ã€ŠMovement 3: Narrativeã€‹


 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1

    Isaac Milton

    TG: AGAIN, I AM SORRY

    TG: BUT YOU MUST DIE

    Isaac stared at the line of golden text blinking at the bottom left of his field of view.

    IM: huh

    With a flick of his wrist, he rotated himself in space. The starry abyss behind him swiveled into view. Part of the blue-green planet Ardia peeked out from behind the glinting mass of the Void Station, which turned in incessant reconfiguration like a shiny puzzle box with a mind of its own. All calm, all quiet. Isaac heard only the sound of his own breathing inside the helmet.

    IM: So was that like a threat or a piece of medical trivia?

    IM: Because I already know that I¡¯m gonna die

    IM: In fact, I¡¯ve even got experience

    IM: Also do you have, like, a name, or is it just ¡°Thunder God?¡±

    TG: MY NAME IS RASMUS

    RA: I SUPPOSE I OWE YOU THAT MUCH

    IM: And who was that other guy? With the grey text?

    RA: YOU NEED NOT CONCERN YOURSELF WITH SUCH MATTERS

    RA: ALTHOUGH I SUPPOSE THERE IS NO HARM IN REVEALING

    RA: THAT IT WAS ACAR...THE CHAINED GOD

    IM: Why are you texting in all caps?

    RA: TEXTING? I AM SPEAKING

    RA: MY VOICE IS LOUD!

    RA: HA HA

    IM: Why did you need me to activate this thing?

    IM: Sorry, I¡¯m probably bothering you with all these questions

    RA: NOT AT ALL

    RA: WHAT ARE YOUR QUESTIONS?

    IM: Well okay

    IM: Here goes

    IM: Why do you need to communicate through text?

    IM: If you¡¯re a god, how come all you could do was bump stuff around in my station like a lame ghost?

    IM: Do you know what happened to my moon?

    IM: Where are you, like, located?

    IM: How many gods are there?

    IM: What do you look like?

    IM: Oh, do you not have a physical form? Do you, like, exist in some kind of non-corporeal dimension, and that¡¯s why you couldn¡¯t do much and have to speak through text? Like, like, maybe you¡¯re digital gods, you know, computer gods like in that one book, possibly the remnants of my missing moon, which was maybe like phased away into another plane of existence! And maybe I¡¯ll have to go there and do TRON stuff and race light bikes and all that

    RA: SO CURIOUS!

    RA: HA HA HA

    RA: I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS OF MY OWN AS WELL

    RA: BUT UNFORTUNATELY, THEY WILL NOT AVAIL

    IM: Because of, uh, me dying?

    IM: You, uh, ¡°interrupting our story?¡±

    IM: ¡®cause I was getting back around to asking about that

    RA: CORRECT

    RA: IN FACT

    RA: I FEAR THAT I HAVE KEPT YOU LONG ENOUGH

    CG: Indeed. All is ready.

    RA: LET IT BE DONE, THEN

    CG: Leave it to me.

    RA: GOODBYE, ISAAC MILTON

    A red light began blinking in the upper part of Isaac¡¯s field of vision:  Proximity Alert!

    IM: Thunder god? Uh, Rasmus? What¡¯s going on?

    No response.

    IM: ARKO, what ¨C

    A flash of light, a soundless explosion, an impact that knocked the breath from his lungs and made the void suit stiffen into vice-like rigidity. He was spinning; the world beyond his visor churned across his vision, and part of it was much too bright.

    ¡°Stabilize!¡± Pressure at his waist, elbows, knees. At once all was still, silent save for his quickened breath and racing heartbeat. Something had shoved him a hundred meters from the Void Station, and now he saw it partly outlined against the planet Ardia. Debris spun, sparkling in the void, blending with the stars. An explosion?

    Green text scrolled on the left side of his vision, superimposed over Ardia. He glimpsed only a few strings as they flashed by:

    Orbit stabilizers activated

    Rerouting coolant [B.css.14-677]

    Projectile interception 91%*

    Pressure compartmentalized.

    ¡°ARKO!¡± Isaac winced at how loudly his voice reflected back into his face. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ARKO replied in text because Isaac had turned off the voice:  A missile evaded the interception protocol.

    ¡°What, we¡¯re under attack!?¡±

    Obviously.

    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that!¡± Isaac made the imaginary piloting joysticks appear before him. He seized them and dove back toward the Void Station. ¡°Where? Who?¡±

    A fleet from the Dark World, approaching visual contact now.

    A directional arrow appeared in front of him, blinking red and pointing away from the Void Station. Isaac pulled up from a sharp dive just before he crashed into the station. A thrill tingled through him, and not only from the roller-coaster feel of his guts trying to sink into his shoes. Excitement! Of course, he thought. He just finished ARKO. Of course there would be a little attack, a skirmish, a test of his skills. It was the natural progression. He should have expected this, really. He turned to get a look at his attackers¡­

    ¡­and the thrill faded. The word ¡°fleet¡± surfaced in his memory.

    The lights were red, because of course. Hundreds, like a field of windmills at night, arrayed in a broad swath that cut the sky diagonally across his vision. The dark shapes of ships ranging from hulking masses to fighters almost too tiny to see were all set against the backdrop of lazily drifting stars.

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Isaac stared.

    The sky lit up. The lights multiplied: white, blue, red, green, all dancing together, growing, converging. In the baffled moment that it took for Isaac to understand what the lights meant, he nearly lost his chance to escape.

    The Void Station¡¯s newly awakened defensive systems intercepted maybe half of the projectiles. Flickering beams of violet light no thicker than a finger darted back and forth too rapidly for the eye to follow. Stuttering bursts filled the void; chains of strung-together explosions swept through the incoming fire, blindingly brilliant. It was not enough.

    Isaac cried out in alarm as the lights of his doom filled his vision. Charlie snapped him out of it at the last second. He could be elsewhere, Isaac realized. He could decide to be somewhere else. Fueled by sheer adrenaline, Isaac focused on some place far off to his right, maybe a few miles. The lights were upon him, but in the next moment he was still alive, and he was looking at something else. Flowers of glittering brilliance bloomed in his vision: the Void Station, seen from afar, shredded into scrap by the overwhelming firepower of the Dark World fleet. What if he had been inside?

    Charlie appeared beside Isaac in kingfisher form. He was wounded; he flew awkwardly and trailed a sparkly white smoke.

    Isaac had hardly oriented himself before smaller craft swooped toward him. They were nimble fighters with red hitscan lasers, and they darted through the dark like fish in the deep sea. Isaac tried to think, tried desperately to will himself into action, into some cleverness, but all he could summon were thoughts about his own thoughts. He was muddled; his entire station was gone, just like that. What about ARKO?

    Beams of light connected him to the fish in the night, the tiny invisible fighters. He jerked the joysticks aside to twist himself away into a mindless and disorienting evasive maneuver. He couldn¡¯t tell if it worked, but he felt a dull numb ache of the kind that would soon become burning pain. In his leg, in his side. He¡¯d been hit? How bad was it?

    He was accelerating back toward the remains of the Void Station, which maybe wasn¡¯t a good idea. It was still breaking apart. Shrapnel flew. He saw the big cube of ARKO dead ahead, the one with his door. The cube had been facing away from the fleet and had largely escaped destruction, unlike the station, in the spreading debris of which Isaac could identify a drifting grand piano. Charlie struggled to fly alongside Isaac, but the bird leaked a viscous stream of milky light. Isaac held out an arm, and his angel gratefully perched there. Isaac brought the bird in, hugged it close by reflex, wondering what to do as he hurtled toward ARKO¡¯s cube. He couldn¡¯t die here, right? That wouldn¡¯t be right, right?

    The fleet was still there, closer. Again the sky lit up with a thousand lights. It looked like they were determined to reduce Isaac and his station to atoms. This time there were no defensive systems. This, Isaac thought, could be a Very Serious Problem. Maybe he could escape again? Do another teleport? But how far could he go? And how had he even done it in the first place?

    A voice, soft and cool as a morning breeze, whispered in Isaac¡¯s ear. It did not speak with words; to this voice words were but needless limitation. It whispered an annunciation of its presence. I am here.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Isaac¡¯s eyes were drawn upward, away from the fleet and the wrecked station, to the field of stars above. And sure enough, something was there, a bird of indeterminate size and nature, white as the sun. It flapped its wings, and the stars behind were diamond dust on dark waters, churning in the waves.

    Anzu opened its eyes.

    Just as before, Isaac¡¯s visor darkened to blackness against the light. Just as before, that didn¡¯t matter at all.

    Isaac saw it all in those eyes: how to shrink the cube of ARKO, take it with him. How he was supposed to learn from Charlie how to move from place to place without passing through the space between. How Anzu was not supposed to help him like this, to impart information so freely¨Cyet that Anzu must do so now, for something had gone wrong. Interference was forcing Anzu to shelter Isaac under its wing, to protect him from something that should not be.

    And also this: that all of this resulted from Isaac¡¯s own choices, the same ones that had brought about his present state of moonlessness. Isaac sensed disapproval.

    Anzu closed his eyes. He swept down toward the fleet, and still Isaac could not say whether he was near or far. The stars swirled behind Anzu like powdery snow. The Dark World fleet, arrayed with their countless red lights, loomed like a wall, like a breaking tsunami, much closer than before. Anzu¡¯s path took him diagonally across this scene. He plummeted like a diving falcon, and everything rippled in his wake as though the panorama of the approaching fleet were a reflection on the surface of a dark pool. The spaceships rippled in those waves.

    In what seemed a peculiar optical trick, the ripples in space froze. In a moment, without warning or fanfare, the appearance of an undulating reflection solidified into reality. All the Dark World ships were twisted, warped, folded in upon themselves as the wake of Anzu had caught them. For a long, quiet moment, all was still. Then the fleet exploded. Not all at once, and not all with cinematic spectacle. Some fell apart, their hulls no longer able to maintain integrity. Some simply shut down. But it looked like few if any of the huge cruisers maintained any kind of functionality after such sudden deformation.

    Pain, sudden and breathtaking, interrupted Isaac¡¯s awe. He tasted mint, realized belatedly that anesthetic had been administered (again), and realized also that it wasn¡¯t helping much.

    He had been shot, he remembered. Right. Leg, side. Right. No, left. (Ha ha.)

    And as the reality of his situation crashed back into his awareness, shaking away the mystical wonder that accompanied every act of Anzu¡¯s, so did the realization that he wasn¡¯t out of trouble yet. The smaller craft, the quick little fighters, the fish in the dark, they remained. Isaac was unarmed.

    With one hand, Isaac seized the projected flight control joystick and plummeted toward the field of fire and debris that had been the Void Station. His hat from Dwayne had been in there, but that didn¡¯t seem important anymore.

    Tracer lights flickered around him, clearly visible through the dust and smoke forming a haze around the wreck. He remembered what Anzu had shown him. To move from place to place, without passing through the space between. To simply  be, somewhere else, while ceasing to be where you were. Simple in concept. And that was the trick.

    Something blindsided him, slammed into his left shoulder. A chunk of debris, detritus at speed. The pulsing blast of several laser beams from the fighters pulverized it immediately afterward. Isaac realized, belatedly, that it had taken the hit for him, possibly saved his life. He considered, as he spun awkwardly in the air, that he was thinking too slowly. He wasn¡¯t doing very well. If this was some kind of test, he might not pass.

    Which reminded him: in all this time, he¡¯d forgotten to pray.

    Charlie chirped in his arms; somehow the sound made it into his helmet. It carried a message: Calm down, Isaac. Dwayne Hartman. What would he do?

    He would just do it, right? He would just believe that it could be done, and for that reason it would be possible for him, and he would do it. So simple, he wouldn¡¯t even think about it. He would just¡­do it.

    So Isaac did it. He closed his eyes, visualized the white cube with a single door, saw himself next to it. Something happened around him, something with cubes and lines and angles, but he wasn¡¯t paying attention. When he opened his eyes, he saw the pale cube a little ways ahead. It was like a Rubik¡¯s cube at arm¡¯s length.

    He reached out and grabbed it before he could second-guess himself. There it was, in his hand, with a tiny silvery arch of a door digging into his palm.

    Something nearby exploded, flashing bright and silent, shoving several tons of tortured metal in his direction.

    Again, he closed his eyes. Again, he moved, but this time he didn¡¯t know where he was going. Some lead left for him by Anzu, some hint. Go here. You will be safe here, for a time.

    So he went.

    And just like that: a different place. Someplace dark, weightless, with lights all around, just like before. But far away; he knew that much. It was quiet.

    ¡°ARKO,¡± he said, his voice breathy, ¡°still there?¡±

    Affirmative.

    Isaac held up the cube that comprised ARKO¡¯s core processors. ¡°Any, uh, reduction in processing power?¡±

    I have lost contact with all Void Station systems, with the exception of your Void Suit   and the food dispenser.

    ¡°The food synthesizer?¡±

    Still active.

    ¡°Weird. Can you send commands to it?¡±

    Yes.

    ¡°Have it make, uh, milkshakes. Chocolate.¡±

    How many?

    ¡°Until it runs out of materials or goes offline. An infinite amount of milkshakes.¡±

    It is possible that you are concussed. I advise you to reconsider that directive.

    ¡°Infinite milkshakes, ARKO.¡±

    Understood.

    ¡°Now, put me in contact with Grey Text Man. Or god. What was it, that Chained God?¡± Isaac could feel the anesthetic working now, but he also felt a little loopy. He just had to hold it together a little bit longer. Soon he¡¯d figure out where he was, get some help. But first things first.

    Milkshakes. He giggled.

    CG: Does some aspect of your situation amuse you?

    IM: What?

    IM: Oh, it¡¯s you.

    IM: Right, so like, I have a question

    IM: Did you do that? The attack on my station?

    IM: Was that your fault?

    CG: Yes.

    CG: Anzu¡¯s intervention was unanticipated.

    CG: His actions ran counter to my preconceptions regarding his behavior.

    CG: Regardless, I assure you that next time the execution will be swift and precise.

    IM: By ¡°the execution¡± you mean my death?

    CG: Yes.

    IM: Why do I need to die?

    CG: This conversation is over.

    IM: Is it just me?

    IM: What about the other¨C

    Chained God has blocked communications

    Isaac blinked at the message. ¡°Hey!¡±

    EW: hey what

    IM: ...

    IM: I really need to turn off this voice to text thing.

    EW: yo i gotta run, but just a quick question

    EW: you been getting any weird texts?

    IM: Yeah.

    IM: Don¡¯t trust them.

    IM: Like seriously, I just¨Coh man, I gotta tell Jim.

    EW: aight

    ¡°ARKO,¡± said Isaac, ¡°connect me to Jim.¡±

    IM: Jim.

    IM: Jim you there?

    IM: Well maybe you¡¯re asleep or something, whatever, just listen: if you get any weird texts, ones that aren¡¯t from anyone you know, just ignore them, okay?

    IM: Actually, tell me what they say.

    IM: There¡¯s a way to reroute CHIME messages I think, like forward them...

    IM: You know what, don¡¯t worry about that. Just...tell me what they say.

    IM: Holy smokes, this is starting to...really hurt.

    IM: Okay, see ya Jim.

    IM: Remember: don¡¯t trust them, okay?

    He cut the connection and spoke quickly. ¡°ARKO, where are we?¡±

    We are in the midst of the Ardian Defensive Fleet . I have taken the liberty of transmitting   a distress signal, as you require medical attention.

    ¡°Okay, thanks. But just to be clear, how much liberty are you able to take?¡±

    That which I deem ¡°reasonable¡± as per my default parameters.

    ¡°Can you¡­ouch¡­clarify?¡±

    I can submit the parameters for your perusal and alteration. The full data set is   approximately 50,000 words.

    A leviathan swimming in the sea of lights approached as they spoke. It had been approaching for some time, but only as ARKO noted the extent of the parameters did it open a gaping maw, bright with light, and begin to swallow Isaac.

    The leviathan was of metal and plastic and things beyond. It was full of moving figures and rapidly changing lights. It sucked Isaac into a big open space, bright and clean and full of activity, and when the mouth closed, gravity gently lowered Isaac down onto a glossy plasteel floor. His helmet clacked against the bright surface.

    ¡°Where?¡± he asked.

    We have arrived onboard the ADS Demarcation, currently under command of First and Second-through-Sixth Admirals Thelonius Dantalion Emberstar and Sons. Lady Stars, director of offworld military operations, is also onboard.

    ¡°Okay.¡± People were crowding around him. His head was so light it felt as though it would drift away. Nevertheless, he risked it by reaching up to remove his helmet. It came off with a slight pressurized hiss. He left it on the bright floor, adjusted his glasses, and fought a sudden wave of nausea.

    ¡°Hero of Space,¡± said a voice behind him. ¡°What has happened?¡± The voice sent chills crawling up and down his spine. It was a cold voice, an empty whisper. The voice of someone possessed by a demon in a B-movie. No, no, the voice of a robot hissy with static. It sounded vaguely female, vaguely human, and entirely otherworldly. It made him nervous to turn around and see the source, yet at the same time he couldn¡¯t bear not knowing what it was behind him that spoke like that.

    He turned, of course. A huge hunched figure loomed there, wrapped in nebulous robes that glittered with stars. A galactic band swept diagonally across the entirety of the figure, unbothered by interruptions like folds in the cloth. Isaac could see at once that this was one of the Ladies.

    Lady Stars moved aside to permit the passage of hurrying medical personnel. New stars came into view when she moved, leaving the old ones behind as though her robe was a window revealing something beyond.

    ¡°Void Station¡­destroyed,¡± he said as something lifted him onto a hovering gurney.

    He clutched tightly at his possessions, the ARKO cube in one hand and a wounded Charlie in the other, as they carted him away to the medical wing.

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2

    Heidi Sheppard

    She missed the beach. The warmth of sunlight, the clouds and trees, the fresh smell of the wind and the jungle, the steady, comforting wash of the waves on the shore. And Alan. She wanted him here now. She was getting a little fed up with her moon, which was probably as different from her island as a place could be. The Metal Moon was cold, dark, loud, dangerous, and crowded with monsters.

    She could surf, at least. Her gift from Ruth, the board made of magic metal, could ride the gravitational waves flung out by the shifting lorn. It would have been considered a shortboard by most standards, though Heidi had to admit that for her personally it was edging into longboard territory. Heidi still could barely stay atop the board, even with a fabricated gravitational bond tethering her to its grainy grey surface. The waves came from all directions, for one thing. They were invisible, for another. But she had this going for her: that she could create her own waves, custom-made just like she always used to imagine at the beach back home. Even though her movements were awkward and erratic, sometimes dangerously so, it was faster and easier to get around through the air via surfboard than on foot.

    She went to see the Bleak Machine. Her first journey from that thing to the prison had seemed long and arduous, fraught with peril. She remembered the fear of trusting Bahamut in the dark, and the terror of that first rue. But now, with the board and better control of her powers, it was a journey of minutes¨Cprovided that the ever-shifting mess of lorn didn¡¯t conspire to force her into a more indirect path. That was the thing in the Metal Moon: you never went anywhere the same way twice. You couldn¡¯t. The world changed too quickly.

    She returned to the Bleak Machine, saw it shining its sickly golden light. The light seemed oily, a greasy radioactive radiance that flooded the vast cavern. The walls were a network of interlocking lorn, vast metallic spikes of blue and black and violet all jammed together. Shadows coiled and flickered over walls as the parts of the Bleak Machine circled and swung. And six hexagonal shadows slid around, cast by the six platforms that orbited the machine, one of which had a door. She tried the door. It still opened onto nothing. Apparently, she had a door somewhere that led to Skywater City, but if it was so, she hadn¡¯t found it yet.

    A sudden surge of sideways gravity flipped her over on her way back from the Machine. She would have fallen again, had the powerful arms of Bahamut not caught her feet and pulled her gently back to the board. She stabilized the board before sitting down beside him.

    ¡°At least I have you,¡± she said, blindly patting the area of glossy blackness at her side. She felt the cool, smooth hardness of his scales, but could not determine which part of him she was touching. The distant lights, purple and pink, the false stars made of bale thorn, glinted in tiny reflections on his body. Part of Bahamut extended from the mass and laid itself on her lap. It was the triangular viper-like form of his eyeless head, as big as hers. She patted it hard; he hissed softly.

    Heidi watched the distant lights, the slowly crashing lorn like drifting mountains in the distance. She listened to the cacophony, which by now she had begun tuning out. Balazar said there was a legend on Orpheus that the sound of the lorn might someday be beautiful. Heidi tried and failed to imagine that.

    The board rotated slowly in the air, but it didn¡¯t matter. ¡®Down¡¯ meant nothing here. It was she, Heidi, Hero of Gravity, who decided what ¡®down¡¯ meant. She and Glaurung, apparently. Queen of the Rue. Heidi had no wish to encounter that monster again, whose eye shone like the Bleak Machine. And the same went for Abraham Black. Yet those two were both still around, as far as Heidi knew, and a dread certainty nagged at her that she would indeed see them again.

    She didn¡¯t want to think about these things. She didn¡¯t want to think about a mysterious prison¡ªso mysterious that even the warden knew almost nothing about it. She didn¡¯t want to worry about the safety of bizarre aliens, or make hard decisions, or be any kind of hero. She didn¡¯t want any of this. She wanted Alan, and the beach, and everything as it had been only weeks ago. With the inclusion of Bahamut. If she could allow her fantasies to be greedy, she wanted all of that plus Bahamut.

    Bahamut, as if sensing her thoughts, snuggled closer against her. ¡°If this is somehow all a dream,¡± she told him, ¡°and I wake up from it, I¡¯ll get a black lizard. But I¡¯ll let him keep his eyes.¡± That reminded her of the eye-thief, Cazzie, still comatose with Vyrix, infested with bale thorns. What was she going to do with those two?

    Her phone vibrated. She checked it eagerly, and from the red text she at first thought it was Eric.

    It was not Eric.

    ??: hey

    ??: human

    HS: Hello.

    HS: Who are you?

    ??: I¡¯m the burning god, of course!

    BG: The hero comes, and the hero is me!

    HS: Oh.

    HS: So was that you setting things on fire?

    BG: yep!

    BG: I can set more stuff on fire if you don¡¯t believe me.

    BG: now that the connection is set up, I guess we can do more

    BG: like talk to you directly!

    HS: Connection?

    BG: don¡¯t worry about it!

    BG: I¡¯m on YOUR side

    BG: I¡¯m your friend

    BG: you can trust me

    HS: So what do you want to tell me?

    BG: right to the point, huh?

    BG: I like that

    BG: then I¡¯ll get right to it too

    BG: you need to talk to Black

    HS: Black?

    BG: yeah, Black

    HS: Abraham Black?

    BG: Yes, him! Who else? Come on, are you stupid?

    BG: I mean, I can read right here in your book that you¡¯re not too quick, but I wasn¡¯t going to make a big deal out of it

    BG: because I¡¯m nice like that

    BG: because I¡¯m your friend, remember?

    HS: Why do I need to talk to him?

    BG: what, don¡¯t you trust me?

    HS: No.

    BG: wow

    BG: here I am, reaching out to you

    BG: ME, a GOD, reaching out to YOU, trying to help you, to be your FRIEND

    BG: well listen, you need to talk to Abraham Black because if you don¡¯t he¡¯s going to kill you and everyone else, how¡¯s that for a reason?

    HS: I just need to talk to him?

    BG: yes!

    BG: finally the little girl listens to me

    HS: I¡¯ll think about it.

    BG: better think hard! Or next time you won¡¯t get away so easy

    BG: yeah I saw all of that

    BG: I even tried to warn you, remember?

    BG: if you¡¯d listened to me, maybe your friends would still be alive

    BG: so listen to me this time

    BG: ooh, one more question

    BG: do you have any big tanks of combustible liquids just sitting around?

    HS: I don¡¯t know.

    BG: you should check

    BG: in person, cause you can¡¯t trust anybody

    BG: except for me, obviously

    BG: don¡¯t talk much, do ya?

    BG: well that¡¯s okay

    BG: I¡¯m your friend, so I¡¯ll overlook that

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    BG: just remember what I said, okay?

    BG: ...

    BG: I¡¯ll take that as a yes

    They had drifted into the pull of a medium-sized lorn during the conversation. Slowly, gradually, their path curved down as gravity gained a heavier hold. Heidi pocketed the phone and stood when she decided that this ¡°Burning God¡± had no more to say. Talk to Abraham Black? What would that accomplish? Not that she was about to trust anyone who could remotely set things on fire and told her to personally look for barrels of flammable materials.

    Ruth was a ¡®godseeker.¡¯ She would ask him.

    She coasted downward into the pull of the lorn and picked up speed into a full dive. At the bottom she turned gravity aside, which flung her into a smooth arc that shot her away into the light-speckled darkness.

    Minutes later, the unsightly mass of her home base, as charming as a pile of broken cinderblocks, came into view. Something was different about it. There was a new piece attached to the clunky mass of grey, clearly visible because it had green stripes, which probably made it the first green thing Heidi had seen in days. But what was it? It was like a large box, like a shipping crate with extra bits tacked on, and it was adjoined to the loading bay¡­

    Oh, it was a spaceship. A cargo ship, possibly unloading supplies to Orpheus because god knew they sure couldn¡¯t grow their own food here. The paneling was of something that had probably once been white, though it was so dirty and pock-marked that little of the original color remained, and several thick bands of bright green, equally faded, wrapped around the entire vessel. Heidi could barely make out the name on the side as she braked to a casual speed alongside it. The  Victorious, it read, although someone had added the word ¡°Almost¡± above ¡°Victorious¡± in blue graffiti.

    She swung around to the loading bay in front and coasted to a halt, riding a sudden fluctuation in gravity like a tiny residual wave on her way back to shore. She hopped off the board and grunted as she landed at the lingering pain from her many bruises. With a swift motion, she shrank the board to the length of her hand and stuck it in a pouch at her belt, where it clipped magnetically in place.

    A dozen guards of the prison, technically her underlings, worked to unload crates, boxes, sacks and barrels from the gaping stomach of the  Almost Victorious. Almost every guard was monstrous, wildly different from the rest in some surprising and often unsettling way. She recognized only a few of them, though most of them noticed her arrival and paused long enough to offer some kind of anatomically appropriate salute. Balazar stood with a nervous clipboard-wielding figure that was not quite human (blue horns), yet was so much closer to human than anyone else on her moon that Heidi thought of him as kin automatically.

    A horrible noise approached from behind¡ªslithering, skittering. Heidi gritted her teeth and steeled herself not to shiver at the sound. Someday she would get used it. She mentally prepared herself to hear Ruth¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Welcome back, Warden,¡± he chittered.

    She didn¡¯t turn around. ¡°Thank you,¡± she replied. She set off toward Balazar and the almost-human. Might as well say hi. ¡°Anything interesting?¡±

    The sound of Ruth¡¯s many legs scrabbling on metal followed her toward the docked ship. ¡°I heard from Gretchel that we have been supplied with stygian arc-rods.¡±

    Heidi had no idea what that meant, nor could she guess from Ruth¡¯s tone of voice whether this was a good thing. Being supplied with something sounded good, though. ¡°Good,¡± she said, nodding.

    ¡°Some passengers, of course,¡± Ruth added. Heidi already knew this. Passengers always came to Orpheus somehow. They stowed away, or bought passage, or cobbled together their own dangerous ships just barely space-worthy enough to sputter over to Orpheus from Ardia or another moon before crashing. One way or another, those called by Orpheus came. They shouldn¡¯t. Heidi wished they wouldn¡¯t. There was nothing here for them but danger, despair, and a Bleak Machine. They would die here, and bale thorns would grow from their bones, adding to the galaxy of false stars in the darkness of the Metal Moon. They shouldn¡¯t come, but they did. Heidi tried not to think about how, somehow, this had become her responsibility.

    Ruth began to say something else, something about reports of Darkworlder activity, but at that moment Heidi reached Balazar and the man with the clipboard. Someone came into view around the corner of the ship as Heidi stepped up to Balazar, someone whose bright and colorful clothing caught Heidi¡¯s eye like a disco ball in the darkness of Orpheus.

    It was Kate, bedraggled and dazed, leaning on Eric, whose attire by contrast matched the somber trappings of Orpheus. Heidi saw them before they saw her, but she was too stunned to react.

    Eric was the first to move. His head snapped up. Shades obscured part of his face, but his expression of revulsion and horror was easy to read. ¡°Get down!¡± he shouted.

    Heidi flung herself to the floor with a clang from her armored coat, and she rolled as she landed in an attempt to identify what threat Eric had seen.

    Eric moved fast, very fast, but in a strangely disjointed way. He appeared suddenly in front of her, a sword in his hand sizzling with green energy. And now he was swinging it, though still Heidi could see nothing there but Ruth.

    Kate shrieked. The piercing sound made Heidi wince, and it echoed throughout the loading bay. All the prison guards dropped their cargo and sprang to action against an as-yet unidentified threat.

    It took Heidi a full three seconds of stupidly watching Eric assault Ruth before she understood.

    ¡°No!¡± she shouted. ¡°Stop, Eric!¡± He didn¡¯t seem to hear. He had headphones on?! ¡°Stop them, Bahamut!¡±

    Bahamut, who had coiled protectively over Heidi, vanished in a blink of darkness. Heidi reached out, made a spherical compass, aimed it at Eric, and yanked it viciously to the side. He should have fallen away instantly with the force of several Gs, but somehow he¡¯d found the time to stab his sword into the metal paneling of the floor and hang on. Ruth, nearby, scrabbled for purchase as part of his scorpion/centipede body got caught in the influence.

    Heidi sat up. ¡°Everyone, stop!¡± She shouted this for the benefit of those guards who had been rushing toward the scuffle, weapons ready. They stopped. Eric stopped. Kate, late to the party, came rushing past Heidi, bass guitar at the ready. Heidi reached out and caught her hand, yanked her to a halt. Kate collapsed on the cold metal with a squawk of surprise.

    Heidi stood, brushed herself off, and released the gravity alteration around Eric. He fell to the floor. She marched over to him and rolled him over with a heave of her foot. He¡¯d lost his shades in the gravity fluctuation, and he blinked at her in surprise. She thought about kicking him, but she offered a hand instead, which he accepted. She hauled him back to his feet.

    Heidi stepped around Eric and positioned herself directly in front of Ruth. Ruth was clicking his huge, awful pincers nervously. His many little feet shuffled. He didn¡¯t seem to be seriously harmed, but Heidi wondered whether the same could be said for Eric had the fight continued. She had seen Ruth in action. If Ruth were any less observant, patient, cautious, then Eric Walker might have been in several pieces by now.

    ¡°Oh shit,¡± said Eric. He materialized a new pair of shades from mist and put them on. ¡°My bad.¡± He didn¡¯t appear very apologetic about assaulting her friend, but it was Eric.

    ¡°Yeah,  your bad,¡± said Heidi.

    Kate looked like she wanted to say something but could not. She was staring wide-eyed at the grotesque monstrosity that was Ruth. Heidi remembered her own initial reaction to meeting Ruth, and she decided to take it easy on them.

    ¡°Eric, Kate, this is Ruth. My¡­my friend.¡± She stepped aside so they could face each other. ¡°And Ruth, this is Eric Walker and Kaitlyn Carter. Also my friends.¡± Saying it, actually saying it like that in an introduction, sent an unexpected thrill running through her. She had friends now, so many that she could introduce them to each other.

    ¡°N-n-ni-n-nice t-t-t-ni-nice t-t-t-¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you,¡± said Eric. He glanced at his sword still stuck in the floor panels, clearly thought about pulling it up, and just as clearly decided not to.

    Ruth bowed to them, and somehow even  that , coming from him, was menacing enough that Kate flinched back, raising her bass like a shield.

    Awkward silence. The other guards nearby stowed their weapons one by one. A murmur rippled through them. Just a misunderstanding. Not a problem. Happens sometimes. That Ruth, you know¡­back to work. Eric was looking all around at the prison and scenery of Orpheus, and Kate couldn¡¯t stop staring at Ruth, though now Heidi thought that fascination was rapidly replacing horror in her gaze. Soon Kate would start asking him questions about his biology.

    ¡°Ruth,¡± said Heidi, ¡°could you go and make sure that a meal and rooms are prepared for our guests?¡± They both looked like they could use some rest, especially Kate. She looked awful, actually¡ªbloodshot eyes, bruises on her face, bedraggled appearance.

    ¡°Of course, Warden,¡± Ruth said with another bow. His voice made Eric and Kate cringe away. Kate shivered. Ruth skittered away into the shadows.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Eric breathed when he had gone. He began working his sword out of the metal platform, jamming it back and forth.

    Kate stepped up to Heidi, took her by the arm, and turned her away from Eric. Her big green eyes narrowed at Heidi in fierce concern. ¡°Heidi,¡± she whispered, ¡°w-w-why aren¡¯t you w-we-wearing anything under your c-c-y-underyourcoat?!¡±

    Heidi looked down at herself. The coat had been so heavy and warm that she hadn¡¯t put on a shirt or anything beneath. She wore only a swath of dirty bandages around her torso. And the coat had been unfastened, hanging wide open this whole time.

    Heidi bit her lip hard enough to hurt as hot blood rushed to her face. She reached down and fumbled at the clasps, trying not to think about how she had just helped Eric up from the ground. There wasn¡¯t much for him to have seen, but she didn¡¯t want to think about that, either.

    ¡°And your f-f-fa-face!¡± Kate continued.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my face?¡± asked Heidi. She reached up and touched right on the spot where Vyrix had struck her. She winced. Right. She probably had a serious black eye.

    ¡°Listen, Kate,¡± said Eric as he approached. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be talkin shit about anyone else¡¯s face right now, you know?¡± He smiled to show he was kidding. But he was right. Kate had dark rings under her eyes, a bruise on her forehead, her hair was a mess, and she had something that looked like ink stains on her chin. And those bloodshot eyes¡­

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Kate?¡± Heidi asked. ¡°Are you sick?¡± Orpheus was not a good place to be sick. Heidi knew that without anyone having to tell her.

    ¡°Nah, she¡¯s just hungover,¡± said Eric.

    Heidi punched him in the arm. He punched her back. Behind him, several of the guards paused in their activities, hands or hand-like appendages drifting to weapons. Heidi smiled and put a friendly hand on Eric¡¯s shoulder to show it was okay.

    A strange noise turned Heidi¡¯s attention aside to where Frisby Wiser was belching a tiny puff of white smoke at an impassive Bahamut. It fizzed with sparks like a little firework before fading. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen your angel yet, Kate,¡± said Heidi. ¡°Where is it?¡±

    Kate looked around blankly. Then she zeroed in on Bahamut. ¡°Hey!¡± she said. ¡°You s-st-stop that, B-bahamut!¡±

    Bahamut opened his mouth wide. A white butterfly flexed its wings peacefully on his black-licorice tongue. Bahamut closed his mouth again. Eric doubled over, laughing.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to apologize to Ruth later,¡± Heidi informed him.

    He nodded. ¡°Sure, sure. Hey, was that you with the, uh, falling sideways thing?¡±

    She nodded.

    He grinned at her. ¡°Awesome.¡±

    She returned the smile. ¡°Wait ¡®till you see the rest of it.¡± She meant her moon, which she suddenly wanted to show to Eric and Kate. She wanted to show them everything. She wanted them to be a part of it. Maybe she was lonely.

    Heidi turned. ¡°Come on.¡± She led them into her prison.

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3

    Kaitlyn Carter

    Kaitlyn Carter marveled at the lorn, the false stars, the surfboard, and Bahamut. She questioned every strange new creature she saw until they became uncomfortable and excused themselves. She recoiled in horror at the sight of Vyrix, and at hearing what Heidi knew about the bale thorn that grew on her. She hugged Heidi tight when Heidi spoke of the disastrous expedition, the giant and malevolent Queen of the Rue, the memories of despair, and being poisoned by Vyrix. She clutched at her bass, eyes wide, when Heidi told about how she met Abraham Black, different from the one Heidi and Eric had seen before.

    Eric, meanwhile, displayed the emotional spectrum of a brick. He looked at everything impassively,  too cool to comment on Heidi¡¯s black eye or her  being poisoned, but apparently not too cool to teach Bahamut how to fist bump. (It was  adorable.)

    They wound up sitting side-by-side on the rough metallic surface of Heidi¡¯s surfboard as it drifted weightless in the middle of space outside the prison. The terrifying monster called Ruth had given Kate a beverage with a spicy citrus kick, and it helped clear away her headache. Kate sat between Heidi and Eric, which was good because that meant they couldn¡¯t hit each other, and they watched, feet swinging in the empty air, as the abstract chaos of lorn shards drifted and collided in slow motion, sometimes dozens of miles away, lit by a dim galaxy of rose and lavender thorn-stars. It was kind of beautiful, until Kate remembered that every star out there signified a dead body, and the crystallization of that person¡¯s regret. And the  noise! The ambient sound was not beautiful at all.

    Frisby and Navi flew about in the darkness, but Bahamut, who could not fly, stayed with them on the board. According to Heidi, he was keeping watch for rue. It would be odd for rue to come this close to the prison, but Heidi had learned not to assume such things. She had learned a lot already, maybe more than any of them, but she had learned it at the price of getting hurt, and Kate did not like that at all. She leaned against Heidi and put an arm around her. Heidi stiffened. Kate could feel all her muscle even under the metal-plated coat.

    ¡°So we need this key that the Dark Ruler has,¡± Heidi said, ¡°to open the door at Skywater City. Then what?¡±

    ¡°Something about ¡®stepping into a world of our own making¡¯ or some bullshit. Isaac thinks it means we get like a wish or something.¡±

    ¡°If you could have a wish,¡± said Heidi after a moment of silence,  relative silence because of the clamorous ringing of the distant lorn, ¡°what would it be?¡±

    ¡°Leah,¡± he said at once. ¡°Safe. My family. My friends. Everyone safe. No sinister organization, no maniac with some fucking guns running around killing people.¡± He barked a wry laugh. ¡°Not asking for much, right? What about you, Kate?¡±

    Kate wondered for a moment. What  did she want? Really,  really  want, more than anything else? It was obvious. ¡°I w-want a ha- a happy ending,¡± she said. ¡°F-for everyone.¡±

    ¡°I think we all want the same thing,¡± said Heidi. ¡°But those are easy answers. If you could have a¡­a selfish wish. Something just for you. What would it be?¡±

    Kate frowned at the Metal Moon. This question was harder. Beautiful butterfly people she could talk to seemed pretty high on the list, but  she already had that. And if Isaac were here, he¡¯d say ¡®clams¡¯ or something because  shellfish wish har har get it? But the difference between her and Isaac was that they both thought of stupid jokes, but only Isaac said them out loud!

    ¡°How ¡®bout some skills?¡± said Eric. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be nice to be actually good at something? Just skip all that tedious ¡®practice¡¯ bullshit. I¡¯d wish for instant mastery of anything I tried to do.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d w-wa-w-want to b-be able to g-go w-wh-wherever I want!¡± said Kate. ¡°Or m-maybe I¡¯d w-wish to be able t-to t-ta-talk to animals! And f-for them t-to all love me!¡±

    Heidi laughed. ¡°You have more imagination than me. I just want to go home. With Bahamut.¡±

    ¡°Which brings us back to that key,¡± said Eric, annoyed as usual by the whole setup.

    Heidi continued with another question. ¡°So this Arcadelt¡­¡±

    Kate sat up in her excitement to explain. ¡°H-he p-pu-puts d-data d-directly into your br-brain!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s freaky,¡± Eric added.

    Kate nodded. ¡°H-he calls himself the angel of S-s-skywater C-cit-c-citadel!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I guess he¡¯s like the boss angel or whatever,¡± said Eric. ¡°He taught our angels how to talk to us, and I guess also they can bond to something?¡±

    ¡°Y-y-yes! B-but it¡¯s irr-irrev-i-irre-i- it can¡¯t be undone!¡±

    ¡°Hm,¡± said Heidi. ¡°Hey. Want to see something cool?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Kate and Eric said it together, but with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

    Heidi reached into her coat and came out with a handgun. She aimed it off into the darkness, away from the prison. ¡°Bahamut,¡± she said. ¡°Fetch.¡± She fired.

    Everything flickered to darkness for a second as though Kate had blinked. It happened again, almost as soon as she registered that Bahamut was no longer with them. He was back on the surfboard next to Heidi. The other angels swooped closer excitedly. Heidi put the gun away and held out her hand. Bahamut¡¯s head slithered over her shoulder. He opened his mouth and dropped the crumpled bullet into Heidi¡¯s open palm.

    Kate hesitated only a moment before clapping. ¡°Wow!¡± She was even more impressed when she considered how the bullet¡¯s trajectory must have been very difficult to predict, what with all the changes in gravity. Eric gave one of Bahamut¡¯s eight legs a congratulatory fist bump.

    ¡°So can we see this big machine?¡± asked Eric. ¡°The one with your door floating around it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure you want to see it,¡± said Heidi. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡±

    ¡°Bleak?¡± Kate suggested.

    Heidi smiled at her, but it looked a little forced. ¡°Yeah. Something like that.¡±

    Kate¡¯s phone vibrated. A message! But from who?

    CG: Greetings.

    ¡°H-hey!¡± Eric and Heidi looked at her. She showed them her phone. ¡°Wh-who¡¯s ¡®CG¡¯?¡± Eric shrugged. Heidi shook her head.

    ¡°But I just got a weird text too,¡± said Eric. ¡°I don¡¯t know who it was, but they were being a dick so I¡¯m ignoring them for now.¡±

    ¡°I was talking to someone suspicious before you arrived,¡± said Heidi. ¡°They called themself the Burning God.¡¯¡±

    ¡°W-well d-do you mind if I ta-take this? It m-might be imp-portant!¡±

    Heidi made a glowing spherical compass in the air and began guiding them back down to the prison while Eric texted someone on his own phone. Kate received another message.

    CG: Importance is relative.

    KC: and subjective!

    CG: Indeed.

    KC: wait can you hear me?!

    CG: In a sense.

    KC: can you SEE me!?

    CG: Not exactly.

    KC: ?:\

    KC: what does ¡®CG¡¯ stand for? Who are you?

    CG: Interesting. On my end, my abbreviation is AC, a shortening of my name. For you, it must be CG because you know me as the Chained God.

    KC: wow! So CHIME automatically adjusts the abbreviations subjectively depending on what the recipient knows!

    AC: It appears to be so.

    KC: AHA! You just changed to AC :)

    KC: so what is my abbreviation for you?

    AC: I already know your name, Kaitlyn Carter.

    KC: what¡¯s YOUR name?

    AC: It is not material.

    KC: are you in some kind of rush?

    AC: To an extent.

    KC: well hang on a sec

    They were landing, sliding easily back down to the same loading bay at which they had arrived. Activity had ceased; the  Almost Victorious had been unloaded but now stood still and empty.

    ¡°So I just talked to Isaac,¡± said Eric. ¡°He said not to trust these new people texting us, calling themselves gods.¡±

    ¡°I think they might actually be the gods of this world,¡± said Heidi. ¡°At least I think mine¡¯s really the Burning God.¡±

    ¡°Well anyway, Isaac was pretty serious about not trusting them. He sounds like he¡¯s in the middle of some shit right now.¡±

    ¡°W-well I¡¯ve g-got the Chained God on the l-line,¡± said Kate, ¡°s-so give me a m-minute.¡± She waltzed over to an empty metallic box nearby and took a seat.

    KC: did you hear that, mister?

    KC: wait are you male or female?

    KC: or do gods not even HAVE genders? 8o

    AC: I heard.

    AC: And I am a male.

    KC: WELL?

    AC: Your trust in me is not relevant.

    KC: fine!

    KC: so why are you talking to me anyway?

    AC: I have questions.

    KC: we are alike, sir, in that regard!

    KC: let¡¯s trade!

    AC: Trade questions?

    KC: :D

    AC: Very well.

    AC: You are a human, correct?

    KC: yep!

    KC: that one was easy!

    KC: my turn: if you¡¯re the ¡®gods of this narrative,¡¯ why haven¡¯t you contacted us until now?

    AC: A relay system had to be activated by another hero.

    KC: relay system? Was it Isaac?

    AC: Isaac Milton, yes.

    AC: My turn. Is your race entirely biological?

    KC: uh...yes?

    AC: Therefore, you reproduce sexually? The population of your species is under your own control?

    KC: that¡¯s three questions!

    KC: weird questions

    KC: of course we reproduce sexually! And...I guess our population is under our control? I never thought of it like that

    KC: you must be so strange!

    KC: but I guess you ARE gods, right?

    AC: Was that your question?

    KC: no!

    KC: I have instead a series of DEDUCTIONS!

    AC: Go on.

    KC: There are ten gods, which I know because of that book Liz was reading, and because there are ten Ladies who each represent a god. You, Mr. Chained God, are obviously affiliated with Lady Chains!

    KC: Isaac was talking about his station being haunted, and the others had similar stories, but that was you! You just couldn¡¯t talk directly!

    KC: but now you can, and now Isaac says not to trust you, and now we¡¯re all receiving suspicious messages!

    AC: Suspicious?

    KC: I¡¯m not done >:(

    KC: yes, SUSPICIOUS, because you won¡¯t tell me your name and you don¡¯t care if I trust you, and you have supposedly been watching us, ¡®haunting¡¯ Isaac¡¯s station in order to get him to turn on the machine, yet you don¡¯t even know the fact that we¡¯re humans!

    KC: and finally! I have confirmed throughout this conversation that you can¡¯t really ¡°see¡± me at all! I¡¯ve been writing things to you on pieces of paper and showing them around and you haven¡¯t responded to any of it!

    KC: this means that either you can¡¯t read, or you can see me but not make out small details, or you can¡¯t see me at all!

    AC: Perhaps I have been ignoring it.

    KC: I see through your lies, Chained God!

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    KC: I¡¯m pretty sure you would have responded to them ;)

    AC: I am impressed.

    AC: And surprised.

    KC: heh heh!

    KC: give me a day and I will unravel your secrets!

    KC: I¡¯ll be Sherlock Holmes!

    AC: You will be what?

    KC: Sherlock Holmes! He is a great detective with surpassing powers of observation and deduction, who always outsmarts the criminals!

    KC: hey! Still there?

    KC: I didn¡¯t mean to be rude!

    KC: I just don¡¯t want to be lied to >:|

    KC: but I¡¯m really curious about you!

    KC: we should keep asking questions!

    KC: are you gods all the same species?

    KC: what do you look like?

    KC: why did you imply that you can¡¯t control your own population?

    KC: where are you?

    KC: why can¡¯t you come here in person?

    AC: AC stands for Acarnus.

    AC: That is my name.

    AC: And now it is my turn for a deduction.

    AC: You have spoken to Princess Zayana of Meszria, have you not?

    KC: !!!

    KC: You know her?!

    KC: Is she well?

    AC: Her wellness may be in question. But she is safe. For the moment.

    KC: <:(

    AC: This is more difficult than I expected.

    KC: ?

    AC: I am sorry, Kaitlyn Carter. I wish there was another way.

    AC: But we need to open that door.

    KC: What do you mean?

    KC: hey!

    But he did not respond. She growled at her phone and hopped off the crate. The loading bay was livening up again as another ship hove into view¡ªa smaller one, its lights blinking grey out in the dark.

    She brushed off her painted lab coat and marched over to where Eric and Heidi were talking.

    ¡°Any news?¡± asked Heidi when Kate arrived.

    ¡°W-w-well! H-he was p-polite, I guess. A-and he knows Z-zayana! But he¡¯s keeping s-se-secrets! And he ap-a-apologized for s-something!¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Eric, ¡°the Burning God over there wants Heidi to talk to Black.¡± He gestured at Heidi. ¡°Meanwhile I got the so-called Changing God over here, just losing his shit and shouting some bullshit about the rue.¡±

    ¡°Hmm!¡± They needed to get to the bottom of this!

    A short man wrapped in blue bandages, with a terrible cough, approached Heidi. ¡°A new¡­¡± (pause for lung-rending hack) ¡°¡­vessel approaches. Bearing a¡­guest. A Lady of Skywater.¡±

    ¡°A Lady?¡± said Heidi. She turned to Eric. ¡°They¡¯re on our side, right?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Yeah. Them and the Lords. I think they¡¯re probably high-level badasses, too.¡±

    Heidi smiled. ¡°We could use some of those around here.¡±

    Kate¡¯s phone buzzed again. The Chained God? No, this time it was green text. But not Jim! Goodness, she thought, with ten gods, maybe she would be spending all her time talking to them now.

    ??: psst!

    ??: hey!

    KC: hi!

    ¡°Kate are you gonna be a typical youngster, just on your damn phone all the time?¡±

    She shushed him. ¡°These  g-gods might be imp-important, Eric!¡±

    ??: listen!

    KC: wait, what¡¯s your name?

    ??: my name?

    KC: yeah! What god are you?

    KC: are you the Thunder God, or...

    KC: I don¡¯t actually know what they all are

    ??: hee hee!

    ??: I am not the Thunder God! I am not!

    ??: HE TALKS LIKE THIS

    ??: and his name is Rasmus, anyway!

    ??: he does not really like being called his god name, and neither do I!

    KC: so what¡¯s your other name then?

    ??: I am Fiora!

    KC: hi Fiora! I¡¯m Kate!

    FI: oh no i almost forgot!

    FI: you are in danger Kate!

    FI: you need to run away!

    FI: hurry!

    KC: what?! Why?

    FI: no time!

    FI: istoleyourbooksandiamrunningawayandAcarnusisgoingtonoticeany secondnow!

    KC: hang on

    ¡°G-guys!¡± Eric and Heidi were hitting each other again, which for some reason flustered Kate. Why didn¡¯t they ever hit  her?

    ¡°I j-just got a message from an-a-another one, and it said we need to r-run!¡±

    Eric and Heidi glanced at each other, Eric with his shades and Heidi with her dark, intense eyes peering out from under her bushy eyebrows and red headband. ¡°From what?¡± said Heidi.

    ¡°Yeah, Isaac said we shouldn¡¯t trust them, so I¡¯m thinking not,¡± Eric added.

    ¡°Y-yeah, but¡­¡± Kate bit her lip and adjusted her glasses. Fiora had  sounded sincere. And she said she was running from Acarnus, the Chained God? With a book? And it didn¡¯t seem likely that an instruction as nonspecific as ¡®run away¡¯ could be a trap.

    ¡°Listen,¡± said Eric, ¡°the Ladies are creepy as hell, but I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯ll help us. We¡¯ll ask whoever this is, all right?¡±

    The new spacecraft decelerated for a landing. It was far smaller and sleeker than the  Almost Victorious, but the tiny docking area barely had room for it. Not much traffic on the Metal Moon, apparently.

    Kate¡¯s phone vibrated again.

    FI: look at your friend, Kate!

    Something was happening to Heidi. She had a hand to her face, her mouth open slightly in shock, as a haze of tiny green sparkles glittered around her like dust in a shaft of sunlight. It lasted only a moment. Eric exclaimed in surprise, but Kate saw what had happened as soon as Heidi moved her hand. The black eye was gone. Not entirely erased, but faded as though it had been healing for days.

    Green.

    FI: trust me Kate!

    FI: it is Lady Chains! It is! She works for¡ªack!

    Heidi and Eric were trying to figure out what had just happened to Heidi. Kate watched the incoming ship, a cold knot of dread forming in her gut. It had already landed, and now the hatch was sliding open. Faintly, because she was listening for it against the background clamor of the crashing lorn, she heard the almost-musical rattling of chains.

    Kate slid the phone into her pocket and seized Heidi and Eric by the shoulders. ¡°G-guys!¡± she shouted. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± She tried to drag them away from the new ship, but they were both a lot stronger than her, and they hardly budged.

    ¡°Kate, just chi¡­¡± Eric looked at her, and it seemed to Kate that they locked eyes despite the intervening pair of  totally unnecessary sunglasses. ¡°Yeah, okay, let¡¯s get out of here,¡± he said.

    Heidi, still confused and feeling at her face and torso, followed them in a daze toward the edge of the docking bay.

    Kate looked back as a figure emerged from the new vessel. Kate had seen it before, though she didn¡¯t remember that very well. She remembered Lord Fool mentioning something about blood on those chains, though.

    Lady Chains seemed more imposing than ever¡ªa seven-foot mound of darkness and mystery swathed in layers of clinking, rattling chains. Some chains were as thin as necklaces, others were hefty, and at least one loop looked like it could moor an ocean-liner. A dark opening in the front signified the face. Chains rattled and dragged on the metal flooring panels as the figure slid toward them.

    Workers in the docking bay approached Lady Chains, including the bronchitic dwarf mummy, but she ignored them. The Lady of Skywater glided straight for the three heroes.

    ¡°Where are you going, Heroes?¡± Lady Chains rasped, her voice dry and deep.

    They reached the edge of the bay, whence they could step off, if they so desired, into the glittering dark abyss of crashing, grinding metal. Lady Chains had already closed a third of the distance.

    ¡°Fuck it,¡± Eric muttered. He drew his sword. ¡°Stay back!¡± he shouted at the Lady.

    She did not stay back. Her chains slithered out, dug into irregularities in the metal floor, and she shot toward them like a diving falcon, trailing chains.

    She crashed into Eric almost before Kate could react, barreling both of them right off the edge of the landing bay. Eric, shades lost again and eyes wide from the shock of impact, had kept the sword between himself and the Lady. Chains wrapped around the sword and broke it to pieces like it was made of potato chips. Chains wrapped around Eric like snakes, and¡ª

    Heidi fired her gun. Bahamut was there, biting down on the chains, breaking Eric free. Frisby was there, strobing with light, darting with panicked cries. All in a moment. Then the three of them¡ªHeidi and Kate and Eric¡ªwere falling sideways at high velocity, away from Lady Chains and back to the center of the docking bay. Heidi was holding a glowing sphere of golden light, which was spinning, spinning.

    Their fall stopped and Kate tumble to a halt against a sack of grain. She scrambled back to her feet and tried to orient herself. Heidi had a weird gun out now, not one from Earth, and Eric was making another sword from mist. Their angels were all nearby, and for the first time Kate had known them, they looked afraid. Kate didn¡¯t know what to do, what to think. Why was Lady Chains attacking them?

    Lady Chains came roaring back to meet them, stunningly fast on wings of linked metal. She wasn¡¯t really flying; she supported herself in the air with great lengths of chain fastened to things all over the docking bay, like a spider at the center of a great metallic web. And  still Kate could make out nothing of her physiology beyond the shroud of writhing metal. There must  be something to her besides chains¡­right?

    No time for such questions. Lady Chains came in for the kill, and nothing was safe¡ªnot the floor panels ripped up by chains and flung like enormous shuriken; not the crates and cargo similarly upheaved and used as projectiles; not Heidi¡¯s frightful assortment of guards who could do little more than scramble to survive; not even the  Almost Victorious, which the chains flung with terrific strength against the doors to the storage bay to stem the reinforcements that rushed out from the prison.

    Kate was clutching her bass, crouching in the middle of it all, unable to move, able only to stare with dismay at the sudden violence, the carnage. She thought with a sick horror:  and we would have let her walk right up to us¡­

    A massive length of chain crushed Bahamut against the floor, where he writhed in pain like a worm on a hook. Chain as fine as guitar strings wrapped up Frisby Wiser, who could not fly, could not teleport. Eric moved around weirdly, quickly, slowing up and speeding down, but all he could do was try to dodge the deadly lengths of cold metal. Heidi ran to help Bahamut, evading chains that lashed, moving herself with rapid bursts of gravity. Elsewhere, the creatures Heidi called guards attacked Lady Chains. No weapon seemed to do much to harm her, but they were a distraction¡ªif  distraction meant that Lady Chains had to take time from killing the Heroes to kill prison guards instead.

    A heavy chain skipped across the floor straight for Kate. It cut the air with a faint whistling sound, and it looked big enough that Kate¡¯s body wouldn¡¯t even slow it down when it passed through her. Something large and dark appeared in front of her; dozens of jointed legs scrabbled for purchase against the force of the chain as it collided against the figure with a thick crunch, and the dark carapace of the creature¡¯s back slammed into her as the force of the chain shoved it back.

    It was Ruth, and he might have been shouting something at her, or he might have just been screaming. Either way, it was a terrible, awful, nauseating sound that made Kate whimper involuntarily. Ruth had the chain between his huge pincers. It was as thick as Kate¡¯s leg, but it snapped into pieces under the power of Ruth¡¯s chelae.

    That seemed to make Lady Chains mad, though it was hard to tell because there were now  so many chains, and they were everywhere, and Lady Chains was in the midst of them, and now it was a three-dimensional web that she could move at will, catching them like flies, tearing apart a prison guard that might have been just a robot, maybe, except that robots don¡¯t scream.

    More chains swarmed in. Heidi, arms outstretched, held glowing spheres, struggling to repel chains that tried to squirm toward her. And where was Eric? Kate didn¡¯t see him.

    A butterfly appeared, white and pure, just behind Ruth. A tiny little butterfly voice whispered into Kate¡¯s mind.  Would Rebecca Carter stand by while her friends were in danger?

    Kate gritted her teeth. Wrong question, Carter! The question was: would  Kaitlyn  Carter do that? And the answer was  hell no.

    So without really knowing what she was doing, Kate cranked the volume knob on her bass and strummed a chord. This one was  light. Sunlight, pure golden sunlight from a clear summertime noon on Earth, flooded the docking bay.

    Another chord, up a fifth (V^9). This one was  blue. Blue sky filled everything, like a blue paint made of light, like everything here was a snowglobe.

    Another chord (vi7), a rippling arpeggio. This one was:  get the hell away from my friends. And everything was a snowglobe for sure, full of sky instead of water, and it was in  her hands and  she  was the one shaking it. She shook it hard.

    Wind, not of air but of moving sky, like the churning of the fabric of reality, swirled in a tempestuous torrent through the area. Everything moved, everything changed, and nobody, including Kate, understood what was happening.

    Everything came back together with Kate on the floor, gazing up at the distant lorn. From here she could see the stars¡ªthe real stars¡ªpeeking through the cracks in the lorn directly overhead, like she was looking out past the teeth of a monster from inside its mouth. She also saw Lady Chains, still up there, dazed, adrift amid a twitching mass of chains like lost, evil jellyfish.

    Heidi, nearby, stood up. She raised her hands as though in praise. A huge compass made of spinning circles of golden light appeared between her hands. The arrows all turned up, and Lady Chains dropped up into the void before she jerked to a halt at the end of her chains, many of which still grabbed on to things around the docking bay. The gravitational force compelling the Lady upward must have been immense, for several chains ripped free of their moorings and some of the rest began to stretch and break under the strain. Kate felt light and dizzy; small pieces of debris around her rose into the air, rapidly accelerating as they rose until they shot past Lady Chains like bullets into the dark.

    ¡°Eric!¡± Heidi shouted, her voice weirdly distorted by the gravitic flux.

    Some of the guards tried to shoot Lady Chains; their projectiles all missed, caught in the new gravity. Some of the clever ones tried to figure out the curvature and predict their shots. The  really  clever ones, like Eric, attacked the mooring chains.

    More chains slithered down from above, defying the gravity of a now-trembling Heidi, to find new purchase. Lady Chains began to drag herself back down.

    ¡°ERIC!¡±

    Kate¡¯s heartbeat, which she retroactively identified as a beat, a pulse, a tempo she had been following her whole life, thumped suddenly to a halt. Everything stopped; everything paused.

    And when everything started again, Kate had no notion of how long everything had stopped. Had it stopped at all?

    Every chain shattered, cut through somehow in that timeless interval. Lady Chains, unmoored, spun with dizzy speed up and away into the fathomless dark.

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4

    Michael Whyte

    ¡°In the name of Jesus Christ,¡± grumbled Dwayne Hartman, his huge hands on Jimothy¡¯s thin chest, ¡°wake up, boy.¡± Then he turned aside and coughed.

    Michael watched, fists clenched, not sure what to expect. Did he believe in miracles? Yes, he did. And however much he did, Dwayne Hartman believed in them far more. Still, Michael didn¡¯t know. Would Jim open his eyes and rise up, skipping and dancing, cured not only of his coma but of cerebral palsy as well? Michael hoped so. But he didn¡¯t think so.

