by Layton Green
“Your father’s been so excited to give it to you,” his mother said.
Val’s smile outshone the blinking lights on the Christmas tree. He ran to the bike, admiring the sleek red form, the new wheels, the streak of lightning down the side. Grinning the entire time, he took it out to the driveway. His father watched as Val tested the gears, then eased the bike onto the road.
“Look, Dad!”
“I see you, You’re a natural.”
He felt a lump in his throat at his father’s words of praise. As he took off down the street with the wind in his hair, a feeling of utter happiness overcame him, the joy and freedom of youth coupled with the security of being loved by his family. Val tore through the neighborhood, the wind at his back propelling him forward, so fast he could barely hang on, then faster and faster, lifting him into the air as his father screamed for him to stop, spinning him in circles, out of control, he couldn’t stay on the bike, the astral wind, some submerged part of his brain screamed, you have to keep moving. He pushed and the image switched to his brothers sitting in the living room after Dad’s death, so young and vulnerable, he had to protect them, he was the oldest brother and that was his duty and Dad was gone and not coming back and Mom was in an institution and it was all on him and it was never enough and he could never be enough and the pressure was more than he can could bear, even more than this awful wind—
The anguish, the stab of emotion, made Val remember where he was. It was all so real that leaving the past behind was like a knife to his gut, but he blocked out the impossible images, his beloved brothers with him again, and he returned to the beam of spirit and the terrifying nothingness surrounding it, the astral wind whipping so fiercely he could barely hang on.
He took a step forward. The wind abated a fraction.
Another step, and the images returned. Different. This time a succession of girlfriends, from his youth to law school and beyond, smart and pretty girls but never enough for Val, he broke their hearts one by one not because he was cruel but because of the impossible standards which he could not even meet for himself. They came at him in a rush, pleading, calling, asking him to stop and chat, come back to bed, don’t leave them in the Void.
He pushed them all away and moved closer.
Skeletons and zombies came at him from all sides, pouring out of graves and mausoleums. Caleb was clutching at his shirt. Will was beside him, chopping down the undead with his sword. Val had to protect them. He lifted his staff, but shook his head in denial as he swung at the approaching fiends.
It’s not real.
A skeleton lunged for him, and Val set down his imaginary staff and closed his eyes.
The blow never came. When he opened his eyes, the skeletons and zombies had disappeared. Another step forward, this one excruciatingly slow, wading through wet cement.
Next it was Mari, holding his arm as they stepped through the neon-soaked streets of New York City, the night they had traveled through the portal.
Stay with me, she said. This is real, Val, this isn’t an illusion. You’re on the Planewalk, after all. The walk of planes. Of course there’s an alternate world where I can live and your brothers are safe and sound back home. Why would you not choose this? All you have to do is let go.
She smiled and took his hand, holding her stomach in the exact place the black sash gypsy had stabbed her. Don’t let me die again, Val. It’s up to you. Just let go.
Choking back a sob, he flung away the images and took another step. The last one had gotten to him.
Because what if it was true? What if he could choose one of these alternate realities, one where Mari and his father were still alive, his mother not catatonic, his brothers safe at home? Would he do it, even if it meant living in a slightly different reality?
Oh, how he wanted to. So very much.
But he couldn’t. Even if those things were true in some other place, it didn’t mean Mari wasn’t dead in this world, or that his brothers didn’t need his help here.
Anything else was just a selfish solution.
He took another step.
The blackness returned.
And the portal was right in front of him.
When Val tried to push forward, he encountered another barrier, a congealing of spirit. Exultant at his progress, he reached for his reserves of power, ready to force his way through this last invisible wall.
Nothing.
He reached deeper, gathering his will and pouring it into parting the veil of spirit standing between him and his goal. He felt the hint of an opening, the darkness giving way.
But only a fraction.
Val sagged, panting from the effort. He was running dangerously low on magic, and the door had barely budged.
