Chapter 5
the threshold
It looked like a giant nerve synapse, throbbing with impatient electricity. Tendrils reached out a few inches, then retracted, twitching against the concrete as if testing it. Feeling it. Again, Max took another step. “So…”
He tried to keep his voice steady, but his breath betrayed him just once, and the nearest witch heard it. Her eyes flicked at him, her face still and unreadable, but her attention had sharpened. “She knows you’re afraid,” she hissed softly, her head jerking toward Isabel. “This is…”
Max’s head turned, and his dark expression told the young witch all she needed to hear. Her head ducked, and she went silent.
“So,” Max repeated, “This is it,” he repeated, forcing confidence into his words, “The Threshold. The Harbingers lie just beyond.”
One of the mercenaries crossed himself. The three dark-tressed witches clustered together, their glamour dimming instinctively. Max had just voiced a fairy tale legend, breaking every protocol they had ever been taught.
“No.” Isabel backed away and lowered her head, her lips moving fast, the chant unfamiliar and old, dredged from the time of forgotten tongues. Gaelic, twisted through something older than the Celts or Druids. The air around her shimmered, charged with fear. Though her voice trembled, she did not stop as she dropped to her knees.
Dean trocaire orainn, ar gcroi a chosaint…feach orainn o na scathanna…Briseadg na traidisiuin ag na cosantoiri fein-suid a geal ar chosaint, ni ar leas a bhaint.”
Have mercy on us, protect our hearts…look upon us from the shadows…The breaking of tradition by the protectors themselves- those who swore to defend, not to exploit.
The nerve pulsed brighter, then began pulsing along with the cadence of her words. Max’s smile was glowing as he reached out his hand, “Isabel, I understand. Come to me.” In his excitement, he had reached back for her, yet still stepped forward, getting closer to the searching tendrils. “Isabel, now,” he commanded, “Come with me.”
He turned and raised his hand to the bulging mass, “Come to me,” he said, “I summon you by name-”
Then it reached for him. A single white tendril shot from the center of the throbbing core and struck Max in the forehead.
He convulsed, eyes wide, rolling back in his head. His mouth opened, but no scream came. The Veil did not open. It had tasted.
Max stood frozen, baptized by something ancient and unknowable.
“Nobody move,” Isabel gasped, “nobody thinks, remembers, or dreams. Close off your minds…now. Do not give them a reason to single you out.” Her words fell like a hammer, and the room went still.
Even the mercenaries hesitated, senses prickling with animal instincts. The nerve synapse pulsed again, and Max’s body shook, as if a puppet were being held by a single glowing thread. Then, behind the membrane, movement.
Selka bolted, a panicked scream rising in her throat, and she lunged toward the door.
Isabel let out a breath but turned away, knowing what would happen. A bolt of silver-blue fire hissed from the mercenary’s staff and punched through the fleeing woman’s back. She folded mid-step and hit the concrete floor with a wet slap. Her scream never had a chance to begin.
“I warned you,” Isabel said, then slumped to the floor, “not a great start.”
Max’s head twisted, his face still contorted as if his thoughts were not his own. He pointed at Isabel. The guards turned as one, weapons aimed, but no one fired.
Instead, something unseen tugged Isabel forward. Grasped by her ribs, her body rose, embraced by something powerful, and she struggled against its grip as it lifted her from the floor, her shoes dragging across the cement. She was standing, and her face was being pulled to the thin portion of the Veil.
Her breath turned to frost, “Noooo,” she whimpered, “I have always been…loyal. Pleassse…I won’t-”
But it didn’t matter. The Veil, something inside of the endless droning existence, wanted. And so it took, then pressed in.
A face, or something once close to it, pressed to the thin membrane from the other side.
Twisted and elongated, features skewed as if sculpted in sleep, then slapped awake. There were too many teeth, some sharp, and eyes blinked in opposite rhythms.
Isabel spoke in a voice not her own, “Who names himself in front of the Veil?”
Still glowing faintly, Max stepped forward, “I am…Maxwell Bancroft. Descendant of the first spellbinders. Master of Dark Tides. The blood oath bearer, and I have come to offer an alliance.”
The twitching face attempted a smile, “You come with offerings? Like insects offer wings to a flame?”
Max raised his chin, daring to look directly at the image in front of him, held close to Isabel’s face, “I offer more than worship. I offer purpose. I consider your banishment and continued isolation to be unjust. The Harbingers were feared because you held true to your word. Light and Dark have divided this world and ruined its balance.”
The Seer’s mouth opened, and a world-weary sigh escaped from her mouth, but not before morphing into a low, staccato growl. The face had stabilized, eyes watching, and Max, already emboldened, stepped closer, “Help me tear them down. I will open the Veil, a measured breach. Chaos, the one true measure, is released in portions. Enough to seed fear but not enough to summon retaliation. I will lead it and control it.”
Isabel’s body shuddered, her back arching hard against the now glass-like shroud. Having been made into a shimmering vessel for the Harbinger’s voice, her vertebrae cracked in response, her arms shaking in an involuntary response.
“You believe yourself in command?”
“I believe in strategy,” Max countered, “You are alone now. Scattered. I suspect your numbers have regretfully dwindled.” Max’s expression had returned to an earnest look, “I can give you what others can’t…relevance. You have waited eons. I am your key.”
There was a pause, and even the sobbing of the witches stopped. Then the face leaned in, “Open it.” It grinned, sudden and vast, the implications spanning centuries.
Max countered, “Let the dam trickle. Let your hands be the ones blamed. You will be our first miracle and our final mistake.” The clear window closed.
Isabel cried out as she fell to the floor sobbing, her own voice barely audible. Max knelt, carefully gathering her into his arms, “Isabel, thank you. I know that was difficult.”
“Get away from me,” she hissed, then pushed at him, arms flailing weakly, “Do you have any idea what you have done?”
Behind them, no one moved. Even the guards dared not exhale. A deal had been made, and they had witnessed it. They were now irrevocably bonded to Max.
The guard that had stepped closer to Isabel looked over at the fallen witch, cracked open by the plasma blast, her blood draining into the splintered concrete. For a moment, he wondered if she had been the one to make the correct choice.
Isabel trailed behind the rest as they left the basement. Her mind was calm, and she had to stop from racing by, pulling spell resources from other parts of her body.
Foolish, foolish girl, she thought, catching herself, you don’t sing lullabies to monsters. Center. Clear your thoughts. Worst case, use Max. Hand on the wall, she stopped to steady herself. She had passed through the building’s threshold. It knew she was there. Now it was critical that it not understand why.
Reroute the lattice, she instructed herself, gently stroking the chain of spells she had woven along her nervous system, Bind to breath. Anchor to mantra. Silence all surface thoughts. She felt a sensation across her face like the warmth of a bright sun, and she smiled, renewed.
Walking down the sanctuary entrance, each step brought a sense of relief. Turning at the foot of the short staircase, she looked up at the arched building, a ridiculously ornate structure for its remote location. She wondered if someone had been commanded or threatened to build such a jewel in the middle of the woods. The stained glass stared down at her, the blasphemy apparent compared to what they had just witnessed.
From here on out, every word, glance, or step would be a test. And Isabel Rothmore did not fail tests.