    And nothing happened. Jimothy breathed peacefully, his chest rising and falling, his thin and pale face relaxed as if napping. Every time Michael saw Jim, he thought to himself: he¡¯s just asleep, of course. That¡¯s all. But he¡¯d been sleeping for more than a day now, and nothing woke him up. He was dreaming; Michael at least knew that much. Did comatose people dream?

    ¡°Well,¡± said Dwayne Hartman as he struggled to his feet, clutching the roof of the car for support. ¡°Asking the Lord for healing is always worth the try.¡± His voice sounded more full of gravel than usual. Was he emotional? It was hard to tell. That lined, bearded, wrinkled face was hard to read.

    ¡°Has it¡­ever worked?¡± The question just came out. Michael shrugged his jacket against the cold, the damp, the fog. He replaced the blanket around Jimothy to keep him warm and dry.

    Dwayne surprised him by answering, ¡°Twice.¡± The tone of his voice discouraged further questioning on the subject.

    Dwayne took his matching wooden canes, gripped them tight, crutched over to his own pickup. He eased into the driver¡¯s seat with a grunt and lit up a cigarette that he found in one of the pockets of his faded military jacket.

    Michael looked down at Jimothy, peaceful and sleeping. Although Michael knew next to nothing about what was happening, he did know that it had to do with Jimothy. They had come for Jimothy, and his ¡®angel.¡¯ ¡°Sometimes,¡± he said, partly to Dwayne and partly to himself, ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve been a very good brother.¡±

    Dwayne coughed around his cigarette. ¡°Don¡¯t know ¡®bout all that,¡± he said. ¡°All I can see is you¡¯re being a good brother now. I could of used someone like you. Way back then.¡±

    Michael reluctantly closed the door on Jimothy. The sound of a racquetball bouncing on gravel drew his attention away. That ball was alive again, bouncing all by itself, in the middle of the little triangle made by Michael¡¯s car, Dwayne Hartman¡¯s wreck of a pickup truck, and the freshly shoveled mound of gravel covering the body of someone named Jacob Hollow.

    Dwayne had explained it all, albeit in a terse series of muttered statements. Isaac dead, murdered by a villain named Abraham Black. The stranger, Jacob Hollow, with whom Michael had briefly spoken, also dead at Black¡¯s hands. This latter had happened only minutes before Michael¡¯s arrival. The murderer vanished away, possibly still somewhere nearby, out in the strange mist.

    ¡°So what now?¡± asked Michael. He had already taken stock of their fuel and supplies. They had little of either. More theoretically existed out there in the fog, but a world beyond that strange silvery barrier seemed increasingly theoretical by the hour. Dwayne was the first human being that Michael had encountered since entering the fog. The first real human, that is. Unreal ones took shape at the corners of his vision. More and more, they were beginning to move. To have color. Maybe soon they would begin to speak.

    Dwayne flicked the cigarette butt to the damp gravel and ground it out with the end of a cane. ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± he said. ¡°That man had an idea.¡± He nodded his cowboy hat at Jacob. ¡°Some way to help your brother.¡± He shrugged.

    ¡°So¡­¡± Michael fought back the little tingle of despair that kept trying to nag at him. Was it hopeless? Not yet. Was everything over? Not yet.

    ¡°So we sing, Mr. Whyte,¡± said Dwayne Hartman. He leaned back, popped open his glove box, rummaged around. He revealed a stained, dog-eared book that had once been hardcover, though the covers were missing. ¡°You sing, don¡¯t you? ¡®Course you do. Everyone sings. No need to be embarrassed. Nobody here to hear you but me, and I don¡¯t count.¡±

    It was a hymnal. Dwayne Hartman flipped it open to a random page, and without further preamble, began bellowing into the fog. No, singing. He was singing. Probably. ¡°All the way, my savior leads me¡­¡±

    The voice mesmerized Michael. He had never heard anyone sing(?) like that before. But he knew the hymn, and on the second verse he set aside his shyness and reservations about singing here, and he joined in.

    Dwayne Hartman had his eyes closed, the battered hymnal apparently a formality, or possibly just a means of selecting a hymn, but Michael kept watch as they sang. He noticed that the ball came close and bounced in time to the tune. The mist around them pulsed, swirled, half-coalesced into suggestive shapes: a winding path, a rock flowing with water.

    Time passed vaguely, as it seemed to do in the fog. How many hymns did they sing? Neither could remember. Between three and thirty. Enough to become thirsty, so that Michael retrieved a couple of bottles from his stash in the trunk of his car.

    On his way to hand a bottle to Dwayne, something new emerged from the mist. It startled Michael not only because of the size, the light, and the noise, but because these appeared all at once, with no buildup, dropping down out of the gray blankness above.

    Michael stared stupidly up at the new thing emerging from the fog. He wondered how to react. Should he run? Run where? Was this thing real? And what was he even looking at?

    It had appeared directly overhead, but it slid off to the side and dropped to the earth, where it landed with a heavy crunch of gravel and a thud that Michael felt in the soles of his feet. White and blue lights glared in the fog, making flashing cones of illumination. A low, rapid thumping throbbed in Michael¡¯s chest.

    It was an alien spaceship. It had to be. Michael¡¯s imagination ran wild. That would explain some things, maybe. This fog, the cracks in the sky, and maybe even Jimothy¡¯s condition¡­

    Michael looked to Dwayne as the thing settled down at the edge of their little clearing in the fog. Dwayne appeared watchful and curious, but not more so than if he had seen an interesting bird. Michael stepped away from Dwayne, back to his car. If this was dangerous, he had to somehow get Jim away. He opened the back door and replaced the water bottles in his hands with his camera.

    The spaceship calmed down once it had landed. Some of the lights blinked off; the throbbing pulse ceased. For a minute, all was quiet. Then a hatch opened, accompanied by a hiss of pressure and a bright light. Several figures stepped down a ramp onto the wet gravel. Michael squinted against the light. He had his camera ready, though he wasn¡¯t sure what he could do with it.

    ¡°Dear me!¡± said a man¡¯s voice, thin and excited. ¡°Is that him? I say, he is rather older than I¡¯d thought.¡±

    ¡°No, Elmer,¡± answered another voice¡ªfemale, weary. ¡°That¡¯s Dwayne Hartman. Michael¡¯s over there. Turn the damn lights off, Clara.¡± The glaring white backlighting vanished, leaving a smeared afterimage floating in Michael¡¯s vision.

    Okay. Maybe not aliens. Calm down, Michael.

    The woman who had spoken approached him. Her boots crunched on the gravel. Her broad leather hat seemed unnecessary in the sunless mist. Her iron-gray hair was bound in a long, tight braid, and three long, thin, parallel scars decorated her lined face. She wore khakis, a belt holstering a gun and a knife, and a leather vest over a tan shirt. Michael would have known who this was even if he did not recognize her. Rebecca Carter.

    She held out a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t be alarmed, Mr. Whyte. I¡¯m Rebecca Carter. I¡¯m here with¡­well, here they come.¡±

    A number of surprising people piled out of the strange aircraft. Elmer Sky, the first who had spoken, short and fat and enthusiastic. Amelia Shape, tall and thin, who looked ready to lay down and die from sheer ennui. Alan Sheppard, who greeted Michael warmly. Michael at once forgot any animosity that he may have held against Alan for his involvement in what had happened with October Industries. Seeing him now, tired and concerned, and hearing his first words be an enquiry into Jim¡¯s condition, resolved any nagging doubts about Alan in Michael¡¯s mind.

    Alan looked ready to fight, every bit as grizzled as Michael had imagined him. In fact, he seemed to have some blood on his jacket. But in his shadow came a child, one hand clutching at his pant leg, nervous about meeting someone new out in the fog. Leah Walker, younger sister to one of Jim¡¯s best friends.

    Dwayne Hartman lumbered over from his wreck of a pickup truck and greeted everyone as though he had known them all his whole life and had been anticipating their arrival. He made more of an impression than Michael. Elmer and Amelia stared at him in a kind of befuddled shock. Alan Sheppard shook his hand firmly with a short, wary greeting, and Rebecca nodded at him with respect.

    AJ emerged from the aircraft only after Michael had met the others. He hesitated for a moment before moving to intercept her. When he saw her face, he stopped. Like Rebecca Carter, AJ showed signs of exhaustion. Her eyes were red and downcast, and she wiped them when she noticed Michael in front of her.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said. ¡°Michael!¡±

    ¡°Call me Mike,¡± he said. His voice weakened into a thin, embarrassing croak.

    ¡°Mike,¡± she said. ¡°Verily.¡±

    She wore loose tan pants and a yellow shirt (her favorite color) under a black and blue rain jacket. Her beautiful golden hair had been hastily trapped back in a ponytail, though stray strands lingered on her shoulders, stuck in place with the dampness of the fog. Her hands fidgeted at the hem of her jacket. She was staring at him.

    ¡°So¡­¡± she said after a long moment. ¡°Still have the camera?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Yeah, still, uh, still got it.¡± He closed his eyes. Stupid.

    He opened his eyes, stepped forward, and embraced AJ just as she began to speak again. Her words trailed off in surprise. Michael hugged firmly for a strange, exciting second, and was about to pull away when she returned the gesture. She pinned him tightly and let out a long, shaky breath, which he could feel against his chest.

    She rested her forehead lightly on his shoulder. ¡°Glad you¡¯re safe,¡± she said quietly.

    ¡°You too,¡± he replied.

    Then she let go, and so did he. The special moment ended, but the uncomfortable atmosphere went with it. They were back to where they had been weeks ago at her house. New friends with a lot to talk about.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°How are you?¡± Michael asked. ¡°Everything¡­¡± He almost asked ¡®everything okay?¡¯ But of course that was a stupid question. Everything was not okay. AJ looked tired but unharmed. But what about her sister? ¡°How¡¯s Elizabeth?¡±

    ¡°Sleeping,¡± said AJ.

    Michael nodded. ¡°And she can¡¯t be woken up. But she¡¯s dreaming.¡±

    ¡°Verily. Slumbering sister somniloquist. But she¡¯s okay. Tell me about Isaac.¡± These words came during a lull in the background conversation between the others and Dwayne Hartman. Silence fell. Everyone looked at Dwayne.

    ¡°I¡¯ll just step over and take a seat,¡± said Dwayne. He turned back to his truck. Instead of sitting once more in the driver¡¯s seat, he reached into the bed of the truck and extracted a plastic folding chair. He popped it open with one hand, set it on the damp gravel, and eased himself into it. It creaked dangerously under his weight.

    He swallowed. He visibly braced himself. But when he spoke, his voice was firm, though scarred and rough from age and long years of abuse. ¡°Man came to town by the name of Abraham Black,¡± he said. ¡°Weren¡¯t really a man, though. He shot down Isaac¡­in the middle of the day, on Main Street. Just before all this¡­¡± He waved a huge hand dismissively at the fog all around them. ¡°Killed a lot of other people, too.¡±

    Amelia Shape and Elmer Sky clutched at each other at the mention of Abraham Black. They both looked fearfully in different directions, out into the fog. Alan shook his head in vexation.

    ¡°What about October Industries?¡± asked Michael. ¡°Did you see them, Mr. Hartman? Any men in gray and orange coats?¡±

    Dwayne shook his head, but the others turned sharply to face Michael. ¡°Did  you?¡± asked Rebecca Carter and Alan Sheppard almost together.

    Michael told them, in brief, of his two narrow escapes from OI¡ªfirst with the bouncing ball at his home, and then with resurrected white eyeless Hazel, who disappeared when Jim fell asleep.

    ¡°That would be an angel,¡± whispered Elmer to Amelia, loudly.

    ¡°What¡¯s this about a bouncing ball?¡± asked Alan.

    The answer rolled out of the fog, directly through their group: a scuffed blue rubber ball. It hopped across the wet gravel in a series of low bumps. ¡°It guided me here, actually,¡± said Michael. Every eye was on the ball as it rolled past them and toward the flying machine.

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Alan as it bounced up the ramp. He leaped after it, leaving Leah Walker startled and the rest of them confused.

    They followed Alan and found him holding the ball in the main cabin of the flying machine, which from inside looked like a luxury private jet encamped by armed hobos. A dirty T-shirt partly obscured a knife atop the polished glass surface of the minibar. The white faux-leather couch was smeared with stains of mud and possibly blood.

    A voice spoke as Michael observed the interior. It was smooth, cool, female, and it came from an overhead speaker system. ¡°All subjects identified,¡± she said. ¡°Reunion protocol confirmed.¡±

    ¡°Cut the bullshit,¡± said Rebecca. ¡°Sorry, dear,¡± she added, for the benefit of Leah. ¡°What subjects?¡±

    ¡°Rebecca Carter. Alan Sheppard. Leah Walker. Amber Jane Eddison. Michael Whyte. Dwayne Hartman. Identity confirmed by facial recognition, voice recognition, and iris scan. I am submitting a report of successful operation and setting new coordinates.¡±

    ¡°Coordinates to where?¡± asked Alan. Rebecca, at the same time, said, ¡°submitting them to whom?¡±

    ¡°Coordinate location currently blocked. Reports are submitted to Dr. Riley McFinn and Codename: Christmas.¡±

    Rebecca snorted with derisive laughter. ¡°He¡¯s not a doctor.¡±

    ¡°Christmas?¡± Alan said in surprise.

    ¡°That¡¯s Clara,¡± AJ whispered to Michael. ¡°She¡¯s McFinn¡¯s AI. She controls this ship. She is improbable.¡± Michael nodded in understanding.

    ¡°Who¡¯s Christmas?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Codename: Christmas will meet you en route,¡± said Clara. ¡°Dr. Riley McFinn is unfortunately no longer in existence in this world.¡±

    Silence. ¡°He¡¯s¡­dead?¡± asked Rebecca, genuinely shaken.

    ¡°Negative, Ms. Carter. As I have said, I am in communication with him. He is presently located on another plane of existence.¡±

    Silence again, this time with muttered swearing from Rebecca.

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Leah asked. Then she added, as if to clear things up, ¡°we are on a plane, too.¡±

    ¡°He is safe, Leah Walker,¡± said the voice, Clara. ¡°He is attempting to make contact with your brother. He is preparing a way for you.¡±

    Leah nodded as if this met exactly with her expectations. ¡°Cool,¡± she said.

    Alan became animated. ¡°What about Heidi?¡±

    ¡°I have limited data on this subject,¡± Clara explained. ¡°But the most recent report suggests that all of the six are alive.¡± Then, preempting their many questions as though anticipating them, she continued. ¡°Please hold further questions for a real human. My programming prohibits me from making unfounded assumptions or extrapolating from insufficient data¡ªthings at which humans excel.¡± She paused for a moment as though to allow them to appreciate her joke. ¡°As I said, Codename: Christmas intends to join you. He may know more. He will certainly have more to say.¡± Slight pause. ¡°Coordinates uploaded.¡±

    It seemed that Clara had finished. Rebecca kept muttering to herself; Michael caught the word ¡®bitch¡¯ in the mix.

    ¡°Well there you are, then!¡± exclaimed Elmer Sky, greatly pleased. ¡°It seems your loved ones are all safe!¡±

    ¡°She didn¡¯t say ¡®safe,¡¯ Elmer,¡± said Amelia Shape. ¡°She said ¡®alive.¡¯¡±

    ¡°How can she be safe,¡± said Rebecca in a tight voice, ¡°if she¡¯s  dead?¡±

    Michael nearly asked about this, but AJ whispered to him. ¡°Kaitlyn Carter died in Chicago. Christmas claims she¡¯s not really dead.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s like what Jacob Hollow said about Isaac,¡± he replied.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The person buried under the gravel out there.¡±

    AJ put a hand to her mouth in shock. Michael changed the subject. ¡°Where¡¯s Elizabeth?¡±

    AJ took him through a door that led to a series of three small bunkrooms, like sleeper compartments in a train. Elizabeth Eddison slept soundly in one of them.

    ¡°We should bring Jim onboard,¡± said AJ. ¡°I don¡¯t trust that fog.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°I know what you mean.¡± He already felt nervous for Jim, even though he was just sleeping in the car right outside.

    Alan had taken charge when they returned to the main cabin, which AJ called the lounge. ¡°Why can¡¯t we fly there?¡± he asked the ceiling, which by general agreement seemed to be where Clara was located.

    ¡°Most of North American airspace is no longer safely navigable. Also, this jet is largely powered by satellite-transmitted solar energy, and such transmission is no longer possible.¡±

    Alan sighed. ¡°Does your truck work, Mr. Hartman?¡±

    Dwayne Hartman thought about it. ¡°Could get it running again with the tools. And time.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t all fit in Michael¡¯s car,¡± said Rebecca with a skeptical glance at Dwayne.

    ¡°There is another alternative,¡± said Clara. ¡°This vehicle is designed to shed its flight equipment and become an Autonomous Large Land Rover. However, it will not meet street-legal standards in most U.S. states.¡±

    Thus, it was settled that they would sleep the night on the jet, and in the morning set out by ALL-Rover. They brought Jimothy onboard and laid in the bunk above Elizabeth. Michael and AJ watched them for a moment before returning to the lounge, where Dwayne and Alan were deep in conversation. In the corner, Amelia sat by a snoring Elmer and created little flowers of light to the delight of Leah. Jim had done something like that before falling asleep.

    ¡°What do you think she¡¯s dreaming of?¡± asked AJ.

    ¡°Elizabeth?¡± Michael thought about the scant notes he had made from Jim¡¯s mutterings. Not much to go on. And did it matter? ¡°Flowers, maybe?¡±

    AJ smiled at the thought. ¡°I hope so. She¡¯s always loved flowers.¡±

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5

    Elizabeth Eddison

    Dyaz, the frozen city, lay in a broad valley which terminated at the shore of a lake. The lake, frozen so deeply and so long that the huts of small refugee neighborhoods sprawled out onto its pale expanse, reached to the distant foothills of the Mountain. Giant lily pads dotted the surface of the lake, often supporting ancient frozen lilies the size of houses. A crumbling stone bridge spanned the lake from city to Mountain, many cold miles.

    Dyaz, overflowing with animalistic citizens of the Garden Moon, had adapted to the perpetual winter. Homes were insulated with heaps of snow packed against the walls. The immense trees which rose above the city had been hollowed out. Many residences extended deep into the earth, stone-hard with permafrost, sheltered from the worst of the inclement weather.

    Elizabeth found the capital to be a city of unexpected contrasts. Treehouses, linked by amazingly long bridges and complex pulley systems, were all sheathed in ice. Many train tracks that converged at a vast central station at the heart of the city, cutting through Medieval or Renaissance architecture. Trains bearing coal and supplies chugged past the spaceport at the eastern outskirts of the city where craft from Ardia or the other moons occasionally descended from the brittle sky. When Elizabeth stepped from the train onto the sooty slush outside of the station with her companions, she felt more strongly than ever that she was stepping into a fairy tale. Her companions, naturally, only compounded the effect. Kyko with his brilliant red plumage hopped excitedly and jabbered about trains and this magnificent station he¡¯d always wanted to see. Fishy Laska, bundled up, strutted and shouted orders to someone nearby. Huge Sister Thorn, a bear who did not require bundling against the cold, loomed silently. And Lazaru, the mysterious simian librarian¡­had vanished.

    They proceeded by ox-drawn coach from the station directly to the Palace, situated on a rise near the harbor whence it overlooked both the city and the lake. The Palace had a private harbor of its own, refurbished into an arena for ice skating and related games. News of Elizabeth¡¯s coming had spread, apparently, so that many pedestrians gawked at the coach as it passed. Elizabeth shrank back into the covered shadows, reluctant to be seen. She watched the city pass by, worn with age and endless winter. She watched the passing citizens, almost all huddled against the bitter cold. Many kinds of animals trudged through the ice; many varieties of faces turned to the steadily rolling coach with hope, or wonder, or expectation.

    Callie flowed up onto the empty seat beside Elizabeth and laid her head on her lap. Elizabeth petted her with a gloved hand.

    ¡°There it is!¡± said Kyko. His excitement modulated his voice into a nearly incomprehensible chirp.

    ¡°You will not be allowed to enter,¡± grumbled Sister Thorn in response. Her expression was not readable, unless a constant grim scowl truly expressed her feelings. Which seemed possible.

    ¡°Ah¡­well.¡± Kyko tried not to show his disappointment.

    ¡°Not at first,¡± Laska reassured him. ¡°But perhaps later!¡±

    ¡°Why is that?¡± asked Elizabeth. ¡°I will vouch for him.¡±

    ¡°I am aware,¡± said Sister Thorn, her voice reverberating in the coach. ¡°And I will make that known.¡±

    ¡°It is not an issue of trust,¡± said Laska as she leaned toward Elizabeth to whisper conspiratorially, as though anyone might be eavesdropping. ¡°It is a matter of appearances. The Five Rings, you know. They are the real¡­¡± her filmy eyes flickered toward Sister Thorn for a moment. Laska leaned back. ¡°He must simply be cleared.¡±

    Elizabeth nodded, though she had only a glimmer of understanding. The Five Rings were the major political parties vying for influence. They currently existed in a delicate deadlock of influence, both with each other and with the reigning King Basileus, who was directly affiliated with none of them. Some said that the King kept it this way through clever schemes. But the balance would not remain, for the King was very ill.

    She turned to Kyko. ¡°You can do something for me in the meantime.¡± He brightened up at once and watched her with dark, beady eyes. ¡°I need a map of the Mountain, as detailed as you can find. And look for anyone who has made it to the top, or even partway.¡±

    The others in the carriage came to attention. ¡°You plan on ascending the Mountain?¡± asked Sister Thorn. Was she surprised? Curious? Disappointed? Elizabeth could not tell.

    ¡°If I¡¯m the ¡®Hero of Movement,¡¯ I may have to. Eventually.¡±

    Kyko gave her an awkward salute. ¡°You may count on me, Ms. Elizabeth!¡±

    The coach rumbled to a halt in front of the palace, and Kyko stayed behind as Elizabeth, Callie, Laska and Sister Thorn disembarked and strode up the icy walkway beyond the frosted iron gates.

    They were admitted through the front doors into the grand entrance hall with little ceremony. ¡°I shall inform the King of your arrival,¡± said a short woman with the features of a fox. ¡°He is meeting with Lord Fair at the moment. Please make yourselves comfortable.¡±

    Making oneself comfortable would have been a daunting task in the wintery grandeur of the entrance hall, but Laska led the way to an adjacent waiting room in which a coal-stoked brazier glowed with warmth beside a gilded rolling tray of steaming tea and fresh tarts. The high windows were frosted, the floor was maple parquetry, the drapes were emblazoned with gleaming sigils.

    Someone was already here, helping himself to the tarts as Elizabeth stomped the melting slush from her boots on the entry mat. Elizabeth recognized him at once, though she just as quickly second-guessed herself. What on earth would he be doing here?

    It was an ancient cat, wrapped in a cloak as threadbare as his fur. The cat appeared hunched, arthritic, and a gnarled cane leaned against the tray from which he selected a handful of tarts with the care of a connoisseur and stuffed them away into a ragged pouch slung from a shoulder.

    ¡°Deuteronomy?¡± asked Elizabeth.

    The old feline shuffled around to face them. His tufted ears twitched. He seized his cane for support as he turned from the rolling tray. In contrast to the rest of his appearance, his gray eyes were bright and clear. He closed these eyes and bowed awkwardly to Elizabeth and her companions. ¡°Why, the Hero! It is¡­¡± His quavering voice paused for a slight cough. ¡°¡­an honor.¡± He peeked one eye open to look at Laska. ¡°Two heroes, in fact.¡±

    ¡°Well met, Deuteronomy!¡± Laska bowed in return. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen your old whiskers around here for ages.¡±

    He chuckled, a sound which became a hoarse cough. ¡°Perhaps I was inspired to travel after meeting our young heroine.¡± He winked at Laska.

    ¡°Please have a seat.¡± Laska ushered Old Deuteronomy into a chair. He obliged and sank into one of the plush velvet chairs beside the brazier. An antimacassar draped over the chair was decorated with embroidery of cats at play. Fitting.

    The rest of them availed themselves of the tea and tarts and joined Old Deuteronomy by the warmth, though Laska regretted to inform him that they wouldn¡¯t have time to chat. They seemed like old friends, though Elizabeth would have guessed that he had still been called ¡®Old Deuteronomy¡¯ when Laska was born.

    ¡°We must catch up, however!¡± the fishy captain exclaimed. She pounded a scaly fist on the arm of her chair. ¡°What brings you back to Dyaz? Truly?¡±

    ¡°The Game, of course,¡± he replied with a twinkle of the eye.

    ¡°Ah¡­¡± Laska tapped the side of her head thoughtfully. ¡°You could never resist playing.¡±

    ¡°It will soon become interesting indeed,¡± agreed Deuteronomy. His gaze rested on the silent Sister Thorn when he said this. He frowned down at his tea. ¡°Other things are¡­afoot.¡±

    ¡°Such as?¡± Laska leaned closer. Elizabeth felt the urge to do the same. Judging by this conversation, Old Deuteronomy was more important than she¡¯d thought. Who was he?

    ¡°Strange characters about,¡± wheezed the ancient cat, stroking his whiskers. ¡°And it seems that a Lady of Skywater has come to join us. She will be arriving soon.¡±

    ¡°Both a Lord and a Lady!¡± Laska exclaimed. ¡°Marvelous!¡±

    Elizabeth¡¯s phone vibrated. She checked it discreetly, listening with one ear to the others as they spoke of the Lords and Ladies. But it was not any of her friends who had contacted her, and this took her attention.

    ??: What art thou?

    ??: Coward? Fool?

    ??: Speak.

    Elizabeth looked to Callie, then to her companions. Laska and Old Deuteronomy were conversing, and Sister Thorn appeared to be listening, though those big dark eyes glanced at Elizabeth. Would it be rude to text here? Probably not. They were only relaxing, waiting for the  King¡¯s word. And she was curious.

    EE: I am Elizabeth Eddison. Who are you?

    ??: I asked not your name.

    ??: I suppose I am now the Frozen God.

    The Frozen God. Elizabeth recalled the book which lay open on her bed back at the Greenhouse.  The Ten. The Frozen God was the third of the gods. Color: blue. Alternate titles: Mercykiller, the Frigid Beast. Elizabeth would not have expected such a one to have a CHIME account.

    EE: Greetings.

    FG: Soon that buffoon will contact thee.

    FG: I have questions first.

    EE: What buffoon?

    FG: Interrupt me not, human.

    EE: That is almost inevitable in a text conversation.

    FG: The buffoon I speak of is the Thunder God.

    Thunder God. Stormwalker, Great One, Immovable. Color: yellow. Elizabeth had seen his temple in Skywater, and its caretaker, Lady Chimes.

    EE: Why will the Thunder God contact me?

    FG: Henceforth I will ask the questions, hero, and thou shalt answer them.

    FG: Why is thy moon frozen?

    EE: I do not know. Perhaps because that flower will not bloom?

    FG: And what of the machine at the heart of thy moon?

    EE: The top? It is a perpetual motion machine.

    FG: And is the moving of it truly impossible?

    EE: So I have heard.

    FG: It is well, then. I would that thy moon remain in winter.

    EE: No, I think not.

    FG: No flower need bloom, nor creature such as thee strive against the inevitable.

    FG: Accept thy doom, as the weak ought.

    FG: Nay, as all ought.

    FG: The Thunder God is a fitting match for thee. Fools, thou both.

    FG: Justice is inevitability in truth. And it has no place for thee.

    Elizabeth knew not how to respond, but it seemed the Frozen God had finished. She stowed her phone, puzzled. She would ask Laska. The captain was a ¡®godseeker,¡¯ so perhaps she knew something of the Frozen God.

    But Old Deuteronomy spoke before she could ask. ¡°I suspect the King will see you now,¡± he coughed. He sipped his tea and watched Elizabeth with keen eyes. ¡°He is going to ask you to support one of the Five Rings.¡± He said this matter-of-factly, as though he were simply reminding her of something obvious. Laska nodded as she reached for another tart. But Elizabeth was so surprised that she nearly dropped a cup of hot tea into her lap.

    She had been warned, of course. She already knew that her status as ¡®hero¡¯ gave her influence, and that politics were thick in the air on Sisyphus. But the idea that the  King would simply ask her to side with one of the five political factions¡­

    Sister Thorn spoke. ¡°He wishes to ensure a smooth transition.¡±

    It seemed Elizabeth had underestimated just how much influence she possessed; if the King believed that her siding with one faction would prevent a conflict of succession, she would have a lot to do. It meant that she would have to learn about the Five Rings, make a decision. It meant political intrigue, which was something she had always enjoyed reading about but had never for a moment imagined she would be personally involved in. The thought startled and excited her.

    The fox-faced woman opened the door as Elizabeth considered how this revelation might affect her activities and priorities here on the Garden Moon. ¡°The King awaits,¡± said the fox. They left Old Deuteronomy by the warm coals, sipping his tea. The fox led them across the pale expanse of the grand entrance hall, its crystal chandeliers crusted with frost, and down a long side hall of polished marble. Tapestries filed past on Elizabeth¡¯s left, depicting what she took to be historical scenes of interest. She made a note to return here and ask what they meant. On the right, windows overlooked acres of frozen gardens. They would have been lovely in the summer, but even the snow and ice had been manicured, carved and arranged into a pleasing landscape.

    It was to these gardens that the fox led them. Down a wide spiral stair, out a side door, and into a collection of ice sculptures. The lake glittered as it stretched away to the distant Mountain. A storm appeared to be rolling down from the Mountain, its dark clouds spread like a flood from the heights.

    Past the carved ice, through an arch of icy hedges, and they came upon a raised gazebo, windows bright, in the midst of a wintry flower garden. The flowers retained their color, perfectly preserved as though they had been frozen solid in an instant without time enough to wither and die. Crimson, coral, saffron, cerulean¡ªflecks of unexpected color speckled the snow and ice. Elizabeth recognized some: zinnia, lantana, hollyhocks. She could easily see how lovely all of this would be were it green and growing. Yet it had a beauty of its own, even buried in the snow.

    A splotchy trail of green picked its way to the gazebo from one side. Clusters of flowers, more recently grown and already frosted over, marked the snow at regular intervals like footsteps.

    Two guards in dark armor, wolflike in appearance, stood at attention several paces from the front of the gazebo. They saluted Laska sharply; Laska returned the salute. ¡°He dismissed us again, Captain,¡± said one as they passed. It sounded like a complaint, one with a smile.

    Laska shook her head. ¡°At least he¡¯s with a Lord this time,¡± she said.

    The interior of the gazebo was cool, but not frigid like the garden outside. The windowed walls were transparent with frost, and the interior just large enough to accommodate all of them. Liz noticed these details subconsciously, for all her attention focused in on the two individuals that waited inside.

    Lord Fair took Elizabeth¡¯s breath away. She forgot, for one long moment, where she was or why she was there. A single thought flitted through her mind like a runaway kite:  not ¡®fair¡¯ as in ¡®just;¡¯ ¡®fair¡¯ as in ¡®beautiful.¡¯

    He was verdant, either caparisoned in foliage or actually made of plants. A careful inspection confirmed the latter; Lord Fair was a delicate mass of flowers and vines, leaves and moss and roots. Yet he had not been haphazardly thrown together of blossoms and twigs. Every part of him was perfect, precisely in place, exactly right. His fingers were twigs wrapped in vines, his feet were spreading mossy roots, his eyes were two flowers: gold and blue, and a galaxy of lights twinkled in their strange depths. He had flowering ivy for hair, a vibrant mossy beard, tufts of long crimson and violet grasses along his arms, patches of brilliant lichen upon the papery-white branches that grew like antlers from the crown of his head. And he smelled like every part of the outdoors world that Elizabeth had ever loved.

    Lord Fair greets the Hero of Sisyphus, and his voice is soft and subtle, a sweet breath of spring on a warm sunny breeze. He is flowers and summer, he is photosynthesis and memory, his scent is petrichor, pollen, and citrus. He bows, and his movements are as a willow branch in the wind. He would that flowers flourish here in the gazebo¡ªand so it is. On the floor and ceiling, in traceries upon the windows, a vibrant bouquet, a blizzard of variegated petals that touch the skin like the kisses of springtime. Lord Fair plucks a singular orchid and presents it to the Hero. He speaks not, for words are of but little value to him, for they fade as the daylight, as the seasons, as every flower must, while things done remain.

    Elizabeth accepted the flower in a trance, a deep purple orchid streaked with silver and dusted with gold, grateful that Lord Fair¡¯s peculiar mode of interaction seemed less forceful than that of the other Lords.

    As for Basileus, King of Sisyphus, whom she had heard called ¡®the Old Lion,¡¯ he was exactly that: an ancient leonine figure, wrapped in crimson robes. Though now decrepit from age and illness, lingering traces of his former legendary might remained. Elizabeth recognized him from the first tapestry she had seen in that hallway. It had shown this very king, long ago, wielding a flail in battle against some icy monster. Now he was stooped, his mane patchy and gray, but he met Elizabeth¡¯s gaze with kind golden eyes, and those eyes were still powerful.

    ¡°Welcome,¡± Basileus said. The tenor of his voice at once made her think of Old Deuteronomy. They were a matching pair, though Basileus was yet twice as large. His voice was rough, but gentle.

    They had tea, again. Possibly something to eat as well, though Elizabeth couldn¡¯t be bothered with such details, not when occupying the same room as Lord Fair. Her eyes kept returning to him, and to the flower he had given her. The flower seemed almost to glow in her hands. It felt warm, and it smelled wonderful.

    They spoke of pleasantries and welcomes and glad wishes. Basileus hoped she was well provided for at her Greenhouse, Lord Fair was glad she had met three of his brothers already, etc, etc.

    It was Elizabeth, looking at the flower in her hands, who at last turned the conversation to more practical matters. ¡°Lord Fair,¡± she said, ¡°can you make any flower grow?¡±

    Lord Fair laughs, and his laughter is like the rushing of merry wind through budding branches. Can the hero truly believe it would be so easy? The End¡ªfor that is the name of the flower at the summit¡ªwill not bloom for one such as he, though he dares suppose that no other bud proves so reticent. No, the lovely hero must find her own way to make things grow.

    Elizabeth was hardly disappointed; she had expected no less. He was right. It would be far too convenient if her moon¡¯s problem could be solved simply by sending Lord Fair up the Mountain. She glanced at him again, and the pleasing intricacies of his anatomy struck her anew just like every other of the fifty times she had done so. ¡°I¡¯m not like you,¡± she said. ¡°How can I make things grow?¡±

    What is Movement? asks the Fair One.

    Elizabeth thought first of science. There was an equation, surely, though if she had learned it, she could not remember. Kate would know. There were Newton¡¯s laws. But she discarded these as suitable answers. If Lord Fair asked ¡®what is movement,¡¯ then surely the answer was something like this: a flower blooming, green shoots breaching the soil and reaching for the sky, leaves shivering in the wind, all things growing and breathing.

    Then she remembered her dream, the one of The End, and the great mysterious cat. ¡°Change,¡± she said. ¡°Movement is change.¡±

    Life, says Lord Fair, a gentle correction. Not all movement is life, but all life is movement. All life is change. What is warmth? Movement, in the smallest degree. What are seasons? The same.

    Elizabeth thought she understood. She was tempted to ask whether all this¡ªthe eternal winter, the flower, the perpetual motion machine¡ªwas therefore a great extended metaphor. Eternal winter: no heat, no change, no life, no movement.

    ¡°I am told,¡± she said, ¡°that I must climb the mountain.¡± This was met with general agreement.

    ¡°I am also told,¡± she continued, ¡°that doing so is impossible.¡±

    Sister Thorn nodded solemnly just as she had to Elizabeth¡¯s first statement, but the others hesitated.

    King Basileus coughed purposefully, drawing attention. ¡°Things,¡± he declared in his old, wobbly voice, ¡°are not clearly divided between possible and impossible.¡± He coughed for a moment and wrapped his heavy cloak tighter around himself. ¡°What is impossible in one place, at one time, for one person, might be possible in another place, or at another time, or for someone else. All things change.¡± He paused to take a long sip of tea. ¡°And I have found that a change of perspective can be enlightening.¡±

    ¡°In that case,¡± she said, ¡°may I have a moment?¡± (Of course, of course. She could take as much time as she required.) She excused herself for a walk about the garden.

    The chill outside refreshed her mind. The wolf-guards saluted her as she passed them and followed a path over a nearby hill. She wandered past a beautifully carved fountain full of ice, marble sea creatures of every description frolicking around its edges. Beyond this, she discovered a frozen pond. She sat on a black iron bench and looked out at the icy expanse as she allowed her thoughts to wander.

    She thought about AJ, her mother, Elmer and Amelia and the others back on Earth. She thought about her friends and herself, trapped here in this story, if ¡®story¡¯ it was. And if it was a story, what did that mean? She thought of Joan of Arc. Elizabeth had always admired her, had always thought herself too mundane for comparison. But now, maybe they weren¡¯t so different. Save France, save the World? Chosen for a specific purpose by a higher power? Burned alive at the age of nineteen? Hopefully not that one. And Elizabeth was not at all sure that she believed in God, especially one that would allow his chosen hero to be burned alive at the age of nineteen.

    But what if this was that kind of story?

    She received a text message.

    RA: YOUR ANGEL IS A CAT?

    Elizabeth sighed. Who was this? Another god? The Frozen God had said that the Thunder God would contact her. But who was ¡®RA?¡¯

    EE: Yes.

    EE: A lynx.

    RA: MARVELOUS!

    RA: I SEE THAT YOUR KING IS A CAT AS WELL

    EE: That is fine. I like cats.

    RA: INDEED?

    RA: AS DO I

    RA: YET ANOTHER THING WE HAVE IN COMMON

    EE: Who are you?

    EE: And what do you mean by ¡®yet another?¡¯

    RA: TO YOU I AM THE THUNDER GOD

    RA: ALTHOUGH I STILL PREFER MY NAME

    RA: WHICH IS RASMUS!

    RA: AHA HA HA!

    RA: AND AS FOR THE OTHER

    RA: I BELIEVE I READ THAT YOU HAVE AN IMPOSSIBLE TASK?

    EE: Apparently.

    RA: I AM WELL ACQUAINTED WITH SUCH THINGS

    RA: SOME THINGS I HAVE DONE WERE IMPOSSIBLE UNTIL I DID THEM

    RA: WHAT IS YOUR TASK?

    EE: It seems I must make a flower grow. I must climb a mountain. I must start a perpetual motion machine.

    EE: The flower¡¯s name is The End. I believe that the true difficulty is metaphysical in a way that I do not yet understand.

    RA: I SEE

    RA: REFUSING TO SURRENDER IS A SIMPLE THING IF YOU HAVE A REAL MOUNTAIN TO CLIMB

    RA: UNREAL MOUNTAINS ARE MORE DIFFICULT

    RA: STILL IT IS NO EXCUSE

    RA: NEVER CEASE TRYING

    RA: NEVER GIVE UP!

    Never give up. Elizabeth had heard that in a dream not long ago. A dream with a tiger and a frog. She decided to test it, repeating the words she had heard.

    EE: Endure.

    RA: YES

    EE: Overcome.

    RA: YES!

    EE: Nothing is impossible.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    RA: UNFORTUNATELY

    EE: You are the tiger, aren¡¯t you?

    RA: I AM

    RA: HOW DID YOU KNOW?

    EE: I saw you in my dreams. You and a frog.

    RA: YOU HAVE SEEN US? BUT I DO NOT REMEMBER YOU

    EE: So what do you want? The Frozen God said you would speak to me.

    RA: SHE SPOKE TO YOU?

    EE: Yes.

    RA: AH. WELL.

    RA: OUR GREATER DESIRES SHALL EVER SUBSUME THE LESSER

    RA: SO THAT WE MAY DO ON OCCASION THAT WHICH WE DO NOT WISH TO DO

    RA: TO ACHIEVE A GREATER GOAL

    RA: I WOULD NOW THAT I HAD NOT SPOKEN TO YOU, LOVER OF CATS

    RA: THIS BECOMES DIFFICULT

    EE: What does?

    RA: MY DUTY

    RA: I AM BETRAYED BY MY SELF

    RA: SUCH IS THE WAY OF LEADERSHIP, AS SHE WARNED ME

    RA: NEVERTHELESS

    RA: THOUGH I WILL DO AS I MUST

    RA: SOMEHOW, I WISH YOU WELL, ELIZABETH EDDISON

    And that was it. Elizabeth waited for a long minute, but no more messages arrived from the Thunder God.

    ¡°How odd,¡± she said, pocketing her phone with one hand while stroking Callie¡¯s head with the other. ¡°How is he both a god and a tiger?¡± Could it be a metaphor? Given that Basileus was both a lion and a king, she wouldn¡¯t have bet on it.

    ¡°A god and a tiger?¡± wheezed a voice behind her, startling her. ¡°Please, I am neither. No need to exaggerate.¡± The voice laughed, and the laugh became a hoarse cough.

    Old Deuteronomy appeared, treading with care on the slippery stone path that wound about the frozen pond. Elizabeth at once rose and went to his side. She took an arm and helped him onto the ornate wrought-iron bench, though she worried the icy metal would chill him through his threadbare robes.

    ¡°No need to fret about that,¡± he said with a toothy grin. ¡°But what¡¯s this about a god?¡±

    ¡°The Thunder God,¡± Elizabeth explained. ¡°He was¡­messaging me.¡± Which, now that she thought about it, seemed a very odd way for a god to communicate.

    ¡°Thunder God?¡± Old Deuteronomy¡¯s storm-gray eyes narrowed.

    ¡°Yes.¡± The thought struck her that perhaps she was not so different from Joan of Arc after all. Chosen by a god. A small smile tugged at her mouth, but Old Deuteronomy did not look amused. He looked less amused than she had ever seen him. He looked grim. Given his slight frame, patchy fur, and the general suggestion that a strong breath of wind would bowl him over, this might have been comical. But it was his eyes. Something about those gray eyes¡­Elizabeth suddenly felt that she had seen them elsewhere.

    ¡°Lady Chimes has come,¡± said Old Deuteronomy, and his voice sounded a bit stronger, healthier. ¡°I saw Mr. Shade in the city. That isn¡¯t supposed to happen yet.¡±

    Elizabeth didn¡¯t understand this, but his tone made her stand up straight and look around to see if anyone was nearby. ¡°Should we¡­tell Basileus? Lord Fair?¡±

    A sound came, ringing with a piercing clarity through the pale afternoon air. It was the sound of distant chimes. Elizabeth had heard it before in the ambience of Lady Chimes, though now it sounded louder.

    Deuteronomy stood. ¡°Come,¡± he said, and his voice was almost unrecognizable. He hurried along the path, quick and sure over the slippery ice. Elizabeth absently picked up his abandoned cane before following.

    They crested the rise which obscured the gazebo from view. For a second, everything appeared normal. There was the gazebo, still and calm; there were the guards beyond. All quiet, all still, all wrapped in the cool blanket of winter.

    With a sound like a gong being struck directly behind her, the gazebo shattered. Every window exploded outward, and the entire structure lurched aside onto the snow as though swatted by the hand of an invisible giant. The ringing ambience of Lady Chimes vibrated through everything, through Elizabeth¡¯s body and bones. It made her feel¡­crushed. Sad. Weary.

    Old Deuteronomy snarled beside her, and it was this sound that made her forever cease to think of him as ¡®old.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t the snarl of a decrepit old cat. It was the snarl of a huge, angry beast, a sound that she felt in her teeth.

    Three figures stood in the remains of the gazebo, only thirty paces distant. Lady Chimes, tall and imposing in her obscuring cloak of dangling metal tubes. Lord Fair, a brilliant bloom of color and green in the scene, his rooty tendrils extending around him. King Basileus, small and frail in comparison to the other two, yet still standing tall. Nearby, Laska and Sister Thorn twitched like stunned creatures in the rubble of the collapsed gazebo.

    Basileus and Lord Fair faced Lady Chimes, away from Elizabeth. But Lady Chimes saw her. Elizabeth could feel the exact moment when the Lady¡¯s eyes¡ªor whatever she had instead¡ªlocked on to hers.

    ¡°I am here for the Hero,¡± she said, and somehow her horrible whispery voice rang clearly even from thirty paces.

    ¡°You may not have her, not against her will,¡± replied Basileus.

    Lord Fair is shocked, suspicious, and a bit upset at the unnecessary destruction of a fine piece of architecture. Perhaps, he wonders, Lady Chimes can explain herself. Surely there must be some misunderstanding! After all, the Ladies of Skywater are meant to aid the Heroes. And yet, Lord Fair perceives ill intent in the voice and acts and eyes (yes, eyes) of Lady Chimes. And he will not stand by, no, not he, while any dares raise a chime of violence against a Hero.

    Lord Fair wishes it to be known, and known well, and known by all, that¡ª

    The pipe was as thick as Elizabeth¡¯s leg and twice as long, like a vast organ pipe. It appeared from somewhere in the inner darkness of Lady Chimes¡¯ cloak, and it flashed out with the speed of a striking snake. It caught Lord Fair directly in the chest and batted him away with enough force to unroot him from the floorboards of the gazebo and fling him aside. On the backswing, it took King Basileus in the stomach. The king sailed through the air and flopped to a halt on the snow. Lord Fair did not appear to be too badly injured. His greenery moved in such a way that for a moment his form could not be called humanoid, and he again faced Lady Chimes. But the king remained in a crumpled heap.

    Lord Fair demands that Lady Chimes desist. How dare she strike down the King of Sisyphus? Lord Fair rolls across the snow, leaving a trail of blooming flowers destined for death by frost. He comes again before Lady Chimes and obstructs her path to the hero. Lady Chimes is stronger than he, as the bear is stronger than the flower, yet there is a strength in green things that a bear has not, and Lady Chimes will know it this day.

    Lord Fair¡¯s roots seek deep into the ground. He is not a flower; he is a tree. A mighty tree, growing to the skies, branches spreading, roots seizing, and not even the might of Lady Chimes shall escape.

    Lady Chimes dropped the organ pipe and reached out with cloaked hands to stop the rapid growth which entrapped her. She tore the roots like cotton candy; she struck the tree with such force that it splintered at the base, felling the giant with an astonishing display of raw strength. A shockwave of unsettled snow swirled around the point of impact. Lord Fair, as he plummeted, returned partway from his arboreal form.

    ¡°I will deal with this, Lord Fair,¡± snarled an unfamiliar voice. ¡°Protect the Hero.¡± This voice was as cold and hard as ice, as deep as the sea. It was the voice of the Mountain, and she had heard it in her dreams. It came from beside her, above her. Elizabeth turned wide eyes to look, though she knew already what she would see: a towering white cat with icy gray eyes, a feline counterpart to the beast on Jimothy¡¯s moon that had almost killed her. Old Deuteronomy had been her guardian.

    ¡°Yes,¡± said the voice. ¡°Though you should not have known so soon. None of this should be.¡± He sounded angry. Terribly angry. Just as in the dream, that voice made her afraid. Not afraid for herself, for she knew just as she had then that this cat would not harm her. It was the kind of fear that came of being in the presence of something unknowably greater, a kind of fear she had never known until now.

    Lord Fair flowed up the hill in her direction, not so much running as spreading, and with him came Laska and Sister Thorn. Behind, Lady Chimes followed: slow, inexorable. But Deuteronomy stepped forward to meet her.

    Lord Fair takes her arm gently and lifts her with ease into a seat of soft leaves. Never fear, he tells Elizabeth the Hero, for he is wounded but not destroyed. Yet he has not the strength to contend with Lady Chimes. Alas! Would that Lord Fierce were present, for Lord Fair knows of but few powers equal to his, and Lady Chimes ranks not among them. Ought Elizabeth be concerned for her Guardian? Perhaps. Yet the power of the Guardians is great.

    ¡°But why?¡± asked Elizabeth, shaking herself out of the strange spell of the Lords¡¯ speech. She was indeed being carried by him, borne swiftly away from the terrible sound of chimes, yet she hadn¡¯t really experienced herself being picked up. It had happened in third person, without her input. Unsettling, but also unimportant for the moment.

    Lord Fair shares her curiosity. What but the gods could compel a Lady of Skywater to act in such a manner? As crops flourish in the fertile soil, we¡ª

    ¡°The gods?¡± Elizabeth thought she was getting the hang of interrupting him, though it wasn¡¯t easy. ¡°For Lady Chimes, the Thunder God?¡±

    Lord Fair speaks affirmation. He stumbles for a moment, his vegetal body wounded and weakened by the Lady. Elizabeth assures him that she

    ¡°I can¡­¡± Elizabeth paused. What¡­?

    She assures Lord Fair that she is unharmed and can run on her own. Lord Fair expresses his concern, yet sets her gently on

    ¡°I¡¯m okay. I can¡­run¡­¡± Elizabeth realized she was standing on the snow. Wait. Had she already said she could run? And when had he put her down?

    Lord Fair¡¯s flowers¡ª

    ¡°Stop!¡± she shouted. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ¡°Just stop for a moment.¡± Whenever Lord Fair spoke, it was as though she took a back seat and watched while he narrated everything happening. God, it should be Isaac dealing with this kind of nonsense.

    ¡°Where to?¡± she asked, making a point to direct her question at Laska and Sister Thorn, who waited at attention nearby, neither of them out of breath.

    ¡°The palace,¡± said Laska at once. She tilted her head to indicate that very structure only fifty yards distant behind her. ¡°The defense force is on the way. We need only keep you from Lady Chimes until she can be¡­¡± After a moment, Laska concluded with ¡°dealt with,¡± though Sister Thorn helpfully suggested ¡°killed¡± at the same time. Laska looked at Sister Thorn with shock, but Sister Thorn only replied, ¡°The king is dead.¡±

    Lord Fair does not wish to appear rude or indelicate at this sensitive time, but

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said Elizabeth. She jogged for the palace, soon realized that she didn¡¯t need to slow her pace for any of the others, then broke out into a full sprint through the snow. Laska, incredibly quick on her fishy legs, made it to the nearest doors two seconds before the rest of them and charged through them without hesitation.

    The rest were inside a moment later. Lord Fair slammed the door shut and sealed it by causing the polished oak to come back to life and grow together with the frame, twining roots into the stone. From what Elizabeth had just seen, such a measure would be useless against the strength of Lady Chimes, but it was still marvelous to behold.

    They had entered a wide hallway, granite floor with a lovely mosaic ceiling and a row of small ornamental objects on white pedestals set into alcoves along the far wall. Two doors lay at either end, with the door they had entered in the middle. Some kind of ribbons or streamers crisscrossed the walls, floor, and ceiling like caution-tape, white with an eerie runic writing in magenta all along its length. A group of armed individuals waited at one end of the hall, headed by a great bearlike creature who was almost an exact physical copy of Sister Thorn.

    ¡°Representative Thorn,¡± said Laska. She snapped off a quick salute as she trotted toward the combat-ready group.

    ¡°Brother Nico!¡± exclaimed Sister Thorn, clearly surprised, which was possibly the first clear emotion that Elizabeth had seen her display.

    Oh dear, says Lord Fair, as he observes the Chirographic Script on the streamers of parchment around the room. A scrivener. Oh dear.

    Elizabeth felt a chill of apprehension at the speech of Lord Fair, and she was beginning to ask what a scrivener was when the door at the other end of the hall burst open. It wasn¡¯t the sound of a door simply being opened, or even being opened violently. It was the sound that happened when the door-opener wanted everyone on the other side to be absolutely clear that he or she was coming in, ready or not, and that this meant something was about to happen.

    Two figures stepped through. One appeared to be human, which would make him the first regular human Elizabeth had seen on her moon. He looked ready for a 1920s board meeting with his fine dark suit, gray-checkered necktie and pocket square, polished shoes, glittering gold pocket-watch chain, and black bowler hat. And sunglasses. And ominous smile, showing brilliant white teeth.

    The other creature loomed behind him. Its appearance reminded Elizabeth of the Ladies of Skywater, for it appeared to be cloaked in a certain material¡ªnot chains or chimes, but paper. Long, streaming strips of thick parchment cascaded down and trailed on the floor behind it, where they joined the streamers that ran around the room. All the parchment covering the creature was inscribed with that disquieting spiky runic script that Lord Fair had called Chirographic. Yet this creature was not a Lady, for it had a face, of a sort. It looked like it wore a white wooden mask, also inscribed with those runes. This creature reached out a hand as it entered the room behind the suit-wearing man, and its fingertips were sharp copper pen nibs dripping with fuschia ink, and Elizabeth realized in an instant that this must the scrivener, and that she might not be out of danger just yet.

    Callie bared her teeth at the newcomers and growled way back in her throat. She was terrified.

    ¡°Welcome!¡± said the suited man. ¡°Let¡¯s have some introductions, then. I¡¯m Shade.¡± He tipped his hat. ¡°That¡¯s like the tint of color, not the shadow. This is a scrivener, and we¡¯re here representing the interests of the Dark World. That over there is Nico, the soon-to-be ruler of Sisyphus. We¡¯ve come to an understanding.¡± He flashed a showy smile.

    Elizabeth¡¯s mind raced. Shade? The one that had almost shot Eric¡ªthat Shade? Wasn¡¯t he on Earth? No, this was a different one, the way Eric had said there were two Jacob Hollows. Deuteronomy had mentioned Shade, hadn¡¯t he? What did she know about Shade? Able to see a few seconds into the future, vulnerable to sneak attacks with bass guitars.

    Laska laughed; it sounded genuine. She stepped toward Shade, casually positioning herself between Elizabeth and the scrivener. ¡°Nice try,  Shade,¡± she said. ¡°But none of the Five Rings would stoop so low as to make a deal with you.¡± She drew her short swords, one in each scaly hand.

    Shade¡¯s grin broadened. ¡°Oh, they might. They might if the gods themselves arranged it.¡±

    ¡°Stow your lies, Darkworlder,¡± growled Sister Thorn. ¡°Come, Brother Nico. The King has been slain. Let us exact justice while the Hero is taken to safety.¡±

    ¡°It is no lie, Sister,¡± said the one called Nico, his deep growl of a voice like an echo of Sister Thorn¡¯s. Those around Nico stirred, and it suddenly seemed important to number them. Eight. ¡°A swift and certain transition will ensure stability.¡±

    Sister Thorn opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Her eyes narrowed.

    Nico continued. ¡°The alternative is a futile power struggle that will leave Sisyphus weak, open to aggression from the Dark World. With this agreement, our world remains strong, our way of life secure, and our people safe from the Dark World.¡±

    ¡°And¡­¡± Sister Thorn¡¯s voice was shaky. ¡°What of the Hero?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be taking her,¡± said Shade cheerfully from the other end of the room. Something about the way he said it left no doubt in Elizabeth¡¯s mind that he didn¡¯t mean to take her alive.

    A long moment of silence. Somewhere, far away, chimes sounded together with the roar of a beast.

    ¡°Well, you can think about it, Sister,¡± said Shade. ¡°In the meantime, we must be getting on. Tight schedule, right?¡± He snapped his fingers. A streamer of parchment lashed out like a snake from the body of the scrivener. It wrapped around his head like a blindfold. The lettering of the disturbing script glowed a deep violet fringed with magenta, and the light raced back along the streamer to the scrivener. The papery beast lit up like a Christmas tree with that deep light. All in a moment, and this was the cue that made things happen.

    Lord Fair flowers anew, for though weak and wounded, he is yet a match for a single scrivener. He grows toward the threat like vegetation reclaiming a blackened ruin. Go, he says unto the Hero of Movement. Move indeed, ye Hero of Movement, for you are more valuable than I, and this is your story, not mine.

    Laska appeared between Elizabeth and Brother Nico, and also kept a wary eye on Sister Thorn, who still stood as though transfixed. ¡°Go!¡± Laska whispered, gesturing at the nearest window. It was tall, and the glass looked thick, but Elizabeth thought she would figure something out. She ran to it, Callie at her heels. She reached out to touch the window¡ª

    Everything went purple. Elizabeth felt a sort of impact, but not with her body. It inflicted no pain, but spiraling streams of sharp runic symbols exploded into her vision, blaring purple as though in an afterimage of a brilliant, precise light. She blinked them away, disoriented and confused. She was lying on cold stone, and Callie beside her, looking up at a mosaic ceiling crisscrossed by ribbons of parchment aglow with deep violet text. That text was difficult to look at directly. She didn¡¯t want to. She didn¡¯t want to read it, to know what it said.

    Callie sent her a message through that peculiar new form of communication she had learned from Arcadelt: this room was locked down. Even Callie couldn¡¯t leave.

    The sound of shouting, metal clashing against metal, distant chimes. Elizabeth rolled over and got to her knees. Everything was going wrong. In front of her, half a dozen warriors fought Laska to a standstill. Elizabeth could hardly make out what was happening in the rapid chaos of blades. Nearby, Sister Thorn and her lookalike, possibly her brother, stared each other down, neither speaking.

    In the other direction, Lord Fair was losing to the combined powers of Shade and the scrivener. He had blossomed into a small copse of limber trees, but their trunks were tangled with ribbons on paper, and the glowing purple letters burned through the wood, wringing the life from them and filling the hall with foul-scented smoke. Lord Fair groaned in pain, a sound like many trees creaking in a gale, dangerously close to toppling over. Shade stood in the back, smiling, while the scrivener did all the work. It was borrowing his ability to see the future.

    Something wrapped itself tightly around her left leg; her calf flared with a searing pain. Elizabeth cried out. Callie was there in an instant, snarling. Callie tore the strip of paper apart; the light faded from the writing. But the symbols had burned holes through Elizabeth¡¯s pants and scorched themselves onto her leg, blackening her skin.

    More strips of paper lashed out at her. Elizabeth moved herself without understanding how she did it, from a stationary supine position to a skidding slide across the tile with no acceleration. Motionless to full motion, with no in-between and no apparent cause. Breaking Newton¡¯s laws of motion, as Kate had said.

    The strips of paper, nevertheless, did not miss. Shade had seen where she would be. Ribbons of paper as wide as her hand, strong and heavy and burning like fire, pinned her down across her stomach.

    A silver flash appeared in the air above her before she could register the pain. Laska, blades glinting purple with reflected light in the smoky air, severed the chartaceous tentacles of the scrivener.

    Elizabeth rolled to her knees, fueled by adrenaline. Callie hissed and struggled against bindings that glowed with violet lettering. The remnants of the forces that had been battling Laska were regrouping with their wounded. An impact shook the floor as Sister Thorn engaged in a judo-like wrestling match with her counterpart.

    Lord Fair has had enough. Shall Lady Chimes come to Dyaz and murder good Basileus? Unthinkable. Shall one of the Five Rings betray the rest, and the world as well, by dealing with the Dark World? Absurd. Yet it is so. And shall the Hero of Movement, Elizabeth Eddison, be struck down here, and by a mere pawn of evil? By words less moving than her own?

    It shall not be.

    So says Lord Fair, he on whose tongue dances the green flame of truth. Watch, says Lord Fair. Listen. Read. The might of a Lord of Skywater, albeit the least of these, can yet pronounce a Negation.

    Lord Fair, aflame with the Chirographic light, flourishes in the fire. As all things become, and become again, so he grows his last, withers his last, transforms. His roots crack the stone, his branches the windows; his canopy lifts the ceiling. He embraces the scrivener and consumes the words as their fire consumes. He blooms, filling the hall with flowers bright in the cold of winter when comes the night.

    And Elizabeth Eddison flees beyond doors now unbound, unfettered by Chirographic writings. To safety she goes, for her story is not yet at an end. And the Lord of Skywater becomes as he lived: green and growing, something beautiful in a cold place. And Elizabeth Eddison hears a voice, a soft whisper of breath on the chill air, imploring her to seek the aid and protection of Lord Fierce, against whom all present foes are of no consequence.

    Elizabeth stumbled to her knees in pain and confusion. She was outside the hall, through the doors, being helped by Laska down a narrow corridor. Lord Fair had spoken, had hijacked her volition, had died to entrap and destroy the scrivener.

    ¡°Come,¡± urged Laska as she pulled Elizabeth back to her feet. Elizabeth paused only long enough to make sure Callie was with them. Callie appeared wounded; this was the first time Elizabeth had ever seen her limp.

    ¡°The defense force is arriving,¡± said Laska. ¡°We¡¯ll get you into an escape passage. You¡¯ll be safe.¡±

    The corridor was narrow, wood-paneled, probably for the use of servants. Laska limped ahead of Elizabeth, red blood dripping to the floor as she went, but she didn¡¯t deign to acknowledge the fact, and she still hurried at such a pace that Elizabeth struggled to keep up.

