Masters of the Veil

by Daniel A. Cohen

  “Watch yourself, Sam.” Cassiella’s shoulders shot back and forth like alternating pistons.

  “Watch wha—”

  In one swift motion, his body lifted into the air, along with the rest of the dancers.

  “Whoa!” His whole circle, along with the others, rose into the air like it was just another step in the dance.

  “Sorry!” Cassiella smiled, the mushroom that bound her hair fluttering. “Forgot to mention that!”

  “What’s happening?” Sam felt the blood drain from his face.

  “The band!” Fromson laughed.

  Sam had been too focused on the ascending crowd to notice that the band had changed tunes. This one was loud and peppy. Over on the bandstand, Glissandro winked at him.

  “It’ll be fine,” Cassiella squeaked. “Uh, you can let go if you want.”

  Sam’s hand gripped her shoulder like a vice. He immediately let go. “Sorry!”

  She gave him another bright smile.

  Sam started to laugh. “This is incredible!”

  “This is just the beginning, my boy!” Fromson shouted.

  It was just the beginning. The different circles floated and rotated until they were gathered into one giant tube, starting at the ground and rising almost as high as the stone pillars. Above and below Sam’s circle other rings of people danced. Each ring swirled in the opposite direction from the ones above and below it. Sam noticed the newlyweds rising through the tube. They waved and blew kisses as they passed each row, and a pack of white birds circled their feet. When the couple reached Sam’s row, everyone around him called something that sounded like “Meet-a-coil-oval-seen.” He didn’t even try to join in on that one.

  The couple rose higher and higher on a platform of light until Sam could no longer see them. Then a sudden chill ran through his body, like being dunked into the deep end of a pool.

  Everyone let go of the people on either side of them and lifted both hands like they were coming to the top of a roller coaster—right before the plunge. The rings disbanded, and Sam was tossed backward, tumbling head over heel toward the ground. As he got closer to becoming a sticky human pancake, he felt his body slow down, like a bungee cord had been wrapped around him. He ended up gently touching down next to the original members of his circle.

  Daphne laughed and hugged her friends.

  “Forgot to mention that one, too.” Cassiella winced as they landed. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t mention it… actually, I take that back. Please do mention it.”

  She laughed and looked up at Sam. Her eyes were big and round, with specks of green reflecting the moonlight. After a moment, she blushed and tore her gaze away.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Sam tried to sound like his heart wasn’t jackhammering against his ribs. “But I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

  “Do you…” Cassiella blushed a deeper red. “Do you maybe want to go for a walk with me? I could show you around if you want.”

  “I…” Sam looked over at Daphne. “I was hoping to…”

  “Sam!” May zipped toward him.

  Sam waved. “Hey, May.”

  Her dress fluttered in the night breeze. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

  “Too much.” Sam’s heart was finally slowing down.

  “That’s nice to hear. It isn’t easy to raise everyone up like that.” She turned to Cassiella. “What a pleasure to see you!”

  Cassiella curtsied and grinned.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Cassiella, but I have to borrow Sam.”

  “Oh.” Cassiella’s expression weakened. “I understand.” She took two fingers and drew them across her heart. “Travel well, May.”

  May copied the gesture. “And you.”

  Cassiella scampered off behind one of the building stacks.

  “What was that?” Sam asked, putting two fingers on his heart.

  “Just an old custom.” May gestured behind them. “Let’s go this way.”

  Sam and May moved away from the crowd, toward the rinsefish fountain.

  Once there, Sam leaned against the railing and peered into the dark water. As soon as he peeked his head over the banister, several rinsefish rushed toward him. Dozens of little white globules reached the surface and bobbed like little buoys.

  May rapped her knuckles against the stone. “They know that after the seam, people are going to want to freshen up.”

  “How do they know? Don’t fish have really small brains?”

  May tilted her head in thought. “You know ants?”

  “Um, yes. I know of them.”

