The Portal and the Veil

by Ted Sanders

  “Begoood,” the raven crooned agreeably. “Begoood.”

  Horace couldn’t bear to tell her he hadn’t seen her come back.

  “Let us go,” said Mr. Meister.

  “Me first,” said Gabriel. “I’ll release the humour once I’m through.”

  “No, me first,” said Chloe. “I’m the only one that can resist the golem. Plus, I don’t know if anybody’s noticed, but I’m pretty hard to kill.”

  Horace had to pretend he didn’t hear Chloe’s words. And he didn’t want Gabriel to go first either—it wasn’t clear just how much the humour could protect Gabriel from the golem. What was the proper path?

  He held up a hand, remembering his last encounters with the golem and the night in the nest. “There’s a ring that controls the golem, right?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Mr. Meister. “As much as a string controls a kite. No doubt Dr. Jericho wears it now.”

  “And if we steal the ring? Can we control the golem?”

  “No,” said Gabriel. “There is a ritual involved. Each ring works only for a single golem, and proper introductions must be made.”

  There was no time to ask how Gabriel knew a thing like that—or to contemplate the idea that there was more than one golem in the world. Horace now had as much of an answer as he needed. And if Gabriel and Chloe and April were going to step into a danger from which he could guarantee no escape, there was one thing he could do for them. One thing at least.

  “I go first,” he said.

  Chloe bared her teeth. “You didn’t see that.”

  “I didn’t, but I realize now . . . I think I was imagining it when I did see. The little glimpse of the future I got—it’s dependent on me going first.”

  Mr. Meister shifted uneasily. “Perhaps a different future would be preferable in this instance, Keeper.”

  Horace was surprised to hear the old man suggest it. The old man had always frowned on trying to change or avoid the future the box revealed. Among other things, it led to thrall-blight, a fleeting but painful sickness that made Horace double over in pain. And according to Dr. Jericho, thrall-blight could spread through the Medium too, even to the Mothergates themselves.

  “I wouldn’t prefer a different future,” Horace said. “This is the path.”

  “But you can’t even protect yourself!” Chloe cried.

  “I’ve still got the phalanx,” said Horace, crossing to the cloister wall. He took out his jithandra, and by its deep blue light he quickly spotted the passkey.

  Mr. Meister said, “The phalanx might freeze Dr. Jericho in his tracks for few minutes, as you know, but it won’t affect the golem.”

  “I don’t plan to try.”

  “You’re not planning anything!” said Chloe.

  “My plan is for you to get the ring.”

  She scoffed. “The ring we can’t even use?”

  “If we take it, Dr. Jericho can’t use it either,” said Horace. “Look, we’ve been standing here talking for three minutes already. I’m going. Gabriel, you follow me quick. Then Chloe. Get the ring.”

  “Fear is the stone, Keeper,” Mr. Meister intoned, settling the matter. “May yours be light.”

  “And yours.” Horace paused, looking back. Chloe looked exasperated, but he knew—with a sick kind of fatality that he hoped was confidence—that she’d do what he asked. Beyond her, Horace caught his mother smoothing a knot of worry from her own face. “I’m going,” he said again stupidly. It came out like a question.

  His mother nodded. “Trust yourself. I do.”

  He searched for something better to say. “Please don’t worry about me.”

  Her eyes shone as she shrugged. “Please don’t make impossible requests,” she said. Then she looked away and flapped her hand at him, like she was shooing a cat. “Go. Be brave and smart.”

  He swallowed through the sudden cinch in his throat, and managed to nod. Then he took hold of the passkey and stepped through the wall.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Gray Voices, Black Footsteps

  JOSHUA WATCHED AS THE GOLEM REARED UP OVER THE MEADOW, a giant’s hand threatening to crush Tunraden into dust. Dr. Jericho crouched over Brian like a giant insect that wanted to eat him, shaking his huge fist. No. This couldn’t be. All Joshua’s fault—he’d let Brian escape from the Warren, had brought him here, had called the terrible Mordin with the Laithe.

  Suddenly a voice whispered in Joshua’s ear. Isabel, on her knees behind him: “Someone’s coming.”

