by Jim Johnson
I smiled at the journal as I settled in. “Remind me to bring a cushion next time we do some work. This concrete floor is really uncomfortable to sit on for more than a few minutes.”
The lips on the page smiled. I shall endeavor to remind you.
I stared at the pages. “All right. What should I do?”
Open a rift in the Veil, large enough for you to step through.
I blinked, then stared at the book. “Just like that?”
Is there a problem?
I shook my head. “No, I mean, not really. I guess I was expecting something more complicated.”
The smile returned. No, just open a rift in the Veil large enough for you to step through and make sure it is adequately anchored so that you don’t have to worry about it collapsing behind you.
“All right.” I closed my eyes and focused, and then pulled on the ley threads and wove enough energy together to create sort of an ethereal scalpel. Then I adjusted my inner Sight to refocus to be able to see the shimmering curtain that was the Veil, all around us, and the I poked at the Veil with the scalpel of etheric energy, and drew it straight down, creating a cut in the Veil a little bit longer than I was tall.
I stood and picked up the journal, and then willed my etheric scalpel to dissipate into the ether.
I stared at the glittering rift before me and then glanced down at the book. “Now what?”
Step through, you silly goose.
I raised both eyebrows as I stared at the rip in the Veil and the strange blue and silvery tunnel beyond it, twisting out of sight. “Really? I’ve only been in there a couple times. I got sick most of them. I don’t really want to hork up breakfast again.”
It’s the only way in, Rachel. Trust me. It gets easier with practice, and if you’re truly going to embrace the life of a Beacon, you’ll need a lot of practice going in and out of the Holding.
I bit my lip and then held the book close to my chest. I took a deep breath and let it out slow. “All right. This is what I want to do, so I guess I just better get on with it.”
Thinking this had to be one of the craziest things I’ve ever done, I steeled my rattled nerves and stepped through the glittering gap in the Veil.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE PASSAGE THROUGH THE TUNNEL OF blue energies was just as weird as I remember. The constant flashing of the coruscating blue energies from the ley threads made me dizzy, so I closed my eyes and held the journal close to my chest. I don’t remember if I had closed my eyes the first time I went through the Veil, but I know I had puked my guts out once on the other side. I wanted to avoid that this time.
After countless heartbeats and possibly just a breath or two, I stepped out of the rip in the Veil and onto solid ground, or at least what felt like solid ground.
I was back in the Holding, where everything looked largely as it did in the normal world, though with an overlay of dingy gray.
I was in an empty basement, concrete floor and unfinished walls. Not all too dissimilar from Bonita’s basement, though this one looked to be in poorer repair.
Curious, I opened the book and glanced down. Charity’s mouth appeared within the swirls of glowing ink. “Charity, does anyone repair the buildings here in the Holding?”
I had noticed that the shadow-Branchwood in the Holding had also been poorly maintained, and suspected that things weren’t nearly as neat and tidy over here.
Weavers occasionally come into the Holding to repair or clean sections, but I do not recall if there is someone specifically tasked with it. Souls generally don’t spend enough time here to bother with making it look presentable.
I shook my head. “The Holding’s decent enough, but something could be done for the color. The washed-out grays don’t do anyone any favors.”
It used to be brighter. I remember more light in my days as a Beacon.
I filed that one away, not sure what to make of it but betting Miss Chin might have a thought or two. I headed for a narrow wooden stairway against one wall that led up to a closed, slanted wooden panel. “Let’s see what’s outside.”
Hold a moment.
I glanced down at the book, alarmed and ready. I instinctively reached out for a ley thread, and was momentarily dismayed to not feel them or the grid nearby. “What’s wrong?”
Before we venture out, you should set up an internal clock to warn you when it is time to return to the mortal world. Trust me—time does not flow quite the same in the Holding, and it is very easy to lose track.
I nodded. “I didn’t expect the place to be so addictive, but I’ll do so, as soon as you show me how.”
Charity tittered, and then took a few minutes to talk me through how to reach out through the rift in the Veil for a ley thread and then to program that ley thread to keep track of a specific amount of time and to warn me when that time had elapsed.
Basically like a snooze alarm, except it was all in my head and powered by an etheric stream of energy. Pretty nuts, right?
Knowing I had to meet Malcolm this afternoon at four, and knowing it would take me an hour or so to get from Bonita’s to the grove to meet him, I set up my new internal alarm for half past two, giving myself a little wiggle room if I ended up spending more time in the Holding.
“All right, that’s done.” I walked up the narrow wooden steps and leaned my shoulder into the wooden hatch. It gave with a groan of ancient hinges grinding against each other, and then sloughed open.
I pushed up against the door, feeble sunlight washing over my face as I exited the basement via an old slanted hatch built into the side of the building. The steps continued up until the last one was just below the surface of the concrete sidewalk.
I exited the stairway and turned to close the hatch. The hinges ground in protest again, and then the hatch slammed shut when I lost my grip on it. I might be in the Holding, but some things were heavier than they looked.
