Most of the time, Saul did not hate the Earth.

  When night reached across the land, bent down and covered everything, he hated it. Few stars shone above compared to the skies Saul grew up gazing upon over Hidria. The little white glints twinkled on his lonely walk.

  Streetlights flickered on in Kerenger Pennsylvania, and most of the meager stars disappeared. Saul took the quick way past the bars in what passed for downtown in Kerenger.

  An autumn chill ran through him despite his jacket. The cold almost kept him from getting lost in thought, and for that momentary distraction, he was grateful.

  I’ve been too long on Earth, Saul thought as he walked the street leading from the passage house toward his home, and here Jackal and the councilors want me to stay. Thanks to the corruption in the council, Saul’s prospects of going back to Hidria had just been dashed again. And they will be every time, until I can leverage something against them. He thought of the relic, the broken blade buried under Kerenger once again. He imagined its warped and jagged end with longing, the kind that seeped into the back of his mind like a stream of blood.

  Not to be legally allowed to return to his home realm, thanks to the council’s views on the case between him and Jackal, he would not receive the help he needed to claim the dangerous prize at rest beneath Gatewood Hall. Once, he might have been able to apply the right pressure to the council, but at the moment, Jackal had the edge. Until the tide turned, he had to protect the world where he lived, along with himself. Without the right strength, unearthing the blade would doom this town at the very least.

  Bitterness had a place on Earth, but no matter where it struck, it always stung.

  Regardless of the council’s position, Saul would prove himself. He did not plan to wait two more years for them to review his case a third time. The artifact buried under Kerenger was worth a lot of risks, no matter what the councilors Jackal bribed each year insisted.

  Saul knew the power that the council disbelieved. Why else would I keep living in Kerenger? The town served as a headstone for a long forgotten grave. Every man and woman raised on Hidria knew tombs of all kinds held power, and the one under Kerenger’s Gatewood Hall might be the greatest of all tombs.

  As Saul neared his mansion by the edge of town, a small art-child, Nat, wriggled down through his coat’s sleeve. His warm, furry body pressed against Saul’s arm as he pried his way out at the bottom of the sleeve.

  He kept his arm still as the little creature worked with his forelimbs.

  Saul made Nat small so he could always accompany him. Nat emerged from the coat sleeve, a stick-like-body about the length of a hummingbird covered in curly black fur, with collapsible wings like those of a dragonfly.

  Nat wilted against the breeze.

  “I hate the cold.”

  “Then why did you come out?” Saul asked. “We’re almost home.”

  “One of the hooded pigeons sent an alert.”

  Saul had made far more creatures than Nat over the years. His pigeon-like art-children patrolled most of Kerenger.

  “An alert?” Saul reached the driveway of the mansion he called home for now. “What has it seen?”

  Nat fluttered his gossamer wings.

  “It’s a pigeon, Saul. The alert I noticed wasn’t detailed, but it was oddly located.”

  Saul frowned. If someone was moving in the night… could Jackal have guessed something? Could his play at ignorance of Saul’s plans be a trick?

  “Where?”

  “Gatewood Hall.”

  Gatewood Hall, where Saul had suffered his great loss which had left him an exile on Earth.

  Gatewood Hall, which hid the entrance to a power greater than even what aspiring worldmakers, as Saul had once been, dared desire.

  Saul shivered at the thought more than the cold. Tombs held power, and Gatewood Hall was the headstone of a mighty tomb indeed, one belonging to the mightiest evil ever known on Hidria or on Earth.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. A group is moving toward it.”

  “Are they gern or human?”

  “They’re human.”

  Saul followed the driveway to the mansion’s front porch. He sat down on the steps. He fished in his pocket for the pair of hooded glasses that allowed him to see through the eyes of the pigeons scouting the town. Saul put on the glasses and stared tight through their lenses. He used a single clear thought to direct the glasses to show him the view of the sentry pigeons around Gatewood Hall.

  The first pigeon whose eyes he used oversaw the street between the campus of the college where Gatewood Hall stood derelict, and one of the small churches in Kerenger. The streets were dark. Nothing seemed out of place. He switched to another pigeon.

  The second pigeon flew over the campus on the night wind. From the corner of the bird’s eye, the four black-shingled towers of Gatewood Hall became visible. Close, but the view was not close enough to confirm anything. Saul switched again.

