Free Masters of the Veil by Daniel A. Cohen Page B

worst of it blows over. Then, after that, if you wish it, I will have a place in the north tower for you.”
    “So what was that room yesterday?”
    “A guest room, of sorts. I wanted you to be comfortable and well rested before you saw even a small portion of our community.”
    “Can we at least talk about what happened at the game?”
    She turned and gave Sam a look that was almost pity. “If you really want to.”
    Sam thought about everyone freezing, which led to him thinking about everyone booing. The knot in his stomach started to re-form. “Not really.”
    “Don’t worry, Sam. This should be an exciting time for you. The Veil and everything She has to offer can bring you limitless joy. It is up to you to let Her.”
    Sam peeked over May’s shoulder and noticed a small gathering of people in a circle. Voices buzzed with anticipation.
    “What’s going on over there?”
    “Ah.” She gave a shrewd smile. “Veil pushing. Or as we call it, gumptius.”
    “Gumptius?”
    “It is a very old game. It is also one of our most popular, especially among the crowd too old for thimplist and too young for graws.”
    “Uh huh.” Sam started toward the gathering.
    He was slightly taller than most of the onlookers, but being on the outside of the circle, he couldn’t get a clear view of what was happening.
    He caught a glimpse of a small wooden table in the center with two people sitting across from each other, their gloved hands locked together.
    “Arm wrestling?”
    “Not really…”
    No one really paid Sam any attention. The challenger on the right looked like he could use a few more slider buns, as his arms were more bone than anything else. Sam pegged him to be the same age as him. The boy’s black robe had an even blacker X sewn into the chest. His oily hair hung limp to his shoulders, and his beady eyes stared, rat-like, at his opponent. His black glove had the sheen of tanned leather.
    His opponent’s bald head gleamed in the sun. A brown goatee pointed down to his thick neck. The weird symbols tattooed on his broad arms flexed as the muscles tightened beneath them.
    Sam looked at May with a frown. “The little guy’s going to get slaughtered.”
    May motioned with her head that he should watch the match.
    “And push!” someone shouted from the sidelines.
    Before Sam could even see what had happened, the brawny man’s arm was pinned to the table. The kid sneered and pulled his hand away.
    Sam was dumbstruck. “How did he do that?”
    “This is a game that is not won by strength.”
    “Yeah, right.” He started pushing his way through the circle.
    “Wait, Sam!”
    He reached the table. “I want a go,” he told the kid in black.
    The kid’s gaze darted from Sam’s face to his jersey. The flicker of fear in his eyes was quickly suppressed. Then the kid smirked and gestured toward the opposite seat, which Sam took.
    “Nice clothes.” The kid curled his lip.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    He looked at Sam’s hand. “Where’s your second-skin?”
    “My glove? I haven’t had a chance to buy one yet.”
    A hushed laughter escaped from the crowd.
    “Buy one.” The boy shook his head. “Ridiculous.”
    Sam slammed his elbow against the table and raised his right hand. This kid was starting to tick him off. No way he was stronger than Sam, especially now that Sam could do magic.
    The other kid locked into Sam’s grip. The leather glove didn’t press against Sam’s hand, though. Instead, a small invisible barrier blocked their palms, like Sam was pressing against a pocket of air.
    “And push!”
    Sam forced all his strength into his forearm. Pushing as hard as he could, his muscles strained under the pressure. The vein in Sam’s bicep started pulsing, yet the kid’s hand would not budge. He couldn’t even get through the tiny cushion of air and touch the other kid’s hand.
    Across the table, the boy glared at Sam coldly.
    “How—”
    As soon as the word escaped Sam’s lips, his