Riftmaker

By Phoebe Darqueling

A Steampunk Portal Fantasy

Save his boy, uncover a conspiracy, and master opposable thumbs—a dog's work is never done.

Buddy's favorite thing is curling up for a nap at the foot of Ethan's bed. Then he stumbles through a portal to a clockwork city plagued by chimeras, and everything changes… Well, not everything. Sure, his new human body comes with magic powers, but he'd still rather nap than face the people of Excelsior, who harbor both desire and fear when it comes to "the other side."

He discovers Ethan followed him through the portal and underwent his own transformation, and it becomes Buddy's doggone duty to save him. Buddy finds unlikely allies in an aristocrat with everything on the line, a mechanic with something to hide, and a musician willing to do anything to protect her. Using a ramshackle flying machine, the group follows the chimeras deep into the forest and uncovers a plot that could reshape the worlds on both sides of the rift.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: OWS Ink
• Release date: Feb 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781946382528

Book preview

Chapter 1

High above the city , the very air seemed to glitter. Faceted gems glistened on long, elegant necks, and dancers twirled across the shining floor. Thousands of candle flames twinkled and reflected off polished surfaces while bubbles raced to the top of cut crystal glasses filled with golden liquid. The merrymakers finished their dance, followed by a smattering of polite but distracted applause for the musicians.

Jeremy fidgeted in the wings. Every time he reached up to adjust his cravat, the sleeves of his borrowed coat crept up his lanky arms. He would have been at home in the demure creams and soft tones worn by the women, or the black that allowed servants to blend with the shadows, but his maestro had insisted he wear a garish green and gold ensemble for the benefit of the ‘crats he was there to entertain. Once he achieved the rank of journeyman, he would be free to wear the dark and billowing robes of his colleagues, but until the Guild master finally called his name, Jeremy was stuck performing in clothes that didn’t fit, in colors that made his eyes water.

The first ensemble finished their bows and the curtain dropped, plunging Jeremy and his restless hands into a moment of darkness before his vision adjusted to the meager glow of the footlights. His eyes wide with longing, he watched as the journeymen who held the precious sheet music placed the loosely rolled papers into their protective leather cylinders. One day, he’d learn the secrets of the tiny characters he’d glimpsed cascading down the pages, but even apprentices talented enough to play an Artefact or two learned to play every piece by ear.

A harsh whisper suddenly brought him back to the moment at hand.

Nervous?

Jeremy startled and turned toward the speaker, sending one music stand crashing into another. For fear of making matters worse, he froze and waited for the harsh clang of metal on metal to subside as they fell to the stage.

That’s a good strategy, tenderfoot, chortled the voice. Make everybody deaf so they can’t hear how badly you play.

What, you don’t think they’ll be on their feet, chanting his name? asked another. Oh wait, I forgot, he doesn’t have a pedigree, so he doesn’t have a real name. Ha!

Before Jeremy could assemble a response, the first student gave his shoulder a shove. Well, what are you waiting for? Pick it up.

His nostrils flared, but Jeremy managed to keep any other sign of his frustration hidden in the near-darkness as he bent down to retrieve the fallen stand. As he began to straighten, something struck him across the shoulders. Sheet music cascaded down his back and all over the floor.

Oops! cried another journeyman musician in mock surprise, the upturned cylinder still showering Jeremy with its contents. Can you get those for me while you’re down there?

The laughing voices seemed to multiply in the small space as the circle closed around him, their polished shoes threatening to smudge the edges of the precious sheets of parchment.

Don’t worry, the first voice said airily. I’m sure he hasn’t any qualms about picking up garbage. It makes you feel at home, eh tenderfoot? It’s the kind of work mongrels are good for.

That’s not fair. He could be purebred. The journeyman with the music cylinder said, her words sympathetic but tone mocking. Traveler scum is always pure, after all. And he’s good with Artefacts. You really a piggie, that it?