  The third pigeon gazed down at the large front doors of Gatewood Hall, from a perch atop a darkened lamp post. At night in this weather, the pigeons stood out, but Saul had used them for years throughout all four seasons. Moments like this reminded him why. Five forms stood outside Gatewood Hall in the night, but clearly visible to the pigeon’s night gaze. Four of them were men, three upright, and one in a wheelchair. The fifth was a woman.

  Saul’s attention snapped to the woman near the center of the group. She wore all black and her dark hair tied in a tight bun. Her eyes watched the night sky.

  Saul knew her at once.

  Irene Chambers looked as lovely as ever despite the shadows, standing beside the wheelchair.

  If she was at Gatewood Hall, she must want the power buried beneath it.

  She should know better and not just because she and Saul had been friends, and more, for years before Saul’s exile. She had been an aspiring worldmaker back then, like him, but he hadn’t seen her since their last battle at Gatewood Hall.

  She’d abandoned him after that and refused to testify to the council though she could have helped him. Saul let his focus slip for a moment.

  He worked to stop his teeth from grinding together.

  Beside Irene in the wheelchair, Saul recognized another someone who should know better.

  Rufus Sullivan sat with his hands folded on the blanket that covered his feet. Rufus had also been there that night four years ago, when everything fell apart. He looked toward the front doors of Gatewood Hall and said something Saul couldn’t hear despite his link to the pigeon’s senses.

  The other three men approached the doors.

  One was white, big around the middle, and stocky. The other was a little taller, lean and pale, and carried a cane he clearly did not require for support. Saul didn’t recognize either of them. The third stumbled against the broken railing that jutted out from the stairs beside the doors of Gatewood Hall. Saul knew him from infrequent visits to the bars of Kerenger. His name was Peter Hicks, but everyone just called him Pete, an exile man born on Earth just all the other folk of this town except Saul and Jackal.

  What is Pete doing here? Are Rufus and Irene desperate enough to become worldmakers to want the power of Gatewood Hall? Who are these other two?

  Saul scowled as Irene turned and walked to the door with the three men. Rufus remained further back, sitting in his wheelchair as if he was an invalid. Saul did not know how serious whatever had left Rufus in the wheelchair had been, but he very much doubted his old friend was permanently crippled.

  Rufus like Saul and Irene aspired to be a worldmaker, and the challenges that entailed could be dangerous. Usually, the rivalries kept aspirants from working together, but there was one thing that could unite them, an aleph splinter.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Every worldmaker required a splinter as raw materials, but they were rare. One lay in the tomb beneath Gatewood Hall, but moving it without the proper preparations would be dangerous, because of its origin as the heart of a monster.

  Irene stopped before the doors just as the two men got them open.

  Saul closed his eyes and removed the glasses. He blinked slowly to avoid disorientation from the change of perspective. Nat rubbed his furry head against Saul’s neck.

  “What did you see?”

  Saul grimaced. “Something we have to look into further.” He rose from where he sat.

  Nat slipped into the collar of Saul’s coat. “At Gatewood Hall?” Saul’s collar muffled his small voice.

  “Yeah.” Saul walked into the shadows on one side of the porch. “Take me there, as quickly as you can.” Street lights were still visible from where he stood, but the shadows were deep enough for Nat to use his powers. Saul closed his eyes. “Hop, Nat.”

  A sinking feeling in Saul’s stomach turned into a sensation of weightlessness and emptiness. Ground returned under his feet but sloped beneath his shoes. Saul kept his eyes closed. The sinking feeling came again as Nat transported him through shadows once more. The ground he materialized on next set one of his feet higher than the other despite the flat lawn. His lower shoe sank into a shallow hole bored into the dirt.

  “We’re there,” said Nat.

  Saul steadied his feet and opened his eyes. He stood to one side of Gatewood Hall, with a view of the front of the building. Orange lights gleamed here and there along the paths through the campus on either side of the dark and derelict building. It had been some time since Saul had been this close to Gatewood Hall. He imagined an audible groan of the monstrous force buried beneath the vacant old dormitory.

  He stalked along the hedges that lined Gatewood Hall’s side. He moved toward the front of the building and found Rufus still sitting there, but now facing away from the doors.

  Saul slipped on his glasses and gazed through the eyes of the pigeon from before. Rufus and Pete were the only members of the group left waiting outside the building.

  Pete staggered to Rufus’s side. “You been in that chair long?”

  “Enough,” said Rufus. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Saul wrinkled his nose and removed the glasses. “Nat,” he whispered. “I’m going inside.”

  “Who’s in there?”

  “Irene, and two I don’t know.”

  “Don’t be reckless. What if they want to fight?”

