Masters of the Veil (28 page)

He took a running start and jumped into the swirling vortex.

***

There he is
, Vigtor felt the corners of his lips pull into a smile,
just as expected.

The boy tumbled out of the vortex and landed clumsily on his feet. He was large for his age, very muscular, and surprisingly still wearing a football uniform. Vigtor looked over at Jintin, who nodded.

So, this is Sam. The key to getting through.

Sam’s second-skin twitched at his side. “Who are you?”

“Sam,” Vigtor kept his voice calm, “my name is Vigtor, and unlike everyone in there, I am going to be completely honest with you from the beginning. But first tell me, were you followed?”

“You’re them.” Sam’s eyes flashed from Vigtor to his companions. “You’re the Tembrath people.”

“Elite,” Crom snarled.

Vigtor knew it’d been a mistake to bring Crom along. “Sam, this is very important. Were you followed?”

“No, but—”

“Good.” Vigtor beckoned Sam forward. “We need to move right now. I’m sorry I don’t have time to explain things to you right away, but I promise, as soon as we get back I’ll answer all of your questions.”

“You know,” Sam gave a derisive snort, holding his ground, “that’s the exact same thing that May said to me when she took me there. I don’t want to join your group, so let me get going.”

Vigtor considered harnessing Sam’s mind.
The boy will be more useful—more powerful—if he does it of his own free will.

“Sam.” Vigtor kept a soothing tone. “You have been lied to and brainwashed. I’m the only person who can get you home. I’m sure that soon, someone will realize that you are gone, and they will come after you. They’ll hold you in there forever when they catch you.”

“To keep me from joining you.” Sam’s eyebrows arched in suspicion.

“Yes, but they have not told you the truth about us. They will keep you prisoner. We will help you get free. Don’t you want to get to your football scholarship?”

Sam hesitated. “Why should I trust you?”

Vigtor took a step closer. “Look at your hand.”

The stars on his second-skin radiated a glorious amount of light.

It was a skin Vigtor did not recognize.
Which plant did the material come from? Surely they wouldn’t have let him take it from an animal? Surely they weren’t that stupid…

Then it registered. It had been so long since Vigtor had laid eyes on that particular skin. He forced himself to hide his surprise.

“Power recognizes power.” Vigtor held out his own second-skin and produced a red glow in the crevices between the armor-belly scales. “You are and always have been a part of our family. If I wanted, I could force you to come with us. But I am asking, because I have the utmost respect for my family, and trust you will make the right decision.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’m not sure if you realize this,” Vigtor pointed behind Sam, “but Atlas Crown is on an island. Right now, we are far out at sea, and there are no other inhabitants. The sorcerers have draped it so it cannot be located by flathands, by sight or by machine. You are trapped here… unless you come with us.”

Sam gasped, and then sighed. “And you can get me home?”

“Yes, but not right away. That is the first place they will look for you.”

“All I want is to play football.”

“And you will. Now close your eyes.” Vigtor secured his second-skin around the boy’s wrist, and together, they went into the Veil.

CHAPTER 21

S
am didn’t want to do that again anytime soon. It felt like his body had been put through a blender, mixed around for a while, and then molded again into human shape. Whatever had just happened, it wasn’t right.

He felt blood dripping from his nose even before he opened his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” a voice said, “it gets easier.”

Sam’s eyes felt like they were swollen shut. He lifted a hand to rub them and a sharp ache, like a tender bruise, came from under his arm.

“What just happened?” Sam’s tongue felt bulky and foreign.

“A true power magic,” the voice said. “We entered the Veil and traveled within Her. It’s the quickest way to travel.”

As Sam’s eyes adjusted, he took in his surroundings.
Underground.
Thick, ancient-looking stalactites stabbed the darkness above him.
A cave, maybe?

A circle of ominous figures stared at him hungrily in the dim light.

“Where are we?” Sam tried his best to sound brave.
Trapped. Trapped underground… with the Tembrath Elite.
He recognized the man in front of him as the one who’d introduced himself as Vigtor. His dark hair and the goatee on his smug face were both speckled lightly with grey.

“Dami Sanctorum.” Vigtor inhaled through his nose. “One of our areas of domestication.”

Sam squinted, trying to get a better view of where they were. “Are we in a cave?”

“Yes, but before we get to that…”

The figures moved eerily toward him, as if gliding.
Maybe May had been right to keep me prisoner…

Someone shot sparks into the air. They were all sorts of colors and made firecracker sounds as they broke apart and festively lit up the cave.