  “Did you know that some ants build separate sections of their hills to place their dead? So the toxic fumes of decomposition don’t harm the rest of the community.”

  Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Really.” May smiled. “And I’m not a scientist, but I think ants have much smaller brains than fish.”

  “I think it’s safe to assume.” Sam’s grin widened. He reached down and selected a rather large white glob. He popped it into his mouth like candy and again savored the cleansing feeling—it had been a disgusting couple of days.

  “Togetherness.” May’s voice had a dreamy quality. “It’s the most important thing in the world. It’s why we are programmed to be social creatures, why we live in communities. Just like ants, the most amazing things happen when we look outside of our own capabilities. One finger can’t even lift a pebble, but a pair of hands…” May swallowed hard and looked away.

  “There’s no ‘I’ in team,” Sam spit out the cleanser and a small flower grew where it hit.

  May went to pick out a white glob herself. The rinsefish pushed the white blobs toward her with their heads. As she plucked one from the water, the fish shied away. “No, I guess there isn’t.”

  Sam tried to sound sincere. “Good job with the ceremony, by the way.”

  “Thank you. I’ve seen so many—led so many—yet they never get old. If anything, they give me the vitality to keep going for so long.”

  “How long have you been doing them?”

  May spit out the rinser in the most elegant way possible. “Would you like to know why you couldn’t drink the wine?”

  Normally, Sam would have again been irritated at her circumvention of his questions, but he was curious. “Is that what the red stuff was? Is it because I’m not old enough?”

  May’s eyes twinkled. “It’s because you haven’t gone through Omani.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a coming of age ceremony. When you are ready, you will have to accomplish a series of tasks. Then, you will be seen as an adult under the Veil.”

  “What kind of tasks?”

  “I’m not sure what they would entail.” May shrugged. “It’s not up to me.”

  Sam knew he probably wouldn’t get any more information about that out of her. “So what was the deal with the pure Veil? And breaking second-skins?”

  “That would be best explained by Rona. You will be having a session with him tomorrow. Get some sleep; you have a long day ahead of you.”

  Sam sighed. “Another one, huh?”

  “Yes, and you look exhausted.”

  “But I want to go talk to—” Sam glanced back, trying to catch a peek of Daphne.

  “I’m afraid I have to insist that you get some rest. Cassiella will still be around tomorrow.”

  “No, not—”

  “Anyway,” she interrupted. “Goodnight, Sam.”

  “But I—”

  May snapped her diamond-encrusted fingers. Immediately Sam felt incredibly tired. She snapped again, and his body rose and shot through the air. He was flying… again. In a matter of moments, he was back in the guest room, lying on his back, cradled in the green hammock. The light bobbed above him.

  Sam let out a yawn so large that his jaw hurt. “Talking to May is like talking to a wall.”

  The light remained quivering in front of him.

 
; “A really pretty wall.”

  The room went dark and sleep took him.

  CHAPTER 14

  Crom’s Learox skin was the last in the line of second-skins. Ten other second-skins were equally spaced across the plateau, all on the hands of the Tembrath Elite. Each one was different—except those of Sage and Saria, who were both using horned totum-screecher skins. Vigtor had taken each skin from its previous owner with pain and fear, which made them all the more appropriate for their current purpose.

  “We won’t get another shot until the next time the full moon is missing from the sky,” Crom grunted.

  Sage sneered. “We all know the necessary conditions.”

  Crom stood up straight, towering over the rest of the Tembrath Elite. “If you and your sister weren’t a small step from useless, then maybe—”

  “You thick-headed oaf,” Saria interrupted. “Maybe if you had the brains to do even the smallest of natural magic—”

  Crom waved a giant hand. “Who needs it? When did natural magic ever—?”

  “Silence,” Erimos uttered.

  All eyes turned toward their most senior member.

  “Crom is correct. Remember this. We have only the smallest window. Let us begin now.”

  “Yes!” blurted Jintin.

  “Now don’t go and blow us all up,” Sage warned. “Remember what happened last time.”