Jeremy ground his teeth and kept his movements controlled as he carefully retrieved the scattered papers. He may be many things—poor, orphaned, and without good prospects—but one thing he was sure of, he was no Traveler.

The snide laughter stopped and Jeremy looked up to find a trio of house servants entering the enclosed wings. On the curtained stage, the candlelight could only hint at the large box one of them carried. The polished brass wires of the generator almost glowed from the hands of another. The last servant cradled that evening’s showpiece on a pillow of silk, and its strange, otherworld cord coiled over his shoulder like a serpent.

Jeremy straightened the stack of sheet music and carefully rolled it into a tight cylinder. If you’ll excuse me, he said, handing the sheets back to the boy holding the music case. I have a solo to prepare for.

The other musicians were just as taken with the Artefact as Jeremy, so the touch of smugness in his smile went unnoticed, or at least unpunished. He took advantage of their distraction and slipped through a gap in the ring of journeymen before they could remember to find some new way to torture him.

Jeremy wound his way between the chairs and mundane instruments to the front of the stage, the polite murmurs of the party wafting through the curtain. From the moment the violin entered the room, he was its captive. The servant held it out to him as he approached, and Jeremy ran a tentative finger across its sinuous curves. The amplifier made a resonance chamber unnecessary, so the otherworld designer had only used the material of the body to hint at the shape of a violin. A single ivory arch coiled from the chinrest to the fingerboard and continued to slither behind the body to a stop at the neck. He gingerly lifted the violin and bow from the pillow and the servant backed away, eyes diverted. As the conductor entered, the generator whirred to life behind him and drew a soft buzzing sound from the amplifier.

What are you doing just standing around? the maestro admonished the gawping journeymen. Curtain is about to go up! If you’re not in this number, I want you off my stage. Now! The musicians bumbled to their seats in a flurry of scrapes and muffled curses or fled to the wings as the conductor approached. The bearded man clapped a good-natured hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, shattering his moment of awe. She’s something, isn’t she?

Yes, sir.

Are you ready for your big debut? A moment of panic seized Jeremy by the throat, reducing his reply to a curt nod. The conductor smiled knowingly. It’s alright to be nervous, my lad. This is a big opportunity resting on your shoulders. It’s sponsorship rather than talent standing between you and the next level. That’s why I recommended you for this concert. Maybe you’ll turn the head of some ‘crat girl, eh? Our host has a ward, doesn’t he? Perhaps Miss Olivia will see to the rest of your dues if you impress her or Lord Corvid. The maestro’s voice dropped low enough that only Jeremy could hear, and he nodded to the instrument in his hands. "But if nothing else, you get to spend an evening with the finest lady in all the land. Hers is the only love a true musician really needs. Make her sing for me, eh?"

A grateful smile split Jeremy’s dark face and he nodded his assent. The big man gave him another slap on the shoulder and left to stand on his dais in front of the stage. The rest of the ensemble finally settled into a ready silence behind Jeremy, and he spared them a glance. Awe and jealousy stared back at him, but the heat of the angry gazes could not penetrate him while he held the Artefact as his shield. He turned his back on their glaring faces.

Who’d have thought they’d ever want to trade places with me?

The crowd on the other side of the curtain applauded; the conductor evidently had reached his place. His deep voice boomed across the ballroom, telling those assembled they were in for a special evening and a few details about the piece and the composer. Jeremy concentrated on calming his stuttering heartbeat until the curtain rushed open.

The tables before him seemed to stretch for a mile. Though the crowd had been on their feet and dancing just moments before, everyone now faced the stage in anticipation that night’s marvel. Young women gazed appraisingly through dark lashes as they hid their real expressions behind the flutter of fans. Garishly attired young men cultivated an air of aloofness and exchanged hushed conversations with their fellows.

Jeremy raised the violin to his chin and rested the bow lightly against the strings, energy crackling through the body of the instrument and into his skin. A sudden, static-filled buzz erupted from the amplifier and the crowd hushed. Even the masks of cultivated boredom cracked as people leaned forward with interest. Electricity usually promised a glimpse into the other side and its forbidden treasures. The conductor raised his baton and gave his students a wink.