  The thought of Irene’s fencing skills alone gave Saul pause.

  “Then I’ve got you to help me get away.”

  “And if they have light?”

  “If they have a light, we’ll still have shadows.”

  “You should have brought a sword.”

  “I’m not here to kill anyone.” My hands are bloody enough. Saul clenched a fist.

  Nat pressed himself against Saul’s neck. “Good.”

  Saul crept around the building and approached the front door of Gatewood Hall as silently as his shoes allowed on the grass. He reached the concrete of the front steps. He climbed them without a sound. Then he heard a voice from behind him, Pete.

  “Hey, what are you doing there?” the earth born man called.

  Shit. Saul glanced at the drunk as Rufus began to turn his chair. Footsteps came from within Gatewood Hall, near the entrance where he stood. Double shit.

  Saul backed away down the steps from the door and onto the grass. Pete walked toward him as Rufus completely turned the chair.

  Pete grabbed at Saul’s arm. “Hey, what’re you doing here, man?”

  Saul pulled his arm from the man’s grip and struck out with the other. The blow hit Pete in the chest and made him stagger backward. Rufus clapped his hands.

  “You’re always eager for a fight, Saul. How long has it been?”

  “Four years. But who’s counting?”

  “Not me, apparently.” Rufus whistled.

  Pete shook his head, seeming dazed, and stared at Saul, apparently startled by the sudden blow. “What was that for, buddy?”

  “Don’t try to grab me again.” Saul stepped past Pete and focused on Rufus.

  The red-haired maker in the wheelchair folded his hands. “What’re you doing here, Saul?”

  “I live in this town. Mind telling me what you and Irene are messing with here at Gatewood Hall? You two know what’s down there.”

  “So that was one of your pigeons I saw. Funny. I could swear you wouldn’t still be using your same old spying tricks. Thought you’d graduate to something better.”

  “Answer my question, Rufus.”

  “Saul Burton.” An unfamiliar voice said from behind him.

  Saul turned. The lean man he’d glimpsed through the pigeon’s eyes grinned at him from the steps of Gatewood Hall. In one hand he held the heavy-looking cane close to the crook. In the other he carried the broken off hilt of a sword which once belonged to a massive blade judging by the width of what little black steel remained above the silver cross guard.

  Saul’s eyes narrowed. The sword resonated with a presence of the being entombed beneath Gatewood Hall, gnawing like a hungry dog at the edge of Saul’s conscious mind.

  The man carrying the hilt smirked. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?”

  “My name is Luther Mansard.” Crinkles formed around his eyes. “And you know what this is, don’t you?” He held up the hilt of the broken sword.

  “I have a guess it’s what brought you here.”

  Saul took a step toward Luther. His eyes focused on the sword hilt. The sensation of a heartbeat, loud and warm, and rhythmic pulsed from the object into the night air.

  Saul folded his arms. “It’s the hilt of a sword.”

  “A sword used to kill one of the Aleph-Gern by absorbing it’s powers,” said Irene’s voice from behind Luther.

  She and the portly white man emerged from the doors of Gatewood Hall.

  Her eyes locked on Saul’s face. “Don’t forget, Saul. I saw what was down there those years ago just as well as you did.”

  “And yet, here you are.” Saul glared at her. “You know how powerful the material that sword absorbed could be.”

  “Powerful enough to activate a new universe.” Irene’s eyes met Saul’s. She smirked. “Some of us aren’t content with living on a dying world in the midst of clueless exiles.”

  A tremor ran through Saul, a warning to his sensible side of his distemper. He took another step toward Luther and Irene and the stocky man on Luther’s other side.

  “Do you think I’m content? Now that you’ve taken the hilt, don’t you realize every gern descended from the monster whose blood is in that broken sword is already on its way here to look for their progenitor? They can sense the power you’ve unearthed.”

  “You don’t know that.” Irene’s eyes flashed. “Get out of the way, Saul.”

  “I’m not letting you leave with that hilt.”

  Luther slipped the hilt of the sword into a strap at his belt. “Saul, you can’t stop us.”

  “You want to try me?” Saul said.

  “Sure.”

  Luther sprang forward and swung his cane. Saul’s forearm caught the blow before it could strike his skull. The impact hurt, the cane heavy with reinforcing metal. Despite that,

  Luther did not have any form of enhanced or magical strength as far as Saul could tell, and the blow might bruise, but nothing was broken. Luther’s other hand thrust at Saul’s chest, a resonance of magic echoed from the tips of his fingers.