  Jintin’s eyes looked especially beady in the dark. “Your ear grew back fine. Erimos knows what he’s doing. Now if it was Crom…”

  Crom balled his second-skin into a fist. “Shut it.”

  Jintin looked down, suddenly fascinated with his toes.

  “Now,” Vigtor broke in, “I have gone through the trouble of getting these skins for you. Let’s not make me get more. We have the correct tools and the skills to use them. Tonight is the night we get through.”

  Jintin squealed.

  Crom flexed, the muscles in his shoulders bulging like mountains. “Shut it.”

  “No, you shut it!” Saria clucked. “He can speak if he wants.”

  “No, he can’t,” Crom spat. “When I tell someone to be quiet, they do it!”

  “You don’t have that kind of authority.”

  “The rest of you wouldn’t even get close without me!”

  “But you can’t do anything else,” Sage jeered.

  “You worthless piece of—”

  “Come now, Crom,” Jintin’s eyes narrowed to slits, “There’s no ‘I’ in team.”

  “How dare you use a flathand saying when you speak to me!” Crom started to advance on Jintin. Erimos made a barely perceptible twitch with his pinky finger and Crom froze in place. Erimos shuffled him back into line like a chess piece.

  Vigtor tipped his head to his teacher. “Thank you, Erimos.”

  Erimos opened his eyes. They were blazing infernos of red.

  “Everyone prepare for their rip,” Vigtor commanded.

  The space where they stood—the flat stone on the peak of the dead mountain right above Dami Sanctorum—grew silent. The Veil was thinnest there; no one knew why, but Vigtor presumed it was because the desolate land around it had been abandoned for many years.

  Every time they attempted their rip, it seemed that the life around the mountain recoiled a little further.

  The wind whipped up dust and powdered bone. Black clouds huddled above, hiding the stars. The world was waiting.

  Erimos bound their essences, and Vigtor began his rip.

  As soon as he began, pain shot up his arm. He was at the beginning of the line and he had begun the course of action. He knew what She would throw at them. The Veil was determined to stop their rip at any cost.

  Vigtor’s second-skin—a saber-beak neemia skin—started to crack and peel. It flaked off and brown tufts of fur spun out over the cliff, drifting down into the dark. His fingers twisted into unnatural positions, resembling the gnarled branches of a tree. His cries echoed through the crackling air as he left a gash in Her as deep as he could.

  Thunder roared, and the wind picked up.

  After ripping Her, Vigtor fell to the ground, twisting in agony. He felt the next member in line scream in anguish. His hand was red and raw where the neemia skin had torn and fallen off, useless.

  Down the line, the members pulled and screamed, each one toppling to the ground in turn as their second-skins ruptured. Erimos was the only one not to make a sound. The agony each felt was a necessary consequence—a pain they all shared now that their essences were bound. Vigtor couldn’t feel the actual pain each member felt as the Veil retaliated, but he could feel the presence of their agony.

  The sky was bleeding—the black clouds had unleashed their burdens, and the water came down red and rancid, like they were being bombarded with the juices of the recently decayed. The wind surged, tearing away anything in its path. If it weren’t for Erimos’ drape keeping them grounded, they would have been knocked into the abyss.

  Vigtor felt each step closer to Crom’s turn—the final rip. Crom hadn’t exaggerated before: they all knew he was their most vicious member when it came to getting through.

  They had focused long and hard since their last attempt, making subtle changes to the line, altering their second-skin choices. Vigtor had even taken these particular skins in a more ferocious fashion than ever before, another necessary sacrifice. The more depraved the kill, the more powerful the skin. Everything was about to be unleashed. At last, the true power would be theirs to manipulate.

  This was why Vigtor had formed the Tembrath Elite. This was their purpose.

  Sage fell. Saria fell. Jintin fell.

  Vigtor watched, eagerly waiting for Crom.

  The Veil hit their anchor like an avalanche. Crom roared as his muscles seized.

