The Portal and the Veil

by Ted Sanders

  She marched straight at him. Horace just stood there as it became clear she meant to walk right through him. And when she did, his knees threatened to buckle. As always, the experience was breathtaking, monumental—an exquisite tangle of nerves and flesh and blood and bone. He held his breath. His fingers went rigid. He thought he felt her pounding heart pass just below his own. He felt the magnificent, quivering song of the Alvalaithen itself, sliding through him from sternum to spine.

  And then she was through, leaving him empty. The Altari watched keenly, Teokas holding her hand over her pretty mouth, her double-lidded eyes twinkling. Horace turned away, blushing, trying not to clasp his chest where Chloe had entered him.

  Chloe, meanwhile, didn’t look back. She kept walking to the back of the room to the table full of food. She scanned it, picked up a green apple, and only then turned to face them. She held the apple high, sitting on her flat palm. Without warning, the apple fell clean through her hand. She caught it nimbly with the other. She repeated the trick, and then, slowly, began to sink into the dirt floor. Feet, ankles, knees. At the Council’s table, Go’nesh grunted brutally in surprise. He sounded like a bull.

  Chloe kept sinking, and as she sank, she lifted the apple higher and higher. Her torso went under. Her face. Now only her arm was visible, still holding the apple. She kept sinking until only her hand remained. At last that too disappeared, but as it did, she left the apple sitting on the ground, rocking slightly.

  “Impressive,” said Ravana.

  “She couldn’t take the apple,” Brula pointed out. “She has limits.”

  As if she’d heard him, Chloe’s hand suddenly sprang out of the ground again, grabbed the apple, and pulled it beneath the earth. Teokas laughed and clapped her hands.

  Barely a second later, Chloe popped out of the floor right next to Horace. She shot three feet into the air and landed nimbly beside him, still holding the apple. He was astonished—it was a distance of forty feet, at least, and she’d traveled it faster than a sprinter. Across the room, he heard Dailen murmur, “The Earthwing.”

  “How am I doing?” Chloe whispered to Horace.

  Horace tried to think of something clever to say. “It’s a little bit embarrassing, to be honest. Nobody likes a show-off.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs—actually in the ribs, under the skin, bone against bone. He grunted.

  At the Council’s table, Teokas was still grinning. The other Altari looked stoic. Ravana stood and came around the front of the table.

  “You’re not the first stonewalker I’ve met,” she said to Chloe. “How long can you stay ghosted?”

  “Three or four minutes.”

  Ravana looked surprised. “I’ve never seen anyone travel as you just did. How fast can you fly, underground?”

  “Fast enough.”

  Ravana pulled the great bow from her back with a smile. “As fast as an arrow from Pinaka?”

  Chloe shifted uneasily. “I doubt it, actually.”

  “So do I,” said Ravana. And then swiftly—although it was empty—she drew back her bow, pointing it at Chloe. The great wooden crescent bent with a musical creak, and as it did a glowing red arrow appeared, nocked to the string. Or not an arrow, exactly—it had no point, no feathers. It looked most of all like a finger-thin rod of molten metal. “Toss the apple,” she said.

  Chloe glanced at Horace, and then she hefted the apple straight up into the air. Ravana loosed her bow. The sound of Pinaka’s plucked string reverberated through the room with a jarring thunk, like an ax hitting a tree. But the arrow didn’t fly. It simply disappeared. In the same instant—the same exact instant, Horace was sure—the molten rod rematerialized inside the apple. Bizarrely, it carried no momentum. It was simply there. The apple fell straight down again, and Chloe caught it. She and Horace both stared at the red arrow. Where it pierced the apple, the green skin was beginning to blacken.

  “Careful,” Dailen called out.

  “Let them learn,” Brula said sternly.

  A moment later, the apple burst into flames. Horace leapt back, but Chloe simply stood there, gritting her teeth slightly, holding the roaring ball of fire in her hand. While she was thin, the flames couldn’t burn her, he knew. But she would still feel the pain.

  Calmly, Chloe knelt down. She shoved the apple down into the dirt floor—through it, into the ground. The fire went out at once with a violent whuff! She buried the apple elbow deep, melding it in the earth, and came up empty-handed. Teokas clapped again, bouncing in her seat.