The figures around him started cheering.

What the—?

Once illuminated, the cave wasn’t as gloomy as it’d first appeared. The area was

filled with comfortable-looking furniture, tables full of food—including meat!—golden suits of armor, a roaring fireplace, and piles of books on shelves.

The people surrounded him, welcoming him with bright smiles and handshakes.

“I’m Sage.” A middle-aged woman in a blue dress took his second-skin in both hands. “And this is my twin sister, Saria.”

An older, less greasy version of Petir came after the sisters. “Jintin. Such a pleasure. I’ll teach you how to—”

“Dralis Banseer.” A squat, bearded man patted Sam on the shoulder. “Hacheto welo. Welcome.”

“Give him some room.” Vigtor pushed through the others. “Come over here, Sam.”

He led Sam to a plush recliner near one of the walls.

“Sit and relax. I’m sure you’ve had a trying day.”

“Thanks, Victor.” Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He plopped down and tossed his legs up.

“Vigtor,” the man corrected him.

Sam nodded. “Got it.”

Vigtor snapped his fingers and the woman who’d introduced herself as Sage brought him a plate piled high with all sorts of meat.

Sam attacked it, biting a large chunk off a chicken leg. The meat dripped off the bone, and he sighed with delight.

Jintin thrust a goblet of dark red liquid into his hand.

Sam took a generous swig, his eyes going wide. “Wine?”
Do they know I’m underage?

Jintin gave an eager nod. “The best. We make it ourselves.”

The others pulled up chairs around him and started digging into their own feasts. They all seemed so happy and asked Sam so many eager questions about himself that he didn’t know where to start.

Vigtor pointed his second-skin into the air, made a quick rotation of his wrist, and lively music started up from somewhere in the cave.

“So, tell me about football,” someone said. “How do you play it?”

“What was it like growing up without magic?”

“There’s no substitute for meat! The body needs protein!”

“You look so strong! How much can you put up?”

Sam laughed and ate and drank and, for the first time in a long time, felt at ease.

After polishing off his second plate—the food was ten times more delicious than what he had eaten in Atlas Crown—he sighed and sat back, and then noticed something that made his heart jump. “Is that a football?”

Vigtor motioned to Jintin, who picked it up and tossed it to him—it was a wobbly throw, but on target. Sam caught it with delight.

“Especially for you.” Vigtor raised his goblet. “Thought you might want it. We even created an area outside for you to practice.”

Sam rolled the ball around in his hands. It was brand new. Whoever these people were, they seemed to want to make him comfortable.

They all talked and joked for what must have been an hour, until Sam finally felt the pangs of fatigue hit him.

As if he had read his mind, Vigtor called for everyone to let Sam get some rest, and the others filed out with a few more “so nice to have you heres.”

Vigtor stood up. The light formed little arcs on the scales of his second-skin, and Sam wondered what it was made of. At a curl of his fingers, a large mattress layered with plush comforters and pillows came from somewhere in the dark and floated next to them.

A real bed! It’s about time.

“Goodnight, Sam.” Vigtor gave a knowing smile. “If you need anything, just give a shout. I’ll be in the next cavern over.”

Sam’s whole body ached to turn in for the night. “Thanks, especially for the football.”

“Not a problem, Sam. Get some sleep.”

Sam bit his lip. “Um, where’s the bathroom?”

Vigtor laughed. “Almost forgot.” As he turned to leave, he made another motion with his second-skin. A section of the cave floor split apart, and a square stall rose up from the ground.

Sam hopped up and went in, and then sighed. It was the perfect end to a great night. In front of him was a real toilet, with rolls of actual toilet paper.

***

Glissandro always hated passing into Bariv’s cave. The purple sap managed to get into recesses of his horn he didn’t even know existed. His notes would be sloppy for hours until the gunk finally freed itself.

That morning, however, he didn’t care what happened to his horn.

The football he’d made for Sam was tucked underneath his arm. It wasn’t perfect, but Glissandro had fastened the skin from hemsith bark, so it would cut through the air with ease.

As he reached Bariv’s platform, he saw that the Conduit was not sitting in thought, as usual, but was rather performing complicated grips. His hands flowed through the air, causing ripples. Stone cracked and re-joined under Bariv’s feet. A strong wind came from behind Bariv and almost pushed Glissandro to the ground.

Glissandro put his horn to his lips and played as loud as he could. “We’re organizzniing—”

He stopped, looked down the bell of his horn, and shook it furiously. A purple blob fell out and slithered away.

