Daylight blinding. Daylight bitter. Daylight cold.

  Saul landed in the snowy yard outside the broken window. He hugged himself against the winter chill and squinted in the brilliant day. He looked for tracks in the snow. As his eyes adjusted he found two scuffed sets of tracks leading toward the shed in the back yard that had stood longer than the house.

  When Saul’s father had bought this plot of land, the shed had been there. When Saul had been a child and he and Irene had spent time in the back yard during father’s parties, they had both become familiar with the rickety structure. Over the intervening twenty years, the shed had begun to show its age.

  When his father had lent Saul the house for that fateful challenge, there had still been a gardener retained. That had not lasted long because of Saul’s need for secrecy. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the snow, following the tracks toward the sagging roof and warped wooden door of the shed.

  The door stood ajar. Saul’s brows furrowed as he approached the shed. He peered into the shadows within. What few shadows could be made from the light of the single frost-covered window.

  Within, huddled Morrie in a crouch. He clutched at the bleeding cut Eagle had dealt him inside the house. There was no sign of Cecilia or the art-child that controlled her.

  “She got away,” Morrie said.

  “You alright?” Saul asked.

  “I think the answer to that is pretty damn obvious.” Morrie’s voice cracked. “Why us?”

  “The wrong town at the wrong time,” said Saul. “I don’t think it’s about you. Or her. It’s about Olivia.”

  “Olivia?” He turned toward Saul, tears beginning in his eyes. “Why?”

  “A few months ago, I told her the truth. That’s why.”

  “The truth?”

  “About the way this world works. As far as I know, other makers don’t see it as a crime to sentence all of you to lives of torment.”

  “Torment. Man, you really know how to cheer a guy up.”

  “I like sarcasm, but I didn’t mean to cheer you. It wanted to help you assess our situation. We’re in this together now.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “I really do. And I’ll do what I can to protect you and your friends. If you help me.”

  “You’re the bad ass who makes monsters out of clay.” Morrie clenched his fists. “How could any of us help you?”

  “I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I’m learning lately, it’s that I’m far from all powerful.” And far from invulnerable, he added mentally. “Simon is using your friends as his foot soldiers. That means he will preserve their lives for us.”

  “You think so?”

  “If my guess is correct, he employs his own art-children to control Cecilia, and George, and whoever is behind Vulture’s mask. He won’t sacrifice his children unless he has no other choice.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I’m the same way.” Saul thought of the cyclops, of what he had created the creature to do. Sacrifice. His mind turned to the wandering world he had created from Apahar’s blood. Abandoned. He sighed heavily. “Let’s go inside. We need to make a plan.”

  “I still don’t know what I can do.”

  “Every mind we put to a task is useful.” Saul found it odd that he believed his words in that moment. In the next, he felt stranger still. “You may not have maker powers or combat training, but you have your own point of view. When I was young, my mother told me all humans have a perspective that creates their reality, and each of those is unique. That is valuable for an artist, a maker, and for a warrior. We can become unpredictable.”

  He stooped beside Morrie and offered the student his hand. “Inside,” he said.

  Morrie gripped his wrist and pulled himself to his feet. “Good pep talk, coach.”

  Saul raised his eyebrows. “I’m not your coach.”

  Morrie wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He shook his head and walked past Saul toward the house.

  Saul followed. Memories surfaced in his mind. Memories of the day he had lost Molly to Jackal. Back then, he had tried to fight alone. Tried to protect her alone. Even Irene would not stand with him then. So much had changed. And yet everything seemed to repeat.

  How did I find myself fighting for exiles? They approached the back door, trudging through snow. Two of the most heartless worldmakers of all time could count themselves unlucky. Their son, who they trained to take his seat on the council, was against them.

  That’s what I am, he thought. I am against the worldmakers. The council. All of them.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Morrie fumbled with cold hands on the doorknob. Saul waited for him to open it. He shivered. Somewhere out there his mother had signed off on his death warrant. What about father? Father had even more reason to hate Saul. This house against the universe, and every world built by the council. Saul felt at once weightless and heavy at the prospect.

  Let us begin.

  * * *

  Olivia met them as Saul led the way through the kitchen at the back of the house. She scowled at him.

  “You’re both ridiculous.”

  “Blame him,” said Saul. “He’s the one who charged off to certain death.”

  “Not like you haven’t done the same lately.” She sighed. “Being a hunter is about being careful, especially now when we can’t win every battle.”

  “We never could win every battle. Remember William.” Saul shrugged. “But I see your point.”

  Morrie glanced at him. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus. I thought we were in this together?”

  Saul chuckled. “Fair point. Acknowledge your mistake.”

  “What were you planning to do if you caught her?” Olivia asked. “Morrie, she would have killed you.”

  “You don’t know that. Cecilia is behind that mask.”

  Saul said, “And Eagle is the mask. Eagle doesn’t strike me as overly merciful.”

  “Okay, okay. I made a mistake. Now, can we figure out how to survive this mess?”

  Olivia glanced at Saul, brows raised. “I suppose he’s right.”

  “Absolutely.”

  A set of pin-like feet dug into Saul’s collar. His gaze flicked to look at Nat. “What is it?”

  “Saul, a comparator I do not recognize is reaching out to me.”

  “Can you tell from where?”

  “Barring any misdirection it is located at the passage house in town.”

  “Hmmm…” Saul frowned. “It must belong to Simon. Or Abigail.”

  “Abigail Creek?” Olivia asked.

