8

Saturday mornings were usually good for a lazy snooze until whenever. Dinner that evening was the one meal the family tried to have together. But the past couple of years, nobody had tried very hard. Sean knew something was wrong between his parents, and it was getting worse. He was pretty sure Dillon knew the same thing. But they never spoke about it. Living it was already tough enough.

Only that Saturday, Dillon’s alarm went off at five thirty. They were due next door at six.

As Sean described the dream, Dillon buried his face in his cereal bowl and refused to meet Sean’s eyes. When he was done, Dillon spooned up the last bits, then asked, “Do you remember any of the language?”

“I think so.”

“Tell me some.”

The words swam up unbidden, easy as his own English. Sean told his brother, “You need to come with me next time.”

Dillon stared. “What did you say?”

When Sean explained, Dillon got a sad look and did not speak again until they had crossed the two yards and entered the open front door. When Carver entered from the kitchen, Dillon asked, “I’m not in trouble for not showing up?”

“There are no down-checks. Either you pass or you fail,” Carver assured him.

Sean didn’t like the misery he had caused in his brother. They fought constantly. There was growing friction in many areas of their lives. But they faced the outside world together, and he hated how Dillon started the day feeling like he might be left behind. So he repeated the words he had said the night before. “I’m not going without Dillon.”

Carver’s frown did not return. Instead, he merely said, “Noted.”

They spent three and a half hours learning how to tie an invisible knot. It was partly a harnessing of that same gut-level force and partly a manipulation of their hands, and because they had two hands and Carver only one, they could not get how the two were supposed to work together.

So Carver grew a second hand.

At least, that was how it seemed, as they watched the forearm and hand slowly emerge from the closed sleeve, remaining long enough to show them how to fashion the knot using the same energy they had used to travel, the force Carver had formed into a new hand. And then disappearing again. Leaving the stump and the empty sleeve.

Dillon asked, “How come you don’t keep the hand around all the time?”

“Both of you go to the transit station and have the other draw you back, and I will tell you.”

“I’ll go first,” Dillon announced. And without hesitation, he went.

“Leave him for a moment,” Carver said, speaking for the first time that day in the musical tongue of Serenese. “Can you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes. Is this your home language?”

“No. It is the universal tongue of all Counselors and senior officers. Serenese is spoken by the world where the records were discovered. We think it may hold a link to the power itself.”

“By joining with others,” Sean guessed.

“Correct. The earlier you learn it, the faster you learn other lessons.”

“Can Dillon come to class tonight?”

“We’ll see.” Carver must have understood the distress, for he added, “It is very rare for a recruit to accept dream-time tutelage at this stage.”

“Is this what we are now, recruits?”

“So long as you continue passing your tests. Bring your brother back.”

Sean pulled on the line that he had been holding, the one that should not have existed. His conscious mind kept trying to draw the physical reality back into the kitchen where they stood. But all Sean needed to do was remind himself of the life that waited across the hedge, in the home next door. He had no problem drawing on the line and pulling his brother back. None at all.

When they had each done it three times, Carver announced himself satisfied and said, “After our next exercise is completed, I want you to practice this another ten times each.”

Dillon asked, “Do we have to stop after ten?”

“You will experience disorientation after a while,” Carver replied. “When that happens, stop and eat something. Wait until it disappears. When you become very weary, stop for the day.”

“So do we stay here in the kitchen, or can we go do this somewhere else?”

Carver cocked his head, like he needed a different angle to observe Sean’s brother. “That is an excellent question.”

Dillon positively glowed.

“The answer is, you must become comfortable with your destination and be able to call it up. Once you have arrived at this point, I will teach you how to form a portal. Then you can travel from anywhere. But only so long as you follow very strict guidelines. You must never, ever attempt to travel to an unknown destination. These rules are in place to protect you and others. All public destinations are known as transit stations. They too follow very rigid guidelines. You must never veer from these rules. This forms a component of your tests.”

“Identify the goal, form the doorway, then take the step forward,” Dillon said. “And never travel outside carefully established boundaries.”

“Correct. This will form the first half of your next test. Traveling to the destination without my assistance in forming the portal.”

Dillon reminded him, “You were going to tell us about the hand.”

“The primary form of trade between planets is technology. I have an implant that permits me to re-form what I lost. Unless I am with recruits, I never show my wounds. I reveal this because you need to understand the risks.”

Sean had not spoken once that entire morning except when Dillon had moved through the wall. It was his way of letting Dillon not feel like he was being left behind. Dillon had responded as Sean hoped he would, forging ahead with the fierce determination that was just one step off the fighting rage Sean knew he felt. That was Dillon’s way of handling anything he didn’t like. By combat. Sean could not have been more different. He wasn’t afraid of fighting. He just didn’t see the point.

They lunched on sandwiches Sean and Dillon made, heavy on the mayo and horseradish. The fridge was crammed with unpacked sacks ordered from a local deli mart that delivered. Dillon piled on rare roast beef while Sean sliced a tomato and washed lettuce. Carver ate the same way he had the previous evening, observing them for an instant, tasting cautiously, then eating everything without comment. Sean found Carver’s habits as interesting as his almost-hidden accent. And the sleeve that wasn’t always empty. Shadows of a life that lay just beyond the unseen portal.