He tried again. “We’re organizing a search party for Sam Lock!”

Bariv made a circular motion with his hand, and the mayhem halted.

“He’s gone.” Bariv’s eyes blazed red.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“He left. This morning.”

Gone? How could he be gone?

“How do you know?” Glissandro asked. “Couldn’t he be trapped somewhere?”

Bariv glared at him. “The vortex closed.”

“So?”

Bariv did another grip and two black, swirling holes appeared on either side of the cave. “I know that magic very well.”

Another quick grip closed each vortex with a low whistle.

What is he talking about? Cassiella passed through the vortex, and she’s fine.
“I still don’t understand. Where could he have gone? It’s not like he swam away.”

Bariv shook his head. “That vortex was no accident. It takes a comprehensive understanding of power magic to create one and destroy one. Since I am the only one here—with the exception of May, perhaps—who can do it, it was created by an outside force.”

Glissandro gasped. “The Tembrath Elite?”

Bariv nodded. “He’s with Vigtor now. They traveled through the Veil together.”

Glissandro’s heart sank. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“In truth,” Bariv splayed his arms, causing a strong wind to howl around the cave, “I probably could have, but it’s more complicated than that.”

Glissandro felt heat rushing to his head. “What do you mean? How can you let—”

“We could not keep him prisoner. It would have only led to resentment.”

Glissandro put a hand against his forehead. “But he can’t go with them! What if…?”

“If it is in his heart, then he would have done it anyway. We have to trust that he’ll make the right decision.”

“THAT CAN’T BE YOUR DECISION!” Glissandro’s notes shook the whole cavern. Dust and particles rained down. “WE HAVE TO FIND HIM!”

Bariv curled his fingers. A wave of the purple goop rushed through the air and attached itself to Glissandro’s horn, coating it inside and out.

“Just as we have shrouding borders, the Tembrath Elite have their own. I am blind to where they took him.” He sighed. “Are you calm?”

After a moment, Glissandro nodded.

Bariv snapped his fingers and the goop flew away.

Glissandro buzzed a clean note. “What can we do?”

Bariv sat down and closed his eyes.

“Pray for Her.”

CHAPTER 22

“
Y
ou’re getting better,” Sam called across the field.

Vigtor tossed a tight spiral over forty yards. “After three weeks, it would be a shame if I wasn’t!”

Sam was still getting used to the image of Vigtor, dressed all in black, tossing around a football. It was an odd sight, as if he had stumbled upon Crom bottle-feeding kittens. The hot sun beat down on the field, and Sam wondered if Saria would bring them that lemonade soon.

Sam threw the ball back, a perfect spiral that cut the air with dangerous precision. “Still, I have teammates who don’t throw as well as you.”

Vigtor stretched out his hand, and the ball halted between them and shot straight into the sky. Sam bolted forward. The lines they’d drawn on the grass were a little off, but nevertheless, the field was just about regulation.

The ball started to fall and Sam was under it in time. He had gotten even faster since he’d arrived at Dami Sanctorum. In the three weeks he’d been there, not only had Vigtor taught him how to
really
use the Veil, he’d encouraged Sam to practice football for when he returned to Stanton.

In one fluid motion, Sam cradled the ball against his forearm and tucked it against his body. He started toward Vigtor, his head low. They’d practiced this often, and Sam built up as much speed as possible for what would happen next.

Vigtor did a grip, and the air in front of Sam started to compress, like an invisible spring. He kept inching forward, his quads screaming. He’d almost reached Vigtor when the pressure became too much and he stumbled backwards.

“Closer every time.” Vigtor held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

Sam twirled the ball on the tip of his index finger. “Which means you’d better make that grip better, or you’re gonna end up on your back.”

Vigtor smiled. “Sit down, Sam. We need to talk.”

Sam tossed the ball in the air, and then caught it one-handed. “Why? We’re just getting warmed up.”

“Don’t worry.” Sam saw an eager look pass through Vigtor’s eyes. “We’re not finished yet, but the time has come for you to know something important.”

Sam threaded the ball between his legs in a figure eight motion. “What?”

“Will you just sit!” Vigtor quickly composed himself, bringing back a smile. “I apologize, but this is very important.”

Sam shrugged and sat.

Vigtor took a deep breath and then began pacing back and forth. “Sam, it is about time you learned why we exist.”

“I already know.”

Vigtor stopped pacing and looked at Sam with a serious expression. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Sam drummed his fingertips on the football. “The Mystics told me.”

