I am the Keeper of the Gateway.

For this world, at least.

My Gateway sits in a forest, in the heart of a great yew tree, shaded by centuries of growth and life, fed by earth rich with generations of decay and death. It is often quiet, filled with the songs of birds and trembling of leaves unless it is roaring with the brass voice of thunder or howling stormwinds. A fitting place to pass into other planes.

The ones who come to seek the Gate are all different, and yet all the same.

I must enter, they tell me with tears, with screams, with soft, broken voices. I must find my purpose, my love, my revenge, my chance to make things right, to make them pay, to let them live, to let them know.

The Gate crackles with permissive energy, widening to let them pass as I speak the words given to all Keepers.

“The Gate is open,” I say to the young souls, eager to seize their destiny; to the old, begging to change it. “Go. Remember, it is easy to stay. It is difficult to leave. But when it appears again, you must walk through. This world will remain unchanged, but you will not.”

They all nod, all promise to return, all swear that they understand.

But they do not.

I stand guard by the tree as they step forward, eyes lighting up, incredulous smiles growing as the portal opens to receive them. I see the euphoria in their faces, their dreams for a new world, a place unmarred by mistakes or regrets. They pass through, glowing with happiness, and the Gateway embraces them in warm light.

The first time I saw this, the same happiness enveloped me, lent me their joy, lifted my spirit with their hope. This, I knew, was the gift of the Gateway, the reason I was chosen to be a Keeper. To see the profound effect of unspoiled hope, the revealed potential to shift their fate, to change the newfound world.

Until they return.

The Gate spits them out, screaming, weeping, begging it to reopen. Some pummel the ancient yew, splitting their skin as they claw the bark; others collapse to the ground, hugging themselves as tears mix with earth and fallen leaves.

“Send me back!” He yells, she whispers, they cry. “There’s so much more I have to do! You have to open it! I can’t go back to the way things were! Send me back!”

They demand answers from me, but I have only the words all Keepers are given.

“This world will remain unchanged,” I tell them. “But you will not.”

The worst are the ones that do nothing. They stare at the forest, at the sky, at their skin as if they are alien landscapes. They gape at me, men and women, young and old, eyes of all colors with the same blank expression of disbelief and distant, unfathomable sorrow.

It is a balance, symmetry, an unending cycle reflected in the roots and leaves of the great tree behind me. The travelers passing through its edges praise it as kind before condemning it as cruel, but they do not understand. The Gate and its call have always existed.

Bane or boon, entering the Gate has always been their choice.

—

 

I wonder what they see.

The Gateway only opens when a traveler approaches, following the pull toward adventure, the call of undiscovered lands. It comes to life slowly, light growing and forming along the cracks in the bark, pooling and collecting until it forms a singular line of light, constantly shifting between every hue and shade ever seen.

A pair of women approach, their footfalls loud in the quiet forest, the crunch of leaves accenting the soft breeze stirring the ancient yew. Brown eyes sparkle in fear and hope, skin the color of golden dawn turning to white as they clutch each other’s hands.

“We seek our mother,” one says formally, glancing between my face and the soft glow of the closed portal.

“She’s not really gone,” the other adds in a voice wavering between confidence and doubt. “I know she’s not. She can’t be.”

If I had other words, I would tell them the Gate can only offer them a glimpse of other worlds, not a way to change theirs. I would tell them despite all their searching, they may not find her; and even if they did, she would not be the same. I would tell them all visitors return to their world, willingly or not.

But my duty is not to the truth. It is to the Gate and to those who wish to enter it.

The tree begins to shine, and the portal splits into a wide oval, spilling harsh neon lights onto their faces. Their mouths gape in awe as the rippling surface steadies, then waits, barest whispers echoing in the silent woods.

“The Gate is open. Go,” I welcome them, warn them. “Remember, it is easy to stay. It is difficult to leave.” I watch both of them become transfixed by the promises offered by the other side, and continue with the cautionary words that I know they will not heed.

“But when it appears again, you must walk through. This world will remain unchanged, but you will not.”

The women turn to me, black hair shining with otherworldly shadows, and nod slowly, their desperation alleviated by hope. As one, they step forward, hands still clasped together as they pass through the Gate, disappearing from my view.

Though I should not, I turn my head a little to catch a glimpse of the world they enter. I can just make out the silhouettes of passersby with intricate braids and joyful curls, tall buildings bathed in bright colors and reflecting unfamiliar shapes and letters in the glass framed by growing green vines. The sharp smell of metal and smoke drift through as the hum of crowds and machines reach my ears. A shape flitters past in the sky above and I duck closer to try and see what it could⁠—

The portal hisses and cracks, sending a stinging jolt through me as I scramble back just in time. My heart thuds in my chest as the Gate snaps closed, the last gleam of light almost a rebuke as I am left in the quiet of the watching forest.

Keepers are not immune to the call of the Gateway. We can succumb to the temptation of a new world, of unexplored possibilities the same as any of the travelers to come our way. But our price is not the inevitability of return.

