Death's Door: The Makers, #1

By Tim Niederriter

Ambition. Art. Power.

 

Saul once possessed all three.

 

He failed anyway.

 

He sees a chance to redeem his past and return to the world that exiled him, only to have it snatched away.

 

Saul chases a new enemy and old rivals across multiple worlds in the struggle to complete his ultimate creation. A new world.

 

Death's Door is portal fantasy with an surly anti-hero protagonist and plenty of high adventure.

 

Read it today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mental Cellar Publications
• Release date: Feb 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224455058

Tim Niederriter

Tim Niederriter loves writing fantasy blended with science fiction. He lives in the green valley of southern Minnesota where he plays some of the nerdiest tabletop games imaginable. If you meet him, remember, his name is pronounced “Need a writer.”

Book preview

Chapter 1

Kerenger Pennsylvania, 1997

Eighteen Years Ago

Saul finished work on the wire armature in the shape of an insect, small enough to fit in the palm of his ten-year-old hand. The lights of the kitchen in Father's mansion gleamed on the slender shape as he took a few beads of clay from the wet basin on the counter opposite the pot his teacher was using to prepare dinner for Father's guests. He set down the armature, then rolled the clay over in his hands, forming two round shapes not much larger than ordinary marbles.

You can't work with so little clay and expect much effect, said his teacher, Daphne, smiling gently. Take a little more.

I will, once I've used this up.

Daphne nodded. Take care.

I know. He smiled up at her, then went to work on the sculpture.

He carefully positioned one ball of clay at one end of a wire extending to one side of what would be the head, then put the other ball opposite the first. He frowned with concentration as he took more clay and covered the wire of the body with a slim layer. He built out the wings next, making them sleeker than a moth's but thicker than a butterfly's. The four legs he did next, easy enough, but he was careful to leave the points clean, so the little creature would stick into the surface he stood on, giving him a stronger grip.

Saul set the mostly complete sculpture on the counter beside the wet basin. He nodded, satisfied with the shape, though the wings would start to droop if he didn't finish quickly. He drew a circle, the basis of any taph pattern, on the sculpture's back. From the circle, he drew lines and arcs, letting himself play with the shapes while maintaining the idea of its purpose in his mind. He finished the pattern, then pushed a bit of the flicker of himself that always stayed close to his mind into the shape. Daphne and Father called that part the spark.

Saul took a deep breath. This is it!

Daphne glanced at him. Well done!

He grinned.

Daphne reached for the oven rod sitting end-down beside the stove. The oven rod was a stick with a handle about ten inches long and a metallic disk on one end with the taph symbol that granted it power carved into the surface. The disk could be activated with the spark to cook whatever it touched almost instantly, which was perfect for finishing a clay sculpture in an instant. Saul had come up with the idea for them a few months ago and Daphne had made one for his birthday.

Even Father seemed to like the idea. Saul missed seeing for himself, but Daphne said Father had smiled and said, He did well, when he saw the finished oven rod.

She held the rod over Saul's clay sculpture. Saul held up a hand. Wait! I'll get the lights.

He dropped off the stool he'd been sitting on to work, then flipped the switch to throw the room into darkness. Saul didn't like the dark, but Daphne told him many kids felt the same way. He stood by the light as the afterimage of the kitchen faded completely.

Okay, do it now, he said.

Daphne moved silently. Then there came a hiss of the oven rod's heat dispersing as steam. Saul laughed in the dark.

Did you do it? he asked.

I did. Can you turn the lights back on? I'm worried dinner will burn.

Not yet, he said. We need to let him wake up.

Saul, Daphne said. It's almost time to take the potatoes off.

Saul shook his head, then realized Daphne couldn't see him.

No. I need him to start out in the dark.

Daphne sighed. How long will it take?

Any time now. He held his hand on the light switch. Nat! he said. Nat, where are you?

Here, maker, said a small but rich voice. Four pinpoints poked into Saul's shoulder through the cotton of his shirt.

