The other side of the portal was deep green and covered in shadow. Stars twinkled through the branches above. The stalk that stretched beneath those stars joined to another nearby planetoid a few miles off and glistened with sweet-smelling sap. Saul stumbled to a stop a few feet from the world gate as it sparked and began to fade away. The clearing in the forest where he stood had no gern left in it.

  Only Saul and his group had made it through in those final seconds. Olivia craned her neck, looking at the small lights that sneaked down from the distant parts of the wandering world Saul and Irene had created just months ago. The air was warm here, unlike the Pennsylvania winter they had left back on Earth.

  Saul removed his coat, taking care to seal the flap of the pocket that contained Simon’s torture tools. Rult dashed forward through the grass that carpeted the clearing. “It’s all so familiar,” he said.

  “Can you sense Apahar?”

  “He’s not close,” said Rult.

  “He must have made the gate and moved on,” said Irene.

  Olivia knelt by the blackened, charred form that lay where the world gate had been. She scowled. “I can’t tell who it was, but he looks human.”

  “Luther’s power to turn humans into world gates requires more than a taph,” said Irene. “I don’t know why, but I only saw him use it on humans.”

  “Apahar has the same ability now.” Saul gasped with the pain left by the whittler building in his head. “Regardless, we should move. Find somewhere safe to rest.”

  “This,” murmured Morrie. “This is another world?”

  “Not just any world,” said Irene with pride in her voice. “Saul and I made this place.”

  “I’m gonna pretend I understand how that’s possible,” said Morrie. “But why?”

  “On Hidria, people who create their own realms are called worldmakers. They are each sovereign in the world they make. And having a world at one’s disposal means great power.” Irene grinned.

  “What good is making a place? You’ll be all alone there.”

  Irene snorted. “You do not understand.”

  “I asked the same thing,” said Olivia. “They make all sorts of living things, creatures, at the same time as the world.”

  “Yes,” Saul staggered forward a few paces. “This place is full of children, mine and Irene’s.”

  “So you had a thousand babies together,” said Morrie. “That has to be weird.”

  Saul grimaced at the student. “That you have right, kid.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “We should look for some light.”

  Bantos nodded. A groan came from Kari, still draped over the big art-child’s shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” She squirmed to look around. Her hand felt her neck. “Ow, why do I feel like something hit me?”

  “Because something did.” Saul turned toward her and the cyclops. “Bantos, put her down.”

  The cyclops obeyed. Olivia walked over to Kari. “Hey,” she said.

  “Olivia?”

  “Yeah. I’ll explain everything. But right now, we have to move.”

  Kari glanced at the cyclops. “I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “Not anywhere on Earth,” said Irene.

  “Hey, I recognize you. You came into the coffee shop the other day.”

  Irene shrugged. “Olivia is right. We need to find somewhere safer to talk.”

  “Sure.” Kari pressed her palm to her neck. She looked up at the dark branches over them, squinting in the dark.

  Olivia raised her eyebrows at Irene. “Wait, wait. Did you just say you agreed with me?”

  “I am not a fool.”

  Olivia giggled.

  “Oh, be quiet.” Irene started off through the forest. She ignited the blade of her sword again to serve as a torch. Dew glistened on leaves in the night. The rest of them fell in behind her light.

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  * * *

  Massive plant stalks extended between planetoids, connecting them, sometimes like spokes on a wheel, sometimes in more chaotic groves. Creepers grew along most of the stalks. As Saul passed under them by the light of Irene’s sword, he marveled at how vast the stalks had grown. Here and there, flowers bloomed on a few of the stalks. In other places, petals spiraled in breezes blown from distant parts of the wandering world.

  After half an hour of walking, they found a broad, horizontal stalk that connected to another parallel planetoid less than a mile away. Saul climbed onto the huge plant’s side with Bantos’ help. Then, supporting himself on the cyclops’ arm, he started across the bridge. His head still felt light and painful from the damage done by the whittler.

  The sky above began to brighten as they moved across the stalk. Irene let the flame on her sword burn out. By the time they were on the other side, the world was bright as day, though there was no visible sun. Winds picked up with the coming of light. Saul looked around the glade on the new planetoid where they stood.

  The trees were slender, more delicate than the ones of the previous planetoid. They reached higher from the sphere where they were rooted, as well. Birds with red and black feathers darted between the high branches. Irene’s handiwork, Saul thought. He would have changed something more about the creatures than their coloration, but these art-children appeared in a way faithful to ordinary birds.

