Masters of the Veil

by Daniel A. Cohen

  Glissandro gave him a brittle smile.

  At the next circle they ran into Daphne, laughing and giggling with the same group of girls she’d been with at the seam. As soon as she saw him, she stiffened up.

  Sam tried his best to sound casual. “Hey.”

  Daphne countered with an even more indifferent, “Hey.”

  “You going to introduce me to your friends?” Sam put on his most dashing smile.

  One of the girls behind Daphne blushed, while the others giggled.

  Daphne turned from Sam. “You all know Glissandro.”

  The girls giggled and waved. Glissandro’s face went red and he gave a quick nod.

  “This is Sam,” she made a frivolous gesture in his direction, “but you don’t have to worry, he probably won’t be here much longer. He has a football scholarship to get to.”

  “Oooh,” one of the girls simpered. “What team?”

  Daphne shot her a look of contempt.

  “Not sure yet.” Sam gave his most apathetic shrug. “I have a lot of options to choose from.”

  Daphne gave Sam a look that screamed, ‘Oh, brother.’

  Sam grinned. “You girls mind if I talk to Daphne alone for a second?”

  Daphne went wide-eyed. “But—”

  “We’ll meet you in there, Daphne,” one of the others cut her off. She had a remarkable tan, flawless skin, and her brown hair had the slightest trace of red streaks. She beckoned for the other girls to follow her, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Oh, and Glissandro, I need to talk to you about something. I simply cannot get the upper notes to work on my sugar flute. Think you can come with us and give me some pointers?”

  Glissandro’s face turned an even brighter red, and he gave another silent nod.

  “Great!” The girl gave Sam the type of smile that could melt ice. “We’ll see you in there, Sam?”

  Sam mustered up a winning smile. “Count on it.”

  Glissandro walked off with the snickering girls, leaving Sam and Daphne alone.

  Sam rubbed a thumb against the palm of his second-skin. “I wouldn’t have thought you the type.”

  “What type?”

  “To be here, watching a game. Aren’t all games beneath you?”

  Daphne flicked her hair. “I’m only here because my friends wanted to come.”

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a follower, either.”

  Her words burst out like a firecracker. “I’m not!”

  Sam held up his hands in mock-surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re not.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why do you even care?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe if you acted like a human being and actually enjoyed this, we could watch it together.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Together?”

  “Well, I’m new here. I don’t know any other places I could take you on a date.”

  Her eyebrows tried to escape into the stratosphere. “A date? You’re joking, right?”

  “Do they call it something else here? A loose stitching?”

  “Are you making fun of us?”

  “Geez,” Sam tried on a smile, “it was a joke. Lighten up.”

  Daphne put a hand on her hip. “Your jokes are about as lame as your grips.”

  “Ouch. Well, maybe you should teach me some of each. We could make that our date.” Sam shrugged. “And if it goes well, I know something I could teach you about…”

  Her cheeks instantly flushed. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “I know you were able to cover me with tiny flying leaves, and you were able to use that bird to find the amorberry.”

  A glint of humor touched her eyes. “Failed to find the amorberry.”

  “Whatever, it was impressive nonetheless.”

  Daphne tilted her head and gave him a skeptical look. “I know your type all too well, and I don’t know what you are hoping to get with one date, but—”

  “Who says it just has to be one date?”

  “Wait,” she spoke in faux confusion, “don’t you have to go back for your football scholarship?”

  “C’mon… one date.”

  “In case you don’t understand subtle hints, let me spell it out for you. Not. Interested.”

  “How about we just go watch the gumptius together?”

  “It’s not the gumptius, it’s just gumptius. And why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  Sam shrugged. “You intrigue me.”

  “If I intrigue you more than the Veil, then you must have gotten tackled on your head more times than I thought.”

  “You don’t get tackled on your head. You just get tackled.”

  A tiny trace of a smile appeared on her lips. “Let’s just go watch the match.”

  Sam made a pointed gesture. “Only as long as you sit next to me at the reenactment.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  The next circle of people was significantly larger than the one Sam had come from, but he and Daphne were able to find Glissandro and the group toward the front. This time, Glissandro didn’t suggest they kneel. The energy in the crowd was verging on explosive. Everyone was on their toes—someone was even on Sam’s toes—trying to get a peek at the upcoming match. Sam saw all sorts of symbols and ages in the crowd.

  “What’s the big deal?” Sam shouted to Glissandro.

  His friend nodded toward the table.

  To Sam’s dismay, Petir stood at one end of the stone slab, his arms raised high above his head. Already, a bunch of black X’s were scorched into the side of the stone. Behind Petir, an entourage of other kids with X’s on their robes patted him on the back and led the cheering.

  Sam ran his hands down his cheeks, tugging the skin. “He’s the big deal?”

  “Not just him,” Glissandro played over the rising commotion.

  From out of the circle came a young woman. She was a little older than Sam, and stood about half his height. She wore something like a kimono with patterns that shifted along the silk, and on her head were a pair of makeshift goggles and a bowler hat.

  Daphne’s head jolted back, her eyes going wide. “Sparks!”

