Masters of the Veil

by Daniel A. Cohen

  This got the others’ attention.

  Crom flexed and pulled, but he could not get loose. He raised his second-skin—made of tanned Learox skin—and had to diminish each rod individually.

  "I will admit," Vigtor pulled the others' eyes back toward him, "that I

  underestimated them. Bariv hasn’t lost the talent. A pity he wouldn’t work with us.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Crom asked from behind them.

  A second wave of gold shot across the room and pierced the wall a hair’s distance from Crom’s throat. The big man didn’t make a sound.

  Vigtor continued. “What we need to do now is find a way to communicate with the boy.”

  Jintin cleared his throat.

  “Let me guess.” Vigtor raised his eyebrows at Jintin. “Force?”

  Jintin shrugged. The man’s squirrelly face and small stature created the illusion of weakness.

  Vigtor shook his head. Jintin’s ability to destroy was unmatched, but he wasn’t known for his cleverness.

  “You know as well as I do that if we tried a siege, we would lose. There are just too many of them, and apparently some have even been practicing the more nefarious arts.”

  Sage spoke up. “Just because May was able to break your hold doesn’t mean they could keep us all at bay.”

  “No.” Vigtor gave her a hard look. “Don’t you think they are already preparing to defend against an attack? No, we need another way.”

  “They will not accept each other,” Erimos said quietly.

  The room went quiet. When Erimos spoke, everyone listened.

  Luckily for Vigtor, Erimos—the man who had taught him power magic—had never wanted to lead the Tembrath Elite. He was content to sit on the sidelines and watch, offering his input when necessary. By far the wisest of them all, Erimos conserved his words, making them all the more powerful.

  Erimos opened his eyes for the first time that night. They were piercing red. Vigtor knew that they had not always been that color, but red was indicative of power. In the case of the Veil, the redder the better.

  Long white hair hung down over Erimos’ shoulders, ending in silver tips. His face was scarred from countless years of traveling down the powerful side of the Veil. Many centuries everyone else’s senior, he had discovered many aspects of how to actually use the Veil, how to access real power magics. He had accessed aspects people had been too scared to reach before.

  “If you would care to elaborate?” Vigtor dropped his head in a respectful nod.

  “They will be afraid of him. We all felt it. He will be drawn to the true methods of controlling Her. It will only make the boy join us sooner. ”

  Crom had finally pried himself from his magical bonds. “I can do it! We don’t need him!”

  Vigtor ignored Crom’s comment. “Yes, they will know what awaits him. What he is capable of. Soon he will know it, too.”

  “Exactly.” Erimos nodded. “We just have to make sure it stays that way.”

  “Excellent,” Vigtor said. “Let’s begin.”

  “Begging your pardon,” Erimos’ wrinkled hands produced an envelope from his lap, “but I already have. As simple as it is,” he placed the envelope on the table, “this is how we will succeed. A small weight to tip the scales.”

  “It must work,” Vigtor said. “That boy is the key to getting through.”

  The rest of the Tembrath Elite nodded at this: all except Crom.

  Erimos closed his eyes once more. “I have been waiting a long time for this. Longer than all of you. Longer than most of you put together. Our purpose will be fulfilled.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The championship game was heating up, the fans going wild with anticipation. Thirty seconds left and Sam took the field. Girls screamed, guys chanted, and Paul Barsky in the mascot suit started doing cartwheels. Sam waved a hand to rile up the crowd ever further. He beat his chest and hooted like a gorilla, which started the screams up again. It was the day he was to become a hero.

  “Doug,” Sam said, “fake sneak left and look for me in the end zone.”

  “But, Sam,” Doug said, “you can’t be on the field.”

  “Why not?” Sam looked around; all the other players wore black jerseys instead of the usual green and gold.

  “Because that part of your life is dead.” Doug pulled a black sheet of paper from his pocket. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

  “Memo?” Sam took the paper, which crumbled to ash. “What are you talking about?” He pulled a tuft of black cotton off the mascot suit and started chewing it.