Taking a final, deep breath, Jeremy silently wished to the goddess of Fate with all his might.

Notice me.

The honeyed voice of the violin rose clear and strong, echoing off of the high ceilings and filling every corner of the room. Jeremy rocked while he played; not to the rhythm of the melody, but in tune to the emotion of the music and the force of his bow strokes. His heart sang as the other instruments entered and added counterpoint to his lilting tones. The diners laid down their forks and their forgotten cocktails wept, leaving rings on satin table cloths as the ice melted. The captivated audience never took their eyes from Jeremy, while the rest of the musicians struggled to keep up with his improvised runs and altered chords. No one even cleared their throats, lest they break the spell being woven by Jeremy’s fleet and calloused fingers.

When he reached the final notes of the fugue, the room waited to exhale. Jeremy’s absorbed gaze reached far into the distance, and he was only brought back to himself by the eruption of enthusiastic applause. He blinked a few times, startled to find anyone in the room with him after his total absorption in the melody. When Jeremy grinned and bowed, the applause thundered even louder. Heat prickled up his neck and ears as he straightened and looked over the crowd. Hundreds of eyes glued him to the spot, until the maestro erased all thought of the audience with a sweep of his baton. The whirlwind began anew.

Chapter 2

The changeling blinked a few times, each flutter bringing his hazy surroundings more into focus. As he flopped his limbs to one side, his peculiar musculature slipped and crunched in all the wrong places. He could recall the sensation of being pulled and stretched, then tumbling through darkness.

The taste of strangeness lingered on his thick, slug-like tongue, yet his body felt heavy and stiff as if he’d lain there on the curious hexagonal paving stones all night. It had not been long since he landed, but the cool air that draped his bizarre new flesh crept into every crevice. Several yards away, a gas street lamp cast a pool of light and offered just enough illumination to see himself and renew his terror.

His front limbs had stretched to at least three times their original length, and as he explored his new body, he discovered the familiar downy surface replaced by an expanse of leathery skin covered with coarse hairs. Fingers, long and talon-like, curled from the ends of each arm. He lifted his head to look down his body and felt an unfamiliar clamminess as his shoulder touched his hairless cheek. A scattering of garbage covered his body, except for his legs that now appeared to be a long distance from where they used to be. Panic gripped him again as he realized his knees and ankles were bent at grotesque angles.

The changeling flexed his toes experimentally and winced in anticipation of tattered joints, then blew out a relieved sigh when not met by immediate and searing pain. This small victory inspired him to try his fingers, followed by his knees and elbows. Eventually, he’d assumed the fetal position and could take the first experimental accounting of his face.

His cheekbones bulged, as did the ridge adorned with soft brows above his eye sockets. Silky strands of hair curled around the edges of peculiar, rigid ears. He ran his tongue over his expressive and supple mouth, filled with the flat chisels and rugged grinders of a herbivore.

What am I?

He was so absorbed in his conundrum he didn’t notice the sound of approaching footsteps until something struck him hard in the ribs. After tripping, his unknowing assailant sprawled on the ground nearby. From the changeling’s vantage point, all he could see were the bottom of her boots. He rose to a sitting position to see her better and found a skinny girl in striped trousers and a dirty greatcoat. The changeling was not skilled at gauging ages, but guessed she must be somewhere on the verge of adulthood. Her dislodged bowler hat rotated on the pavement a few feet beyond her outstretched hands. Though his recollection of himself was hazy, a whispering in the changeling’s mind told him the girl struggling for breath before him was called Adelaide, and he had no reason to doubt it.

The past and the present both flashed before his gaze in a disorienting, muddled torrent. There was another place, another person, that she brought to mind, but she was a stranger. A stranger with a name he knew.