  But Ravana hardly smiled. She came closer, knelt down in front of Chloe, and drew Pinaka once more. Another molten arrow appeared, pointed directly at Chloe’s face. “Let’s try this,” she said.

  Chloe actually stepped back, though the dragonfly’s wings were still whirring. “Wait, are you sure—”

  Ravana fired the bow. The twang of it seemed to shake the room. Chloe stood frozen, hands in the air. Horace panicked—had she somehow been struck? But in an instant, something on the banquet table at the back of the room caught savage fire—some large piece of meat. Horace could see Ravana’s molten arrow glowing in the depths of the angry flames. However it was that Ravana’s arrows found their targets instantaneously, they couldn’t find Chloe while she was thin.

  Chloe watched the meat blaze for a moment, then turned to Ravana. “How sure were you that that wouldn’t kill me?”

  Ravana shrugged, and now she did smile. “A Keeper knows her instrument. And now you know yours that much better.” She swung the bow back across her shoulders and bowed deep. “Ro’ha nahro,” she said.

  At the front of the room, the other council members did the same, bending their necks and intoning the words. “Ro’ha nahro.” Ravana spun away and returned to her seat.

  Chloe turned to Horace. His heart pounded wildly, but her eyes were shining with delight. “I like them,” she said.

  “You would,” he said.

  Now Go’nesh, the tallest Altari, stood up from his seat. He towered over the others. He strode toward Chloe, hefting his weapon as he came, swinging the blue blade slowly through the air. Horace backed away, alarmed at this new threat. But Chloe just watched the huge Altari approach, looking thoroughly unconcerned.

  The wings of the dragonfly went still for a moment. Just enough for Chloe to catch her breath, Horace knew. As they flickered back to life, she nodded at the approaching Altari and said, “Next.”

  Just as Go’nesh reached her, he spun, lifting his hands and pointing his weapon down at the ground. The blade whistled through the air, blurring and crackling. Go’nesh danced powerfully past Chloe, looking every bit Dr. Jericho’s equal. His blade didn’t strike Chloe, but instead swirled completely around her, leaving in its wake a glistening blue curtain. Horace blinked. The curtain hung there like a frozen sapphire ribbon, like a painter’s brushstroke brought to life. It surrounded Chloe from thigh to neck, just as thick and as long as Go’nesh’s blade.

  She studied it, clearly surprised, but then her surprise turned to alarm as she tried to move through the curling blue swath. It seemed she couldn’t do it. She cried out, cursing. “God, that’s cold!” she said. “What is this stuff?”

  No one answered her. Go’nesh leaned on his bladed staff and watched impassively. Chloe bared her teeth and pushed against the blue curtain. Slowly but surely her hands began to edge through it. Her fingertips emerged. They looked purple with strain. Go’nesh let out another deep grunt of surprise. Horace’s heart hammered—what if she got stuck halfway through? But then, with a sudden gasp, Chloe withdrew her hands. She scowled angrily at the encircling curtain, and then, shockingly, let herself sink out of sight into the ground. She popped up again right beside Horace, glaring back at the ribbon. Horace could hardly believe it—he’d never before seen a substance Chloe couldn’t pass through. He heard Brula let loose a long, thoughtful hum.

  If Chloe heard it, she didn’t react. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them. Her palms were red. She thre
w a nasty glance up at Go’nesh, and then turned to Horace.

  “It’s barely vibrating,” she said. “Everything vibrates. But that thing is almost totally still inside. And so cold it’s burning hot.”

  Horace thought he understood her. He knew that all matter did vibrate, at the tiniest levels—the molecules that made up matter were in constant crazy motion. And the faster the vibration, the higher the temperature. But the slower the vibration . . .

  “Maybe it’s absolute zero,” he said, hardly believing the words. Absolute zero was as cold as anything in the universe could possibly be. “Or close to it, anyway. The molecules would barely be moving.” Go’nesh watched him as he spoke, his thick, angular face giving nothing away.

  “Molecules again,” Chloe muttered. She’d never shown any interest in knowing exactly how her powers worked, but Horace had hypothesized long ago that her ability to pass through solid objects might be happening at the level of molecules, of atoms. Matter, after all, was mostly empty space—in a manner of speaking—and it was mostly electrons refusing to come near each other that prevented normal objects from doing what Chloe could do. Somehow, he reasoned, the Alvalaithen allowed her to overcome those forces of repulsion.