  “Get that thing off the field!” Doug shouted. “It doesn’t belong here.”

  “Doug, just throw me the damn ball.”

  “But it’s not a ball,” Doug said. “It’s you.”

  Sam looked at Doug’s hands. In place of the ball, a black swirl filled his palm. It was just lying there, limp, as if too tired to go on. Then hundreds of other swirls drifted onto the field and attached to Sam. They started to drift upwards, carrying him out of the stadium. Up over everyone’s heads, he looked down and saw blank stares on thousands of fans.

  “NOOOO!” Sam jerked against the swirls.

  “Did you forget your way?” The black swirls asked in unison.

  “Huh?” Sam asked.

  “Now jeopardous in play?”

  “Let me DOWN!”

  ***

  Sam awoke in the pitch-black room.

  “How generous is May?” asked a quiet voice.

  Sam rubbed his eyes. “Uh, very generous?”

  A pinprick of light appeared next to him and started to grow until the room came into view.

  Sam remembered everything.

  Oh no. It can’t have been real.

  That meant he really had hurt that kid and blown his football career. He started to feel the panic rising, choking him. His whole life was wrecked. The memory of being locked in a jail cell crept into his mind.

  He lay there for several minutes, processing everything. A chill ran over him and his stomach tightened up. He took a deep breath and tried to remember the excitement he had felt the previous night, how ready he’d been to learn, how eager to know that magic was real and he could do it. After a couple of heavy breaths, he finally began to calm, although the knot still sat heavy in his stomach.

  He had no idea how long he had slept, but it felt like only a moment. The painting on the wall had transformed overnight. Now, it showed a scene of children playing in a field, each one bearing a tiny glove on his or her hand.

  Sam reluctantly extricated himself from the green ropes and got to his feet. The ball of light hovered next to him.

  “Bathroom…?”

  The light followed him as he made his way toward the door at the far side of his room. Sam gave it a sideways look. “Convenient.”

  The bathroom looked like it had been designed by an alien race, although one with pleasant taste in decor. Next to the toilet, which had also been decorated with artwork, was a small tree. Instead of leaves, however, the branches produced a soft-looking material, which Sam assumed was their version of toilet paper.

  After he relieved himself, the light-ball accompanied him back into the bedroom. Sam went to the door and tried to twist the knob. When it refused to turn, he felt like the rock walls were closing in on him.

  The ball of light rocked back and forth in the direction of one of the walls.

  “Right,” Sam remembered, “touch the wall.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out. Instead of being stopped by solid rock, his hand passed through the wall as though it were nothing more than smoke. He pushed his arm through and felt emptiness on the other side. After taking a deep breath, he jumped through.

  It seemed he was a late sleeper.

  Beyond the wall, Atlas Crown was alive with movement. Morning sunlight bathed the grounds, and people smiled and waved to one another while they moved about, wearing clothing that resembled kimonos and monks’ robes. Simple s
ymbols—not the corporate logos Sam was used to—were woven into the fabric, giving Sam the impression of Native American garb. Like May and the kids in the painting, everyone wore a glove on one hand.

  Nearby, a lanky, dark-skinned man held out his red glove toward the roof of a hut. An hourglass-shaped ball floated off the roof and landed among a group of kids wearing yellow gloves with green polka dots. They squealed with delight and ran off with the ball past someone wearing a metal glove—almost like a gauntlet from a suit of armor. When he swung around to watch the kids, he saw a wild-haired woman wearing a clear glove that looked as if water had been molded around her skin.

  The kids ran out onto an area full of small shops, magnificent trees, statues, log cabins, and plenty of people. Rolling hills, streams, and ornamental bridges playfully entwined with the architecture. The giant sandstone pillar on the other side of town appeared to be miles away.