  Sam furrowed his brow. “Who?”

  “Crealynne of the Orbus clan, but everyone calls her Sparks. She’s one of the best, but she hardly ever plays. She’s studying to go through the Omani for mystical magic, so she spends most of her time in meditation.” Sam thought there might have been admiration in her voice.

  Sam gave her a quick nudge with his elbow. “How do you know so much about a game that you hate?”

  She slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “You don’t have to like the game to know about Sparks.”

  “Why do they call her Sparks?”

  “You’ll see.” Daphne turned back toward the table.

  Sparks gave a little bow to Petir, who did not return it. She daintily sat down and pulled out a rectangular metal dish.

  Sam tapped Glissandro on the shoulder. “What’s that for?”

  “She makes a new second-skin before every match.”

  Sparks pulled out a tiny yellow gourd. Taking off the cap, she poured its contents evenly across the tray. What came out was grey and sticky looking, sliding across the dish like molasses. Sparks dipped both sides of her hand into the mixture and let the sludge drip down her forearm.

  “Liquid steel,” Glissandro played.

  “Liquid steel?” Sam asked. “Wouldn’t it burn her?”

  “She’s found a way to keep it cool.”

  Instead of hardening, the steel stayed limp and pliable around her hand, like salt-water taffy. She held out her hand for Petir and the crowd hushed.

  “You aren’t going to beat me.” Petir pulled off his green practice skin and pulled on the black leathery one.

  Sparks’ voice was vibrant and oddly melodic. “The most beautiful vibrations are sometimes found in dissonant groupings.”

  “You’re out of practice,” Petir sneered. “And you don’t even make sense.”


  “A sense can be distorted by a lack of connection.” For some reason, she looked over at Sam. “And without a connection, everything is dark.”

  “Let’s just get this over with.” Petir reached around and slapped the scorched X’s on the side of the table. “I have plenty more people to beat tonight.”

  This spurred a round of cheers from the “X” pack.

  Sparks still looked at Sam, the goggles enlarging her eyes. He felt like she was staring through him, just like the echo flies.

  “Hello!” Petir snapped his uncovered fingers. “Let’s go.”

  Sparks turned her gaze back to her opponent and they put their hands together. A dramatic pause stilled the commotion, until…

  “Now!”

  A roaring cheer noted the beginning of the match. For the first few seconds, nothing happened; their hands just seemed to sit together, like they were still waiting for the go-ahead. Sam watched as Petir’s facial expression went from arrogant to apprehensive. His cheek muscles strained with effort. Sparks, on the other hand, looked as stiff and unflinching as a wax figure. The kids behind Petir attempted to rile him up.

  “You can beat her!”

  “Crush her hand!”

  It was actually working. Sam watched Petir start to move Sparks’ hand down toward the table.

  “That’s it!”

  “Almost there!”

  Then Sam saw how Sparks had gotten her nickname.

  Crackling sparks shot from the back of her second-skin like someone was taking a chainsaw to sheet metal. Handfuls came from under her bowler hat and flooded her face, and Sam realized what the goggles were for.

  Their hands went back to the middle.

  The match went on like that for a while. Petir would gain a little advantage, and then Sparks would set it back with an eruption of fresh flickers of electricity. Storm clouds, their electric bellies buzzing, formed above them. Frustration pulled at Petir’s face as he screamed. The stone table began to shimmy from the ground, and the sparks turned from yellow to blue.

  Sam thrust his fist high into the air. “Go, Sparks!”

  She looked over at Sam. The black of her pupils took up the entirety of each eyepiece. “The connection will break!” She screeched.

  Her hand slammed backward into the table and the liquid metal burst like a water balloon, coating all of the spectators in shiny splatter.

  The match was over. Petir had won.

  Sam watched in horror as the conceited look returned to Petir’s face with a vengeance.

  Petir burned an X across the entire surface of the table, his face aglow. After looking at his clan members, he gave an apathetic shrug.

  His assembly of followers lifted him onto their shoulders and sent layers of red flares into the sky.

  “Oh no,” Sam dug his fingers into his scalp, “I’m sure we won’t hear the end of this.”

  Glissandro played a mournful dirge.

  Sparks jumped away from the table and pulled on a shiny platinum second-skin. She waved her hand in an elliptical motion and the wayward liquid silver was sucked off of everyone’s clothing and gathered in a ball against her palm. She took one quick look at Sam, before zipping through the crowd without a word to anyone.

  Petir had his flunkies place him back on the earth, although Sam knew he had left his head in the clouds.

  “I’ve never seen Sparks freak out like that,” one of Daphne’s friends said. “I wonder what happened.”

  Sparks’ cold gaze flashed in Sam’s mind’s eye. “So we’re not going to see Petir get beat today, huh?”

  “Not unless you want to try.” Petir was standing just inches away from Sam. “That’s right, I saw you over here. Why don’t you get over to the table and let me humiliate you again?”

  The onlookers grew silent, waiting to see what would happen.

  Sam looked over at Glissandro, who gave him a disapproving glance.

  Sam grit his teeth. “I… not today.”