I brushed my hands off against my pants and looked around. I was standing just off the Holding’s equivalent of Mount Vernon Avenue. It was extremely disconcerting to see the road completely empty of people and vehicles.
“This place looks like a ghost town.”
Charity tittered again. That’s precisely what it is.
I stared down at the book, dumbfounded and then amused at my own unintentional joke. “I guess it is, at that.” I cleared my throat as I took in the Del Rey that wasn’t quite right, with that dingy gray light permeating everything and the dramatic lack of people or animals, or much of anything save for the familiar surroundings.
“I mean, there’s nothing here. No people, no shops that I’m familiar with, nothing. It’s almost as if there had been a war and everyone got killed or run off.”
Charity sighed. It wasn’t always this way, Beacon Rachel. You must believe me. Perhaps it is a sign of the times?
I shrugged. “Things are tough all over, right?” I started to walk down the Holding version of Mount Vernon, still feeling the dissonance due to the lack of people or cars. Even during the day, Del Rey had people wandering this way and that.
“The place looks neglected, for lack of a better word. Couldn’t we do something about that?”
Charity made a little noise I couldn’t quite translate. I believe it is possible. It would be a matter of applying the ley threads in such a manner that you cleanse an area around you within the Holding. It is time-intensive and very hard work, which is likely why few Weavers take the time to repair the Holding.
I frowned. “How can I manipulate the threads like you said?”
I can show you, if you’d like. While my Warden discouraged me from doing so, calling it a waste of time and potential, I still managed to slip into the Holding do it from time to time, to keep my skills at manipulating the ley threads active and supple.
“Supple?” I smiled. “Hadn’t thought of that term to refer to our skills. I like it.”
So to begin, gather a pool of ley energies and hold it within your potential.
I nodded and did as she asked. It was harder to reach out beyond the Veil to gather ley threads, but I managed to pull a couple in through the Veil and then draw off a trickle of energy that I pooled up to use. “Now what?”
Now find something—a shadow representation of something in the mortal world that appears to have lost its sheen and color, and apply the etheric energies you’ve collected to restore the item.
I bit my lip and gave it a try. I found a dingy gray picnic bench outside the Holding version of the Pork Barrel restaurant and focused my Sight on it, and then tried pouring a little of the stored etheric energy on it.
At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then the color of the table, which I remembered to be a light shade of blue back home, broke out through the gray haze and settled into something resembling what I knew.
“Something like that?”
Yes, something like that. I heard the approval in her voice.
Struck by the comment and a sudden realization, I asked, “How is it that you can see?”
I cannot see, not in the normal, physical sense. But the matrix in which this journal was prepared and in which I am contained enables me to see and sense my surroundings within a fairly tight radius.
I nodded as I tried to translate in my head. “Does it work with the cover closed as well as open?”
Charity sighed, which was a strange noise for a book to make. Unfortunately, no. That is a design flaw I wish I had considered before volunteering to be encased within this journal.
I stared down at the pages and the sad-looking mouth etched onto the pages in blue energy. “Um, what? Run that by me again?”
I said, I wish the builders of this journal had thought to make it possible for me to sense my surroundings with the book open or closed. When the cover is closed I feel a compulsion to rest. Prior to your opening the cover, I had been at rest for a long time.
I took a few breaths to let that roll through my head. “But…you volunteered for this? Why would you even want to be encased in a book? How is that even possible?”
The lips on the pages drooped. Some years after the war, after the United States formally came into being, I took sick. I performed my duties as a Beacon intensely and assiduously, but my illness gradually wore me out to where I was left bed-bound.
I tested the bench I restored color to and it seemed solid enough, so I sat down and focused on the book. “I’m sorry to hear it. What happened then?”
My Warden and some Weaver allies approached me on one of my more awake days. They told me that they had fashioned a journal, with an etheric matrix that could house my immortal soul. They proposed to shift me into that matrix before my body wore itself out, and I accepted.
I frowned, sensing more to the story. “Okay, I understand the concept. But, why, Charity? Why would you accept being stuck in a book forever when you could just, I dunno, let it all go and head off to whatever awaits us after death?”
She offered a sad chuckle. Said so calm and matter-of-fact. The truth is, Beacon Rachel…I am afraid to die. Even after two hundred years, the thought of being no more terrifies me. Being placed in this matrix and this journal was a hard step, still is a hard thing to adjust to and accept, but to some degree, I am still alive. And functional, and able to provide a service.
I shook my head, a mix of sadness and wonder endearing me to Charity’s story. “That’s pretty amazing, Charity. That’s…I don’t know. So selfless of you.”
You think so? I often think that I was selfish to accept, that cheating death is the epitome of self-interest.
I frowned. “I don’t know about that. How many Beacons have you helped, you know…as a journal?”
Her lips curved up into a smile. Seven, including you.
I returned the smile. “So you cheated death, but have proven useful for over two hundred years and have helped six other people like us learn how to use these powers and carry on the tradition.” I shook my head and offered a low whistle. “And here I thought I was a big deal with all this power and talent.” I grinned. “You’ve set the bar higher for me, Charity. I have a long way to go.”