  Vigtor could feel both Crom and the Veil writhing in pain. She had held against them for too long.

  The toxic wind carried vile fumes into the darkest recesses of their lungs. She always had nature throw something new at them, but She was weak. She wasn’t the real power.

  Just a little more. So close.

  The clouds were now red, the vile water like a ruby waterfall. The harsh wind—blowing like sandpaper against their skin—couldn’t sweep them away, so now the sky was trying.

  The red river beat their bodies, attempting to carry them off the edge.

  Crom struggled. His frame shuddered and started to buckle, as he howled into the downpour.

  Just a little more.

  Then Crom’s second-skin burst into flame.

  So close!

  Instead of putting out the fire, the red rain fed it. The blaze grew and swallowed Crom, crackling his flesh. With everything that the Veil was, She had still been unable to break the protective drapes the Tembrath Elite had placed on themselves. She could break bones; She could char flesh, but She could not kill them. Vigtor’s hand throbbed as if knives twisted within his palm. The other Elite still writhed in agony. The pain was real, but it could do no lasting damage.

  Crom’s deep voice boomed across the plateau, echoing off the surrounding mountains, like they were screaming back. In the distance, what was left of the tiny green trees ripped from the ground, leaving nothing but a brown canvas across lifeless earth.

  The flames around Crom changed color, becoming pure white, and the torturous sounds he made drowned out everything else. The dark clouds reflected back the white light from the sizzling flames.

  “Do it!” Vigtor tried to scream, but he could not hear his own words.

  Flashes of lightning—possibly Her last-ditch effort—arced down from the clouds and pierced the flames.

  Crom’s screams changed pitch.

  The sky suddenly went dark.

  Silence.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Uh,” Petir grimaced, his eyebrows nearly touching, “you must be lost, kid."

  Sam looked around. He didn’t think he was in the wrong place; it was exactly as May’s light had described when it woke him. “Walk the perimeter of
Atlas Crown until you get to the three-pronged pillar. There will be an opening for you. Go through, and continue straight until you get to the Valley. Rona Rono will be waiting for you with his other apprentices.”

  Day was just breaking and Sam stifled a yawn. He hadn’t seen anyone else in town and assumed no one else was awake yet. The bobbing light had interrupted his dream just before dawn. If Sam hadn’t been used to getting up early for practice, he probably would have wrapped his second-skin around the light and squeezed until it exploded.

  Under his bare feet, the emerald soil massaged each step. Past the patch of vibrant green was a vast expanse of wondrous landscape. Almost symmetrical mountains framed a valley of pale green, almost yellow vegetation. The further up the mountain Sam looked, the darker the shade of green. At the very top, the trees looked almost black. It looked like someone had taken a brush and meticulously painted the flora.

  Running through the mountains—ruler-straight and almost exactly centered—flowed the bluest river Sam had ever seen. He saw the spots where the river started and where it ended, which—based on Sam’s past knowledge of rivers—was not supposed to be possible. It looked like someone had cut out a section of a river and plopped it down in the valley, like some optical illusion. Circles of water—whirlpools—frothed within the main body like a necklace of pearls. The circles flowed without disturbing the water in the main channel—which didn’t seem to fit with what Sam knew of physics.

  Sam approached the small group of people. “I’m exactly where I should be.” Sam rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes. “Deal with it, twerp.”

  “C’mon, Rona.” Petir’s expression looked like he’d been kicked in the stomach. “You can’t be serious.”

  Petir, along with four other kids—Glissandro, Cassiella, Daphne, and a fourth he didn’t recognize—sat cross-legged in front of an older man, whom Sam assumed was Rona Rono.

  His new teacher had skin the color of dark chocolate and two hoop earrings in each ear. The symbol on his white robe looked like the outline of a bull’s head. A golden headband decorated with large gemstones rested on his shaved head. He looked to be around the same age as May, and muscles bunched under the white garment. His second-skin—the color of a tiger-eye gemstone—reminded Sam of a ring his mother sometimes wore.