    ¡°Here,¡± Laska said. She opened a side door into a cool, dimly lit room. Bookshelves in shadows surrounded them, extending up into dim heights. A library.

    Something clicked in the shadows, something shiny and gold. A pocket-watch, being stuffed back into the breast pocket of a suit as the man wearing it emerged from the darkness. ¡°Right on time,¡± said Shade. He didn¡¯t look quite as polished as he had minutes before in the hall. Parts of his suit were now singed, crumpled, grass-stained, and he had little pieces of smoldering vegetation on his hat and shoes. But he still had that self-satisfied smile.

    He reached for the interior of his jacket, and that was when Laska struck. She darted forward so suddenly that Elizabeth wondered if she or someone else had done the sudden-movement thing.

    Laska was almost fast enough to prevent Shade from drawing the gun. But once it was drawn, there was nothing she could do. Nowhere to run, no way to dodge or block an attack from one who could perceive every continuation of the next couple of seconds.

    Two shots. Laska fell to the carpet at Shade¡¯s feet.

    ¡°Now,¡± said Shade, turning his satisfied smile to Elizabeth.

    One time when she was young, Elizabeth had been at a church, and had seen a very old, very large lectern Bible. It had been open on display to reveal the precise calligraphic writing, and she remembered thinking that its breadth, when open, was comparable to her wingspan. She would have had difficulty picking it up.

    It was just such a book¡ªthough probably not a Bible¡ªthat fell directly on top of Shade from the shadowy heights above. Shade crumpled to the floor with a soft gasp. Elizabeth remembered what Eric had said: he could only see the future of things in his field of view.

    Lazaru dropped from the darkness. He cast a worried glance at Shade and Laska sprawled together on the floor. Shade¡¯s hand twitched, and he moaned softly.

    Lazaru, an orangutan-like creature barely half the height of Elizabeth, motioned for her to follow before knuckling his way across the carpet. They threaded through a small maze among the bookshelves on their way to the back of the library, where it was so dark that Elizabeth could hardly see. Lazaru reached up and did something to one of the shelves. Then he dragged the shelf outward to reveal a rectangle of darkness. A secret passage.

    An electric lantern clicked to life. Lazaru presented this to Elizabeth, along with a small leather-bound book with a blank cover. She took them both, one in each hand. The librarian shoved her into the darkness and shut the door on her before she could think of a reply.

    Callie mewed softly. ¡°Shh, it¡¯s all right,¡± whispered Elizabeth. She put a hand on Callie¡¯s head. She took a deep breath.  No time to think about it now, she told herself.  Just go.

    She raised the lantern, saw a descending staircase. As quickly as possible, she limped down. After a flight or two, it leveled out into a stone hallway that stretched into the dark unknown. Her breath misted in the air in front of her. She shivered, wrapped her coat around her. After a moment, she drew the medallion from its strap around her neck, and with a bit of concentration she made a thick parka appear around her.

    She didn¡¯t feel up to running, as the leg which had been caught by the scrivener burned with pain, but she limped as quickly as she could. After a minute of travel, she heard the distant sound of gunshots behind her.

    She fell into a daze, but pushed on through the pain and the sudden sense of exhaustion. She had to keep going, that was all. As quickly as possible. Her mind blanked, shutting out thought.

    She snapped out of it when she came to the end of the tunnel. A ladder led up into more shadows. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, reminding her that she had friends out there, friends who would help her if they could.

    But it was not her friends she saw when she checked the message.

    FG: Thou cannot hide thyself from us, hero.

    Elizabeth slowly replaced the phone, feeling cold even through the parka.

    A grating sound overhead, loud and startling in the cold silence of the tunnel, made her flinch back. She raised the lantern in an effort to see into the gloom.

    A crescent of light appeared, slowly widening into a gibbous aperture that seemed terribly bright after the dim tunnel. Someone up there grunted with effort. A shadow appeared against the light, some twenty feet up. It had a beak.

    ¡°Elizabeth?¡± said Kyko. ¡°Is that you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, embarrassed by how weak and scared her voice sounded.

    ¡°Oh, thank goodness! What happened at the palace? It¡¯s chaos up here!¡±

    You cannot hide from us, hero. ¡°Kyko,¡± she said, ¡°how did you find me?¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t believe this,¡± he said with excitement, ¡°but I got a message from someone saying you were in trouble! They told me to come here!¡±

    Elizabeth took a small step back into the tunnel. She felt a deep welling of panic, the urge to run. But run where? Back to the library? To Shade? She suddenly remembered the book in her hand. She had never let it go, and her fingers were stiff from gripping it.

    ¡°Oh! And look who I found!¡± Kyko disappeared for a moment and returned with another figure outlined against the light. ¡°It¡¯s Old Deuteronomy!¡±

    ¡°Come up, Hero,¡± said Deuteronomy in his shaky, elderly, phony voice.

    She hesitated. He had protected her from Lady Chimes. He had spoken to Lord Fair as though they were on the same side. But he was a Guardian, right? Jimothy¡¯s guardian had tried to kill her. Eric¡¯s guardian was an evil dragon.

    Callie nudged her. It¡¯s all right, she said. We have to go.

    Elizabeth clicked off the lantern and set it on the floor. She pocketed the book and put a hand on the frigid iron rungs of the ladder.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± she asked, meaning Deuteronomy.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m fine!¡± replied Kyko.

    ¡°I have been better,¡± said Deuteronomy with a hoarse chuckle. ¡°But my purpose was served. And now¡­we must go.¡±

    She reached the top and accepted Kyko¡¯s clawed hand. ¡°Put it back,¡± said Deuteronomy, stooping to the manhole cover.

    ¡°Please, let me,¡± insisted Kyko. His obvious concern for the old cat made Elizabeth certain that he had no idea about Deuteronomy¡¯s true identity. Kyko struggled to slide the cover back into place.

    They stood in an alley between brick buildings. The evening light from the Bright World lit the clouds overhead like frosting. A handful of pedestrians wandered the street twenty yards distant.

    ¡°Come,¡± said Deuteronomy, and for a moment his acting slipped. His voice modulated into a deeper, stronger register. Elizabeth might not have noticed if she hadn¡¯t been listening for it. ¡°I have called us a car.¡±

    The car was a hovercraft, and it spread the powdery snow beneath it in swirls as it coasted to a halt at the entrance to the alley, drawing some attention from passersby. Elizabeth, Callie, and Kyko piled into the back, while Deuteronomy took the front seat beside the driver. The driver appeared to be a robot, though one fashioned with the features of a crane. ¡°To the spaceport,¡± said Deuteronomy.

    ¡°You¡¯re hurt!¡± Kyko exclaimed as though he had just noticed. ¡°What happened at the palace? Why is it on fire? Why is there a huge tree growing out of it? Where are the others¡ªLaska and Sister Thorn? Did you meet Basileus?¡±

    Elizabeth looked down at herself. Her parka was why Kyko had not immediately noticed that she was injured. It covered the burn scars. As for herself, she could not forget it. Her leg hurt the worst, but the violet letters had scorched her stomach too, crawling with pain.

    And suddenly, it struck her that for the moment, she was safe. She was with Kyko and Deuteronomy, and Callie, and they were speeding away from the palace, away from Shade and Lady Chimes and the traitorous Brother Nico, and all the dead people who had been living people right next to her what seemed only moments before. The kindly King, the beautiful Lord, loyal Laska. Possibly Sister Thorn and the librarian, Lazaru.

    Kyko¡¯s eyes widened in horror. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    She was crying. She tried not to. She wiped the tears away, but they wouldn¡¯t stop. Callie jumped partway up onto her, and Elizabeth hugged her tight with both arms, burying her face in the soft white fur.

    ¡°Elizabeth,¡± said Kyko, ¡°Why¡ª¡±

    ¡°Leave her be,¡± said Deuteronomy from the front seat. His voice, though still old, held a quality that did not permit refusal. Kyko quieted.

    ¡°No,¡± said Elizabeth through her efforts to choke back sobs. ¡°Not the spaceport. My greenhouse.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°My greenhouse,¡± she repeated.

    After a moment, Deuteronomy consented. ¡°Ah, I see. Very well.¡±

    From the spaceport she would have to take a spacecraft to get to another place, a safe place. It would take time. Meanwhile, her friends might be in similar danger. She had two doors on top of her greenhouse. One opened onto nothing. But the other opened onto Hyperion.

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6

    Jimothy Whyte

    The message came while Jimothy wandered along the edge of a cliff, chalk-white, that jutted out over a drop into a bottomless chasm. He kept well away from the edge. A similar cliff, slightly lower, marked the other side of the chasm. It was far away, but Jim saw a crystal over there like a fallen star shining among the pale rocks. He was unsure about how to get across.

    He was walking carefully, setting his cane firmly in the white dust every other step and pausing now and then to gaze out at the gray canyonlands, when his phone vibrated. He made a comfy chair, dark maroon, and sat down in it, grateful for the distraction.

    ??: finalLy!

    ??: hey There

    JW: Hello

    ??: mY name¡¯s derXis

    DX: you can caLl me the Laughing God I suPpose

    DX: might be BlaspheMy, who kNows?

    JW: Oh, okay

    DX: What¡¯s your Name, fellow colOr priest?

    JW: Jimothy

    JW: Jimothy Whyte

    DX: You have Two names?

    DX: aweSome

    DX: you must Be stronger thaN i Thought

    DX: what does Whyte Mean?

    JW: well I guess it¡¯s like the color? Only spelled wrong

    DX: the Color?

    JW: or the absence of color, if you¡¯re talking about pigment, or all of the colors together if you¡¯re talking about light

    JW: it¡¯s probably that one, since light is my thing

    JW: I¡¯m the Hero of Light I guess

    DX: I sEe

    JW: what does color priest mean?

    DX: I¡¯ve been watching you PaInt

    DX: and you caN color tHIngs even without Paint!

    DX: whIch Is amaZing!

    DX: wiSh I could Do that

    JW: yeah it¡¯s pretty cool

    DX: you can miX colors, so That means you¡¯re a coLor priest!

    DX: likE me

    JW: but anybody can mix colors!

    JW: anybody can paint, even if they¡¯re not good at it, like Bob Ross says

    DX: who¡¯S that? Another Color priest with TWO NamES?

    JW: uh, yeah

    DX: so waIt

    DX: what¡¯S your species calLed?

    JW: humans?

    DX: sO any humaN can paint?

    JW: of course!

    DX: juSt whenever they wAnt?

    JW: yeah, I mean if they have paint

    JW: and something to paint on

    DX: heH hEh, weird

    DX: muSt be CraZy!

    DX: eVeryone ruNning around pAInting alL the time

    JW: since you mention crazy, why are you typing like that?

    DX: tYping?

    DX: I¡¯m nOt typing

    DX: buT I know what you Mean

    DX: yoUr bOok doesn¡¯t like being ouT of the Library

    DX: I tHink that¡¯S what It is

    JW: my book?

    DX: I burgled It

    DX: sHhhH!

    DX: hEe heH hO!

    JW: so if you¡¯re not typing

    JW: are you laughing a lot?

    DX: hehE yeah

    DX: tOo much, mayBe, Derxis

    DX: nah, jUSt enough, D-man

    DX: goT that right, DerXis

    JW: um

    JW: who¡¯s D-man?

    DX: it¡¯S me

    DX: You can call it me, I meAN calL me that, IF you want

    JW: ok

    JW: but, why did you message me?

    DX: yOu in tHe middle of Something?

    JW: not really

    DX: I know; I can sEe you

    DX: soRt of

    DX: I¡¯ve actuaLly been trying to taLk to you for a while

    DX: You heaRd me in SkyWater, right?

    JW: oh!

    JW: are you the one that told me to paint?

    DX: ;)

    DX: woAh

    DX: yeaH us Color pRiests goTta stick togetHEr

    JW: I don¡¯t really think I¡¯m some kind of priest or anything

    JW: Isaac¡¯s the priest

    JW: that¡¯s what he says anyway

    JW: anyway thanks for that

    JW: for telling me to paint

    JW: I guess it really helped me out

    DX: riGht

    DX: weLl listen,

    DX: i¡¯M not reaLly helping yOu ouT right now

    DX: I¡¯m juSt not really Down with kIlLing You

    DX: bUt you¡¯Re a Painter like Me

    DX: so you Get a wArning

    DX: doN¡¯t trust the oTher ¡®Gods¡¯

    DX: actUALly just to be safe you beTter not trust Me Either

    DX: noT eVen me wHEn i¡¯M telling you this Right now

    DX: you foLlow?

    JW: no

    JW: Not at all

    JW: sorry

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    DX: don¡¯t Trust Us

    DX: don¡¯T trust these lAdies of skYWater

    DX: thE Lords are on yOur side, they¡¯rE okay

    DX: Except lORd Foe

    DX: obviously

    DX: and yOu shoulDn¡¯t eXpect much out Of lord Fool eitHEr

    JW: okay

    JW: I¡¯ll try to remember that

    JW: while also not trusting you I guess

    DW: pERFect!

    DX: oh Also, I thinK you Can fly

    JW: fly?

    DX: you¡¯re trying to get Over to that oTHer side, right?

    JW: Yeah, to get the light

    JW: I need light for my lighthouse

    DX: tHEn Just flY

    JW: I can fly?

    DX: i¡¯M preTty sure you can do just About wHAtever you Want

    DX: i Can alReadY Tell you¡¯re the mOSt pOWerful

    DX: ouT of the otHEr, uh, hAng on

    DX: humans

    JW: So should I warn the others?

    JW: My friends, I mean

    DX: thEY¡¯re probably dEad by noW

    JW: What?

    DX: dO as You Will

    JW: What do you mean?

    DX: oh shIt

    DX: I goTta scram, Maugrim Is

    JW: hello?

    JW: he¡¯s what?

    I am here, said the wolf. He sounded angry.

    Jimothy fell over in surprise. His made-up chair vanished, and he landed hard on the dusty gravel. Maugrim limped down a steep embankment tufted with white grass. He made himself comfortable by resting with his head down on his forepaw almost exactly like Hazel, if Hazel had been missing a leg. Maugrim¡¯s head, which was taller than Jimothy, was within throwing distance. Jimothy felt the warm, inky exhalation of the great wolf¡¯s breath.

    Maugrim closed his eyes. His huge tail swished lazily back and forth in the air.  That one shall trouble you no more, Child of Lights, he said.  I know him. The Faithful One.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Jimothy, unsure how to react to Maugrim¡¯s unnerving proximity. Jimothy had not glimpsed the great wolf since that night when he had cut its leg off. ¡°How¡¯s your, uh, your front leg?¡± he asked.

    Solitary.

    Jimothy wondered why, if he had just cut off one of Maugrim¡¯s legs, the wolf had no reservations about coming back and relaxing beside him. He looked at Hazel for inspiration. Hazel only bared his milky fangs at Maugrim, hackles raised.

    I have nothing to fear from you, Hero of Light, when you have nothing to protect.

    Jimothy looked down at his phone. Protect. Right. He wasn¡¯t too concerned about Maugrim hurting him, either. Maugrim wouldn¡¯t hurt him, at least not until the lighthouse was done.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°can you not hurt any of my friends anymore? If any come to the moon.¡±

    You require light.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to use someone¡¯s soul as light!¡±

    Soul?

    ¡°That¡¯s what it is, right?¡±

    I know only light.

    ¡°What about that, uh, D-man that I was talking to?¡±

    Maugrim opened a deep gray eye and turned it toward Jimothy.  The prince of fools. He should not be here.

    Something the D-man had said suddenly came back to Jimothy in full force. They¡¯re probably dead by now.

    Hazel intercepted the panic that suddenly threatened to well up within Jimothy. Look at your medallion, said Hazel. Look and see.

    Jimothy checked the white hexagon in his pocket. All of the lights were on. That means they¡¯re alive, Hazel told him.

    Jimothy decided to check with them in person just to be sure. That was how he saw that Isaac had messaged him sometime during his conversation with the D-man.

    IM: Jim.

    IM: Jim you there?

    IM: Well maybe you¡¯re asleep or something, whatever, just listen: if you get any weird texts, ones that aren¡¯t from anyone you know, just ignore them okay?

    IM: Actually, tell me what they say.

    IM: There¡¯s a way to reroute CHIME messages I think, like forward them¡­

    IM: You know what, don¡¯t worry about that. Just...tell me what they say.

    IM: Holy smokes this is starting to¡­really hurt.

    IM: Okay, see ya Jim.

    IM: Remember: don¡¯t trust them, okay?

    ¡°Hmm,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s what the D-man said,¡± he told Hazel. Hazel barked in reply. ¡°So I guess¡­I could trust him about saying that?¡±

    Isaac wanted Jimothy to tell him what the ¡®weird texts¡¯ said. But the D-man had said a lot. He was considering how to tell Isaac everything when Maugrim suddenly growled. The stones shook with the sound.

    Jimothy saw the cause of Maugrim¡¯s growl at the same time that Maugrim stood and turned to face it. Someone stood up at the top of the chalky embankment that Maugrim had limped down only a minute before¡ªa dark figure constructed of jagged obsidian with a scowling mask. He was not large, the way a deadly serpent might not be large. Jimothy recognized him at once as Lord Foe.

    No, said Maugrim.  Too soon.  He growled again, baring his fangs at the figure atop the hill.  Your treachery is not to be revealed yet.

    Lord Foe laughs¡ªnot such a laugh as that of an archetypal villain, nor of a cartoonish caricature. No maniacal cackle or gleeful howl. The laugh of a true villain is tired, ironic, bitter. He speaks, and his words are rocks in space: cold, hard, tumbling alone forgotten and forsaken through an uncaring void, knowing not where they go nor why. Things change, he says unto the Guardian of Hyperion, and any change is the better for one such as he.

    No. Lord Foe declares: these heroes shall not open the door, and neither shall his brother. Lord Foe shall be a bringer of new things, of old gods and new heroes. Of new stories.

    So he speaks, and so it shall be, though the great wolf stands to oppose him. Yet Lord Foe has spoken to one that Maugrim knows well, the Chained God, and he knows the wolf¡¯s weakness. And is that a crippling injury? Lord Foe knows that even the Guardian of the

    Maugrim sprang forward with terrific speed, and the action snapped Jimothy out of the entrancing speech of Lord Foe. The wolf closed on Lord Foe in an instant, but Jimothy could not see what happened next because it was both very bright and very dark all at once, like a photonegative image in high contrast.

    Go! said Maugrim, though with his mouth he was howling, howling like a wolf, a sound that shook the blank skies.

    A rain of darkness like ink began to fall, but much more sudden and swift than normal rain.

    Fly!

    The stone beneath Jimothy cracked apart, and suddenly he was falling, tumbling among rocks and dust into the shadowy pits of the chasm. Earth and air broke around him, shivered to pieces, and the wolf¡¯s howl devolved into a terrifying snarl.

    Fly, Jimothy! (And I love you!)

    That was Hazel.

    Fly? But how?

    The words of the D-man came to him, almost as though a voice were whispering into his ear, just like he had heard back at Skywater.  Don¡¯t worry about how! Just fly! And there was laughter.

    Like painting, thought Jimothy, and he was sure that this was his own thought. He didn¡¯t really think very much about  how to paint. He just did it! The colors were just  there .

    As he dropped into the darkness of the chasm, tumbling among the rocks, he closed his eyes and saw the Line. And knew what to do.

    He later realized that he flew by wrapping himself in light and then moving the light. But he didn¡¯t think about that at the time. He just  flew .

    Up and away, out of the chasm, stopping only long enough to snatch the ever-important crystal from the far side before zipping up into the sky like a reverse comet. Something loud and terrible, both dark and bright, was happening down below, something that shook the world and caused Maugrim to howl in pain, but Jimothy closed his eyes and flew far away, because he knew that that¡¯s what Maugrim wanted him to do.

    A tiny voice laughed in the back of his mind. It whispered that he should grab that little bead of light he had sitting in a box by his bed. He might need it.

    Back to the lighthouse, which wasn¡¯t really  that far, not as far from danger as he would have liked, but he didn¡¯t have any other place to go.

    It was starting to get dark when he slowed to a halt atop the platform with two doors. He descended to the light room at the top of his lighthouse and put the crystal in with the rest. It drifted to the center and joined the cluster of brilliance. He¡¯d already lost count of how many he¡¯d put in there, maybe five or six. Together they made a clump the size of a basketball. Still not enough, not even close. But at least it was something. At least his lighthouse actually lit something up at night.

    He went back up to the top to have a look around as the day faded into night. He missed sunsets very badly, he realized. All the colors. And if Hyperion was going to have beautiful, spectacular sunsets, he¡¯d have to do them himself. And he needed light.

    He was thinking about this, thinking about Niri¡¯s light in a box by his bed, how it could probably color the whole sky, how everyone apparently had this light inside of them, when he got a message from Elizabeth.

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7

    Riley McFinn

    And little he knew of the things that ink may do, how it can mark a dead man¡¯s thought for the wonder of later years, and tell of happenings that are gone clean away, and be a voice for us out of the dark of time, and save many a fragile thing from the pounding of heavy ages; or carry to us, over the rolling centuries, even a song from lips long dead on forgotten hills.

    - Lord Dunsany,  The King of Elfland¡¯s Daughter

    Reunion Protocol Initiated.

    Riley McFinn sighed in relief when he read Clara¡¯s report. Most of her messages failed to get through to him here, even with CHIME. This one had reached him on the fourth attempt. Things were getting bad on Earth. It was drifting away.

    The train station was huge, dark, empty¡ªwords fitting for most of what he had seen of this Dream Museum. Reflective, perhaps, of the state of the universe as a whole? But on the other hand, the universe didn¡¯t give him the creeps. He¡¯d never been the jumpy type. Never in his life had anyone accused Riley McFinn of being nervous. But the Museum was spooky, and there was no getting around it. Things changed themselves around when not directly observed. He could neither discard nor ignore the sensation that something else was observing  him . And some of the things Nick had told him, deadly serious: Don¡¯t try to open a locked door. Don¡¯t look behind you if you¡¯re in the dark. Never, under any circumstances, go into the Basement.

    This train station, for example, was unlike any Riley had seen for its comprehensive lack of both trains and passengers. Dozens and dozens of tracks terminated at a series of platforms jutting out like piers into the shadows, and the tracks snaked away into the unknown distance. A few ornate wrought-iron lampposts dimly illumined the platforms with flickering gaslights, making shadows dance in the dry, musty air. His footsteps echoed and re-echoed on the tile when he walked, a ghostly accompaniment. Far above, ineffectual lights hung from what was presumably the ceiling, though Riley could discern neither their distance nor composition. Several of these lights swung gently, as if recently disturbed.

    He dug a tattered notebook from his pocket. More advice from Nick: better to rely on pen and paper here than circuitry and wires. A list of words and phrases, all of them crossed off:

    Landing

    Golf Course

    Storage (tanks)

    Port

    Cemetery

    Void walk (tile)

    Storage (crates)

    Industrial

    Void walk (taffy?)

    Gallery

    He added  Train station  to the list. No unconscious teenagers here. He moved on, tapping the McFinnium-tipped cane steadily on the dark stone tiling as he went.

    As fascinating as the Museum was, Riley was getting a bit fed up with it. He had been here for around a full day already, according to his time-locked McFinnium watch. He had eaten, slept, continued the search. His legs were becoming sore.

    As he considered the fitness of his legs, something new caught his eye ahead. There, toward the far end of the Station, extended a kind of walkway. A moving walkway, he saw as he came closer. For his sore legs.

    ¡°And this was exactly the suspicious absurdity that annoyed him,¡± said Riley McFinn. The Museum was alive, or almost alive, Nick had told him. It seemed to be reading his thoughts, reacting to his subconscious. Riley knew already that he had a mathematically null chance of locating Eric Walker and Heidi Sheppard by conventional means, i.e. wandering around and hoping to find them by coincidence. The Museum, or possibly the enigmatic Dark Man, would have to place them in his path. And not even Nick, for all his knowledge of this bizarre dream world, knew how to make that happen.

    Riley stepped onto the walkway. It whisked him away into the darkness where the train tracks led. He looked up as he left, and noticed that roughly half of the lights far up above were swinging, some of them rather violently. He was glad when they vanished away, but his relief lasted only long enough to realize that it was almost entirely dark around him now. His momentum picked up, the moving sidewalk accelerating until his cape fluttered out behind him. Faster now than he could run. He gripped the rubber handrail.

    Light ahead. He focused on that light, on  not  looking behind him, even though he knew, just as he always knew here, that something was there in the dark behind him, watching.

    The light grew, and he emerged into the airspace over a murky twilit city, the clouds still reflecting the last rosy dregs of sunset. This city hurt his eyes; the angles were all wrong¡ªcubism impossibly rendered into three dimensions. Here was a place where one could view every side of a pyramid at once.

    The buildings were windowless masses of angular metal gleaming dully in the light, identifiable as buildings by the winding alleys dividing them and the oddly shaped apertures at their bases. A webbing of cables connected their summits, somehow enhancing the insanity of the headache-inducing geometry.

    The moving walkway emerged onto the city from a tunnel in the side of a mountain, where it ran concurrent with a pair of train rails. It arched over the city before proceeding down into the ground some distance ahead. Riley averted his gaze from the eye-watering sight of the buildings and added another name to the list: Impossible City. He considered adding ¡®(metal)¡¯ in case he encountered another impossible city.

    The walkway sloped to ground level and beyond into a metallic tube ringed with blinking green lights. A figure stood near the place where the walkway dropped through the ground. This secured Riley¡¯s full attention at once. In all his time here so far, he had only seen one person, and it had been the Dark Man, glimpsed always at a distance. This was not the Dark Man.

    The figure was blue, humanoid, covered in glassy scales that made a rough texture over its body. It had long braids of dark hair and a spear, and it watched him with azure shark-like eyes as he descended. They made eye contact, and the creature bared a mouthful of sharp serrated teeth at him. It glowed blue; the scales on its body rippled with light. A faint tinkling sound reached him as the creature leveled its spear in warning.

    He made no move either to defend himself or to step off the speeding walkway. It was seconds from the time that they saw each other to the time that Riley dropped away into the dark tunnel. Then the figure was gone, vanished back into speed and distance.

    Riley thought he knew what that thing was. Nick had told him about creatures like that. Daimon, they were called. But why was one here in the Museum? Perhaps he should have spoken to it. They were supposed to be allies? But this one had been dangerous; Riley had seen it in the creature¡¯s eyes. It would have struck him down without regret or remorse if it had believed the act necessary. It would have tried, at any rate, and Riley didn¡¯t need that distraction at the moment.

    The walkway slowed and deposited Riley back into the area that he mentally labeled as Museum Proper. This was the part that actually resembled an elaborate museum, that had spurred his niece to name this entire thing the ¡®Dream Museum¡¯ to begin with. Personally, Riley thought ¡®Hotel¡¯ would have been a better fit, what with all the doors. And with most of the doors being locked. But on the other hand, Dream Hotel didn¡¯t have quite the same ring to it. It certainly didn¡¯t sound like a hotel he¡¯d be interested in staying at.

    He was considering this, how Dream Hotel actually sounded rather seedy, and about the generally inverse relationship between the presumptuousness of hotel names and quality of said hotels, when he turned a corner and saw yet another rare  other person. This one he recognized, though they had never met. The man had a scarecrow physique, tall and gaunt, with a pale narrow face, twitching spidery hands, greasy dark hair, and rectangular glasses that did not hide the peculiar burn scars around both of his eyes.

    ¡°Ezekiel,¡± said Riley. Later, he would reflect that he had here missed a chance to strike while unnoticed and perhaps end Ezekiel¡¯s life before he could cause further trouble. But striking from behind had never been his style. And style mattered, even at the end of the world.

    Ezekiel stood on the other side of an ornamental pond, tapping a boot on the blood-red carpet as he contemplated a brass-framed spiral staircase that spun up and away to dizzying heights, a golden helix forming the core of a cylindrical oak-paneled room with no discernible upper limit. The spiral stair connected by delicate walkways to brightly colored doors at many points along its upward journey.

    Ezekiel reacted well. He spun smoothly, his grey and orange OI-emblazoned trench coat swirling around him, and he suddenly had Riley at the other end of a little boxlike device that Riley, to his surprise, could not identify. Ezekiel leaned slightly askew as though against a stiff breeze, and he looked thin enough that a breeze could in fact blow him over. The burn scars spreading from his eyes were red, as though inflamed, and looked almost like twisted words.

    Ezekiel¡¯s eyes widened comically on his thin, pale face as he recognized the one who had snuck up on him. ¡°McFinn?¡±

    Riley nodded, but kept both hands on his cane. Ezekiel¡¯s hazel eyes flickered to the cane for a moment. The cluster of McFinnium at the end pulsed with a soft color-shifting light in time with Riley¡¯s heartbeat. As much as Riley had no idea what Ezekiel had there in his hand, neither could Ezekiel know the capabilities of this cane.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°An impasse, I guess,¡± said Ezekiel with a small smile. ¡°Must we be adversaries here? Let us dispense with these pleasantries and speak as gentlemen.¡±

    ¡°Easy enough to say¡­¡± said McFinn. But, to his surprise, Ezekiel lowered the box and placed it in his pocket. He raised both hands to show he was unarmed. McFinn didn¡¯t believe it for a second. It would not do to underestimate this man¡ªor whatever he was. But Ezekiel must have noticed that Riley had passed up an opportunity to kill him. A talk might enlighten them both. They were scientists, after all, not barbarians.

    Riley lowered the cane, though he did not let it go.

    Ezekiel nodded in satisfaction. ¡°Riley McFinn. A pleasure to finally meet you in person, I guess.¡± He bowed slightly, and he seemed sincere.

    ¡°I wish I could say the same, Ezekiel¡­¡± Riley paused. ¡°Do you have a last name?¡±

    Ezekiel¡¯s mouth twisted as though tasting something sour. ¡°Yes. I guess we all do.¡± He said no more.

    ¡°Well?¡± Riley asked, genuinely curious. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°Starlight.¡±

    ¡°Starlight? Ezekiel Starlight?¡±

    A wry smile. ¡°I guess. Can you imagine? Can you imagine someone writing a story and naming the antagonist ¡®Starlight?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Wrong question, Starlight. You should be asking, ¡®why am I identifying myself as the antagonist?¡¯¡±

    ¡°You really don¡¯t know who I am? I guess ¡®Nikola Raschez¡¯ never told you.¡±

    Riley shook his head. Nick had told him a lot of things about the trio of peculiar people he had brought in from some other dimension, but he¡¯d never said anything about their being ¡®antagonists.¡¯

    ¡°Well. Doesn¡¯t matter, I guess. The point is, antagonists are destined to lose. Almost always. I guess if you¡¯re keen, you can see what kind of story you¡¯re in.¡±

    Riley employed one of his favorite tactics: expectant silence. It worked.

    ¡°I guess ¡®antagonism¡¯ is subjective. Not that it matters to your average storyteller.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still playing the antagonist,¡± Riley pointed out. ¡°You did try to kill Jimothy Whyte, did you not? A fourteen-year-old child. Doesn¡¯t seem very subjective to me.¡±

    ¡°Of course not. You can¡¯t change the name you were given, and neither can I. None of us can, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to Nicholas Carter,¡± said Riley. ¡°You might be from a ¡®story,¡¯ Mr. Starlight; maybe you walked out of one of these doors, but Nick didn¡¯t. And neither did I.¡±

    Ezekiel Starlight gave Riley a lopsided smirk. Something about the scars around his eyes made the expression at once absurd and sinister. ¡°Is that what you think, McFinn? I¡¯m from a story, but you¡¯re not? You¡¯re from ¡®reality?¡¯ I used to think that. I used to be a lot like you, I guess.¡± He leaned closer, lowered his voice to a volume just above a whisper. ¡°I know that you think you¡¯re the main character. I guess everyone does. But you especially. Because you know that if it weren¡¯t for all of this,¡± he waved a hand vaguely, encompassing not only the Museum but the entire messy situation involving both of them, ¡°you¡¯d be the star of the show. It would be about you¡ªRiley McFinn. It would be your story. You¡¯d be the most important man in the world, I guess.¡±

    Ezekiel straightened up. ¡°If I were you¡ªwhich I almost was, once¡ªI¡¯d ask myself what I  really want. Then I¡¯d compare that with what everyone else wants. That¡¯s the only correct way to choose sides, I guess. To decide what to do.¡±

    Riley opened his mouth to ask what Ezekiel himself really  wanted, he and his friends who had murdered Nicholas Carter and tried to do the same to six children, but at that moment the pond between them exploded.

    The steam parted around Riley, deflected by a protective forcefield from the staff. It was only steam, he realized after a moment. Just a smokescreen. ¡°I did enjoy our chat,¡± Ezekiel shouted, his voice rapidly ascending. ¡°Until next time, I guess.¡±

    Riley cleared away the steam with a flick of the cane, shoving it all to one side and condensing it back into water. Somewhere up above, a door slammed. He couldn¡¯t tell which one, and so didn¡¯t bother with pursuit.

    Instead, he took the brass staircase up and crossed the first walkway, which connected to a forest green wooden door.

    Some wandering later, he stepped into a new place. ¡®Library,¡¯ he wrote in the notebook. After a moment, he added ¡®(wet).¡¯

    The shelves were dripping rock and glistening coral, lit by flickering wall-mounted torches. Mussels and barnacles crusted the books. The stone floor gritted under his shoes and ran with rivulets of brackish water. Stalactites dripped above. The air was thick and damp and salty.

    Riley held the cane out like a torch to let the shifting light of the McFinnium illuminate the nearest bookcase. He tried to read some of the spines, but to no avail. The leather was molded and rotten, stained beyond legibility. Some books had stone covers. He pulled on one of these and found it holding fast to its neighbors. He applied some muscle, and with a heave broke the crust of coral which bound it. It was heavy; he awkwardly cradled it in one arm and opened it with the hand still holding the cane. The pages were stone too, a dozen thin slabs etched with runic symbols. He replaced it after a moment.

    He tried a few more books out of mild curiosity, but even when he came across a paper-leafed book that wasn¡¯t entirely ruined by damp, he couldn¡¯t read a damn word of it. Nor did he have any guesses as to what language was scrawled on the pages.

    Through the labyrinth of water and books, and he came suddenly upon the Dark Man.

    He had only ever glimpsed the Dark Man out of the corner of his eye, always watching from a distance. Everything he knew about this figure had been told to him by Nick. ¡°Even more theatrical than you, if you can believe it,¡± Nick had said. Nick had theorized that the Dark Man wasn¡¯t so much an actual person as the personification of the Museum, a manifestation of the strange mind of the place, possibly taking human form because it was being viewed by humans. Or, perhaps the Dark Man was an antibody. A security guard, a night watchman, keeping the peace. The only things Nick had known for sure were that the Dark Man seemed to always know what was going on, and that he could exert control over the protean environment of the Museum. And that he didn¡¯t like it if you tried to open a locked door. (Which in Riley¡¯s mind only proved the intriguing idea that the doors could be forced somehow, even if locked.)

    Whatever the nature of the Dark Man, it could be no coincidence that Riley had come suddenly upon him. He was not fooled when the Dark Man, sitting at a glistening stone desk that matched the surroundings, appeared not to notice Riley¡¯s arrival. The Dark Man¡¯s broad black hat, shining with beads of moisture, tilted down over the book he wrote in. An array of dripping tallow candles about the edge of the desk illuminated the yellowing pages of the damp manuscript.

    Riley waited patiently while the Dark Man wrote. He listened to the faint  skritch of the quill pen, the dripping water, and the echoing sound of something heavy falling over somewhere far away.

    At last, the Dark Man concluded his writing. He set the pen in the jar and leaned back to admire his work. Riley could see from this distance that the writing was not the same as the indecipherable runes he had seen earlier. He wasn¡¯t close enough to read it, but it might even have been English.

    The Dark Man leaned forward to blow on the page, encouraging the ink to dry, but the act of leaning forward sent a small trickle of water from the brim of his hat directly onto the page, where it marred half a paragraph. He laughed, reached out, and slammed the book shut. The sound reverberated in the cavernous library; the floor itself seemed to quiver. The candles went out, leaving McFinn in flickering shadows.

    It was the work of a moment to activate a small drone. It rose overhead and lit the area with a harsh glare. The Dark Man was nowhere to be found, but the desk was there, as was the book.

    It was leather bound, and the cover was clearly legible as McFinn rounded the desk to have a look.

    Nicholas Carter

    16

    McFinn opened to a random page in the middle of the book. He read a paragraph about Nick¡¯s trip to Romania in High School, written in what was apparently the Dark Man¡¯s handwriting. McFinn picked the book up. It was heavier than it appeared. He flipped through to the back. The pages turned and turned, falling and falling. It took a long time to reach the back of the book. He must have flipped thousands of pages, though the book wasn¡¯t thick enough for them.

    He reached the back. He read the last paragraph. Then, after a moment, he kept reading.

    McFinn snapped the book shut. It was heavy, but he¡¯d be taking it with him.

    Something caught his eye as he prepared to continue on his search for the two kids. There was a row of books on a nearby shelf, all very similar in size and appearance to the one he held in his hands. A clear progression of age could be made out: the rightmost books existed in only a moderate state of ruination from the damp, whereas the books on the far left were little more than moldering lumps.

    There were sixteen of them, and it was clear to McFinn that the one in his hands was meant to join them. The curious thing was that the book he held was not the last. The final books were 14, 15, 17.

    He took the last book,  Nicholas Carter 17, and perused it for a few minutes. It seemed accurate. He turned to the final page. The last line in #17 stayed last. It described the last moments of an explosion onboard a plane. And beneath:

    The End.

    McFinn, after some thought, left #17 on the shelf. The books were heavy, and there was only so much he could carry. But he did step down to the far end of the shelf, where he seized the congealed, rotten mass of what was presumably  Nicholas Carter 1. He prized it with great care from the shelf, taking pains to prevent it from disintegrating in his hands.

    Then, with #1 and #16, he continued on his way.

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8

    Banana Quest: Emergency Council

    IM: Hey everybody

    IM: Here we are with a special emergency convening of the thing we are *not* calling Banana Quest

    EW: but we are though

    EW: its right fucking there in the title

    IM: What? Hey!

    IM: How do I change the title?

    EW: im alive btw thanks for asking

    EW: so is kate

    KC: I¡¯m alive!

    IM: Why would I ask that when you¡¯re talking to me?

    EW: broke my fuckin arm though

    IM: Whoa

    IM: Which one?

    EW: that it? thats what you got when i tell you i broke my fuckin arm?

    KC: don¡¯t worry Isaac! His arm is better now!

    EW: yeah did you know kate has a magical guitar

    KC: >;)

    HS: I¡¯m so sorry about that.

    KC: It wasn¡¯t your fault!

    IM: You good Heidi?

    HS: I¡¯m good.

    HS: Lady Chains is out there somewhere.

    HS: But we¡¯re on high alert.

    IM: What¡¯s this about Lady Chains?

    EW: i see you liz

    EW: you ok?

    EE: I am alive, if that is what you mean.

    EE: Heidi, were you  atta cked by Lady Chains?

    HS: Yes.

    EW: she broke my goddamn arm

    EW: oh sorry bro

    KC: but we worked together! And we took her out!

    EE: For me it was Lady Chimes.

    EW: oh shit

    KC: does this mean that all the ladies are after us!? 8(

    KC: sorry, the Ladies

    EE: Maybe.

    IM: Wait, that can¡¯t be right!

    IM: I¡¯m with Lady Stars right now!

    EW: bro

    KC: RUN, ISAAC!

    EW: yeah but like play it cool you know

    IM: Guys I really think she¡¯s cool

    EE: The Ladies are being influenced by the Gods.

    EW: oh dont get me started on those fuckwads

    IM: Wait, wait, anyone heard from Jim?

    IM: ...

    IM: So I guess we¡¯re all just messaging Jim now

    IM: that¡¯s cool

    IM: I¡¯ll just casually relocate myself away from Lady Stars, hang on a minute

    JW: Oh sorry guys I wasn¡¯t paying attention

    KC: Don¡¯t worry about it Jim!

    JW: I¡¯m okay

    JW: But I did get a weird text just like you said Isaac

    JW: and then Lord Foe came to get me, but Maugrim fought him off

    JW: and I can fly now

    EE: Jimothy, I am on my way to your moon. Hang in there.

    JW: Cool!

    JW: But like, you don¡¯t need to come you know

    JW: it¡¯s okay

    EE: I need to leave my moon for a while.

    EE: Something has gone very wrong.

    IM: For real

    IM: MY STATION IS GONE!

    IM: *flips table*

    IM: And we need to figure it out, like pretty quick

    IM: Because there¡¯s a serious Dark World fleet out there right now

    IM: I mean there *was* before Anzu wrecked it

    IM: but still

    EE: I may have been illuminated as to some aspects of the situation.

    KC: You may have been eliminated?!?! 8o

    EW: whoa you were laminated?

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    IM: she was ill-imitated

    JW: lemonaded?

    HS: what

    KC: (rhyme, Heidi!)

    HS: aluminum aided?

    HS: I¡¯m not good at rhymes

    EW: haha no that was great

    EW: aluminumated

    EE: If we may proceed?

    EW: *sniffed lady cynthea

    KC: shut up Eric!

    EE: Let us each describe what has happened, in brief.

    IM: Quite!

    EE: I met the king of my moon and was attacked first by Lady Chimes, then by Shade. The king is dead, and so is Lord Fair, who perished enabling my escape. My Guardian also protected me. I believe that the Gods orchestrated this attempt on my life.

    EW: holy shit

    KC: what was Lord Fair like?!

    EE: Beautiful.

    KC: 8(

    IM: I turned on a communications relay that let the Gods text us, so my bad I guess. The Gods summoned a fleet from the Dark World that destroyed my station, but I got out thanks to Anzu. I¡¯m with Lady Stars and this goofy admiral in the Ardian defensive fleet.

    KC: Eric and I went to see Heidi, but Lady Chains tried to kill us! She¡¯s SUPER TOUGH >:(

    HS: I received a message from the Burning God just before this.

    EW: and ive been subjected to the lunatic ravings of this bullshit changing god

    IM: What about you, Jim?

    JW: um

    JW: I talked to the D-man

    JW: He¡¯s one of the gods, but I forgot which one

    JW: he seemed nice

    JW: Actually he warned me not to listen to the other gods

    JW: or to himself, I think?

    EE: Hmm. So perhaps they¡¯re not all bad.

    KC: the green one saved our lives!

    KC: she warned us about Lady Chains! Otherwise we would have DIED

    IM: They¡¯re tricky, though

    IM: And the Chained God said he¡¯ll try again

    IM: to kill me

    EW: yeah i wouldnt trust any of these shitheads

    EW: all they can do is fucking talk

    HS: Yeah, it looks like they have really limited power. The Burning God can set some things on fire but I think that¡¯s about it. They need to operate through other agents.

    EE: And they are using the Ladies because the ten Ladies are connected to the ten Gods, with whom their highest loyalties apparently lie.

    JW: that¡¯s pretty much what D-man said

    JW: he said the Lords were okay though

    JW: except for Lord Foe

    JW: who tried to kill me

    EW: huh who would have guessed that lord foe would be a bad guy

    EE: I agree that we can trust the lords. Lord Fair died for me, and the last thing he said was that I would be safe with Lord Fierce.

    KC: lords are safe!

    KC: got it!

    HS: What else do we know about the Gods?

    KC: they can kind of see us ?:\

    EE: They are not unified.

    EW: these shitty ass gods

    EW: what the fuck

    KC: ?

    EW: fuckin scraping the bottom of the barrel for these cut rate losers

    EW: fuckin half price bargain bin spring cleanout sale at the deity depot

    EW: shitty stale leftover easter chocolate gods that nobody wanted

    EW: all dry and crusty and shit

    IM: You that upset about your arm?

    EW: IT FUCKING HURT BRO

    IM: Oh, that reminds me

    IM: They wouldn¡¯t tell me anything about where they are or what kind of creatures they are

    IM: but I got the sense from THE ONE THAT TALKS LIKE THIS that he really didn¡¯t want to kill me

    IM: or she, you know, whatever

    EE: I also spoke to that one. They were oddly encouraging.

    KC: That one¡¯s the boss I think! It¡¯s the THUNDER GOD, the biggest and strongest god! 8o

    KC: and yeah!

    KC: even the Chained God, who I¡¯m pretty sure sicked Lady Chains on us, didn¡¯t sound jazzed about it

    EE: Perhaps we can use that.

    EE: Perhaps we can talk them down.

    EE: Until then, or until we can work out a solution for stopping them, we must stay in touch.

    EE: Jim, I¡¯m coming to Hyperion via door.

    EW: i gotta get back to my moon i think those metronomes might be kinda important

    EE: We should stay together if possible

    KC: I¡¯ll go with him!

    EE: Isaac?

    ? IM: I think I¡¯m safe on the fleet

    IM: I¡¯ll get ARKO to find Lord Fierce

    EE: Watch out for Lady Stars.

    IM: aye-aye!

    HS: I am safe for now. I have a lot of security with me.

    HS: But I will have to go deeper into my moon.

    JW: that sounds dangerous

    HS: Yeah it is, Jimothy. But I have friends here.

    HS: You¡¯re still going to apologize to Ruth, Eric.

    EW: yeah yeah

    KC: All right! Go team!

    KC: don¡¯t forget we¡¯re still going to all play together as a band!

    EW: yeah sure whatever

    EW: and remember

    EW: dont fucking trust the gods

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9

    Isaac Milton

    First Admiral Thelonius Dantalion Emberstar was a plant, a big rubbery fern in a hovering barrel of black gravel. His fronds, mottled navy and maroon in color, could drift about and apply light pressure, but that was the extent of his innate physical capabilities. He had no face, but he did have five progeny (admirals two through six) that grew from his main stalk and looked like rusty, hairy coconuts. All of them could speak, but the five sons of Admiral Thelonius had not yet matured (ripened?) beyond a single emotive state leached from the psyche of their parent. Thus, whenever Isaac spoke to Admiral Thelonius, he spoke also to Admirals Trepidation, Valiance, Woe, Furor, and Felicity Emberstar.

    ¡°Will it work?¡± asked Thelonius. His voice was deep and reedy, a contrabassoon of a voice.

    ¡°Doubt it,¡± said Trepidation.

    ¡°Must try!¡± said Valiance.

    ¡°Don¡¯t matter,¡± said Woe.

    ¡°We¡¯ll get ¡®em!¡± said Furor.

    ¡°I hope so,¡± said Felicity.

    If Thelonius was a bassoon, his sons were oboes.

    Isaac held up the object of their discussion. ARKO, the most powerful computer in this existence. Cute little white Rubik¡¯s cube with a toy sci-fi door on one side. ¡°ARKO?¡±

    Light flashed out from his suit to project a holographic word into the air in front of Isaac. It was an answer to the Admiral¡¯s question, written in purple.

    Yes.

    ¡°Hmm. Charlie?¡± The angel (heron form!) stalked along the upper catwalks of the forward control deck. Charlie had mostly recovered from having been lasered outside the Void Station. Charlie had taken at least two blasts for Isaac and possibly saved his life. The white crane fell away from the catwalks upon hearing its name. It swooped down to Isaac and Thelonius and informed Isaac without words that it would probably be okay.

    ¡°Probably?¡± He said this loudly, and some of the officers nearby glanced up at him. He nodded at them in what he imagined to be a Heroic and Reassuring Manner. They were an array of species, several nearly as odd as Admiral Thelonius, and they made the Ardian Defense Fleet do its thing in this Star-Wars-set of a control deck. This place had it all: countless blinking lights on impossibly complex command consoles, dudes in headsets on swivel chairs with buttons on the armrests for some reason, little drones hovering around, spacious multi-level design traversable by metallic walkways, and huge observation windows that showed the nearby world of Ardia on one side and the great expanse of starry sky on the other.

    And, of course, a dark enigmatic figure up there at the top, hunched and still, gazing out into space. That was what Lady Stars liked to do. She brooded. She was a pro, the best brooder Isaac had ever seen. The other Ladies of Skywater might get their kicks by taking orders from psycho gods and trying to murder heroes, but Lady Stars contented herself with stargazing. She actually looked sad sometimes. Maybe if he chose the right dialogue options, Isaac would unlock her Tragic Backstory. But for now he could hardly get her to talk at all. She just stood up there, a patch of starry space against the actual stars of the Narrative. ¡®Actual stars¡¯¡ªhah! They were just big glowing crystals, not even that far away.

    ¡°Sir Isaac?¡± asked Thelonius, breaking him from his thoughts.

    ¡°Is he dead?¡± moaned Trepidation. (The sons had a poor understanding of human physiology.)

    ¡°We shall endure!¡± declared Valiance.

    ¡°He¡¯s dead!¡± wailed Woe.

    ¡°Vengeance!¡± cried Furor.

    ¡°He died happy,¡± added Felicity hopefully.

    Isaac hefted the cube of ARKO. So light! Thelonius¡¯s plan was to plug ARKO into the central computer of the ADC Lamentation (formerly the ADS Demarcation) and see what happened. Both the Admiral and ARKO believed that ARKO would simply override the existing systems and take control of the flagship, and by extension the whole fleet. Isaac was not entirely convinced that this was a good idea. He had known ARKO for less than a day. He wished Anzu were around to download some more 100% True Advice right into his brain.

    He tapped his chin with a finger. What would Dwayne do? Ah, right. Of course. ¡°Hang on, guys,¡± he told Thelonius and Sons. A chorus of voices responded to him, but one at a time, in the same order, as always.

    He turned away, walked a few steps, wondered why he bothered. He could pray anywhere, anytime, anyhow. So he did. A few quick supplications¡ªto know what to do, for people to be safe, for his wounds to heal quickly, for one of the Dark World fighters to fly right into the giant glob of chocolate milkshake that was probably drifting among the remains of his station. And he didn¡¯t forget thanks that he and everyone else was okay, briefly broken arm or not. And thanks just that he could be here, in a place right out of his dreams, perhaps literally, having a real and exciting story, even if the ¡®story¡¯ part of the story was a bit on-the-nose.

    He turned back to the Admirals, listening for but not detecting any word from The Almighty (par for the course, but hey, you never knew). He placed the little white cube against a surface that had been prepared for it, a square depression in a glossy white control panel. The cube lit up. A thousand miniscule worms of green and purple light crawled over its surface. The worms left the cube and traced angular paths through the white panel. The panel reacted with light and sound. Isaac didn¡¯t need to know exactly what any of it meant to get the general idea: it had indeed worked. ARKO was in the Lamentation¡¯s system, for good or for ill.

    ¡°Now,¡± said Isaac, ¡°we see if it¡¯s GLaDOS or¡­hmm.¡± He could not, off the top of his head, think of a benevolent artificial superintelligence.

    ¡°Well  CRIminetly!¡± exclaimed a voice from all around them, booming through the command deck. ¡°I say, howzabout we¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop!¡± shouted Isaac. ¡°ARKO! Reset voice attributes to, uh, default settings.¡± As always, he had no idea what he was saying. ¡®Voice attributes?¡¯ But as always, it didn¡¯t really matter. Only his intent mattered.

    ARKO spoke again, this time in a dull genderless monotone at a reasonable volume. ¡°Default speech settings restored.¡± A little too bland now. He¡¯d change it to Alfred or something later.

    ¡°Hear me, ARKO?¡± asked Admiral Thelonius, who did not seem able to speak sentences of more than three words at a time. His sons chorused their variegated reactions to this question.

    ¡°I can hear you, First and Second-Through-Sixth Admirals Thelonius Dantalion Emberstar and Sons,¡± ARKO replied. ¡°I have been successfully integrated into the ADS Lamentation. It is now safe to remove me from the console.¡±

    Isaac plucked the cube from the glowing white circuitboard-looking console. The cube, ARKO, came off easily. ¡°Isaac,¡± ARKO continued, ¡°I am able to utilize the extensive capabilities of this flagship, and by extension, the fleet. I have located Lord Fierce. Would you like me to plot an optimal route to his location?¡±

    ¡°Woah.¡± Isaac gained a glimmer of understanding about how powerful ARKO could now be as an ally. Or, potentially, an enemy, though that didn¡¯t seem to be an issue just now. He had powerful enemies aplenty at the moment. Up to his ears in evil gods.

    ¡°Lord Fierce?¡± said Thelonius. ¡°You need him?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s so scary!¡± said Trepidation.

    ¡°A paragon!¡± said Valiance.

    ¡°You in danger?¡± said Woe.

    ¡°Where is he?¡± said Furor.

    ¡°He¡¯s so strong!¡± said Felicity.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Isaac, ¡°I¡¯m okay for now. But my friends might be in trouble.¡±

    ¡°Ah, condolences,¡± said Admiral Thelonius. (His sons chimed in.) ¡°We heard. Ladies gone rogue. Bad. Not Lady Stars. She is ally. Safe here.¡± The rubbery fronds of Thelonius drifted around Isaac as though to form a protective barrier around him, though Isaac doubted they would be able to protect him from a paper bag blown by the wind. But the true protection Thelonius offered was his fleet, and the fleet was impressive indeed.

    ¡°No need to plot a route, ARKO. But maybe send his location to my¡­to the other heroes?¡±

    ¡°Done.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Can you find Lord Found?¡±

    ¡°I will make the effort, although I suspect it will not be so easy.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± said Isaac. ¡°But maybe it would be good to find him before anything bad happens, like with Lord Fair. I think it¡¯s probably¡­uh¡­¡±

    Admiral Thelonius changed colors from navy and maroon to a deep bruised purple at the mention of Lord Fair, and all five of his sons let out high keening wails. Up above, Lady Stars turned from her contemplations to gaze down at them.

    The new communications band on Isaac¡¯s wrist buzzed, interrupting him before he could apologize or ask if they had been close to Lord Fair. It was one of the gods.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± he said.

    Thelonius waved him away with his saddened vegetation. ¡°We speak later. We plan. We act. Now I command.¡± Despite his apparent sorrow, his fronds reached out like a dozen huge leafy hands toward the nearby consoles. Admiral Thelonius could apparently multitask like a beast, watching and responding to every occurrence on a battlefield simultaneously. Isaac wanted to see it. But not now.

    He hurried out of the deck to find some privacy. A backward glance showed Lady Stars watching him go, a tiny glittery glint in the shadows of her hood where her face presumably lay, like a single star in the dark.

    His room was small, bright, comfortable. His suit, repaired, hung on the wall. Some plain synthetic fiber jumpsuits, like the blue one he wore now, hung in the narrow closet. His room had a private bathroom, a food and drink materializer like the one at his station, and a computer array of significant size and complexity. Sticky notes were already multiplying on all flat surfaces near to the computer station. No piano; that had been destroyed at the station. Unlike his pestilent poltergeist.

    RA: LORD FIERCE IS STRONG INDEED

    RA: I SHOULD LIKE TO SEE HIM AGAIN

    IM: Okay

    IM: I haven¡¯t met him

    RA: UNFORTUNATE!

    IM: So I heard you¡¯re the leader?

    RA: CORRECT

    RA: AND LIKEWISE UNFORTUNATE

    IM: Unfortunate?

    RA: THERE WAS ANOTHER

    AC: That is enough, Rasmus.

    AC: Why are you contacting the human?

    RA: CURIOSITY, ACARNUS!

    RA: SURELY YOU ARE FAMILIAR WITH THIS CONCEPT!

    AC: We have a plan. You are not making it any easier.

    IM: Hey I¡¯m curious too

    IM: Like why are you trying to kill us?

    AC: Do not answer that.

    IM: If all the Ladies are connected to a god, who is Lady Stars connected to?

    RA: AH, ZAYANA

    AC: Do not answer that either.

    RA: TOO LATE!

    RA: HA HA HA!

    DX: sHe¡¯s Moping cauSe she waS reading a BoOk and the mAin cHAracter died

    IM: So she doesn¡¯t want to kill me?

    AC: Lady Stars answers only to the Mirrored God.

    IM: Zayana, got it

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    IM: wait

    IM: This wouldn¡¯t be, uh, Princess Zayana of, like, Meszria would it?

    DX: oOh! tHat wasn¡¯T a guesS!

    DX: hOw do you Know tHAt?

    IM: And who are you?

    DX: i¡¯M the lAughing gOd

    DX: heE Hee, hO ho, ayuk hyUk, mwAhaha!

    DX: sEe?

    AC: Could both of you refrain from fraternizing with the humans?

    RA: IT WAS YOU WHO WISHED TO LEARN ABOUT THEM

    RA: EVEN IF WE MUST ELIMINATE THEM

    RA: YOU SAID IT YOURSELF

    AC: Learn, yes.

    DX: tO aid in the EliminatioN?

    AC: Correct.

    DX: iT mAy have the oPposite eFFect

    AC: Nevertheless.

    DX: yOu can¡¯T hide yoUr cuRIOsity from me!

    DX: did you Know that All of them hAve twO nameS?

    RA: INDEED?

    RA: EVEN YOU, HUMAN?

    AC: Of course, Rasmus; it¡¯s right on the cover of his book.

    RA: AH, I SEE!

    RA: ¡°ISAAC MILTON, 17¡±

    IM: Seventeen? I¡¯m not seventeen.

    IM: Wait, what book?

    RA: WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ¡°MILTON?¡±

    IM: Well it¡¯s just the name of my family, I guess

    RA: FAMILY?

    AC: They are like animals, Rasmus. They are born; therefore they have biological families.

    RA: LIKE FOLIOTS?

    AC: Yes.

    RA: HOW PECULIAR!

    DX: stiLl, two namEs is impreSsive!

    IM: You think two names is a lot? You should get a load of First Admiral Thelonius Dantalion Emberstar

    IM: Plus this flagship gets a new name like every day

    RA: HMM

    IM: Where are you guys?

    AC: Do not answer that.

    DX: hEh heH

    IM: ARKO, trace the gods¡¯ connection

    ARKO: Error: pathway unknown

    RA: A NOTABLE EFFORT!

    RA: HA HA HA

    DX: hey, Want to hEAR a rIDdle?

    IM: ...maybe?

    AC: I am leaving.

    RA: I AS WELL

    RA: FAREWELL, ISAAC MILTON

    RA: WELL, NO, ACTUALLY...

    RA: HMMM

    DX: oKAy they¡¯Re gone

    DX: Here it is:

    DX: Sit, for you have traveled far.

    DX: Rest, for you know exactly where you are.

    DX: Sigh, for you know not why you¡¯re there.

    DX: Smile, for the sun is rising somewhere.

    DX: Laugh, for you know not where you go, but why.

    DX: Sing, for the day is coming when you die.

    IM: Is...is that the riddle?

    DX: iS it?

    IM: was THAT the riddle?

    DX: wAs it?

    IM: The answer¡¯s not me, right?

    DX: wHAt do You think?

    IM: I think I see why they left

    DX: dO you?

    IM: You¡¯re the one that helped Jim, right?

    DX: the cOlor priest? Yup!

    IM: Feel like helping me?

    DX: nope!

    DX: iF lady Stars listenEd to me, I¡¯d have Her tear yoU apart

    DX: maYbe

    DX: perHAps i would Roll a Die!

    DX: heH Heh!

    IM: You don¡¯t belong here, do you?

    DX: oOh, your Turn for a riDdle!

    DX: one of the Big ones

    DX: wHEre do i Belong?

    DX: wHEre do you?

    IM: I know where I belong.

    DX: tHEn why are you Not there?

    IM: I have to die first.

    IM: Still there?

    DX: soRry I was laughing so Hard I feLl off the cHAndelIer

    DX: welL the goOd news is

    DX: yOu migHt be Home soOn!

    IM: Yeah

    IM: we¡¯ll see

    DX: ta ta for now!

