didn’t watch them, so that he wouldn’t get his warning too soon.”

  “We need to go,” said Gabriel. “Now.”

  Chloe turned to Horace’s mother. To his surprise, she said, “Will you come? If there’s going to be a battle, a Tuner could—”

  “I’m not that sort of Tuner,” his mother said firmly. “But I can’t come anyway. Only Tan’ji can travel by falkrete stone.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not the only one who can’t go,” April said sadly.

  Chloe whipped around. “Why can’t you—”

  But April just pointed straight up, at Arthur still perched on the wall overhead. “I’m going,” she said. “Try and stop me. But I don’t think ravens can come along.”

  “Only Keepers,” Mr. Meister confirmed. “No one else.”

  “I’ll watch Arthur,” said Horace’s mom. “He can stay with me.”

  “I was really hoping you’d say that,” April said, hurrying over to her, shoving a hand into a pocket of her dress. She pulled out a pile of dog food. “He likes you, Mrs. Andrews, but he’ll like you even more now.” She dumped the kibble into Horace’s mom’s outstretched hands.

  Arthur swept down from the wall and landed heavily at their feet. He cocked his head and chirped curiously, rocking from foot to foot. April crouched down and said, “I’ll be back. Be good, okay? Be good.”