  “Oh, what a surprise,” Petir’s mocking tone dripped like acid. “You really can’t do anything, can you?”

  Glissandro waved his arms across his chest in warning.

  Whispers permeated the crowd.

  “Who is that?”

  “I haven’t seen him before.”

  “He’s handsome.” The last whisper came from one of Daphne’s friends.

  Sam felt adrenaline pump into his veins. “I’ll play you another day.”

  Petir scoffed. “Big loolabird on the outside, but here you’re just pathetic.”

  Sam took a calming breath. “Another time.”

  “Yeah, you probably don’t need me slamming your hand into the table and making it any flatter.”

  A collective gasp arose from the mob.

  Sam felt something snap in his head. A seething anger built up in his chest as he stepped uncomfortably close to Petir. Being that Sam was a full head taller, he had to look down to give Petir a menacing glare. “You know what? You’re on, you little dweeb.”

  Petir looked back with an arrogant grin. “That’s more like it.”

  The crowd spread apart, giving them a path to the table.

  As Sam made his way over to the rock chair, fresh waves of energy came over him. It was the same thing he’d felt at the football game. Right on cue, the pounding started in his head. He looked back at Daphne, who gave him an agitated scowl.

  Petir’s eyes swarmed with arrogance. “I can’t wait to see that second-skin split apart.”

  The crowd was still quiet, not sure how to react.

  Sam felt his fingers twitch with excitement. “I’m going to tear you to pieces, you little—” Then he looked down at his hand.

  The stars were twinkling almost as brightly as Sparks’ emissions. Countless stories stretched across his palm. It was infinite space wrapped around his knuckles. Thinking about the inside of the snake’s pod, he looked back at Daphne and smiled. The pounding in his head started to subside, and he felt the energy begin to dwindle.

  Sam turned and faced Petir. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

  He got up and walked away from the stone table.

  “Pathetic!” Petir yelled. “Why don’t you just go home already? No one wants you here.”

  Sam stopped, took another deep breath and let the residual energy drain away as he approached Daphne. “Let’s go to the reenactment.”

  She gave him an appraising look. “Fine. But still no guarantees that I’ll sit next to you.”

  “Deal.”

  ***

  They weren’t the first two at the theatre, but the now-raised seats on the slanted earth were still rather empty. Glissandro had hung back with Daphne’s friends to try and show them some grips involving music.

  The purple curtain was still down, shielding the stage.

  Daphne suggested they reserve a few seats up front, so they went down and picked a good spot in the middle of the row. The seats were raised by the thousands, like at the seam, but this time they had backs to them and reclined.

  Daphne touched a few of the seats around them, and the grass turned from green to red. “So people know that our friends are going to be sitting there.”

  Sam motioned to the stage. “Have they done this before?”

  Daphne sat down, crossing one leg over the other. “The reenactment?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They have, but it’s different every time.”

  Sam paused and then sat next to her. “Why?”

  “Because it was so long ago that no one knows the real story.”

  “But Bariv told me there was the girl with the sunflower petal…”

  “That’s about the only thing that stays the same.”

  Sam prodded the seat next to him with his second-skin, but it stayed red. “How is it a reenactment if they don’t know what happened?”

  “They know the gist. And that’s the fun of it: the mystery keeps it exciting.”

  “I guess.” Sam settled again
st the back of the seat and locked his fingers behind his head. “What did they reenact last time?”

  Daphne looked up at the stars. Moonlight glinted off the silver specks scattered within her bright blue eyes. A tremor of desire traveled through Sam’s body.

  “Rona came up with the last story. It was brilliant. What happened was, the little girl was being chased by evil spirits. Her mother had just died and the spirits had been haunting her ever since, taking away both her joys and disappointments in life. They entered her soul and sliced away the ends of her emotions. She was left cold and emotionless, because when you can’t feel the highs and lows, the middle means nothing. They were chasing her around, trying to drag her to the underworld. Then she came to a river and became trapped. The evil spirits closed in on her from both sides. Cassiella actually played the part of the main evil spirit—which was kind of funny. All of a sudden, a giant sunflower grew right before her eyes. A single petal flew off, and the little girl held it out like a shield against the demons. The light coming from the petal grew and grew, until all of the demons were banished. Then she ate the seeds from the sunflower and could feel again. She used the petal as the first second-skin.”

  Sam paused a moment to take it in. “Pretty powerful story.”

  Daphne gave a serene nod. “The Veil is pretty powerful.”

  “Then why is everyone scared of power magics?”

  At this, Daphne’s eyes fell to the ground. “It’s not the magic.”

  “Then what? It seems to me like somebody freaks out every time the subject comes up.”

  “Let’s just talk about something else.”

  Sam shrugged. He didn’t push the subject, especially since Glissandro had promised him answers from the Mystics. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” She held her pink second-skin in front of her face, examining it like a normal girl would examine her fingernails. “Don’t you have a million questions about us? I know I did when I got here.”

  “I’ve got a question.”

  Daphne waited. “What?”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She sighed, but Sam was sure he could hear a smile beneath it. “Out of all the questions in the world. You could ask about our past, our customs, our heroes, our foods, anything. And you ask that?”