    Isaac dropped onto his bed. He¡¯d been sleeping for hours not long ago while his wounds healed, but the bed called to him again already. It was very soft, very comfortable. He wasn¡¯t sure he should sleep, however. What if this Mirrored God quit their ¡®moping¡¯ and decided to enlist Lady Stars to kill him? But wait¡ªthe Mirrored God was Zayana? The one Kate had been talking to in the Museum? Kate had  seen this person. And it had been a person. Well, a humanoid, at any rate. It  could be some kind of god. But thinking back to her texts, she hadn¡¯t  sounded  much like a god. Not what Isaac thought of when he thought about gods, anyway. Maybe that Thunder God could pass for a god in text with his ALL-CAPS WORDS, but the rest of them¡­

    He had spoken now to five of them. The three stooges just now, plus an aggressive and obviously sinister Burning God with  red text , as well as his Least Favorite God So Far, the Changing God (black text), who seemed obsessed with Isaac¡¯s missing moon and whole ¡®Void¡¯ thing. Isaac would have enjoyed discussing these things with someone who knew about them, except that CG was a Blathering Incoherent Asshole.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really think they¡¯re gods at all,¡± he told Charlie. Anzu had implied that something was meddling in the Narrative; a fleet of that size was not supposed to attack and destroy the Void Station only a few days into their story. It was like a bug in a videogame. Or a cheat. Both Liz and Jim had reported their guardians saying something similar. This whole ¡®gods¡¯ thing, and the betrayal of the heroes by the Ladies, wasn¡¯t supposed to happen. So what was going on?

    The comm device on his wrist buzzed again. Isaac tapped it to project the text into the air above him, and he groaned when he saw who it was.

    CG: what happened to Icarus

    IM: Dude, leave me alone

    CG: your fucking moon where is it where did it go

    IM: Maybe I never had one?

    IM: It¡¯s called the ¡°Void Moon¡± so maybe it¡¯s just made of void¡ªlike, nothing.

    CG: you fucking gnatwit

    CG: your gods-damned imbecility is just fucking ludicrous

    CG: I¡¯ve scraped more perceptive shit off my shoes

    CG: of course you had a fucking moon

    CG: the other moons¡¯ orbits are fucking destabilizing cause yours is missing

    CG: and ¡®void¡¯ is being used as an adjective not a noun you gods damned numbskull

    CG: so let me break it down real simply so your primitive brain or like fucking fruit salad or whatever the fuck you¡¯ve got in that skull can process this:

    CG: how

    CG: the

    CG: fuck

    CG: did

    CG: you

    CG: void

    CG: your

    CG: moon?

    IM: *shrugs*

    IM: I mean it was like that when I got here

    IM: Maybe I can de-void it somehow

    IM: heh heh, ¡°devoid¡±

    CG: is this a fucking joke to you?

    IM: Well why do YOU care so much?

    IM: Aren¡¯t you trying to kill us?

    CG: gods-damned right I am

    CG: though I wouldn¡¯t mind killing you in particular

    CG: least I got to watch you and fucking Jacob Hollow get your ass kicked by Black

    CG: fucking useless

    IM: What?

    CG: least Hollow¡¯s dead now so the fucking princess can stop wasting her time

    IM: ...

    IM: what?

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10

    AJ Eddison

    They all found their niche on the first day aboard the ALL-Rover. Rebecca sat up front in the tiny driver¡¯s compartment, though a driver was not necessary, grimly gazing into the shifting fog like a watchman at the prow of a ship. Amelia sat up there with her; the two shared a certain perspective on things that caused them to get along famously. Dwayne and Alan took the far rear, by the bunkroom where Jimothy and Elizabeth slept, where they played cards and reminisced about their lives and experiences, which they found mutually engrossing. Michael sat nearby and listened, having no extraordinary stories of his own to contribute. He looked to AJ like a child getting to sit at the grown-ups¡¯ table, a comparison of which she was at once ashamed. Michael was no child. She knew that quite well enough, for she could not ignore that annoying little sting of disappointment that he was over there with them instead of talking to  her.

    AJ had worried at first about Leah. The child was difficult to read; she seldom displayed emotion and spoke with such a deadpan inflection that AJ could never tell when she was being serious. Leah had to miss her parents and her brother, and here she was among a strange assemblage of grown-ups she did not know. But Elmer Sky, unquestionably the strangest of them all, had taken to her at once. She listened to his ramblings, nodding seriously at even the most ridiculous digressions. She smiled when he laughed¡ªa frequent occurrence¡ªand she gaped in amazement when he demonstrated the ability to pull handkerchief-shaped pieces of brilliant blue sky right out of the air and knit them together into a soft quilt for her. Well, they had all marveled at that. Puffy clouds scudded across the seamless blue of one side, and constellations of stars glittered on the deep velvet black of the other. This quilt felt to the touch like a soft, fibrous textile. Alan had tried stabbing it with a knife to no avail, and Dwayne had dissuaded him from experimentally shooting it. Leah was wrapped in that quilt of sky, stacking some of Jimothy¡¯s colored blocks with Elmer, her expression indicating that this was a matter of dire importance, when AJ slid past them to the front of the rover.

    The main cabin of the rover was still that of McFinn¡¯s private jet: spacious for a land vehicle, lined with couches in white faux-leather upholstery, with large windows, TV screens, a concealed weapons locker, a minibar, and a refrigerator. And also Clara, who was like an invisible ninth person among them. She kept revealing new features of the ALL-Rover that no one had known about. Such as the weapons locker. A short hall in the back led to the cramped bathroom and bunkrooms, and at the back end of the hall was a plain wooden door that opened directly into a wall.

    AJ passed the weapons compartment with a dubious glance on her way to the driver¡¯s cab up front. She knocked on the plastic partition, looking through the rectangular window at Rebecca¡¯s feet up on the dash. A muffled voice answered, ¡°No need to knock.¡±

    AJ slid the door open and stepped in. The soft lights of the control panel and the dim glow of the silvery fog outside lit the interior. Rebecca had not changed out of her standard gear¡ªboots, belt, vest, jeans, leather hat¡ªand it was already becoming difficult for AJ to imagine her wearing anything else. Amelia had selected more casual attire, gray sweatpants and sweater, from the small stash of spare clothes in a back closet of the ALL-Rover.

    AJ paused when she saw Amelia Shape already occupying the passenger¡¯s seat. ¡°Don¡¯t mind me,¡± said Amelia, her weary tone so similar to Rebecca¡¯s. Amelia slid toward the window to allow AJ room to sit beside her. Amelia leaned her head against the window and gazed blankly out. The fog outside that window coiled and reformed continually into strange shapes. On the other side of AJ, Rebecca¡¯s scarred, leathery face was set in concentration.

    Rebecca and Amelia had been enjoying a moody silence and hot tea in insulated mugs. AJ didn¡¯t have tea, but she joined them in contemplating the gritty silver fog that parted in front of them as the ALL-Rover quietly rumbled along the misty road.

    ¡°The Bitch says she¡¯ll have to stop driving soon,¡± said Rebecca after a few minutes of silence. ¡°Tea, dear?¡±

    AJ almost declined automatically, but she checked herself. She  did want tea. ¡°Another tea,¡± Rebecca declared, dropping a fist randomly onto the array of buttons and switches at the control panel. ¡°What kind?¡±

    ¡°Peppermint?¡±

    ¡°Peppermint,¡± Rebecca repeated.

    The Bitch was Clara, their chauffeur. ¡°Still no idea about where we¡¯re headed?¡± AJ asked.

    ¡°Only that we¡¯re meeting up with Santa Claus.¡± Rebecca spoke with disdain and then sipped her tea in such a way as to show  just what she thought of her ex-husband Riley McFinn, and his drama and his codenames and his annoyingly human-like AI named Clara.

    ¡°Your tea is ready,¡± said Clara.

    ¡°Good,¡± muttered Rebecca.

    ¡°I was not speaking to you, Ms. Carter,¡± said Clara, who seemed to enjoy her antagonistic relationship with Rebecca.

    AJ grabbed her mug of tea from the drink station and returned. An open-lid mug of hot tea would ordinarily be a risky business in a moving vehicle, but not on the ALL-Rover. AJ often forgot that they were moving at all. Elmer had already suffered mild carsickness because of this.

    A warm, comfortable silence descended: Rebecca Carter stuck in perpetual bitter frustration about everything that had happened and her inability to change it, and Amelia Shape in her default morose brooding. Female bonding time. Yay.

    AJ didn¡¯t mind so much, really.

    ¡°Make a move,¡± said Rebecca after some time.

    ¡°Eh?¡± said Amelia.

    ¡°Not you. You and Elmer are just fine. Hrm. Are you married?¡±

    Amelia appeared only confused. ¡°Married? Whatever for?¡±

    ¡°Thought so. No, I was talking to Ms. Amber Jane Eddison.¡±

    ¡°A¡­move?¡± AJ asked.

    ¡°Michael,¡± said Rebecca. She sipped her tea in a way that let AJ know  exactly  what she meant. ¡°Boy¡¯s got a bit of spine, give him that. But he won¡¯t do it. Has to be you.¡±

    ¡°E-excuse me?¡± AJ felt petrified, unable to move, like a character in a horror movie who can only watch as the danger looms closer.

    ¡°You think so?¡± asked Amelia on her other side, speaking as though she hardly cared. But she spoke like that about everything. ¡°I rather thought he¡¯d work up the nerve. I made a wager with Elmer.¡±

    Rebecca shook her head lazily and pulled her braid of graying hair over one shoulder. Her eyes never left the road ahead. ¡°Neh. You¡¯ll lose that bet. Dear Mr. Whyte is too noble. Won¡¯t trouble a damsel with his affections when she has so much else to worry about. His shoulder to lean on, not his heart. All that.¡± A small smile tweaked the corner of her mouth, and now she gazed out into the fog as though seeing a fond memory of the far past. Perhaps she was, out in the fog. The addendum ¡®not like that damned Riley¡¯ hovered in the air without needing to be said.

    AJ could not believe they were discussing this right in front of her.

    ¡°So it¡¯s got to be you,¡± concluded Rebecca. She locked AJ with those steely eyes and clapped a weathered hand on her shoulder. Her hand felt heavy, like she had old iron for bones.

    ¡°Well, whoever it is,¡± said Amelia, ¡°better be quick. Might be too late any day now. Oh my. A jellyfish.¡±

    AJ glanced over just in time to see a greenish jellyfish, luminous in the fog, drift past at eye level. But she would not be distracted.

    ¡°Ms. Carter,¡± she said, keeping her voice even, ¡°I would¡ª¡±

    ¡°Rebecca, dear, please.¡± Rebecca turned her sharp eye back in the direction of travel. ¡°Hrm. Fish.¡± She pointed a finger with the hand holding the thermos. And indeed, a school of neon fish flurried past. They scattered as though spooked by the rover.

    ¡°Rebecca,¡± said AJ, ¡°there is no need for you to concern yourself with  my¡­¡± she tripped up on the phrase ¡®romantic entanglements,¡¯ amazed that she had been on the verge of putting it like that. She considered ¡®relationships,¡¯ but finally settled on ¡°personal life.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all women here,¡± noted Amelia in her typical listless drawl. ¡°We¡¯re on your side, dear.¡±

    It was beginning to wear on her nerves the way they both referred to her as ¡®dear.¡¯ They did it to most people, AJ knew, but she wasn¡¯t in a mood to give them any consideration. And  what  did them all being women have to do with it?

    ¡°Drink your tea, dear,¡± said Rebecca. She demonstrated by sipping her own. ¡°Shark.¡± A shark, streaked with shining blue as though under a UV light, faded in from one side, kept pace with the rover for a moment, then darted away. ¡°We seem to be having a fishy day.¡±

    ¡°She must be drawing back there, I suppose,¡± said Amelia. ¡®She¡¯ could only mean Leah. AJ sat in a huff, attempting to sip her tea as expressively as Rebecca. There was no chance of that¡ªRebecca was an unparalleled tea-sipper¡ªbut AJ tried.

    ¡°I was young once,¡± said Rebecca, finally setting down her thermos on the dash.

    ¡°Verily?¡±

    ¡°Verily, dear. If you can believe it. Some days I can¡¯t. Then I recall what a fool I was. On many occasions. This, for example.¡± She turned her head for a moment to better display the tiger-claw scars running down the far side of her face. ¡°And of course I married Riley McFinn.¡± She laughed, and it sounded like genuine mirth, amusement at the stupidity of her former self.

    AJ watched Amelia distractedly create little jellyfish of light and make them flounce around the cabin. Eventually, Rebecca continued.

    ¡°I was in love a few times,¡± she mused. ¡°Never worked out. Still worth it, I suppose. I wouldn¡¯t take any of those days back.¡± She adjusted her hat, flexed her fingers. ¡°I was a hunter, you know. If I wanted something, I chased it. I did not allow hesitation to cause life to slip through my fingers.¡±

    ¡°Hunter,¡± said AJ, latching on to what seemed the most offensive part of all this. So she should ¡®hunt¡¯ Michael? The presumption of it. ¡°Think Alan Sheppard will be easy to hunt? Can¡¯t be too hard to chase when¡­he¡¯s¡­¡± She regretted it at once.

    Rebecca did not look at her, but her words were hard. ¡°That, Amber Jane Eddison, was uncalled for.¡±

    ¡°Elmer and I wagered on that as well,¡± said Amelia, interrupting what might have been a tense silence. Both Rebecca and AJ looked over at her. ¡°My drops are on Alan.¡± She sipped her tea. ¡°Making it happen, that is. Oh. A turtle.¡±

    ¡°Turtle?¡± said Rebecca. ¡°Ah, that reminds me of someone. Bit like you, AJ, dear.  It was in Moldova, I believe. Or French Guiana. Remarkable how I tend to get those two confused. Her name was Ezelia Patroyovich, yes, it must have been Moldova, and the peculiar thing about her was that she could only sing¡ªI mean sing very well, you know, at a national level¡ªin  French. Wait, perhaps it  was Guiana. In any case, one fine weekend I happened to be loading the truck¡­¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    AJ drained her tea and left. She was not in the mood for another of Rebecca¡¯s rambling tales. She slid the door shut so hard that it slammed.

    She wanted to cook. Cooking relaxed her. But the rover did not come equipped with a kitchen. Nor ingredients. There was always singing, but now she was in a small room with five other people, all of whom were looking her way, wondering why she had slammed the door.

    She ignored them, all except Michael, who sat on a cushy eggshell-white lounge chair with his expensive camera in his lap. He watched her, concerned but not quite enough to ask, in front of everyone, what was wrong. AJ edged past the table where crayon sea creatures flourished under the enthusiastic hands of Leah and Elmer. Then she paused. Nowhere to go. Maybe she could find solitude in the room in back, where Lizzy and Jimothy slept.

    But Michael got her attention with a wave. ¡°Come look at this,¡± he said.  He saw her coming and got up out of the big cushy lounge chair, moving to the couch near Leah and Elmer so he and AJ could sit side by side. Somehow this disappointed AJ. Really, there had been quite enough room on that chair. For the two of them. It was a big chair.

    Michael wasted no time when AJ dropped beside him on the couch. ¡°Look.¡± He showed her the screen on his camera. ¡°Ever since we got in here, I¡¯ve been thinking this looks familiar somehow. Like d¨¦j¨¤ vu.¡±

    It took AJ a moment to realize that what she saw on the camera screen was not a photograph. Or it was, of course, but it was a photo of a painting. And the painting showed almost exactly what AJ saw when she looked up at the interior of the lounge compartment: Leah and Elmer drawing at a table, clothes and gear strewn about, gray fog outside the windows¡­and even the glowing fish outside¡ªthat exact school of blue fish that AJ saw when she looked up from the camera at that very moment. It was there in paint, in bold brushstrokes, with what she had already come to recognize as Jimothy¡¯s signature mastery of shade and lighting.

    ¡°Devastating,¡± she whispered, which was one of the random words she occasionally said when she didn¡¯t know what else to say.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Michael, which was the same thing for him. Then he said, ¡°I think we should look through the rest of them. Just in case.¡±

    ¡°Verily,¡± she said. In front of them, a blue rubber ball rolled across the floor. It encountered a duffel bag, paused, and then circled around it on a journey back toward Dwayne and Alan. AJ ignored it. The ball had already ceased to be a marvel. It didn¡¯t do anything spectacular. It was like a harmless pet. With Elmer, Amelia, and even Dwayne onboard, the ball was honestly one of the least interesting things in the ALL-Rover.

    And Michael, of course.  The thought came to AJ, as Michael began searching back through the files on his camera, that this would be a good time to learn about Michael Whyte. To ask him¡­well, anything. About his interests. What things did he like? What places had he gone? What friends did he have? She wanted to know.

    He asked her a question first, before she could formulate one of her own. ¡°Is there anyone you¡¯re worried about? Back home?¡±

    AJ spoke the first thing that came to mind. ¡°My neighbors. Ms. Jacobiak and her kids. They are so cute, Michael. I teach them piano. And my mom, naturally. Not that I teach her piano; I¡¯m worried about her. I wish I knew¡­¡± she waved a hand vaguely. ¡°You?¡±

    Michael grimaced. ¡°My mom too. She¡¯s in an assisted living facility. She doesn¡¯t always remember who we are, but Jim and I live nearby and we try to visit.¡±

    While she considered this, a shuddering  thump jolted the ALL-Rover. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to topple a precarious tower of blocks, spilling them over Leah¡¯s crayon aquarium.

    The ALL-Rover slowed to a stop, reminding AJ in dizzying fashion that they had indeed been moving. The door to the driver¡¯s cabin slid open and Amelia stumbled through.

    ¡°Did we hit a fish?!¡± Elmer exclaimed, apparently thrilled by the idea.

    ¡°A deer, dear,¡± she replied. Elmer guffawed at this, and a small smile even twitched at the corner of Amelia¡¯s thin lips. ¡°A real creature, I believe. It¡¯s not dissolving, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Then what¡¯s the problem?¡± asked Alan Sheppard, suddenly in Commander Mode. He had stood, and one hand strayed toward the hidden catch that opened the secret weapons locker right next to him. AJ suddenly understood why Alan had chosen to position himself in the back, in a spot from which he rarely moved. ¡°Surely a collision with a deer won¡¯t stop¡­this.¡± He waved a hand around, indicating the monstrous vehicle in which they sat. AJ had gone outside earlier, had marveled at the treads of the ALL-Rover like everyone else. This vehicle could probably drive directly over a mountain with little difficulty. Hell, since it was the work of Riley McFinn, AJ wouldn¡¯t have been surprised to learn that it could plow through a lake of molten lava.

    ¡°Well there¡¯s rather a lot of them,¡± answered Amelia. ¡°Running about. And such. Deer, I mean. And such.¡±

    ¡°Goddamn zoo out there,¡± Rebecca¡¯s voice shouted back at them. Then, after a brief pause in which she remembered that half of them were likely to be offended by such language, ¡°pardon the French. The Bitch doesn¡¯t want to run them over. Whoops, pardon again.¡±

    Alan strode forward, ignoring Elmer¡¯s bewildered enquiries about what this ¡®French¡¯ might be and what it had done to require pardon.

    Something slammed into the side of the ALL-Rover. The entire vehicle jerked aside hard enough to toss them all from their seats and incite momentary fear of rolling over.

    And that was when they discovered that while Riley¡¯s private jet had shed many parts of itself to become the ALL-Rover, such as wings and jet engines, it had not relinquished its weaponry.

    And after that, they explained to Leah quite firmly that she wasn¡¯t allowed to draw sea monsters, or indeed monsters of any kind, anymore.

    They stopped for the night that evening. Clara explained to them that as the effects of the genesis fog increased, her ability to pilot the ALL-Rover dwindled. She could no longer reliably keep them on the road, nor direct them on her own. This had something to do with the destabilization of objective reality, but there was not a single person onboard who either cared or possessed sufficient knowledge to understand what this meant.

    They gathered for an evening meal of sandwiches, dried fruit, and various non-expirables. They ate communally at Dwayne¡¯s insistence. ¡®A family gathering,¡¯ he called it. They agreed, not that they had much choice but to gather together. Alan did not eat with them because he was occupied in the driver¡¯s cab, planning their next day with Clara. That, AJ would later reflect, had been the first mistake of the evening.

    The second was that Rebecca sat down to eat beside Dwayne Hartman, and she did so well-armed with a full bottle of whiskey.

    AJ would later think she should have seen it coming, though that wasn¡¯t necessarily true. She hadn¡¯t known Dwayne was the type to get drunk. She would also think later that once it began happening, she should have stopped it. This was probably true, but she and Michael had been so busy talking that she just didn¡¯t notice until Dwayne and Rebecca were both thoroughly intoxicated.

    They fed each other¡¯s bad habits; AJ had seen it before. And they were alike, Dwayne and Rebecca: gruff and strong-willed, beaten, battered, and toughened by long and eventful lives. They had a lot to talk about, a lot of stories to share, a lot of reasons to drink and many long-lost friends and family to drink to.

    AJ didn¡¯t notice, or at least didn¡¯t pay it much heed, until the booming of Dwayne Hartman called her out like the voice of God Himself reverberating in the cabin. ¡°Amber!¡±

    She jumped, startled. Rebecca leaned against Dwayne and said, ¡°Amber Jane, Dwayne. Or AJ.¡± Rebecca did not refer to Dwayne Hartman as ¡®dear.¡¯

    He nodded seriously, as though accepting grave news of profound importance. His gaze, usually soft, now fell fierce upon AJ, unnerving her with its strange intensity. For a fleeting moment, she was unreasonably afraid of Dwayne.

    ¡°Amber Jane.¡± He spoke as though delivering a life-altering judgment before the highest court in the world. ¡°You are a musician? A singer?¡±

    Those eyes would admit no denial. She glanced at Michael for aid, but he looked just as bemused as she felt. She summoned her courage, wondering why such an admission required courage, and said, ¡°Verily?¡±

    Dwayne laughed, so loud and unexpected that the sound startled Leah, who jumped with her small hand in a bag of chips. Leah gazed at Dwayne with huge, awestruck eyes, evidently torn between joining the laughter and crying.

    Belatedly, Elmer laughed as well, though it was obvious that he hadn¡¯t been paying attention, had no idea what Dwayne was laughing about, and was simply joining in because he wanted to laugh. He was late, and he guffawed merrily into a strained silence. Amelia sighed dramatically into her trail mix.

    ¡°She teaches music,¡± murmured Rebecca. Rebecca watched impassively, swirling the whiskey in her glass, clinking the ice, but AJ got the impression that she was encouraging Dwayne. ¡°She teaches singing, in fact.¡± Dwayne nodded in approval and ran a calloused, massive, tattooed hand down his immense gray beard. Michael had already told AJ that Dwayne was Isaac¡¯s piano instructor, which AJ found hard to believe. With hands so big, how could he play the piano at all?

    But then Rebecca dropped the final piece into place, with obvious relish. ¡°¡­at a church.¡±

    Dwayne Hartman could hardly contain his excitement, if that was what it was. He hummed to himself, pursing his lips. He ran a hand roughly through his beard. He nodded to himself, adjusted his cowboy hat, removed a flask from his coat that looked comically tiny in his hands, popped it open, took a swig. Then he glowered at the middle distance. ¡°Not one of those¡­¡± He waved a huge hand vaguely. ¡°Wishy-washy nonsense so-called  worship music?¡±

    Rebecca tried to hide a burst of laughter by turning it into a cough. She stifled it by sipping from her glass. Elmer smoothed his moustaches and whispered a question about what Dwayne meant to Amelia, who was just as flummoxed.

    AJ knew what Dwayne meant. She had to deal with this, exactly this, almost every week at her church. But at least she could answer truthfully and keep him happy. ¡°I lead a choir,¡± she told him. ¡°We sing hymns.¡± Not  just hymns, but he didn¡¯t need to know that.

    Dwayne broke into a beautiful smile; an entire transformation overcame him, and the pure joy that radiated from his old eyes felt to AJ like a nearly physical sensation. ¡°So you know¡­¡± He paused to select one. ¡°Holy, Holy, Holy?¡±

    Oh no. ¡°Verily,¡± she said, not liking where this was going.

    ¡°Abide with Me?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­¡±

    ¡°Higher Ground?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure she knows all of them, Dwayne,¡± said Rebecca with an evil, evil grin.

    AJ hadn¡¯t actually known that last one. She did not doubt that Dwayne Hartman¡¯s knowledge of hymnology far exceeded her own.

    ¡°Then we must sing,¡± he said. It was an observation of the inevitable, as though he had said ¡®we¡¯ll have to keep breathing.¡¯ And without more ado, he began to sing. The sound was extraordinary. Everyone stared at Dwayne with some degree of alarm or amazement. It was ¡°Holy, Holy, Holy,¡± the first hymn he¡¯d mentioned. And it was strangely wonderful. Dwayne¡¯s vocal tone was¡­well, it was abhorrent. Gravelly, guttural, grating. The worst case of ¡®shout-singing¡¯ AJ had ever witnessed, though in this case ¡®roar¡¯ seemed more appropriate than ¡®shout.¡¯ AJ could not recall having ever heard such a terrible singing voice. Yet, neither could she recall such unabashed enthusiasm. His pitch was rock solid, and his passion was unsurpassable. There could be no mistaking, by anybody, regardless of whether they understood even a single word, that Dwayne Hartman truly meant every line that he sang.

    Even Rebecca Carter appeared taken aback, her glass forgotten and hanging limp from her fingers, surprised at what she had awakened. Up front, the cockpit door slid open so that Alan could cast an incredulous glance back into the lounge.

    Dwayne Hartman beckoned to AJ with a huge hand, urging her to join him as he thundered into the second verse.

    AJ tried to think of how to politely decline, aware that everyone¡¯s attention was shifting toward her. She didn¡¯t really want to sing just then, not in front of all of them, not with Dwayne Hartman, not with Michael sitting right next to her. She knew very well what her voice would sound like if she added it to the clamor of Dwayne¡¯s singing, and it was not musical. It was awkward, embarrassing. But Dwayne, immune to embarrassment, reached over to take her hand, and tears glistened on his ruddy cheeks.

    Another hand intercepted Dwayne¡¯s, small and pale by comparison, and another voice joined the song, not hers. Michael¡¯s. He wasn¡¯t a very good singer either, as he had said, and his voice sounded faltering and hesitant compared to Dwayne¡¯s.

    That was all it took to change everything. Suddenly it was very easy for her to take a deep breath, locate the pitch, and join in.

    Dwayne smiled when he barreled along into the third verse, trailing the two of them in his vocal wake like a steamboat dragging some canoes along for the ride. His expression was sheer rapture, his joy so infectious that AJ too began to smile.

    And Elmer Sky, inspired to join and not discouraged by his ignorance of the text, began to hum along. Leah Walker, who seemed a little confused but caught up in the moment all the same, joined in with words of her own, apparently made up on the spot. AJ caught something about ¡®lobsters¡¯ and ¡®division.¡¯

    Rebecca and Amelia shared a glance, the former with a raised eyebrow and the latter with a resigned sigh. Amelia shrugged and held up a hand that shed a small rain of miniature green question marks. Rebecca raised her glass faintly toward Michael in salute, though he wasn¡¯t paying attention, mimed clinking it against his, and kicked back the rest of her whiskey.

    They sang a few hymns. Outside, something bright was happening in the fog, but nobody except Alan noticed because in the moment it seemed natural.

 Chapter 11

    Chapter 11

    Eric Walker

    ¡°Damn,¡± said Eric as their little lifeboat of a spaceship descended toward the Cloud Moon. A sea of gray soon filled the entire viewport. Tiny flashes of light strobed perpetually within the clouds as though the storm hid a host of paparazzi snapping shot after shot with multicolored flash. ¡°Looks cool.¡±

    Kate pressed up against the window beside him. ¡°Y-yeah, but there¡¯s no s-sunlight. Ever! Always s-st-stormy!¡±

    Eric stretched and yawned. That sounded okay to him. Seemed like a relatively small problem for a moon to have in comparison to his moon, in which the population was MIA, or Isaac¡¯s in which the moon itself was MIA.

    ¡°Think she¡¯ll b-be all right?¡± asked Kate for the twentieth time as she leaned back into her seat and buckled herself in. She motioned for Eric to do the same.

    They¡¯d invited Heidi to come with them, to just leave her moon. But Heidi was the dutiful type, and she had responsibilities. She wanted to do her moon thing, do it right. And good for her, even though her whole moon thing seemed pretty fucking dark. Prisons and monsters made of pain and a weird glass plant that grew on dead bodies, feeding on their regrets and all that shit. Plus something called the Bleak Machine shining like a diseased sun at the middle of everything. But hey, if anyone could handle all that, it was probably Heidi.

    But he had to reassure Kate. Again. ¡°Listen, she¡¯s surrounded by a squad of elite badasses, okay? And they know Lady Chains is out there. She won¡¯t get the drop on them.¡±

    Kate bit her lip and hugged her bass. Her hair, messily trapped in a handful of brightly colored plastic butterfly clips, began to drift toward the Cloud Moon as ¡®down¡¯ started being a thing again.

    Eric knew he was reassuring himself just as much as Kate. Heidi had seemed chill when she told them she could handle it. She had seemed unshaken. But how often  had he seen her shaken? Did he even know what that looked like? If she really was scared, or nervous about being left on her clusterfuck of a moon while he and Kate sailed away in a spare escape pod, would she show it? Hell no.

    ¡°Just gotta trust her, I guess,¡± he said to himself. Kate grunted in acknowledgment.

    ¡°She c-called him her fr-f-friend,¡± said Kate after a moment. Meaning the bug monster. The one called Ruth.

    ¡°I¡¯ll apologize, damn, chill.¡±

    ¡°I m-meant I¡¯m happy. For her.¡± And sure enough, she was grinning a big toothy grin. ¡°M-m-mmmaking friends.¡±

    Their pod dropped through the clouds and plummeted for over a minute through the dense canopy of storm while colorful lightning lit the surrounding vapor. Eric was no astronomy nerd like Isaac, but he knew damn well that falling through the atmosphere of a planet was supposed to be loud and hot and full of shaky-cam. Entering the atmosphere and gravitational influence of Theia was kind-of loud because of the thunder, and it was a little shaky, but they made it through with hardly any drama at all.

    Kate somehow read his thoughts. ¡°W-well¡­it  is just a m-moo-m-a moon. And a r-re- a p-pretty small one, too.¡± Her dark eyebrows scrunched together. ¡°B-but then why d-do they all have o-one G of g-gravity? And one atmosphere of p-pre-p-of air pressure?¡±

    Eric knew the answer as though Isaac was whispering it into his ear with a silly accent.  Because it¡¯s just a story and we¡¯re not supposed to question the details like that.

    The pod¡¯s navigational abilities proved themselves when it finally cleared the storm. It popped a parachute to slow their fall with a harsh jolt. There, in clear view not two miles away, stood Kate¡¯s palace. She pointed it out to him, buzzing with excitement, but he could not really have missed it. Bright colors and pointed towers like that one famous church in Russia, except that each tower was also a windmill. About a dozen windmills of varying shapes and colors and sizes, spinning at different speeds in the wind. Only one tower, the tallest, had no windmill. He couldn¡¯t see the door, but he knew it was there.

    Their pod landed roughly on a grassy slope. The pod was round, so it began rolling down the hill as soon as Eric and Kate had unbuckled themselves from their seats. They tumbled about the cramped cabin for several seconds before the pod slowed to a halt.

    ¡°Ow,¡± said Eric when everything had stopped spinning. He felt the tender spot on his face where something hard and sharp had come close to gouging his eye out.

    Kate, partially on top of him, giggled in exhilaration. She sat up, held out a hand. Navi appeared in a blink of light to deposit Kate¡¯s glasses into her hand. ¡°N-nnneed a s-a strap,¡± she said as she set them back onto her face.

    They clambered out of the pod after collecting their things. It began to rain when they set out for the palace. Eric concealed himself within a waterproof poncho, but Kate pranced ahead, accepting the soaking. The green hills and the fresh scent of the rain were exciting to Eric by their novelty. This was a dramatic landscape all right, with the mountains and cliffs and distant rolling hills, made all the more interesting by the perpetual roiling storm.

    He immediately liked Kate¡¯s moon. It was alive, things were happening, its Guardian did not seem like a murderous monster, and its Hero had an obvious goal. It was unlike his own moon, the Hollow Moon, in all these ways.

    But there was something about the storms. He¡¯d been wrong earlier. It  was a big deal, a big problem, that it was constantly stormy here. Because the storms weren¡¯t right. Several times he looked up at the dark skies, alarmed, because he had been sure, for just a second, that one of the distant rumblings had not been the sound of thunder. Storm worms, Kate called them. She had never seen one.

    They met Theians at the pearly gates of Kate¡¯s palace. Eric recognized some of them from Skywater.

    ¡°Mormo!¡± said Kate when she saw them. She skipped across the bridge to greet them while Eric came more carefully behind. He stepped close to the edge of the bridge, which had only a short, frail guardrail, and peered into the chasm below. He made a flashlight with batteries from his medallion, clicked it on, and dropped it over the side. It spun down into the darkness for five¡­ten seconds. Then he could no longer see it. Because it had dissolved into mist? In any case, it was a long fucking way down.

    He met the Theians. Mormo, green and brown moth. Polyom, blue and pink butterfly. A few others, including the bright orange and green little annoying butterfly from Skywater (Finch?) and the big beefcake moth that looked pretty cool in all-white with some purple spots. That one was named Slushy or something. But the first two were the important ones¡ªMormo and Polyom.

    These two were very excited to meet Eric. They had heard from the other Theians all about the events at Skywater¡ªLords, Ladies, Heroes. They made it clear that his presence honored them. A little too much so.

    ¡°Just r-roll with it,¡± Kate whispered with a smile, seeing his discomfort. ¡°Isn¡¯t this w-wh-what you always w-wanted? To be a¡ªa  B-big Damn Hero?¡± She made her voice gruff and masculine.

    ¡°Well yeah, but this isn¡¯t being a hero, it¡¯s being treated like one for no fucking reason, I haven¡¯t actually done shit.¡±

    They ate dinner in the big hall that looked like unicorns had vomited rainbows all over it. Kate had filled the Theians in on what exactly humans ate, although she had neglected to mention that, unlike her, most of them also enjoyed meat. But Eric wasn¡¯t about to fucking complain. No sir, not him. And he made sure Kate knew it.

    They¡¯d slept a little in the pod on the way over, so neither of them really felt tired even though it was getting toward evening and a bunch of the Theians flew back to their home nearby. Kate was all wired on some sugary drink, anyway. ¡°I¡¯m g-go-g-going up to the l-the lab!¡± she told him.

    ¡°Cool,¡± he said. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll come too.¡±

    She seemed surprised. ¡°R-really? I¡¯ll only be d-doing  b-boooring science s-stuff.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Whatever. Labs are cool. And we should stick together, right? Don¡¯t mind me, I¡¯ll just be chillin.¡±

    High-tech machines populated her lab. Eric didn¡¯t know enough science to tell whether they were legit science machines or fantasy bullshit like teleporters or fucking atomizers or whatever.

    Kate got right to work. She strapped on clear plastic goggles that fit over her glasses, gathered her hair into a messy bun, poured candy into a beaker from a secret stash in one of the cupboards, and pulled a large stuffed caterpillar Pok¨¦mon from the same stash. She positioned this creature on top of a nearby machine where it would have a good view.

    ¡°They have Pok¨¦mon here?¡± Eric asked.

    Kate shook her head. ¡°I m-made it.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s not turning into fog.¡±

    ¡°We can make things p-p-permanent! It just t-ta-takes drops!¡±

    ¡°Drops?¡±

    ¡°Drops!¡± She reached down into the same space as the candy and showed him a jar half-full of little irregular chunks of glass, like melted misshapen marbles. He¡¯d seen these before. The Xeon thugs had been betting them in Skywater.

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll shut up,¡± he said. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll talk to Frisby.¡± He dropped into a swiveling office chair and kicked it into a spin.

    ¡°I don¡¯t m-mind questions,¡± she said as she pulled a stack of notebooks from a drawer and began leafing through them.

    ¡°Okay. Then what are you going to do?¡±

    She grinned like that had been exactly what she wanted him to ask. ¡°I¡¯m going to ma-m-make some gog-g-goggles for Heidi! S-so she can s-see the gravitational w-waves.¡±

    Eric didn¡¯t bother asking how she planned to do this. But he remembered Heidi mentioning that the unexpected tugging of random gravity made it hard to surf the air on her moon. ¡°Cool,¡± he said. Frisby joined him on the spinning chair, unreasonably excited by the thrill of twirling around.

    ¡°Y-y-you see,¡± Kate continued, unconcerned by his lack of curiosity. ¡°G-gravity isn¡¯t actually r-re-r-real.¡± She turned her back to him to boot up some nearby computers or lab equipment or whatever the hell those machines were. ¡°Or it k-kinda is, but it¡¯s not a force so much as the result of the curvature of spacetime! It¡¯s Einstein¡¯s mollusk, Eric! The natural outcome of general relativity! Gravity is, is¡­it¡¯s  beautiful, Eric!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it.¡± He slowed to a halt and watched the lab churn in his vision.

    She didn¡¯t seem to hear him, or to be aware that she had lost her stutter for a while there. She was beaming vacantly at nothing, thinking thoughts that Eric could not even begin to comprehend.  She had her phone out, the one Isaac had given back to her. Either she or Isaac had cleaned off her blood. Music suddenly thumped through the air from the corners of the room. It sounded familiar. Because he, Eric, had created it. This was a beat track, a tricky rhythm in 5/4 over which someone had recorded a funky bass line. It sounded incomplete with just bass and a few layers of percussion. But it didn¡¯t sound bad. Kate winked at him.

    Then she got to work, which at first seemed to consist of making lists and running around the lab gathering things. Sometimes she scribbled notes on a whiteboard or in one of her notebooks. Sometimes she ran off through a door in the back and emerged with random tools or materials.

    A message came for Eric while she was on one of her trips to the back room. Eric interrupted his game of fetch with Frisby to answer.

    CG: the fuck is this godsawful music

    EW: yo

    CG: don¡¯t ¡°yo¡± me you tedious cretin

    EW: tedious?

    CG: because you don¡¯t do shit

    CG: you¡¯re fucking boring, banal, insipid. i wouldn¡¯t even be able to tell you humans apart if your names weren¡¯t written here because you all look the fucking same, act the fucking same

    CG: imbecilic fucking animals

    Kate returned at this point, striding back into the room with several spools of copper wire around one forearm like bracelets.

    ¡°Got a god on the line,¡± he told her. ¡°Catch or release?¡±

    She paused to consider. ¡°Which one? Is it a  nice god?¡±

    ¡°Let me check.¡±

    EW: yo

    EW: you a nice god?

    CG: oh you think that¡¯s smart, huh? you think you¡¯ll just make fun of me, right? like, what can I do, right, I¡¯m just a fucking voice in the dark

    CG: you¡¯re gonna die

    CG: sooner than you think, all of you, and I¡¯ll be the one laughing then, okay? people will ask me, you think they deserved it? and I¡¯ll tell them, it doesn¡¯t fucking matter, I¡¯m a gods-damned god and they¡¯re a bunch of useless pathetic animals, piece of shit

    CG: I hate you

    CG: I hate you and your fucking guts, and it was a damned pleasure to see your friend get his throat shot out and bleed to death all over the road

    CG: but you might be wondering, what does this god think of me specifically?

    CG: well let me tell you

    CG: I think you¡¯re a fakeass loser with some kind of hero complex where you think you¡¯re this hot shit, just this gods-damned special star in the fucking sky, but really you¡¯re just fucking angry at everything and mostly yourself because you¡¯re fucking weak and too fucking stupid to make any difference to anything that matters, so you play it off like it¡¯s this no big deal by being all nonchalant and then laughing it off, but actually you¡¯re just an asshole, worse than that actually because you don¡¯t think you are, and worse than even that because you¡¯re this deplorable fucking wretch

    CG: and trust me on this, you won¡¯t be able to fucking save anybody

    CG: got it, human?

    EW: not really could you repeat that

    CG: fuck you

    ¡°It¡¯s a nice one,¡± said Eric, speaking loudly to Kate over the music. ¡°He says you look really pretty today.¡±

    She blinked at him in confusion. ¡°That¡¯s a w-weird thing to s-say, for a g-god! B-but tell him thanks!¡±

    EW: she says thanks

    CG: fuck you

    EW: need a thesaurus buddy?

    EW: also did you have a question for me

    EW: like why are we talking

    CG: I asked about the fucking music

    EW: oh right

    EW: its mine

    CG: it¡¯s shit

    EW: eh

    CG: the fuck you mean, ¡®eh¡¯?

    EW: might be

    EW: might be shit

    EW: probably redeemed by kates bass solo though

    CG: the fuck is he doing?

    EW: she

    CG: whatever

    CG: I don¡¯t even know how you can fucking tell the difference

    EW: shes making goggles that can see gravity or some shit

    CG: not like that she isn¡¯t

    CG: it¡¯s like watching an ugly fucking monkey bang rocks together

    EW: hey

    CG: oh, that touch a nerve? that get you riled up? don¡¯t like me calling out your fellow humans?

    EW: ape

    CG: what the fuck

    EW: not monkey

    EW: shes a scientist she would prefer to be insulted accurately

    CG: funny guy huh?

    CG: well I¡¯m a fucking scientist too

    CG: maybe I¡¯ll help him out

    EW: her

    CG: fuck you

    ¡°Hey Kate, the god has some pro tips or whatever for that thing you¡¯re making.¡±

    ¡°R-really?! Cool!¡± She picked up her phone. ¡°I¡¯ll p-pu-put them on s-speaker.¡±

    Eric grinned and scratched Frisby behind the wings as Kate did something with her phone, turning the music way down.

    ¡°W-wh-which one is it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Changing God. Black text.¡±

    She frowned. ¡°I th-thought you sa-s-said he was a j-jerk!¡±

    A monotone robotic voice sounded throughout the lab. ¡°Well fuck you too you piece of shit inferior being I never said you were pretty I said you look like an ugly fucking ape banging rocks together honestly I mean gods damn it I have never observed such amateurish technical ineptitude it is like your brain is located in your fucking big toe and maybe what is in your head is actually gods damn rancid pus maybe that would explain why your skin is such a weird fucking color even though your blood is red.

    ¡°Why are you laughing you fucking lunatics?¡±

    Kate howled with laughter, doubled over at her bench, and Eric could not stop his mirth from leaking out in stifled guffaws. There was something utterly ridiculous about that boring robot voice insulting them in a steady march of nearly meaningless words.

    ¡°W-wait, w-w-w-whaha¡ªwait!¡± Kate wiped a tear and did something on her phone. ¡°O-okay,¡± she said. ¡°S-s-sorry M-mi-m-mister Ch-changing G-god! P-p-pl-pleasecontinue!¡±

    The voice obliged. ¡°[beep] off you [beep] [beep] asinine [beep] morons [beep] ludicrous [beep] I cannot even comprehend the [beep] [beep] magnitude of your [beep] [beep] worthlessness.¡±

    A moment of silence, save for uncontrolled laughter. Kate actually fell onto the ground, gasping for breath.

    ¡°Oh [beep] you.¡±

    Things got a little more under control after that. Kate muted the voice after she collected herself, though for a while afterwards she burst into a sudden fit of giggles.

    ¡°N-n-nice, huh?¡± she said to him.

    He shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s weird, he was being so nice to me. I guess it¡¯s just you he doesn¡¯t like.¡±

    ¡°S-s-so was it actually y-you s-saying I look p-pretty today?¡±

    He opened his mouth to make some automated smartass remark like ¡®let¡¯s not jump to conclusions,¡¯ but the novelty of the thought stalled him.  Was Kate pretty today? Or any day? ¡®Pretty¡¯ didn¡¯t seem like the kind of word that easily applied to Kaitlyn Carter, except for maybe when she had a big grin, like right then. ¡°Sure, let¡¯s go with that,¡± he said.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°Awww!¡± She turned back to her work.

    ¡°Said he¡¯s a scientist, though. Had some tips for your gravity goggles or whatever.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯m interested! B-b-but w-we¡¯ll do it through t-text.¡± She giggled again.

    Eric resumed what he had been doing before, playing games with Frisby Wiser and trying to talk to him. Frisby seemed to know a lot about the Narrative and what was going on, but he was scatterbrained and didn¡¯t reveal much unless directly asked. But the little dragon could tell Eric that the ¡®drops¡¯ are condensed pieces of the genesis mist, as found on the Earth that Eric had left behind. Creative potential given form, or some shit. Frisby told him that Eric could make a substantial, though not infinite, amount of temporary stuff from the medallion, which would need to recharge. But making permanent things was harder. It took drops, or else actual genesis mist, and it required that Eric copy something already in existence by touching his medallion to it, or else have a really fucking good idea in his mind of exactly what he wanted.

    This led Eric to thinking about the Repeat. He pulled it out of an inner pocket of his coat and held it up in front of him. It was a musical ¡°repeat¡± symbol: two parallel lines, one thick and one thin, with two dots on the side of the thin line. It was the size of his hand, black, fairly heavy, and the lines and dots stayed firmly in place as a single unit though they were not physically connected. Perfectly smooth, like some kind of metal. He had found this on a random sidewalk on the Hollow Moon, stuck it in his pocket, and forgotten about it. Eric had no idea what to do with it, but he thought it might be important. It was glowing, anyway, with a faint light.

    But hearing Frisby¡¯s explanation made Eric wonder if he could make more Repeats. He was considering this question, and also what the fuck he would do with a whole bucketload of Repeat signs, when the explosion happened. It wasn¡¯t an explosion in the traditional sense, with fire and light and heat; it was more like a three-dimensional shatter. Veins of shimmering silver cracked through everything in an instant. No fire or heat, but there was noise, and there was a force that struck Eric like a battering ram and slammed him back into the cabinet he¡¯d been leaning against, and slammed the cabinet back against the table behind, and then tumbled everything up into the air.

    Eric hit the floor in a daze of stunned surprise.

    Everything was too loud and too quiet. No more music, but machines beeped wildly, things crashed to the floor, glass shattered. His phone buzzed, but he ignored it. Where was Kate?

    He heard her before he saw her: a soft whimper that both relieved and terrified him. The machine she had been working on was in pieces all over the floor, not smoking or smoldering, but shimmering with a strange light. And she was there among them on the floor, clutching her face and trembling. A little white butterfly twitched helplessly nearby as though trying feebly to fly. Both of Navi¡¯s wings were bent and broken like crumpled paper.

    His phone buzzed again. He didn¡¯t need to look at it to know who it was, what they were saying. He could only think: why the hell did she listen to him? Why did Eric let her? Wasn¡¯t he the one who said not to trust the gods?

    But, as Kate began to shiver and sob in pain, Eric glanced at his phone, just to be sure.

    CG: am I funny now?

    CG: you laughing now?

    CG: I mean damn I thought that would kill you but this is fine too

    Eric¡¯s heartbeat sounds very loud. It fills the room, running fast, a succession of echoing thumps. Fast but steady, like a metronome swinging back and forth, an upside-down pendulum. A glowing red metronome.

    He reaches out and grabs it, stopping it in place. It¡¯s heavy; it resists him. But he throws some muscle into it and slows it to a stop. Everything around him stops too¡ªthe movement of Kate, the shimmering lights, the ruffling papers. A spray of sparks from a damaged machine hangs frozen in the air.

    Frisby is there with him, trying to tell Eric something, something about the Repeat. Frisby tries to explain, but he doesn¡¯t need to. Eric knows what to do, as though he¡¯s done this before. It is suddenly very obvious: his heartbeat is the beat, and what do you do with Repeats? He has it in his hand. It is glowing brightly. All he has to do is put it in front of him, let his heart beat one more time¡ª

    Eric was sitting in a swiveling chair, Frisby Wiser on his lap. Music played from the speakers overhead. Kate hummed along as she made an adjustment to the machine she was tinkering with. There was a strange pain in his chest, and he was really, really tired. And he held no Repeat in his hand.

    He stood up, shaking away thoughts that maybe he¡¯d just dozed off, maybe it had been a weird half-asleep nightmare, that kind that jolted him awake as he was falling asleep from time to time. The Repeat was missing; he had used it up. That was all the proof he needed. He walked over to Kate.

    ¡°Stop what you¡¯re doing,¡± he said.

    She turned to him with a smile and a witty comment, but both withered away when she saw him. ¡°O-okay.¡±

    ¡°Phone.¡± He held out his hand.

    She gave it to him, watching with wide, curious eyes. Yeah, fuck her curiosity. In about twenty seconds it was almost going to kill her.

    He glanced at what the black text of the Changing God had been saying. Technical bullshit he didn¡¯t understand. He opened the simple settings of CHIME and blocked the Changing God¡¯s number. He gave the phone back to Kate. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to him anymore,¡± he said.

    Her big green eyes searched his face, then glanced down at the phone. ¡°Umm¡­¡±

    His phone buzzed.

    CG: the fuck did you do

    CG: the fuck is this

    CG: what just happened

    CG: did you just fucking rewind time?

    CG: yeah I can still see it right here

    CG: the feedback blew it right the fuck up

    CG: and then it¡¯s not fucking blown up anymore

    CG: fucking bullshit cheater

    CG: this is going to be harder than I fucking thought

    EW: hey

    CG: hey what?

    EW blocked CG

    ¡°W-w-was that him?¡± asked Kate. ¡°W-what happened?¡± Her eyes widened, and she stammered from excitement. ¡°D-d-did you g-get a s-se- a sec- a  message from your future self?!¡±

    ¡°Nah, not really. Actually, I¡¯ve been thinking, you know, I¡¯m probably not gonna get some power like that. ¡®Cause if I do, well, I haven¡¯t gotten any messages like that.¡±

    ¡°B-but there was that o-one! In Chicago!¡±

    ¡°I think that one might be, like, different somehow. I¡¯m just saying, if I actually did eventually gain the power to send messages to my past self, you bet I¡¯d abuse the shit out of it.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡± She half-closed her eyes, thinking, tapping one pale hand on the machine she stood by. Eric eyed the machine with suspicion. It was just a step or two away from blowing up. Twenty seconds away. But it should be fine for now, as long as neither of them touched it

    ¡°W-what if you  have gotten m-messages, but then you obeyed them, and so the o-oc-the stuff never happened that m-made you s-se-s-send them in the first place!?¡±

    ¡°What.¡±

    ¡°Like s-self-correcting p-po-p-pote-p-hypotheticals!¡±

    Self-correcting hypothetical time loops? That shit was too fucking abstract. Isaac or Elizabeth should be dealing with shit like that. He shook his head. ¡°If it¡¯s some bullshit like that, then what does it even matter? It¡¯s the exact fucking same as not having the power to send messages in the first place.¡±

    She was clearly not done thinking about this.

    ¡°Something did happen, though. I did turn back time, a little. I used a Repeat.¡±

    ¡°Y-you look a little s-stressed.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Yeah. So this thing here blows up. Wrecks the lab.¡± No need to mention what happened to her. ¡°That god tricked you, I guess, was trying to get us killed. So let¡¯s remember what I said in Banana Quest, right?¡±

    ¡°D-d-don¡¯t t-trust the g-gods?¡±

    ¡°Exactly.¡±

    She nodded, but Eric doubted the lesson had sunk in for her as it had for him. She would always be tempted by¡­well, almost anything. Her ratio of curiosity to caution was terminally fucked.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± he said, ¡°don¡¯t do whatever that asshole was trying to get you to do.¡±

    She promptly powered down the whatever-the-fuck-it-was and proceeded with what she¡¯d been doing before as though nothing had happened. Eric had to remind himself that, for her, nothing  had  happened. And she was just trusting him.

    She danced to the whiteboard and wrote, ¡°¦Ê =  8¦Ð /c <sup>4</sup>  G ¡Ö 2.071¡Á10  <sup>?43</sup>   s  <sup>2</sup>  ? m  <sup>?1</sup>  ? kg  <sup>?1</sup>  .¡± She double-circled the G, tapped it, and told him, ¡°I think we have to assume this doesn¡¯t change, even on Orpheus.¡±

    No stutter when talking science. ¡°Yeah, obviously,¡± he said. She knew damn well that he didn¡¯t have a fucking clue what those numbers meant, except G, G was probably Gravity, but she explained it to him anyway.

    ¡°Because it¡¯s really hard to imagine a universe existing in which this number ever changes.¡± She tapped the G again.

    ¡°Oh. It¡¯s a number?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a constant.¡±

    ¡°A constant what?¡±

    ¡°That means it never changes. But the  problem  is, it  seems like on Orpheus it must be changing all the time! Gravity is all goofed up over there in a way that doesn¡¯t make any sense! Like, even if those big spikes are as dense as  neutron stars, which they  must be to exert such strong gravitational fields, why don¡¯t they all collapse together?!¡±

    She wasn¡¯t really talking to him, that¡¯s what it was. She was elsewhere, in Science Land or some other goofy rainbow-themed numerical theme park in her brain, far beyond the intellectual reach of Eric Walker. But he liked it. So he tried to keep her talking. ¡°That¡¯s because it¡¯s just supposed to be fucking cool. It¡¯s not supposed to make sense.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Kate glared at the board and spoke as though ¡®it¡¯ had therefore become her mortal enemy. ¡°But my uncle is Riley McFinn, and my father is¡­was Nicholas Carter!¡± She rolled up her sleeves, and thunder boomed somewhere outside, and she looked like a badass right there. Not just some fun, reckless girl, but a legit mad scientist, inventor of crazy shit. Was he looking at a young female Riley McFinn? Well, she¡¯d just dodged her second assassination attempt, so in that department she was well on her way.

    She became too focused to talk for a while after that, which was fine because he got a chance to experiment with the whole drops and making-things-from-mist business. He¡¯d missed his chance to try to copy the Repeat, but Frisby helped him make other things, including a stuffed replica of Frisby himself. ¡°Your origin,¡± Eric told him. Frisby took a liking to his plushy doppelganger and flew away to cuddle with it in a corner of the room.

    After this, he wandered around Kate¡¯s palace. The Theians liked hanging around here, and they were eager to ask him every question they could think of. He fascinated them, and they wanted to know all about his similarities and differences to their Hero, Kate.

    They took him up to the towers to look at the storm and the landscape of Theia. Kate¡¯s moon was beautiful, even in perpetual thunderstorm. An undeveloped landscape of natural splendor. He thought it probably looked like Iceland in the summer. He¡¯d never been to Iceland, in any season, but he¡¯d seen the calendars and shit. Fucking photogenic moon. His moon, on the other hand, belonged on a warning poster, scaring the other moons into line.  This could be you. Or like a fucking anti-drug campaign.  This is your moon on evil dragon.

    He took a trip to Kate¡¯s platform, which was a crystal snowflake among all the turning windmills. He tried opening her door. Sure enough, it just opened right onto nothing. But if she¡¯d calibrated it properly, she could make it open on Skywater, right?

    Right, Frisby told him. But not you.

    Kate found him up there. She marched onto the platform with her bass guitar in hand.

    ¡°Done already?¡± he asked.

    ¡°T-taking a b-break.¡± She rubbed her eyes and yawned. ¡°G-getting tired. Must¡­p-p-play¡­MUSIC!¡± She thrashed out a chord on her guitar with sudden violence, and the tower shook with the sound as though the entire palace was the resonance box. It rattled his teeth.

    It rattled something else too; the storm overhead retaliated with a harsh battery of thunderclaps.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been thi-thinking about our b-our band,¡± she said as she came up close to him. She had marker stains all over her fingers and smudged onto her face.

    ¡°Our what? We don¡¯t have a band.¡±

    ¡°We do!¡± She jabbed at him with the neck of her bass. ¡°And y-y-you¡¯re in it!¡±

    ¡°Damn.¡± He rubbed his arm where she¡¯d poked him. ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to be in it?¡±

    ¡°Well then  s-s-sour p-persimmons, buddy!¡± She slung the guitar around her neck and undid her bun so that her hair sprayed out to the side in the wind, following the example of her lab coat. Eric saw that her glasses now had a strap. About time. ¡°Let¡¯s play!¡¯

    ¡°What, now?¡±

    ¡°Now! And here! Let¡¯s m-ma-make a door! Like Jim and Liz did!¡±

    A door? He shrugged. Whatever. Sure. Little improv session here on top of the palace, all in the storm and shit. Pretty hardcore. Pretty metal.

    He was about to ask where he was supposed to get drums, but she tossed him the bag of drops. Right.

    It took a few minutes to create all the parts of a drum set because he kept forgetting things. He decided to go for two bass pedals in the end, just in case.

    When he was finally ready, seat and sticks and all, positioned just off-center atop the platform, Kate wasted no time. ¡°Hit it!¡± she cried.

    He raised the sticks slightly. ¡°Hit what? You haven¡¯t said what we¡¯re playing.¡±

    ¡°Anything!¡±

    ¡°Very fucking helpful.¡±

    ¡°F-f-fine,  Mr. Cool. I d-dare you to play something I ca-c-can¡¯t jam to.¡±

    Yeah, fat chance of that. He shrugged. He thought for a moment. ¡°Three against four, I guess.¡± He set up a quick cross-rhythm. It took him a minute to get in the groove; had he become rusty so fast? But it was there in the end. Hours of practice took over. He was sure as shit not capable of impressing Kate with his musical chops, but he was still probably the best percussionist in his high school jazz band.

    Kate joined in, first with a bluesy walking bass line, then with a quick and cool melody up on top of it, some modal shit that sounded almost old school¡ªreal old school, like Gregorian Chant.

    It all locked into place the way it does sometimes when everyone gets on the same wavelength, and this time it was just the two of them, him and Kate, and they were putting the music together the way Jim did jigsaw puzzles¡ªflawlessly.

    She was building it up, and her eyes were closed but she didn¡¯t have to say anything, didn¡¯t have to give him any sign apart from the music, they were in the groove, in it together, and he built up to the big drop, the breakdown, and he slammed it in line with a new rhythm, Bluesy Gregorian Three-On-Four Shit 2: Theian Boogaloo.

    They were flying, like it was no big deal, like they stirred up the storm every fucking day. The clouds spun overhead in time to the beat, and the two musicians were dragging the thunder itself into their song, their rhythm. Gemstone lighting split the distance in a coordinated display, jamming right along to Kate¡¯s melody. Eric nearly had the storm in his fists, the thunder at the tip of his drumsticks, at the kick of the bass. And were the big guys upstairs happy about that? Not a bit, no sir; one of them came right on down from the angry black clouds, looking like a cloud itself, a funnel cloud made of outrage and poor musical taste, basically like Mr. Robertson, Eric¡¯s math teacher.

    Unlike Mr. I-Hate-Rock-n-Roll-Roberston, the storm worm can and did proceed to fuck shit up. It descended thrashing and crashing, and its wind tore up the castle, broke windmills, made tiles and small rocks and shattered glass spin upwards in a writhing vortex. It did not appear to give so much as a single shit.

    But neither did they. They hadn¡¯t stopped, not Eric and sure as hell not Kaitlyn Carter. They had music to play, damn it, and it was pretty good. The storm thundered around them; the tempest lashed with rain; the two musicians could hardly see each other. Colored lightning crashed, and the storm wove round them its dark resound, and their music was electric.

    The beat of the storm was in Eric¡¯s fists, right there in his hands, in the shivering membranes of the drums, and the tune of it was right there under Kate¡¯s fingers, wet wire spraying as it thrummed. And it¡ªthe music¡ªwas not in the storm worm anymore. It had no authority; the rules had changed.

    The beast fell from the skies, plummeting down, crashing off the corner of Kate¡¯s palace and dragging part of it down as it fell into the depths. The heroes win this round. First encounter with the storm worm: success. The stars swirled somewhere far above, like a key in a vast lock, and the Bright World flashed.

    The sticks tumbled from his cold, wet hands, clattering onto the crystal snowflake floor. Close by, Kate sat down hard on the same floor, panting, eyes wide.

    Eric gazed out into the rain, his shades askew. ¡°¡­the fuck?¡± he mumbled.

    ¡°L-l-look!¡± Kate sounded exhausted. He was exhausted too, fucking wrecked. But he looked. Partway around the hexagon from Kate¡¯s door, another door had appeared. His door, exactly like the one on top of his home base.

    Kate got to her feet, staggered over to him, and collapsed onto him with a hug. She knocked him off the stool and crashed them both to the hard, wet platform. ¡°W-w-w-we d-d-did it!¡± She squeezed him tightly for a moment around the chest before saying, ¡°ouch!¡± She let go and rolled away onto another part of the platform.

    ¡°Easy,¡± said Eric, though he didn¡¯t try to get up. ¡°Fuckin¡¯ cakewalk.¡± He took a moment to catch his breath. ¡°Hey did you know that would piss off the storm worms?¡±

    She made a weird little sound, and he didn¡¯t have to look at her to know she was shrugging.