He coughed to clear the blow from his own lungs, and the girl staggered to her feet, looking wildly from side to side. The changeling could not find his words, so he lurched forward and clutched at the hem of her coat, desperate to communicate with the first soul he’d met since the change. Without hesitation, Adelaide shrugged off her outer layer and scrambled away from him. She disappeared into the gloom.

Wait! croaked a voice.

It took the changeling a moment to understand that it had been his voice, though he wasn’t sure if it was the fault of his voice or his ears that he hadn’t recognized it. He had the distinct urge to follow the girl; not just because she was running and he loved to run—or is it chase? And is there a difference? —but because she had smelled like fear and he thought he should help.

The urge to protect and the desire to curl into a ball and whimper over his predicament battled within him, but the kick to the gut made sitting still very appealing. With Adelaide’s forgotten coat pulled over himself for warmth, he settled in to fret alone.

Until he heard the sound—the strange combination of the rumble of footsteps and the sickly slopping of tentacles, of muffled screams and desperate sobbing, of nightmares.

Something was coming.

He should have heard it sooner, smelled it sooner. There had been danger on the heels of that girl, and his new body was too slow to sense it. The reverberations continuously changed, a queer combination of subtle echoes, like the crackle of a fire, and the shrieks of the crones who were stoking it.

The ever-shifting sound made it to the mouth of the alley and paused. The changeling saw a flash of himself in his old form, cowering away from the same kind of dangerous rage emanating from the thing that approached. As a reflex, the changeling willed himself to be small and unnoticeable in the same way. He told himself to stop existing, to be simply another piece of trash in the heap. Whether by his will or the single-mindedness of a predator on the hunt, the blaring creature passed right by. The thing slither-stalked down the corridor, and the changeling dare not steal a glance for fear of drawing its attention.

As quickly as it came, he set aside his relief when he realized the creature must be after the girl. The blurry warmth of distant candlelight winked out as the people in the upper stories closed their curtains and shutters against the horror in the alleyway. No help was coming. The changeling rose on wobbly legs and pulled the coat over his strange new body to protect against the chill, then tore down the passageway after Adelaide. So much like... someone he could not quite remember... and all alone.

The pounding of blood in his head and wet slap of his footsteps on the cobbles was engulfed by the sound emanating from the monster when he got close. The howling wind of a hundred storms seemed to rush through the alley, yet he could hear the delicate crunch of insects underfoot right inside his ear. It was hard to imagine anything louder, but the sound of a shrill scream cut through the air and the noise subsided.

Dark colors swirled ahead, a black, smoking mass edged with light. The surface seemed to boil with a succession of shapes. Wings, talons, tails, and heads of different animals pulsed in and out of the surface the creature. 

The changeling slowed his pace and tried to quiet his breath when another scream erupted. The creature shuddered, tentacles coiling and retreating from the edges of the viscous smoke that made up its strangely shifting body. Pressing himself flat against the wall, the changeling inched around the monster made of shadow. Adelaide stood poised against the dead end of the alley with a boot in her hand, holding it high and threatening toward the writhing mass of darkness.

You like that, eh? Have another! she shouted into the noise. The changeling expected her to throw the shoe, but another scream burst from her throat, though shorter and less forceful as she tired. The relentless roar-hiss of the demon ceased for a moment, the creature seemingly stunned into momentary silence by the cry.

Someone above them took that chance to call out to the girl below, but as quickly as the call had been raised, it was swallowed. The writhing shadow-thing shuddered back to action, a pair of long, clawed hands forming out of the mist of its body to reach for Adelaide.

At the sound from above, head shot upward, and the changeling’s eyes followed her smiling gaze to the small group of waving figures high above them. They threw fist-sized clay pots from the rooftop that exploded into a shower of sparks and clouds of sulfurous smoke the moment they hit the ground. The girl pulled a sooty scarf from her collar and used it to cover her nose and mouth so as not to breathe in the fumes. The beast reared back from the sudden flashes of light and smell of rotten eggs. The changeling was happy for the aid, but when the creature moved, it left him totally exposed, cowering against the brickwork.