It is destruction.

Destruction of ourselves and our Gate.

Portals will occasionally shift and move, disappearing from one place and reappearing in another, but the annihilation of a Keeper and a Gate destroys them both forever. I have only ever felt one in my time—a searing, vicarious pain as my Gateway and its connection with all the others fizzled and flickered.

The tremors that shook the vast network extended to me as well, raising the hair on my arms and leaving a burnt taste on my tongue. Had the Keeper been drawn into the other world the Gateway offered, unable to resist the siren song of adventure? Or had they done it purposefully, willfully obliterating themselves and the portal they are bound to protect?

Either choice only leaves me with more questions I cannot ask.

The Gate hums to life, light collecting and crackling along the rich brown bark. I hear the distant shouts grow closer and more desperate.

“No! No, wait, please! You can’t⁠, we only just found⁠—”

The portal does not move, but I see the sisters pulled through, their hands still reaching out for someone on the other side of the shining door.

They fall to the ground, skinning their knees as the taller one rushes to the tree too late, the Gateway already closed and fading. She slams her fist against the wood and shrieks in anger before whirling around to glare at me.

“Open the Gate!” She demands, furious tears running down her face. “I have to go back! You can’t leave us like this! You have to open it, I didn’t get to tell her⁠—”

The younger sister contains her with an embrace. They both sink to the ground, dark hair intertwined in grief as the older one weeps. “I didn’t get to tell her. I didn’t…”

As her sobs soften in the quiet of the forest, two pairs of dark, heartbroken eyes look to me.

“What do we do now?” The smaller one asks me, looking for hope, for comfort, for answers.

I can give her none.

“This world will remain unchanged,” I tell them, offering the only words I have. “But you will not.”

 

—

 

The Gate only opens to those it calls.

I do not know how it summons the travelers. Perhaps there are a chosen few, searching for distant hope or following the strange pull in their hearts that lead them here. Perhaps the call goes out to everyone, but is drowned out by the struggles and tedium of ordinary things.

However they hear it, however they find it, the portal awakens at their approach. Age-worn hands, freckled and veined with measures of hardship and happiness, stretch out to embrace the shifting light; young faces, restless and resolute, reflect the glow of strange stars.

The Gate does not open for me.

I sneak sideways glances and study the silhouettes that pass through, but the multitude of worlds beyond are not for me. My duty is to the Gate, and those who wish to enter it.

The familiar hum within the tree draws my eyes up from the carpet of yellowing leaves, but I see no one stepping into the sun-dappled clearing. My brows furrow as I look closer, but the woods are quiet around me, save for the songs of birds and the hushing of a soft breeze.

I turn to see the Gate continue to grow, the crackling fingers of lightning dancing along the edges expectantly. About to scan the forest once more, I freeze as a shadowed hand presses itself against the surface of the Gateway as if it were made of glass.

Uncertain, frightened, fascinated, I step in front of the portal and bring the rest of the shadow into view.

It is a child.

She studies me with curious blue eyes as I stare in unabashed awe, her blonde hair swaying as she tilts her head. We both blink, and she smiles slightly and clasps her pale hands in front of her pinafore as I realize who she is, what she is.

Not all Gates are kept. Some are wild, unruly, appearing in wardrobes or ponds or mirrors and vanishing from one time and plane to another. Not all who travel through these wandering Gates find their way back. They are known as Lost Ones, trapped in the ethereal network of portals, unable to return or escape.

There are questions I wish to say, words I wish to speak, things I wish to know of her world, of her name, of her fate. But I cannot ask and she cannot answer.

Keepers only have the words given to them, and Lost Ones have even less.

Her form shifts, and she grows slightly taller, her hair changing to soft brunette braids as her blue dress is suddenly checkered with lines of white.

“The Gate is open,” she tells me, her voice distorted and strange as my mouth drops open. “You must walk through.”

These are my words, but not in my order. A grimace flashes across her face, as if each word costs her pain.

Her hand, still pressed against the clear barrier of the Gateway, shrinks as her brown hair is short and loose now, hanging above a rounded collar of a wool dress and soft sweater. Freckles pale against her round cheeks and nose as she fights to speak.

“It is easy to leave,” she says, hazel eyes boring into mine. “It is difficult to stay. But to change this world, we must.”

I shake my head, try to find a way to answer, to ask what she means, what she’s trying to tell me.

“The Gate is open,” she declares, her form beginning to waver, a dozen faces flickering by faster than I can see. “You must walk through.”

I reach out my hand, but her shadow vanishes an instant before the portal slams shut, leaving nothing but the afterimage blazing through my eyes.

 

—

 

Her words haunt me.

Every time a traveler comes to the Gateway and I speak my words of warning, I hear the echoes of her earnest voice. Each time they step forward, I search the edges of light for a small shadow. And when I am left alone in the quiet of the wood, her solemn stare fills my memory, eyes switching between blue and hazel and brown as I attempt to puzzle out her commands.