    They laid there for a few minutes, drenched. ¡°Hey,¡± he said when he sat up at last. ¡°Can you stop this rain?¡±

    ¡°P-probably.¡±

    ¡°Wanna come see my moon? It¡¯s dry as a fucking bone.¡±

    That got her moving. She was almost to his door, slipping on the crystal floor, by the time he¡¯d made it to his feet.

    Something stopped her just before she reached his door. A message on her phone. She read it quickly, began to put the phone away, then stopped and read it again more carefully.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± Eric slid the fallen drumsticks over to the set with one foot. He wondered whether it was possible to un-create something from mist, because if not, then Kate might just have to deal with a big chrome drum set set on her platform for a while.

    ¡°Um,¡± she said, ¡°I know you s-said don¡¯t t-tr-t-trust the gods, and we just est-t-stablished that, b-bu-b-but one is t-telling me to open my door t-to Skywater.¡±

    ¡°And? Obvious trap, right? There are Ladies on the other side. It¡¯s fucking rude to just walk in on Ladies, right?¡±

    She stifled a laugh, then tried really hard to be serious. ¡°B-b-but this is the one that s-saved our lives on Heidi¡¯s moon!¡±

    ¡°What, the green one?¡± She nodded. ¡°Look, we can¡¯t just¡ª¡±

    Frisby chirped in alarm. He flashed back and forth over the platform, clutching his stuffed doppelganger.

    A voice hissed, low and menacing. ¡°Come quietly,¡± it said. It was the voice of a Lady of Skywater; nothing else had that eerie rasping hoarseness.

    Two of them stalked up the ramp that led to the platform, shrouded by rain. Lady Fires came in front, glowing like windblown coals, hissing and spitting in the rain, trailing a dense cloud of steam whipped away by the crosswinds. Even this downpour could not quench her burning cloak. Behind her lurched an even larger hunched figure, too obscured by rain and steam to be seen clearly but obviously another Lady.

    Kate made a break for her door across the slippery crystal platform. Lady Fires swept a wing of flame at Kate, who instinctively reached for her bass to protect herself. But she wasn¡¯t wearing it; it was lying in the middle of the snowflake.

    The flame carried force; it swept her right off the edge of the platform into the haze of pouring rain. Fuck.  Falling is totally my thing, she¡¯d told him.

    Fuck.

    Eric tried to focus, to find the beat, to reach out as he had before. He was fucking tired, but at last he found it. He tried to stop it, could barely do so. The metronome he saw in his mind now seemed as easy to halt as a wrecking ball in slow swing.

    Pale spots cloud his vision. His mind is blank. He only thinks: did I pass out? Fuck, I either just passed out or almost did. Fuck.

    He forgets for a moment where he is, when he is, what he¡¯s doing. Then he sees Lady Fires, like a flaming evil bird steaming in the rain. She¡¯s moving slowly,  larghissimo. The rain is creeping down through the air. The Ladies¡¯ heartbeats are hardly there, but Eric can sense them.

    Eric has seen this before¡ªtime almost stopped¡ªbut he is still momentarily entranced by it. His own heartbeat, his own tempo, has sped up so much that everything else is barely moving. The beat is there, pulsing as usual in his chest. Then he remembers Kate, swept off the edge. Two Ladies, trying to kill them. On the floor, wet and shining with the red glare of Lady Fires, Eric sees Kate¡¯s phone where it fell, the screen still lit up. He can barely make out a tiny line of green text against the white background of CHIME.

    Fuck it. He scoops up the phone. He notices that the rain is falling faster and faster; he can¡¯t hold the pendulum, he can¡¯t stop the beat, he¡¯s too fucking tired.

    He can¡¯t open Kate¡¯s door. He runs to his own, scrambles for his medallion, thrusts it against the door. Skywater. Open onto Skywater.

    He flings the door open, sees bright skies on the other side, several figures waiting there. Safe figures? He doesn¡¯t know, he can¡¯t tell, he doesn¡¯t have time to wait around and find out.

    He turns around. The rain is falling faster and faster, Lady Fires is turning to look at him; lights are breaking up at the edges of his vision. His heartbeat is the same as ever, but his grip on the tempo is slipping; everything else is speeding up.

    He runs, dives past Lady Fires, slides along the wet crystal, right off the edge.

    He looks frantically for Kate as he falls. He sees her, or rather her parachute as it begins to snap open with the pull of her descent. And he thinks:  fuck, she was going to be fine.

    And he can¡¯t hold the pendulum any longer. He is flung away into the darkness.

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12

    Kaitlyn Carter

    Something fell on top of her parachute as the grappling hook launcher materialized in her hand. Kate yelped, thinking it might be one of the Ladies coming after her. It dropped directly on top of her, collapsing the parachute and accelerating her fall. She struggled and beat at it with her brand-new grappling hook gun for a moment before she realized that it was Eric.

    They were falling, halfway to the buttressed rooftops of her palace already, no more time for a parachute, going too fast now for the grappling hook idea. Think!

    She concocted no viable solution, not in the half second in which they fell. Making a big trampoline or a giant marshmallow right below them seemed like the next best thing, but she couldn¡¯t see, the parachute was all around her, no time to let it dissolve, and in her disorientation she couldn¡¯t even tell which way was up.

    She braced for impact and held fast to Eric, who seemed unconscious.

    Something grabbed her. She felt and heard a powerful low buzz, a rapid thrumming. She knew that sound! The surrounding pressure increased, pulled her up, slowed her fall¡ª

    The rooftop knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn¡¯t hit it full speed thanks to whichever Theian had slowed their fall. It was a sloped tile roof; she and Eric bounced off and began sliding. Something stopped them from sliding.

    Kate let the parachute and grappling gun dissolve into mist around her and be washed away by the rain. Shlushluth was there, proving that his great size was not all for show. ¡°You s-s-saved us!¡± she declared, heady from the exhilaration. He bowed. The rain beaded on his pure white fuzz, making him look jeweled all over.

    She checked for broken bones as she turned her gaze up to where the Ladies were. They weren¡¯t out of trouble yet! Not even close.  Two Ladies! If even one of them was as tough as Lady Chains, she and Eric had to figure out how to run away  fast.

    But something was happening up there, something not all that loud but very flashy and bright. It illuminated the clouds and turned all the rain into lines of flashing brilliance.

    ¡°Eric!¡± She reached over and shook him with one hand. No good. Out like a light.

    Something shrieked far overhead, a sound that made Kate clap her hands over her ears while Shlushluth dropped low against the purple tile rooftop.

    ¡°L-l-lllet¡¯s go,¡± she said to Shlushluth, her voice soft and urgent. He nodded, turning to peer down over the rooftop.

    A balcony jutted out not far below. Shlushluth, while not quite a strong enough flyer to actually carry either of them, was able to lower both Eric and Kate gently down to the colorful tile of the balcony. His wings made a pleasant thrum in the air, like a very deep sustained note. Kate tried to think about where they were. She had been to this part of the palace before, though not this exact balcony. She knew how to get down to the main area. But where to go after that? Were there any secret escape tunnels? Maybe. Probably! But she didn¡¯t know where they were.

    ¡°W-wha-w-what sh-should we do?¡± she asked the big white moth at her side.

    His big dark multifaceted eyes glittered at her from dozens of angles, apparently undisturbed by the beads of rain running down them. Was he looking at her? Eric? Up above, to the platform? Everywhere all at once? ¡°Safety,¡± he said. ¡°Come to our home.¡±

    ¡°B-b-but the Ladies might c-come and w-wr-wreck it!¡±

    ¡°No cost too great,¡± he replied.

    Kate looked back up. Whatever had been going on up there had stopped. Maybe the Ladies were coming to look for her and Eric  right now!

    She gestured for Shlushluth to follow and hurried in off the balcony. The big moth followed with Eric in his arms. What had happened to Eric? Kate took a moment to check his pulse, open his eyelid, make a flashlight and see the response of his pupil. She was no doctor, but she thought he was just unconscious. Though he might catch cold, all wet like that! She made a blanket and wrapped it around him before she led Shlushluth down into the palace.

    Flitch found them as they crossed the main hall. The bright little butterfly zipped down from somewhere above, terribly excited. But she was  always terribly excited. She darted around them, a fluorescent green and orange streak, babbling and tripping over her words.

    ¡°What is it?¡± asked Shlushluth.

    ¡°The Ladies! The door! The storm! The sky! Safe! It¡¯s safe!¡±

    ¡°S-safe?¡±

    Flitch flicked back and forth in the air. ¡°Safe! The Ladies are gone!¡±

    ¡°G-g-gone?!¡± Kate shared a look with Shlushluth. (Or she thought she did, anyway; it was hard to tell.) ¡°W-w-where?¡±

    Flitch didn¡¯t reply. She made a series of soaring loops in the air.

    A new set of voices became audible from a side hallway¡ªthe very place one would enter if they came from the main tower. But it wasn¡¯t the Ladies.

    ¡°Goodness me! Assassins! Well, really. I say, this really does quite little to reinforce my faith in the Governance, if you take my meaning.¡± The voice was merry, even jubilant.

    ¡°Quite, dear.¡± The other voice sounded tired, dreary. ¡°Is this the way?¡±

    ¡°Positively! I say, but wherever¡¯s the chap that opened the door?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve no idea, Elmer.¡±

    Two figures entered the hall, and Kate recognized them at once. Though she had never seen them, Liz had described them thoroughly. Elmer Sky, short and fat and cheery, with ruddy cheeks and a dark moustache. Amelia Shape, a tall glum scarecrow with a thin pointy face. Both of them dripped water all over the floor, but neither seemed to mind. Elmer wore a brilliant blue ten-button suit with shiny silver trimmings, complete with top hat (also blue), though it all looked a bit singed around the edges. Amelia sported a dull grey overcoat from shoulder to shoe, splattered with something black as soot.

    ¡°Ah!¡± Elmer exclaimed, pausing dramatically upon entering the room. ¡°Behold, Amelia!¡±

    ¡°I can see them, Elmer.¡±

    Elmer approached Kate. He bowed low in a surprising display of agility for his size, and he swept off his blue top hat in an elaborate swooping gesture. Where the blue top hat arced through the air, a brilliant rainbow briefly followed before dispersing like dust. ¡°Elmer Sky, at your service!¡± he declared.

    ¡°And Amelia Shape,¡± said the other, coming up next to him and giving a far more restrained nod of the head. She looked Kate over critically. ¡°You seem all right. It shouldn¡¯t scar, I imagine.¡±

    ¡°S-scar?¡±

    ¡°Your burns, dear.¡±

    Burns? Only at the moment, thinking about it, did Kate remember that she had been swept off the platform by  fire. And now that she thought about it, her hands and arms hurt. She looked at them and saw red welts.

    ¡°No call for worry, dear,¡± Elmer reassured her. ¡°You¡¯ll be right as rain in no time! Eh, Amelia?  Right as rain, Amelia!¡±

    ¡°How is he?¡± Amelia indicated Eric with only her eyes.

    ¡°Oh! F-f-fine, I think. J-just p-pa-p-passed out!¡±

    ¡°A spot of rest ought to do the trick, I should think!¡± Elmer declared. ¡°Once we get him dried off, of course.¡±

    Kate nodded slowly.  She needed some rest. She could  feel  her thoughts being slow, getting all gummed up! But first, ¡°W-wh-what happened?¡±

    ¡°To the Ladies?¡± Amelia sighed as though she could hardly be bothered to think about such tedium. ¡°You are safe for the moment.¡±

    ¡°Fear not, fair maiden!¡± Elmer suggested. ¡°We have been assigned to protect you!¡±

    ¡°B-but where are they?¡±

    Amelia raised a thin, pale hand to tap her sharp jaw in thought. ¡°Where  did they go? Elmer?¡±

    Elmer shrugged, which for him was an entire theatrical production involving his hat, his coat, and his moustache. ¡°Oh!¡± he declared. ¡°You¡¯ve got some of her on you, dear. Just¡­¡± He pointed out something at the back of Amelia¡¯s neck. Amelia reached back and with evident pain extracted something dark and flat. It squirmed in her grip like a giant two-dimensional leech before being vaporized in a sparkle of bright lights. Flitch, somewhere above, squealed in delight and/or horror at this display.

    Something Elmer had said a moment ago suddenly registered. ¡°Who assigned you t-to protect us? L-l-lord F-friend?¡±

    ¡°Well no,¡± said Elmer, ¡°though he¡¯s a right good old chap, that one! No, it was Lady Hearts.¡±

    Lady Hearts. Bleeding God. Green text.

    ¡°Sh-she  is on our s-side,¡± Kate whispered to herself.

    ¡°As is Lady Wings,¡± said Amelia, who apparently had keen ears. ¡°Paths and Stars haven¡¯t been ordered to kill any Heroes either.¡±

    ¡°Not that we¡¯re terribly concerned about all that,¡± interjected Elmer. ¡°We¡¯re with you, the Heroes! We care not a jot¡ªnary a fig, I say!¡ªabout what the Ladies or Gods say.¡±

    Kate found, to her shock and embarrassment, that her lip was quivering. She was about to cry! It must be the tiredness, she thought. I¡¯m tired. It¡¯s been a long day.

    ¡°Oh, poor dear,¡± said Amelia. She stepped forward and put a hand on Kate¡¯s shoulder. Kate surprised her by going in for a quick hug. It was like hugging a skeleton with a bit of padding.

    Amelia did not return the embrace, but neither did she stop Kate. ¡°You must be tired,¡± she said.

    Kate stepped back, tried to wipe her eyes as sneakily as possible, and nodded. ¡°C-can you t-t-take care of Eric?¡± she asked. ¡°Th-there¡¯s something I need to d-do first.¡±

    She thanked them again as they took Eric away to put him to bed or whatever. Then she thanked Shlushluth, and Flitch, and Thlytri who had been watching the whole thing from another tower. Thlytri said that it was hard to see exactly what happened because of the rain and all the lights, but Amelia Shape and Elmer Sky came through the door and fought the Ladies and made them disappear.

    Kate messaged one of the gods (sorry, Eric!) on her way back to her room. What she  really wanted just then was a hot bath.

    KC: hey!

    KC: are you there?

    FI: I am here! I am!

    FI: what happened?

    FI: did it work? Are you okay?

    FI: wait for me a minute, I am going to grab your book again

    KC: my book?

    KC: hello?

    KC: I just wanted to thank you, Fiora!

    KC: you told Shape and Sky to come help us right?

    FI: okay I got it!

    FI: now I am running, hold on

    FI: I am fast!

    FI: hee hee!

    FI: they will not find me here

    FI: you are okay!

    FI: I think

    FI: it looks like you are okay but I do not really know what kind of thing you are so I cannot tell for sure

    FI: are you okay?

    KC: I¡¯m okay!

    FI: yay!

    FI: I did send those two to help you! I did!

    FI: they are kind of like humans too, right?

    KC: I guess?

    FI: they look like you

    KC: what do you look like?

    FI: like a frog

    KC: a frog?

    FI: I am green, and small compared to everyone else, and my crystals grow in my hair

    KC: I¡¯m pretty sure frogs don¡¯t have hair OR crystals :P

    FI: I can jump really high up!

    FI and I can talk to anything that is alive, and I can do this

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    KC: do what?

    But Fiora didn¡¯t have to answer that, because Kate, now drying off in her room, felt tingly all over her arms and face. Thousands of tiny green sparks danced around her, pulsing with light like radioactive dust motes. And her skin, which had been hot and painful with the burns, cooled as though caressed by a soothing breeze. After a few moments, only a faint pink coloration like a mild sunburn remained where before there had been angry red welts.

    FI: see?

    KC: that¡¯s amazing!

    KC: thank you so much!

    FI: hee hee!

    FI: I could do a lot more if I was there in person

    FI: that is as much as I can do from here

    KC: wait

    KC: can you SEE me?

    FI: kind of

    Kate, on her way to the bathroom, did not find this comforting.

    KC: what do you mean ¡®kind-of?¡¯

    KC: can ANY of you see me?

    FI: imagine someone describing you and things around you

    FI: that is what I can see!

    KC: the description?

    FI: yep!

    KC: weird!

    FI: sure is

    FI: woah!

    KC: what?

    FI: you made a door!

    FI: you did!

    FI: I am just looking back in the book

    FI: wow!

    FI: you are so cool!

    FI: you and that other human

    KC: you can see that?

    FI: I am seeing it now!

    FI: ¡°and their music was electric!¡±

    FI: hee hee!

    KC: that¡¯s what I was thinking!

    FI: him too probably

    FI: that is how it is when you make a door!

    FI: that was your first door! Congratulations!

    KC: <3

    FI: what is that?!

    KC: it¡¯s a heart!

    FI: it does not look like a heart

    KC: that is true :\

    FI: <3

    KC: :D

    KC: speaking of hearts...

    KC: why are you called the Bleeding God?

    FI: let us just say

    FI: it will be hard for the others to read the part where I healed you just now

    FI: but more importantly!

    FI: what about that other human?

    KC: Eric?

    KC: he¡¯ll be okay

    KC: thanks for asking :)

    FI: no no no

    FI: I mean

    FI: you two were so cool fighting the monster cloud thing with music!

    FI: are you mates or something?

    KC: oh, no!

    KC: I mean, no, it¡¯s not like that

    KC: we are just friends!

    FI: sorry I do not know how it works with humans

    FI: I just saw you touching your hands together

    FI: but you do not have stars, do you?

    FI: so maybe that does not mean anything

    KC: are you really a god?

    KC: REALLY really?

    FI: I do not know how to answer that

    FI: I guess so? In your Narrative?

    FI: it is weird though

    FI: because

    FI: Oh no!

    KC: what?

    FI: Jeronimy!

    KC: ?!?!?

    FI: hee hee!

    FI: no! I am angry!

    FI: I just read what Jeronimy did!

    FI: he tricked you and blew you up!

    KC: oh yeah

    KC: Eric stopped it though :)

    FI: but it still happened!

    KC: ...it did?

    FI: it is right here!

    FI: arrgh!

    FI: I am so sorry

    FI: I am!

    FI: about all this

    FI: they will not listen to me, Kaitlyn Carter!

    FI: even if Acarnus is right

    FI: and he is always right

    FI: but even so, even if this is the only way, it is NOT OKAY

    RA: AH

    RA: HERE YOU ARE

    FI: go away Rasmus!

    FI: I am not talking to you, remember?

    RA: PLEASE, FIORA

    RA: WE HAVE BEEN OVER THIS

    RA: I DO APOLOGIZE FOR THIS, HUMAN

    RA: ER...ISAAC?

    FI: It is Kate! Kaitlyn Carter, and I should be apologizing for YOUR behavior Rasmus!

    RA: CALM YOURSELF, FIORA

    RA: YOU ARE MAKING THIS MORE DIFFICULT FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED

    RA: INCLUDING YOURSELF

    FI: we can not do this Rasmus!

    FI: I know you do not want to!

    RA: MY DESIRES ARE OUTWEIGHED BY MY RESPONSIBILITIES

    RA: YOU ARE AMONG THEM, FIORA

    RA: MY RESPONSIBILITIES, THAT IS

    FI: maybe I do not WANT to be your responsibility!

    FI: maybe I would rather die than have a murderer as my shield!

    FI: ...

    FI: Rasmus?

    FI: wait

    FI: no, I am sorry, I did not mean it! I did not!

    FI: please...

    FI: he is gone

    FI: I should go too

    KC: okay <:(

    FI: I am sorry about Rasmus

    KC: that¡¯s okay! My friend said he sounded kind of nice?

    FI: nice?

    FI: I guess

    FI: he is like a tree that is big and safe when all the rest of the world is sinking and dark and scary

    FI: he is my storm and my shield

    FI: and he does not want to hurt you because he is GOOD but he is listening to Acarnus instead of me because Acarnus is really smart and I am not

    KC: well I LIKE YOU

    KC: <3

    FI: I like you too! I do!

    FI: I will try really hard to fix this, okay?

    FI: I will

    KC: oh, one more thing before you go!

    FI: what?

    KC: Princess Zayana of Meszria

    KC: do you know her?

    FI: !!!!!!!!

    FI: she is my best friend!

    FI: well, one of them

    FI: how do you know her?

    KC: we talked a while back

    KC: for me it was days but for her it was months ago!

    KC: is she okay?

    FI: she is here!

    FI: she is!

    FI: she has not been paying attention to the rest of us because she was busy with another book, but the guy in the book just died and I think maybe she liked him because she has not been talking much to anyone and wants to be alone

    KC: oh no! who died?

    FI: someone called Jacob Hollow

    FI: he is with birds

    FI: I could go get her!

    KC: uh, okay!

    KC: is she a god like you?

    FI: yep!

    FI: the Mirror God I think, which is weird because she is blind!

    FI: kinda

    FI: I will try to find her!

    FI: it might be a while though

    FI: this library is huuuuuge

    KC: okay!

    KC: thanks!

    KC: bye!

    FI: goodbye!

    FI: <3

    The Mirror God? Kate suddenly remembered where she had first seen Zayana:  in a mirror! And that was the god connected with Lady Stars, which explained why Isaac was still safe.

    But wait. Zayana hadn¡¯t  looked like a god. That didn¡¯t matter much; gods could look like anything for all Kate knew. But when Kate replayed their conversation in her mind, and remembered all the texts Zayana had sent over what from Zayana¡¯s perspective was months¡­she had talked about a dying world, an escape. She had been a princess, a real princess, not a goddess! And most of all, she had been in the Museum! Would a god of this Narrative be confined to the Narrative?

    She thought about these things as she drew a hot bath and slipped in for a long, drowsy soak. She tried  not to think about how one or more of the ¡°gods¡± could potentially be ¡°sort of¡± watching her.

    And when she stumbled into her bed, she was asleep almost as soon as her face hit the pillow. And she didn¡¯t dream at all, not even the dreams of falling that had plagued her ever since coming here.

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13

    Elmer Sky

    Sometimes Elmer sat up front with Alan, who had taken over the driving of the vehicle and navigated with the aid of that splendid bouncing ball. Alan would sit in silence while Elmer gazed happily into the genesis mist, marveling at the various peculiar landscapes, shrouded in fog, through which their excellent vehicle traveled. Sometimes the ALL-Rover crunched over fields of flaky shale. Sometimes it plowed through knee-high glass beads, smooth and colorful. Sometimes they drove on grass, sometimes metal, sometimes paper, often in strange colors, accompanied by peculiar scents. None of this bothered Elmer, not in the least! But it unnerved some of the others, this reinforcement that they were not on the world they knew, not as they knew it.

    They stopped eventually, not because it was evening but because Alan grew tired of driving and they had all been cooped up inside the vehicle for several days. Dwayne Hartman suggested a campfire outside to relieve them all of the restricted confines of the ALL-Rover.

    ¡°A campfire!¡± Elmer declared. ¡°Splendid!¡±

    They piled out of the vehicle and listened to Alan¡¯s careful instructions about not straying away into the mist. Amelia fetched wood for a fire. She made quick work of the nearest tree, dissecting it into logs, kindling, and a variety of stumps for seating.

    ¡°Extraordinary,¡± commented Rebecca Carter, who stood with them all in a cluster just outside the exit ramp of the vehicle. She said it in her normal disinterested way, but Elmer thought she was really impressed. And why shouldn¡¯t she be? Amelia was wonderful!

    Dwayne Hartman started a fire with his lighter while he hummed old songs to himself and smoked a cigarette. Elmer watched until a small flicker of flame appeared. He gave Dwayne what he imagined to be a hearty, companionable clap on the back in congratulation. Dwayne grunted in response and carefully stacked kindling against the tiny flame.

    Elmer then sought out his fellow traveling companions in search of good cheer, as he had often done since the commencement of their marvelous voyage.

    He found Alan Sheppard behind the ALL-Rover, showing a handgun to Michael Whyte. Their conversation faltered when Elmer approached. ¡°Please, don¡¯t mind me!¡± said Elmer. He positioned himself next to Michael, curious.

    ¡°¡­right,¡± said Alan, giving Elmer a strange look before proceeding to ignore him and speak to Michael. ¡°Like I was saying. Revolver. Simple. Six shots.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure¡­¡± Michael trailed off. He shook his head, scratched at the scattered stubble growing on his chin. ¡°No, I get it. Just in case.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen,¡± said Alan. ¡°None of us.¡± He cleared his throat, but his voice was just as rough when he continued. ¡°You have things to protect. Might need to protect them.¡±

    Michael took the firearm carefully, almost reverently.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have much practice,¡± said Michael. ¡°None, actually.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± said Alan. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll get a chance to try it out. Better not do it with the others around. Don¡¯t need to make them nervous.¡± They both glanced at Elmer. He smiled back, endeavoring to appear helpful and encouraging.

    Michael accepted a small handful of bullets from Alan. ¡°What if I need more?¡± he asked. ¡°Just in case.¡±

    Alan smirked. ¡°If you need more than six bullets, you¡¯re in more trouble than this tool can get you out of. Remember, Michael: it¡¯s just a tool. And its greatest power is in its threat. Do everything you can to avoid actually firing.¡±

    Michael nodded as he pocketed the six bullets. ¡°Oh yeah, I think I¡¯ve got that one down.¡±

    Alan turned to go, hesitated. ¡°If you do have to shoot,¡± he said. ¡°Get close. Hold it with both hands. Squeeze the trigger, don¡¯t pull. Don¡¯t miss.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t miss,¡± said Michael. ¡°I¡¯ll write it down.¡±

    ¡°I got ammo in my pack, and there¡¯s more in the stash,¡± said Alan. He seemed to think for a moment, as though he had more to say, then decided against it. He left Michael, then paused to put a hand down on Elmer¡¯s shoulder. ¡°No need for the women to know about this, right Elmer? Don¡¯t need to worry them until there¡¯s something to worry about.¡±

    Elmer saluted smartly, smacking himself on the forehead with the blade of his hand. ¡°You can count upon me, Sir Alan!¡±

    Alan sighed, patted Elmer¡¯s shoulder, and continued over to the fire.

    When Elmer looked back at Michael, the revolver was nowhere to be seen. Michael watched him curiously. Elmer noticed a camera hanging at his hip. ¡°I say!¡± Elmer declared. ¡°Been taking any excellent photographs there, good man?¡±

    Michael raised the camera to his face without comment; a faint flickering flash illuminated the mist around him. Elmer blinked away the afterimage. He beamed at Michael. ¡°How is it? May I see?¡±

    Michael nodded, but instead of showing the camera to Elmer he adjusted a few settings, aimed it at the wall of fog nearby, and snapped another picture. This time the mist swirled violently as it collapsed into a figure.

    Elmer gasped in astonishment. It was he! Himself, Elmer Sky, standing bewildered in the mist, dressed in an identical blue tracksuit. The other Elmer spotted him and Michael and gave them a friendly wave. Elmer returned the greeting on instinct.

    The other Elmer began to say something, but swiftly dissolved apart into mist.

    ¡°Egads! How remarkable.¡±

    ¡°Painting with light,¡± said Michael. He sounded weary. ¡°Speaking of which. I noticed that Amelia Shape can make, well, shapes out of light.¡±

    Elmer nodded. ¡°She¡¯s rather excellent, isn¡¯t she?¡±

    ¡°Jimothy could do that, too.¡±

    ¡°Of course! He¡¯s the Hero of Light, after all!¡±

    ¡°The what?¡±

    Elmer¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°A memory! Ahaha! Another one for the ol¡¯ book, eh?¡± He withdrew his notebook from his breast pocket and searched about on his person for a pen.

    Michael stepped forward and caught his arm. ¡°What does that mean, Elmer? Hero of Light?¡±

    ¡°Well, he¡¯s the painter, isn¡¯t he? Color, light, all that. It all goes together, you know!¡±

    Michael opened his mouth to say more, but appeared to think better of it. ¡°I¡¯ll ask Amelia.¡±

    ¡°Capital! Have you a pen?¡±

    He did have a pen. He gave it to Elmer and disappeared around the corner of the ALL-Rover.

    Elmer jotted down a note:  Jimothy White¡ªhero light¡ªcolors¡ªpainter¡ªhyperion¡ªquite ill¡ªwolf guardian (rather unfriendly?)

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Then he continued on his quest for hearty conversation.

    He found Leah and Rebecca in the main room of the ALL-Rover. Leah was busy with the crayons, drawing something, asking questions that Rebecca did not answer. Rebecca gazed blankly at the wall.

    ¡°Mr. Sky,¡± said Leah when he arrived. She spoke as though she was a commanding officer acknowledging the presence of a subordinate.

    ¡°At your service, ma¡¯am!¡± Elmer snapped off a crisp salute, just as he had for Alan a moment before. ¡°Although ¡®Elmer¡¯ will do quite well enough!¡±

    ¡°Look.¡± Leah held up her picture for him to see. ¡°It is you and Ms. Shape.¡±

    He examined the artwork. It was him and Amelia, all right! Leah had rendered them in crayon next to someone else in colorful clothes. Butterflies flew overhead. ¡°Goodness me!¡± said Elmer. ¡°That¡¯s my old suit! I had seven, you know.¡± Seven suits, yes, in seven wonderful colors, but his favorite was the bright blue one, which he wore in this picture. The crayon drawing of him had his hat in an extended hand, and a rainbow came out of it.

    ¡°Ah!¡± he suddenly remembered; the rainbow reminded him. ¡°That must be the Hero of Skies! What was her name? Something Carter, like dear Rebecca here.¡±

    ¡°Kate,¡± Leah informed him. ¡°Kate Carter.¡±

    Rebecca roused to awareness beside them. ¡°Hrm? What about Kaitlyn?¡±

    ¡°Why, she¡¯s here in this lovely illustration, made by our young prodigy.¡± He winked at Leah. ¡°Look!¡± He showed it to Rebecca. ¡°It is myself and Amelia meeting the Hero, with Theians overhead, it seems!¡±

    Rebecca took a long look at the drawing before shifting her gaze to Leah. ¡°I forgot. You met Kaitlyn, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Leah nodded. ¡°She was nice.¡± Her voice quavered a bit.

    ¡°Hrm.¡±

    ¡°And see,¡± said Elmer, ¡°It¡¯s my old suit! It was¡­spiffy. Wouldn¡¯t you say, Amelia? It was spiffy.¡± He then realized that Amelia was not immediately at hand. ¡°Er, Ms. Carter?¡±

    ¡°Certainly, dear,¡± said Rebecca, handing the paper back to Leah. ¡°The spiffiest.¡±

    ¡°Do you like it?¡± asked Leah to Rebecca.

    ¡°Draw me in there. Then I¡¯ll like it.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Leah accepted this new assignment with a solemn nod.

    Elmer wandered out to the fire around which the others had gathered. Amelia spoke to Michael and AJ, describing what she remembered about the Hero of Light; Dwayne spoke to Alan. Elmer contented himself with watching them and playing with a snowglobe he had discovered in the vehicle. He didn¡¯t have to move or shake it to make the particles swirl within or twine into dancing funnel clouds.

    Rebecca and Leah eventually came out to join them, and they all ate together. It warmed Elmer¡¯s heart to see such companionship developing amongst his new friends. Amber Jane amused Leah with peculiar accents. Leah begged Amber Jane to teach her to sing. Dwayne Hartman discovered that Alan used to play music long ago, and Rebecca gave Amber Jane advice on how to approach the fact that they¡¯d been wearing the same clothes for several days and this showed no sign of improving. Michael ate in silence, watching the others much like Elmer. Elmer tipped him a wink when their eyes met.

    When they had finished eating, Dwayne Hartman addressed the group. ¡°I apologize,¡± he said, ¡°for my behavior last night.¡± He appeared to be speaking to all of them, but he looked mainly to Amber Jane when he spoke. ¡°Got carried away with the drinking.¡±

    But it was Leah who forgave him from where she sat by AJ¡¯s side. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said, ¡°I drink too much sometimes, too.¡± This caused Rebecca to cough as she gulped from her canteen, and it made Dwayne Hartman¡¯s weather-beaten face split into a smile. He reached aside for another log and dropped it onto the fire in a flaring burst of red sparks.

    ¡°Your hands,¡± said Amelia. ¡°Hold fast. What does it mean?¡±

    Alan sighed with resignation into his empty bowl of stew, but Dwayne cast his gaze up to where the sky ought to have been. ¡°Got ¡®em in Vietnam,¡± he announced. ¡°God saved my life in that country. I saw Him.¡± It was perfectly clear to Elmer that when Dwayne said ¡®Him¡¯ he could not possibly be referring to anyone or anything less than a god.

    ¡°I heard the thunder,¡± Dwayne continued, and there was a distant rumble of it in his own voice as he warmed to the topic. And it may have been Elmer¡¯s imagination, but he thought he heard actual thunder muttering far away. ¡°I heard His voice in the storm. HOLD FAST, he said.¡± Nearly everyone around the fire flinched when Dwayne¡¯s voice rose to a sudden crescendo at the two words. ¡°Through the dark and through the night. Like an anchor in the storm, hold fast to your hope. In trial and in pain, believe. All things will change. So I got these tattoos, Ms. Shape, as a reminder. Though I have to say I¡¯ve got so used to ¡®em, sometimes I don¡¯t even notice.¡±

    ¡°And the canes?¡± asked Rebecca. ¡°The limp?¡±

    ¡°Rodeo,¡± said Dwayne. ¡°Bull got testy. It¡¯s somethin¡¯ ¡®bout m¡¯spine.¡±

    Rebecca tapped her lips, eyeing Dwayne critically. ¡°How did you get away from this Abraham Black? That other young man was shot, and you certainly didn¡¯t run.

    ¡°Well, as to that...¡± Dwayne fished a pack of cigarettes out of an inner pocket of his coat. He put one between his teeth and lit it with the hot end of a smoldering log pulled from the fire. ¡°I had a talk with that man.¡±

    ¡°A talk?¡± said Amelia. Rebecca, at the same time, said, ¡°I was under the impression that he was a shoot-first-ask-questions-later sort of fellow.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s killed at least two hundred people, to my knowledge,¡± Alan added. ¡°Why not you?¡±

    Dwayne shrugged. ¡°My life ain¡¯t in his hands.¡± He spoke with such finality, with such a weight of certainty, that no one offered any more questions on the topic for the rest of the evening.

    When the fire burned low, after the meal and the evening conversation had grown cold, and the fog seemed to close in thick and dark around the ALL-Rover, most everyone trailed back into the comfort of the vehicle, one by one. In the end, only Elmer and Amelia remained. Amelia made a bench for them, a cozy bench of solid grey light, so that they could sit close together and watch the glimmering coals. Nearby, the fog swirled and shaped into many forms, brief and mysterious, to reflect the tumultuous dreams of those inside.

    ¡°Memory¡¯s coming back,¡± Amelia observed in a hushed voice, as though all their wonderful new companions were sleeping just nearby.

    ¡°Ah! Yes. I seem to recall our house now.¡± Elmer¡¯s pudgy hand found Amelia¡¯s spindly fingers, and they held each other. ¡°It was a delight, wasn¡¯t it? But now I think, if we ever return, perhaps it would be a marvelous idea to put wheels on it! Can you imagine? Rolling about, making new friends at every turn!¡±

    ¡°Elmer,¡± said Amelia, ¡°Our house was on top of a cloud.¡±

    ¡°Ah! Quite so! I had forgotten that bit. Such a view¡­¡± He sighed, pleased by the memories. The fog in front of him swirled and coalesced into a facsimile of a marvelous scene: cloudrise over the plains of Snickaree, the air fresh and fantastic, friendly birds out in scintillant flocks on the crisp morning drafts.

    ¡°Do you miss it?¡± Amelia asked as they gazed together at this fabrication of a memory. ¡°Home?¡± The sweet, sagey aroma of their cultivated cloud drifted out from the fog, and the rushing of the wind, and the calling of the birds, and the twinkling of the stars, and the streaking of spacecraft, and the moons bright and glorious overhead.

    And their cottage! Simple, clean, rather blue, eminently lovely. Elmer would eat a fine breakfast omelette, or waffles, or sausage and cheese, before dropping by rainbow down to the world below for his work alongside Amelia. What had their work been, exactly? He couldn¡¯t recall. It hardly mattered, though. What mattered was that he had done it alongside beautiful, brilliant, wonderful Amelia.

    ¡°Well, quite, dear!¡± he told Amelia. ¡°I do miss it. But it would be rather a stretch to call that house my ¡®home,¡¯ I dare say! My home is where you are, dear, which at the moment is right here in this very spot! And I am quite content, amnesia and all.¡±

    She leaned against him and clasped his hand tighter. ¡°I feel quite the same way, Elmer.¡±

    ¡°I know you do, dear.¡±

    Together, they watched the coals go dark in the damp chill of the fog.

 Chapter 14

    Chapter 14

    Elizabeth Eddison

    They sailed a green paper boat on a sea of ink, beneath a blank canvas sky streaked with clouds in negative. Jim, suffering from a headache, slumped listlessly at the prow. He dangled one hand into the black sea, and a swirling rainbow trail bled from his fingers, marking their path in a sinuous band of brilliant colors that snaked back through the placid ink until lost to distance. Elizabeth tried to comfort Jimothy in his hour of trial, but in truth, her own condition was not much better. The wounds of the scrivener smoldered on her leg and stomach, strange purplish words seared onto her skin. They didn¡¯t hurt the way a burn would hurt. But they still hurt.

    Hazel and Callie had reached an uneasy armistice. Callie prowled back and forth on their tiny paper boat, not happy about being surrounding by liquid. Hazel had come to understand that he would get hurt if he tried to chase her or tackle her into the ink. The ink didn¡¯t stick to Hazel, not in the slightest. It beaded on his fur and fell off easily when he shook himself. But Hazel didn¡¯t let this stop him from covering most of the interior of their little sailboat with inky pawprints and myriad little speckles of black. Elizabeth had long since given up her present attire¡ªloose khaki pants and a light cardigan over a yellow blouse¡ªfor lost.

    She wrote poetry in a blank notebook. Jimothy¡¯s moon inspired poetry. She did not write in the book Lazaru had given her. That book was special, though also meant for poetry. Poems written in Lazaru¡¯s book would cause a flurry of pages to fly from the book and take the shape of the subject of the poem. Thus: paper sailboat. It had been white until Jimothy colored it.

    Elizabeth wrote, lulled and distracted from her pain by the soft splash of ink, the rocking of the boat in the gentle swells, the faint mild breeze. She couldn¡¯t truly be at ease, not with Jimothy suffering nearby. He groaned occasionally and sometimes shed unconscious waves of light and color. Part of Elizabeth¡¯s left pant leg had turned a dull pink. Neither of them had any pain medication on hand. Elizabeth had made Jimothy drink a lot of water, but apart from that, he just had to weather it. Headaches were, unfortunately, a normal thing for Jimothy. He¡¯d be fine soon enough.

    After a while, she closed the one poetry book and opened the other. She thought up a quick one:

    A pirate¡¯s life for me!

    I¡¯ve got a boat and a cat.

    But never a pirate I¡¯ll truly be

    Without a pirate hat.

    She initialed at the end¡ªthe book¡¯s way of knowing when the poem was done¡ªand closed the book. It twitched in her grip, then sprang open. Loose-leaf pages poured up into the air. Not many of them, not like the reams and reams that had gone into making the boat, but just enough for two neatly folded pirate hats, the kind that Elizabeth and AJ had once made of newspapers. The hats dropped to the ink-stained deck of the boat.

    Jimothy had turned to watch the paper fold itself in the air. Elizabeth proudly raised one hat and tugged it down onto her head before offering the other to Jimothy. He accepted it with a grin. ¡°Arr,¡± he said as he carefully arranged it atop his head. He made it black, then trimmed it with blue and emblazoned a paintbrush on the front¡ªall in a second, without looking. Amazing.

    ¡°You¡¯re not seasick too, are you?¡± she asked.

    He shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t need to throw up. Just a headache. It¡¯s getting a little better, I think.¡±

    Jimothy hadn¡¯t seen either Lord Foe or Maugrim since their conflict, which had taken place not so far away from his lighthouse. Elizabeth, not keen to wait at the lighthouse for either of them, suggested leaving to find a safer place. But her own moon was not safe either, and there was no guarantee that opening a door onto Skywater Citadel would not be a trap. There were Ladies there, after all. Potentially there was also Lord Friend and Lord Fool, but what would they do? Were they fighting the Ladies right now? If so, would they win? Arcadelt would be there too, but that was small comfort to Elizabeth. She had her doubts about Arcadelt.

    Jimothy had suggested going exploring on his moon, away from where Lord Foe and Maugrim had last been seen. Laying low, as it were. Jimothy had a secondary motive: to look for crystals, which he needed for his lighthouse.

    Isaac had sent them directions to find Lord Fierce, Lord Fair¡¯s guarantee of safety. But how to get to him?

    ¡°Can Lord Fierce really protect us? From gods?¡± she mused out loud. ¡°How powerful is he, I wonder.¡±

    She received a message, checked it, sighed. She said to Jimothy, ¡°the orange one helped you, correct?¡±

    ¡°The D-man? Yeah. Why?¡±

    ¡°He just messaged me.¡±

    ¡°Oh. What did he say?¡±

    DX: hey

    DX: whAT¡¯s most liKe a bEe in May?

    She told Jim. He said, ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means. But he likes riddles and stuff. You should talk to him. Maybe you can find stuff out. He likes to talk.¡±

    ¡°One of those, huh?¡±

    Jim began playing with Hazel while Elizabeth turned her attention back to her phone.

    EE: Perhaps you could provide me with clarity rather than silly riddles.

    DX: yoU got It! i kNew you Would!

    DX: anyway, aBout lord Fierce

    DX: tHE measure of His sTrenghT, SpeCificalLy

    DX: agAinst any phySical obstacle

    DX: hE is Strong Enough

    DX: he¡¯S kind of liKe Rasmus in thAt way

    EE: Explain.

    RA: WHAT¡¯S THIS NOW?

    DX: let Me put iT this way: yOu eveR read a boOk oR somEThing where there¡¯s a mentor figure wHo¡¯s way More Powerful than the heRo, and you wOnder whY he doesn¡¯t just Go and bEAt the baD Guy anD save the Day Himself?

    EE: Lord Fierce is like that?

    DX: iT is a leGItimate Question why he doesn¡¯T juSt go grab the dArk key himself

    DX: LIke right noW

    CG: cause he¡¯d get fuckin swamped by all the trash mobs if he went in solo

    DX: gEt the fuCK outTa here jEroNimy

    RA: IT IS TRUE

    RA: THAT IS THE REASON HE GAVE

    RA: WHEN I ASKED

    RA: THE AGENTS OF THE DARK WORLD ARE SIMPLY TOO NUMEROUS

    RA: A GROUP WORKING TOGETHER MAY ACCOMPLISH WHAT ONE, HOWEVER MIGHTY HE BE, CANNOT

    DX: that¡¯S just the ¡°sTory¡± reaSOn

    DX: anyWay, Begone you two

    DX: oKay we¡¯RE alone Now

    EE: Pardon me for not entirely believing you.

    DX: foR real theY¡¯re goINg to get food

    DX: you wouldn¡¯T Believe hoW much RasMus eats

    EE: I meant about Lord Fierce.

    EE: I have been told quite emphatically not to trust you gods.

    EE: Something you yourself advised Jimothy, correct?

    DX: corRect!

    DX: i¡¯M gLad you get It

    DX: jImothY¡¯s a liTTle Slow for a colOR priest

    DX: thaT¡¯s fine tHOugh

    DX: he¡¯s Got this tHIng, thiS line

    EE: Color priest¡ªwhat does that mean?

    EE: He told me you called him that because he is a painter. Where does ¡®priest¡¯ come into it?

    DX: he doesN¡¯t have the mInd Powers, True

    DX: but the Best cOLOr prieSts never uSe them anyway

    DX: he loves the colors

    DX: anD he Loves Everything ElsE

    DX: hIs mOon

    DX: his doG

    DX: You

    DX: and hE wantS it alL to be right

    DX: eVeryThing

    DX: not Wrong

    DX: Right

    DX: liKe in a bEautiful Painting

    DX: you kNow What i am talKIng about

    EE: Yes, I do.

    EE: Jimothy is like that. He wants to fix everything, to help everybody. His dearest dream is for everyone to be happy.

    DX: yOu are Thinking that mAkes him cHarminGly Na?ve

    DX: but it Is Not So

    DX: iT maKEs him a color priest

    DX: we belIEve in the imPossible

    DX: iN the haPPy ending, hoWever impROBable

    DX: we say ¡®ForgEt loGIc¡¯

    DX: we have Faith

    EE: Strange words from the trickster god.

    DX: eXactly!

    DX: hapPy endings are the BigGest Trick of all!

    EE: Have you ever seen one? A happy ending?

    DX: noT yEt!

    EE: Then here is a question: why are you trying to kill all of us?

    EE: You, the gods.

    DX: i¡¯M not, peRsonALly

    DX: iF i wEre, yoU wouLd alL be Dead by nOw

    DX: exCept for jIMothy

    EE: A smooth evasion. Is that arrogance, deceit, or a veiled threat?

    DX: whY not alL of thoSe?

    EE: You are laughing at me.

    DX: i Am the lauGhing goD!

    DX: i hAve not stoPped since the beginNing of this CONversation

    EE: If you will not answer the question of why the other gods want us dead, then what about this one: why would you spare Jimothy? Because he is a color priest?

    DX: thAt

    DX: aNd i doN¡¯t know hoW to kiLl him

    DX: beSideS making him kilL hImselF bUt i wouLD Never do tHat

    EE: You do not know how? What do you mean?

    DX: aW, you¡¯RE so Protective!

    DX: yOu neEdn¡¯t be

    DX: you do Not sEem to underStand

    DX: loRd Fierce is smaLl beanS beside the hERo of lIGht

    DX: i sAW him CripPle mauGRim the sECond Time they Met

    DX: hE is liMited by Light and ImaginatioN

    DX: bUt he hAS plenty of bOth

    DX: he could Go right nOW to the daRk woRld, iF he tOOk some arDa, and gEt that Key

    DX: if hE waNted to

    DX: thing Is, he¡¯D have to kILl a loT of peoPle to do It

    DX: oH wElL

    DX: ain¡¯T that jUst how it alWays gOes?

    DX: in a sTory

    EE: A mismatch of ability and will?

    DX: preCiseLy!

    EE: Those who can will not, while those who desire to cannot. I hadn¡¯t thought of it before, but I suppose that is a key factor in generating drama in a narrative.

    DX: kEy facTor in liFe tOo, huH?

    EE: What is arda?

    DX: thE crysTalS he is coLLecting

    DX: the lIght

    EE: What sets you apart from the other gods, in that you are not trying to kill us?

    DX: baCk to tHAt?

    EE: It is of some interest to me.

    EE: Imagine that.

    DX: iT is becAuse there Is always a THird way

    DX: theY don¡¯T believe Me

    DX: but it Is True

    DX: therE is never jUSt one Way

    DX: thEre are never only Two ways

    DX: there is alWays a tHird option

    DX: Rasmus should kNow beTter

    DX: hE is trYing toO hard to fiLl larGer shoEs

    DX: larger MetaphoricaLLy, of Course

    EE: What are these two ¡®ways¡¯ which your compatriots see as their sole options?

    DX: if I maKe it rreeEeeEEAaaAaaalLllLlly simple:

    DX: bad Ending for You

    DX: bAd enDing for uS

    EE: You are not gods at all, are you?

    DX: we aRe

    DX: iT is NOt a lIe

    DX: we are TheY

    DX: tHEir ecHOes

    DX: tHeiR sHAdowS

    DX: ouR stArs are The Same

    DX: they were the first

    DX: and we are the last

    DX: i Have to gO

    DX: jImoThy has bEen talKing to fiORa

    DX: yOu might Want to check on That

    DX: sHE is aLso a reason Why i aM Not tryIng to kill yoU

    EE: How much of what you have told me is true?

    DX: eXactly halF

    DX: noT incluDing that

    EE: Very helpful.

    DX: ;)

    EE: I really do get it, by the way.

    DX: ?

    EE: A bee in May: maybe. ¡®Perhaps¡¯ is most like ¡®maybe.¡¯

    EE: You will not catch me with word games.

    DX: wE wiLl seE!

    Derxis, the Laughing God, spoke no more. Elizabeth put away her phone and turned back to Jimothy. He¡¯d been talking to someone as well, and he seemed better now. He still trailed a hand in the inky sea, but now the trail of color blossoming from his fingertips was broader than their boat, aswirl in wavy technicolor designs.

    ¡°Feeling better?¡± she asked him. ¡°He said you were talking to someone called Fiora.¡±

    Jimothy looked at her. He nodded. But he didn¡¯t seem very happy. He looked afraid.

    ¡°Jimothy? What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    What happened next could have been called ¡®The Anatomy of a Lie in Slow-Motion.¡¯ Jimothy opened his mouth to reply, realized he did not want to answer her question, panicked while he thought of what to say instead, realized that she was watching him and he had to say something, and finally blurted out, ¡°Nothing. I¡¯m fine.¡± Every step of this process was written plainly on his face. Elizabeth had never seen, and could not imagine seeing, a more obvious effort at deception. A ¡®natural 1,¡¯ Isaac might have said. She would have laughed, if not for what Jimothy had been lying about.

    Jimothy at once regretted lying to her; this too was evident from his expression. His regret manifested as greasy dark gray waves of color that fell away from him, staining grainy shadows like radio static onto the boat and Elizabeth¡¯s shoes.

    ¡°Jimothy,¡± she said. ¡°That is not true.¡± She said it without judgment, like a plain factual statement. The sky is white. The sea is black.

    He slumped, apparently in relief at having been called out on the lie. Then, at once, shame. Like a dog tucking its tail.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me if you don¡¯t want to, Jimothy. You can just say you don¡¯t want to talk about it. But please, don¡¯t lie to me.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°I just¡­um. I need to think about it, okay?¡±

    She couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Jimothy. Whatever it is, if you ever want to talk about it, you can talk to me. Okay?¡±

    He nodded at her, serious, not smiling. ¡°Yeah, I know. That¡¯s¡­I mean, thanks. I know I can talk to any of you guys. But¡­¡± She could hear the rest of it: ...but the one I want to talk to is Mike.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°As long as you know that.¡±

    But she thought: If this Fiora hurt Jimothy¡­

    She considered questioning him further, asking which god Fiora was. She decided against it. He was already deep in his thoughts, troubled. Hazel, sensing his master¡¯s distress, army-crawled over to Jimothy and forced his head onto Jimothy¡¯s lap. Jimothy gripped the white fur like a drowning man clutching a life preserver.

    They continued like that for a while. Elizabeth went back to her poetry. Struck by a sudden idea, she wrote a series of short poems in the magic book, complete save for her signature, to be quickly activated in case of emergencies.

    After this, she removed  The Ten from her pack, though she had already read it through twice. It was an educational picture book for children. Ten gods in this Narrative. And even if the entities who had recently begun messaging the heroes seemed surprisingly casual and sometimes even childish in their texting, they nevertheless matched up remarkably well with the ten gods described in the book. The Laughing God, for example. The Riddlemaker. The Trickster. Prince of Fools. Color: orange. Chaotic, unpredictable. His domain: the mind. A painter, like Jimothy. None of the gods in  The Ten were given proper names, so she didn¡¯t know if the Laughing God¡¯s name was supposed to be Derxis, or even D-man. But in most ways, it all checked out.

    And who else, besides these gods, could the strangers texting them be?

    A great upheaval in the sea interrupted her thoughts. A mountainous form arose off the starboard side of their paper boat, either black itself or else coated in the ink. Its rise gave birth to a wave that pitched the paper boat and nearly spilled Jimothy and Elizabeth into the sea.

    Jimothy fell to the ink-stained paper deck. He cried out in surprise and fear; Callie hissed; Hazel barked frantically. Appendages surged from the depths around them, black tentacles dripping ink, dozens of them. Each looked large enough to easily overturn their boat, which now seemed like a leaf in the shadow of a beast. Ink splashed and churned as the bulk of the creature continued to arise from the sea, and now Hazel growled, but otherwise the entire scene was eerily quiet. The newcomer didn¡¯t roar as it towered above them. It simply appeared, swiftly and without fanfare.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Any doubts about whether this was friend or foe were soon laid to rest. Something upset their little leaf of a boat from beneath, flinging it with immense force dozens of feet up into the air. Elizabeth and Jimothy screamed at the gut-wrenching sensation of being thrown, helpless and flailing.

    Elizabeth braced herself to fall back into the ink, not sure what she or her angel could do against such a large enemy. But it would have to be them, either her or Jimothy, dealing with this thing. No Lord or Guardian stood watch for them out here.

    She was ready for the fall, already accepting that she¡¯d be doused in ink¡ªagain. (And she¡¯d only just gotten all the ink out from under her fingernails from last time.) But she never did fall. Something held her in the air so gently that she couldn¡¯t feel it, some force that encompassed her in a soft white glow.

    Elizabeth twisted, awkwardly struggling with what held her. Jimothy, cane in hand, pirate hat intact, hovered in the air, suspended in a thick brightness just like her. He faced the monster as it loomed closer. Now it made a sound, a deep burbling grumble somehow more frightening and ominous than a mighty roar. More tentacles arose; the waters churned with them. Elizabeth wondered if it had been a great mistake¡ªthe kind which a Guardian might have warned of, had it not been otherwise occupied¡ªto venture this far out to sea.

    An array of black tentacles thrashed toward them. Their angels appeared, dog and lynx, differences forgotten. Hazel snapped at the inky tentacles, his every bite flashing with light. Callie attacked the main mass of the monster. But they were so small in comparison, like furious squirrels against a bear.

    Elizabeth shouted at Jimothy, for she suspected the light holding them up was his doing. ¡°Jimothy! Let¡¯s go!¡±

    But it was already too late. In the last moment before a tentacle swatted her out of the air, Elizabeth tried to summon up her powers, the ones she didn¡¯t know how to use. Movement? Dance? Flowers? Spinning tops? She drew a blank.

    The tentacle slammed into her and stopped dead, completely halted by the light surrounding her, holding her. Elizabeth didn¡¯t even feel the strike.

    Every dark tentacle exploded from within, eviscerated by countless blades of brilliant light. The light raced, shredding at blinding speed, almost too bright to perceive. All the ink in the sea blazed with reflected light. And the main body of the monster, a blimp upon the sea of ink, cracked like an egg. Light shattered over its surface, a scintillating aurora that cleaved through the mass of darkness like a bolt of lightning in the night.

    The monster fell apart into smaller pieces with a gristly sucking sound, akin to the noise of pulling a boot from a puddle of muck. The fragments splashed down into the sea where they sank slowly, piece by piece, becoming one with the black liquid.

    All was quiet and still as the ebony fragments of the beast rained down upon the black sea, save for Callie and Hazel, who were dismayed and exuberant respectively at their submersion in the ink.

    Jimothy rotated in the air to face her. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± he asked.

    Elizabeth shook her head. She tried to look at Jimothy, but her eyes kept going back to the big empty space in the air where a gigantic monster had towered moments before. She remembered what the Laughing God had said. Small beans next to the Hero of Light.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she answered, surprised at how casual her voice sounded. ¡°You?¡±

    ¡°It didn¡¯t hurt me,¡± he said. He looked down at the sea. ¡°I used a lot of light to do that, though.¡± He looked around. ¡°We¡¯re close.¡±

    Close? To what? She followed his gaze and saw a pale line on the far horizon. Land?

    ¡°Come look,¡± he said. He motioned her over as if she could move of her own accord. But¡­maybe she could. ¡®Movement¡¯ was supposed to be her thing. Her domain, as Isaac called it. Kate theorized that Elizabeth could manipulate or break Newton¡¯s laws of motion, momentum, inertia, and the like. So perhaps she could just¡­move.

    As usual, she hardly understood how or why it worked¡ªsudden motion, motion without cause. She hung suspended in the air, then she was drifting toward Jimothy, then she reached him and stopped. She wondered: what would she be able to do when she got the hang of it? When it came easily and naturally, as Jimothy¡¯s light did for him? Would she ever reach that point?

    He was doing something different now, making a circular distortion in the air before him. ¡°Isaac gave me the idea,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯m not very good at it.¡±

    It took Elizabeth a few seconds, as Jimothy made unseen adjustments to the strange disc in front of him, to understand what he was trying to do. He was bending light, trying to make a telescope but succeeding only in making a magnifying glass. Elizabeth knew little of the optic principles of telescopes, but she thought they might be a bit complex for Jimothy.

    ¡°Here,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s just use these for now.¡± She touched her medallion around her neck and created a pair of spyglasses. A matching set, just as she had imagined: leather and brass, old and weathered, marked and stained. ¡°We¡¯re pirates, remember?¡±

    That made him happy. He lowered them back down while Elizabeth signed off on the backup boat she¡¯d written into the poetry journal. She snapped the book shut, and it flung itself open, pouring countless pages up into the sky. A geyser of white against the blank sky, a flock of innumerable birds. The pages arranged themselves with speed and precision: folding, joining, plastering together. Another boat: bigger, more pirate-looking. A successful experiment, proving that she could make some rather large objects with the book. Though still, they were only paper.

    Jimothy dropped them into the crow¡¯s nest. Their weight made the ship sway dangerously, but it was apparently easy almost to the point of unconscious reflex for Jimothy to steady it beneath them with bands of light.

    Elizabeth snapped open the spyglass and put it to her eye, observing the distant land. Scratches marred the lens, a pleasing aesthetic. ¡°A city,¡± she said in surprise after a moment of taking it in. It was a city in high contrast, white and black. She could hardly tell anything about it beyond that. Behind the city, coastal cliffs rose up into what might have been low mountains beyond. Dark clouds gathered there, a storm brewing.

    ¡°There¡¯s a ruined city close to my lighthouse,¡± said Jimothy. ¡°Your favorite color is gold, right? Gold and turquoise and purple.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. Of course he knew her favorite colors. ¡°Why?¡± she lowered the spyglass and saw why. Those were now the colors of their ship. Gold, with turquoise and purple details, decorative feathery patterns on the hull and rails. It was lovely.

    ¡°I can do your clothes too if you want,¡± he said. ¡°Since they have, you know. Ink on them.¡± He thought for a moment. ¡°I mean, they¡¯ll still have ink. But I can change the color of that too.¡±

    She gave him a smile. ¡°Only if you do your clothes, too.¡± He apparently had not yet thought of that. In a matter of seconds, Elizabeth¡¯s cardigan was a lovely floral gold, with tasteful blooms of cool shades. It still smelled of ink, and was sticky in spots, but the ink was practically invisible now. Jimothy simply changed his back to what it had been: blue shorts, blue T-shirt. Simple.

    Elizabeth dropped to the deck while Jimothy lowered himself in a veil of light. She did not notice until a few moments later that the distance she¡¯d fallen was about twenty feet. True, the deck was only paper. But she had slowed herself, hadn¡¯t she? She could hardly remember. Why must her ¡®abilities¡¯ be so difficult? So subtle? They obviously mattered. Yet she was a child in this area compared to Jimothy. On Earth, she had been the capable one, able to help him. On Earth, Jimothy had needed help from everybody. But here in the Narrative, it was she who required his protection¡ªfirst from Maugrim, who would have killed her, and now from this sea monster. Both of them insurmountable threats for herself, yet seemingly trivial for Jimothy.

    Jimothy wandered up to the prow of the ship, mouthing inaudible words to himself, distracted. On Earth, even a stationary surface presented Jimothy with considerable difficulty. Now, although this ship rocked gently in the rolling swells, he seemed to need his cane less than ever. Pads of light flashed in the air exactly where and when he needed them to support himself, steady himself, not fall. Elizabeth doubted he was even conscious of doing that. He paused to tap a nearby paper railing with his cane, instantly coloring its entirety a pale coral-pink. He gazed at it, nodded in satisfaction, continued on.

    ¡°You were made for this world,¡± she said to herself, watching him. ¡°Or, perhaps, it for you.¡±

    She decided, in that moment, that she would not be left behind. She had never considered that she would be left behind by Jimothy, which itself was something of a shameful thought. Jimothy had always been special, but capable? Of anything more than painting?

    She would learn. Movement, her own abilities, whatever they were. She would practice, would become able to protect Jimothy, or anyone, should they require it.

    There was one thing she could do for now. Elizabeth retreated to the rear of the ship, which was just large enough that it put her out of Jimothy¡¯s hearing. ¡°Fiora,¡± she said. ¡°Are you there? Are you listening?¡± Elizabeth did not know which god this was, or even whether the contact was in her phone.