My intention was not to make you feel inadequate…
I raised a hand and gently stroked the page. “Not at all, Charity. Just…humbled by the sacrifice you’ve made. And that you’re willing to help me.” I bit my lip, then glanced around. “The Holding really makes me sad. Will you help me clean up at least a little of it?”
Of course.
I stood up and held Charity in my hands, and then reached out for the ley threads and began to work my way around my immediate surroundings, flexing the threads as Charity had instructed to restore color and vibrance to the fabric of the Holding.
Just as I was getting good at shifting the energies to clean off the grime and grit, the little etheric timer in my head buzzed, with enough intensity to make me wince.
Charity chuckled. You may want to tone that down next time.
I shook my head and then rubbed the back of my neck. “Ow, yes, good idea.” I shut down the limited power feed to the clock and let it filter back to the Veil and then out back to the ley grid. “So now we go back. It’s a bit of a walk to the rift, but that’s the best place to go, correct?”
Not necessarily. Sometimes it is faster to find a shortcut out of the Holding, but that is a lesson for another day. For now, head back to the rift you created.
Curious about that statement but content to let it sit for now, I tossed the last eddies of the etheric energies I had stored aside, and jogged toward my rift in the Veil.
It was still standing where I had left it, with the same level of energies spiraling around it. I said goodbye for now to Charity, stored her within my satchel, and then took a deep breath. I stepped in through the glittering rift in the Veil, actually eager to get back to the Holding soon to continue cleansing it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I DIDN’T HAVE A REAL GOOD feeling about this evening, given everything that was going on, but I was willing to give it a try to make Malcolm happy. I met him at the bus stop and he drove us out of Del Rey and to the LBJ Memorial Grove. Took us about half an hour to get there thanks to rush hour.
Once there, we headed into the grove and worked our way along the paths among the dogwoods and white pines. This grove was a quiet little spot just off the G.W. Parkway, and while it was visited pretty heavily on the weekends, it was all but abandoned during the week at afternoon rush hour.
Headlights from cars zooming past on the parkway and the ever present thunder of airplanes taking off from and landing at National Airport nearby created a constant background noise, but after a few minutes of wandering the grove for the right place to set up a working circle, the noise faded into the background.
I centered my thoughts and reached out to gather a few ley threads I’d use for the training session, and shuffled through the dewy grass and joined Malcolm in a clear spot of grass.
We had used a broken stick to dig a little circular furrow into the ground, laying out the dimensions of our working circle, figuring that would be the least impactful thing to do. We could have cut the grass down with Malcolm’s penknife, or I probably could have used a ley thread to burn the grass into a circular shape, but to me both options felt far more destructive than necessary. Malcolm hadn’t cared either way, so we went with the stick in the dirt approach.
I sat down cross-legged in the circle across from Malcolm and smiled at him as I settled in. “Feeling good?”
He cracked open his eyes. In the dusk all around, the whites of his eyes and the shine of his teeth were just about all I could see of him. His dark clothing and dark skin pretty well blended into the shadows.
“I guess so. I managed to pull a couple of the ley threads to me. I have them ready to do some working.”
I nodded, trying hard to keep my face neutral, but fearing I was doing a poor job of it. My brother and Abbie both had told me on separate occasions that I had a lousy poker face. I guess it was just hard
for me to hide what I really felt, even though there were plenty of times when it would have been better to hide what I was feeling.
I covered my doubt with a smile. “That’s really great, Malcolm. I have gathered a few as well.” No need to go into detail—I wasn’t here to one-up him and doing so would probably just bruise his tender ego anyway.
I closed my eyes, seeking my centering point deep within. “I’ll activate the warding circle if that’s all right with you.” I made it sound like a statement rather than a question, a little tactic I had picked up from Miss Chin. I had a tendency to ask for permission rather than state what I wanted, so this was a test of myself as much as it was a test for Malcolm.
He said, “No problem. I don’t have a talent for that yet, anyway. I spent an hour the other night trying to build a little warding circle around a cheeseburger, and failed miserably. The ants still got to it.”
I smiled slightly, though I figured he had his eyes shut and wouldn’t see it. I shifted a couple of the ley threads in my hands and found the two trigger points Malcolm and I had built into the circle. I had to adjust one of them because Malcolm hadn’t set it quite right in line with the other one, but then I powered up the two ley threads and activated the warding circle.
A faint blue sphere sprang up around us, veins of my unique silvery glow sparkling through it. I made sure the warding matrix was stable, then breathed a sigh of relief and focused on Malcolm with all my senses. “That’s done. Now, I’m not as powerful as Miss Chin so my warding isn’t as powerful and won’t last as long, but we should have about an hour of uninterrupted time, unless someone should happen to blunder into the grove at this exact spot and bump into us.”
Malcolm nodded. “Thanks for doing that. I know I couldn’t do such a thing yet.”
I shrugged. “It just takes focus and practice. Lots of practice.”
He shook his head. “If I didn’t have to work so much, I could spend more time focusing on this stuff.” He gave me a critical look. “How much time do you spend practicing?”