When they were done, Carver opened the kitchen door. “We move outside.”

An awning had been erected, tall enough for Sean to be able to lift his hands over his head and not touch the striped cloth. It covered almost half of the fenced-in yard. Dillon looked at the unkempt shrubs, the patchy grass, and declared, “You need a dog.”

“I won’t be here that long.” Carver motioned them to the center of the awning. “Today we begin your first lesson on combat.”

Dillon showed the day’s first smile. “Now you’re talking.”

There were two components to this. First they had to shield themselves. Connecting to the force was coming more easily now, especially after the morning’s repetitive exercise. Going to the transit station was hardly boring. But after the morning’s exercises, it felt almost normal.

Which of course meant they were moving on to a totally new definition of normality.

Shielding required drawing the force completely around them, forming a sort of lumpish globe. Sean wasn’t really sure he was successful until Carver tossed a handful of dirt at Dillon and then at him. In both cases, the grit formed a slowly swirling veil before sliding off and falling to earth. Which Dillon declared was, “Another item on the list of coolest things ever.”

Defense and attack. Carver repeated the words until Sean felt like they were tattooed on his skull. First ensure safety, then apply force suitable to the threat.

The attack sequence was basically forming a fist from the power and punching forward. Carver brought out a weighted bag that he hung from a metal stand in the middle of the shaded space. Their job was to make the bag swing. For once, Dillon was way ahead of the game. His first punch toppled the bag. Carver’s praise brought out the day’s second grin.

Once Sean got the hang of it, he was ready to move on to the next thing. Unlike his brother. Dillon was in heaven. He punched and punched and loved it when Carver added to the challenge by flinging grit at them, ensuring they kept the shield in place as they punched. Carver made them accelerate the punches, then moved them farther from the bag.

When he was satisfied both brothers were handling the challenge, he turned toward the back door, saying, “One hour of practice, then you return to transits.”

Sean went through the motions mostly because his brother was having such a great time. But he was already bored. Another hour of this held about as much excitement as math.

Which was when Dillon hit him with a rock.

“You’re not paying attention.”

The rock struck him on the side of his head and hurt. Sean didn’t think. He just whipped around and slammed the invisible fist right into Dillon.

His brother might as well have been shot from a circus cannon.

Dillon soared through the air and struck the wooden-slat wall dividing Carver’s backyard from the neighbor opposite Sean’s own home. The barrier was mostly decorative and was definitely not meant to take the kind of blow that came from an invisible fist striking a guy wrapped in an invisible shield.

The wooden wall went down like a disappointed lip. Dillon spilled into the neighbor’s rosebushes.

He wasn’t hurt—his shield held—but he came up steaming just the same.

“I didn’t mean—” Then Sean realized that Dillon wasn’t all that interested in having a conversation.

Sean had just enough time to wrap himself in a shield before he went spinning like a top. Dillon had struck him on the side rather than straight on. Sean whirled about so fast he could actually hear the grass squeak beneath his shield. Which would have been kind of cool, except for how he took out Carver’s brand-new outdoor grill and then slammed into one of three decorative fruit trees. Almost dislodging the roots.

“Stay down,” Dillon growled.

Sean started to offer a couple of comments, questioning his brother’s right to give orders. But he decided the words would be wasted. So he stayed down, but only because he figured he didn’t need to stand up to strike.

This time Dillon’s fall took out the corner posts supporting the canvas awning. The structure flopped down, enveloping him.

Clawing his way out from beneath the striped tent only made Dillon madder still. Now the fist came at Sean straight from above.

The hammer blow punched Sean’s shield into the ground like a human-sized nail. From his position thigh-deep in the earth, Sean sent punch after punch at his brother.

Dillon’s head stayed down and his feet clawed the earth. He kept raining down his own strikes on Sean. Bam-bam-ditty-bam. The blows pounded Sean ever deeper into the hole. Sean could hear the earth grinding around him. He was almost chest deep now, and too mad to care. Dillon had his back against the house’s foundation, with a pair of major cracks opening behind him. He didn’t seem too worried about that either.

Nobody could get Sean anywhere near as mad as Dillon. He was trying to work up a wedge that he could use like a launcher, send Dillon flying into next week, when the rear door opened up and Carver weaved his good hand. Instantly the air emptied of force. The earth spilled in around Sean’s legs, and Dillon fell with a whoof to the ground.

Sean was terrified. Completely and utterly scared, so deep in the fear funk he could not even shape the panic into words.

Dillon looked up, his face compacted with grit, and showed his brother the exact same thought. That they were going down.

But Carver did not seem the least bit put out. Instead, he surveyed the collapsed awning, the cracks to his home’s foundation and rear wall, and the chest-deep hole Sean was struggling to climb from. Then he reached out and rebuilt the side fence.

When he spoke, Sean realized Carver was working hard to hide his laughter. “That’s enough combat practice for one day.”