Saul laughed. You're awake! And you know who I am?

You made me so I would, my maker. But I don't know much else.

He can talk already, said Daphne. Truly, well done, Saul.

Call me Saul, he said. And your name is Nat. But I guess you must know that to answer me already.

Yes, I knew it at once.

I'm going to turn on the lights. Don't be startled. Saul flipped the light switch.

The creature standing on his shoulder was the same shape as his sculpture, but darker in coloration, with wings of shimmering black gossamer. Saul beamed at Nat.

Welcome to the world, he said.

The world, said Nat, seems small.

Oh, this is just one room. Saul laughed. The world is a great big place.

And that's just this one, said Daphne, as she lifted the potato pot off the burner and set it on a hot pad by the stove.

More than one world? asked Nat.

Yes, said Saul. We call this one Earth. Father said to make you here because it's harder to awaken art-children on Earth.

I would like to meet Father, said Nat. He sounds like he has a lot to teach.

Saul turned to his teacher. Can we?

Daphne shook her head. Your Father has very important guests tonight. Tomorrow perhaps.

Daphne has a lot to teach too, said Saul. She's really smart even when she's cooking.

I can wait, then, maker.

We can read. I can teach you a lot by myself, said Saul. Daphne, can I take Nat upstairs and read to him?

Of course, Saul. But go that way. She pointed to the door of the kitchen leading to the hall. Your Father wants the dining room and the ballroom to him and his guests tonight.

Perhaps I could just show him Nat before I go upstairs? said Saul.

Daphne sighed. Your Father was very explicit. Show him tomorrow.

Fine. Saul frowned and walked out of the kitchen through the door Daphne indicated.

Nat bristled with obvious annoyance.

Sorry, Saul said. Father gets angry easily. Best to do as he says.

He climbed the grand staircase by the front doors. With a glance, he saw three new sets of shoes on the doormat, and three unfamiliar coats on hangars on the wall. He scowled. It would serve Father right if he walked in on him and the guests. Father knew Saul was close to making his first art-child and yet he insisted on meeting with these three tonight. But Father's privacy was ironclad, especially when he had guests.

Saul, Nat said softly as they reached the shadowy hall at the top of the stairs.

Yes? Saul said.

I can pull at the shadows. They're like this cloth. Nat lifted one of his legs, tugging the material of Saul's shirt with it.

Saul smiled at Nat. How much of it can you move at once? He turned to look down the staircase at the lamp on the small table between the front doors and the entrance to the ballroom.

I don't know yet, said the small art-child.

Try hiding that lamp. Saul pointed at the only source of light in the entrance hall.

Nat squeezed his legs together where they joined his slender body. Darkness swarmed from the corners of the room and enveloped the lamp. The light vanished completely, plunging the entire entrance hall into darkness.

Father's voice rang from the ballroom. Don't worry. I'll see what's wrong. Probably a bad fuse.

Saul grinned. His Father's heavy footsteps approached. As Father entered the entrance hall, Saul said, Nat release the light.

Shadows retreated from the table lamp. The sudden brilliance made Saul's Father step back in surprise.

What the—? He looked up the staircase to where Saul stood. Son, what is the meaning of this?

I made my first art-child! Saul grinned, then motioned to Nat on his shoulder. He controls darkness.

Father's face flickered with a hint of anger, then he smiled. He turned and called into the ballroom. It's nothing, he said. My son was just playing with the lights.

Saul nodded. Nat did it. I just told him to.

Don't do it again, Father said. Another interruption and I will make you regret it, Saul.

Saul swallowed hard.

Father turned his back and swept out of sight. Nat tapped Saul's neck with the tip of one leg.

Do you want me to try again? he asked.

No. Saul glared at the lamp. Let's go to my room. I'll read some Earth books to you.

Nat nuzzled his soft head into Saul's neck. Does he not like me?

No. It's me he doesn't like.