I’m invisible. I don’t matter. Focus on the danger, not me. He willed himself to be just like another brick in the wall. And much to his surprise and gratitude, the monster never noticed him.

The people on the rooftop threw down a bundle that looked like old rags until it unfurled into a makeshift rope ladder. The lowest of its mismatched rungs still hung several feet above the girl, who furiously scrambled at the wall, but couldn’t reach it. The changeling hesitated only a moment before he closed the gap between them. He squatted down and wrapped his arm around her knees. She didn’t even have time to protest as he stood to his full height, boosting her high enough that her grasping fingers found the rope ladder. The girl heaved herself high enough to hook an elbow over the bottom rung and immediately began to climb.

The changeling had a moment of relief that the girl was safe, which was immediately replaced with concern for himself. The creature made a wild charge at the wall and looked up at the only exit. The changeling dove out of the way, then scrambled to his feet and darted around to the back of the ghoul. The shadow stuff that made up its body thickened from smoke to a solid as it tried to gain purchase on the alley wall to follow Adelaide. Though it could change its shape, there were limits to how far it could reach, and it howled in rage.

The changeling ran headlong toward the monster’s back, and his momentum, aided by terror, carried him all the way over the top. As he launched off one of the beast’s many faces, he pushed the gnashing jaws away and managed to grab onto the newly vacated bottom rung of the ladder. One hearty pull by the people assembled above, and both the changeling and the girl rose beyond the creature’s reach. A few heaves later, they’d scaled their way to the haven of the rooftop.

Judging by the surprised gasps of the owners of the many sets of hands that helped to haul him over the edge, the changeling could now be seen. By the way the strangers stared, he wished he could go unnoticed again, but he was far too weary to try. The raggedy band clapped him on the back while the others took turns hugging and scolding Adelaide.

Though the changeling’s survival instincts had not yet allowed him to process the information, he realized what he had become. There simply hadn’t been time to help the girl and to bear the brunt of an existential crisis. Now that the near-death experience was over, the illumination came pouring in.

The change was not just physical. He mulled over the moments since he’d awoken and realized his thoughts and reactions felt different. The questions he’d asked himself in those initial minutes like "what am I?" were the first questions he had ever asked himself, at least using words.  He looked around at the people chattering on all sides, and he could understand every single word they said. Before now, he’d only ever known a few words, and acquiring the knowledge had taken months of training. There had been plenty of words around, but not for him to know.

On the street, the buildings pressed too closely together to let in the last light of day, but on the rooftop, he could make out more details of his new form in the twilight. His fingers were not as grotesquely long as he first thought, but were in perfect proportion to his hands. Five toes sat side by side on each of his bare and chilly feet. Under the coat, his body was bare, his naked chest still heaving slightly from his recent exertion. He brought his hands to his face again and ran his fingers over his nose and mouth, a light dusting of stubble on his lip.

I am human.

His heart lurched with the realization, and his eyes involuntarily sought Adelaide. His thoughts swirled in his head impossibly fast and the voices and gestures around him began to crawl. Adelaide turned her eyes toward him impossibly slowly, and he watched as her mouth transformed into an O of surprise. The corner of his mouth tugged into its first smile as his knees gave way and he tumbled from the twilight of evening into the full darkness of sleep.

Chapter 3

Ethan lingered outside his garden-style apartment building and swallowed the hard lump that always formed in his throat as he approached his own door. His keys jingled as he lifted his shaking hand to the lock.

The flickering light of the television poured from the living room window and danced across the second-story walkway. The lightshow could only mean one thing—he was awake. For the millionth time, Ethan wondered why his mother had married such a tyrant, and remembered for the millionth time that things had not always been this way. He took a final, deep breath before jamming his key into the lock and twisting it open.