  “Maybe the molecules of the curtain aren’t cooperating with the molecules of your body,” he said. “It must have something to do with the lack of vibration.”

  “Why should the vibration make a difference? I’ve never had trouble with cold things before.”

  “This is beyond cold,” Horace said. “Four hundred and sixty degrees below zero.”

  Chloe jerked her head back, startled. “Whoa,” she said. “So what you’re saying is, don’t put my tongue on it.” No sooner had she spoken than the hanging sapphire ribbon dissolved with a sharp hiss, vaporizing instantly into a blue haze.

  Teokas spoke up, her voice merry and light. “Is this how you usually operate?” she asked. “You freely discuss these technical matters?”

  “Sometimes,” Horace said, unsure whether the Altari would consider that a good thing or a bad thing. “When we have to.”

  “Horace operates that way all the time,” said Chloe. “It’s in his job description. My job is a little different.” She stepped away from Horace, turning to Go’nesh. “Do it again.”

  Go’nesh gripped his blade. He looked to Brula, almost as if asking permission. When Brula nodded, Go’nesh reared back, eyeing Chloe, and spoke for the first time. “Don’t move,” he said. His voice was so deep that Horace felt it in his heart. Literally. The words reverberated in his chest, seeming to jostle his pulse out of whack for a moment.

  The huge Altari straightened his arm, gripping his staff halfway down, and swung the blade in a wide circle. It hissed through the air just inches from Chloe’s face, leaving an arc of glistening ribbon hanging in front of her.

  Chloe squinted at the ribbon, then pressed a hand against it. She grimaced but didn’t pull away. “If it’s moving slow inside, maybe I should too,” she said, almost to herself. Gingerly, she reached out and touched the frozen curve of blue. She closed her eyes and let her shoulders fall, relaxing. “I just have to take it slow.” Then she began to move forward steadily. Her hand slid through the ribbon. When her belly met it, she shivered violently, just once, but took another deep breath. She kept on moving, sliding slowly but surely through the glistening swath of blue. “I got it,” she said. She opened her eyes and looked up at Go’nesh. “I got it.”

  Two more steps, and she was through. She released the Alvalaithen and smiled up at the towering Altari. “Are you impressed?”

  To Horace’s great surprise, Go’nesh smiled back down at her. “I am,” he rumbled.

  “It hurt,” she said. “I didn’t like it. I think that banana I ate might be a frozen banana now.” She pointed at the Fairfrost Blade. “I saw a picture of a weapon like that once. From a story. But it was called something different. The Green Dragon something.”

  Go’nesh rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The Green Dragon Crescent Blade,” he said. “Just a name. Just a story.”

  “Many of the old Tan’ji have given rise to stories,” said Ravana. “To legends, to myth. It’s only natural.”

  “One of the Wardens here carries Excalibur,” Dailen said.

  Horace thought his eyes would pop out of his head. “The Excalibur?” he said. “The sword? Like, King Arthur?”

  “The sword’s not even Tan’ji,” Ravana said, faintly scolding. “Just the scabbard.”

  Chloe hardly seemed to be listening, still eyeing the Fairfrost Blade. “How old is it?” she asked Go’nesh.

  “The Guan’dao is in its third millennium,” Go’nesh replied. “I was lucky to earn its trust.”

  Horace let loose a ragged whistle. The blue blade was over two thousand years old.

  Suddenly the Alvalaithen flickered back to life. Chloe thrust her arm out, exposing her palm. “Cut me,” she said to Go’nesh. “Try to.”

  But Go’nesh shook his head, pulling the Fairfrost Blade to his chest. “No,” he rumbled.

  “I want to see if you can. Don’t you want to see if you can?”

  “I have seen enough.” And then he bowed to her deeply, murmuring sonorously in his own tongue: “Ro’ha nahro.” The other Altari echoed the strange words once again. Go’nesh straightened, looking down at Chloe expectantly.

  “Okay, what is he saying?” she asked, clearly as bewildered as Horace. “What does that mean?”

  Dailen spoke from the shadows. “Say the words back to him. Ro’ha nahro—‘the open hand is held.’ You’ve shown him your power, and he accepts it. He wants the same from you now.”