  With a cautious smile, Sam moved closer to one of the structures, an open-faced shop selling small confectionery treats the likes of which Sam had never seen before. On the table were glossy candies the size of his arm and puffy cotton-candy-type treats that changed color from red to blue and back.

  A large pond with decorative stone borders lay a short distance away. People bent down, grabbed small white things out of the water, and dropped them into pails. A few people looked his way and waved their gloved hands. He returned the gesture.

  Close-cropped grass covered the ground and the folk walked around barefooted. Sam kneaded the grass with his own bare toes.

  A man in a booth gave him a kind smile. “You’re new.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Welcome, young one. Come over here.” His smooth, grey hair didn’t move as he gestured, and Sam found himself staring at the pattern of green concentric circles woven across his chest. An enticing smell invaded his nostrils as he stepped up to the booth, where mountains of gooey pastries were spread out, buffet-style.

  The man opened his arms wide. “Care to break the night’s fast?”

  Sam’s mouth began to water. He reached into his pocket, and then remembered his wallet was back in the Carver locker room. Pulling out his hand, he gave the man a disheartened frown.

  “I don’t have any money.”

  The shop owner smiled. “My name is Fromson of the Bellamy clan. Fromson Bellamy for short.” He picked up one of the larger, gooier treats. “Let me be the first to introduce you to our home.” The man held out the pastry. “Eat up.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. It’s a new recipe and I’m curious to know what you think.” Fromson’s covered hand had taken on the same sheen as the treat.

  “Baker’s leaf,” Fromson said, noticing Sam’s eyes on his glove. “Keeps things from sticking. Now go ahead, enjoy.”

  “Don’t have to tell me again.” Sam gratefully took the treat. After a single bite, half of the pastry was already gone. It was warm and delicious and…moving? The sugary icing rolled around in his mouth on its own accord, as if it were trying to hit every one of his taste buds.

  “Slider buns,” the man explained as he saw the ecstatic look on Sam’s face. “Bet you never had anything like that before.”

  Sam swallowed. “Did it—”

  “Yes.” Fromson’s glove changed to a dusty green. “It tries to make itself as delicious as possible for you. Pretty ingenious, huh? I just wrap a little bit of Her around it in sort of a triangle and… what is that you are wearing by the way?”

  Sam looked down at himself. “A jersey.”

  Fromson pursed his lips. “New Jersey?”

  “Uh… I guess it’s new.”

  “Splendid! Wonderful!” Fromson clapped his hands together. “When I was a child, my parents told me of a distant land called New Jersey. I’ve never met someone from there before.”

  Sam pinched his lips together in an attempt not to laugh.

  “No, not from New Jersey. It is a new jersey.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “I’ve never heard of that magic before.”

  “Come again?”

  The man squinted at the shirt. “Connecting a place with an article of wear. How do you do that?”

  “Sam!” The voice came from behind him. “It’s nice to see you’re finally awake.”

  He turned and saw May, only it wasn’t the May he was expecting to see. Instead of the sharp suit, she wore a beautiful red dress that hugged her waist and accentuated her curves. The variety of patterns on the bodice were far more complex than the shopkeeper’s; May’s dress had checkered patterns, birds, and flowers, along with other small symbols he could not discern. Here, she made no attempt to hide her shimmering glove.

  “May!” Fromson gestured toward Sam’s jersey. “Did you take a look at this? A New Jersey bonded with an article of wear!”

  “My dear Fromson.” She gave a small bow and took a crumbly, bite-sized pastry from the pile. “A jersey is an article of wear for physical activity in the other world.”

  He eyed Sam up and down. “Physical activity, huh? Think he’ll be any good at our games?”

  “I hope so.” She gave him a grin. “I also hope Sam normally doesn’t sleep this late. The arc is half over.”

  “No,” Sam shook his head. “Usually I’m up and running by six.”

  “Six?” the shopkeeper asked. “Six of what?”

  “O’clock.”

  “O-what?”