  He remembered seeing larger fliers when he had created the world, but none were visible at the moment. Thankfully, there were no gern close by them either. Saul walked to a fallen tree with a heavy trunk, probably uprooted from elsewhere by high winds and tossed onto this planetoid. He sat down on the trunk with a sigh.

  Morrie stopped and put a hand on the fallen tree. “So, we’ve made it to your world. What do we do now?”

  “This was not the plan,” said Saul. “Mortressa may have been safe. But as should be obvious, gern are numerous here.”

  “Where is here?” asked Kari. “I mean…” She turned to Olivia. “And what are gern? You said you would explain.”

  Saul took a deep breath, but Olivia held up her hand to stop him. “You’ve done enough for now.” She turned to Kari. “There are worlds outside our universe…”

  * * *

  The wind sighed through the trees as Olivia finished her explanation of the worlds to Kari. Saul could not dispute that she had done well. Kari’s face wrinkled with confusion.

  “That’s a lot to take in.”

  “You’re telling me,” said Olivia.

  “I’m not sure if I believe it. I mean, other worlds? Life after death? Monsters?”

  Saul motioned to the stalk leading back the way they had walked. “You’ve already seen one.”

  “Okay, sure. But you expect me to believe you created all this, Saul?”

  Irene rolled her eyes. “He did not do it alone. And the raw materials were quite unique.”

  Saul nodded.

  Olivia sighed. “These two are from the next world after Earth. They’re makers. Their magic makes living things.”

  “Makers,” said Kari with a furrowed brow. Then, she nodded.

  Saul glanced at Olivia from where he sat on the tree trunk. “Perhaps we should keep moving. I’m certain there are intelligent art-children on this world. We need to find them.”

  “Why is that?” asked Morrie. “Shouldn’t we be trying to find a way to Hidria—Mortressa—For safety?”

  “Finding this world changes my plans,” said Saul. “I started this place into being. We shaped it.” He looked at Irene. “Now we need to fight for it or it will be consumed by Apahar’s gern.”

  Kari glanced from Morrie to Saul. “None of this answers how we got here without me remembering. Why are you telling us all this?”

  Morrie looked down at his feet. Olivia opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Saul understood neither of them had the experience with guardians he did. But even he found it difficult to explain the situation with Simon.

  “I know this is a lot,” he said. “Perhaps too much. But the new guardian in charge of keeping Hidria’s secrets on Earth is extremely talented. He has found a way to create art-children that live within—”

  “Saul,” said Olivia, “Are you sure?”

  “—Within humans,” Saul finished. “He can use them to control the human body.”

  “You mean?”

  “You’re one of the ones he’s been using,” said Irene. She glanced at Saul. “Seriously. Taking your time is not going to make the news any easier.”

  Kari went stiff. She stared at Irene. “The time I’ve been losing,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” said Irene. “An art-child has been using your form.”

  “And you—You brought me here because?”

  “It’s the best way to keep you safe. You aren’t the only one under Simon’s control.” Saul sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but every art-child has a weakness.” His eyes moved from Nat and Rult to Hush, to Bantos.

  The cyclops snorted. “I have no weakness.”

  Saul ignored him. “We will find the way to beat the creature that controls you, Kari. There must be a way.”

  She nodded, then wiped her wet eyes. “Thank you. I mean, we just met, and here you are trying to save me.”

  “It’s not like he’s doing it for you,” said Olivia softly, but loud enough Saul heard. “He needs help.”

  Saul grunted. “Art-children aren’t the only creatures with weaknesses.”

  A crunch of twigs came from behind Saul. He dropped down from the log. A rush of dizziness from the pain in his scalp assailed him. More twigs snapped and rattled in the woods. He put a hand to his temple. “Sounds like we may have company.”

  Bantos glared with his single great eye into the forest. “Abei-gern, master.”

  “I sense them also,” said Rult. “Children of the god-enemy.”

  “Irene,” said Saul and waved her toward the sound.

  “I’ll take the lead.” She looked at Bantos. “Follow me, art-child. Use that blade of yours.”

  “Be careful.” Saul winced at the pain in his head as it built again. He did not add that Bantos was their best chance at defeating Apahar. The gern could probably hear them at this point and might tell their master. Gern could slip away so easily when not crazed, they were difficult to exterminate.

  Olivia joined Irene and Bantos to form a line protecting Kari, Morrie, and Saul. He hated to admit it, but in the state he was in, with the pain returning to his mind, he needed protecting.

  Searing cuts burned. He gasped. Why now? Why does it hurt now?

  The gern emerged from the tree line, a cluster of monstrous forms with snapping jaws and writhing limbs.

  Saul grabbed the handle of the oven rod in his pocket. Irene’s sword ignited. The gern closed with howls of fury.