The astral wind howled.
He had to move. Standing in place was a death sentence. Stray gusts whipped his hair, and he could feel the kinetic energy of the wind as it gathered around him, ready to surge forward and thrust him off the beam.
If Alrick spoke the truth, then the Pool of Souls—the path to his brothers—lay behind this final portal. There was no more spirit water. No help from outside. Just Val and whatever last reserves he could dredge from the bottom of his dried-up well of power.
He roared, pouring everything he had into a final push of magic. “I am Val Blackwood, spirit mage,” he screamed, “and . . . I . . . WILL . . . FIND . . . MY . . . BROTHERS!!!”
The crack inched wider. He shoved even harder, past the breaking point, his whole body quivering with effort, feeling as if his heart would explode, and then he pushed harder still, shrieking his rage, roaring at the barrier to open, fighting not with magic but with sheer force of will, daring the universe to deny him access to his family.
He felt the veil of spirit give a few more inches, and he knew this was his chance. Using his last ounce of magic not to force the barrier wider but to try to slip through the veil, he closed his eyes and flattened his body, propelling himself forward with his mind.
At the end of his effort, he lay on his stomach, face pressed against the floor. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he thought he must have failed.
Wait—the floor?
He realized the wind had died. In disbelief, he opened his eyes and found himself lying face down on a natural stone floor. The Spirit Bridge and the surrounding blackness had disappeared. The portal was right in front of him, inches away.
He gathered the strength to push to his knees, realizing he was in a high-ceilinged cavern lit by a dull orange glow. Keeping his eyes on the portal, as if it might reach out and pull him through, he edged around it and saw a pool of viscous silver sunk into a basin on the other side. The liquid was shimmery, tinged metallic blue.
The Pool of Souls.
He looked inside and saw a rush of images, people and places from his past. His law firm, middle school, friends from summer camp, judges, checkout clerks, random people he had seen on the street.
No more tests. No more games.
He concentrated on his brothers, and a series of images from his past shimmered on the surface of the pool: Caleb’s bar, their family home, vacations to the Gulf Coast. Going on instinct, Val tried to push his thoughts to the present. The images skipped forward as if by remote control, until he saw his brothers in a cozy tavern with a group of people he had never seen before, dressed in the clothes of Urfe. Everyone looked rushed, as if something were happening outside, and Val had the sudden knowledge that the image was real, happening in the present. Right that instant.
“Will!” he cried. “Caleb!”
To Val’s shock, his brothers froze at the sound of his voice. They had heard him!
He called out again, joyous, and they responded. Called out for him to come. Giddy with joy and relief, he started to dive into the pool, when his body was jerked backwards by an unseen force.
“Val Blackwood,” a stern and familiar female voice called out, “you are under arrest by the Conclave of High Wizards.”
The face
s of his brothers blurred and then faded, replaced by a jumble of images inside the pool. “No!” he cried. He fought to return to the pool and dive inside, but he was too weak too resist, and even if he could, he was being held in midair by a power much greater than his own.
Two majitsu drifted forward, each taking him by an arm. Behind them were three wizards he knew on sight: Professor Azara, Kalyn Tern, and Dean Groft. The Dean’s burnt orange eyes radiated sadness, and Kalyn Tern bore a triumphant grin. Professor Azara looked disappointed and impressed and upset, all at the same time.
“Did you not consider that we would have wards alerting us to a breach of the Planewalk?” Kalyn asked. “Unauthorized use of the Pool of Souls—or the attempt thereof—is considered an act of treason. According to Council bylaws, the penalty for such transgression is immediate imprisonment, followed by execution. Since all of us have witnessed the attempt in person, I see no need for a hearing. Dean Groft, if you will?”
The dean’s melancholy gaze bored into Val’s own. The elder spirit mage flicked his wrist, and a portal opened between Val and the Pool of Souls. Inside the portal, Val saw a cube-shaped room with honeycombed walls the color of azantite. Kalyn raised a hand, and the majitsu tossed Val through the portal, where he landed in a heap on the floor.
