Masters of the Veil (20 page)

It turned out that over the last few days, she had healed the cornerback, and managed to have the Mystics somehow alter the memories of everyone in Stanton to think Sam was not at the game, but rather in the hospital with tonsillitis.

“No way!” Sam’s voice overflowed with excitement. “If you weren’t so old, I’d kiss you right now.”

May gasped. “Bringing up a lady’s age!” She looked ready to burst into tears. “After all I’ve done for you?”

“Sorry,” Sam grimaced. “I didn’t mean—I—You’re really pretty. Like REALLY—”

“I’m going to cut you off there.” She released a warm smile. “It is actually an honor to be as old as I am.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “How did they do it?”

“That is between them and their many years of study. I could never do it, but then again, neither could anyone else. Your case was exceptionally complicated, and they were stretched to their limits, but it is done. However, they did want me to inform you that altering all the photographs was a particularly difficult job.” She winked.

“So it’s all forgotten?”

May gave a delicate nod. “Yes.”

“And my parents?”

“They think that you are at a special training camp for a college football team. They also sent me back with a letter, which is currently in your room.”

“This is incredible!”

Standing next to him, Glissandro gave a feeble smile.

“However,” May’s expression sobered, “I still have to insist that you stay here for a while longer.”

This immediately put a damper on Sam’s celebration. “But now that they don’t think I choked, I still have a shot. And that kid isn’t hurt—”

“I know,” her voice was gentle, “but for your own safety, you will have to stay here.” She gestured to the stage. “Haven’t you fallen in love with the place yet?”

“It’s great, it’s just—”

“I did you a favor by asking the Mystics to alter memories, which we only do in the most dire circumstances—because of which, I now have to bring Delphi an avocado and nettle-melon sandwich every sunrise for twelve arcs. The last thing I want to do is dampen your spirits, but it is for your own good. So please, do me a favor and stay put.”

He was too excited to argue. “Sure.”

Glissandro’s smile turned bold.

Sam surprised himself—he actually wasn’t too heartbroken about staying a little longer. He would drink in all the exotic things Atlas Crown had to offer and then return home to a wonderful welcome. An odd thought darted across Sam’s mind. “But Bariv told me that he would fix everything for me when I learned to control the power.”

“That
is
the reason why you have to stay. We can’t have you hurting more people.”

“So why did you fix everything now?”

“The longer we waited, the harder it would be for the Mystics to work. More recent memories to sift through, I guess, but I could be completely off mark. They actually got started the minute you got here.”

So Bariv lied to me? Why would he do that?
Sam decided he didn’t care. Everything was fixed: they’d given him his life back. “I can’t believe they pulled it off.”

May’s eyes glinted. “So you’re a believer now? I thought all of this was imaginary.”

Sam’s grin reached from ear to ear. “I said
can’t
believe.”

May returned the expression. “My mistake. I guess I hear what I want to hear. It seems we still have our work cut out for us, then.”

Sam wanted to jump up and down, but thought better of it. He pulled his eyes off May and looked over at the stage. It was large enough to comfortably hold a herd of elephants, and a small army of people from different clans scurried on and off, tending to the decorations. “A play?”

Glissandro played a melody that somehow echoed around them. “Tonight will be a reenactment.”

“Reenactment of what?”

Glissandro played a barrage of descending notes. “The beginnings of magic.”

“What are they doing to the stage?”

“They have to create the set, the costumes and the items, all before rehearsal.”

“Can we take a look?”

Glissandro gave Sam a wicked grin and shrugged. “Why not?”

Sam snorted.

Glissandro pointed his horn toward the sky. “But since it’s getting dark we won’t have long before the show.”

“May, do you want to—”

Sam stopped, as May was no longer standing next to them. “Where’d she go?”

“May is the busiest member of our community.”

Sam rubbed the bottom of his chin with his second-skin. The scales felt warm and soothing against his skin. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask about that. What does she do, exactly?”

“May is the reason for our stability. She’s our liaison to the outside world, along with the other magical communities.”

Sam clucked his tongue. “Full plate.”

“The fullest.”