Vigtor paused. “What did they tell you?”

“That you guys are trying to get through the Veil.”

Sam wondered why it had taken Vigtor so long to bring it up. For the weeks he had been with the Tembrath Elite, no one had mentioned it. They were very careful to skate around the subject whenever Sam was around. They treated him well and taught him all about power magic, but they still hadn’t talked about what they’d been banished for.

Vigtor nodded. “What else?”

“That’s kind of it.”

Vigtor stroked his goatee and stared at Sam pensively. “Did they tell you why?”

Sam thought back. “Something about a better power behind it.”

“I’ve taught you a lot since you came here, no?”

Sam closed his eyes and plunged his fist deep into the Veil. He thought about how magic had to be taken forcibly—you had to go to it, not wait around for it to find you. You had to be violent, and show some backbone. He merged what he wanted to happen with the energy coming to him. Every time, he felt something deep inside him scream with delight as he manipulated the world around him to fit his desire.

He knew he’d succeeded before he even opened his eyes.

He tossed the football behind him and heard it snatched out of the air.

Sam turned around and watched the doppelganger version of himself sprint off down the field, the ball tucked tight. He was a fuzzy version of Sam, always out of focus, but solid. It was a grip that Vigtor had taught him early on—a difficult power magic—but once Sam had learned the
true
essence of the Veil, power magic became like second nature. As the doppelganger reached the other side of the gridiron, he faded back into the energy he’d come from, and the football dropped to the ground.

“Yes.” Sam gave a shrewd grin. “A lot.”

Vigtor returned the smile and pressed his hands together in front of his face. “I have yet to teach you the most important thing.”

“I don’t want to break through the Veil.” Sam turned and stared out over the barren land. “If that’s where this is leading.”

Vigtor snapped his fingers and Sam’s face was forced back to Vigtor’s. “Listen carefully. I need you to understand why we are trying to get past the Veil. As you’ve already figured out, only a select portion of humans can use the Veil.”

“Right.”

Vigtor’s smile had an edge to it. “Do you know why?”

Sam shrugged again.

Desire penetrated Vigtor’s gaze. “Because the real power is behind Her.”

“Yeah, but—”

“There is a reason She is called the Veil. She is a mask, a fine linen covering the soul-stirring art that is behind.”

Sam hadn’t thought about that. “What’s She covering up?”

“You have seen that the further into the Veil you dive, the more power you find.”

It was true. “Yes.”

“That is because the
true
power is trying to break through. It wants the world to know it exists. We just have to create a path.”

Sam cracked his knuckles. His second-skin felt warm to the touch. “But what will happen if you get through?”

Vigtor’s expression was deadly serious. “Peace will spread throughout the world.”

Sam thought he’d heard wrong. “Huh?”

“The Veil does not have enough power for everyone in the world to use Her. If everyone on earth could use Her for their own gain—which they would—She would no longer exist. She would be used up in a heartbeat, as She is just not grand enough. That is why only a select group can use Her.”

Vigtor did a grip, and a knife-thin sheet of rock sprang from the ground between them and hovered in the air. “She is a thin layer of oil covering the ocean behind Her. Unfortunately, the water cannot break through the oil. Someone needs to dive in.”

Another grip, and the pane of rock split with a loud crack. Vigtor stepped between the two floating pieces and helped Sam to his feet.

“And you’re sure you need me?” Sam stepped back as the pieces fell to the ground.

Vigtor placed a paternal hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Yes, Sam, we do. The whole world does. Imagine this. If everyone had access to the exact same resource, greed and jealousy and crime would disappear overnight. With all that energy, people could grow unlimited food, and world hunger would be sated. With one true power that everyone could agree on, a power that actually helped them, religious battles would no longer be necessary. People could clothe and shelter themselves. People could find love, peace, and harmony, because hatred and malice come from wanting what you don’t have. All the basic needs would be met. The world would be united under one power. Music would flourish, art would blossom, and people could spend their time at their leisure. And what do most people do in their leisure time?”

Sam’s heart was racing. “What?”

Vigtor bent down, picked up the football, and handed it to Sam. “Watch sports. Sam, you could help bring a world utopia. You could be its greatest champion. Everyone would know your name. And after you assist with setting the human race on the path to a golden age, you can play football, and everyone in the world will be watching.”

Sam felt dizzy. “But why are the sorcerers in Atlas Crown against this?”