  She pointed westward at the falkrete circle, over by the barn. No sooner had she raised her finger than a figure appeared there, out of nowhere—a shaggy-haired boy on one knee.

  “Horace!” Joshua cried out, before he could stop himself.

  “Behind you!” Ingrid shouted at Dr. Jericho. “Wardens!”

  Dr. Jericho was already spinning around. Horace flung his arm back, then forward, right at Dr. Jericho. There was something white in his hand, like a wand. A golden light burst from the tip with a soft whump, and then a ring of churning air flashed across the grass and struck Dr. Jericho in the chest. The Mordin stumbled back, nearly stepping on Brian as he fell, but then . . . he didn’t fall. He hung there in midair over Brian, half on his back, his legs and arms flailing. He seemed pinned in place by his spine.

  Brian scrambled out of the way. And then Dr. Jericho began to laugh, a high, screeching cackle that lifted goose bumps all along Joshua’s arms, like a blade scraping against a bell. “Very good!” he shouted up into the sky. “Quite the surprise, Keeper! But I’ll be free long before you are, I think.”

  The golem roared into motion. It released Tunraden. The Loomdaughter fell from the sky right through the body of the golem, scattering a spray of stones as it fell. Tunraden hit the soft ground with an earthshaking thud as the golem roared over the grass toward Horace like a tidal wave.

  Someone grabbed Joshua by the collar and began to drag him away. He clutched the Laithe to his chest and looked up, expecting to see Isabel, but it was Ingrid. She looked furious. A second later, though, Isabel tackled the girl with a growl. Ingrid lost her grip on Joshua as Isabel took her to the ground.

  Joshua rolled onto his side. He spotted Horace running from the rumbling heap of the golem, out into the meadow. But the golem was twice as fast. Just as it seemed to sweep over him, another figure appeared from nowhere inside the falkrete circle, tall and dark, a long gray staff in his hand.

  An instant later, a tearing sound like slow distant thunder rolled across the grass. A gray void swallowed Joshua, erasing the world, a featureless sea of nothingness.

  The humour! Gabriel was here!

  Joshua could hear Dr. Jericho roaring faintly in the void, and the golem too. They’d all been swallowed. But then Gabriel’s voice rang through the fog, deep and calm. It was a voice, Joshua knew, that would only reach the ears Gabriel wanted it to. “Brian. Joshua. Are you all right?”

  “Oh, thank god,” said Brian. “Gabriel. I’m . . . I’m experiencing a lot of regret, to be honest.”

  “Joshua, can you open a portal inside the humour?” said Gabriel.

  The question came so fast Joshua hardly understood it. “I don’t . . . I don’t think so. I need to see the Laithe to—”

  “Get outside the humour, then,” Gabriel said. “Get to the barn. Hide. Ingrid is here in the humour with us, playing her flute and searching. I can mute her for a little while, until you get free. The others are coming. Let us do the fighting.”

  “And the barn is . . . where, exactly?” Brian said doubtfully.

  This, Joshua could do. “I can take you,” he said. “Wait for me at Tunraden.”

  Joshua had been in the humour only once before, during the battle on the riverbank, but he knew the gray fog didn’t confuse him as much as it did the others. He was just as blind as they were, but his sense of direction and his memory of where everything was remained intact. He still knew exactly where Tunraden had fallen, thirty feet to the northw
est. And from there, the barn door was eighty feet to the south.

  A hand grabbed his ankle, hard. Isabel or Ingrid, he didn’t know—and didn’t care. He knocked his attacker loose with a vicious kick, striking a solid blow, and crawled away toward Tunraden. Ten feet. Twenty.

  “Where is it?” cried an angry voice, somewhere in the humour. “I can’t see anything!”

  Joshua thought it was Isabel at first. But no—it was Chloe. They really were coming, all of them. The Wardens would save them.

  Gabriel spoke again. “Dr. Jericho has the ring, here in the humour. Horace pinned him. Now’s our chance.”

  “Where is he?” Chloe yelled.

  “Over here!” Joshua cried. But of course that meant nothing in the humour.

  “This way, Chloe,” said Gabriel. “Don’t flinch.” There was a pause, and then Gabriel said, “Good. He’s straight on, fifty feet ahead. When you get there, I’ll—” Suddenly his voice became a roar. “Joshua, get down!”