  Saul dodged backward and threw himself sideways, narrowly avoiding Luther’s mystic strike. He did not know what Luther’s touch would do if it hit him, but he sensed the power there, so it could not be good.

  Saul ducked another strike of those fingertips and heard a wet crunch of an impact over his shoulder. He darted clear of Luther and turned. Luther’s last strike had hit Pete square in the chest.

  Pete stood frozen. Visible jolts of electricity flickered up and down his paralyzed form. Only his face moved, contorting in agony. His eyes shot wide open and he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  At the point Luther had struck him, Pete’s clothes blackened and smoked. His eyes rolled in his head as the exposed skin over his heart began to turn purple. His flesh swirled like stirred cream. Pete’s scream echoed into the night.

  His arms shuddered and stretched out to their full lengths as his body burned with light from within. The drum of his heartbeat grew almost as loud as his scream. The whole world shuddered in the darkness. Nat squeezed against Saul’s neck and collar, obviously and rightfully afraid.

  Saul stared at Pete and Luther. “What the hell are you?”

  “I’m the door man, the one who opens the way.” Luther chuckled. “It’s been fun, Saul, but now it’s time for us to go.”

  Electric sparks leaped up Pete’s body. The swirls of color and light in his chest expanded. Ripples of pulsed from the center, hiding his original shape. The smell of cooking meat and burnt ozone built in Saul’s nose.

  His eyes watered at the sight of the suddenly bright oval forming from Pete. He took an involuntary step backward.

  Rufus rolled his chair toward the flickering portal that stood where Pete had been. He disappeared into the light.

  The portly man shook his head with a smirk. “Poor blighter,” he said in an English accent as he walked to the open portal.

  Almost drowned out by Pete’s continued screams, Saul heard Luther’s voice. “They never see it coming, I tell you.”

  The heavyset man vanished through the crackling portal.

  Saul forced himself into motion as Irene and Luther walked toward the tear in the universe. He ran to intercept Luther. The man shook his head and then disappeared into the burning rift of light and screams.

  Saul stopped in front of the portal and pivoted to face Irene.

  “Irene, you know this is wrong,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She looked solemn for a moment. “But the worlds are made out of wrong.”

  She strode toward him and the portal.

  Saul held up his hands. “Please, Irene. You know I’m right.”

  “Maybe you are.” Irene smiled at him, her expression warm, but her eyes cold. “But there are still things I want and I won’t let you stand in my way.”

  A bird’s piercing cry came from above. Like an arrow, a red eagle flashed across Saul’s vision. Talons slashed one outstretched arm and tore through the sleeve of his jacket. He stumbled back. Irene rushed past him, her elbow slammed into him below the shoulder. She shoved him out of her way. He staggered in pain from the cuts of the bird’s strike and the impact on his side. The bird circled low and flew into the portal. Irene followed her art-child through the rift. Saul clutched his bleeding arm and turned. He hesitated to throw himself through the rift after them.

  The portal that had been Pete’s body sizzled with electricity. Beyond the flickering doorway a city stood, with buildings tall enough and sprawling enough to put anywhere on the Earth to shame, but with architecture alien to the earth born.

  Soaring stone bridges appeared beyond a tall window. Dark paved streets crisscrossed the city far below. Multicolored gardens and green parks bloomed here and there between buildings. Perfumed air wafted from the portal.

  Saul recognized the city as Mortressa, which stood on Hidria itself. He grimaced and took a step toward the portal. His true home waited beyond that gate. Damn the cost.

  He prepared to cross the threshold, but the colors on the other side faded before he could reach the opening. Lights died and electric crackle ceased. Saul staggered back, surprised.

  Pete’s charred body collapsed to the ground as his scream finally died away in the air. Saul looked at the body on the small circle of burnt grass. Numb shock hit him as adrenaline subsided, but he couldn’t give up. The door man had gone to Mortressa with Irene. Saul knew he had to stop him from using the power in that sword hilt, or none could tell how much worse the situation would become. Lights went on, flooding from the windows around the derelict lawn.

  Worse yet, the heartbeat of power in Saul’s maker sense now reverberated from beneath Gatewood Hall. The sword was one thing, but the wards that had protected the building had been damaged. Soon, gern would overrun the area, drawn to the presence of the ancient being that lay buried. This tomb did not hold dead remains. The creature still imprisoned in the depths began to sound a vile, mystic call.

  This was no place to stay.

  “Nat,” he said softly, “take me home.”

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