by Sean Platt
Alastair continued, “Don’t worry, I can see through their guises. But you mustn’t let anyone pass until I confirm their identity. Not even your children. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Scott nodded, though he didn’t mean it. There was no way in hell he’d reject his children if they approached the Threshold, trying to come home. But he wasn’t about to tell Alastair.
“Good,” Alastair said, coughing as he bent down, messing with one of the stone decorations in the fountain base. A panel opened in the floor beside it, revealing two large black metal boxes.
Alastair opened one of the boxes, and retrieved a gleaming black sword from its sheathe. Inscribed on the blade, in gold lettering, were odd symbols that looked similar to those on the fountain.
“Here,” Alastair said, handing the sword to Scott. The hilt was wrapped in gold-colored shagreen. It felt heavy in his hands, and seemed to vibrate with some sort of power.
Alastair opened the second box, revealing a matching sword for himself.
He stood up and met Scott’s eyes.
“These swords are made to kill the Umlai, blessed with blood magic to quickly destroy them. Have you ever used a sword, Scott?”
Scott nodded, a lie.
Scott’s heart was racing, his mind barely able to keep up with the craziness spinning out of control. He’d never held a sword. But he was pretty sure he could kill anyone if it meant saving his children.
Alastair’s eyes narrowed on him. “Remember, no matter what, do not let anyone pass through. I will talk to the Umlai. I need you to stand guard at the Threshold, in case I fail.”
“And what if you do fail? What happens to my kids then? What happens to Holly if she’s over there?”
Alastair locked eyes with him. “I won’t fail.”
He then turned and stepped into the light, leaving Scott to stand guard against the alien horde.
* * * *
HUDSON
The Dark Manor, it turned out, was what Savannah called a “dark shadow” of the Galloway Manor, created from her memories in order to train the others how to escape the real thing should they ever make it across the Threshold.
While the layout was the same, it was furnished much like the shacks, with antique-looking furniture. Candles burned from lanterns lit along the walls.
They stood at the front window, looking down the hill toward the town they’d fled. In the dark, the Threshold looked like a shining red beacon.
They stepped away from the window and sat at a table in the front room where Mom had prepared a pitcher of water and glasses. Hudson wondered if she lived here, or had been planning to bring them. Either way it seemed odd, the water being conveniently ready for them. Then again, she’d just pinched the distance between town and mountaintop to nothingness.
“Thirsty?” Mom poured them each a glass.
“Thank you,” Hazel said, taking the water and gulping it down.
“No thanks.” Hudson still felt dizzy, though not like before. Still, not enough to add liquid to his stomach.
“Mom,” Hazel said, “how long do we have to stay here? When can we go home and see Dad?”
“When Alastair surrenders, or after he’s silenced.”
“Dad is with him. What happens to him?”
Mom ignored Hudson and turned to Savannah, still standing at the window. “Anything?”
She looked from the window to Mom. “Nothing, but the Threshold is chafing. Friction has started.”
Mom had no expression. Hudson heard an echo of something she’d said more than once in the past:
Botox is for idiots. I’m a mother. My kids should know what emotion I’m feeling, when I’m feeling it.
Mom had always been easy to read. She was kind, but wore her emotions on her sleeve. Yet as they stood there in the Dark Manor, he couldn’t read her. At all.
She turned to Hudson. “Your father will be fine.”
“What are we waiting for? If Alastair is this horrible man, why don’t those aliens, or whatever they are, go through the portal and kill him? Then let us go back home?”
“It’s not that easy. We need him to come through here. Then he can’t refill the fountain with his blood and the Threshold’s power will fade. But it’s dangerous for you two, which is why I brought you here, where Alastair can’t harm you. Let the warriors handle him.”
“And then we can go back home?” Hudson stared at her stone face and still read nothing.
“Yes,” she said, still giving him that same strange smile that wasn’t quite right.
Nothing about this felt right.
Hudson went to stand beside Savannah at the window, peering through a pane of black glass, seeing nothing but the same flickering red in the distance. But he wasn’t looking out the window, he was eyeing his mother’s reflection. Not only did she seem oddly emotionless despite just reuniting with her children after half a year, she also didn’t share any of his mom’s usual characteristics. Mom always twirled and pulled at the ends of her hair, especially when stressed. She could never sit still. She’d always pace, bounce her leg, or something. Yet here she was, sitting at the table as if at a tea party rather than preparing for some sort of alien war.
Hudson then realized that as he was watching his mother, Savannah was watching him. Her eyes met his in the reflection, as if she had latched onto his thoughts.
He stepped away from the window. “Come on, Hazel. We’re going back.”
“What?” Savannah said from behind him.
“No,” Mom said, “you must wait here. It’s too dangerous to go now.”
“No.” Hudson grabbed the dagger from his back pocket, thrusting it out as he pulled his sister from the table and led her backward toward the door. “I’m taking Hazel, and we’re going home.”
“I don’t wanna go!” Hazel whined, trying to pull away. “I wanna stay with Mommy!”