  A sharp pain streaked across Joshua’s arm, a handful of knives grazing his skin. Joshua dropped onto his stomach, surprised to find that he was more angry than afraid. He had forgotten his surroundings. Dr. Jericho was right above him in the humour, swiping at him blindly, still pinned midair by Horace’s weapon. Joshua squirmed forward on his belly through the grass, the Laithe pressed against his neck.

  Ten feet on, safely past the hanging Mordin, he groped and quickly found Brian’s bony hand.

  “Whoa!” Brian cried.

  “It’s just me,” said Joshua. “Do you have Tunraden?”

  “She’s here. She’s fine. Can you get us to the barn?”

  “I think so.” Joshua got to his feet. He reached out and felt cold, rough stone, buzzing with power. It was Tunraden, hanging at Brian’s waist. “Sorry!” he said, yanking his hand back.

  “What happens in the humour stays in the humour,” Brian said. “Just get us to the barn.”

  Joshua found Brian’s elbow and pulled him southward. His shoulder burned. Brian had a hard time moving over the lumpy ground without being able to see, with Tunraden handcuffing his arms, but Joshua knew the way. He led him in a straight line. Joshua didn’t know where the edge of the humour was, but they must be getting close.

  Suddenly, sight filled his eyes. Nighttime. The old barn, just in front of them. They had made it out of the humour.

  “You did it,” said Brian.

  But Joshua just looked back at the humour. Or he tried to. There was nothing to see. The humour wouldn’t let itself be seen from the outside. He couldn’t see the golem, either—it must have been on the far side of the humour. Joshua’s guilt wrapped around him like a scarf. His friends were fighting inside the humour because of something he’d done. He’d been so stupid tonight, done so many stupid things. He would try not to be stupid anymore.

  Brian elbowed him and nodded. They hurried inside the back entrance of the huge, gloomy barn. Joshua had been in the barn at night before, but it felt different now. Broken walls and low, slanted ceilings and shadow upon shadow upon shadow. He tried to stay brave. They went farther inside and found a crooked hallway with a series of narrow stalls. Ducking into one of them, they moved to the very back and sat, pressing themselves against the wall. Brian freed his hands from Tunraden, flexing them.

  “Now what?” said Joshua.

  “Now we wait,” Brian replied, catching his breath.

  “I don’t understand why we left the humour.”

  “Ingrid is in there,” Brian said. “She would have found us. Her flute—if you can hear it, she can find you, even in the humour. Gabriel was pinching off the sound of it for us while we were inside, so she couldn’t find us, but he can’t keep it up forever.”

  “So we hide here. And hope she doesn’t get out.”

  “Gabriel’s good at keeping people lost in the humour, but yes. We hide and we hope.” Joshua could hear both of them breathing. It sounded loud against the silence in the bar. But outside the barn, out in the meadow, it was totally quiet, too. Joshua shifted uneasily.

  “We shouldn’t have left the Warren,” Brian whispered after a while.

  “No,” Joshua agreed.

  “It was stupid of me to go along with it. I thought I was doing a good thing. And you shouldn’t have Found the Laithe like this. I’m sorry.”

  Joshua gazed at the little globe, hovering back and forth in front of him. “I’m a Lostling. That’s what Dr. Jericho said, but I don’t know what it means.”

  “It’s just a word. Don’t listen to him. You really need to not listen to him. You . . .” Brian shook his head. He sat silently for a long time, and then whispered, “Anyway, if we get out of this, maybe Mr. Meister can help undo whatever damage Isabel has done.” Joshua didn’t like the word “damage.”

  “I’m getting better already,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “But I’m still not good enough. Not good enough to open a portal inside the humour.”

  Brian shrugged. “I doubt that. It’s your Tan’ji. You can feel it, if you try. The humour is a tough place to be—to even think. You just have to . . . use the force.”

  “What’s the force?”

  Brian stared at him like he was crazy. “Never mind.”

  Suddenly Joshua heard a voice—faint and far away. He couldn’t hear the words, but it sounded like a woman. Or a girl. Crying? Laughing? And now he heard footsteps crunching across the grass outside the barn. More than one person, it sounded like. Coming closer? He looked up at Brian.