Saul turned and walked to his room at the end of the hall. Father was too important to talk to him most days. And yet, all summer he stayed here, far from home, far from mother, all in the name of becoming a better maker. Well, the joke would be on Father someday, because Saul would surpass him.

He sat down on the king-sized bed, then took a book on Earth history from the nightstand. He started to read to Nat about World War Two, absently flipping the pages as he finished each one.

Nat bounced on his shoulder. It's all so strange, he said. Why did these people want to kill each other?

Someone wanted them to fight. I don't think most of them really wanted to, though.

Nat turned his big eyes toward Saul. You mean, they were forced?

Probably. I'm still learning about it. Daphne says it's important because of what happened at the end.

What happened?

The people of Earth became dangerous. He flipped to the end of the book. A photograph of a mushroom-shaped cloud filled half a page. Before that, we makers didn't think much about them. That's what Daphne says.

Nat fluttered into the air, then glided to stand before the book. He looked at the picture on the page. What does it mean?

They could kill us if they know the truth, said Saul. So, we can't ever tell them about us or our world. He picked up the book and slammed it shut. That's the first thing you need to know. People from Earth can't make art-children. They aren't as strong as makers, mostly. That doesn't mean they're harmless.

Saul?

What is it, Nat?

They're scary.

I know. Saul set the book on the nightstand. We have to look out for each other, little guy. He yawned.

Nat flew onto the book and unfolded his wings on the cover. I'll look out for you if you look out for me, he said.

I always will. Saul sighed. If I don't care for my art-children, who will?

Nat folded his legs and sat on the book. Saul lay back on the bed, drifting off to sleep.

Later, Saul recalled he never turned out the lights that night. When he asked Nat about it the next day, his art-child told him he did it to help Saul.

Saul never forgot how much he could count on his first real friend.

Chapter 2

October 2015

Afternoon in the little town of Kerenger left Saul with few ways to keep his mind off his troubles. Most days he would sit and read at these hours. Any reference books and physical texts he could find fit his purposes. Such works certainly killed the daylight.

The previous day he’d received a printed letter inviting him to meet at this little coffee shop, the only one in town. As he waited there with steam wafting from a cup of tea in front of him, he started to think she’d stood him up. That would be like Irene. Even after the past five years, he doubted she’d changed.

He sipped his tea and considered leaving. The pretty barista working behind the counter moved in an interesting way, possessing a precision he rarely saw in the local people. She was practically alone due to the other two sluggish employees, both preoccupied with their cell phones.

The girl with the loosely tied brown hair maintained intense focus. Her hands moved from one task to the next with a warrior's grace. Perhaps she trained in some kind of martial art. In recent years more and more women in the area seemed to join that kind of activity. Her gentle features reminded him of clouds on a bright day.

A shadow danced as the door to his left opened. Irene Chambers wore black, an autumn coat dark as her thick hair. As usual, she carried a length of steel, but today it was an umbrella, or at least appeared as one to the eye. She stopped beside Saul's table and propped the umbrella against the table. Irene arched a brow and smirked at him.

I thought I was the one you came to see, she said.

Perhaps if you didn't keep me waiting.

She sat down across from Saul. Same old Saul, sympathizing with them. She leaned toward him and reached for his hand. It's good to see you.

He clasped her pale fingers in his. Been too long, he said.

She lowered her voice. I was angry about what happened.

Saul took a deep breath. What I did—

And what the guardians did to you. She shook her head. I know it must be hard, being forced to live on Earth. After the way we grew up, I know you think a lot like I do. We both had the chance to create our own worlds.

I did, once.

Don't tell me you prefer this place?

To home? No. Of course not. But there is something honest about the people here.

Irene snorted. How can they be honest? They live ordinary lives every single day.

Clever words. Saul shook his head. But you missed the point.

She scowled. Fine. Enlighten me. You're an expert on the earth born now.

For one thing, they don't call themselves that. No humans are born anywhere else in this realm. It sounds redundant to them.