The gateway closed, sealing him inside the cell, leaving him to choke on his failure. He could sense the immense power of the wards shielding the room.
Wards he could never hope to break.
-56-
Mala looked the same as the first time Will had seen her lounging on the wall outside the Minotaur’s Den, shaking him and his brothers down in black leather pants, calf-high boots, a lace-up leather vest, and a crimson sleeved shirt. Will was surprised to see her without her pouches or her blades, though her weighted blue sash was tied to her waist, and he was sure she had a dagger or two concealed.
“Mala!” he shouted, jumping up and wading through the crowd. “You’re alive!”
Cool as ever, she turned towards the sound of her name, her expressive lips parting in surprise when she saw him. “Will the Builder?”
The sound of her voice sent a shiver of attraction coursing through him. Her eyes were as fascinating as he remembered, expansive in her narrow face, sensuous violet orbs that looked far older and harder than they should.
Then his eyes continued past her, noticing what he should have seen from the start: the sight of the muscled behemoth descending the stairs behind her, pausing when she paused, putting a protective hand on her back. He was about six foot six, annoyingly handsome, and moved with the easy grace of a fighter.
Will tried to shake off his disappointment, failed miserably, and embraced Mala as she stepped into the room. “How . . . I thought you were . . . what happened to you? You were fighting a majitsu!”
Mala patted his cheek, causing another shiver. “You doubted me?” she asked, her tone half-mocking as always.
“Not even you . . . where did you disappear to?”
“Someplace where the odds were more even,” she said.
“How long have you been back?”
“Let us say that where I was, time did not pass in the same manner.”
The man behind her grunted and touched her elbow. She shook him off. “I heard Zedock suffered the fate of his undead creations. Did you play a role in that?”
“We killed him,” Will said, experiencing one of the most satisfying moments of his life when Mala’s eyebrows lifted with admiration. In the past, he might have gushed and stammered out an explanation, but he had been through a lot in the past few months.
A helluva lot.
So he looked her in the eye and said, “It seems we both have a few stories to tell.”
Mala eyed him back, lips parted in a half-smile, eyes unreadable. “It appears we do.”
With that, she swept past him and settled into a table in the opposite corner, along with her strapping companion. Will returned to his own table, feeling both unbalanced and more alive by her proximity—the way Mala always made him feel.
“Why did I think anything would be different?” he asked Caleb. “I’m just a mark to her, someone who hired her to do a job. Now she’s back in her element, frolicking with Studlord the Barbarian while she waits for her next adventure.”
“Want another round?” Caleb asked.
“Yes.”
“Done feeling sorry for yourself?”
“No.”
Caleb raised a finger to signal the waitress. “You’ve noticed all the women in this room looking over here, right?”
“Yeah. They always do. At you.”
“True. But news flash, it’s not just me anymore.”
Will waved a hand, dismissive, though when he glanced around the room he noticed his brother was right. A lot of attractive females were glancing Will’s way. Still, when it always came to women, he had always had a one-track mind.
When the beers arrived, Caleb rubbed his hands together and took a greedy sip. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“Enjoy what?”
“Unrequited desire is a beautiful thing, Will. Once both people are on board it becomes something lesser. Like marriage.”
Will pulled his eyes away from a stunning redhead who was smiling at him. He found himself comparing her unfavorably to Mala, which annoyed him. “It may not always be equal in the beginning, but I refuse to believe true love works like that. I think it’s just the opposite. That it can’t be true unless both people are in the same place.” He jabbed a finger at Caleb. “You have a warped perspective.”
“And you base your grandiose ideas on what? You’ve never been in love with someone who loves you back.”
Will looked him in the eye. “Neither have you.”
Caleb opened his mouth, then closed it.
