The Portal and the Veil

by Ted Sanders

  Isabel was clearly listening to the sounds of battle out in the meadow. “Who’s fighting out there?” she asked worriedly.

  April realized she must be thinking of Chloe. But first they had to get to Gabriel. “Come on,” she said. “Before I lose my mark.”

  April crept slowly across the grass toward the spot where she’d seen the humour, Isabel behind her. She kept her eyes on the Mordin up by the barn. She was so distracted trying to stay quiet and low, willing herself to not be seen, that she nearly jumped when Isabel touched her arm. April turned, and there was the humour. A slippery little crease in the dark. She nodded at Isabel, and together they plunged into it.

  The gray nothingness of the humour swallowed her. The meadow sounds fell away. She expected Gabriel to be stoic about their sudden appearance, as always, but to her surprise he let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” he said from everywhere. “I’ve been lost at sea out here. Not a lot of landmarks in a meadow.”

  “Well, you might want to find some,” April said. “We need to move. There are Mordin outside, too close for me to start groping around with the vine anymore.”

  “Can we go back the way you just came?” Gabriel asked.

  “Yes. Perfect,” said April.

  “Good, then. Footprints. Stay low.”

  Gabriel took April’s hand firmly. He took her surely over the grass, using the humour to follow her trail back to the creek. To distract herself from the possibility that they might be seen, she talked to him.

  “The others are gone, aren’t they?” April asked.

  “Mr. Meister and Brian, yes,” said Gabriel. “They escaped through a portal with Joshua.”

  “So back in the forest, when Horace said—”

  “Horace said what he needed to.”

  They walked on in silence. They managed to make it to the creek. April instructed Gabriel to keep heading straight. They crossed the creek—a difficult and wet task in the humour—and kept moving. Beyond the creek was a soybean field, April knew, and though she couldn’t see it she could feel the low plants brushing against her ankles.

  “I have no idea where I’m going,” Gabriel said. “All this flatness.”

  “Let me check,” said April. Tentatively, she reached out with the vine—just a trickle again. Almost at once, with a surge of relief, she felt Baron again, very close by. He seemed happy, excited. Friend. Nice. But he was alone. She could see now that they were a good ways out into the soybean field—farther than she thought—and the tree-lined creek was screening them from the Riven over in the meadow. The sounds and scent of the ongoing battle weren’t exactly distant, but distant enough.

  “We’re good,” she reported.

  The humour dissolved slowly, with a soft rustle. Baron heard her and smelled her at once, and trotted over, his wagging tail swatting the soybean plants with soft thwaps. Friend, he was still thinking, and there was a hopeful kind of questioning attached to it. Your friend too? Or at least, that was the only way April could translate his mood.

  Cautiously she took his memories. Someone had just petted him. Said kind words to him and called him by name. That meant friend. And they’d said another name too, the only other word he’d really understood. It clung to his memories like a good scent.

  April.

  Horace and Chloe. It had to be. She pulled at the dog’s ears, but the sounds coming from over in the meadow—the golem, muddled voices—were too distant to hear clearly. April dug deep, opening wide, searching through Baron’s fading sights and smells, trying to figure out where he’d been. Where Horace and Chloe were.

  “You’re doing too much,” Isabel warned. “They’ll feel you, even from this far away.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” she said. But Isabel was right. Reluctantly, she eased off on the vine. “Where are they, boy?” she said.

  “Where is who?” said Isabel.

  And then their voices started up again. Talking in the distance, straight ahead in the soybean field. Too far away for April to hear at all, and too far for Baron to understand what they were saying. But it was Horace. And Chloe. No doubt about it. Her heart leapt, except . . . someone was with them. Someone with a strange voice.

  “Horace and Chloe are out there,” she said, pointing. “But they’re not alone.” Isabel sucked in a sharp breath.

