by B.J. Keeton
Chapter Thirteen
Ceril stood with his team in front of the Instance portal. He had seen it every day for six years, but he had never really understood how it worked. Never in all his time had he dreamt that the Charons had somehow actually created other universes and controlled their expansion. The sheer power—not to mention hubris—that took almost overwhelmed him.
What kind of person invented technology like that?
The portal at Ennd's Academy had been a simple doorway. Well, simple only in that it looked like a door. Ceril had seen Nephil and other professors entering some kind of combinations when he was younger, but he assumed they were just pass codes that allowed access to certain areas of the school. He had since learned the codes were more akin to addresses for the Instance to which they were connecting. But not all portals looked like the carved doors found at Ennd's. The one aboard the Inkwell Sigil, for instance, was much more minimalist and did not try to hide what it was in the slightest: two long pieces of metal stood parallel about eight feet apart, and the Instance portal stood as a dark shimmer between them. Until that morning, that dark shimmer had always connected the Sigil to Ennd's. Now, there was just empty air.
Now, the whole thing looked fake.
Roman interrupted Ceril’s admiration of the Instance device by saying, “Your team is just arriving now, Ceril. I think we're about ready for send-off.” The muscled scholar clapped his sausage-fingered hand on Ceril's shoulder. It was probably supposed to be comforting, or maybe congratulatory, but it just made Ceril’s stomach sink. My team, he thought. I’m going to screw this up so bad.
As though he could read Ceril’s thoughts, Roman said, “You’re going to be fine, Ceril. Really. We’re not in the habit of sending people out, especially on their Rites, unless we’re reasonably sure they’re capable of what we’re asking.”
“Reasonably sure?”
“It has to be a challenge somehow. It is a test, after all.”
“Right.” Ceril wasn’t convinced. Behind him, the four members of his squad were strapping their packs on and making sure they had enough supplies for a decent chance at survival.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” Roman said, “to give you this. That would have been…well, it wouldn’t have been good, yeah?” He extended his hand, palm up, to Ceril. In it, a black sphere appeared. He offered it to Ceril. “You’re going to need a sleeve for this one.”
“So when you say we’re acting as fully Rited agents—”
“I mean just that.”
Ceril took the sphere from Roman’s hand, and it came to life. While it had felt solid—was solid—moments before, black vines began to extend from it and spiral around Ceril’s arm and make their way toward his neck and face. They continued to travel beneath his clothes. For a few seconds, Ceril’s skin was covered in shimmering blackness, and then it disappeared as if it never existed.
“I love watching that,” Roman said. “It never gets old.” He turned to the other four members of the team. “If you haven’t already, activate your nanite skins at this time. You need to be able to initiate any kind of Conjuring you might need as soon as you’re through the portal. You’ll want to be ready. We think the portal opens into a safe location, but we can’t be absolutely sure.”
Saryn activated her sphere, as did Swinton. The same black tendrils coated them and then went invisible. Chuckie and Harlo just stood there, having already covered themselves in the microscopic layer of machines.
The space between the metal pillars began to ripple, and a hazy purple rectangle appeared. The very center swirled like a toilet that just wouldn’t finish flushing.
“That's it?” Ceril asked.
“That's it,” Roman confirmed. “I don't have to tell you how important this is, Ceril. But I do have to tell you thanks. I truly appreciate you being so open and eager to do this.”
“It's not like I had much choice, Roman,” Ceril said.
“There's always a choice, Ceril. Even when it does not look as though there is.”
That’s not what Nephil made it sound like. Ceril just nodded and leaned in for a hug with his teacher.
“Be safe,” Roman said.
“Always am.” Ceril spun on his heel to face his squad. He said, “All right, guys and gals, let's move out!” He assumed that there would be time for the obligatory leadership pep talk on the other side. He tightened his pack’s straps and walked through the reappeared purple haze. The other four members of his team followed.