  “She and the new guardian have worked together in the past. They could be trying to set a trap for us.”

  “They can trap you just by talking?” Morrie asked. “How?”

  “Up until yesterday, I didn’t think anyone made art-children to control human minds by remote. There is still too much we don’t know how that begins.”

  “You have that right,” said Olivia. “We need to get things cleared up.”

  She turned and led the way back to the workshop. Saul and Morrie followed.

  Irene paced the dance floor between Rult and Bantos. Her eyes flashed when the rest of them walked in. “Saul, I don’t like playing the rearguard.”

  “You appear to have managed,” he said. “I appreciate you watching our backs.”

  “Next time, you should watch mine. It’s only fair.”

  Watching Irene’s back did not sound bad at all. Saul tried to look as casual as possible. “It is only.” He glanced at Bantos. “What did you do with the passage blade?” He did not see it anywhere.

  “It is here.” Bantos spread the fingers of his right hand. The full length of the glistening weapon emerged from the flesh of his palm. He laid the flat of the long blade across his other arm. “I have joined with the weapon, master.”

  “Perfect,” said Saul. “I was hoping you would succeed. This could prove very useful.”

  Morrie frowned. “It’s another sword. How much does that really help?”

  “It is not just any sword.” Saul grinned. “It is an abei-gern’s passage blade. This is the tool the gern use to cut pathways into the place between worlds, and from the place between, back into human realms.”

  Morrie put fingers to his temples. “So, that means…?”

  “We can use the passage blade to travel to other worlds,” said Irene. “We only need to know where to cut, and have a way to cross the gulf that lies between.”

  “Like a spaceship?”

  “Makers prefer winged boats,” said Olivia. “Yeah, things are weird off the earth.”

  “Things are ‘weird’ here, too.” Irene’s gaze moved along the surface of Bantos’ passage blade. “You just happen to be accustomed to them.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “Fine. Split hairs.”

  “With pleasure, earth-born.”

  “Irene,” Saul said. “We have to work together here.”

  “I came to this world to help you. How do you plan on protecting not only yourself but two earth-born as well?”

  “I don’t need protection,” Olivia scowled. “I can handle myself.”

  Saul nodded. His gaze moved to Morrie. “She has something of a point. As long as we are on earth, the council will keep sending guardians after any of us who become vulnerable. I don’t find this situation acceptable.”

  “Sounds like you have an idea, though,” said Olivia. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I suppose I am not completely friendless on Hidria.” Saul closed his eyes. “The Queen of Mortressa owes us for her crown.”

  “Tori,” said Olivia. “You think she can help us?”

  “She can offer us a safe haven and a base to negotiate with the council.”

  “That sounds like a positive,” said Morrie. “Having a queen on our side can’t hurt.”

  “You may have to stay on Hidria for a time.” Saul took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “I doubt that will endear us to the councilmembers, but it could keep us safe.”

  “What you’re proposing could begin a war on Hidria.”

  “Better on Hidria than elsewhere,” said Saul. “Irene, the system in power is monstrous.”

  “I’ve never supported the enslavement of the earth-born, Saul.” Irene folded her arms and drew in a breath. “But taking them to Hidria… It would be terribly dangerous.”

  “I’ve dealt with those dangers before.”

  “You earned yourself a sentence of death.”

  “What does death mean to people from the afterlife?” asked Morrie. “Honestly, I’m curious.”

  Saul and Irene both looked at the slight young man.

  “That depends,” said Saul. “If one of us dies on earth, we will most likely be reborn on Hidria. That much is true…”

  “But regardless where we die, we will no longer be makers.” Irene scowled. “A soul passing between worlds loses its taph. And with the taph, goes the talent of our people.” She shook her head. “Such a loss would be… unbearable.”

  Olivia whistled. “I can see why. Without your powers, you wouldn’t be able to talk down to us.”

  “Oh, I’d find a way.”

  “I can believe that.” Olivia turned to Saul.

  Before she could speak to him, Morrie cut in. “What about if you die on your home world?”

  “None return from Fanar,” said Irene. “Not in living memory, anyway.”

  Saul nodded. “Fanar is a mystery to our kind, almost as Hidria is unknown on earth.”

  Morrie frowned. “You don’t know?”

  Irene looked down at her feet. “It is thought that the cycle continues. Another birth. Another life. Another death.”

  “But you don’t know,” said Morrie. “It could be there is nothing after Hidria.”

  “No,” said Saul. “Because once, thousands of years ago, a few humans were brought back from Fanar.”

  “So the historical legend goes,” said Irene. “But those humans returned without their powers. They horrified the ancient makers.”

  “What happened to them?” Olivia asked.

  Saul’s mouth felt dry. “They became the first exiles.”

  Silence hung in the air between the four humans and Saul’s art-children.

  Morrie crossed his trembling arms. “You mean—They were sent to Earth. Here. The makers started all of this?”

  “That is the legend. But it is older than accurate history.”

  “But if that’s true. If that’s true. Nothing. Nothing we think happened the way we thought,” Morrie said.

  “That,” said Saul, “Would be the case.”

  “There’s always more. Such utter and complete assholes,” Olivia said. She walked past Irene and Bantos and headed for the front door.

  “Olivia, wait.”

  “Look, Saul. I need to get more weapons. And I don’t want to talk to you right now. Give me an hour.”

  “Don’t go out there alone.”

  “That’s the thing. I’m not one of your creatures. I don’t have to do everything you say.” She kept walking.