“I’m surprised she gets so involved with all of the new recruits.”

“She usually doesn’t.”

“So why is she on my case so much?”

Glissandro craned his neck. “Look, they’re almost done setting up.”

“Let’s go take a look.”

The closer their proximity to the stage, the more confused Sam became. They were building the set by hand. No objects flew through the air; no one was using the Veil to weld beams together; no costumes were sewing themselves—it looked too normal.

Sweat and dirt stained the workers’ robes as they used hammers, saws, and pulleys to build the scenery. No power tools—which Sam admitted would have been weird to see being used by sorcerers—all the bangs and slams came from manual labor.

An older woman with a mortar and pestle mashed berries into colorful spreads that other people applied to the actors’ faces with slow and careful strokes of tiny brushes. Another, even older woman next to her pulled a needle and thread through a black, leathery material.

“It’s not real hide,” Glissandro played. “It’s from a plant.”

“I don’t understand. Why aren’t they using magic? They could set everything up so quickly.”

“This reenactment is very important to us. When they put on fictional stories, there are all sorts of drapes and grips, but for this, they work with their hands.”

Sam watched as an older man molded black clay into a ball. “Why is it so important?”

“It is the beginning. It’s the story of how we discovered the Veil. Our entire way of life would crumble without Her. To show our appreciation, they do not use Her to create anything. She makes life easier, so they purposefully make preparations difficult for themselves, both to show our appreciation and our respect.”

All of a sudden, a purple curtain fell in front of the stage. Sam recognized it as the same material that separated Bariv’s cave from the rest of Atlas Crown.

“Rehearsal. They don’t want anyone to see them practicing.” Glissandro gave a bashful smile. “And to be fair, that barrier doesn’t count as using the Veil. They planted it there long ago.”

“That stuff is a plant?” Sam grimaced, remembering the unsettling feeling of passing through it.

“Well, technically it’s the dead material of the plant, like fingernails, but—”

“Actually,” Sam winced, thinking about the wet goopy feeling of it on his skin, “let’s just leave it at that.”

“Good,” played Glissandro, “because I think the light’s just about low enough.”

“For what?”

Glissandro gave him a knowing look. “Gumptius.”

At the mention of the game, Sam thought of Petir’s pompous face.

“Why does it need to be dark? People were playing in the day before, remember?”

Glissandro’s closed lips starting trembling, like he was repressing a laugh.

Sam threw his hands up. “I didn’t know how to do it!”

“Of course. That’s what it was.” Then he bent double in a silent guffaw.

Sam punched him in the arm. “Yeah, it was.”

Glissandro eyed Sam’s second-skin. “So, you want to give it another go?”

Sam grinned. “Uh… I think I’ll just watch this time.”

They didn’t have to go far to find the matches. The scene was a lot livelier than earlier, with crowds of cheering spectators split into different circles. Small beacons of light flashed at different intervals within each circle.

Sam stood on his toes, trying to peek into the matches. “What’s going on?”

“You saw people
practicing
gumptius last time. This time, people are competing.”

Sam shaded his eyes as a few intense bursts of pulsing yellow came from the closest circle. “What’s with the light?”

Glissandro nodded toward the circle where the yellow eruptions occurred. “Let’s squeeze in, so you can see for yourself.”

They nudged their way through the thick crowd. Sam was again taller and broader than most, so polite maneuvering was a challenge.

Once in the front row, Glissandro bent to one knee and motioned for Sam to do the same. Sam shrugged, and then took a knee.

In front of them, the rock tables and stools looked to have been pulled straight out of the ground—as they still had craggy edges and soil residue clinging to them. One side of the table held a bunch of symbols, one of which Sam recognized as the double triangle from the seam.

Two young men stared at each other from across the table. Though roughly the same age, one of them had considerably more facial hair than the other.

“Good,” Glissandro played over the racket, “this one hasn’t started yet.”

The two opponents sat down with dramatic menace, and the surrounding ring of people grew so loud they drowned out the noise of the other matches.

The man on the left stretched his fingers by pulling them toward his wrist, and then made a tight fist. The other rolled his neck and shook out his shoulders.

