A few seconds later, Alex followed. There was nowhere else to go.

He found them standing only a step around the curve, staring in wary confusion at what lay just ahead. The path simply ended at another sheer cliff wall. And there, with his back to them, crouched a gray-headed figure, pressing his hands to the rock, as if searching for a hidden doorway. He wore a heavy purple cloak, intricately embroidered with tiny black writing much like that Alex had seen glowing around the gate.

Who— Alex thought, before Zia could signal him to stop.

The man whipped around, wild-eyed.

What manner of devils are these now? He started moving his hands frantically, tracing strange signs. Back, I say, or— The warning dissolved into a long, convoluted singsong, rhyming lines of words Alex could not catch.

The tall man stepped forward, hands aloft, palms up. Hold, please, brother. Peace. Alex could see him thinking, fast and calm. Then: Could you really be the master who crafted the Shadow Gate of Boll?

The stranger paused and regarded Alex’s great-grandfather with a combination of fear, suspicion, and pride. Aye, creature. I am he.

The tall man dropped his hands in a placating gesture. Then you have been held here many years, friend. So. Let us help you now get free.

The cloaked man scowled, angry again. Seek not to confound me, demon. I passed through my gate but seconds ago. I wait now only for my men to call me through. He lifted his hands, forming clawlike shapes, pointed toward them.

The tall man dropped to one knee. Hold. Please. I know you are mighty. I have studied your book and know it is great. I am a fellow student of those same arts. I have other lessons I can share. Some of the high secrets and some of the low. My own discoveries and inventions. We should join together. Your men betrayed you, friend, abandoned you. They sealed you in and pulled your gate apart behind you in fear. We have built it once more, by your design. But hear me: many hundreds of years have passed since you walked through that portal.

They fell into a tense stand-off. The old gate-maker glared at them, keeping his hands held in their strange and oddly threatening gesture, but there was an uncertainty in his gaze, as though he was trying to remember something and couldn’t.

Alex glanced nervously out from the path. The empty white plain below, the dark woods far beyond. He had a distinct feeling something had changed down there. He stepped closer to the edge, peering harder.

Betrayed . . . The cloaked figure lowered his hands slightly. Hundreds of years?

Gazing over the landscape, Alex’s eyes widened. Wait, he thought, urgently. Look . . .

Zia spun. Shut up.

Alex shook his head and pointed. Look.