  The three of them hurried together through the field, heading north toward the voices. In the meadow on the far side of the creek, meanwhile, the Riven were perhaps two hundred yards off, but coming closer. April could hear the golem’s distant rattle and roar through her own ears, and now she caught a glimpse of it through the trees, a black sea serpent cruising through an ocean of grass. April’s dread grew. She realized her own little group and the small army of Riven were converging on the same point—hers from the south, and the Riven from the east—all of them headed for Horace and Chloe. It was obvious Dr. Jericho knew precisely where April’s friends were.

  Suddenly Gabriel pounded to a halt. “Stop,” he said softly. “Listen.”

  April couldn’t hear a thing with her own ears, but apparently Gabriel’s were sharper. She still had to rely on Baron, the vine barely a trickle, and through him Chloe’s voice rang out thinly. “They’re coming. Is this thing going to protect us, or what?”

  Another voice answered her. It wasn’t Horace. It wasn’t even human. April couldn’t make out the words, but the voice was singsongy, lilting. A Riven? What was happening? At her side, Gabriel went stiff, and then launched into an awkward run. April went after him, catching him by the hand. Isabel followed behind.

  They’d gone no more than a hundred feet, still a hundred feet or more away from the voices, when—up ahead and off to the right—the golem pounded across the creek and into the soybean field, spraying water, headed straight for Horace and Chloe. Dr. Jericho ran at its side, looking every bit a beast.

  Gabriel dove to the ground, dragging April with him and gesturing for Isabel to do the same.

  “Down,” April whispered to Baron, releasing the vine. “Lie down.” The dog obeyed, burying himself in the leaves.

  April buried herself too. Through the leaves of the soybeans, she thought she could see movement straight ahead, but barely. She realized Gabriel was refraining from using the humour so she and Isabel could see what he could not. But why were they simply watching and not acting? “What are you doing?” she whispered in Gabriel’s ear. “We need to get to closer to them, get them inside the humour.”

  “If I’m not mistaken,” Gabriel replied, “I believe they have found a better plan.”

  Up ahead, Chloe spoke again. She was close enough now that April could make out her words. She sounded as alarmed as April felt. “You better be right about this.”

  Horace answered her, sounding much less dismayed. “I think he is.”

  Then finally that singsongy voice, most relaxed of all.

  “Thank you, Keeper. I believe I am.”

  April frowned, forcing herself to stay low. Whatever Horace and Chloe’s better plan was, it had better happen fast. The Riven were nearly upon them. She could hear Dr. Jericho roaring, feel the ground thundering beneath the golem, smell the brimstone in the air. April reached for Gabriel, about to insist that he run to the others and let the humour loose.

  And then suddenly a great rustling arose. A section of the field, green as leaves and as wide as a house, lifted into the sky. April craned her neck to see, her mouth dropping open. The wide green carpet rose swiftly, leaving the Riven and April and Gabriel and everything helplessly behind. In seconds, it disappeared into the sky’s sea of stars, taking Horace and Chloe with it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Destination Unknown

  THE SURFACE OF THE MAL’GAMA SHIFTED BENEATH HORACE, cupping him as the entire structure rocketed up out of the field. Chloe, still standing, toppled over with a howl. The mal’gama swelled up and caught her gently, cradling her. Faster, and higher. Behind them, far below�
��two hundred feet?—the dark cloud of the golem swirled and stormed in a fury. Dr. Jericho screamed up at them, his massive fists clenched with rage.

  Wind whipped through Horace’s hair. Chloe rolled onto her side, grimacing. “This was unexpected!” she shouted. Horace could hardly hear her over the rush of wind. The front of the mal’gama folded itself into a kind of cone, and the gale subsided. It was like being inside an airplane without a roof. Horace had the sense they were still accelerating.

  They continued to rise into the night, speeding away. The meadow was far behind now. The meadow and everything in it, and that included—if events had unfolded the way the Fel’Daera had foreseen—April and Gabriel. They were still down there somewhere. Horace tried to calm his guilty, churning gut by hoping that in all the commotion, his friends had managed to slip away under the cover of the humour. Or even better, maybe they’d gotten away through the falkrete stones.