“The Gate is open,” I say to the souls before me, all ready to leave this world, to step into a new one, to seize the chance to matter.

“The Gate is open,” she reminds me.

“Go. Remember, it is easy to stay. It is difficult to leave.”

“It is easy to leave. It is difficult to stay.”

Gritting my teeth, I force the rest out. “But when it appears again, you must walk through. This world will remain unchanged, but you will not.”

The man in front of me nods with an emphatic grin. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“But to change this world, we must,” her voice resonates around me.

He jumps through, but only after he turns and smiles, white teeth flashing against mahogany skin. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He would not thank me if he knew. He will not when he returns. He will curse me and my portal, and go back to face the rest of the world, unmarked by his actions.

But what if he had stayed?

The thought strikes me like lightning striking the ancient yew in a screaming storm, scorching dark charred lines from the tips of its branches down to the buried roots below.

What if they had all stayed?

What would this world be like?

For all the time I’ve guarded my Gate, I’ve seen the magnitude of human hope, of desperation, of desire to bend worlds to their will. They leave to find a purpose, to undo mistakes, to escape their fate.

Perhaps purpose cannot be found. But it can be created.

Perhaps mistakes cannot be undone. But they can be accepted.

Perhaps fate cannot be escaped. But it can be embraced.

I hear the thrum of the doorway opening, and the young man stumbles out, breathing heavily, tears tracking down his cheeks. He straightens bit by bit, then swipes at his face with his sleeve before regarding me with tormented green eyes.

I await his ire, his fury, his wrath, but he only shakes his head slowly.

“You should have stopped me,” he rasps, the words cracked with regret. “You should have told me it wouldn’t change anything. You should have…”

He leaves the words hanging in the air and shuffles away, his dragging feet cutting dark lines of earth behind him.

My duty is not to the truth. It is to my Gate and those who travel through it.

I tried, I would say if I had the words. Every time, I try to warn you, try to warn them. What more can I do?

I stand next to the ancient tree, its roots digging deep as its branches curve to face the sun, emanating strength and surety and peace, flexible and immoveable all at once.

My eyes open as the familiar whine fills my ears, and I lift my head with a touch of trepidation to survey the empty clearing before me. When no wishful travelers appear before me, I slide my glance over to the widening Gate and swallow as a child’s hand presses against the rippling surface.

I step forward to see a small boy in front of me, dark hair flopping across his forehead, freckled cheeks and upturned nose matching the girl in the wool dress from before.

“The Gate is open,” he announces gravely. “You must walk through.”

The image wavers, and an older boy in a fawn coat and unruly brunet hair blinks at me. “It is easy to leave. It is difficult to stay.”

I blink, and he is younger, grey sweater and red collar beneath his bright brown eyes and pointed chin. “But to change this world, we must.”

He flickers and suddenly I see the blonde girl holding his hand, with the dark haired freckled boy standing next to her, and the girl with braids to his side, their line stretching past my vision, hundreds of young solemn faces watching me with weighty expectation.

A chorus echoes through the Gate. “The Gate is open. You must walk through.”

The children disappear and I look beyond to see a myriad of oval lights with a single silhouette standing in front, refracted a thousand times over. I lean closer to catch a glimpse of the shadowed figures, then jerk back as they do the same.

These are the Keepers. And as the light of the network of Gates draws nearer, I see different forms and faces, every shade of skin, every year of age, and yet I know: they are all me.

Fear and exhilaration pounding through my veins, I hesitantly lift my hand and watch as the reflections do the same. I take in their expressions that mirror my own: the lines of worry for ourselves, our Gates, our planes of existence. The growing understanding of our duty to those who wish to pass through, to seize their destiny, to change their world.

As one, we realize what we must do.

I summon my courage, my faith, my hope in those I am leaving behind. I touch the surface of the Gate.

Searing pain burns through me, leaving cracks in my skin and blood in my mouth. I raise my eyes to the other Keepers. We nod together.

“The Gate is open,” I murmur to myself, my words thrown and caught and returned in the vast network before me. “You must walk through.”

I push my hand through, the crackling energy of the doorway causing my hair to float around me, pinpricks of lightning dancing along my arms as I take another breath, another step.

“It is easy to leave,” I hear rustle around me, whether from the leaves of the forest or the collection of light, I do not know. “It is difficult to stay.”

I wish I could speak to the ones who journeyed through the Gate, to the ones still searching, to the ones who will never see it.

I wish I could tell them of their power, how everything they do, they dream, they hope, contains more magic, more might, more majesty than any universe they could find.

I would tell them of their duty now; to their world and those who travel through it.

“But to change this world,” I join my voice with the multitudes around me, “we must.”

My nose hovers near the entryway, my vision nearly white with pain. I meet the restless, resolute faces of the other Keepers, then close my eyes.

The Gate is open. I must walk through.

I will remain unchanged.

But this world will not.