“She’s not our mother,” Hudson snapped, narrowing his eyes to see if her expression changed at all.
It didn’t.
The woman pretending to be their mother stood from the table, “What? Don’t be ridiculous, Hudson.” The voice sounded right, but the mask clashed with her words.
“You’re not my mother. You’re one of those things, pretending.”
“How do you know that?” Hazel’s voice cracked as she looked from Hudson to the thing calling itself Mom.
“She said she’s our mom.” Hazel turned to the thing. “Aren’t you?”
“Don’t lie!” he bellowed, moving the dagger just to remind her that he would stab her if he had to.
Savannah, still behind him, stepped toward the table. Her voice changed from the soft-spoken girl they’d met to blossom in years and command.
“Shurui. Stop it! Your mask has served its purpose. Show your form.”
Before Savannah finished speaking, their mother’s mask flickered in and out of existence, like a channel clinging to a dying signal. Then the mask was gone, and in its place was a tall, thin alien, with sharp features, endless limbs, long neck, and pointed ears appearing too high on her stretched head.
Hazel cried out incoherently as she took cover behind her brother.
“What are you?” Hudson demanded, even though she, in his mother’s voice, had already said they were aliens. He held his blade higher, stealing backward steps toward the door, slowly turning between the alien and Savannah.
“We’re leaving now,” he said to the creatures. He wasn’t sure if Savannah was also one of the things, or merely working with them. Either way, she could no longer be trusted. “Don’t try to stop us. We’re going back home.”
“You can’t,” Savannah said. “Leave here, and you’ll never make it back.”
The alien that had posed as their mother — Shurui, Savannah had called it — spoke. Its voice was like music, in the way that each sound seemed to lead into and harmonize with the next.
“Perhaps they should all die,” Shurui said, “That would solve our problems.”
“Stop it,” Savannah spit at Shurui. “They are innocent, and you know it.”
“I would argue that none is innocent, regardless of birth or upbringing. Their blood is stained.”
“You’re liars!” Hazel yelled from behind her brother. “And I hate you! I thought my mom was here, but you lied!”
“She is here,” Savannah said.
“You mean she’s alive?”
“Yes,” Savannah nodded.
“Your mother is our prisoner,” Shurui cut in, “and you will never see her again if you take even one step toward that door.”
* * * *
ALASTAIR
After so many years of living above the Threshold, with the constant beckoning from the liars that lived within The Hold, their infiltration into his dreams, and using his daughter to lure him, Alastair had finally surrendered.
They’d won, using the children to get him to cross over. As he stepped into the light, he realized he was very likely living his final moments.
The light was warm on his skin, easing his anxious mind. But he had to be careful. He couldn’t trust anything that caused him to lower his guard. He had to bring back the children.
As Alastair crossed over into The Hold, the sky took his breath away.
It was so beautiful.
Surreal.
The air wasn’t right, not just from the purple hue and bright white moons, but there was a bittersweet tang of burnt cinnamon clinging to the air. He wondered what the scent might be — a flower, a food, or something else.
Focus on the job!
He snapped his attention to what lay down the hill, the small village and the two dozen or so Umlai lined in front of their homes, waiting.
All were armed. Half wielded staffs of gleaming obsidian, or something that looked just like it. Half of the remainders held swords. The last quarter had what Alastair was certain were slingshots.
All stared. None spoke as Alastair approached with his hand on the hilt of his sword, hanging in its scabbard attached to his belt. He was twenty yards away and could feel his gut churning.
He looked around for the children but saw no sign.
He hoped they were in one of the homes. Alastair could feel Hazel’s energy somewhere close by, so she, at least, was still alive.
He approached the largest Umlai, a male, judging by his firmly set jaw and boxy shoulders, standing in front of the others, hand on the hilt of a large violet broadsword at his side.
The Umlai said something to one of the others in a language Alastair had heard plenty, though after two hundred years still didn’t understand. Hand on his sword, the Umlai took three long strides forward, then greeted him in English.
“So, we finally meet.” The Umlai spoke as if Alastair should know him, but they all looked more or less the same. And he didn’t know any of them, save for their attempts to sway him with dreams and visions of his daughter.
“And you are?” Alastair asked.
“I am Son of Mulkailot. I have been waiting my entire life to meet you, though I had hoped it would be under better circumstances.”
“Just give me the children, and we’ll leave peacefully.”
“They were invited here. You, however, were not.”
Alastair could feel the hateful gazes of the other aliens. He laughed with a wheeze. “As if you didn’t use the children to lure me.”
The Umlai moved to surround him, though none were making a move to strike — yet.
Alastair had to assume that they planned to kill him, and would no doubt murder the children as well. Just as he knew some things about them, they knew that his family’s blood was the only thing standing between them and an open Threshold.
He wasn’t sure how he would convince them to not only give up the children, but also let him return home. They had no reason to let any of them go. It simply wasn’t in their interests.
He had to scare them. Convince the aliens that there was a greater threat than letting him return home.
Son of Mulkailot looked him up and down. “My sister’s plan, not mine. But you are here, so I guess she was right.”