  He sank back into the mal’gama, trying to catch his breath and clear his thoughts. A close call—several of them—and now this most unexpected escape. If only April and Gabriel had been with them. He looked over at Chloe. She still had the golem’s heart wrapped in the hem of her shirt, but she was peering out over the edge of the mal’gama. She glanced back at him, her face brimming with wonder and worry.

  The worry was inescapable. But so was the wonder. The mal’gama was obviously related to the golem, made of tens of thousands of small pieces working together. Horace couldn’t stop himself from wondering if it had a heart too, buried somewhere in the green carpet beneath them. How did it work? It could defy gravity, like Neptune. But also it was propelling itself forward, at great speed. How?

  Dailen watched them calmly, still sitting upright, a faint smile of amusement on his angelic face. “I envy you,” he said. “Your first ride on the mal’gama.”

  “What is it?” asked Horace. “It’s not Tan’ji.”

  “No. The mal’gama is Tan’kindi, though I’m told I have a flair for it.” He held out his slender hand, indicating the green-stoned ring. “I’ve been lucky to have the opportunity. This is the last mal’gama in existence.”

  “It’s like the golem,” Horace said.

  “Yes, but quite a bit more tame. And it flies, of course.”

  “It’s a flying carpet,” said Chloe.

  Dailen shrugged elegantly. “If you like. You would not be the first to suggest it.”

  Horace reached out and plucked experimentally at a single green piece from the undulating whole. To his surprise, it came away easily in his hand. He shot a sheepish look at Dailen, but the Altari only nodded at him encouragingly. The chunk was soft and smoothly fuzzed, about as big and heavy as a large marble. He peered at it closely, turning it. It wasn’t perfectly round, but instead had cleanly chiseled faces—six squares and eight hexagons.

  “I’ve seen this shape before,” Horace said.

  “Perhaps,” said Dailen. “It tessellates in three dimensions.” Abruptly, a patch of the mal’gama in front of Horace began to rearrange itself with a whispering sigh, the little balls coming together and climbing over one another, rotating and pressing tight, building a short tower. The balls fit rigidly together like a puzzle, up and down and left and right, leaving absolutely no gaps between them.

  “Go ahead,” said Dailen. “Try to bend it.”

  Horace grabbed the little tower. He tugged at it with two hands, gently at first and then as hard as he could. Whereas the golem was constantly shifting, like quicksand or tar, the mal’gama was as firm as bedrock. He released it, and the stones melted back into the whole, becoming part of the soft, supple carpet again.

  “And it’s strong,” said Dailen. He pointed at Chloe. “Lay the golem’s heart down, and I’ll show you. It’s not a souvenir for keeping, anyway.” Chloe bit her lip, then lowered her shirt and let the bloodred crystal fall out onto the green stones. It was jagged, pointed at both ends, made of razor-thin flakes. It was almost painful to look at. The mal’gama shifted to envelop it, and then began squeezing it like a vise. After a moment, the foul red crystal shattered into a cloud of scarlet dust. It scattered into the wind and vanished.

  “I thought you said this thing wasn’t made for fighting,” Chloe muttered, watching intently. She wrapped her arms around her knees, a wary look in her eyes.

  “It’s a matter of temperament,” Dailen said. “Think of the mal’gama like a whale. It endures. It travels far. The golem, meanwhile, is a tiger.”

  “Speaking of traveling far,” Horace said, “where are you taking us?”

  Dailen hesitated, looking troubled. He casually plucked three green stones from the mal’gama. “I do not know,” he said. The stones began to weave around one another in his palm, a kind of horizontal juggling act, but the look on Dailen’s face said his thoughts were far away.

  “You must have had a plan,” said Chloe. “Where did you come from? Were you going to take us back there?”

  Dailen sighed. “I’m not sure now how wise that would be.”

  Chloe scoffed, clearly frustrated. “How wise does it need to be?”

  But Horace thought he was beginning to understand. When Dailen first encountered them he had asked about the Laithe, not the Fel’Daera. “You didn’t come here for us,” he said. “You came here for the Laithe.”

  Dailen dropped the stones back into the mal’gama, where they were absorbed at once. “That is true.”