Irene shrugged. Of course. I remember. Now... she produced a letter from her jacket pocket, still sealed, and handed it to him.

Aren’t we perfectly capable of talking now that we’re together?

It isn’t for you. That letter is a petition for another hearing to end your exile.

Saul’s eyes widened. Don’t joke about this sort of thing, Irene.

I’m not joking. She smiled. I collected fifty signatures from other challengers. They all agree with me. You’ve served your time here for far too long.

He stared at the envelope, sealed with wax, and bearing the official crest of the Chambers household. When he’d been a challenger, before his exile, he’d never have imagined any of his rivals offering to help him. Father always insisted not to rely on friends to keep one in the game. It risks failure, he’d said when questioned. Saul reached for the letter.

Irene tugged the envelope out of reach. Not yet. I’ve made an appointment for you with the town guardian this evening. But first, I’d like you to tell me something.

Saul’s heart sank. He put his hands on his knees, under the table where Irene couldn’t see them shake. His fury needed to stay hidden for the moment, though she’d likely guess how he felt. He nodded. What do you want to know?

She tapped the handle of her umbrella. It’s about the broken relic sword.

His brows bent in a scowl. It’s still buried in the caverns under this town, he said. Why? That relic can’t be moved. It’s too dangerous.

I thought you’d say that. Please, explain for once. What is so dangerous about the relic?

It was a maker weapon once. Saul shot a pointed look at Irene’s umbrella, more than before certain it concealed one of her personal maker-forged blades.

You saw it, then?

Yes, before my exile. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have guessed the shape of it. The moment I descended into the caves the essence within the relic called out to me. But Irene, its power isn’t like ours. Whatever lives in that broken sword is tremendously powerful and not of human make.

She nodded, looking solemn. It must be some kind of gern, then.

I think so, said Saul. It had the scent of them.

Irene wrinkled her nose. You smelled it?

Saul shrugged. Regardless, it is bound to attract attention of other forces if moved. I don’t think anything so powerful could be hidden outside of somewhere heavily warded like the caves.

Thanks for telling me all this.

I’ve been here for years. It helps to talk if someone believes you.

I didn’t say I believed your whole story. Even if that sword has a dead gern’s essence in it, I don’t believe it could be as old as you stated in your testimony. What I do believe is that it may be strong enough to serve as a spark for a new world under a maker’s power.

Saul sipped his tea. My opinion is the same as it was then on both counts.

Irene pushed the petition toward him. Your meeting with the guardian is at 5 PM local time. That leaves you an hour to prepare. Irene stood up with her umbrella in one hand.

Is that it? Saul asked. After all this time?

I’ll see you later, Saul.

Doubt it, he said.

She turned and walked out the door. He glowered after her. After a few minutes alone with his dark thoughts he finished his tea. The barista walked over to his table. He was the only patron left in the place.

Finished with your dishes? she asked.

Yeah, I think so.

She smiled at him and picked up his cup and saucer. Well, we’re about to close. Good luck.

Thanks, but I don’t like my chances. He reached for his coat, then stood. He stashed the envelope, seal-unbroken in his pocket.

Things can’t just keep getting worse.

Saul nodded to her. I hope you’re right. He walked toward the door, then glanced at the clock on the wall. It read half-past four.

As he stepped into the dying sunlight, he wished he’d asked the coffee shop girl her name. Then again, if he got the luck she wished him, he might not return anytime soon, if ever. He set off toward the passage house across town. Though such places looked ordinary from the outside, they contained the paths that led between worlds.

Unfortunately, this house’s guardian was all-too familiar with Saul.

Good luck, he repeated as he approached the door near the center of town. He raised his fist and knocked.

Minutes later, Saul stood inside the passage house. He gazed across a table from the district’s chief guardian, ready to argue his case once more. Saul gripped the back of the chair in front of him with both hands, knuckles white from the pressure. Irene’s petition hung pinned by a finger, still in its envelope.

The guardian, Jackal Reed, cast a skinny