Ethan? Is that you honey? his mom called from the kitchen. He winced, afraid that her volume would garner his stepfather’s attention, but there was no change in the flashing from the den. Ethan took off his red Converse sneakers, already in need of replacement after another growth spurt, and made his way quietly to the next room.

His mother was elbow deep in soapy water when he poked his head around the threshold. Ethan padded over to the kitchen table, a plate of the dinner he had missed waiting at his place. Thanks, he mumbled as he shoved forkfuls of green beans into his mouth.

Rebecca dried off and turned to regard her son. The weight of her gaze pulled at him until he made reluctant eye contact. She crossed her arms and looked pointedly at the clock and back into his eyes without speaking, but her meaning was clear.

Ethan opened his mouth to explain, but a huge shuddering sob took the place of his words. His mother’s eyes widened in surprise, and she rushed over to throw her arms around his neck.

It’s okay, honey. I’m here. She stroked his hair until he could get his breathing under control. What happened?

Ethan snuffled, his voice thick with sorrow. He’s gone, Mom!

Who is?

I—I lost him. I lost Buddy, he choked on the words. I don’t know how! He’s just gone.

Rebecca checked around the room automatically, confirming that the little white dog was nowhere to be seen. Her brow furrowed in concern for a moment, then softened. It’s okay, she cooed and gave Ethan’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. We’ll find him. That dog loves you more than life itself, so he wouldn’t have gone far. Right? Relief flooded Ethan’s features; he was still at an age that anything his mother said became a fact.

Or he’s already been hit by a car, a rough voice chuckled from the doorway, and they both stiffened in recognition. Stan leaned casually against the frame and drained the last of his PBR.

Rebecca stood and returned to the sink, unable to meet her husband’s eyes. She only had enough courage to mutter, Geez, Stan, at the dirty water.

Am I wrong? he sneered at her back. Her only response was the clank of dishes. He glowered for a moment before he sent is beer can sailing through the air. It hit the cupboard near Rebecca’s head and landed in the sink with a splash. Stan repeated his question louder and drew out the vowels mockingly.

No, you’re not wrong. Her voice was barely above a whisper. She sighed and poured the dishwater out of the can before adding it to the recycling bin under the sink.

Stan headed for the fridge to refresh his drink and gave her a pat on the backside as he passed. That’s my girl.

Ethan sat as still as possible, hoping that would be the end of it. To his horror, his stepfather sat down at the table next to him. He regarded Ethan for a few moments before the crack of his beer opening shattered the silence, like a whip splitting flesh.

So, you can’t find the little shit, huh? He took a long slurp of his drink, followed by a contented sigh. Ethan moved his food around his plate as the shame burned through him. "You know, when your mom brought him home from the shelter, I told her you weren’t responsible enough for a dog. You both assured me that you were old enough. I guess we see how that worked out." He took another long swallow and wiped his mouth with a meaty hand.

I’ll... I’ll go out again tomorrow. I’ll make posters—

Ha! Stan interrupted. You think you’re gonna offer a reward, kid?

Ethan risked a glance into his stepfather’s dark eyes. Why not?

Why not? Stan guffawed, the stale stink of beer rolling off him in waves. Where do you think you’re going to get the money to offer a reward, dumbass?

Rebecca spoke up, but only to remind them not to wake the baby sleeping in the next room. New tears stung the edges of Ethan’s eyes, but he wouldn’t give Stan the satisfaction of seeing him cry. His stepfather was always going on about how poor they were since he’d been laid off, though that never seemed to translate into him looking for a new job. Yet even after Stan started to insist that his family turn in receipts for everything, so he could figure out how to make ends meet, there always seemed to be money for the cheap booze he guzzled day and night.

No, Stan continued. I think that dog finally wised up and decided to get out while the getting’s good. Who’d want to hang around with you all the time? Ethan clenched his jaw and pushed away from the table. Before he could stand fully, his stepfather clamped a hand on his forearm. Stan wasn’t grabbing him hard enough to hurt, not yet anyway, but the longer he touched anything, the greater the