  “But the problem isn’t just that you didn’t find the Laithe. It’s what you did find.”

  The Altari looked at him, his eyes brighter than ever. With his curious double eyelids, he looked both furious and deeply apologetic. He glanced down at the Fel’Daera. “Do Fel’Daera lekta Tan’ji,” he murmured, and then smiled sadly at Horace for several seconds. “What is your name, Keeper?” he said at last.

  “Horace. Horace Andrews.”

  “My name is Dwen’dailen Longo, Keeper of Floriel. I come from Ka’hokah.” He let his eyes fall to the Fel’Daera again, and left them there. He sighed and said, “I am a companion of Sil’falo Teneves.”

  Sil’falo Teneves. Maker of the Fel’Daera. Maker of the Laithe of Teneves.

  “Oh, crap,” said Chloe slowly. “This is happening.”

  Horace’s shoulders and chest began to tremble. He told himself it was only the chilly breeze this high up, but that was a lie.

  Dailen leaned in close. He clasped his great hands together as if in prayer. “I intend to help in whatever way I can, Horace Andrews,” he sang. “But I regret to inform you that you are not supposed to exist.”

  PART THREE

  Into the Havens

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Seeking Shelter

  APRIL LAY IN THE SOYBEAN FIELD, PEERING INTO THE NIGHT SKY, looking hopelessly after the giant flying carpet that had carried Horace and Chloe away.

  “I don’t believe it,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she didn’t believe—the fact that Horace and Chloe had left them here, or the way they had left them.

  “What did you see?” said Gabriel.

  “They’re gone,” April said. In the darkness ahead, Dr. Jericho roared, shouting at the other Riven in his own tongue. He sounded furious. “There was a . . . thing. Like a flying carpet. Like the golem, but not. It took them away.”

  “Then they are in good hands,” Gabriel said, hardly sounding surprised. “Now brace yourselves—I’m bringing the humour back.” A moment later, the cold, silent expanse of the humour surrounded them once more.

  “Now what?” Isabel said. “Do you plan to just sit here?”

  “The Riven won’t give up,” Gabriel said. “Dr. Jericho must suspect I didn’t leave through the portal. They’ll return to the meadow, the barn. They’ll look for us where they last saw us. Then we must move.”

  Baron whined. He didn’t like the humour, not at all. April reached out for him and dug her fingers comfortingly into his thick fur. He licked her, panting nervously. “Horace and Chloe,” she said.
“Whose good hands are they in now, exactly?”

  “The Altari,” Gabriel said.

  Isabel laughed. “The Altari?” she said, clearly not believing it. “What would they be doing here? They don’t fight. They pout in their sanctuaries, waiting for the end of days.”

  “Horace and Chloe left here on a mal’gama,” Gabriel said. “Only an Altari could have been holding the reins.”

  “So you say,” Isabel said, but she sounded worried.

  “Sorry, who are the Altari?” asked April, utterly lost.

  “Friends,” said Gabriel. “I’ll tell you the story when we are clear.”

  Baron struggled beneath April’s hand. She clutched at him, but he squirmed away.

  “He’s outside the humour,” Gabriel said, alarmed. “He’ll be seen.”

  Very cautiously, through the vine, April reached out for Baron. Freedom. Sounds. Smells. Through the dog, she could tell that the Riven were leaving the soybean field. She could hear the golem, crossing back in the meadow now. The smell of brimstone had grown fainter. “You were right,” she reported. “The Riven have moved away.”

  “We should move too, then,” Gabriel whispered. “But which way?”

  April thought. She’d been in this field before—especially in those years when the farmer that owned it grew corn, purposefully losing herself in the sea of tall stalks. To the north, the field butted up against the strip of woods behind her own backyard. “My house isn’t far away. But I suppose the Riven might look for us there. They know where I live. They were actually inside.”

  “But there is a leestone there,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. April thought she heard Isabel make a small noise of surprise. “Despite what happened earlier tonight,” continued Gabriel, “the leestone—in time—will make the Riven forget that your house even exists.”

  “How much time?”

  “Hours, perhaps.”