Blackveil

“She can’t go on like this,” Lynx told the Eletians.

Karigan did not hear the rest of the conversation for she fell sound asleep where she sat.

She awoke to the ghostly light of the castle. Someone had draped a blanket over her. Lynx and Yates snored nearby, but she heard the singsong murmur of the Eletians as an undertone to her sleeping companions. She lifted her head and saw the three Eletians sitting cross-legged on the floor together, carrying on a conversation in their own tongue.

The tower chamber they were in was far more vast than any of the others they’d passed through. Subtle crosscurrents breathed freshening air across her face. Three large portals, and several smaller doorways yawned around the chamber’s circumference. In the chamber’s center rose a giant tree carved of stone with leaves of silver that fluttered and flashed in the air currents. Roots sank into the floor, or seemed to.

“Do you like the tree?” Ealdaen asked, having broken off his conversation with Telagioth and Lhean to gaze at her.

“It’s amazing,” she said.

“A gift from King Santanara long before war came to us.”

“What is this place?” Karigan asked.

“The core of Castle Argenthyne, its nexus, the meeting of the ways.”

She peeled off the blanket and shivered in the cool air. She tried to rise, and found it difficult with both a bad leg and a bad wrist. Lhean hurried over with silent steps and helped her up.

“Should you not rest more?” he inquired. “It is the middle of the night.”

“I will, but I’ve got to, um . . .”

“Ah. I understand. Do you require assistance?”

The idea of the Eletian helping her to relieve her bladder mortified her. “Er, no, thank you,” she hastily replied.

With the aid of the bonewood, she limped for the nearest corridor and found an alcove in which to take care of her need. When she returned to the chamber, she felt herself lured to the tree. Some of the leaves had fallen from their branches and shone brightly on the floor. An elbow where root met trunk cradled an ovoid sphere of silver. Drawn to it, like a crow to a shiny object, she approached carefully. She saw her reflection in it.

“It can’t be,” she murmured.

“What is it?” Ealdaen asked.

She jumped, not having heard his approach from behind her, or that of Lhean and Telagioth.

“What’s going on?” It was Lynx, his voice crusty with sleep. Both he and Yates were sitting up.

“Karigan has found something,” Ealdaen replied.

Karigan was almost afraid to touch the thing, but she picked it up, a looking mask. She couldn’t believe it. It had weight in her hand, appeared solid in every way. There was her face reflected back at her, with the Eletians gazing over her shoulders, all warped by the convex shape of the mirror.

“When I chose . . .” she began. “I didn’t think . . . I don’t understand.” She had told them about the white world and her experiences there before they’d left the chamber of the moondial.

“King Santanara was correct when he called your tumbler a trickster,” Ealdaen said. “You must have pleased him. Handle this object with care.”

“I didn’t want any of the masks,” Karigan said, “but I had to choose.” She rotated the mask in her hand and there were reflections upon reflections, a mosaic of silver leaves mirroring into infinity.

Lynx and Yates had risen, and now crossed the chamber to join them.

“Karigan always gets the good stuff,” Yates said. “First the bonewood, and now this.”

Karigan ignored him. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Whatever you decide to do with it,” Ealdaen said, like an echo of King Santanara, “choose carefully.”

She was curious as to what the inside of the looking mask was like. How could one see through it? She had no wish to wear it—that seemed a dangerous thing to do—but she couldn’t help being curious.

When she wondered how to open the mask, a hairline seam appeared around its circumference as if in answer, the two halves subtly parting like a clam shell. She licked cracked lips and lifted the faceplate. It moved on hidden hinges.

The interior of the mask was mirrored, as well. There was no cushioning or straps to help support it on the wearer’s head. It sang to her, implored her to wear it. She lifted the mask so she could gaze through the faceplate, and when she did, she almost dropped the mask. With a flick of her wrist, the faceplate swung closed with a distinct click and the seams vanished.

“What did you see?” Ealdaen asked.

Karigan’s heart thrummed. “The universe,” she whispered.

Just then a wind roared through one of the arched portals, the castle seeming to shriek, snatching leaves from the tree, the rest raging like thrusting daggers. One clipped Karigan’s cheek as it flew off the tree. Warm blood flowed. The walls of the chamber dimmed, the castle stricken.

Karigan knew why, she knew what had changed. She’d borne Mornhavon the Black within her. She knew his feel. A sickening pall draped over her. Finally, their timeline had merged with his. She had not taken him far enough into the future.

She turned to Ealdaen. “It’s—”

“I know,” he replied.

Just as suddenly as the maelstrom had begun, it ceased. The remaining leaves on the tree clattered and chimed against one another. Those strewn across the floor looked like the shards of a shattered mirror.