Glissandro played a loud blast. “It’s for show.”

“I’ll have to come up with something intimidating, then,” Sam shouted, but Glissandro didn’t hear him.

The challengers’ second-skins came together, and the match began. At first, the players’ hands stayed stationary in the center of the board. The only thing that changed was their expressions. Sam could see a small pocket of air between their hands, like what had happened in his match with Petir.

What’s that for?

In a matter of seconds, the man on the left was panting for air, and his rival’s face was redder than a symflower.

Then a glow formed around their hands. It started out soft, almost imperceptible, but swiftly grew stronger. Layers of light pulsed from their locked skins. A twist of blue spiraled off into the distance, and small clouds of green sprouted and hovered above them.

All of a sudden, a white light shot into the sky like an electric beanstalk, and Sam saw a hand pinned to the stone. The clean-cut kid had lost—both the match and his second-skin. The ropey material lay unraveled on the table.

The circle howled with delight.

The winner waved his second-skin over the table, and the symbol from his chest appeared, burned onto the side of the table along with the others.

Sam nodded toward the scorched stone. “Keeping score?”

Glissandro nodded.

The opponents bowed to each other and a new challenger stepped up.

“Why did his second-skin break?” Sam asked Glissandro.

“He pushed too hard.” Glissandro pointed two fingers at his eyes and then back at Sam. “Not enough focus.”

“That can happen here, too?”

“It can happen anywhere. But don’t worry, most players make new skins before they enter a match. They don’t use the second-skins they are truly attached to.”

Sam looked down at his own second-skin, which he’d sort of forgotten he was wearing. “Good to know.”

They watched a few more matches and joined in on the cheering. Sam felt himself rooting for someone to take down the scruffy kid, whose name he’d learned was Galio.

After Galio took down yet another challenger, a girl with a bendy bark-skin, they decided to move to a different circle.

“That kid was really good.” Sam stretched out his arms once outside of the mayhem. “That was nuts when the rock started cracking.”

“He’s one of the best.” Glissandro pulled at his chin. “He’s growing that beard until he loses one of the tournaments.”

Sam craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Galio. “He’s undefeated?”

“Yes… but he hasn’t accepted Petir’s challenge yet. I expect when he does, Galio’s face is going to be smoother than that rock before it was cracked.”

“Is Petir really that good?”

“The best.”

Sam stretched out his fingers and made a tight fist like Galio had done. He gave Glissandro his most arrogant grin. “For now, maybe.”

Glissandro pointed a warning finger. “Just promise me that you won’t jump into any matches tonight.”

“Don’t worry, Gliss. I want to make sure I’m ready before my grand entrance, anyway. I want them talking about me long after I leave.”

Glissandro gave him a brittle smile.

At the next circle they ran into Daphne, laughing and giggling with the same group of girls she’d been with at the seam. As soon as she saw him, she stiffened up.

Sam tried his best to sound casual. “Hey.”

Daphne countered with an even more indifferent, “Hey.”

“You going to introduce me to your friends?” Sam put on his most dashing smile.

One of the girls behind Daphne blushed, while the others giggled.

Daphne turned from Sam. “You all know Glissandro.”

The girls giggled and waved. Glissandro’s face went red and he gave a quick nod.

“This is Sam,” she made a frivolous gesture in his direction, “but you don’t have to worry, he probably won’t be here much longer. He has a
football
scholarship to get to.”

“Oooh,” one of the girls simpered. “What team?”

Daphne shot her a look of contempt.

“Not sure yet.” Sam gave his most apathetic shrug. “I have a lot of options to choose from.”

Daphne gave Sam a look that screamed, ‘Oh, brother.’

Sam grinned. “You girls mind if I talk to Daphne alone for a second?”

Daphne went wide-eyed. “But—”

“We’ll meet you in there, Daphne,” one of the others cut her off. She had a remarkable tan, flawless skin, and her brown hair had the slightest trace of red streaks. She beckoned for the other girls to follow her, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Oh, and Glissandro, I need to talk to you about something. I simply cannot get the upper notes to work on my sugar flute. Think you can come with us and give me some pointers?”