by R F Hurteau
Antiquity’s Gate
Book Two
Through a Mirror, Darkly
A Novel by
R.F. Hurteau
Copyright © 2019 by R.F. Hurteau. All Rights Reserved.
This work may not be copied, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the publisher. Short excerpts may be used without prior authorization for the purpose of reviews.
For permissions, please contact the publisher at [email protected].
This is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN 978-1-951027-04-9 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-951027-05-6 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-951027-03-2 (hardcover)
Library of Congress Control Number:2019908851
Keep in Touch!
Twitter: @rfhurteau
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.rfhurteau.com
Cover Illustration by Nushie
Twitter: @NushDraws
A Pravacordian Nursery Rhyme
The children ran along the shore,
The sea rose up to greet them.
“Take care, beware, don’t linger there!”
Their elders did entreat them.
The sun shone down, the sand was warm,
Their words rang out, beguiling.
It seemed a dream, so right and clean,
What could the sea be hiding?
A step they took, into the surf
No fear found in their hearts.
So free, to be, upon the sea,
To never be apart.
Into the gentle froth they dove,
The sea rose up to meet them.
Too late, that’s that, no turning back,
The sea rose up to eat them.
One
Mr. Wilks
THE cold did nothing to numb the pain.
Felix’s hand balled into a fist and he punched the hull, feeling it reverberate through his arm.
“We have to go back. We never should have left him.”
Ambrose’s voice was pained as he spoke over his shoulder from his seat in the cockpit. “If I turn this ship around, there’s no guarantee we’ll ever get out of here.”
Willow reached out and took his fist in her hand, her touch warm but her eyes sad.
“We have to go back,” he repeated in a plaintive whisper.
“It’s too late, my love. He’s gone.”
She gestured behind him, pointing out a window at the back of the ship.
His gut felt as though he’d been punched again as he saw Sanctuary in the distance. It was beautiful from out here. Six domes arranged in a perfect circle.
From the top of one there was a sudden, silent eruption of steam, a giant pillar stretching into the clouds. He watched as it transformed into a plume of white powder in the frigid air, arching across the sky like a canopy before drifting back toward the earth, unconcerned with what it had done.
Unconcerned that a life had been swept up in that blast, and only death had fallen with the snow.
“Felix?” he heard Willow say behind him. “Ripley needs you.”
Felix ignored her, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight that was rapidly fading into the distance behind them. The snow still drifted, serene, from high above the condenser. He searched for something even his Theran eyes could not have seen from this far.
A body.
***
“Ripley needs you, Felix,” Willow said again, more insistent this time.
Groggy, Felix opened his eyes. Willow stood before him, swaying in the moonlight as she rocked an infant in her arms. The babe was swaddled in a muslin blanket, tiny pointed ears peeking out from beneath a mop of short brown curls. In the next room, Felix heard the cries of his son. The sound was so small, so defenseless. Felix stood up from the bed and went to him, returning with the baby in his arms, a miniature thumb stuck in his miniature mouth. His shining eyes peered up at Felix, comforted by his father’s warmth. I will always keep you safe, Felix thought fiercely, still haunted by the dream. I will never let anything bad happen to you.
When he looked up, Felix saw that Willow was studying him with a look of concern.
“You were dreaming about him again, weren’t you?”
Felix sat on the edge of the bed, his face scrunching into a lopsided expression of guilt. “Yeah.”
She offered him a sad smile. “Ripley would want you to remember him fondly,” she insisted. “He did what he did so that we could make a new life together. He wouldn’t want you to keep tormenting yourself like this.”
“I know. I know! You’re right. But I keep seeing it. I keep thinking, maybe—maybe there’s something we could have done…there at the end. If we’d only had a little more time.”
“Hush, now,” cooed Willow.
Felix wasn’t sure if she was addressing him or the babies. In his arms, the infant squirmed and made a small chirruping sound.
“Here,” Felix said, holding him out to Willow, “he’s hungry. I can take Felicity.”
Willow shook her head. “She’s only just fallen asleep. Let me put her down first, then I’ll take him.”
She disappeared into the next room and he stood, moving to the window to peer out into the darkness. Patchy clouds cloaked most of the sky, blotting out the stars and whispering across the face of the moon.
A warm breeze rustled the curtains, carrying with it an unfamiliar scent. Everything in Pravacordia was unfamiliar to Felix.
Ambrose had said that, in time, this place would begin to feel like home. Yet even now, six months later, it still felt strange. Then again, had Sanctuary ever felt like home? Did Felix even know what home felt like?
Each day, Felix woke before dawn and went out into the world, scouring the town of Ithaca for odd jobs. He did his best, but work was scarce. At least, it was for him.
At first, he had passed the time enjoying the scenery. Pravacordia was the complete opposite of Sanctuary. Where Felix had grown up in a city of concrete and steel, this place seemed on the brink of being overrun by the forest. Trees, wider around than his arms could stretch, dotted the landscape. Wooden buildings were painted in bright colors, springing up like flowers in the plush grass.