“You may be an expert on seduction,” Will said, “but if your heart hasn’t been broken, then you’ve never been in the game.”
Caleb’s eyes lowered, and Will kept a beady eye on Mala and her companion as they shared a few rounds of drinks and then headed upstairs. Mala looked right at Will just before she disappeared, eyes challenging, lips curving upwards at the ends.
Was it a signal that he was supposed to run after her and fight for her love, even if he got tossed in the street? Or was she mocking his efforts, for daring to think they were in the same league?
Or did it mean nothing at all?
For once, he was on pace to outdrink Caleb.
The next morning, Will woke with gummy eyes and a headache. After he stumbled to the wash area and doused his face with water, there was a knock at the door. “Will? Caleb?”
Dalen’s voice. Will opened the door to find the spry illusionist squinting at his disheveled appearance. “Lucka, Will. Tamás wants to meet for lunch. Should I tell him you’re unwell?”
“I’m fine. We’ll be down soon.”
He roused Caleb, and they made their way to the common room where Dalen, Marek, and Yasmina were sitting around a circular table with Tamás and three people Will had never seen before: an older man in a patchwork cloak of fine material, and two young men about Will’s age and dressed in local attire, both with long hair and brown eyes. They were obviously related. Though Will was sure he had never seen them before, they looked familiar.
Tamás greeted the brothers with forearm clasps. “Will and Caleb, please meet Armando, my brother in law and an aquamancer of no small repute.” Will tried to conceal his astonishment as he greeted the gypsy wizard in the expensive cloak, and then Tamás dropped an even greater bombshell. “And these two ruffians are the sons of a dear friend. Their names are Lucas and Mateo Blackwood—making them, I’m quite sure, your kin.”
Will realized why the two brothers looked familiar—they both looked like younger, less clean-cut versions of Val. Will tried to speak, but could only stare at them in shock. Were these truly the descendants of his father’s family? Will’s cousins? He had to talk to them and find out everything he could about his
father, his heritage.
“A pleasure,” Mateo said. “From which Blackwood line do you hail—the southern or northern forest?”
Before Will could manage a response, a chorus of alarmed shouts rose from outside. Tamás exchanged a look with Armando and pushed away from the table. Everyone followed them to the door as the shouts grew in volume. Just before they left the tavern, Will heard a faint voice calling his name. He couldn’t tell from where the voice was coming. It sounded garbled, as if underwater or filtered through a voice modulator.
“Willl,” the voice rippled, louder this time. It was a voice Will would know anywhere, even distorted. “Calebbb.”
It was the voice of his oldest brother.
“Val?” Will said, spinning in a circle. When he didn’t see anyone, he tried shouting. “Val! VAL!” There was no response, and Will spun to face Caleb. “Did you hear that?”
Caleb’s face was pale. “Oh yeah.”
Val’s disembodied voice called their names again, more insistent.
“Val!” Will shouted. “Where are you?”
An ephemeral image of their brother appeared in the air right in front of them, as if they were looking at an image on a projector screen. Val was standing in front of a shimmery pool of silver-blue water, about to dive in. Before his older brother could take the plunge, Will watched in horror as something yanked him backward.
“Val Blackwooood,” an unseen voice called out from across the ether, still sounding like it was in an echo chamber, “you are underrr arrest by the Conclave of High Wizardsss—”
The voice cut off mid-sentence, along with the image. Will ran back and forth across the common room, shouting his brother’s name until he was hoarse.
There was no response. Will knew that whatever connection had been forged was now severed. But he had seen him—Val was alive!
Will was breathless with emotion, but before he had time to dissect what had happened—Val was under arrest? By wizards?—Dalen darted back into the inn and was pulling Will and Caleb outside, towards the central square. The sky darkened with an approaching storm, and a crowd of people had gathered to observe the arrival of three giant wood-and-metal flying ships. To Will, the contraptions looked like a cross between a blimp and a flying sailboat.