  “Oh. Sure.” Chloe bobbed forward awkwardly. “Ro’ha . . . nahro.” She pointed at Go’nesh. “And on a personal note, your power is badass.”

  Go’nesh looked confused but broke into a warm smile anyway. “Thank you, Keeper,” he said, and then he returned to his seat at the table.

  Brula gazed at Chloe for several long moments. “We have seen all we need to see of the Alvalaithen,” he said at last, his tone heavy with finality. He flicked his fingers at Chloe dismissively. “Now it is your turn, Horace Andrews. A most unexpected Keeper, bearing a most unexpected instrument.”

  The other three Altari leaned forward, even Go’nesh, their faces full of curious doubt.

  “I can’t walk through walls,” Horace told them. “I can’t dodge arrows. I’m not sure what you’re expecting to see.”

  “The true Keeper of the Fel’Daera should know when the arrows are coming,” said Ravana.

  “You say true Keeper like there’s some other kind,” Horace objected. “Besides, that’s not how the box works. Anyone who tells you different doesn’t know any better.”

  “And how did you come to know better?” Teokas sang. “You must be barely out of the Find yourself.”

  “I’ve been lucky. I like to think I’ve been smart. I’ve been through a lot already. I’ve mastered the breach, and I—”

  “But have you surrendered to the Fel’Daera?” Brula asked impatiently.

  “Yes,” said Ravana, nodding eagerly. “Have you?”

  “That’s . . . not a thing,” said Horace. “I don’t surrender to the box, but I don’t fight it either.”

  “When it suits you,” Brula said. His voice curled with condescension.

  Horace chewed his lip, thinking. They were afraid. Especially Brula. And Horace understood that, he really did. Even he was frightened by the Fel’Daera’s power sometimes. Maybe the best way to convince them that he was a worthy Keeper was to share their fears.

  “Look . . . I know you’re scared. I get it. I have my own fears. I’m claustrophobic—do you know what that means?”

  Dailen piped up. “Fear of small spaces.”

  “Right. A bad fear to have when you’re a Warden. And one time, when we were inside a Riven’s nest—”

  “The same nest where Chloe destroyed the crucible?” said Teokas.

  “Yes. We were
there to rescue Chloe’s father. While we were searching for him, I looked into the future and the Fel’Daera showed me that Dr. Jericho—do you know him?”

  Go’nesh rumbled deeply. “I know him,” he said.

  Horace had to shiver, imagining that encounter. “Right. Well, the box revealed that Dr. Jericho was going to lock me in an old boiler—like a metal coffin, buried in the wall. No light, hardly any air, no room to even roll over.” He closed his eyes for a moment, the memories coming on too strong. He took a deep breath. “I knew that I would be trapped in there for a long time. An entire day, in fact. But I also knew—thought I knew—that it was the only way to destroy the crucible, and to save Chloe’s dad. So I let it happen. I let Dr. Jericho catch me. I let him lock me up.” He looked at Chloe, standing beside him. She had her fists pressed against her mouth. “I knew Chloe would save me.”

  “Because the box showed you she would,” Teokas prompted gently.

  Horace shook his head, still watching Chloe. “No. Because it was the only logical conclusion. It was the willed path. And at the end of it, she did save me. She destroyed the crucible. We saved her dad.”

  Silence dropped over the room. Teokas’s lovely eyes looked wet. Ravana was gazing down at her own hands.

  But Brula stood up. “The willed path,” he sneered. “Logical conclusions. These things only matter if you are able to see truly in the first place. How clear are your visions?”

  “It depends,” said Horace, feeling emboldened by the respectful silence of the others. “You can test me if you like.”

  “I intend to.” Brula picked up the huge pitcher in front of him, and then stretched to grab another. He brought both of them around front and walked toward Horace. “Nothing dangerous. No boilers, no burning houses. A simple test of accuracy. If you are quite ready?”

  After what Chloe had just been through, Horace had no idea if he was ready, but he pulled the Fel’Daera from its pouch. Teokas rose halfway out of her seat, craning her delicate neck to get a look at it. Ravana and Go’nesh, however, both wore worried frowns. One of Ravana’s hands lay lightly on her bow.