  “You’ll have to excuse Fromson,” May told Sam. “Among other things, time is seen a little differently here.”

  “How so?”

  “Why don’t you walk with me?” She made a polite gesture toward the center of town.

  Sam thanked Fromson and followed May off toward the pond.

  May smiled. “How are you feeling, Sam?”

  “Truthfully?” Sam polished off the slider bun and licked the icing from his thumb. “Like I just found out my whole life has been a lie.”

  “Not a lie at all.”

  “Then what?”

  “A step. One level that has led you to another.”

  “I don’t know if you realize it, but this is kind of a lot to take in.”

  “What a monumental step it is to take—a leap even. I had to take it myself, and my experience was a special circumstance, as well.” She flashed an impish grin. “If I can do it, I think a big, tough kid like you can handle it.”

  Sam thought about what Coach DeGrella would say if he knew how Sam was acting. Whining was not taken on the gridiron. Then he winced as he considered what his coach was probably thinking about him blowing the game.

  May held out her diamond-gloved hand. “If you’d like, I can use the Veil again to—”

  Sam held up his hands in protest. “No, no, I’m fine.”

  “Good.” May gave a satisfied nod. They resumed walking around the pond.

  Sam ran his tongue across the inside of his upper lip and smacked his lips, savoring the taste of the slider bun as the last bit of icing stretched across his tongue. “So, how is time different?”

  “Not different, just perceived in another way. You see, we don’t have numbers for time. We have the same time as the outside world, but we do things according to the world around us. Get up with the sun, and sleep when we get tired. We don’t number the hours in a day.”

  “So how do you know when to do things?”

  “Like what sort of things?”

  “I don’t know… like, meetings and stuff.”

  “There are terms for different periods of the day, which you will learn during your training.” May stopped. “Take a look at this.”

  They approached the edge of the pond and Sam leaned over the carved barrier. Staring back at him was a fish the size of a terrier, its body a bright gold with black fins. Out of its mouth came a white globule with the luster of a pearl. The ball slowly rose and finally popped the surface, sitting on top like a buoy.

  Sam rapped his knuckles on the stone and the fish drew closer. “What are they?”
/>
  “Rinsefish.”

  “Why were people taking the white things? Jewelry?”

  “No, rinsing.”

  “Huh?”

  “Take it, it’s a gift.”

  Sam plucked the white glob out of the water and held it in his hand. It was slimy, like seaweed, yet it held its shape.

  May mimed placing it in her mouth.

  Sam looked at her with disgust. “You can’t be serious.”

  She reached down and gently stroked the top fin of the rinsefish. After a moment of this, the fish ducked under the water and swam away. “I don’t know what you mean. People in your society eat flesh, so why not this?”

  “Because this is disgusting.”

  “Just try it. I promise you’ll like it.”

  Sam shrugged. He popped the white glob into his mouth and immediately felt a tingling sensation.

  “Don’t eat it,” May warned. “Swirl.”

  The taste reminded him of lemon sorbet. As soon as it was in his mouth, the glob dissolved. Sam swirled it around—this time, on his own. After a few gurgles, he looked back at May for further instruction.

  “Let it go on the ground.”

  He did as he was told and the white substance hit the grass; however, it didn’t stay there. It seeped into the ground like ink drawn into a parchment. Where it disappeared, a small green flower sprang into existence. It happened so quickly that Sam could have sworn he was looking at a stop-motion animation.

  His mouth felt exquisite, like after a trip to the dentist, but without the gum pain.

  Sam took a deep breath, the air minty and soft against his throat. “You win.”

  “It’s also used to bathe our bodies and our hair.”

  Sam looked back into the pond and another rinsefish gave up its white bubble.

  Sam took the glob and started rubbing it on his arms. The white material dripped off him and hit the ground, sprouting more flowers.

  He looked his arms up and down, noticing that his skin was so clean it almost glowed. “And the green flowers?”

  “Take a sniff.”

  They smelled like warm cinnamon.