Vigtor swung an arm through the air and created a tiny mirage of the pillars and walls of Atlas Crown. “The place itself, not just the people, screams elitism. Atlas Crown: the kings of the whole world. They sit high and mighty and let the rest of the world rot and bring about its own destruction. They don’t want everyone else to have what they have. They are selfish. They have grown fat on their own narcissism. They don’t even communicate with flathands. Did you not notice how everyone was frightened of you there? I bet that when you started to get angry, they draped you with a calming feeling. Am I correct?”

Sam recalled the serene feeling that May, Bariv, and Fernando had placed over him. “How’d you know?”

“They did the same to me. They took away your free will. They wouldn’t let you feel what you were meant to feel because they don’t want anyone ruining their precious way of life. They don’t think about others, only themselves.” Vigtor lowered his voice. “Do you understand?”

Sam thought about it: the lies, the looks of panic at the mention of power magic, the isolation. Although he still didn’t feel like part of the group here, at least they treated him with respect. “I guess.”

“They kept you prisoner.” Vigor seethed, a black anger shadowing his eyes. “You were lucky to get out of the king’s dungeon. They were scared you would escape and make everyone equals.” Vigtor held his hand over the tiny Atlas Crown. Bariv’s face appeared underneath, as if he were wearing the pillars as a crown. The face trembled with a cruel laugh, his eyes brimming with evil.

“The king’s worst fear is for himself to become a subject, especially after neglecting those whom he was supposed to rule.” The crown broke apart and Bariv’s face faded away. “The people will rise and those of Atlas Crown will become just like everyone else.”

Sam’s head throbbed.
Could it be true? Could they really be conspiring to keep the rest of the world fighting, while they sit around and have reenactments and feasts all to themselves?
“So you’re saying if I help you get through, we could really do all that? World peace and everything?”

Vigtor opened his hands wide. “There is no limit to the joys the world will feel. Togetherness is the reason we are born, and it is the reason we live. The whole world will be united and true happiness will abound in everyone’s hearts. We can be the ones to do that. We just need to unleash the masterpiece that the Veil is hiding.”

Sam stayed silent for a moment, rubbing his second-skin against his temple. “Can I think about it?”

Vigtor gave a swift bow. “Absolutely. It’s a lot to take in. But think quickly, because we act early next morning, before dawn breaks.”

Sam almost choked at the haste of it. “Why so soon?”

Vigtor made the pieces of rock slide back into the ground, leaving the field pristine once again. “She is thinnest right after the full moon.”

Saria stepped out onto the field. “Lemonade?”

Vigtor looked into Sam’s eyes as he called out to Saria. “I think we could both use a refreshment.”

Saria handed them both cold, frosted chalices. “How’s the practice going?”

Vigtor winked at Sam. “I think he’ll be ready in no time at all.”

Sam chugged his drink and handed the glass back. At the entrance of the cave, Crom stood, arms crossed, staring at them. He was the only one of the Tembrath Elite who had remained aloof during Sam’s time with them.

“How about a few buttonhooks?” Sam handed the empty chalice back to Saria.

Vigtor took the last sip of his lemonade. “Work on your own for a while. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Sam nodded at Saria, thanked her for the drink, and then ran off to the other side of the field.

What Vigtor had said made sense, but something still nagged at him. He would have to think it over that night.
It’s not like me helping will get anyone hurt. It is called the Veil. That means it’s hiding something beautiful, right?

Could he really help save the world from itself? Vigtor had been honest with him so far; Sam couldn’t see a reason not to trust him now. And everyone in Atlas Crown did seem a little bit elitist. Could it all be true? Was he really the key to everyone’s happiness?

He’d sleep on it, but for now, he had training to do.

***

Vigtor watched as Sam physically exhausted himself. It was good—the endorphins would make everything easier. When the time came, he was confident Sam would do his part.

Saria’s hand went tight around Sam’s chalice. “Did you do it?”

Vigtor held his cup upside-down, letting the last drop trickle out. “Yes.”

“And will he be the last?” Saria asked eagerly. “Will he be the one to finally break through?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am quite a convincing storyteller.”

Saria smirked. “You always were.”

Vigtor flexed his fingers. The armor-belly skin was still coarse and dark. Bariv’s snake had refused to give him its skin, but it didn’t matter. Perhaps second-skins would no longer be necessary after they broke through.

“Tomorrow,” Vigtor grabbed the Veil, delicately smiling as She ran across his palm, “we will meet the real power, and when we do, the true kings will emerge.”