The village Ambrose called home was struggling, but Felix could not tell by looking at it. Birds sang, dogs barked, and children ran and played among the trees. Food seemed plentiful, with bakers displaying their bread in huge shop windows, the scent of more on the way wafting out onto the street. All the shops appeared well-stocked and flush with customers. How could a place like this be struggling?
Ambrose said it was because this town had been going through hard times, that the capital had internalized many of the products and services that these people were known for, hurting their exports. This place wasn’t known for its bread or its meat—it was airship components that had put Ithaca on the map. Ambrose said that that was why very few in Ithaca had jobs for Felix. With the capital taking over, they barely had enough work for themselves.
Felix knew better.
He might be unfamiliar with the land, the smells, the architecture. He might be unfamiliar with the culture, the technology, even the food.
But Felix was familiar with the stares he received when he’d walk down the street, and the fake smiles and empty platitudes he garnered from those he spoke to—he’d dealt with these things his entire life. It had nothing to do with the hand-me-down clothes that he’d been given, the well-worn jeans that ended above his ankles or the pilled flannel shirt with cuffs that squeezed too tight around the wrist.
Back in Sanctuary, these ki
nds of stares had been because he was a Halfsie, but nobody around here was familiar with Halfsies. Here, they just saw an Elf.
An Elf, like the ones that had once tried to wipe out Humanity.
Some people, like Ambrose, treated him and Willow kindly enough. But it was not himself, or even his wife, that Felix was worried for.
He was afraid of the kind of life his children would lead, being brought up in a place where people feared and despised them. Would they ever be free to run through the streets with the other children, chasing a ball or rolling in the grass? Would parents see them coming, hustle their own broods inside, teach them to stay away from those pointy-eared troublemakers?
Felix had thought that, leaving Sanctuary, they could go anywhere and make a life for themselves.
He hadn’t considered that even if civilization was alive and thriving, he and his family might not be welcome to be a part of it. He’d dreamed that the people outside would be different. More accepting. More understanding.
He’d been wrong.
There was no place they could go where they would feel like they belonged. It felt to Felix as though he and his family were a lot like Antiquity’s Gate itself; a bridge between two worlds, feared by those on either side.
The baby in his arms began to cry in earnest now and Felix tried, and failed, to mimic the motions that seemed to come so naturally to Willow.
“It’s all right, Ripley,” he whispered, forcing comfort into the words that he did not feel himself. “I’ve got you. It’s all right.”
***
It seemed as though Felix had only just laid down and closed his eyes when he was awoken for a second time, this time by the sound of a crash from somewhere downstairs.
“Confound it!” came Tobias’ frustrated cry.
Staring up at the ceiling, Felix traced the pattern of the wood grains with his eyes, following them to the outer edges of the room. They disappeared where the ceiling met the walls, perhaps hidden by the textured wallpaper that had been applied there. The floral print was muted and tasteful, a soft cream color that he found relaxing.
Back in Sanctuary, everything had been a flat, tired beige. Felix had never much cared for beige.
He shifted to his side and gazed at Willow, who still slept peacefully beside him as more muttering drifted up from below. He sighed, stretched, and got up to investigate.
As he descended the stairs he entered the small, cramped galley kitchen that Ambrose affectionately called his “other workshop.”
Pots and pans hanging from hooks on the low wooden ceiling made maneuvering a tricky proposition for Felix, who had hit his head on each one at least once. Open shelving along the wall was packed full of a wide assortment of preserved food stuffs, chipped plates, mismatched bowls, glassware, tools, and gadgets—all of them a little dusty.
Tobias and Willow had both attempted to bring some order to the chaos, but they’d soon given up. Every time they would try to group things in any sort of logical scheme Ambrose would get confused, creating even more of a mess as he tried to find something in the new system.
Although the kitchen’s arrangements made very little sense, he always seemed to know just where to find whatever he was looking for.
Felix had made no such attempts to probe into the depths, as the cluttered atmosphere was the only thing around here that seemed comfortable and familiar to him.
Ambrose spent most days working on either his own ship or helping to fix someone else’s. His home was a small portion of a much larger building, the bulk of which comprised his airship garage. He would often come barreling into the kitchen to rummage around, pulling things off shelves and piling them on the counter until he found the misplaced tool or part he was looking for. Then he would disappear back into his workshop for several more hours until someone coaxed him inside to eat.
Tobias was sucking on his finger, glaring at something smoking in a cast iron pan atop the wood-burning stove.
Felix looked around and, finding a towel, folded it twice and used it to transfer the pan into the wash basin. It sizzled as it hit the soapy water, peppering Felix with a small barrage of tiny bubbles.
“What were you trying to do, Toby, burn the place down?”
Tobias frowned. “I was attempting to make toast. But I’m afraid the theory and the practical application appear to be quite different.”