“I just want the children, then I’ll leave.”
“And why would we let you?”
Alastair dropped his sword.
Son of Mulkailot and the others looked down. Once distracted, Alastair swiftly drew a blade from his pocket and raised it to his own throat.
That grabbed everyone’s attention.
Son of Mulkailot’s head titled sideways as he looked at Alastair, puzzled. “You’re threatening me by saying you’ll kill yourself?”
“If I die here, the Threshold closes … forever.”
“You’re lying,” boomed Son of Mulkailot.
Alastair met the alien’s black, almond-shaped eyes, then grinned. “Look inside my head. But don’t try anything stupid or I’ll do it.”
The Umlai mumbled in their native tongue, upset, drawing closer around Alastair. If Son of Mulkailot gave the signal, Alastair would be dead in seconds.
He hoped that their self-preservation would override their anger.
Son of Mulkailot closed his eyes, concentrating.
Alastair felt the creature sliding inside his mind. A cold dagger made of ice, slicing into his brain. There was no physical pain. Only an icy loneliness wrapped in coils of sorrow which dragged Alastair’s spirits to depths he had never imagined.
Alastair wasn’t sure if the loneliness was Son of Mulkailot’s that he carried everywhere, or some form of psychic weapon, designed to unravel his mind. Perhaps Son of Mulkailot was going to try and take over Alastair’s body, and make him drop the knife.
Alastair had practiced psychic warfare for many years, though he’d never had to face an Umlai in person, nor on their ground.
He thought of Savannah, the pain he’d felt discovering her body, how he’d wanted to kill himself right then and there, screw his duty to the Threshold.
“So, you truly loved her?” Son of Mulkailot’s voice asked.
Get out of my head!
Son of Mulkailot left, leaving a frosted trail through Alastair’s mind.
He tried to shake off the pain, then repeated his threat, blade still at his own throat. “I just want the children, then I’ll leave you be.”
“And we want our birthright,” said Son of Mulkailot.
“Which is?”
“To return to the home that was stolen from us. And see our dead again.”
“Stole after your people murdered ours.”
Son of Mulkailot laughed at Alastair. “Is that what you were told?”
“I’m not here to debate history,” Alastair said, refusing to break the alien’s glassy stare. “I want the children. Then I will leave you in peace.”
That same bark of laughter cracked from the Umlai’s throat. “I am afraid that will not be happening.”
“You don’t think I’ll do it?” Alastair pressed the blade harder. Any more pressure, and blood would spill.
“The children are staying, unless you wish to do the right thing.”
“What do you want?”
“Open the Threshold.”
Alastair shook his head. “That isn’t going to happen.”
“Then you may as well kill yourself,” said Son of Mulkailot. “The children, as well as their mother, will be stuck here forever with us.”
* * * *
HUDSON
Hudson watched through the window as the aliens gathered around someone in the town below. It was too far to see, but he was suddenly certain that Alastair and his father had crossed over, and were now in danger.
“I think Dad and Alastair are down there. We have to help them.”
Shurui shook her head. “You’re not going anywhere until I hear from my brother.”
“Bullshit.” Hudson turned his back to her, then tried to do the pinch thing and bring them closer to the town.
Shurui let out something like a laugh. “You can’t do it.”
“I’ll help you,” Savannah said, approaching the door. “Follow me.”
She stepped outside and into the night. Shurui squawked in protest, but Savannah ignored her.
Hudson and Hazel followed. As Shurui had done, Savannah pinched the emptiness and widened her arms, stretching the air before her.
A portal appeared a few feet in front of them, door-shaped, though smaller than the Threshold, glowing yellow and purple. Through it, they could see Alastair surrounded by a large cluster of aliens, their weapons all drawn, converging on him.
“Father,” Savannah whispered.
But Hudson couldn’t see his father, and had a horrible feeling that he was on the ground injured. Maybe dead. “Where’s Dad? We need to help them.”
Shurui, now behind them, said, “They deserve to die. They all do.”
Savannah shook her head. “Enough!”
Savannah ran toward the portal, then vanished inside it as Shurui called her name.
Hudson turned to Hazel, now right beside him, both of them only three feet from the portal.
Shurui glared at Hudson as if reading his mind. “Don’t—”
He grabbed Hazel’s hand and pulled her in behind him.
* * * *
ALASTAIR
Alastair’s bluff had been called, his gambit failed.
Son of Mulkailot looked at him and smiled. “Are you really willing to die just to keep us from our home?”
“I’m willing to die if it means preventing another massacre.”
Son of Mulkailot laughed. “You really believe that lie?”
“I’m not the one tricking children.”
Alastair wondered why they were still talking. Son of Mulkailot must’ve seen the truth in Alastair’s mind, that he was willing to die and close the Threshold forever.
Was Son of Mulkailot really willing to risk that rather than accept a temporary loss and give up the children? Or was he also bluffing?
If so, Alastair wasn’t sure how to call the alien’s pretense beyond slitting his own throat.