    Someone answered almost at once, vibrating Elizabeth¡¯s ink-stained phone.

    FG: What wouldst thou have of Fiora?

    The Frozen God. The one that called the Thunder God a fool, along with any who ¡®strove against the  inevitable.¡¯

    EE: Words.

    FG: Words are meaningless, lover of cats.

    EE: That claim is self-contradictory.

    EE: Conveying meaning is the entire purpose of words.

    FG: Thinkest me a fool? One easily muddled by childish games?

    FG: Play no games with me, human.

    FG: Speech is nothing but that it leads unto action.

    FG: Words are nothing but that they avail unto deeds.

    FG: Nor thought, nor dream, nor any love.

    FG: Meaningless all, until realized.

    EE: That is certainly pragmatic.

    FG: It is reality, human, whatever the color priest says.

    EE: You are referring to the Laughing God?

    FG: A fool.

    EE: The Prince of Fools.

    FG: Thou knowest it.

    FG: All speech, all tricks, all foolish contradiction.

    FG: Fools encompass me, before and behind.

    FG: And I, unable to exact judgment upon those deserving.

    FG: Yet the sea is patient.

    FG: And it does not forgive.

    EE: You seem upset about something.

    FG: If I am, human, thou art a cause.

    FG: Thy kind is naught but hollow speech and empty valor, of what I have seen.

    FG: Thou art unworthy.

    FG: Yet we are the same.

    FG: There is none who join with Justice, save myself.

    FG: And Justice rests not. It fails not. It abides.

    EE: Unceasing as the icy tides?

    FG: You mock me?

    EE: Your speech is so poetic, I thought I should contribute.

    FG: Fool.

    FG: Since one beast of the deep failed I shall call unto more. As many as are required. The iron grasp of cold judgment shall enclose thee. The very blood in your bones shall rise against thee.

    EE: You summoned that sea monster?

    EE: You will have to do better than that against Jimothy Whyte.

    FG: I shall.

    EE: Threat received.

    EE: Now could you tell Fiora I wish to speak to her?

    FG: She is nigh.

    EE: Is she a fool as well?

    FG: The greatest.

    EE: I thought the Laughing God was the most foolish.

    FG: I said ¡®greatest,¡¯ not ¡®most foolish,¡¯ ye who values words and cats so highly.

    FG: I shall have done with thee for this time, human.

    FI: what is it, Rosma?

    FI: oh!

    FI: wait, where are you going?

    FI: okay

    FI: hello human!

    EE: Hello.

    FI: you are the pretty one!

    EE: Am I?

    FI: that is what the color priest said

    FI: and I have to take her word for it because I do not know what a pretty human looks like

    FI: your skin and hair and eyes and blood are all different colors, so...you are not really very pretty to us

    FI: and you all kind of look the same, actually

    EE: Excuse me?

    FI: but I heard you like cats!

    EE: I do. Very much.

    FI: me too!

    EE: Though until speaking with you gods I would not have considered it a cornerstone of my identity.

    FI: hee hee!

    FI: I like all kinds of animals! I do!

    FI: did you know Rasmus is a cat?!

    EE: Yes. A tiger.

    FI: yep!

    EE: How can one be both a tiger and a god?

    FI: well he is not REALLY a tiger

    FI: like I am not really a frog!

    FI: but those are the creatures we bonded to, so we are like them in some ways

    EE: Interesting.

    EE: To what did the Frozen God bond?

    FI: Rosma is a shark!

    EE: And the Laughing God?

    FI: a chameleon!

    EE: I see. That fits with his ¡®color¡¯ theme.

    EE: And now that we have come to the subject of colors, I gather you were communicating with Jimothy?

    FI: your color priest? Yeah!

    FI: she is so weird!

    FI: she seems a lot like Derxis but not as clever or as annoying

    FI: but maybe all color priests are weird

    EE: Jimothy is a male.

    FI: oh! I am sorry! I am!

    FI: I am not sure how to tell the difference

    FI: is it the hair? The clothes?

    FI: why do you humans always wear clothes all the time?

    FI: hee hee! You are like Zayana, dressing up even when it is not cold

    EE: Until I am comfortable discussing this with you, just remember that Kaitlyn and Heidi and I are the females.

    FI: okay!

    EE: You do not seem malicious.

    FI: I hope not!

    FI: I do not want to be!

    FI: I am sorry for what all the others are doing, but they will not LISTEN to me!

    EE: Jimothy was upset after speaking to you. Why?

    FI: oh

    FI: that

    FI: uhh, he asked me not to talk about it

    EE: Very well.

    FI: but I kind of feel like maybe I really should talk about it

    EE: No, I trust him.

    FI: okay

    FI: maybe it is a human thing

    FI: oh!

    FI: humans have mates, right?

    EE: Yes.

    FI: are you and the color priest together then?

    EE: No.

    EE: We are rather young for that, in any case.

    FI: I see!

    FI: that is too bad

    FI: there is not much romance left among us here

    EE: Romance among the gods? Do tell.

    FI: I would love to!

    FI: but like I said, there is not much

    FI: anymore

    FI: heh heh

    FI: ...

    FI: oh no!

    EE: What is wrong?

    FI: did a scriven beast get you?

    FI: you have the Script on you!

    FI: oh nononono

    EE: It was a scrivener.

    EE: If that makes a difference.

    FI: it does!

    FI: it is worse! It is!

    FI: I could not even totally fix that even if I was right there with you

    FI: let me see!

    EE: See?

    FI: it does not say how much you have

    FI: show me!

    Elizabeth glanced up at Jim. He was still preoccupied with the approaching city. She turned away from him and raised up her shirt to expose the hand-width line of unsettling purplish marks that ran diagonally across her abdomen. Then, after a moment, she raised the left leg of her pants to reveal the same, wrapped once around her calf.

    FI: oh good it is not very much

    FI: Rasmus has almost a whole book on his back!

    FI: that does not matter much for him

    FI: but you might be in danger!

    EE: Why?

    FI: anything that can read Chirographic can see it, or smell it, or follow it somehow

    FI: they can tell whatever it says

    EE: Can you read it?

    FI: gods, no!

    FI: it is NOT good to be able to read that!

    FI: do not even try, okay? Do not!

    EE: Understood.

    FI: but you are marked now

    FI: I cannot fix that

    FI: but I can do this

    A greenish shimmer crawled over Elizabeth¡¯s skin. It found the ugly purplish marks and sank into them with a cool tingle. The pain that was not quite like a burn receded. It did not depart entirely, but it smoldered low enough that Elizabeth thought she could come to ignore it.

    EE: Thank you.

    FI: you need to be careful now

    FI: run away from any purple fire, because it will look for you!

    FI: make sure that mirrors are actually mirrors

    FI: if you are at a crossroads, do not speak any words if you do not know what they mean

    FI actually do not do that ever

    FI: and double check any books before you open them to make sure they are not

    FI: you know

    FI: like THAT

    FI: oh! oh, and do not talk in your sleep! And wake up quick if you have any dreams with those words!

    EE: Is that all?

    FI: all I can think of

    EE: Those are disquieting restrictions. Yet I shall bear them in mind.

    EE: Thank you again.

    FI: it is no problem!

    FI: I mean it is actually a huge problem, for you

    FI: but I meant that I do not mind trying to help!

    FI: it is actually really exciting for me to talk to a whole new race!

    FI: I am so curious!

    EE: I am enjoying it somewhat as well.

    EE: Except for the part where you are trying to kill me.

    FI: uh oh

    FI: I have to go sorry

    FI: I will put your book back

    EE: My book?

    FI: do not worry!

    FI: even though Acarnus does not have many feelings and is the one saying we need to kill you, I think he already likes your scientist so maybe I can change his mind!

    EE: You mean Kate?

    FI: just be careful!

    FI: the Script is SUPER dangerous

    FI: and it can eat light

    EE: Meaning that Jimothy¡¯s powers will prove inadequate?

    EE: Very well. We will be careful.

    She rejoined Jimothy at the prow of the ship. With a bit of his help, the ship reached the shore minutes later.

    It was a city indeed, and a strange one. Vast blocks of smooth stone, sculpted into sweeping arcs and odd angles, stood in places like natural rock formations carved by eons of weather. Yet in other places the stone formed clearly deliberate spirals, arches, bold lines and geometric patterns. No windows could be seen from the shore, no doors, and no structure smaller than a stadium. Only towering, peculiar shapes of stone.

    Yet it was not any of this that made the place unique; it was the contrast. There were two shades here, and only two: brilliant pure white and absolute jet black. Unqualified contrast. It appeared that the buildings were white and their shadows black, yet it was quite impossible to tell¡ªespecially since nothing else had shadows during the day on Hyperion. Was that a shadow cast by a seashell-shaped dome, or an angular black wing extending from it? Was that triangular monolith facing them head-on with something dark behind it, or was half of it colored black instead of white? The whole skyline could have been painted on a great flat canvas for all that her depth perception availed her.

    ¡°We should name it,¡± said Jimothy after they had disembarked the ship and spent a minute taking in the view. He turned to look at her as though this task obviously fell under her purview.

    She required only a moment. ¡°Chiaroscuro,¡± she said. She didn¡¯t need to explain that word to Jimothy. There was one singular subject on which he was an expert, and it was art. Chiaroscuro: the use of stark contrast between light and dark.

    ¡°The Lost City of Chiaroscuro,¡± he said. He squinted out at it and adjusted his pirate hat. ¡°We found it!¡±

    She went along with it, assuming the persona of an explorer, or perhaps a treasure-hunting pirate. Or Rebecca Carter. She struck an exploratory pose. Lewis and Clark. She dramatically shaded her eyes, though there was no sun. ¡°At last,¡± she said in her best pirate voice. ¡°What do you make of it, Captain Jimothy?¡±

    He stroked an imaginary goatee. ¡°Monochromatic,¡± he said after a moment of introspection. He leveled his cane at the city like a sword and at once began to fall sideways, but Hazel was there in an instant to brace his legs. Jimothy reached down to pat Hazel with his free hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go exploring!¡±

    They set off into the strange city, gargantuan and empty.

    It rained later. The rain was also black and white, like paint, speckling the white parts of the buildings with galaxies of black stars and vice versa. Elizabeth wrote a paper umbrella big enough for them both to huddle beneath, along with Callie. They wandered while black and white rain pattered on the paper overhead and Hazel ran hither and thither.

    They eventually found their way into the cavernous labyrinth of interconnected structures. Inside, many of the white walls were covered in strange black markings that Jimothy told her the shadow monsters liked to make on things during the night. He paused for a while there, gazing thoughtfully at those markings.

    They also found, eventually, another crystal for Jimothy¡¯s lighthouse. They ascended to a high point in the city and debated whether Jimothy ought to use the crystal to color Chiaroscuro.

    In the end, Jimothy painted the rain. He might have showed off a little. He used the crystal to make the clouds overhead blue and green. They smeared together, leaking colors into the surrounding sky, and they left streaky trails on the blank canvas sky behind them as they crawled past. And the rain, black and white, became instead many shades of blue and green and all between as it poured down and turned the wet city into a mosaic of high-contrast watercolor. All this was among the most strange and beautiful sights Elizabeth had ever seen. She forgot the pain in her stomach and leg, and Jimothy forgot that something was troubling him. They became lost together, for a time, in wonder.

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15

    Heidi Sheppard

    With Chthkashk still recovering from his injuries, Severard dead and Fifteen missing, Heidi had to assemble a new squad of freaks for her next venture. She could not go with Ruth and Bahamut alone; they both insisted on it. Baha hung his head, ashamed to admit that he could not protect her alone. Lady Chains had wounded him, though Heidi could not tell where or even how. But he was slower now, and he moved with a care that in humans meant only injury or extreme age. She hugged him. She told him he was brave. He perked up after that and wrapped gingerly around her in a cold, scaly embrace. Weird how quickly she had become used to that. Used to the looming terror of Ruth at her side. Used to all of it.

    She had no shortage of volunteers to accompany her. Not one of the guards seemed put off by the ill fate that had met the last venture. Heidi was coming to understand that the fact they were here, at the prison, on Orpheus, meant there was little if anything capable of putting them off. As well, everyone had seen the battle of the three heroes against Lady Chains. Although Heidi knew she had done little of substance in that encounter, she had nevertheless impressed the guards. She¡¯d had their loyalty. Now she had their respect. It felt wrong.

    Ruth helped her choose three new companions, for he seemed to know them all. Three, plus the two of them and Bahamut, was a good number for expeditions deeper into the Metal Moon. Fewer, and you couldn¡¯t watch every direction. More, and you risked attracting the rue.

    So they gained Luki, who wore a heavy, rusting, old-time diving suit with a little round faceplate through which nothing of his or her or its face could be seen. They gained Winnow, a rare female (maybe?), whose skeletal face and hands were chalk white, and of whom nothing else could be seen under the pale lengths of moldering rope that grew from her scalp like dreadlocks and spilled down around her in writhing coils. And they gained Splitter, who gave Ruth a run for his money in the horrible monstrosity rankings. Splitter had six long limbs, each with multiple elbows that could bend in any direction, each terminating in a clawed hand with long, skinny, multi-joined fingers. He (Ruth called it ¡®he¡¯) appeared to have no right way up. Several yellow slit eyes and gaping sharp-toothed maws decorated his pale, bulbous, headless body. He wore no armor and carried no weapon, but unnerving purple words written in strips of jagged script stretched across much of his rough skin. He was on her side; Heidi had to keep reminding herself of that. But the first time she saw him, Heidi thought that if she encountered something like Splitter in a videogame, she would be expected to destroy it at once, by any means necessary, no questions asked. Or, depending on the game, flee in terror.

    His voice, though, was normal. If she closed her eyes when speaking to him, she could imagine he was some big guy with laryngitis and a faint German accent. So there was that.

    She left orders with the aid of Balazar. Watch out for Lady Chains (but do not engage). Keep an eye on Vyrix and Cazzie. She had tasked Balazar with finding out what he could about those two, and about Abraham Black. Balazar claimed to have many contacts all over the Narrative. Heidi believed it. Many of the outcasts and flotsam that washed up on the Metal Moon originated from the Dark World.

    She left with her new crew the day after Lady Chains¡¯ attack. What, Luki had asked, was their destination? He/she/it was the only one to do so. Luki liked to talk. This was fine with Heidi, for Luki¡¯s voice was a comfort. They always sounded so cheerful, like a happy-go-lucky androgynous tourist excited to see the next sight, their voice echoing comically inside the heavy steel helmet.

    ¡°Answers,¡± she told Luki. Someone, somewhere on Orpheus, knew about the Bleak Machine, the rue, the bale thorn. Heidi understood, after seeing Vyrix and Cazzie, that figuring all of this out must be her priority. Why? That was another question that needed answering. But for her, for now, it was enough that there was something that needed doing, and that she was expected to do it. A job had been created, just for her. Laying aside any complaints about her lack of choice in the matter, that simple fact thrilled her. She had a job to do. She might as well do it. And she might as well do it right.

    They spent hours traversing the ever-changing landscape of the Metal Moon, hopping from lorn to lorn, descending deeper. Heidi grew in proficiency at surfing the unpredictable gravitational tides. They fought rue, and on one occasion they stumbled upon a machine from the Dark World, some kind of massive killer robot that had been trapped and partially crushed between two skyscraper-sized lorn shards.

    They moved quickly, furtively, like fish in the reefs darting from coral to coral. Ruth stayed close to Heidi as though he had made himself her personal bodyguard. Luki talked too much, was much too cheerful. They used an anchor on a chain like a grappling hook to get around, and they made a lot of noise clanging around and landing. Their noise didn¡¯t make a difference, not with the discordant ringing of the lorn shards everywhere. Winnow, on the other hand, moved like a ghost. Sometimes Heidi glimpsed her ashen ropes darting squid-like in the shadows, but usually Winnow went unseen and unheard. Splitter cartwheeled through the dark, where that eerie purple writing all over him glittered faintly.

    The Burning God texted Heidi again hours into the journey, when they had posted a watch and settled down for some rest. They had made good progress into the interior of the Metal Moon and had encamped on a broad open plain on one of the bigger lorn. Gravity was strong and relatively stable here. They hid themselves under a sheaf of spiky protrusions that angled up from the cold surface, but a watchman, in this case Winnow, could perch up top and easily see anything coming from half a kilometer away. Winnow was a good choice to keep watch because she claimed that she saw light and dark in reverse: she saw more clearly the darker it became, whereas increasing light lessened her vision. Luki had asked about pitch darkness; she had said it was too much, just the way too much light overloaded normal eyes.

    Heidi¡¯s reaction to the new red text was the same as always: initial excitement at receiving a text, followed by harsh disappointment upon realizing who it was.

    BG: Okay, fine, you were busy all day, I get that

    BG: But NOW you can talk, RIGHT?

    Heidi sighed. Might as well. She scratched Bahamut the way he liked¡ªhard, with a knife. He didn¡¯t really feel anything less. His body undulated like a cat being pet as she dragged the knife down his spine.

    HS: We can talk.

    BG: Great!

    BG: So first, sorry for being pushy or whatever

    BG: Even though I wasn¡¯t REALLY being that pushy

    BG: I think maybe you¡¯re a little sensitive, but that¡¯s OK too!

    HS: Do you have a name?

    BG: Why?

    HS: All of the other gods have names.

    HS: You¡¯re still just ¡°BG.¡±

    BG: Why do you care?

    HS: I don¡¯t, really.

    BG: Well good

    BG: I don¡¯t care about YOUR name either

    BG: Wait, is that your angel?

    HS: Bahamut? Yes.

    BG: You have a black angel?

    BG: An angel that¡¯s a BLACK SNAKE?

    HS: Yeah.

    HS: Does that mean something? Everyone else has white angels.

    BG: Hells if I know.

    BG: Anyway, about Black...

    HS: I should find him?

    BG: Well, it wouldn¡¯t hurt.

    HS: I know what you are doing.

    BG: Ok yeah?

    BG: What am I doing?

    HS: You want Abraham Black to kill me.

    BG: Whaaat?

    BG: pfft!

    BG: Would I do that?

    HS: I think so, yes.

    HS: You tried to ignite an open cask of kerosene in the supplies closet when I was in there.

    BG: Ha!

    BG: ¡°tried¡±

    BG: It went eventually

    HS: For a ¡°burning god¡± you don¡¯t seem to know the difference between flammable and combustible.

    BG: Fine! You got me!

    BG: But here¡¯s something that¡¯s not a lie: Abraham Black has those answers you want so much

    BG: ALL the answers

    BG: All of them

    BG: ;)

    HS: You just won¡¯t give up.

    BG: I have literally nothing else to do but sit here and try to kill you

    HS: Why is the Burning God not able to do more than light some stuff on fire?

    HS: Maybe you should be called the Burning Nuisance.

    BG: Oh, I¡¯d love to be there in person

    BG: It wouldn¡¯t be much of a challenge killing you then

    BG: I guess it¡¯s more sporting this way, since I can¡¯t get in there with you

    BG: But you¡¯ll be the first to know if that changes ;)

    HS: That I believe.

    BG: I guess I could make you uncomfortably warm when you try to sleep

    BG: Maybe light your clothes on fire from time to time

    HS: Feel free.

    BG: OOH I call your bluff, ¡®hero¡¯

    BG: You just wait

    HS: Are you sure there¡¯s nothing else for you to do?

    BG: Oh I can always make time for my friend

    BG: Because we¡¯re FRIENDS, remember?

    HS: Do you always try to kill your friends?

    BG: What do you mean ¡®try?¡¯

    HS: Nevermind, you don¡¯t seem like the ¡®friends¡¯ type.

    BG: Oh, I¡¯m not

    BG: Not at all

    BG: And yet...

    BG: Here I am!

    BG: Life¡¯s funny, isn¡¯t it?

    HS: Funny.

    HS: Sure.

    BG: Aaand speaking of friends, I just found an old one!

    BG: Nice!

    BG: I¡¯ll talk to you later, human

    BG: If you¡¯re lucky

    The guards were playing that game when Heidi looked up from her phone, the one where they took turns placing bets on how each of the others would die. Not much of a game, actually. A morbid way to pass the time. And, in some cases, a contest of evocative imagery. Luki, for all their cheerful voice, was a font of imagination when it came to the demise of Heidi¡¯s other companions. Heidi had declined to join in, so they thoughtfully left her own fate off the table.

    ¡°Bet you¡¯ll die to a rue,¡± said Splitter to Ruth in his hoarse German accent.

    ¡°Crushed, cut, smothered?¡± questioned Winnow from her perch above them

    ¡°It¡¯ll be cracked,¡± said Splitter thoughtfully, as though he were predicting this evening¡¯s weather. ¡°Cracked open. Like a shellfish.¡± He demonstrated this with a vivid and unsettling gesture. Ruth tilted his head slightly in what Heidi now, after a few days with him, believed to be a thoughtful expression. ¡°It¡¯ll be a big one, though,¡± said Splitter as though in comfort. ¡°Maybe the ol¡¯ queen herself.¡±

    Ruth nodded, the sign that he had accepted his fate. Someone else¡¯s turn. ¡°No rue for you, friend,¡± Luki cheerily informed Splitter, reaching out to place a heavy diving-suit glove on one of Splitter¡¯s arms. ¡°Bet you¡¯ll die by Logoi!¡±

    ¡°Come to finish the job, eh?¡± One eerily long and multi-jointed finger briefly traced the purple text on Splitter¡¯s body.

    And so on.

    Heidi¡¯s phone buzzed again. She almost ignored it¡ªbut what if? What if it was not a smartass evil god but one of her friends?

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    It turned out to be neither.

    DX: hEy

    DX: no nEed to reply

    DX: i¡¯lL be qUIck

    DX: word of Advice:

    DX: lISten to blAck

    DX: he¡¯S the Same kind of cREature as you rIGHt?

    DX: a hUman

    And that was all. Heidi was still working through this (who was DX?) when a sharp whistle from Winnow above warned of danger incoming. The game stopped at once; Heidi¡¯s phone was replaced by the strange crystal weapon designed for rue; Winnow dropped down among them in a knot of crumbling rope.

    ¡°Him,¡± she said, her voice dull and neutral as always. ¡°Black. Near.¡± The ends of several of her ropes drifted up in the same vague direction.

    Heidi adjusted her headband. ¡°Alone?¡±

    ¡°Alone.¡±

    Why alone? ¡°Watch our flanks,¡± she said. ¡°Might be more.¡±

    Heidi glanced up at the sharp lorn on which Winnow had crouched above them. She couldn¡¯t climb that. But she didn¡¯t need to.

    With one hand, she made a small sphere of circles, glowing gold. The arrows tended upward; the sensation of weightlessness exhilarated her. She tapped the ground with her feet, propelling her up to the edge of their cover. She stopped herself with a touch and peeked over the rim, beyond the outcropping. Black was there, approaching with a steady step. His long dark coat drifted sideways as though in gravitational tide, though Heidi couldn¡¯t feel anything. He was already within shouting distance. His weapons were holstered, but that hardly mattered. He looked a bit intimidating¡ªmaybe it was the easy confidence evident in his stride¡ªbut not terrifying. Not like the monster that had shot her in a dream, leaving a wound that was still sore.

    He was a minute out at his present pace. He looked ahead, but his face was in darkness and she couldn¡¯t tell if he saw her.

    She drifted back down to her team, released the orb, and dropped back into normal gravity. A slight sideways tide tugged at her, but she leaned against it automatically. ¡°Get ready,¡± she said. They had already done so. Ruth required no weapons; he was always ready. Splitter now held several mysterious weapons, dripping dark mucous. Had¡­had those been in his mouths? Luki had affixed a lumpy box of wires and lights onto his left diving glove. In his right hand he wielded his heavy anchor with a chain affixed to the end. The box could shoot forcewaves strong enough to shatter small lorn; the anchor could be used as a weapon, a grappling hook for maneuverability, or in defense. Luki was strong, but slow. And finally Winnow, whose ropes now gripped razors in their frayed ends. They could strike like snakes, with deadly aim and surprising reach.

    Could she, a wounded Bahamut, and four monsters defeat Abraham Black? She had no idea. She saw a terrible vision of all four of them, Ruth, Luki, Winnow, Splitter, lying bleeding and dead on the lorn, gunned down in a single second by four perfectly placed bullets. Would that actually happen? Could it? Was Luki¡¯s faceplate bulletproof? With Black, would that even matter? Heidi nervously felt her own body armor. It was bulletproof to her own handgun; she had checked. She had abandoned the armored coat for a full-body suit of dark armor with a helmet. She felt well-protected, but the truth was that any of her companions could probably kill her in seconds if they had a mind to. She was fragile.

    A scaly hand touched her leg. She didn¡¯t need to look to know it was Bahamut, looking up at her without eyes, telling her to calm down.

    Listen to him, DX had said. He¡¯s a human, like you. But who the hell was ¡°DX?¡±

    Logically, if they could avoid a fight, that was the smart thing to do. If she  could talk to Abraham Black, then she should. Because maybe then there wouldn¡¯t be blood. Maybe she would get answers. But a vision of the other Black, the Monster Black, kept floating before her. Alan shot dead.

    Heidi wanted help. She needed somebody to help her, to advise her, to tell her what to do.

    ¡°Close,¡± whispered Winnow. Her razors scraped slightly as they dragged on the lorn.

    Heidi heard the boots, clacking on the metallic surface. She took a deep breath, then acted without allowing herself to think about it. Like surfing.

    ¡°Abraham Black!¡± she called. Her voice sounded small and plain in her ears. It sank and drowned in the darkness, in the ringing of the lorn.

    But Abraham Black heard. And he stopped. ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± he replied. So normal, that voice. Easily the most normal voice Heidi had encountered from any creature on her moon. Not all that different in tone and accent from Alan. Just a guy. A very serious, confident guy.

    ¡°I¡­¡± What to say? ¡°I want to talk!¡± No need to sound so desperate, she scolded herself. But that wasn¡¯t too bad for a start. It wasn¡¯t stupid.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to talk,¡± came the reply.

    ¡°We¡ªwe¡¯re talking now!¡± Heidi regretted this at once. She put a hand over her face. Had Eric rubbed off on her? A small sound made her look up. Winnow was trembling, making little puffing noises. This alarmed Heidi at first, but then¡­was she laughing?

    Abraham Black took a moment to reply. ¡°¡­Yes, we are,¡± he said at last. He sounded a little lost. Maybe thinking, ¡®this isn¡¯t how this is supposed to go.¡¯

    What next? Heidi was improvising and having an important conversation all at once¡ªtwo things she¡¯d never been good at. ¡°Did¡­did the Burning God tell you where to find us?¡± That might be good. It should give him something to think about, whether it was true or not.

    ¡°She did,¡± he said. ¡°She told me to come kill you.¡±

    Heidi swallowed. The others tensed. Luki gripped his anchor; the chain rattled slightly. Ruth rustled, chittered. Splitter, who in this dim light really gave Ruth a run for his money in the horrific-nightmare contest, switched which hands he was standing on, flexing his long, long fingers, gripping those weird weapons. Razors whispered against metal as though Winnow was gently sharpening them on the lorn. Heidi signaled for them to remain still.

    ¡°Do¡­¡± She cleared her throat, spoke louder. ¡°Do you know why?¡± She paused, then added, ¡°Because I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Do you not?¡± His voice was soft now, so soft Heidi had to listen close to hear it. And the hearing of it chilled her blood. Death, verbalized. ¡°She told me that you killed Elysia.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t even know who that is!¡± Had she killed anyone since coming here? Well, yes, there had been that one Darkworlder. ¡°I¡¯ve only been here¡­¡± How long? It felt like weeks. ¡°A few days.¡±

    He was quiet for a long time. The image came to Heidi of Abraham Black slipping out of his clacky boots and tiptoeing around their cover, catching them by surprise and gunning them down in his socks. The thought was silly and terrifying at the same time.

    But at last he spoke. Softly again, as though speaking to himself. ¡°I had wondered about that.¡± His tone suggested that he probably hadn¡¯t wondered enough to stop and ask about it before gunning her down.

    ¡°I think,¡± said Heidi, trying to keep her voice cool and steady, ¡°that the Burning God is lying to you. She is trying to kill me.¡±

    Another uncomfortable silence. Then, ¡°A fine method she chose. If true.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know Elysia,¡± Heidi said again, trying as hard as she could to sound earnest and convincing. Although it was possible, just possible, that that one single Darkworlder she had slain earlier had been someone named Elysia. How would she have known? She had not had a choice. It had been self-defense.

    ¡°Come,¡± he said. ¡°Look me in the eyes, hero. And say it.¡±

    Heidi stood very still, trying to think, maybe trying to think harder than she ever had in her life. If she accepted, if she went and stood in front of him, he could kill her. No doubt. But maybe he would listen to her. And if he did, maybe he would believe her. But if she refused, a fight looked likely. Back to the old question: could they actually beat Abraham Black? He had to know she was not alone. Yet he had come alone himself, confident. And serious. Very serious.

    ¡°Revenge,¡± she whispered to herself. He wanted to kill her because the Burning God told him Heidi had killed someone named Elysia. She must be dead. He must have cared enough about her to come avenge her. The same way that Heidi was quite sure Alan would track down anyone who murdered her, Heidi. Abraham Black must have cared about Elysia.

    That meant he was not a monster, not entirely. But it also meant he might be a little out of control. Maybe he  would just shoot her. But wait. Earlier, he¡¯d been meant to deliver her to the Dark World. Alive, right? But no, that was stupid; he¡¯d come here to kill her. What had he said, exactly?

    She spent what felt like a very long time trying to think of something. What was the right answer? The best she could come up with was a system of mirrors so that she and Black could be face-to-face without her being in danger, but that was simply too stupid. Heidi spent some time cursing her own stupidity, fidgeting with her headband.

    It was Abraham Black that ultimately resolved the problem, though he seemed to be talking to himself. ¡°Would the guilty consider for so long?¡± And then, ¡°I never trusted the gods.¡±

    He raised his voice so they could all easily hear. ¡°I¡¯m coming over there,¡± he said. ¡°I will not touch my weapons, if you do not.¡±

    Coming? ¡°Wh¡­¡± She swallowed. ¡°Why are you¡ªuh, shit¡ªwhy is that¡­necessary?¡±

    ¡°I wish to see you,¡± he said, ¡°whom a god desires to kill. Upright, clearly, without an eye thief on your back.¡±

    Heidi looked at her companions, afraid that her gaze was maybe a little wild. But they only passively met her eyes. They would do as they were told. They trusted her. Did she trust Abraham Black?

    She looked at Bahamut. He returned the gaze. Her call.

    Her call. She absolutely fucking hated that it was her call. But this, too, was part of her job. Abraham Black was dangerous, legendarily so. But if he really just wanted to talk¡­

    And he must have cared. Who was Elysia?

    ¡°Come on,¡± she said, surprised at the strength in her voice. ¡°We will be on guard. But we will put away our weapons.¡±

    Luki did not hesitate to fasten the anchor-and-chain on the hook on the back of his suit, and to stow away the boxy attachment. Winnow did not remove the razors, but she shifted her ropes so they weren¡¯t visible. Good enough. Ruth did nothing; he could not cease to be as dangerous as he was at any moment. And Splitter¡ªyep, he was shoving those weird spiky weapons down his several drooling maws, reaching further down into them than seemed possible. Splitter was incredibly swift, which was probably why he gestured for Heidi to position herself behind him. She obliged, and she shivered in revulsion when some of the narrow yellow eyes on the other side of his body turned their beady red pupils toward her, and one of the razor-toothed mouths split in a wild grin diagonally across the pale, fleshy, violet-scarred mass.

    Abraham Black could not hide the approach of his boots. It was a tense moment indeed when he crested the overhang and dropped down exactly where Winnow had minutes before. He held out his hands, clearly empty. He paused when he landed from the drop, then slowly rose to his full height. His dark eyes searched them, one by one, before fixing on Heidi. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, maybe at seeing her hiding partway behind Splitter.

    They locked eyes, and Heidi did not look away. She had never seen eyes like that before, though she couldn¡¯t say why. They were dark, deep, intense.

    ¡°So,¡± said Black. He lowered his hand slowly to his sides, but his coat remained between them and his guns. Still, the guards tensed. ¡°Why does the Burning God wish to arrange the death of a Hero?¡±

    Heidi spoke without thinking. ¡°That¡¯s what we all want to know.¡± She caught herself. ¡°The heroes, I mean. The gods are out to get all of us.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s true,¡± said Black, musing to himself. ¡°I heard Lady Chains attacked your prison.¡±

    Heidi nodded. Her left leg began to ache, and she realized she was standing stiffly, too tense. She forced herself to relax, take a breath. Black really did look like he just wanted to talk. He wanted answers, like her.

    ¡°You have the witch?¡± he asked after a moment.

    Witch? ¡°Vyrix? We have her. She¡¯s covered in bale thorn. But she¡¯s not dead. Do you know why?¡±

    A bleak smile stretched his pale lips. ¡°She is a true witch, and truly cursed for her hexerei. Once a slave. She knows why. She knows about the Bleak Machine, more than I. She paid a high price for the knowing.¡±

    ¡°She wanted something in exchange for me. Something from the Dark World. What did she want?¡±

    ¡°The Machine cursed her,¡± said Black. ¡°But the Dark Ruler has greater power. She seeks a cure for her curse.¡±

    ¡°Do you know the Dark Ruler?¡± It suddenly came to Heidi that this topic, the Dark Ruler, was of even greater importance than all that she was doing here on Orpheus. Eric and Kate had explained it to her: they needed the dark key. That was how they won.

    Black slowly raised a hand and put a pale finger against his lips. ¡°Sshhh.¡±

    ¡°Then,¡± Heidi desperately searched for the correct follow-up question. Anything to keep Black talking, keep him explaining. ¡°What does he, the Dark Ruler, want so badly with me?¡±

    ¡°Not just you,¡± said Black. ¡°All the heroes. And to kill you, of course. With no heroes, he will not be stopped, sooner or later, from opening that door.¡±

    ¡°Is that also what you want? To open the door? To kill us?¡± These were dangerous questions, and Heidi¡¯s companions knew it. They all shifted, ready to spring to action. At that moment Heidi thought she had the answer: that at least in this present situation, Black could not defeat these four monsters. Not in these close quarters. Surely it was impossible. Yet his calm confidence did not waver, and fear crawled inside of Heidi.

    Black shook his head slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t care for keys or doors. Not gods either. And not heroes. Not Lords, not Ladies. Not dreams. Not stars.¡± The cacophony of lorn ringing in the background seemed to fade when he spoke, and in his eyes was a faraway look, as though he saw beyond all of Orpheus to something more distant.

    ¡°What is it, then?¡± Then, unable to stop herself, Heidi added, ¡°Elysia?¡±

    That one word deflated him. His cool assurance dropped away. He slumped, he cast down his eyes, and all at once he didn¡¯t seem so dangerous anymore. He muttered something that Heidi didn¡¯t quite catch. Things change?

    He reached a hand up and rubbed the back of his neck. He chuckled, but it was bitter. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t like¡­this.¡± With his other hand he made a gesture that included all of himself.

    And it was like a switch being flipped inside of Heidi¡¯s brain. She saw Alan there in front of her, back on the island, saying almost the same things and acting almost the same way when Heidi had questioned him a year ago about the woman he had once loved. How she wouldn¡¯t like what he was doing now, morally questionable work for October Industries. Alan had never forgotten Maggie, a woman Heidi had never known, but he had found a new purpose in Maggie¡¯s daughter. Heidi Czeslaw.

    Abraham Black and Alan Sheppard, for one brief instant there in front of Heidi, were the same person.

    Black was looking at her curiously. Because she was staring at him, mouth slightly open, like an idiot. She tore her gaze away. But when it returned, Abraham was smiling. And it seemed, for the first time, like a genuine smile.

    ¡°I know you did not kill her,¡± he said. ¡°In fact¡­you remind me of her.¡±

    He tipped his hat to her, and it was not in the least cheesy or clich¨¦. ¡°I¡¯ll be on my way, then,¡± he said. ¡°For now, at least, you have nothing to fear from me¡­er¡­¡±

    ¡°Heidi,¡± she told him. ¡°Heidi Sheppard.¡±

    He nodded and tried out the name. ¡°Heidi Sheppard.¡± Without more delay, he turned and stepped past Ruth and Winnow, boots clacking as he strode off over the lorn.

    Heidi¡¯s phone vibrated before he had gone three paces. No doubt the Burning God, ready to throw a fit because her plan backfired. But it wasn¡¯t the Burning God.

    CG: yeah well isn¡¯t it just like him to fuck up any of Akkama¡¯s plans

    CG: pretty fuckin fantastic actually

    CG: the irony

    CG: I¡¯d honestly just let it happen just to see her fuckin pitch a gods damned fit

    CG: but I need you dead too

    CG: so if that bitch couldn¡¯t kill you with fuckin Abraham Black then maybe I can do it with shadows

    CG: I guess they listen to me or whatever

    CG: so here we go

    A rue cried somewhere nearby. And then another, in the other direction. And then more: above, around.

    Heidi had been told that the rue were solitary. Seldom did they congregate. This was a good thing, very good, for they were exceedingly dangerous in groups. They could bleed into each other, coalesce, magnify.

    Abraham Black¡¯s boots stopped clacking on the lorn. Not far away, he paused to look around.

    The rue appeared all at once, maybe a dozen of them. They dropped like folding, flapping birds of coal-black paper from the dark skies, and they slipped up from the shadowy cracks and crevices in the lorn.

    Abraham Black quickly backed toward Heidi and crew, step by step. His guns were out now, two shining revolvers glinting silver in the dark. But as the flood of shadowy monsters closed in around them, shrieking their terrible cries, neither Heidi nor any of her guards worried about that.

 Chapter 16

    Chapter 16

    Kaitlyn Carter

    Kaitlyn Carter bounced out of bed when she awoke early the next morning. She threw open a window, inviting the rain and thunder into her bedroom. She pranced onto her balcony to gaze with blurry vision at the flickering lights of the everstorm.

    Elmer Sky was outside her door on watch, snoring happily in his blue velvet suit. He had made a cozy chair out of puffy clouds! She let him be. She spun back into her room, donned her glasses (now with elastic band!), her sandals, a cotton knee-length dress with blue and red fractal patterns, and of course her lab coat. She bundled her hair up into a messy bun, for she had  work to do.

    She disturbed the Theians camping out in her big rainbow entrance hall when she skipped through. It was Shlushluth, Thlytri, Flitch, Jan. They stirred themselves groggily awake, greeting her belatedly as she passed.

    She stopped by Eric¡¯s room and found Amelia Shape outside. She had nothing to report except some complaint about the excessive curiosity of the Theians. Excellent!

    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll be off for a coffee,¡± said Amelia, speaking as though this were a prospect nearly too grim for contemplation. ¡°Would you like anything?¡±

    ¡°Hot ch-chocolate!¡± Kate declared with an upraised finger before proceeding up to her lab.

    Once in the lab, music blasting and hot coco steaming, she got to work. She had discovered that inventing was pretty fast work when the inventor could create any tool or material necessary, on demand, to exact specifications. In fact, it made her realize that most of the time she normally spent ¡®inventing¡¯ was actually consumed in locating and acquiring the necessary parts/tools/equipment. But with drops and imagination, she always had exactly what she needed. Copper wire? Crystal lenses¡ªcrafted just so? Tiny bolts with matching nuts and washers? Easy!

    It was amazing! It was like this was how it had always been meant to be!

    And it was fast. She hashed out a prototype within two hours. It didn¡¯t  quite work as intended, not unless the intent was to give Heidi seizures, which it  definitely was not! But it was a fine start.

    A message came for her as she stood pondering the prototype. What, exactly, had gone wrong? And why? This was actually her favorite part. It would be  boring if every invention just worked right the first time, all the time. But now she got to play detective! She could analyze, deduce, figure it out. It was a mystery! And a mystery, like her dad used to say, was just a sort of adventure for the mind.

    The message was in grey text. That guy! Kate couldn¡¯t quite remember if she¡¯d liked this one or not. The gods were a mixed bag, that was for sure!

    AC: Greetings.

    AC: I have been watching you.

    KC: 8|

    AC: I believe I can identify your error.

    KC: my what?

    AC: Your error in the construction of that device.

    KC: well you better not spoil it!

    AC: Spoil it?

    KC: and I¡¯m not supposed to trust you anyway!

    AC: That is wise.

    AC: I can see here what Jeronimy did yesterday.

    AC: You are too trusting.

    AC: And you should have known that sparking the ignition coil would set off a chain reaction in the arda.

    KC: the what?

    AC: The arda. The crystals.

    KC: the McFinnium? I DID know that!

    AC: If you knew it was going to explode, then why did you do it?

    KC: I don¡¯t know! I don¡¯t remember because it didn¡¯t happen! Eric stopped me!

    AC: Interesting.

    AC: In any case, not accepting instructions from those decided to kill you is a sound decision.

    AC: But perhaps you will accept suggestions.

    AC: Or hints, if you will.

    KC: well sure!

    KC: as long as you don¡¯t spoil it!

    KC: waaaiiiit a minute

    KC: >:|

    KC: why do you care?

    AC: As I said, I have been observing you as you constructed this device.

    AC: It is something that few could have done.

    AC: Even I would not have thought to render the attraction field omni-directionally.

    KC: oh, EVEN you?!

    KC: 8o

    AC: Not in the first iteration.

    KC: ;D

    AC: Look at this.

    The Chained God sent her a ten-line equation that CHIME had difficulty rendering into text. That was fine; it just added another layer of puzzling to the challenge!

    She got right to work, scrawling it on her whiteboard and trying to figure out where it fit. It was clearly a derivative of the standard gravitational torsion flux equation. Was the Chained God trying to tell her she wasn¡¯t paying enough attention to gravitoelectromagnetism?!

    Another hour slipped away. Kate and AC ceased, for this period, to be hero and god. They became conspirators, investigators, explorers. The Chained God knew things that Kate did not. But he also had been wrong to suggest that he could easily build the gravity goggles all on his own. There were peculiar gaps in his knowledge¡ªgaps that Kate could fill.

    By the end of that hour, the third prototype was practically complete. And  this one, Kate thought, would work!

    KC: I think we¡¯ve got it!

    ? AC: Excellent.

    KC: is it, though? Aren¡¯t you trying to kill us?

    AC: When you requested that I do not ¡®spoil¡¯ anything, you meant that you desired to discover the solution on your own.

    KC: of course!

    KC: that¡¯s the fun!

    KC: it¡¯s like a mystery

    KC: like Sherlock Holmes

    AC: This Sherlock Holmes. Tell me about her.

    KC: him ;)

    KC: he is a brilliant detective!

    KC: fictional, alas

    KC: he is famous for solving mysteries by using observation and extrapolating from seemingly insignificant details

    KC: but he was also a scientist!

    KC: and you¡¯re a scientist too?

    AC: Yes.

    KC: a scientist god

    KC: that¡¯s cool!

    KC: I would never have thought of that because gods are supposed to like know everything

    KC: but that means they could never be scientists!

    KC: kind of sad for those omniscient gods actually

    KC: I think it¡¯s good to not know everything

    AC: I am not sure that I agree.

    AC: I cannot think of anything I would choose not to know, given the choice.

    KC: hmm, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the same thing ?:\

    KC: but if you knew everything then everything would be pointless!

    AC: It is a moot point.

    KC: I agree!

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    KC: I do not know everything, and neither do you

    KC: right?

    AC: Correct.

    KC: the task of a scientist is to find answers to questions and solutions to problems

    KC: right?

    AC: I would add that the acquisition of knowledge is a worthwhile pursuit in itself.

    AC: But yes.

    KC: fair enough!

    KC: and if you are trying to solve a problem in one way, but that way is not working, then as a scientist you must gather more data as well as consider alternate solutions!

    KC: right?

    AC: Of course.

    KC: one must always consider alternate solutions, RIGHT?

    KC: it being the case that none of us has access to all the data

    AC: Certainly.

    KC: and a scientist should never ever be so set on one theory or proposed solution that they pursue it to the exclusion of other possible solutions, ESPECIALLY when it is not working!

    KC: AM I WRONG, AC?

    AC: It¡¯s Acarnus.

    AC: Are you going somewhere with this?

    KC: I am ;)

    KC: we¡¯re all still alive down here, Acarnus

    KC: all us heroes

    KC: killing us might work eventually, but it hasn¡¯t worked yet!

    KC: and are you really, REALLY sure it¡¯s the only way to do whatever it is you¡¯re trying to do?

    KC: because my man Isaac would probably say, ¡®that isn¡¯t how this story goes¡¯

    KC: and it doesn¡¯t really seem like you or most of the other gods really want to kill us anyway

    KC: and I think YOU are also nicer than you let on, and you don¡¯t actually want to kill us either

    KC: so just think about it

    KC: ok?

    He didn¡¯t say anything after that. Kate put the finishing touches on the goggles, which included coloring them black, which she thought Heidi would appreciate. They were bulky, more of a helmet than just a pair of goggles. Maybe they could be integrated into a real helmet for protection, but Heidi could do that herself.

    Kate thought about the Chained God as she took the gravity-goggles to the copying machine, downloaded the blueprint into her medallion, and sent it to Heidi via another of the mysterious devices in her lab. The Chained God had told her how to do that. Now Heidi could make the goggles, if she had drops.

    Why was he called the Chained God? What was he chained to? Why had he been so interested in Sherlock Holmes?

    Eric dropped by, bleary and yawning, his clothes crumpled and his hair a mess. He was not a morning person. But Elmer Sky was with him, and Elmer was an every-time-of-day person. Elmer¡¯s appearance in a room was always a lot like balloons arriving suddenly in the midst of a dreary activity.

    ¡°By Jove!¡± he exclaimed upon entering the lab. ¡°It certainly is clean in here, wouldn¡¯t you say Sir Eric?¡± He gave Eric a friendly jostle with his elbow.

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Eric. He blinked around, taking in all the residual mess of her morning project. ¡°Busy morning?¡±

    She proudly held aloft the completed goggles. ¡°F-finished!¡±

    ¡°What, already?¡± He yawned again. ¡°Nice.¡±

    ¡°The Ch-chained God helped me!¡±

    ¡°God damn it, Kate.¡±

    ¡°I was c-ca-c-careful this time.¡± She tried to keep the defensive tone out of her voice. She set the goggles back down. ¡°I did n-not b-blow up. And they w-work.¡±

    ¡°Well, cool. Seen Frisby around?¡±

    She had not.

    After that, they had breakfast together with Elmer and Amelia and the Theians. It was there that the Theians and Elmer began speaking of Absolem, Guardian of the Cloud Moon.

    ¡°Right!¡± Elmer declared once he had heard enough. He sprang up from the cushion on which he had been sitting. ¡°Let¡¯s have at it, then!¡± He preened his moustache and gazed dramatically into the distance.

    ¡°Finish your breakfast, Elmer,¡± said Amelia, unfazed by his outburst.

    ¡°We must go see him!¡±

    ¡°After breakfast, dear.¡±

    Eric, much more awake now with a coffee in his hand, said, ¡°Why the hell would you want to see your Guardian?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s n-not b-ba-b-b-evil,¡± said Kate. ¡°I think I n-need to w-wa-wake him up. Or so-something.¡±

    Eric looked doubtful, but the prospect of flying again took hold of Kate. She remembered, all at once, the exhilaration of flight. It had been a little dangerous, yes. But it had been  so much fun.

    ¡°Could you fucking stop?¡± That was Eric.

    Wind filled the grand entry hall in which they sat and ate. It howled from nowhere, spilling their drinks and scattering their breakfast foods across the floor in swirls. Elmer laughed, the Theians clung to the floor with their sticky feet, and Amelia sat in a transparent bubble that shielded her from the wind, calmly continuing her breakfast.

    It stopped almost as soon as Kate realized it was there. The gale faded away to a slight breeze, then to nothing.

    Elmer clapped in applause. ¡°Marvelous!¡±

    Eric wiped hot coffee off of himself, muttering something.

    ¡°D-did I d-do that?¡± She didn¡¯t wait for an answer. Of course it had been her. ¡°W-we should g-go, Eric! It¡¯ll b-be  fun!¡±

    ¡°Fun?¡± He said it like he had never heard the word before but suspected he wouldn¡¯t like the meaning when he found it out.

    ¡°Fun!¡±

    And it  was fun, the most fun she had had in what seemed like a long time, even though she had to modify the flying machine so Eric could ride along, and even though Eric grumbled and grouched throughout the whole time they were preparing to go.

    But by noon they were off! She and Eric lay side-by-side on a modified flying machine that had taken almost all of her remaining drops to create. They were a lot heavier, so the wings had to be a lot bigger. She flew it, not Eric. Eric was just along for the ride, and  he wasn¡¯t having a delightful time¡ªnot at first, anyway.

    The Theians flew with them, as before, and Kate made a brief stop at their nearby village to pick up Mormo and some others who wanted to make the journey.

    Amelia and Elmer came along as well, which made Kate feel a lot better. She hadn¡¯t seen them fight the Ladies or anything, but apparently they were really strong! Strong enough to get rid of two Ladies of Skywater, anyway. Amelia had brought a book and chair. She sat in the chair and read the book all while inside a box of light that flew alongside Kate and Eric. She occasionally looked around, especially at the storm overhead. Sometimes she turned a page or made a comment to Elmer.

    Elmer Sky had selected ¡°the fucking Superman approach¡± according to Eric, except that Superman had never left a rainbow behind him like a long banner when he flew. Also, Superman had never been a short, fat, funny mustachioed man in a bright blue suit and top hat. Elmer swooped and curled around them, laughing as he trailed his rainbow.

    His name was Sky. She, Kaitlyn Carter, was the Hero of  Sky. Did that mean she could do that too?! She made a note to ask him about it.

    Eric got used to flying soon enough, and he even began smiling when they dove from the heights of a cliff or soared over fields of roving many-legged windmills. He put his headphones on after a while, and Kate bothered him until he made a second pair with a split adapter so they could both listen. It was some electronic music, which was just fine. And once the music was on, it seemed like flying was the easiest thing in the world.

    She wondered, though, about the gods and what Fiora and Acarnus had said. Kate thought she liked Fiora. Fiora had wanted to know if Kate and Eric were  together! Her Lady was Lady Hearts, so maybe she was the goddess of love and healing or whatever.

    Kate had never for a second thought of her and Eric like that. But she could understand the mistake! She  did like him. He was cool and funny and reliable, and he cared  so much about his friends and his adopted sister. And Kate thought they had got some good bonding in recently, what with fighting off Lady Chains with Heidi, her healing his arm, then him saving her from that jerk Jeronimy, then making the music together for a door (it was electric!), then escaping Ladies Fire and Shadows¡­

    But Eric was with Liz. She had seen them holding hands at the top of Skywater Citadel! That warmed her heart. Adorable! She was more than happy to fly and laugh with him and jam to music.

    A couple hours into their flight, Kate received a message from Princess Zayana of Meszria.

    ZA: Kaitlyn Carter?

    Kate hastily excused herself from Eric¡¯s music and handed him the controls. ¡°Who is it this time?¡± he asked, feigning exasperation.

    ¡°It¡¯s a p-p-princess, Eric!¡± He looked doubtful, but Kate was too excited to care. ¡°Here!¡± She scooted over and shoved the piloting joystick toward Eric, which sent their little plane into a steep swerve that might have crashed them if Amelia hadn¡¯t helped out with some floating shapes of light.

    KC: Zayana!

    KC: :D

    KC: it¡¯s me!

    ZA: I see that I made faulty assumptions. I was under the impression that you were a Daimon.

    KC: a what?

    ZA: A daimon. Like me.

    KC: oh! Is that what your race is called? The gods?

    ZA: We are not gods.

    KC: I figured. Pretty weird for a princess to be a god!

    ZA: I am so foolish.

    ZA: I paid no attention when they said they found another Narrative.

    ZA: I had no interest in Acarnus¡¯s scheme.

    ZA: I never considered that you might be involved.

    ZA: And I was...occupied elsewhere.

    KC: ?

    ZA: Do not worry, Kaitlyn Carter. I will put a stop to this nonsense about supplanting you and accessing your door.

    ZA: Lickety-split.

    ZA: And then, we will have much to discuss.

 Chapter 17

    Chapter 17

    Rebecca Carter

    Rebecca Carter drove the ALL-Rover through the mist. A bottle rattled in her cupholder, iced tea mixed from a powdered sugary flavor. Alan sat next to her, fogwatching. That was a word she had come up with: fogwatching. An increasingly popular pastime here on the ALL-Rover. Catch random snippets of the thoughts and memories of your fellow passengers. Elmer and Leah had even made it into a guessing game: whose dream or memory was that? And there  was  something compelling about it¡ªparticularly if anyone onboard was actually asleep. They had learned to park the vehicle for sleeping.

    ¡°Should be soon,¡± said Alan.

    Christmas, that¡¯s what he meant. ¡®Should be soon that we meet this mysterious individual who¡¯s been arranging all of this.¡¯

    She grunted in response and swerved to avoid something that looked vaguely like a Styrofoam dinosaur. It was placid and simply turned to watch them pass. That would be Leah¡¯s. That girl made more things in the fog than any of them. She didn¡¯t make the worst things, though. That award went to Dwayne Hartman.

    Rebecca reached to the dash and clicked on the camera feed from the main cabin. Elmer was jumping up and down in the middle, excited about something. Amelia sat with Dwayne Hartman, who showed her something on a piece of paper. He laughed at something she said, and Rebecca heard his laughter even up in the insulated driver¡¯s cabin. Leah sat on Amelia¡¯s lap. That girl was getting along with everyone, thank god. Rebecca didn¡¯t approve of children, but she had to concede that Leah was cute, while lacking many of the accompanying drawbacks plaguing most children. She wasn¡¯t spoiled, or selfish, or stupid. She was god damned curious, but Rebecca was hardly in a position to find fault with that. Rebecca¡¯s brother, her ex-husband, and her niece all shared that characteristic. And Leah Walker had taken to Dwayne Hartman after hearing him sing. For some reason Rebecca could not fathom, Leah had begun following Dwayne around and hanging on his every word. A bit troubling, since most of his words had to do with God.

    Michael Whyte leaned against the wall while Amber Jane spoke in front of him, her eyes bright and her hand movements animated. The boy smiled stupidly, and Rebecca wondered how much of AJ¡¯s speech was actually getting through to him.

    Rebecca pulled the wheel abruptly to the left, jolting the ALL-Rover into a sudden swerve. She watched the camera feed, not the road. AJ fell against Michael, who reflexively caught her in an embrace. They remained together for a moment, even after Rebecca corrected their course. Then AJ righted herself, blushing.

    Michael, proving again that he was cannier than he seemed, cast a suspicious glance directly at the camera.

    Rebecca chuckled and was surprised to hear Alan join her mirth. ¡°Like watching turtles race, isn¡¯t it?¡± he said.

    Rebecca slowed down to swerve off the road and rumble around a broken-down truck. If she had to guess, she¡¯d say the truck was real, meaning it had existed before the mist. It wouldn¡¯t dissolve. Getting harder and harder to tell, though.

    ¡°Alan Walker,¡± she said. ¡°Were you as overcautious with the ladies as that young man back there?¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°That,¡± he said, ¡°was not a problem I had. Maybe I could have used some of it, though¡­¡± He scratched his pepper-gray beard, which was filling in nicely. ¡°What about you? I suppose you were a pure and delicate flower back in the day?¡± Like AJ, he meant.

    That made Rebecca give a deep, hearty scoff. Had anyone ever come close to describing her like that? Not by a long shot. ¡°Why, yes,¡± she said. ¡°Sweet. Demure. The young bucks for miles would come running when I batted my eyelashes.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Alan nodded. ¡°I can see it now.¡±

    Rebecca took a pull from the iced tea. Too sweet. Like AJ. ¡°You know, I shot a man when I was her age.¡±

    ¡°Only one?¡±

    She snorted, almost coughing up her next gulp of tea.

    Alan went on. ¡°I used to think women would be impressed by my ability to physically remove my competition.¡±

    It was Rebecca¡¯s turn for a wise nod of affirmation. ¡°Survival of the fittest. The natural way.¡± She took another drink, on guard this time against unexpected clever remarks. ¡°Did it work?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Strangely enough, the ladies never seemed impressed when I won a barfight. Maybe it was all the blood. No, I had to rely on my good looks.¡± He apparently meant this as another self-deprecating joke, but Rebecca thought his looks were a fine start. Perhaps they had aged well. She tried to imagine Alan¡¯s face twenty years younger. And yes, it didn¡¯t have quite the same  rugged  appeal.

    ¡°Were you ever in love, then? Really in love?¡± It was maybe a bit forward, but Rebecca had never let that stop her and she wasn¡¯t about to start now. She remembered saying to Riley, ¡®and what about the sex?¡¯ shortly after their engagement. The man had looked at her like he¡¯d forgotten that was part of the deal.

    Besides, the days of lustful passion and youthful romance were some distance behind both Alan and herself. The years were a buffer; a cushion. Their young selves were practically different people, to be gossiped about impersonally.

    Alan took his time responding. His fingers moved, rubbing together. Like all men Rebecca had known who had taken up whittling or similar as a hobby, he needed something to do with his hands. ¡°I had a few runs,¡± he said. ¡°Short and hot. Gas-fire romance.¡± Rebecca smiled at that. ¡°But there was one. One I loved.¡± He didn¡¯t have to say that she was dead now. It was plain in his tone of voice.

    ¡°Hrm. Still love her?¡±

    He thought about it. ¡°Maybe. Something like that, do you ever really stop?¡±

    Rebecca wouldn¡¯t know.

    ¡°You?¡± said Alan.

    ¡°Gas-fires. A few. If you can even call them romances. Short-lived pretending, maybe. I was young. What I really wanted wasn¡¯t a relationship. It was an experience. A sense of adventure. Sex, of course. Can¡¯t recall anything lasting more than a few weeks. But to be fair, it was always the man that ran off.¡±

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    ¡°What about McFinn?¡±

    God, she had even forgotten to include Riley. ¡°Alan, I do not know what the hell I was thinking marrying that man.¡± Now she needed a drink. ¡°And you can tell him I said that, got it, Bitch?¡± She knew she didn¡¯t need to raise her voice for Clara to hear, but it felt better. The Bitch didn¡¯t respond.

    They continued for another minute in silence.

    Rebecca growled and said, ¡°Eh, what the hell.¡± Amelia could just lose her money, or whatever she and Elmer had bet.

    Alan glanced at her.

    ¡°How about another one?¡± she said.

    ¡°Another¡­?¡±

    ¡°Romance. You and me, Alan.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± he laughed. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d hear something like that again.¡± He scratched the beard and looked out the window. ¡°What did you have in mind?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t think that far ahead.¡±

    ¡°One step at a time, then?¡± he said.

    ¡°Is there some other way?¡± Hrm. What  did she have in mind? ¡°Long conversations,¡± she said.

    ¡°With sharp wit and dry humor,¡± he agreed.

    ¡°We¡¯ll have each other¡¯s back,¡± she said.

    ¡°Cover each other¡¯s six,¡± he corrected. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll go on a hunting expedition.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I like the sound of that. Africa?¡±

    ¡°India. The highlands.¡±

    He nodded in consideration.

    ¡°Passionate embraces,¡± she said.

    ¡°Particularly at sunset,¡± he said, ¡°or when something is exploding behind us.¡±

    ¡°Naturally. Passionate lovemaking, of course.¡±

    ¡°But not with the kids around.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d settle for a passionate shoulder massage.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m told I¡¯m pretty good at those.¡±

    Rebecca didn¡¯t doubt it. His hands were calloused and strong. Nothing impressive compared to Dwayne Hartman¡¯s hands, but then again, she wanted her shoulders massaged, not crushed like beer cans.

    ¡°That all?¡± said Alan.

    ¡°All I can think of for now,¡± she replied.

    He nodded, stood, stretched. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it,¡± he said as he turned and slid up the door to the main cabin.

    ¡°Y-consider it?¡± She twisted in her seat to shoot him a fierce look, but he was already retreating.

    Not long after this, Rebecca pulled the ALL-Rover to a halt in front of a cliff. The equipment, and the bouncing ball, indicated that forward was the direction to go, but the only thing  forward was a chasm of unknown width and depth.