  “I hear it,” Brian whispered.

  They listened for several seconds, and then they heard distant shouts, farther away. There was no doubt about this one—it was Chloe, calling Horace’s name. She was outside the humour. Joshua shot to his feet.

  “Sit, sit!” Brian hissed.

  “They need our help,” said Joshua.

  “We’re the ones that need help. Quiet now.”

  Joshua sat back down. Chloe had gone silent, but the approaching footsteps were louder than ever. Not a Riven, he thought. Too stealthy. But it was definitely more than one person. His throat itched to call out. Was it a friend? At his side, Brian seemed frozen with fear, staring at Tunraden.

  Whoever it was entered the barn. Their feet scuffed across the gritty floor.

  “They’re coming closer,” Joshua said.

  “Open a portal,” muttered Brian. “Get us out.”

  And then a voice called out to them. Joshua thought he would collapse with relief.

  “It’s me,” said the voice. Sweet and kind.

  April.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Into the Humour

  CHLOE WAS YANKED THROUGH THE FINAL FALKRETE STONE AND into the blind gray void of the humour. Quickly she drank from the Alvalaithen, going thin. Horace and Gabriel were already here, she knew. And April and Mr. Meister would be coming behind her. But Chloe’s job was to get the ring that controlled the golem.

  She shouted into the terrible, hated gray, looking for guidance.

  Gabriel’s gigantic voice rose around her at once. “Dr. Jericho has the ring, here in the humour. Horace pinned him. Now’s our chance.”

  “Where is he?”

  Another voice cried out. Joshua. “Over here!” But inside the humour, he could have been anywhere.

  “Face this way, Chloe,” Gabriel said calmly. “Don’t flinch.” Chloe felt a gentle pressure on the left side of her belly, like a fist pressing against her. She swatted at it, but nothing was there. It was Gabriel, manipulating the humour, creating something out of nothing. She didn’t like it much, but she thought she understood. She turned, and the gentle pressure—remaining stationary as she spun—slid across her belly. She turned until it was dead center, a few inches above her navel. “Good,” said Gabriel. “Dr. Jericho is trapped straight on, fifty feet ahead. When you get to him, I’ll—” Suddenly his voice became a roar. “Joshua, get down!”

  Chloe had no idea what that was all about. Hopefull
y nothing. Glad for about the hundredth time that she didn’t have Gabriel’s troubling powers, or its burdens, Chloe started moving forward, clinging to her determination. Distantly, she heard Joshua and Brian talking about getting outside the humour to the barn. She tried not to think about Horace, or what might have happened to him. She tried not to think about Isabel. She thought only about the plan, meager as it was.

  Get the ring.

  The golem wasn’t really alive, of course. It was a Tanu, a machine. And the ring that controlled it was on Dr. Jericho’s finger now, trapped somewhere ahead inside the blank expanse of the humour.

  Moving straight ahead in the humour, though, was its own challenge. Even with Gabriel’s phantom guidance, it was easy to drift left or right. Chloe kept on slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, keeping Gabriel’s pressure point centered. Suddenly Gabriel called out April’s name, startling Chloe.

  April’s voice drifted out of the gray. “Tell me what to do. How can I help?”

  “Look outside the humour, if you can,” Gabriel said. “The golem was chasing Horace when I arrived, but they’re beyond me now.”

  “Let me try.”

  Chloe walked on, pretending she hadn’t heard. The golem was chasing Horace. Had it caught him? And why had Gabriel let her hear?

  She almost forgot what she was doing when Gabriel’s voice slammed her, commanding, “Chloe, stop.” She rocked to a stop. The pressure on her belly disappeared. “Dr. Jericho is just ahead of you,” Gabriel said.

  “I can’t see in this stinking fog,” she complained. “How am I going to get the ring if I can’t see? Take the humour down.”

  “I can’t do that.” Gabriel’s words were piercing and clear. She got the feeling they were coming only to her ears. “Dr. Jericho still holds the golem’s leash, but he won’t risk bringing the golem into the humour while he himself is inside. And then there’s Ingrid. The humour is protecting all of us now.”