Felix looked into the pan with skepticism, noting the now sodden lump of black char still stuck to it.
“That was supposed to be toast?”
“I was distracted,” replied Tobias before declaring defensively, “I burnt myself!”
Felix sighed. Tobias had proven over and over again that he had a great technical mind. He was a boon to Ambrose, who had no trouble teaching him about Pravacordian technology. But for whatever reason, the poor man seemed to lack common sense all together.
“Why don’t you go take care of your hand,” Felix suggested, “and I will fix breakfast.”
“Shouldn’t you be leaving soon?”
Felix shook his head. “Not today. We’ve got that thing with the Ministry later.”
Pravacordia’s ruling body, the Ministry, had denied Ambrose’s many requests to fly to Sanctuary. When he’d not only defied them but also returned with refugees it had caused quite a commotion.
Ambrose, an upstanding citizen with many friends, had been given a slap on the wrist.
Tobias, a brilliant young man with the promise of great potential, had been welcomed to the community.
And then there were Felix and Willow—the Halfsie and the pregnant Elf.
The proceedings on how to deal with this unprecedented situation had been going on for months, with Felix and Willow placed under Ambrose’s care and supervision “until such time as a suitable solution could be found.”
“Oh! That’s right!” Tobias nodded as he wrapped his hand in a wet towel. “I almost forgot. I’d be more than happy to watch the twins while you’re gone, if you’d like! It’s no trouble.”
Felix glanced at the pan again, the unsubmerged handle still smoldering. “Gee, thanks for the offer, Toby, but I think we’ve got it covered.”
It was then that Penelope burst into the kitchen, a flurry of color and sound. Ambrose’s daughter shared her father’s fiery orange hair. It ran down her back in a neat braid, and she had a welding mask propped open atop her head. She wore a well-fitted turquoise tunic over which she’d tied a thick leather apron smeared with grease. She was counting to herself in an excited whisper, but stopped abruptly when she entered.
“What happened?” She wrinkled her nose. “Smells like burning.”
“Toby was trying to cook again.” Felix nodded toward the still-smoking remains in the wash basin. “It didn’t pan out.”
Penelope laughed, shaking her head as she reached over Felix’s shoulder to grab an apple from a bowl on the counter which also contained pears, some sort of tiny oranges, and a wrench. “Just have some fruit, Toby. It’s safer.”
“But don’t try cutting it,” cautioned Felix, choosing an apple for himself as well. He followed Penelope out of the kitchen, leaving Tobias to tend his wound in peace.
The dining table was elaborately carved from solid wood, but Felix wouldn’t have known it if Penelope hadn’t mentioned it once in passing. Like the rest of the house, it, too, was covered in odds and ends. There were stacks of books and untidy piles of parchments. A bag of shopping that had not yet been unpacked, a parcel that had been torn open and set aside.
Penelope, half-eaten apple held fast between her teeth, shoved a few things to the side and placed an ink well and fresh parchment down on the newly liberated surface. Sitting, she began scribbling down the numbers she had been reciting before, turning them into neat, printed equations.
“What are you working on?”
“Huh?” she murmured, a little distracted. “Oh! Tobias and I think we found a way to insulate Pluto’s engine well enough to prevent her from stalling out in extreme cli
mates. We were throwing around ideas last night when it hit me. I worked out a few details this morning and I wanted to write them down before I forgot.”
Felix scowled. “Why do you need the engine to work in extreme climates?”
Penelope blinked several times as she looked up at him, flustered. “Why not?”
Just then, Ambrose came rushing in from his workshop, throwing the door wide. It banged against a hutch, knocking a teacup to the floor where it bounced harmlessly on several layers of faded carpeting before coming to rest.
“You’ll never guess!” he began, panting with excitement. “Just arrived—Nimbus class—have a look!”
Although the statement held no particular meaning for Felix, it appeared to be exciting news to the rest of them. Penelope sprang to her feet and Tobias scurried out from the kitchen, but Penelope stopped short when she heard a small cry from upstairs.
“All the noise must have woken him.” She let out a longing sigh and glanced toward the workshop door.
“I’ll get him,” said Felix. “Mine are still asleep. You go, see that new ship that’s got you all so excited.”
Her face broke into a grin. “Nimbus class! I’ve never even gotten to touch one before!”
Felix mounted the stairs once more, pausing to kiss Willow as she passed him in the narrow hallway. “I’m going to get Sebastian.”
Penelope’s son was a two-year-old spitfire with a deep enthusiasm for life. When Felix opened the door to the room Penelope and her son shared, he found Sebastian with one leg already over the side of his crib, tongue out in concentration as he struggled to pull the rest of his body up and over. He looked up and beamed at Felix.
“Flix!” His eyes were wide with excitement.
“Good morning, little man!”
Felix lifted the boy up and Sebastian, as he always did, began babbling happily. Without Penelope’s translations, much of this enthusiastic chatter was a mystery, but the boy did have a surprising vocabulary for his age.