    This was a problem only for as long as Amelia Shape was unaware of it. When she learned that they needed to cross a gap, she simply came to the driver¡¯s cabin and looked out the windshield. A broad band of steel-blue color appeared before them: a bridge, stretching away into the mist.

    It required a demonstration of the solidity of this bridge (Elmer Sky going out and prancing about on it in front of the ALL-Rover) before Rebecca would accept that perhaps it could be safely driven upon. She inched the vehicle out onto the shimmering blue-gray surface. Once the entire weight of the ALL-Rover was on the span, she gunned it forward as quickly as she dared. The other side of the canyon coalesced from the fog moments later, and they arrived safely.

    The extraordinary feat of creating a bridge large and solid enough to support the ALL-Rover across a sizable gap seemed to take something out of Amelia, who slumped more than usual afterward. Rebecca made careful note of this ability, however. She had already known that Amelia could make pretty shapes to amuse Leah, but this was something rather different.

    She decided to quiz both Elmer and Amelia that evening: what, exactly, were each of them capable of doing? Maybe Dwayne Hartman deserved the same treatment. He wasn¡¯t extraordinary in the same flashy sense as those two, but there was definitely something unusual about him. And on the subject of past romance, he had been married, hadn¡¯t he?

    Rebecca was so absorbed in these thoughts that she almost ran over the figure in the middle of the road. It apparently had been waiting for them across the gap. She slammed the brakes so close to the figure that it stumbled backwards for fear of being hit.

    Who was it? The person was in the fog now; she couldn¡¯t make out the details.

    ¡°Is that Christmas?¡± said Alan, who appeared at the door. He was armed.

    ¡°It is,¡± said the voice of Clara from above. ¡°I am alerting Riley McFinn that contact has been established.¡±

    Christmas stepped forward, out of the fog and into the beams of the ALL-Rover¡¯s headlights.

    Rebecca¡¯s breath caught in her throat. Her heart stopped. Her blood ran cold in her veins. She could only think:  No. It can¡¯t be¡­

    But it was undeniable. The shape of the glasses. The stoop. The awkward, hesitant gait. The person who cautiously approached the ALL-Rover was her brother, Nicholas Carter.

 Chapter 18

    Chapter 18

    Eric Walker

    The thing was, it had a heartbeat. Eric could tell as soon as he set foot on the cold crystal floor of the cavern. Light moved in the walls. Even though Eric didn¡¯t hear it, and didn¡¯t exactly feel it, he could tell. There was a heartbeat here, and it belonged to something big. It set the tempo, making his own heartbeat an intrusive arrhythmic pattering, the same way that the storms far above had their own pulse.

    It was bright as hell too, but he had shades for that.

    The heartbeat sounded three times during the walk from the entrance of the cavern to the vast, glittering chrysalis of Kate¡¯s Guardian, Absolem. (¡°Or p-p-possibly a c-coc-c-coon,¡± she said, ¡°d-depending on whether it¡¯s a moth or a b-butterfly.¡±

    It hung in the air, the size of a small blimp, suspended by glassy strings that looked like frozen spittle. Light churned within, bleeding out through the crystalline shell into rainbows that schooled like brilliant fish over the shining walls of the chamber.

    ¡°Hi Absolem!¡± said Kate with a wave. Then, to Eric in a whisper, ¡°isn¡¯t he b-b-beautiful?¡±

    ¡°Sure, yeah.¡± Eric wasn¡¯t listening to Kate. He was trying to listen to the heartbeat. He thought he heard something.

    ¡­come¡­

    ¡°You hear that?¡± he said.

    ¡°Goodness me!¡± exclaimed Elmer sky as he and Amelia strolled in behind. ¡°How marvelous! Stupendous! Positively superlative, my dear!¡± Amelia made some grunt in reply.

    ¡­time¡­

    Kate was looking at Elmer, not Absolem. She didn¡¯t hear what Eric was hearing. Eric peered into the glassy refraction of lights.

    ¡­not¡­

    The impression came upon him that Absolem was trying very hard to tell him something, and that it was something very important. This idea, once formulated, hardened into a certainty. The Guardians knew something. Possibly, as Isaac suggested, they knew everything that was going on around here.

    Eric approached, step by careful step, to the shining chrysalis. It was bright even with his shades. What would it look like¡­

    He flipped up the sunglasses. It was like looking at an exploding sun, if a sun was full of rainbows on the inside.

    Nope. Shades back on.

    He was right under it. The whole crystallized pupa hung five or six feet off the floor, low enough that he could reach up and touch the bottom of it.

    ¡­now¡­

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    ¡°Eric!¡± Kate said behind him, whispering loudly. ¡°W-what are you d-doing?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± said Eric. ¡°I think it wants to tell me something.¡± He raised a hand, hesitated. ¡°It¡¯s safe, right?¡± He looked from Kate, to the Theians, to Shape and Sky. ¡°You don¡¯t think your Guardian will pull an evil-god-thing and try to kill me, right?¡±

    Kate thought about it, finger on cheek, her eyes unseen because her big round glasses reflected the brilliant glow of Absolem like a cartoon supervillain. ¡°I d-don¡¯t  think so,¡± she said. Then she smiled. ¡°Only o-one w-wa-w-way to f-find out!¡±

    ¡°Wow, thanks,¡± he said. ¡°Fuck it.¡± He reached up and slapped a palm onto the cold crystal at the bottom of Absolem¡¯s chrysalis/cocoon.

    He realizes at once that something has changed. It is like a

    zap

    in the back of his brain. He feels all jittery. His heartbeat is running up and down the bpms. He hears Kate crying out in alarm, scampering toward him.

    But he is also elsewhere. No¡­elsewhen. A lot of elsewhens.

    Here he is, for example, later, discussing this very event with Isaac over some weird board game littered with potato chip fragments while Jim plays with watercolors under the warm light, patiently waiting his turn.

    ¡°¡­and do you have any fucking clue how weird it feels to be stuck in the present tense, man?¡± Eric asks.

    ¡°Oh, I can do that too,¡± says Isaac. ¡°Like the Lords. It¡¯s not so bad. You should try going second-person.  That¡¯s weird.¡± His angel is an owl, which looks pretty fucking creepy without eyes, just looming over their table from the side.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± says Eric, ¡°it was like all this shit happening at once, or in rapid succession. Just all these short flashes.¡±

    ¡°You were unstuck in time? Like that guy in Slaughterhouse Five?¡±

    Unstuck? Sounds about right, Eric thinks. ¡°Guess so,¡± he says. ¡°Wait. Shit, maybe I still am.¡±

    But Isaac is musing now, thinking. ¡°Hmm,¡± he says, scratching at greasy hair that¡¯s been too long inside a space helmet. ¡°I get it,¡± he says, his eyes widening. He sits up suddenly. ¡°That¡¯s why the last week was so weird! I thought it went by too fast!¡±

    Jimothy looks up from his coloring in surprise and joins Eric in staring at Isaac as he leaps to his feet and begins pacing, waving his arms around like a madman conducting an exceptionally silly orchestra.

    ¡°Think about it,¡± he says. ¡°What¡¯s a way of compressing events in a story? Making it all go faster, just showing little snippets to display the trend of a period of time?¡± He demonstrates what he¡¯s talking about by grabbing a big invisible accordion and squeezing it together.

    Jimothy is baffled, but Eric thinks he understands. ¡°What,¡± he scoffs, ¡°so me touching Absolem caused us all to have a montage?¡±

 Chapter 19: The Montage (part 1)

    Chapter 19: The Montage (part 1)

    He steps through the door, swings it shut behind him. The first thing he thinks is: damn, guess I was lying when I said it¡¯s dry as a bone.

    A filmy layer of pale mud grits under his shoe. The smell of it is everywhere: wet dust. City rain. Cold smoke. Eric likes this smell.

    He makes a circuit around the top of his church tower, surveying the city. Clouds overhead, lights below, all the same as before. He notices one significant difference: a corner of his home base, the stone sanctuary of the church, has collapsed. His heart beats faster when he sees this. He descends at once down the iron steps and is relieved to see that the metronomes are unharmed. Still swinging, ticking away. He stops a moment to check the pulses of his friends and to marvel at how the red pendulum matches his heartbeat exactly. He tries not to think about whether the machine or his actual heart is setting the tempo. ¡°I¡¯ll add it to my list of things not to think about,¡± he mutters. Other items on the list: where the hell is Frisby? And why does everything feel so fucking weird? There is an immediacy to events now that he is pretty sure is new. It all started after touching Absolem, right?

    He finds Jacob Hollow in the sanctuary and they share a moment of mutual relief at the sight of each other.

    Jacob is limping, and he has cuts hidden by his hair that have leaked thin trails of dry blood. He looks exhausted.

    Eric glances at the corner of the church that has collapsed. It¡¯s all wrecked to shit, pews thrown against the far wall, stone and plaster all over the floor.

    Jacob answers the unasked question. ¡°Lady Rains,¡± he says. He sounds both reverent and shocked. But he puts a brave face on it. ¡°She tried to break the hearts,¡± he says. ¡°She was like a bird.¡± The bird thing matters to him, but Eric doesn¡¯t understand it.

    Eric does not want to know what will happen if the metronomes (¡°hearts¡±) break. Hopefully nothing. But there is always a chance that one of his friends will drop dead of a fucking heart attack. So he says, ¡°Thanks. Where is she now?¡±

    Jacob shrugs. He looks uneasy. ¡°I think the Guardian might have killed her.¡±

    ¡°What, the dragon? Cool. The bad guys can kill each other all fucking day for all I care.¡±

    Jacob is tired because he hasn¡¯t slept since protecting the metronomes. Eric thinks that he should be a little more careful from now on about leaving the church. He figures that Jacob Hollow is one of the best security guards a guy could ask for, but still he¡¯s just one guy. Maybe Eric should enlist some help. Maybe some of Heidi¡¯s assorted monster goons would be willing to help. They don¡¯t even know what exactly they¡¯re guarding over on the Metal Moon, anyway. Bring ¡®em here, give ¡®em something real to guard.

    He tells Jacob to go get some sleep; the Hero of Time¡¯s got it on lock for a while. Then he takes a walk around the immediate vicinity of the church. Down here he can see that the struggle has damaged more than just the corner of the sanctuary. Deep marks in parallel groupings score the asphalt and concrete. One streetlight has been severed, another bent out of shape and discarded on the street. An impact crater decorates the sidewalk just beyond the front steps of the church. Part of the brick structure across the way has fallen apart. Eric surveys this damage and more, trying to puzzle out how the battle might have gone.

    He remembers, after a moment, that he can probably just check the security camera footage. He is about to go join Jacob inside, maybe look for Frisby, when something catches his eye. It is a dark shape perched on a distant structure like a gargoyle on a cathedral. Except that it is a skyscraper, not a cathedral, and the gargoyle is ridiculously large, half the width of the roof it crouches on.

    It senses that it has been spotted. Its wings spread wide, big enough that even at this distance Eric can faintly see that they are tattered and torn. This doesn¡¯t appear to inconvenience the dragon as it launches itself from the tower, swoops down to the streets below, and then soars up into the dark cloud cover where it vanishes from sight.

    Eric hates and fears that dragon. Even though, realistically, it has yet to do anything but help him.

    He turns away and skips a few steps up to the front door of the church.

    Lord Friend was waiting for them when Elizabeth and Jimothy stepped through onto the cloudlit pinnacle of Skywater Citadel. He stood monolithic against the cloudscape and the city below, flanked by other doors here on this hexagonal peak.

    Lord Friend, up close, was too large in a way that played with her perceptions. He was simply too big. It was as if a normal man, five feet tall and heavyset, had been scaled up to seven or eight, every part of him equally grown so that you wouldn¡¯t even notice unless you were up close to him. And with a cherry-red jacket, Lord Friend looked more like Santa Claus than ever. He was missing only the hat and a few more shades of white on the beard. He had two things that Santa did not: a cheery mask obscuring his face, and a three-bowled pipe from which rose a braiding column of tri-colored smoke.

    Lord Friend bows low in gratitude, in humble apology, in recognition, and in respect. He speaks as speaks one who has failed in his duties. Forgive me, heroes, he says, for little did I or any know of the treachery lurking deep within the hearts of the Ladies of Skywater, as a dark creature cringes from the light of day. And the sorrow of Lord Friend is as profound as his regret, and these matched only by his relief at seeing these two heroes unharmed. Their presence is to his anxious eyes as dawn¡¯s first light at the close of night, or sight of home after weary flight.

    ¡°Thank you, Lord Friend,¡± said Elizabeth, cutting in at an opportune moment. ¡°Are any Ladies present?¡±

    Lord Friend assures her that she and the Hero of Lights are now safe, for they stand in the domain of Arcadelt, the angel of Skywater Citadel, and no harm shall befall them here. Indeed, the Doorkeeper was a marvelous sight at the moment that the Ladies and gods set themselves against the heroes. Great was his wrath, and fierce his judgment, and Lady Spirits did not escape it.

    Lord Friend answers her question: Lady Wings remains, for her loyalties stand true. Lord Friend watches over the Citadel, while Lord Fool roves about the city and Lord Fierce is abroad at the defense of distant Chiasm, which place cowers under the oppress of evil.

    Lord Friend straightened, relinquishing control of her volition back to Elizabeth herself. She shuddered to think if the gods had corrupted the Lords rather than the Ladies. Though fewer, they seemed far more dangerous.

    He swung the pipe around as he turned to lead them down below. The red, green, and blue smoke braided in the air as it trailed after him.

    ¡°Can we see Arcadelt?¡± asked Jimothy.

    Of course! Lord Friend declares. His name is not friend, yet he is that to you as much as I! And Lord Friend proceeds to summon Arcadelt, a task which in this place is as simple as speaking his name.

    Maybe he had been there all along. That was the first thought to cross Elizabeth¡¯s mind: that Arcadelt had been standing there off to the side this whole time, perfectly still, unnoticed. But no, that was ridiculous. She would have noticed. Yet Arcadelt was there now, a towering shape of all things shiny and sharp and pale: glass and ice and milky steel and snowy obsidian, all shimmering and sparkling in the cloudlight.

    Elizabeth braced herself against unsought knowledge, implanted directly into her mind. But it did not come. Or if it did, she could not tell what it was. Which terrified her.

    ¡°Hello,¡± said Jim. His eyes were wide, marveling at Arcadelt¡¯s appearance. Elizabeth thought she knew what Jim was thinking. He wanted to paint Arcadelt.

    Arcadelt bowed, but that was all.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Jim. ¡°Uh. Okay. That¡¯s good, I think.¡± He thought for a moment, then turned to Elizabeth. ¡°Lord Fair said we should go get him, right?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± She looked from Jimothy to Arcadelt, confused. Then she understood. She had asked Arcadelt last time to stop putting information into her head. To stop speaking to her, in other words. He was still honoring her request.

    She stepped closer to Jim, took him by the arm, and carefully turned him away from Arcadelt and Lord Friend. ¡°Jim,¡± she whispered, though she knew volume likely did not matter. ¡°Do you really think we can trust Arcadelt?¡± If he said yes, she would believe him.

    The strange thing about Arcadelt was how peculiarly absolute interactions with him had to be. You either trusted Arcadelt not to lie and committed yourself entirely into his hands, or else you mistrusted him, and as a result must doubt every single thing that you thought you knew.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jimothy after only a moment for thought. ¡°I think so. I think we have to. After all, he¡¯s an angel, right?¡±

    A message came for Liz. She checked it briefly.

    ZA: You can trust Arcadelt.

    ZA: Lord Friend is a sentimental idealist, but you can trust him, too.

    ZA. Who was that? It must be one of the gods. Elizabeth didn¡¯t know which one, but whoever it was seemed oblivious to the irony of a god telling her who to trust.

    ZA: I am not unaware of the irony here.

    ZA: But I am truly trying to help.

    Elizabeth put away her phone without responding and turned back to Arcadelt. ¡°I will trust you, Arcadelt,¡± she said. ¡°Tell me what you told Jim.¡±

    That was unnecessary, of course; she already knew. She knew that Lord Fierce waited for them on the other side of Ardia. She knew they¡¯d be safe with him, nearly as safe as they were here in the Citadel with Arcadelt. She knew that ARKO, Isaac¡¯s artificial intelligence, had contacted Lord Fierce and fully apprised him of the situation.

    Wait.  Had she known that already?

    Don¡¯t think about it, she told herself. Trust Arcadelt.

    ¡°Tell us what you know about the gods. And which Ladies can be trusted?¡± Elizabeth already knew from Lord Friend that Lady Wings had not turned against them. And she knew from Isaac that Lady Stars had not acted against him. Finally, Ladies Hearts and Paths had made no aggressive moves.

    And as for the gods, she already knew that they were not gods at all. They didn¡¯t belong here, in this Narrative. They were not a part of this story. It angered Arcadelt, as it angered the Bright World. Neither approved of inference. Furthermore, although Arcadelt did not experience emotion in the normal sense, he bore some resentment against the gods because they had killed him once.

    ¡°Nevermind,¡± said Elizabeth. She looked out over the city, thinking. What else did she want to know? Isaac believed that Arcadelt¡¯s chief function was to provide information. Now was the time for questions. But now that the time had come, she couldn¡¯t think what to ask. About her moon, how to make the flower bloom? She knew Arcadelt wouldn¡¯t tell her those things. He wouldn¡¯t just give away something like that.

    Her phone buzzed again. Elizabeth sighed, wondering if she should get something on her wrist so she wouldn¡¯t have to pull her phone out to check all the time.

    ZA: Ask him about becoming Champion.

    ZA: And about wishes.

    Wishes? Wishes came from the Bright World; Elizabeth knew that. Wishes could do almost anything. But they had to be bought, bargained for. The price was usually memories. Wishes were a last resort, for the Bright World was not a place to be approached lightly.

    And as for the whole Champion thing, that happened upon the healing of a moon. When the corresponding ring around Ardia was restored, the Hero gained its power. Elizabeth would become Champion, for example, when the flower bloomed on top of the Mountain. Jimothy would become Champion when he collected enough light in his lighthouse to drive back the dark and paint the whole Color Moon.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Jimothy. ¡°That¡¯s good. But what exactly does it mean to be Champion? Like, what does it do?¡± He paused, thinking. ¡°Is it like leveling up?¡±

    Elizabeth smiled. Jim was thinking about their Pathfinder game. And yeah, it was basically like leveling up. The world of Ardia would gain a ring and be stronger against the Dark World. And he, Jimothy, would be stronger too. She began to explain this to Jimothy before realizing that she didn¡¯t have to.

    ¡°Arcadelt,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°Could you, perhaps, clarify what exactly my¡­powers are?¡±

    Of course Arcadelt would not simply imbue her with mastery of her abilities, though he was quite able to do so. Yet it was possible, quite possible, that he could clarify one or two points. Since she asked.

    It took Elizabeth a long moment to grasp that this train of thought, possibly, had been his answer.

    ¡°So what are the limits of my spacey powers?¡±

    That data cannot be found in my files.

    ¡°Rats. Any ideas, Charlie?¡±

    The angel (pelican form!) had no helpful ideas beyond a vague advisory to experiment. Charlie was busy ruffling through his plumage, something which baffled Isaac since the angel could change its form at will.

    ¡°But there must be limits,¡± he said, speaking to both the angel and the supercomputer. He leaned on the white plastic of the table and drummed his fingers while looking out the window onto the shifting stars of the Empyrean. Anzu had moved the stars like they were sparks drifting on water, then reset them in their new places. The more Isaac thought about that, the more Downright Impossible it seemed. It went beyond breaking the laws of physics and on over into breaking the laws of reality itself. Could Anzu fold the dimensionality of space from three dimensions down to two and then back again? Was Anzu an escaped Looney Tunes character?

    ¡°Warner Brothers probably had to annul his contract,¡± Isaac informed Charlie. He affected the voice of a smooth-talking executive. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Anzu, but you¡¯re simply too harrowing. The children are having existential crises, Mr. Anzu, which as I¡¯m sure you know isn¡¯t supposed to happen until their thirties.¡±

    Charlie didn¡¯t laugh. Tough crowd. Instead, the bird told him that Anzu knows everything. A startlingly loud squawk from the pelican accompanied this nonverbal message.

    Everything? This was new information. Isaac assumed his angel meant ¡°everything within the Narrative,¡± not  everything everything. That would make Anzu like God.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask Thelonius,¡± said Isaac. He walked there, out of his quarters, down the hall, and up the grav-shaft. He hadn¡¯t tried teleporting again. Not yet. He thought it was probably a Bad Idea to try it again before he was ready. It struck him as the kind of thing with Severe Consequences for getting it wrong.

    If Thelonius ever left the control deck, Isaac had not seen it. He was always there, like a huge decorative potted plant. This potted plant controlled the entire Ardian Defense Fleet. He and his five sons, of course.

    ¡°Mr. Milton!¡± sounded the deep, croaking voice of Thelonius as Isaac approached. The big leafy fronds, navy and maroon, twitched about in the air. ¡°Welcome back.¡±

    ¡°Is he?¡± said Trepidation.

    ¡°Of course!¡± answered Valiance.

    ¡°Why not?¡± asked Woe.

    ¡°Well, why so?¡± countered Furor.

    ¡°Look. Stars.¡± That was Felicity, not paying attention.

    Isaac waved a hello and approached to see what Thelonius was working on. He stood beside the levitating plasteel pot full of gravel from which Admiral Emberstar grew. The Admiral¡¯s fronds tapped him on the head and shoulders, possibly in greeting.

    Three screens flashed on the other side of the Admiral. One displayed rapidly scrolling lines of green data against a dark background. It might have been computer code, or some language Isaac didn¡¯t know. One screen was split into nine smaller sections, most of which featured some face staring into the camera. The largest screen lay flat in the middle of the console and projected a three-dimensional map of Ardia and its five moons, rendered in extraordinary detail.

    Admiral Thelonious Dantalion Emberstar was busily engaged on all three fronts. Half a dozen of his ferny fronds crawled over consoles and keyboards designed specifically for him. He was inputting data into the rapidly scrolling text, receiving and delivering information to the lesser officers shown on the other screen, and manipulating the real-time map of Ardia¡¯s local space at a dizzying speed. The three-dimensional rendering zoomed in on seemingly empty space where tiny motes of dust swelled into a flotilla of cruisers, then the projection blurred sideways onto a busy spaceport on the surface of Ardia, then blurred again and magnified further into what looked like a battle on the other side of the planet, frozen in time. The view flickered back and forth across this frozen battlefield as though counting something, then zoomed out in a second back to the planetary view, then back in to a collection of wreckage that Isaac identified as the ruined remains of the fleet that Anzu had destroyed. Then the view snapped over to some other place. Isaac had to look away from the flickering 3-D map or risk nausea.

    Admiral Thelonius Dantalion Emberstar had a bombastic name, a ridiculous appearance, and a chattering collection of literal hangers-on who could speak up to three words at a time and process but a single emotion. Yet the Admiral was no joke. He possessed a vast and furiously swift intellect, distributed in some mysterious way that made his ability to multitask legendary. Just what you¡¯d want in an admiral. Still, Isaac couldn¡¯t help but wonder if ARKO made the Admiral redundant.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°Have question?¡± asked Thelonious.

    ¡°Bad news?¡± quavered Trepidation.

    ¡°Fear not!¡± advised Valiance.

    Woe sighed theatrically.

    ¡°Rake ye stone!¡± added Furor, helpfully.

    ¡°Beautiful,¡± whispered Felicity.

    Isaac had already learned to only pay attention to the words of the father. ¡°I¡¯m trying to work out my powers,¡± he said. ¡°And the powers of the other heroes. It seems like we ought to have¡­like, rules or something. But I can¡¯t even find a single common thread between how our powers even work! It¡¯s like our abilities are obtuse by design.¡±

    ¡°May be,¡± said Thelonius. ¡°Bright World. Not be understood.¡±

    (his sons had various things to say about that)

    ¡°The Bright World? What does that have to do with it?¡±

    ¡°Source energy. Source powers. Source life.¡±

    (¡°source this!¡± cried Furor, which wise counsel Felicity failed to comprehend)

    Isaac puzzled out what he could from Thelonius¡¯ limited ability to put together verbal sentences. The Bright World was the source of their powers? A message interrupted him from responding as his wristband vibrated, then projected a message into the air.

    Incoming communication from Acarnus, the Chained God .

    ¡°Put him through,¡± said Isaac. Then, to Thelonius. ¡°I¡¯ll take this. You seem busy. See ya!¡± Admirals Thelonius and Sons said goodbye, or good riddance in the case of Furor, waving some fronds vaguely in his direction as Isaac left to go take a seat by an observation window. He was pretty sure that he¡¯d never get tired of looking at the field of slowly drifting stars, more colorful and definitely more mobile than those seen on Earth.

    AC: You are correct.

    AC: The heroes¡¯ powers are obtuse by design.

    IM: Well that¡¯s dumb

    AC: I agree.

    IM: How are we supposed to do things if we don¡¯t know what we can do?

    AC: Unfortunately, even should you become Champion, you will discover many functionalities of your domain, as you call it, of which you were previously unaware.

    DX: eSpeCialLy if he Becomes cHAMpion

    IM: But *someone* must know! There must be rules. Otherwise it¡¯s just bad narrative design!

    IM: heheh¡ªNarrative design I should say

    DX: hA Ha

    AC: The intent of the obscurity seems to be the enabling of narratively convenient contrivances.

    DX: pLot twists, he Means

    DX: hAt triCks

    IM: We¡¯d call it deus ex machina

    DX: whaT does That mean?

    IM: And again, if this is a story, that¡¯s just Bad Writing!

    IM: Lampshades for everybody! Look, I¡¯m doing it right now!

    IM: just stacking these lampshades

    DX: heHe what?

    IM: It means ¡°god from the machine¡±

    IM: what you were asking about

    IM: It¡¯s when something unexpected happens out of nowhere to save the protagonist from a tight spot

    DX: yeah Sounds about RIght

    DX: that¡¯S the Bright wORld for yoU

    IM: The Bright World?

    DX: yeAh it¡¯s liKe a regulator

    DX: advice: dON¡¯t fuck with It

    DX: doN¡¯t even Go there

    IM: Again with the advice. I ask you: why the heck should I listen to the advice of a god that¡¯s trying to kill me?

    DX: oh, tHAT

    DX: yeAh we¡¯RE not doiNG that anYmore

    IM: Nice try.

    DX: ok, bUt for Real

    DX: the princeSs cAn be a Majority alL by herselF sometimes

    DX: so sHe and Fiora maDe a fuSs

    DX: preTty easy for the SCAles to tip oNce zAYana got inVolved

    DX: rASmus was Never doWn with This fRom the start

    DX: anD i can¡¯T kilL a coloR pRiest

    DX: aNd AcarnuS, whO jusT left, hE alREady got atTatched to your Scientist

    DX: i wArned hIm abouT that

    DX: heH Heh

    DX: i¡¯D stiLl watch ouT for the oTherS, though

    IM: And I should just trust you on that? You, the Laughing God

    DX: oF courSe not!

    DX: bUt stilL, it Is True that out oF the Eight of Us, oNly two are actuaLly murderERs

    DX: so, yOu know

    DX: 25%

    DX: coULd be wOrsE!

    IM: I thought there were ten of you?

    DX: oH, tHEre were

    IM: What happened?

    DX: (reFer to my pReviouS note aBout muRdererS)

    IM: Huh.

    IM: Well, okay

    IM: So are the Ladies still out to get us?

    DX: lIke i sAid, i¡¯d wATch out for Fires, sHadows, and raINs

    DX: yoU guYs should be Fine though

    IM: Yeah you gods suck at killing us

    DX: iT was mainLy your Guardians

    DX: wE didN¡¯t Count on them iNterfering thE way thEy did

    IM: ¡°And we would have gotten away with it too, if it weren¡¯t for those meddling Guardians! And their dog!¡±

    DX: anD of Course, I wasN¡¯t reaLly tryinG

    DX: also Fiora

    DX: i Knew she would MedDle

    DX: buT i diDn¡¯t stop Her

    DX: sO i¡¯M a gOod guy, seE?

    IM: When you said ¡®color priest¡¯ you were talking about Jim, right?

    DX: yEp

    DX: hEy, he sAid yoU¡¯re the Real Priest

    DX: wHat doeS that Mean?

    DX: dO you coMmune with the goDs on youR home woRld?

    IM: There¡¯s only one God. One *real* God, that is

    DX: wHat is hE the god Of?

    IM: Everything

    DX: woaH!

    DX: sO theRe¡¯s onLy a single, Solitary god foR humans?

    DX: mUst be Lonely

    IM: Not entirely accurate to say He¡¯s a single, solitary God

    DX: do eXplain

    IM: The God I believe in is tertiary. Not one god, also not three gods, but three distinct beings, or persons, all being god together at the same time

    DX: wHAt

    IM: Hang on, I bet I can pull up the Athanasian Creed around here somewhere

    DX: souNds like wE¡¯re back to The ¡®obtuSe by design¡¯ tHing

    IM: Oh, just wait and see if I find that creed

    IM: It¡¯s all like, ¡°coequal, coeternal, cosubstantial, begotten-not-created, but *definitely* three of them but also *definitely* only one God¡±

    DX: mEaninGless dEfinitions?

    IM: It¡¯s illogical, right?

    DX: sEems so, yeAh

    DX: buT to bE honesT I¡¯m not the Best One to ask about lOgic

    DX: thAt guy juSt left

    IM: Well that¡¯s kind of the point. It¡¯s super complicated and also it doesn¡¯t really make sense. But, like, how transcendent could the True God be if I was able to fully conceptualize Him in His entirety?

    DX: wAs thaT a hypothetical questioN?

    IM: I don¡¯t know. Do you want to answer it?

    DX: hMm

    DX: a peCuliar god yOu humans folLow

    IM: Well, not everyone follows Him

    DX: whAt does iT even Mean thAt you can¡¯T concepTualize him?

    DX: whAt does hE loOk like?

    DX: whEre doEs he liVe?

    DX: doeS he fiGht monsters or heal peoPle or What?

    IM: He¡¯s transcendent. Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent

    DX: wOah

    IM: Most humans disagree about what exactly He¡¯s like, or if He even exists at all.

    DX: ...

    IM: Is this boring you? Are you getting god-envy?

    DX: nOt at All

    DX: thIs is prOving to be a Fascinating and sOMewhat Alarming inSight into hUman psyChology

    DX: bY alL means, Continue

    Kate¡¯s message interrupted Heidi¡¯s workout. She released the bar¡¯s gravity and let it clang to the metallic floor. One convenience of her control over gravity was that she never needed to adjust the weight during her lifting. In fact, it enabled her to do away with most things necessary in a gym. All she really needed was a bar.

    She gulped from a bottle of tepid, tinny water, wiped the sweat from her forehead with a grimy cloth, and checked her phone. She had opened CHIME¡¯s code earlier and written in a simple command for it to only alert her if the message came from one of her five friends. So she knew she wasn¡¯t wasting her time.

    Heidi read Kate¡¯s message, read it again more carefully, and then abandoned her workout. A half hour later, she had created the goggles.

    It was simple for Heidi to integrate Kate¡¯s goggles into a protective helmet. The helmet did cramp her style¡ªnot much point to the headband, wearing a helmet. But ¡®style¡¯ did not rest at the forefront of her concerns. Not for her, not for anyone on Orpheus. When she and Black and her guards had fought off all those rue, she had thought: Why the hell am I not wearing a helmet? Well, that had been later. Her thought at the time had been more like  aaugh! My head has been cracked open¡ªshit!

    It fit perfectly when Heidi tugged it on for the first time. Why wouldn¡¯t it, when she had made it herself, just now? The goggles came down, adjusted their brightness. They had settings: infrared, etc, but Heidi left them on default for the moment. She went to the window, three inches of reinforced bulletproof fantasy-material. She looked out at the great expanse of Orpheus.

    Everything had a faint bluish tinge. The blueness was grainy, like billions of distant pixels forming a 3D mesh. It moved, undulating in broad, slow sweeps. One wave approached, a slow tide rolling through the blue. Heidi felt the faint tug of a gravitational tide the moment that the wave arrived at the window.

    She grinned. With this, she could see the waves. She experimented with the settings and found that she could adjust color, brightness, sensitivity.

    ¡°Thanks, Kate,¡± she said. How on Earth had Kate been able to do this? Heidi had thought the same thing when Kate had analyzed the October Industries tech. Kate was on another level. But Heidi had her own job to do, and she would see it done.

    ¡°Name is Winnow,¡± Winnow reminded her from the corner of the room. Winnow liked to stand in corners and be forgotten. She could remain perfectly still for hours, like an overgrown mop leaning against the wall.

    ¡°I know, Winnow,¡± said Heidi. ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking to you.¡±

    ¡°It work?¡± Winnow asked.

    Heidi nodded. She turned from the window and tapped her helmet. ¡°It work.¡± She had taken the opportunity, since she was here in the storeroom making things, to create some additional protective gear. Kneepads and plated gloves to add to her growing defensive ensemble. She was sick of getting beat up every time she went out. And she could probably thank Abraham Black that getting beat up was the worst of it last time. She and her crew had fought through the assault of the rue, but barely. Turned out that Abraham¡¯s bullets worked just fine on those creatures. It also looked like he never needed to reload. And he never, ever missed.

    Winnow trailed after Heidi, rope whispering on the cold metal, as Heidi descended to the lower quarters. Heidi swung her arms as she went, acclimating herself to the feel of her new gear. She skipped and jumped, testing. A little heavy. But that was okay. The heaviness felt good. It felt like protection. And anyway, she could control gravity. What was heaviness to her?

    She found Balazar outside the mess hall. Everything in here was dim lights and deep shadows, everywhere, all the time. Many of the guards were more comfortable that way. Balazar liked the shadows too, but his horrid cough made him easy to find.

    ¡°Have they left?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Indeed¡­¡± He paused to hack up a lung. It was definitely getting worse. ¡°Six, as you requested. Not¡­long ago.¡± Six guards posted to Eric¡¯s moon to help him defend his home. One was Cthkashk-or-whatever, who was recovering with surprising speed. He¡¯d be the leader there, under Eric.

    She nodded. ¡°Good.¡± Her voice sounded strange to her own ears in the helmet. ¡°Where¡¯s Ruth?¡±

    ¡°With the¡­prisoner as¡­requested.¡±

    She ventured onward to the part of the prison most closely resembling an actual prison. It had cells, anyway. No doors, but at least cells were a start. Heidi paused to contemplate Vyrix and Cazzie. According to Abraham, Vyrix hadn¡¯t been lying about being a cursed witch, one that knew things about the Bleak Machine. Sooner or later, Heidi would have to wake them up and find out. But not yet. She had another interrogation to conduct first.

    She found Ruth with Splitter. They waited beside a captive Darkworlder who had been brought in from one of the increasingly common skirmishes along the outer range of Orpheus. Intel had it that the Dark World was looking for something. They wanted something in Orpheus. But what? Now, with a prisoner, Heidi intended to find out.

    ¡°Has¡­¡± Heidi began to speak, but ran into trouble at the first pronoun. He? She? It? Hard to tell. The captive looked like it was built of some dark rubbery material rather than of flesh and blood. Did it even have a face? Heidi was not sure. ¡°Has the prisoner said anything?¡±

    Ruth answered in the negative. The captive flinched away at the sound of Ruth¡¯s voice. That was good; that meant it could be frightened. It could be coerced into answering questions. Heidi had already decided against torture, though Winnow had earlier suggested this as a solution without actually saying it, and had also implied that it could happen technically without the Warden¡¯s permission. No, Heidi had said. At least, not until she was fully aware of the stakes. Unless it became truly necessary.

    No torture, but she wasn¡¯t above scaring the living tar out of an enemy. Orpheus was the perfect place for that. Situated between Ruth and Splitter, the poor captive was trembling already. It looked about ready to spill everything it knew.

    Apparently, Heidi herself was not as intimidating. When she asked, as authoritatively as possible, what the creature knew about the Dark World¡¯s intentions with Orpheus, it clammed up. It shook its head, or the part of its body that seemed most like a head, in a firm negative.

    Heidi tapped the gun holstered at her side. She sought for Bahamut and felt more than saw him off in the shadows to one side. Mostly recovered by now. Angels healed quick, apparently.

    The captive was afraid of Ruth and Splitter, but not of her. This was understandable, given their appearances. Everything on Orpheus was scary. But it was her moon, and her prison. She had to show this thing, show everybody, that she could be scary too.

    She drew the gun. She aimed it at the captive. ¡°Bahamut,¡± she said. ¡°Fetch.¡±

    She pulled the trigger.

 Chapter 19: The Montage (part 2)

    Chapter 19: The Montage (part 2)

    Beyond the brick suburbs and their grid of streetlights, the weirdly thin highways are a viper¡¯s tangle, making symmetrical flowers and Celtic knots as they mount up in a chaos of stacked overpasses. Eric can¡¯t help but wonder why. These roads are empty of all but scattered wrecks and debris. They lie dusty and barren beneath a heavy sky.

    He¡¯s not really surprised when he finds the futuristic motorcycle. ¡°I¡¯ve never even rode a motorcycle,¡± he tells Frisby, the prodigal angel. ¡°Ridden? Rode?¡± He sets it upright, brushes off the dust. It¡¯s heavy, but not as heavy as it looks. It¡¯s sleek. The wheels are extra wide. Eric will not be surprised, not one fucking bit surprised, if it trails streaks of light behind it when he rides it. And he  is  going to ride it. Of course he is. Because it is god damn cool, and it has obviously been left here for him to find, just the way that everything is here on his moon. He amuses himself for a moment with thoughts of Eranex, his supposed antagonist, sneakily placing a handful of future-bikes near his home base for him to find. Maybe she¡¯s getting impatient for him to explore further afield on his moon.

    It has not been lost on Eric that he is swiftly becoming the only one of the heroes who cannot fly or otherwise move quickly over great distances. So he¡¯ll take the bike.

    ¡°Learn to ride it too,¡± he mutters as he inspects its complex dashboard. Frisby Wiser swoops and chirps in excitement, but he did the same thing when Eric made a sandwich that morning, so it doesn¡¯t mean much. Also, Eric is getting a little sick of sandwiches. Maybe one of Heidi¡¯s monsters can cook.

    After a minute, Eric has located what he believes to be the ignition switch. Most of the dials and features remain a mystery. ¡°If I were Kate,¡± he tells Frisby, ¡°I¡¯d just say ¡®fuck it¡¯ and hop on and crank the gas and then probably just drive right the fuck off the edge.¡± He was an easy forty feet up in the air at his present location.

    ¡°The smart thing to do,¡± he says after another minute of fruitless investigation, ¡°is to walk this thing back home and figure it out from there. No, wait.¡± He has a better idea, because he¡¯s just noticed a tiny logo embossed into the lower left corner of the dash. ARKO.

    He pulls out his phone to text Isaac and ask for some help from his probably-evil supercomputer. He notices that he received a text a few minutes ago from one of the cut-rate gods. It¡¯s from RO, whoever that is, and it says,

    RO: What hath become of Lady Rains, hero?

    Eric is just bored and aimless enough at the moment to indulge in an amusing waste of time, so he replies.

    EW: fuck if i know

    EW: i guess my dragon ate her or some shit

    EW: the big one not this little guy

    RO: It seems she rests not in death. Yet I cannot locate her.

    Lady Rains not dead? Good to know.

    EW: which one are you again?

    RO: Which what, human?

    EW: theres ten gods right but i cant keep em straight cause i don¡¯t really give a shit

    RO: Thou speakest to the Frozen God.

    RO: And there are eight, not ten.

    EW: youre shitting me right?

    EW: thought for sure there were ten

    RO: There were indeed.

    RO: But no longer.

    EW: damn what happened

    RO: Death and abandonment, human. Know ye of these things?

    EW: well shit i dont remember any of the others saying anything about that

    RO: The others may hesitate to speak of these things, but I most assuredly am not. I will not forget. I will not forgive.

    EW: huh

    EW: well thats good i guess

    EW: you dickheads mightve got us if you had all ten

    RO: Do not believe I have ceased the attempt, human.

    RO: I am patient.

    EW: thanks for the heads up

    EW: ill just be around i guess

    EW: hangin out on my moon

    EW: hey since youre a god or whatever maybe you can give me some tips on what the fuck im supposed to do here

    EW: cause right now im just kind of wandering around

    RO: My advice: desist.

    RO: The moon quests are nonsense.

    EW: ha ha got that fuckin right

    EW: some kind of preset bullshit story just for me right?

    RO: The moons are tailored to the hero, with intent, with design.

    RO: Designed, I suspect, by a fool.

    EW: we are on the same fuckin page then i guess

    EW: but i guess theres some reward for doing whatever the fuck im supposed to do right?

    RO: Thou shalt become Champion, indeed.

    RO For what little that is worth.

    EW: might as well then right?

    EW: since i got nothing better to do

    RO: Dost thou not?

    RO: Proceed, then, for I care not.

    RO: Though shalt cross the path of Justice in time, soon or late, and all thy wit and might avail not, Champion or no.

    EW: hot damn i cant wait

    EW: guess ill see you then

    This distraction out of the way, Eric proceeds to get in touch with ARKO via Isaac. ARKO downloads a five-hundred-page manual for the LZR-17 onto Eric¡¯s phone.

    ¡°Fuckin come on, man,¡± he says, ¡°I¡¯m not reading that shit, hit me with the abridged version you Windows 95-lookin piece of junk. I know you can do it.¡±

    And ARKO does do it, via some ridiculous archaic interface that Eric can only assume is the actual fucking Windows 95 because Isaac¡¯s supercomputer has unfortunately inherited his creator¡¯s sense of humor.

    Some time and several altercations later, Eric gets the abridged version. Shortly after, he starts the bike and carefully, cautiously, drives back to the church.

    KC: hey Liz!

    KC: guess what?

    EE: What?

    KC: this girl is new dress!

    EE: A new dress?

    KC: Elmer made it for me!

    KC: It¡¯s made of SKY

    KC: :D

    EE: I would like to see it.

    KC: You should come over!

    EE: How?

    KC: I dunno

    KC: but once you¡¯re here then we can make a door!

    KC: you sing!

    KC: I play!

    KC: we rock!

    KC: or maybe I should go to you so we don¡¯t have to deal with those darn storm worms!

    EE: Are you getting it figured out, Kate? What you need to do?

    KC: I think so

    KC: Elmer¡¯s been helping me figure out the ¡®sky¡¯ stuff

    KC: there¡¯s so much he can do!

    KC: but he¡¯s really bad at explaining it lol

    KC: it¡¯s about the snowglobes

    KC: what about you?

    EE: Sisyphus is a mess. Lady Chimes is no longer antagonistic thanks to the tiger god¡¯s change of heart, but the murder of the king and the attempted coup have thrown everything into chaos. On top of that, the Dark World still believes the Garden Moon is now theirs. They¡¯ve established a base on the far side of the Mountain.

    KC: isn¡¯t he funny?

    KC: the Thunder God, I mean

    KC: Rasmus

    EE: It is thanks to him that these daimon now refer to me as ¡°the one that likes cats.¡±

    KC: :D

    KC: they already know you so well!

    KC: well I like that cat Rasmus

    KC: he is a cool cat ;)

    EE: He is a character.

    EE: They all are.

    KC: do you mean literally?

    EE: Maybe.

    KC: I don¡¯t think so, Liz

    KC: I¡¯ve been talking to Zayana a lot and I think she¡¯s just as real as us

    KC: I think it might be that way for everyone here, like even Jacob Hollow where there¡¯s more than one of him (and Zayana totally had a crush on him), and even Elmer and Amelia who are all goofy and ridiculous

    KC: I know Isaac thinks they¡¯re not real in the way we are, but I think he¡¯s wrong!

    EE: It does not matter, I suppose.

    EE: Whether or not any given person is ¡®truly real¡¯ is no doubt a matter of perspective, and I am becoming increasingly doubtful of whether such questions have any relevance whatsoever.

    KC: well said!

    EE: Isaac¡¯s belief in God has imbued him with a sense of scalable reality that I am not convinced is valid.

    KC: ok enough of that!

    KC: I messaged to tell you about the dress (which is AWESOME and SO PRETTY), but also the Theians are having this festival!

    KC: and part of it is they apologize to each other for any bad things they¡¯ve done or said, even maybe unintentionally

    KC: so I¡¯m sorry, Liz!

    EE: I forgive you.

    KC: whew!

    KC: okay, I¡¯ve got to do the others now

    KC: and then we¡¯ll make a door!

    EE: Of course.

    EE: I just remembered that we can meet at the Citadel and then proceed to your moon or mine.

    KC: we¡¯ll do that, then!

    EE: You said there is a festival on your moon?

    KC: I did!

    KC: and don¡¯t worry, there is lots of food ;)

    EE: I did not ask about food.

    KC: you were thinking it!

    KC: and someday, Liz...

    KC: ...someday soon...

    EE: ?

    KC: ...we will all six of us meet together, and play music together!

    KC: and do you know who our vocalist is going to be?

    EE: I cannot imagine.

    KC: I know, right?

    KC: I¡¯ve been THINKING and THINKING

    KC: could it be Mormo?

    KC: Arkie?

    EE: Lord Fool, perhaps?

    KC: pfft!

    KC: maybe the Ladies

    EE: Ha ha!

    KC: well you keep thinking about it, okay Liz?

    KC: I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find SOMEONE who can sing for us!

    KC: ;)

    EE: I will give it some thought.

    KC: excellent!

    KC: ttfn!

    Later, the Empyrean churned like a shower of sparks on unseen waters, and the Bright World sang a song of light, and two doors appeared.

    The Lockbreaker hated paperwork. He would have gladly delegated the task to others. Ferrigo was quite as capable with a quill as with a knife. Oivos was a poet, and the very thought of Samantha filling out these forms and checking the orders deeply amused him. But the paperwork had to be done, and things that had to be done had to be done correctly. And though it was tedious, prosaic work, there was a certain satisfaction to be gained from a stack of completed paperwork neatly arranged at the corner of his desk. Forms approved, signatures granted, records kept, numbers arrayed in precise and perfect columns. It was the oil in the machine, the tiny cogs and gears that kept everything tight, responsive, flawless. His organization, Xeon, was like that: a complex mechanism in which no part was superfluous nor any piece active in isolation.

    Like a lock.

    He hummed while he worked, and his voice caused the silver inkwell to vibrate atop the mahogany desk at the lower registers, and he thought of the paperwork as a battle¡ªall the parts must be seen and understood. A game, to be carefully analyzed before playing. A puzzle, which he would solve on the first attempt, without guesswork or error. Or, of course, a lock.

    On this day, thoughts distracted him from his work. Thoughts of Lords and Ladies, of Heroes and Gods. Lady Shadows, his close professional associate, had vanished into the night. Not unusual. But she had gone to kill a hero, at the behest of a god. Most unusual. It seemed to the Lockbreaker like a cog out of place, a tumbler jammed, an apparatus gone wrong. It made him wonder. In particular, he wondered if the hero she had gone to kill happened to be the Hero of Light. Did she intend to separate him? To trap him apart into shadows as she had done to the Lockbreaker for the sake of his Voice? The Lockbreaker much doubted, if this was the case, that this would prove effective on the Hero of Light.

    With perfect timing, the Lockbreaker placed the final page atop the stack at the moment that Ferrigo knocked on the door. He knew it was Ferrigo because one of his shadows lurked out in the hall, seeing but unseen. Immaculate Ferrigo had missed a spot of blood on the back of his collar.

    He had knocked but once, a simple, strong rap, and he had said nothing. The Lockbreaker appreciated that about him. Ferrigo understood.

    Leocanto Lockbreaker wiped the quill and set it beside the inkwell while one of his shadows opened the door. Ferrigo entered, his beady crab eyes scanning the room. The Lockbreaker knew that Ferrigo wondered, though he had not asked, why Leocanto had moved his office into the room that the Hero of Light had painted. The murals did not suit the Lockbreaker¡¯s normal tastes.

    ¡°Lady Hearts,¡± said Ferrigo. ¡°She has arrived.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± said the Lockbreaker. ¡°Do show her in.¡± His shadow in the hall watched her glide along the carpet, which had been cleaned of all the rubble from when her sister, Lady Chains, had paid Xeon a visit the week before. Lady Hearts paused to observe the shadow, then continued through the open door.

    She was the smallest of the Ladies, no more than five feet in height, and the wings folded about her were gauzy, pale fabric. Her wings could be variously interpreted as bandages, a wedding veil, or a funereal shroud. Whichever it was, the hem was stained red with blood. As with her sisters, her face remained obscure, and her true form beneath the wings remained a mystery. She peered out from a dark aperture in her hunched form.

    ¡°Welcome,¡± said the Lockbreaker from a standing position behind his desk. He would have offered her a seat, but the Ladies could not sit. They were quite comfortable standing indefinitely. Like birds. Like himself.

    ¡°I bring dire news,¡± she rasped, her voice a high, hoarse death rattle. ¡°Of the Hero of Light.¡±

    ¡°News indeed,¡± replied the Lockbreaker. He had heard nothing. One of his shadows closed the door behind Lady Hearts. He was expecting another guest, but that one eschewed doors as a rule. Ferrigo assumed a post in the corner. A shadow offered him a drink, which he accepted, plucking the glass out of the air and holding it while the shadow poured from a decanter.

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    ¡°He has a problem,¡± said Lady Hearts. ¡°The Bleeding God has a solution.¡±

    The Hero of Light has a problem? With what, the Lockbreaker wondered. The Lockbreaker had not been afraid, not in a long time, before meeting that hero. How fortunate for him that the hero had turned out to be a simple, innocent child. Here was a surprise of nearly equal measure: himself working with Lady Hearts.

    She began to explain the problem, and the solution, but she had not got far before the Lockbreaker¡¯s shadow posted in the hall sensed another presence approaching, this one far more unpredictable. It came dancing along the wall, a living painting sharing the two-dimensional space of the shadow. It tumbled toward the shadow, shook its hand, tipped its hat, and slid into the room from the ceiling. The gangly figure dropped in a sprawl of elongated limbs onto the shadow of the lamp, which crashed to the floor.

    Lord Fool peeled himself off of the wall, doing what the Lockbreaker¡¯s shadows could not by re-entering the world of three dimensions. His efforts sent him flailing across the floor, all a-jingle and a-clatter with his ornaments and knick-knacks, scattering bright trinkets across the room. Lady Hearts and the Lockbreaker watched without comment as he raised himself off the carpet in a handstand while one foot seized his purple stovepipe hat from where it had fallen and the other adjusted a laughing mask that had come near to falling off. Lord Fool was altogether too large for this room, but fortunately he was collapsible.

    Lord Fool wishes to announce, to inform¡ªyea, even to issue proclamation!¡ªthat he has arrived, should there be any of those present unable to perceive this fact for themselves (a thing which he holds in most sincere and earnest doubt)! He doffs his hat, offering to the notable personage of the Lockbreaker the most insincere of apologies for that lamp over there, the most disingenuous of thanks for his hospitality, and a mirthful remark of regret regarding the undesired aperture which his millinery masterpiece, rather tall as it is, has just created in the ceiling.

    ¡°Lord Fool,¡± said the Lockbreaker. ¡°Welcome.¡± He had to be careful here. Lord Fool might do anything.

    Ah, how pleasing it is to the unusually large ears of Lord Fool to hear once more the sweet strains of the voice of the Lockbreaker, whose every utterance is honey-drenched thunder! Nor any voice in all the world its equal. And what is this? Lady Hearts, declares the King of Fools! It has been too long, and yet all at once, not long enough. What need has a fool of a heart? For it avails him not! Nor eyes, as you can see, if indeed you can! And he laughs, as a fool rightfully ought, at the

    ¡°Lord Fool,¡± said Lady Hearts, interrupting him. ¡°What of the other Lords?¡± Right to business. Most of the Ladies were like that. They had proper jobs to do, after all. In both ways¡ªconcision and gainful employment¡ªthey were unlike the Lords. Or at the very least, unlike Lord Fool.

    Lord Fool lays a knowing finger against the mustard-stained brim of his painted stovepipe. Of the other Lords? Ha! He knows of all but one, as may be expected. Lord Friend smokes and drinks with Arcadelt, who does neither, as they sit watch over the Citadel. Lord Fair has perished at the inky hands of a scrivener in Dyaz. Lord Fierce even now lays low the might of the Dark World at Chiasm, its mines yet unravished by evil. Lord Foe, in grappling with the Guardian of Hyperion, has cast them both into a pit most black and bottomless. And as for Lord Found¡­well¡­Lord Fool shrugs expressively.

    ¡°Will Lord Fierce be returning soon to Skywater?¡± asked the Lockbreaker.

    Oh, indeed, replies Lord Fool with a long grin not entirely devoid of mischief¡ªand trepidation. Lord Fierce comes soon, and most wroth is he.

    The Lockbreaker could not say whether it was the words of Lord Fool, but the room suddenly seemed uncomfortably chill. One of his shadows on the wall hid theatrically behind the shadow of a chair, while another tugged at its collar in a show of unease. Ferrigo, in the corner, fidgeted, adjusted his gloves, his cufflinks. His fingers made odd boneless motions. Lady Hearts and Lord Fool could not read them, even if they noticed.

    Prepare evacuation? said the nervous fingers of Ferrigo.

    One of the Lockbreaker¡¯s shadows, out of sight of Lord and Lady, replied:  yes. Rendezvous #2.

    Lord Fierce, wroth? No one had ever heard of such a thing. What might he do? Only Lord Fool appeared to enjoy the idea, and he only halfway.

    ¡°My sisters Fires, Rains, and Shadows have not contacted us,¡± rasped Lady Hearts.

    ¡°With Spirits dead, that leaves six,¡± the Lockbreaker mused. Lady Hearts flinched as though struck when he mentioned the death of Lady Spirits.

    She spoke again. ¡°Perhaps each of the remaining six¡­should follow a hero, for their protection.¡± Lady Hearts cared much about the safety of the Heroes, as she had from the beginning.

    Lord Fool giggles, aghast at such a suggestion. What, and the Ladies  abandon their duties at Skywater? Why, already crime is at an all-time low with the absence of Lady Shadows! (It has not been lost upon Lord Fool, nor would he wish it lost upon those in hearing of him, the irony¡ªat least, he thinks that¡¯s what it probably is.)

    ¡°They abandoned their duties already,¡± said Lady Hearts. For the first time, passion crept into her voice. She, like Lord Fierce, had never been known to become angry. The bloodstains at the hem of her wings seeped upward. The Lockbreaker resisted the temptation to back away. He knew very well what Lady Shadows could do, and he had seen firsthand the power of Ladies Chains, Fire, Chimes. But Hearts? He knew not. He would guess her power subtle, but had never been a gambling shadow.

    ¡°More relevant,¡± he added, ¡°is whether the Heroes would accept such aid, and whether they ought. The gods have proven fickle. Suppose they suffer yet another change of heart?¡± Lord Fool raised a long, bony foot to point at the Lockbreaker in approval of that point. He had not yet descended from his handstand.

    Ferrigo spoke up from the corner, causing both Lady Hearts and Lord Fool to wheel about as though having forgotten he was present. (Forgetting about Ferrigo? A risky business, even for Lord and Lady.) ¡°The Heroes should learn to rely on their own strength,¡± Ferrigo suggested. ¡°And on their own chosen allies. And on each other.¡±

    He had spoken bravely enough, but he tugged his gloves under the gazes of the others. ¡°Heard someone say that once,¡± he added, as if in defense.

    Lord Fool laughs uproariously, and the walls tremble at the sound.

    ¡°What say your informants, Lockbreaker?¡± Lady Hearts asked.

    ¡°The Dark World is mobilizing, quickly. Great things are afoot there. It is possible that one or more of the gods are yet working directly with the Dark Ruler.¡±

    Lord Fool puts forth a suggestion: that he go forth unto the Color Moon and seek out the wolf, should it yet live.

    ¡°And if you meet Lord Foe?¡± asked Lady Hearts. ¡°No pit, however black or bottomless, shall long contain him.¡±

    Never fear! replies Lord Fool with a sweeping bow and a flourish of his hat which ventilates a nearby wall. Lord Fool would assure the Lady and the good Lockbreaker that he is quite capable of switching sides, should the need ever arise! Or even, quite possibly, if it does not.

    And now he departs, stretching wide the crusty brim of his metallic hat and slithering in, until only the arm holding the hat remains. And this arm seizes the brim of the hat and drags it into itself until it is gone, is far away to the Color Moon.

    The Lockbreaker stared at where Lord Fool had been but a moment before. He hadn¡¯t known the fool could do that. But then, unpredictability was Lord Fool¡¯s forte.

    ¡°A question, sir,¡± said Ferrigo from the corner. ¡°How can you justify involving the embodiment of chaos in your plans?¡± A valid question. Ferrigo knew well enough how the Lockbreaker valued precision.

    He replied, ¡°It is essential to Lord Fool¡¯s character that his actions cannot be predicted. Even now, there is only a relatively slim chance that he will go and do what he just said. Is it not so, Lady Hearts?¡±

    Her gauzy wings hunched further, in what might have been either a nod or a shrug, or something else entirely. ¡°It is,¡± she said.

    This didn¡¯t answer Ferrigo¡¯s question. ¡°Then¡­¡± he prompted.

    ¡°Therefore, the gods are unable to scheme around him, to manipulate him, to predict him. We are dealing with gods, you may recall. His involvement is like a smokescreen, Ferrigo, that levels the playing field by introducing unforeseeable chaos on both sides. As well,¡± he added after a pause, ¡°I am sure you noticed we did not tell him about the Hero of Light.¡±

    Ferrigo nodded, satisfied.

    The Lockbreaker turned back to Lady Hearts. ¡°You said your¡­benefactor has a plan?¡±

    Lady Hearts¡¯ wings shuffled. The Lockbreaker noticed that the redness at the hem of her wings, quite possibly actual blood, was staining his carpet. Oh, well. ¡°Do you sing, Lockbreaker?¡± she asked.

    The Lockbreaker sighed. Of course. Every Lady always asked. They always wanted to know. They always wanted to sing with him. Always entranced, fascinated, at having found such a voice as could match their own. ¡°Not with you,¡± he said firmly. ¡°Or any Lady.¡± Even Lady Shadows.

    It was Hearts¡¯ turn to sigh. ¡°Light,¡± she said after a moment. ¡°To aid the Hero. We need light. Much.¡±

    Light. Leocanto Lockbreaker turned, and all his shadows turned with him, to look at the far wall. There, the very Hero they were discussing had painted a mural in stunning detail. It showed Maugrim, the great wolf of Hyperion, killing Niri. Niri had shown great promise. The Lockbreaker had spoken to her himself, more than once. He had foreseen her someday reaching the level of Ferrigo or Samantha. Dead, now. Turned to light.

    ¡°I know how to get light,¡± he said. ¡°Leave it to me.¡±

    Lady Hearts responded with silence, which suited the Lockbreaker fine. She wouldn¡¯t approve of his methods. Perhaps she didn¡¯t ask for fear of being told. She turned to leave. ¡°Days,¡± she said. ¡°Perhaps a week.¡± That was how long they had.

    ¡°No time for subtlety,¡± he murmured. That didn¡¯t bother the Lockbreaker. It was a well-known saying of his, after all: ¡°Why pick a lock when you can break it?¡±

    ZA: So you are the astronomer.

    IM: Well I wouldn¡¯t go that far

    IM: I just like looking at the stars

    ZA: I saw you die.

    IM: What a way to start a conversation!

    ZA: Kaitlyn Carter told me about you, and later I watched you die. I had no idea.

    IM: Funny how things work out, huh?

    ZA: Oh, yes. Amusing.

    IM: Was that Alien Sarcasm?

    ZA: Daimon, please. Not ¡°alien.¡±

    ZA: And yes, it was.

    IM: So Jacob, the other Jacob back on Earth, is dead now?

    ZA: Yes. Abraham Black killed him. He was with another human. Dwayne Hartman.

    IM: Wait, he was with Dwayne?!

    IM: Is he okay?

    ZA: The book ended after Jacob Hollow died, so I do not know.

    IM: Hmm.

    ZA: ...

    IM: So, I heard it¡¯s a big deal to you guys, you daimon, that we all have two names?

    ZA: Yes. I suppose it is only a superficial cultural difference. Yet among our kind, possession of a second name is significant. A second name is earned through great deeds.

    IM: Well down here it seems like you gods have a ton of names

    IM: Hey ARKO, names for the Purple God. Go.

    ARKO: Mirror God, Starwatcher, Blind Archer, Wise Weaver, Nine Strings

    IM: See?

    ZA: I haven¡¯t even heard of half of those.

    ZA: I am not a god. None of us are.

    ZA: Except for Rasmus; he is perhaps partly a god.

    ZA: The gods existed. We are only their echoes.

    IM: And you¡¯re all connected to animals, right?

    ZA: Correct. To preempt your question, mine is a spider.

    IM: Aha! And therefore the ¡®weaver!¡¯

    IM: And the irony of having eight eyes but being blind

    IM: Sorry about that, by the way

    IM: Getting blinded must be rough for a stargazer

    IM: I know it would suck for me

    ZA: I have become used to it.

    ZA: Although I don¡¯t know where you got the idea that I have eight eyes.

    IM: Kate said you had crystals on your face, like extra eyes?

    ZA: Ah. Yes, that is true.

    ZA: I can yet perceive my surroundings, to some extent, through my arda.

    IM: Arda?

    IM: What¡¯s that?

    ZA: Crystals which grow on our bodies. Through them we can collect and utilize energy.

    ZA: Our arda is identical to the crystals that make up the stars of the Narrative.

    ZA: And the Bright World.

    IM: Magic crystals give powers, got it

    IM: I mean, obviously

    IM: What are your powers? What can the ¡°Mirror God¡± do?

    ZA: Mine are unique. I can influence and alter others¡¯ energy.

    IM: Meta powers

    IM: Support class

    IM: Awesome!

    IM: And you¡¯re a princess?

    ZA: I was. The title is meaningless without a kingdom.

    ZA: Why so many questions?

    IM: You¡¯re like the only one of these ¡®gods¡¯ to just give me simple, straight answers

    IM: And I want to know!

    IM: You daimon sound so cool!

    ZA: I can assure you, none of us feel ¡®cool¡¯ at the moment.

    ZA: Myself especially.

    IM: Oh, right

    IM: You liked Jacob, huh?

    ZA: We are not going to speak of that.

    IM: Fine, fine!

    IM: Tell me about...

    IM: Whatever you want!

    IM: What are you the princess of?

    ZA: I was a princess of the Kingdom of Meszria.

    IM: Is that a country?

    ZA: Yes. Many of us are from there. We all share High Meszrian as a common language.

    IM: Ooh, what does that look like?

    ZA: I am speaking it now.

    IM: Looks like English to me. That¡¯s my language.

    ZA: This place does that. It enables communication.

    ZA: I have now switched to the tongue of the Angala.

    ZA: Now I am not speaking audibly at all.

    ZA: See? It does not matter.

    IM: Wow, that¡¯s interesting.

    IM: Oh, how old are you?

    ZA: I do not know how to give an answer that would be meaningful to you.

    ZA: I am thirteen years by the reckoning of Infernus, but who can say what that means on your world?

    IM: Well...are you an adult? For a daimon?

    ZA: Yes. Just.

    ZA: And what of you?

    IM: I¡¯m 15 years, Earth time

    IM: not quite an adult yet, I guess

    ZA: You do not know?

    IM: Well it¡¯s up for interpretation a little

    ZA: Ah, of course. I should have thought. You would measure adulthood in terms of sexual maturity.

    ZA: Like foliots or dragons.

    IM: It¡¯s a little more complicated than that

    IM: Legally none of us are considered ¡®adults¡¯ until we¡¯re 18

    IM: Except Heidi, maybe?

    IM: No idea what kind of jurisdiction she¡¯s under

    ZA: Do your stars have anything to do with it?

    IM: uh...no?

    IM: Hey, what are your stars like? On your world?

    ZA: Well. They were stars.

    IM: Awesome.

    ZA: Yes. They were awesome.

    IM: Do you miss them?

    ZA: Of course I do.

    IM: Yeah, me too. I mean, I¡¯m not blind, but I miss seeing stars that don¡¯t move around. Like, *actual* stars that are actually mind-boggling distances away

    IM: This whole stars-are-crystals thing in the Narrative is cool and all, but I think I like Classic Space?

    ZA: The awe of the vast nothing. The wonder of seeing pinpricks of ancient light from something distant and great beyond comprehension.

    IM: Yes!

    IM: We had constellations, and a galactic plane.

    ZA: As did we. I miss them.

    ZA: The constellations were like steadfast guides. Friends, even.

    IM: Did you have stories to go with them?

    ZA: Of course.

    IM: We should trade star stories.

    ZA: Perhaps later.

    IM: So...what now?

    ZA: I am on your side. I wish that you humans succeed in opening the door. To do this, you must work together.

    IM: Of course! We¡¯re gonna do that for sure

    ZA: You must replenish the stars in the Empyrean. They are beginning to fall.

    IM: I noticed

    IM: What happens if they all fall?

    ZA: The Abrupt will leak in.

    IM: What¡¯s that?

    ZA: The darkness behind the stars. Derxis also called it the Obscure.

    IM: And that¡¯s bad

    ZA: Tremendously. Though I have not seen it for myself.

    IM: Where do we get new stars?

    ZA: The Bright World. But do not go there. Never go to the Bright World except as a last resort.

    ZA: You can replenish the stars by making doors and art on your platforms.

    IM: What¡¯s the big deal with the Bright World?

    ZA: It acts as a moderator.

    IM: Liz told me you said we can get wishes from it?

    ZA: Only if absolutely necessary. Wishes allow you to change something in the Narrative.

    IM: Like a GM point

    ZA: I do not know what that is.

    IM: That¡¯s fine, I think I get it.

    IM: The Bright World is like an automated GM, making sure the story stays on track? But things have already gone off the rails, right? Because YOU guys showed up. And the Ladies turned against us, and you summoned that fleet to destroy my moon, and Anzu said that¡¯s not ¡®supposed¡¯ to happen!

    ZA: I am not sure about the Ladies. We had no Ladies, only the Lords.

    IM: What?

    ZA: We had ten Lords in our Narrative. Including, it seems, the six inhabiting your own.

    ZA: We never did find Lord Found.

    IM: Wait

    IM: Hang on

    IM: *your* Narrative?

    ZA: Yes.

    ZA: Of course.

    IM: You gods had your own Narrative?

    ZA: How often must I repeat that we are not truly gods?

    ZA: My moon was the Crescent Moon; I was the Hero of Arda.

    IM: So what happens when we open the door?

    ZA: I do not know.

    IM: oh

    IM: Oh I think I get why you wanted to kill us

    IM: you wanted to hijack our story and use our door

    ZA: I am not at all sure it would have worked, in any case. There   are eight of us, after all, to your six.

    IM: hmm

    IM: I need to think about this.

    IM: So where are you now? Still in your Narrative?

    ZA: We are in a library. Thus, your books.

    IM: What?

    ZA: In the broader sense, we are in a world of doors. Thanks to my chance meeting with Kaitlyn Carter months ago, we are simply calling it the Museum.

 Chapter 19: The Montage (part 3)

    Chapter 19: The Montage (part 3)

    It was fun to color things with a touch and a thought, but Jimothy still liked actual painting best. He loved paints that smelled, that could drip and spill and run into each other. When he made a painting with normal paints, it would be imperfect, and he was just realizing that he liked that. Using his new ¡®light¡¯ powers, he could make perfectly clean lines, colors with perfect gradient, perfect shapes and circles. Like a computer. And he didn¡¯t like it. Or at least, it was never as good as the old way. The slow, messy, smelly way. The way that made him happy.

    So he was painting now, up on top of the lighthouse, doing a landscape of the hilly horizon. The hills were blank in real life, but he painted them mint and jade and teal, rolling beneath an arctic blue sky. The distant scattered copses of trees he laid down in cooler shades, and a few wispy clouds were shining silver wool stretched over the cold expanse.

    It was all just paint, oil on canvas, stroke by stroke. But sometimes when he looked out at the scene, the same chunk of landscape he was painting, he thought he saw it flicker with the faintest hint of color. It came at regular intervals, as though the turning searchlight at the top of the lighthouse invested the pale hills with light and life.

    Jimothy finished the painting in the afternoon, or at least the first pass. He wanted to do more layers when this oil dried. But he thought, in comparing his 2x3-foot canvas to the real thing, that something wasn¡¯t right. There was a problem, both with the colorless original and his reimagining of it. They were empty. Landscapes needed figures to give them significance. But there was nobody on his moon at the moment¡ªnobody but vandal shadows, maybe a giant wolf, and the big guys made of playdoh. His friends came sometimes, but they had their own things to do too. And Jimothy didn¡¯t dare bring anyone else. He couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Niri.

    He wondered about Maugrim and Lord Foe. What had happened? Were they still on his moon somewhere? The thought that Lord Foe might still be out there made him a little nervous. But he would be fine as long as he stayed close to the lighthouse. He could go through his door anytime, on to Skywater and the protection of Lord Friend and Arcadelt. Plus, he had other doors now: Elizabeth¡¯s glass door, Kate¡¯s pretty and colorful door, and Isaac¡¯s futuristic portal. He still needed Eric¡¯s and Heidi¡¯s. Then he could go to any of the moons whenever he wanted. Well, not Isaac¡¯s. Isaac didn¡¯t have a moon.

    Jimothy looked for a while at Heidi¡¯s slice of the hexagon. He was worried about her. Nobody had made a door with her yet. Metal crashed on metal in a cold, dark place. Soot and shadow marked a prison with regrets for locks. Heidi was trying to be strong, like Alan, but she was just a girl and she was small and hurt and alone.

    The sound of something large collapsing shook the lighthouse and startled Jimothy out of his imagination. Rocks crashed and clattered. Hazel appeared out of nowhere and scampered around the stained glass in an excited furry frenzy, barking and barking. Jimothy noticed that he had inadvertently colored over his landscape painting. The canvas now depicted Heidi and her angel Bahamut hugging each other in the dark with monsters all around, and it made Jimothy sad. He wished he could be there with her. At least she had her new friend.

    ¡°Calm down, Hazel,¡± he said. He took his cane and walked to the edge, where he leaned on Kate¡¯s door and looked down to see what had gone wrong this time. Four of the big, roughly humanoid creatures that Isaac called ¡®playdoh golems¡¯ stood around a collapsed structure the size of an aircraft hangar. It was made of rocks glued together with playdoh, and this was the third time it had collapsed. Jimothy was beginning to think that a giant doghouse for Maugrim wasn¡¯t going to work. At least, not one made of rocks and playdoh.

    (Lord Friend had told him that Maugrim roved about Hyperion without a home.)

    Also, the playdoh golems weren¡¯t very smart, and Jimothy didn¡¯t think he was much of an architect either. But then again, the golems had made some pretty extensive buildings at their home. Maybe he just needed more of them. He had found out, eventually, that they became friendly once he colored them. Because he¡¯d colored them, Maugrim¡¯s would-be doghouse was made of pale rocks held together with bright playdoh. Maybe Maugrim wouldn¡¯t like it, even if it stayed up without falling, but Jimothy wanted to try.

    His phone buzzed. A message! These days it was always exciting to get a message. There were all kinds of people it could be from.

    RA: HAVE YOU A MOMENT, COLOR PRIEST?

    JW: Uh, yes

    RA: I DO AS WELL!

    RA: LET US SPEAK TOGETHER, THEN

    JW: Aren¡¯t you the boss of them? Kate said you¡¯re supposed to be the biggest and strongest

    RA: TRUE ON ALL THREE COUNTS, COLOR PRIEST

    JW: You can call me Jimothy

    JW: Or just Jim, I guess, if you want to

    RA: VERY WELL, JIMOTHY

    RA: THEN HEAR ME WHEN I SAY:

    RA: STRENGTH IS OVERRATED

    RA: POWER IS NOT STRENGTH

    RA: NOR STRENGTH POWER

    RA: ANTHEA WAS PROOF ENOUGH OF THAT

    JW: You guys are all pretty hard to understand sometimes

    RA: I HAD FORGOTTEN THIS, JIMOTHY

    RA: AND YOU ALSO WOULD DO WELL TO REMEMBER

    RA: AS YOU ARE ¡°THE BIGGEST AND STRONGEST¡± OF THE HUMANS

    JW: uh

    RA: AND THERE IS MORE:

    RA: DO WHAT YOU HAVE DECIDED TO DO!RA: DO NOT GIVE UP

    JW: Are you talking about

    JW: Painting?

    RA: IS THAT WHAT YOU HAVE DECIDED TO DO?

    JW: I guess there¡¯s a lot of things I decide to do all the time

    JW: I don¡¯t really think about what I¡¯m doing, usually

    RA: AHA! WE ARE ALIKE, THEN!

    RA: IT HAS BEEN SAID OF ME THAT I THINK WITH MY FISTS

    RA: NOT AT ALL LIKE ANTHEA

    RA: IN THIS WAY I FEAR I AM A POOR SUBSTITUTE

    RA: SHE WAS UNSHAKEABLE

    JW: I¡¯m pretty sure I don¡¯t think with my fists

    RA: WITH COLORS, THEN?

    JW: Maybe sometimes

    JW: But usually I¡¯m pretty sure I think in words

    JW: I think that¡¯s normal

    RA: I SEE

    JW: Do you guys think in colors?

    RA: THIS IS A QUESTION FOR DERXIS

    RA: COLORS ARE IMPORTANT TO US, CERTAINLY

    JW: And you each have a different color, right?

    RA: INDEED!

    RA: MY BLOOD FLOWS AMBER IN MY VEINS

    RA: MY SPINES ARE GOLD AS THE SUNRISE

    JW: Wow, your blood too?

    RA: WE DO NOT MINGLE COLORS EXCEPT FOR SPECIAL REASONS

    RA: THUS THE IMPORTANCE OF COLOR PRIESTS!

    RA: AND PERHAPS YOUR IMPORTANCE AS WELL

    JW: I don¡¯t know about that

    JW: I don¡¯t feel very important

    JW: I feel just pretty confused and sad and maybe lonely most of the time

    JW: A lot of the time, I mean

    JW: I have Hazel, and my friends

    JW: But I miss Mike

    RA: HA HA HA!

    RA: WE ARE ALIKE IN MANY WAYS, JIMOTHY

    RA: I TOO HAVE LOST THOSE I CARED FOR

    RA: EVEN I WAS NOT STRONG ENOUGH, IT SEEMS

    RA: AND I TOO AM OFTEN CONFUSED, AND EVEN SAD

    RA: AND I FEAR MY LEADERSHIP HAS BEEN FRAUGHT WITH ERROR

    JW: I¡¯m sorry

    JW: Being a leader must be rough

    JW: Especially because the other gods seem like a handful

    RA: AHA! THAT, IF ANYTHING, IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT

    RA: AT LEAST TWO OF THEM WOULD LIKE AS NOT KILL ME IF THEY COULD

    JW: Well, I can tell that you care about them

    JW: At least, the green one, Fiora, called you her shield

    RA: AND THAT IS WHY I AGREED TO ACARNUS¡¯ PROPOSAL

    RA: TO KILL YOU, THAT IS

    JW: Because you need our door

    RA: WE HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

    JW: You don¡¯t know what you¡¯ll do now?

    RA: WE SHALL ENDURE

    RA: WE WILL FIND ANOTHER WAY

    RA: I SAID THIS TO THEM, AS A PROMISE

    RA: AS THEIR LEADER

    RA: THEY BELIEVED ME, JIMOTHY

    RA: MOST OF THEM

    RA: YET I WONDER...

    RA: DO I BELIEVE IT MYSELF?

    RA: I MISS HER

    JW: That¡¯s hard

    JW: I¡¯m sorry I can¡¯t give you any good advice

    RA: WOULD THAT WE HAD A TANGIBLE FOE

    RA: WE EXCEL AT OVERCOMING THOSE

    RA: PERHAPS TOO MUCH SO!

    JW: When things get hard for me, I paint

    JW: It probably doesn¡¯t solve the problem, but it makes me feel better

    JW: I guess you can¡¯t paint because you¡¯re not a color priest

    JW: What do you like to do?

    RA: I MAKE THINGS

    RA: OF METAL

    RA: WEAPONS

    RA: AND GONGS

    JW: Maybe you could do that?

    RA: THE GONGS?

    RA: WE ARE IN A LIBRARY

    RA: I FEAR OUR BLIND LIBRARIAN WOULD NOT APPROVE!

    RA: AHA! HA! HA!

    JR: hey shut the fuck up over there

    JR: for tash¡¯s sake

    FI: Yeah!

    FI: Don¡¯t you know this is a library?

    JR: also we can hear every fucking word you¡¯re shouting cause we¡¯re not all deaf in both ears like you

    RA: WHAT WAS THAT?

    FI: He said we are not all deaf, Rasmus!

    RA: THAT IS WELL

    RA: ELSE WE WOULD ALL BE SHOUTING!

    FI: We are shouting already, Rasmus!

    AC: Could you all please take this conversation elsewhere?

    RA: MY APOLOGIES

    RA: EXCUSE ME A MOMENT, JIMOTHY

    JW: Uh, okay

    RA: THAT IS BETTER!

    JW: I was just thinking

    JW: You should try to be better friends with all the other gods!

    JW: Even if it¡¯s hard

    JW: If you don¡¯t know what else to do right now, I think that¡¯s probably a good goal to try and do in the meantime

    JW: That¡¯s just what I think

    RA: I WILL TAKE IT IN SERIOUS CONSIDERATION

    RA: YOU ARE SPEAKING LIKE A COLOR PRIEST, AFTER ALL!

    JW: Oh, uh, thanks?

    RA: AND NOW!

    RA: HOW ABOUT A STORY?

    JW: A story? Sure, I guess

    RA: THIS TALE BELONGS TO AN ANCIENT COLOR PRIEST, AN ELDER OF NUNCIO...

    *

    They lay in the dark and the mud, breath labored, hearts hammering. For a long moment, neither of them dared to speak. They listened for the snarl that shook showers of rain from the dewy branches; they felt the muddy ground for the thomping of heavy hooves that rippled puddles. Neither came.

    ¡°Is it d-dead?¡± asked Kate, eyes wide with exhilaration.

    ¡°Yeah, I think it¡¯s pretty fucking dead,¡± said Eric, but he didn¡¯t sound convinced. He muttered something that sounded like, ¡°better be fucking dead.¡±

    They kept still for another minute, but the cool night air remained clear of bestial growls, the earth below unshaken by menacing hoofbeats.

    Then Navi fluttered down from a dark and cloudless sky, a few luminous wisps lit strangely by several moons, and Navi told her that it was all right. They had indeed killed the monster.

    She breathed a sigh of relief and shared the good news with Eric. ¡°We g-got it!¡±

    ¡°Thank god,¡± he said, trying to sound surly and tough. But Kate could tell that he was excited too, and happy too. They had fought off a monster, the fiercest one yet! AMs, Eric called them, which stood for Assorted Monsters.

    Kate was in no hurry to get up. It¡¯s not like she could get even  wetter and  muddier than she already was. And she liked it, all of it: the shifting stars far above, the glimpse of the sinister Metal Moon peeking through the bright wispy clouds, beautiful Navi flitting about overhead, the cool night breeze carrying the scent of grass and clay and mud, Eric next to her. She sighed, content.

    Eric sat up. ¡°Fuckin cold up in here,¡± he grouched. ¡°Hey, think if we go loot its corpse we¡¯ll get some gold and XP?¡±

    Kate¡¯s nose crinkled at the thought of looting  any corpse, much less a big, stinky monster they¡¯d just killed. He was joking, anyway. She made a clean cloth and wiped the mud off her glasses.

    ¡°There was that town over there,¡± he said. She couldn¡¯t exactly see him, but she knew where he was pointing. ¡°Having a party or some shit. Wanna go crash it?¡±

    He was already getting up, his boots squelching in the mud. Kate propped herself up on her elbows. ¡°Eric! Are y-you inviting me on a d-da-d-date!?¡±

    ¡°We got all that shit on hold, remember?¡± He turned to look at her. ¡°Damn,¡± he said, ¡°return of the swamp monster.¡±

    She scowled at him, even though he was probably right, and she probably  did look like a swamp monster. But  he  was covered in mud too! And she¡¯d been joking about the date thing; he knew that, right?

    He stepped over and offered her a hand up out of the mud. He was strong, even though he was shorter than her, and he pulled her up easily. His hand had callouses on it. It was a lot different than her hand, which was thin and soft and pale in comparison. Something about that interested her.

    ¡°Our hands m-make a good t-te-team,¡± she said, though she wasn¡¯t quite sure what she meant.

    Eric looked at her in confusion. ¡°What?¡±

    Kate¡¯s face was suddenly hot; she was glad it was dark and cool. By fortuitous circumstance, a cloud dispersed at that moment, concealing them in cool shadow. ¡°I-I mean,¡± she said, ¡°w-we  m-make a good t-team!¡± And it was true, although she hadn¡¯t put it into words in her head until just then. Her own enthusiasm, or crazy recklessness as Eric and Liz might call it, was balanced out by Eric¡¯s down-to-earth practicality. Like Earth and Sky, maybe? Nah¡ªshe was no poet. But they  did make a good team.

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Eric after a moment of consideration. ¡°Yeah, I guess so.¡±

    And they set off toward the town. They came across a brook swollen from the recent rain, which gathered into a deep pool. Kate jumped in to wash herself of mud. When she emerged, her dress of sky was good as new! Though still soaking wet. It wasn¡¯t blue at the moment; it was all moonlit clouds and star-scattered darkness. The clouds scudded silently across. A star fell up above and disintegrated in the upper atmosphere in a burst of shimmery iridescence. It was, as always,  beautiful. And  maybe Eric had been right in saying earlier that the painted lab coat didn¡¯t match the dress beneath very well, but she wasn¡¯t about to take off the lab coat. He would just have to  deal with it.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    A tiny dragon chased a white butterfly through the branches overhead as they trekked through the forest.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she said as the lights and music of the woodland town began to filter through the trees. ¡°Why d-don¡¯t you ever h-hi-hit me?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re a delicate fucking flower.¡± He didn¡¯t look back or alter his pace.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious!¡± Kate hurried to catch up to him, her dress swishing like clouds.

    ¡°How the hell can you be serious about that? Is there some reason I  should hit you, like some dark secret I should know about?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m t-ta-talking about how you hi-hit Heidi!¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Hey, she hit me first. There it is.¡± Eric squinted ahead at the town. ¡°Sounds like a jam. Also, it¡¯s just like our thing, we just hit each other. Why, are you feeling like left out or something?¡±

    Kate bit her lip, thinking.  Did she feel left out? Why had she even brought this up? She resolved to  think more before speaking, especially around Eric.

    ¡°Fine, whatever,¡± Eric said as he slid down the embankment. ¡°Frisby, go hit Kate.¡± The tiny dragon swooped down from above and latched itself to her upper arm in a hug.

    ¡°Aww!¡± Kate scratched Frisby behind the wings, and he chirped happily in reply.

    Minutes later, Eric walks into the town while Kate pretty much skips along beside him. It¡¯s a decent-sized town; they saw it on their way over to the Monument. Its occupants are mostly human, and all thousand-or-so of them are out and about tonight in honor of some anniversary. The main square, which isn¡¯t actually shaped anything like a square, is jam-packed with people in a bewildering assortment of unusual costumes. Strings of colored Christmas lights sweep from rooftop to rooftop. Dozens of stalls along the cement sidewalks sell delicacies grilled, fried, baked, or frozen. A cloud of mouth-watering scents envelops him, somehow only enhanced by the occasional whiff of less-appealing fragrances: propane, body odor, excessive cologne. Eric realizes that he himself is probably not doing the local olfactory atmosphere any favors. And music, of course: a quick reeling dance from somewhere in the dense crowd of the main square. Rhythmic clapping, shouts and laughter.

    All in all, it is festive as fuck. A straight-up jamboree.

    Kate makes a beeline for the music¡ªa beeline in the sense that she has to veer off and investigate everything in sight along the way. It doesn¡¯t take the two of them long to get noticed, especially since it is apparently common knowledge that two Heroes were out dealing with the Monument this evening. Eric would rather not be noticed; he is suddenly tired and he doesn¡¯t want to deal with all these people and all this energy. Kate alone is energy enough. He yearns for one hour ago, when it was just the two of them walking through the woods talking about random bullshit after beating a monster.

    Kate loves the attention, though, or at least she seems unaffected by it. She talks and laughs and stutters with the crowd of people around them. They gasp when she tells them about the terrible monster that was guarding the Monument, exaggerating Eric¡¯s role in its defeat. The people want to know: Did they succeed in restoring the Monument? Well, no, says Kate, there is a  really  tricky puzzle. But luckily, they have a puzzle specialist over on Hyperion, and they¡¯re going to bring him in to have a look.

    Eric and Kate gratefully accept the variety of food offered to them, though Kate declines the meat. It comes with showers of thanks for the defeat of the monster, which had been terrorizing the woods for years. It feels pretty fucking good to be a hero, Eric thinks.

    He keeps a close eye on Kate, because they are also offered a variety of beverages, including something he¡¯s pretty sure is just moonshine, and he¡¯s also pretty sure Kate would just chug that shit without thinking about it. And if there¡¯s one thing he does not want to deal with, it¡¯s another drunk-ass Kate on his hands. He thinks: she¡¯s a lot more like her aunt than she wants to admit.

    But Kate cannot resist the lure of the music, so soon she¡¯s off toward the band at the center of the main square, and she drags Eric along with her. And this is where shit gets fucking stupid.

    Because she starts playing with them, these six people wearing dark suits shimmering with subtle iridescence, men and women with more-or-less conventional instruments: banjo, tambourine, drum, flute, fiddle, some kind of goofy brass contraption.

    They start playing, and it¡¯s another lively dance number. And one of them starts singing, and Eric thinks it must be improvised because it sounds like it¡¯s a song about them, him and Kate and the monster. But then the other musicians join in like they all know the words, and then Kate joins in, both on guitar and vocals. She forgets to stutter, and while she¡¯s certainly no Elizabeth Eddison when it comes to singing, she¡¯s definitely no Dwayne Hartman either. But it occurs to Eric that it¡¯s weird she¡¯s singing along like she knows the words. Something about this entire situation strikes Eric as both very familiar and very odd.

    Now everyone starts dancing, not in some disorganized sprawl, but everyone, all at once, stepping together, clapping their hands, one platoon marching out and spinning in pirouettes while another steps back and jumps, all in sync, all in perfect time, all as if they¡¯d rehearsed this for months, and Eric himself is standing in the middle of all this, gaping about in amazement. Then they start singing the chorus, the whole crowd all together, and it makes no fucking sense, and then suddenly Eric gets it. His eyes widen in horror.

    Somehow, he has found himself in a scene from a musical. The entire population of Dormuth, or whatever the fuck this place is called, has engaged in a spontaneous, elaborate song-and-dance routine all around him.

    The worst of it is, he can feel it in himself too. He knows exactly what to do, what to sing, how to dance. He could easily just¡­do it. The way that Kate is over there, spinning as she jams quick chord progressions onto her bass, her lab coat and dress alternating dark and light as she spins. She probably doesn¡¯t even notice that she¡¯s stirring up the moonlit clouds overhead.

    Eric refuses to become involved, even though the beat  is poppin, and the tune  is catchy, and he feels more tempted by the second to just let go, just start by tapping his foot, maybe pulling a Jacob Hollow and snapping his fingers. But that is a slippery fucking slope.

    ¡°Eric!¡± Kate shouts at him briefly during the instrumental bridge. She jerks the neck of her bass at him, indicating that he should come and join. He gives her an emphatic shake of the head. She sticks her tongue out at him.

    He turns and begins dodging through the complex dance number. He soon realizes he doesn¡¯t need to dodge; they miss him easily, and he probably couldn¡¯t interrupt these people even if he wanted to.

    He is willing to put up with a lot of stupid shit. Stories and gods and dragons and magic and all kinds of other crap. But he draws the line at fucking musicals.

    ¡°Gotta get outta here,¡± he mutters as he finally escapes the crowd and heads for one of the empty cheese-fry stands. ¡°Before Liz brings a fucking opera down on us.¡±

    *

    AC: Two truths and a lie? What is that?

    EE: A game, useful for getting to know each other.

    EE: Apparently Isaac has made interesting discoveries about you daimon through playing it.

    AC: How does it work?

    EE: We take turns making three statements about ourselves.

    AC: I see. Two truths and a lie.

    AC: The objective is to determine which is the lie.

    AC: So simple.

    EE: Fine. Forget I said anything.

    AC: No, let us play.

    AC: You go first.

    EE: Very well.

    EE: I know a lot about pottery.

    EE: I know taekwondo.

    EE: I wanted to join the circus when I was young.

    AC: I do not know what taekwondo is.

    EE: Oh, my mistake. It is a martial art.

    AC: The circus statement is the lie.

    EE: Incorrect.

    EE: I know very little of pottery.

    AC: But you know a martial art.

    AC: This is of interest to me. Would you demonstrate?

    Elizabeth looked up from her phone at the dim, near-empty lodge. Embers popped and sizzled in the nearby hearth as the fire died. Wind rattled the shutters outside. She felt their warmth even through the thick, soft blanket in which she nestled. The few others in the lodge were fast asleep. She could probably demonstrate a few moves without disturbing them. But¡­

    EE: Negative.

    EE: Too cozy.

    AC: Perhaps later, then. I am known for my skill in the martial arts.

    EE: Your turn.

    AC: I have met Miriam Fivemind.

    AC: I have dealt with the Desert Watcher.

    AC: I have encountered Maugrim face to face.

    EE: Yours are a touch more dramatic than mine.

    EE: Also, how am I supposed to know any of that?

    EE: Who is the Desert Watcher?

    AC: A legendary beast which grants wishes, though the wish it grants is always a curse.

    EE: And Miriam Fivemind?

    AC: A great hero; an investigator whose brilliance was unmatched.

    EE: A detective?

    AC: One who brought down nations, yes.

    EE: You should tell that to Kate. Her hero is a detective as well.

    EE: One of her heroes.

    AC: She mentioned it.

    EE: Oh? Did you have a nice chat? She said you were very smart and knew lots of science.

    AC: She is considerably intelligent as well.

    EE: She seems to forget so easily that you are the would-be mastermind of our demise.

    AC: For this I will not apologize.

    AC: Your answer?

    EE: The third one, meeting Maugrim.

    AC: Incorrect.

    AC: Unfortunately, whereas I have encountered the great wolf, I have never met the Fivemind.

    AC: Go again, human.

    EE: Elizabeth, please.

    AC: Elizabeth, then.

    AC: Tell me truth and lie of substance.

    EE: My favorite poet is Emily Dickinson.

    EE: My favorite flower is the peony.

    EE: I have one older sister.

    AC: A biological sister, that is?

    EE: Yes.

    AC: Hmm. I know nothing of the fertility rates of your species. How many on average per litter?

    EE: We normally come one at a time.

    AC: Then one older sister seems plausible.

    AC: But I know nothing of poets or flowers, much less favorites.

    EE: Guess.

    AC: The poet has two names, and thus must be of some import. I guess your second statement, about the flower.

    EE: Wrong again. My favorite poet is Edna St. Vincent Millay.

    AC: That seems an excessive number of names.

    EE: Do any of you have two names?

    AC: We are young; most of us never had the opportunity.

    AC: One of us had two names.

    EE: ¡°Had?¡±

    AC: Are you a poet?

    EE: I suppose.

    EE: I enjoy poetry, at any rate.

    AC: As does Akkama. She could do what you do, creating objects of paper through poetry.

    AC: Because she creates origami, you see.

    AC: Hers was the Paper Moon.

    EE: Paper Moon. Doesn¡¯t she burn things with fire?

    AC: Yes.

    AC: Yes, she does.

    AC: My turn.

    AC: I was in love, once.

    AC: I have defeated Rasmus in combat, once.

    AC: I shared my Song with my friends, once.

    EE: Your song?

    AC: Of course, humans do not have Songs. I forgot. My apologies.

    EE: We do too have songs!

    AC: Not like us.

    AC: Every daimon has a Song. It is unique, special, more important and personal than a name. It is not shared except in rare circumstances.

    AC: Music is a part of us. We sing with our arda. It is intrinsic to every aspect of our life and culture.

    EE: In that case, it is your second statement.

    EE: Defeating Rasmus is the lie.

    AC: That is correct.

    EE: I win.

    EE: :)

    Elizabeth considered saying more, continuing the game, but at that moment Callie rose suddenly beside her, hissing with frightful intensity. Callie snarled at the fire, and it took Elizabeth¡¯s drowsy brain several long seconds to understand what was wrong. The fire was low, but the flickering tongues of flame had changed color. They were becoming purple, an entire spectrum from indigo to magenta. The tongues of fire writhed strangely, reached out for her, slithering over a bed of violet coals.

    The scars on Elizabeth¡¯s calf and stomach tingled, prickling with pain. She flailed out of the blanket, out of the chair, and over to the bucket of water kept nearby for safety. She seized it and flung it onto the dying fire. The resulting cloud of steam was angry, shot through with fizzling purple sparks that inscribed odd letters in the steamy air.

    It was dark and warm in the lodge, but Elizabeth felt cold. She grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around herself, refilled the bucket and doused the fire again. When at last she slept, it was far from the warm hearth.

    *

    Mysteries abounded! For example: (1) Why were the stars seen through Lady Star¡¯s wings the same as the stars on Earth? Isaac first noticed when he recognized the Big Dipper, most obvious of all constellations, in a passing glance at Lady Stars. By circling around her he saw that, yes, Orion, Cassiopeia, and all his other old friends were present and accounted for in her strange mantle.

    (2) Why did the Ladies all have wings? Eh, stupid question. Next!

    (3) Why were they all such beautiful singers? Lady Stars could teleport just like him, folding into her starry wings and just vanishing away into nothing. She could fly around in the void of space like a dark imitation of Anzu. She was an amazing scout. But when she was out there, she usually sang, and it was haunting, in an eerie and lonesome way. It didn¡¯t sound anything like her speaking voice. Zayana, the Blind Alien Astronomer Princess or Whatever, thought that the music of Lady Stars was beautiful. So did Isaac.

    And (4), how come they could all hear her singing while they were in the control center, even when she was out in the void of space where sound waves shouldn¡¯t be able to propagate?

    (5) How was it possible that he could steer his private spaceship just by playing piano? On the literal piano keyboard that existed  instead of any actual controls? Honestly, who came up with this?

    Oh, right. (6) Who wrote the Narrative? Somebody did. Somebody threw around a bunch of words, put labels like ¡®good guys¡¯ and ¡®bad guys¡¯ on things, came up with all these crazy characters. And hey, Isaac Milton was happy to play along. He¡¯d always wanted to be part of a cool story, right? But he would have preferred one not quite so blatant about being a literal story. Now he couldn¡¯t help but wonder:  whose story was it?! Because it wasn¡¯t perfect. And talking to these would-be gods, he was thinking maybe they should try and wrap this story up pretty quick. Because things had already gone Somewhat Awry.

    These gods, called daimon, coveted the white door. Having had their own Narrative (7), which they¡¯d messed up somehow (8), they were now watching the six human kids through books or something (9).

    DX: okAY, okay, i Got aNOTher one

    The words appeared blinking orange at the bottom of his HUD. Isaac took his hands off the keys, stopped playing. He felt the thrusters quiet down, his little black bird of a private fighter jet coasting now on momentum. Derxis: Laughing God, tAlkS with RandoM cApitaliZation, color: orange, domain: mind, though he claimed to have lost his powers (10).

    ¡°Autopilot, ARKO,¡± he said as he leaned back in the cushy chair of fibrous synthetic mesh. The piano keys began to tinkle out a soft, minimalist tune, ARKO acting as the player-piano to steer Isaac¡¯s craft out away from the ADS Initiation and into the dark of space.

    (11) Why the heck did the flagship of the Ardian Defensive Fleet change its name to a different word ending in ¡®-ation¡¯ every single day?

    IM: Hit me

    DX: wHAt do yoU get wHEn you croSs a joke wIth a rHEtoricaL quesTion?

    IM: ...

    IM: ohhh

    IM: oh that¡¯s a good one

    DX: hE He

    IM: So I bought some shoes from a drug dealer. I don¡¯t know what he laced them with, but I was tripping all day

    DX: hEe heE!

    DX: dId you kNOw that a pLateaU is the hiGhest forM of flatTery?

    IM: Nice

    IM: Okay, so A, C, and E walk into a bar. They order a drink together, but the bartender says, ¡®nah, we don¡¯t serve minors¡¯

    DX: hMm

    DX: i doN¡¯t get IT

    IM: A, C, and E

    IM: A-minor chord?

    DX: what¡¯s that?

    IM: Oh, it¡¯s a music thing

    IM: I guess you don¡¯t know

    DX: yeAh

    DX: tHOugh i have suDdenly discOverEd an intereSt in humAN music

    IM: Cool, I know, like, more than most people about it

    IM: I actually write music

    DX: wHAt?

    IM: Music. I write it

    DX: wHAt doEs that meaN?

    IM: Uh...like, I write down the notes? So that other people can play them later?

    DX: tHE same notes?

    IM: Yeah?

    DX: i doN¡¯t get It

    DX: i Mean, whY?

    IM: So that other people can play the same song?

    DX: ...

    DX: oKay but wHy?

    IM: huh

    IM: Okay, back to the jokes while I think about it

    IM: the jokes are chill

    DX: ¡°chiLl¡± and ¡°cOol¡±

    DX: i kEep expEctinG you to puLl a Lord fRost

    IM: Lord Frost?

    DX: alWayS with the iCe punS

    DX: especialLy with roSMa

    DX: (wHO HAtes puns)

    DX: (and alSo HAtes humOr in general)

    DX: hE was kinD of An Idiot

    IM: What other lords did you have?

    DX: sAme as youRs, plus fRost, First, foUl, and fish

    IM: Lord Fish?

    DX: literalLy juSt a fish

    DX: iN a bowL

    DX: noTHing else

    IM: Did he narrate like the Lords?

    DX: yeAh but iT woulD only be Like ¡°he¡¯S swimMing arouNd ¡®cause he¡¯S juSt a fish¡±

    DX: i DIdn¡¯T reaLly get iT, to Be Honest

    IM: Oh I¡¯ve got some company

    DX: oKay

    DX: heRe¡¯s one For the road

    DX: ThiS senTence contains tOo erRors.

    Isaac turned his attention back to the void outside. He put his hands on the keys, wondering whether Derxis would understand any ¡®key¡¯-based puns. And¡ªwhat, the daimon just didn¡¯t ever write music? This bore investigation. (12)

    Somewhere out there, ARKO had detected a patrol of Darkworld ships. Somewhere out there, Lady Stars was singing.

    Isaac began to play. He was getting a lot better at improv, because that was how he steered the ship. He still didn¡¯t think he was great, not like Kate, but maybe some subtle magic in the Narrative was working on him, heightening his skills, because he found it strangely easy to match the eerie song of Lady Stars. He could harmonize with only a few mistakes, and that was enough for him to dance with her in the dark nothing as they approached the patrol.

    The trick to dogfighting was syncopation.

 Chapter 19: The Montage (part 4)

    Chapter 19: The Montage (part 4)

    A black hand, obsidian and onyx, reaches up from the pit and clutches at the white earth. Lord Foe emerges, not unscathed, but neither overcome. He grumbles an imprecation at which the pale stones tremble and the lengthening shadows of Hyperion shudder.

    Lord Foe perceives of a sudden that he is not alone here at the brink of the abyss. He takes a dark power around himself as a mantle, such a power as has been tattered by the shining teeth of Maugrim, yet still can work a great undoing. He casts his gaze about, and he speaks, saying unto the watcher that they would do best to reveal themselves.

    Lord Fool laughs¡ªas much at his brother¡¯s lack of perception as at his threat. For Lord Fool dances on the air¡ªindeed, upon the very treetops and cloud-wisps! And even the shadows and spiderthreads are his tightrope, and yes, even strains of lingering music, and past mistakes, and bad ideas.

    And he puts forth a query unto his short-lost brother, who emerges now from a depth and a mystery which no Lord ought see. What has become of the Guardian? Has his brother the Foe any awareness that the Hero of Light is constructing a great home for the great wolf¡ªof playdoh?!

    The laughter of Lord Fool wearies further the already much-worn patience of Lord Foe. Lord Foe strikes the sound of it down from the sky and splinters the laughter into a rain of needling silence. He has a question of his own¡ªone worth the answer, unlike the questions of his obstreperous sibling. Has the Fool come to arrest him? If so, he will find danger yet remaining even within the ragged and wolf-bitten Foe.

    Lord Fool giggles and prances down from the air. Questions worth the answer? Are there any such questions, he wonders? Do they dwell high in the cold clouds? Can they be located in the darkest depths, and did Lord Foe find them there? Do they squirm unseen in the dirt, too small for notice, or do they crawl in the dark behind the stars?

    Questions? Lord Fool has a vast collection! Here, he will share some with Lord Foe, and perhaps among them Lord Foe can find his answer.

    Lord Foe has no time for the Fool¡¯s games.

    But all of existence is naught but a game, brother, and has never been otherwise! Come, the King of Fools implores, and guess: what is in my hat? And he sweeps from atop his noggin that illustrious purple stovepipe, bespangled and beribboned.

    Lord Foe flinches back and grips his shroud of darkness, knowing well the dangerous power of that absurd headpiece.

    What is in my hat? Lord Fool repeats himself (perhaps he has forgotten; he is after all a fool). A riddle, in honor of the Riddling God! Come now, he says, he¡¯ll even make it multiple choice!

    A) Anthrax and candlewax

    B) Knick-knacks and bric-a-bracs

    C) Lilacs and cheesy snacks

    Lord Foe, despite his foul temper, decides to humor Lord Fool. He has no desire for unnecessary conflict, particularly with this one. All of the above, he replies to the absurd query, and more.

    Lord Fool hoots and hollers. He observes with Uncanny Cunning that Lord Foe knows him and his hat very well. Yet he cannot help but observe that a yet superior answer to his question lingers, aswing in the air like ripe fruit unplucked:

    It does not matter.

    Lord Fool commences the battle! A contest of wits and might, Lord against Lord¡ªand who can say whether destinies great and small might hang in the balance of this conflict? Certainly no fool. He reaches deep into his Marvelous Hat and scatters from therein a great multitude of banana peels, and they fall like a flock of floppy rotting birds dropping dead from the skies.

    Lord Foe summons a dark stone, glistening icy black and razor sharp, and its spinning seethes the air, and it flies at Lord Fool, tearing a hole through his-

    -cape, which Lord Fool was  certainly wearing at the time, he can assure his brother Foe, while the Fool himself prances away on the unseen strings of the air, unscathed. He procures from the inimitable confines of his hat a wooden mallet, several times his own size, which he raises high overhead and delivers downward upon the Foe-

    -but Lord Foe swings up his fist, awash in his mantle of shadow, and breaks the absurd weapon asunder -

    -which is actually quite easy, as it was only a thin candy shell full of lemon custard. Lord Foe is thoroughly dolloped!

    Lord Foe grinds his teeth in rage. He steps aside, flings away the mass of lemony dessert¡ªand sets foot upon an old banana peel, slick with custard. His leg slides out from under him-

    -Nay! He is flung spinning into the air from the violence of his slip-up! And he lands-

    -on his  feet, damn it, Fool!

    But what is this that the Fool now heaves from the depths of the stained and battered chapeau?! A bazooka, which he aims at his Brother Foe. And Foe thinks that, perhaps, the battle is at last a serious matter! But alas, what emerges from the barrel of the armament upon the click of the trigger is but a cherry-red boxing-glove on a spring! Nevertheless, its impact sends the Foe to his backside among the custard:

    SPROINGGG!

    Enough! cries Lord Foe. He slams his fists upon the pale earth-

    -like a child enraged, titters the Fool-

    -and the earth shatters and shakes, threatening to deliver him back unto the chasm from which he climbed. This is why Lord Foe had not wished to battle with Lord Fool¡ªfor such is never a battle at all, but merely a jest. And yet, for all this, it is not a contest in which Lord Foe now has the strength to compete. Lord Fool¡¯s jokes and japes would outlast him. And yet, to admit such a defeat, humiliating. Desist, therefore, commands Lord Foe.

    ¡­and his brother the Fool, though by no means beholden to obey such an imperative, pauses in the act of hoisting aloft the grand piano, suspended above Lord Foe by rope and pulley system somewhere far above. He urges Lord Foe to speak his peace (hee hee!). Lord Fool is at his service! He stoops for an Elaborate Obeisance, and in doing so releases the piano.

    Lord Foe dodges clumsily aside, for while no ordinary piano could by its falling harm him, no object of Lord Fool¡¯s follows the rules. The piano plummets through the stone and creates a hole in its perfect outline. Lord Foe casts about for words to speak, for ways to deal with his most vexatious of fellow Lords.

    And Lord Fool procures a handful of tortilla chips from the profound depths of his Millinery Masterwork, soggy with cheese and speckled with small objects from confetti to thumbtacks. He endeavors to munch on these morsels as he observes the frustrations of Lord Foe, though he is much hindered by the mask covering his face.

    Fain would Lord Foe discourse upon his purpose and intent, and offer aplenty his thesis and supporting rhetoric. The reasons, and the purpose, behind his actions. Well might he declaim until the dark of night swells afresh upon Hyperion, were he not well aware that such would be more than lost upon the Fool before him.

    Lord Foe knows but one thing for certain of Lord Fool, and this he knows well: that the Fool will do the unexpected. Therefore he observes unto the Fool that he appears to have chosen a side¡ªthe side of the Heroes¡ªand that all assume him to be the heroes¡¯ ally, and rightly so, for this he is indeed.

    Lord Fool tilts his head at Lord Foe, first one way, then another. He tilts his head all the way back around to where it started, and his body trails behind. Is it truly so, he wonders? Can it be that none suspect the outcome of this current chapter, in which the Fool sides with the Foe? After all, a joke told one may be humorous, but seventeen times? Lord Fool announces to Lord Foe that the fool¡¯s hat¡ªand the rest of him¡ªare at his service.

    Lord Foe smiles behind his scowling, custard-smeared mask.

    But first! Lord Fool proclaims, he intends to do his part! Look at this place! No color at all! Nary a whit of hue, nor a single speck of pigment! It could use a spot of sprucing up. He shall rectify this by means of his very own coloration project!

    So saying, the inimitable Lord Fool upends his hat, pouring forth a font of tomato ketchup, and begins to paint the cliffside.

    *

    JW: Hi

    JW: Um, D-Man?

    JW: Are you there?

    DX: i Am HEre

    DX: I alwayS HAve time fOr my FavoRite otHEr coLor Priest!

    DX: wHAt is it?

    JW: I remembered a dream I had.

    JW: You were in it. And I forgot the dream, but you put a trigger in me to remember when I talked to you. I guess it took a while.

    JW: My dreams have been busy lately.

    DX: I was iN your DreaM?

    JW: It was before I met you. Before I even came here.

    DX: inTriguinG! Go oN!

    JW: Well, you told me that we would meet. You said that you were, uh, ¡®dead again,¡¯ although you didn¡¯t look very dead.

    JW: You sounded kind of sad. You said you made a mistake and came back too far. Then you told me that everything was going to be okay.

    DX: me From the Future, eH?

    DX: tHAt sounds familiaR!

    DX: yoU know, Acarnus thinKs time is a CloseD lOop

    DX: I¡¯m not So Sure

    JW: You said that, too.

    JW: And you told me to say something to you when I met you

    JW: Which is now, I guess

    DX: wHAt is iT?

    DX: oH, this is Exciting!

    JW: You told me to tell you that you¡¯re in love with Fiora.

    JW: Is that true?

    JW: She¡¯s the green one, right?

    JW: Hello?

    DX: oH, I¡¯m juSt laughing, giVe me a MinuTe

    DX: tHAt¡¯s a sEcRET, Jimothy

    DX: and if tHAt¡¯s how I said It

    DX: It meanS tHAt wHAt I alreaDy knOw is not going to Happen

    DX: is realLy not Going to HAppen

    JW: So she doesn¡¯t know?

    DX: coRRect

    DX: anD it¡¯s BEst if we kEep it That Way

    JW: Why?

    JW: Have you talked to her about it?

    JW: She seems nice!

    DX: JimoThy Whyte

    DX: lIsten closely

    DX: part of Our ResponsIbility is kNowing wHEn to leT Go oF thIngs we want

    DX: it¡¯S alL a meSs now

    DX: i nEed to be CareFul

    DX: tHIngs could go to heLl HEre at any moment

    JW: What do you mean?

    DX: leT¡¯s just say Sometimes i wish Lady SpiritS was Here

    DX: Heh HEh

    JW: Lady Spirits?

    DX: she sEemed fun. I reaLly shOuld HAve conspIRed with HEr against you OutSide of the Citadel

    DX: ArcAdelT chopPed HEr into a miLLion liTtle sHArds just like tHAt

    DX: (I jusT snapPed my Fingers)

    DX: it¡¯s ToO bad

    DX: I waNteD to seE wHAt she was goinG to do with All those boTtles

    JW: What does this have to do with Fiora?

    DX: I wasN¡¯t lyIng to You, JimOthy

    DX: everyThing Is Going to be oKay

    DX: buT that doeSn¡¯t meaN thINgs wilL worK out hoW you wanT them tO

    DX: I am glAd tHAt you told me abOut your dreaM

    DX: I HAve no neEd of reminders of mY mortality

    DX: but it¡¯s niCe to know tHAt i wilL stiLl be me

    DX: at the end

    *

    FI: see? I told you it would be good to take a break! I did!

    HS: I don¡¯t take advice from gods.

    HS: I¡¯m doing this because it was Elizabeth¡¯s idea.

    FI: But I gave her the idea!

    FI: So just relax!

    FI: Do not worry about your moon for a while!

    HS: Maybe I can do that if you can keep the damn Burning God off my back.

    FI: That Akkama!

    FI: I will talk to her

    FI: She does not listen to me though

    FI: She does not listen to anyone! Except maybe Zayana

    FI: Anyway! I will leave you to it

    HS: Thanks.

    Heidi had no intention of believing a single word from any of the false gods, but Elizabeth she trusted. And when Elizabeth had suggested that they meet up, because after all they had never met face-to-face, Heidi had been quick to agree. What Fiora had said was true. She could use a break. She had been thinking only the other day how she missed beaches and waves. And here they were.

    Elizabeth had brought Heidi to a secluded beach down the coast from Skywater City, where the sand was pinkish-grey and the palm trees were so thin and flexible that the faint warm breeze bent them parallel to the ground like overgrown flowers. The existence of five moons, one of them gravitationally unstable, made the tides on Ardia a little strange. It also stretched the waves upward, making them tall and steep with deep troughs between. Schools of cerulean flying fish hopped out of the water and ran along its surface into the sandbar-sheltered inlets down the shore, and birds like green albatrosses with two sets of wings circled lazily far overhead, occasionally crying out with an obnoxious honk. The light came not from a warm sun but from shifting clouds overhead, so that shadows and brightness were in continual flux. But even for all this, and the cloud-shy monstrosities Heidi had brought with her, it felt a lot like home.

    Elizabeth had taken to surfing naturally, aided by her strange new abilities. They had enjoyed themselves out on the waves. Now, afterward, Heidi and Elizabeth reclined on the sand beneath a magic paper umbrella, drying off and enjoying the sights. The sky was largely free of clouds this afternoon, and the guards Heidi had brought appreciated the dimmer ambience.

    ¡°Heidi,¡± said Elizabeth during a long, comfortable silence. ¡°Do you dance?¡±

    The question caught Heidi off-guard. ¡°Dance?¡±

    ¡°Dance. I just thought, since you have shared your surfing with me¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh. No, I¡­I don¡¯t dance.¡±

    Elizabeth turned to look at Heidi, raised an eyebrow over the rim of her sunglasses. God, she was pretty. Heidi had seen pictures, but Elizabeth in person was something else. And she looked great in a yellow bikini, modest though it was, while Heidi had never dared to go beyond the familiar blue one-piece she was wearing now.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    And it wasn¡¯t just Elizabeth¡¯s feminine beauty that impressed Heidi, but her easy confidence. Heidi didn¡¯t think she would ever have the courage to wear something that exposed a horrible scar, but there was Elizabeth, unconcerned about the strange purple words in an unknown language that had been burned onto her stomach and leg. Heidi had thought at first that they were bizarre tattoos.

    ¡°Does it hurt?¡±

    ¡°A little,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°Yours?¡±

    It took Heidi a second to realize that Elizabeth was referring to the old jellyfish scar on her calf. It was in almost the exact same place as Elizabeth¡¯s. ¡°No,¡± said Heidi. ¡°Not anymore. It did, though. When I got it.¡± It had hurt like hell.

    Elizabeth didn¡¯t ask again about dancing, which both relieved and disappointed Heidi. Because she did want to dance, kind of. At least, she wished she could be graceful like Elizabeth. She wondered what it would be like to be pretty and feminine. She¡¯d never had the chance out on the island, just her and Alan. Alan had not approved of ¡®girly¡¯ things, so neither had Heidi. But she wondered now, meeting Elizabeth, if she had been missing out.

    Heidi was working up the courage to say something about this, keeping firmly in mind that Elizabeth would  not make fun of her for voicing any such thoughts, when Winnow spoke.

    ¡°Being watched,¡± she said from nearby. Winnow had stood so still and silent under her own paper umbrella that Heidi had forgotten about her, which was normal with Winnow. Her ropes had drawn spiraling patterns in the sand all around her.

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t we be watched?¡± asked Elizabeth. She had brought no one besides Callie, who was off somewhere playing with Bahamut. The two seemed to get along. ¡°We¡¯re Heroes. This is a public beach. And your guards are¡­unusual.¡±

    Unusual. Her guards wouldn¡¯t allow her to go to Ardia without protection. She¡¯d asked for volunteers. Many of the guards were hesitant, bound to Orpheus by the mysterious ties that led them there. But her most recent crew had all volunteered: Winnow, Luki, and Splitter. She¡¯d left Ruth behind to take care of things in her absence, and had instead brought someone she knew little about: the quiet and mysterious .37¡ªpronounced ¡°point thirty-seven,¡±¡ªwho may have been a robot, though it was impossible to tell since it never removed its full suit of high-tech armor and spoke with a computerized voice.

    Heidi had tried to prepare Elizabeth for Splitter, but she could tell that her friend had struggled not to scream at the first meeting. Somehow, bright light made Splitter even more horrible than darkness. But when Elizabeth and Splitter had met, they had each recognized at once the purple writing on each other¡¯s bodies. Both had been afflicted with the Chirographic, and that seemed enough to forge a kind of bond between them. They shared a mutual enemy.

    ¡°He suspicious,¡± said Winnow.

    ¡°Describe him,¡± said Heidi.

    Winnow rustled. Her pale, black-eyed face peered out from the tangle of ropes. ¡°Fat. Yellow coat. Cigar.¡±

    ¡°Well, keep an eye on him,¡± said Heidi, not bothering to look. Her guards had been hyperalert since landing, though Ardia by any measure was probably a lot less dangerous than Orpheus. For Heidi a sunlit beach, however strange, called her back to the comfort of home. But for the guards of Orpheus, it was an outlandish new world of potential dangers.

    ¡°You look tired,¡± said Elizabeth. It was a simple observation, but she didn¡¯t bother hiding the concern in her voice. ¡°How are things?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing,¡± said Heidi. ¡°And the Burning God¡¯s been keeping me awake.¡±

    ¡°The Burning God?¡± Elizabeth asked.

    ¡°She can¡¯t do much,¡± said Heidi, ¡°but she can light things on fire if she tries hard enough.¡±

    Concern morphed into anger on Elizabeth¡¯s face. ¡°That bitch,¡± she muttered.

    Heidi shrugged.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask Zayana about that,¡± said Elizabeth.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want their help.¡±

    ¡°He do something,¡± whispered Winnow, her voice urgent.

    Heidi groaned inwardly. Of course she couldn¡¯t just spend a nice afternoon with her friends. Or at least, the one that had come. Of course something was going to go wrong. ¡°What¡¯s he doing?¡± she asked.

    ¡°He change cigars.¡± Winnow sounded so dead-serious about it that for a long moment Heidi wondered if she was missing some obvious significance behind this act. Then she felt Elizabeth shaking with silent laughter on her other side.

    ¡°Is¡­why would that matter, Winnow?¡±

    Winnow thought for a few seconds. Then, in a tone of deep suspicion, ¡°Wasn¡¯t finished with first one.¡±

    Elizabeth burst into a fit of giggles. Heidi grinned and relaxed back onto the soft sand. ¡°Good eye,¡± she said, which was true since Winnow couldn¡¯t see very well in this light. ¡°Let us know if he makes any other sinister moves.¡± Winnow, who didn¡¯t understand sarcasm, nodded.

    Yeah, they were all paranoid. Luki was putting his diving suit to use out there beneath the waves offshore, checking for subaquatic threats. Splitter was somewhere among the inland trees, keeping watch. She didn¡¯t even know where .37 was. Heidi didn¡¯t think any of this necessary, not here on this sleepy, out-of-the-way shore with another Hero and both their angels. But still. It felt good to be protected. It was like being back home, on a different-yet-not-so-different beach, knowing that no matter what, Alan would look out for her. Well, that had turned out to be wrong. In the weirdest way, wrong. Alan couldn¡¯t help her now.

    ¡°Someone else,¡± said Winnow, again stirring Heidi from her rest in the sand. Elizabeth was on her side, pale back turned to Heidi, writing something in a book. ¡°Talk to cigar man.¡±

    ¡°Who is it this time?¡±

    ¡°Short,¡± said Winnow. ¡°Young. Cape. Weapon. Earphones.¡±

    Heidi turned to glance at Elizabeth and found her looking back at her over her shoulder. Together they craned their necks to look up the beach. It took Heidi a moment to find them, but sure enough, it was Eric. He was talking to the fat yellow-coated cigar man, and by god, that man did look suspicious as hell; no wonder Winnow had been keeping an eye on him. Who wore a huge heavy coat like that to a beach on a warm day like this? He seemed to know Eric, because he laughed and clapped Eric on the shoulder. They both looked straight at Heidi and Elizabeth. The fat man waved cheerfully, but Eric just stepped forward, slid down the sandy slope, and ambled toward them across the sparkling pink-swirled sand.

    ¡°Yo,¡± he said as he came up to them.

    ¡°Put them away, Winnow,¡± said Heidi. ¡°This is Eric. Eric, Winnow.¡± Winnow bowed; Eric gave her a thumbs-up.

    ¡°So this is the party,¡± he said. He scanned the beach. ¡°Just you two, huh? And Winnow here, looking like one of those mop dogs.¡± He caught sight of something upshore that made him step back in alarm. ¡°Holy shit. You guys chill; I got this.¡± He unsheathed his weapon, which did not readily fit into any category in Heidi¡¯s mind, as Heidi followed his gaze up the sand.

    It was Splitter, of course. Rolling along the beach on his pale spidery limbs, even Heidi could not pretend that the sight of his approach was not skin-crawling.

    ¡°You put it away too, Eric,¡± she said, and she raised her voice because he¡¯d pulled on the headphones. ¡°He¡¯s a friend.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re shitting me,¡± he said. ¡°I bet Isaac knows the fucking stats for that thing.¡±

    Splitter was fast enough that he was upon them by the time Eric had finished speaking. Eric resisted an obvious urge to step between Splitter and his friends. That in itself made Heidi feel warm inside. But he didn¡¯t put away the weird energy weapon he had now, nor deactivate the flickering red energy surrounding it, until Splitter spoke.

    ¡°Hero of Time,¡± Splitter said, as always jarring in its normalcy, and extra jarring for its faintly German accent. ¡°I saw you in the fight against Lady Chains.¡±

    ¡°Pretty sure I didn¡¯t see you,¡± Eric said. The red light died from his strange weapon. It collapsed back into a surprisingly small size, and he stowed it at his side.

    ¡°My name is Splitter.¡±

    ¡°Mine¡¯s Eric.¡± He turned and sat heavily on the sand just above Heidi and Elizabeth. ¡°I¡¯ll just assume from now on that any horrible monsters around you are on your side. No offense, dude. Hey, Liz.¡± Liz had turned back to her book already, but she gave him a thumbs-up over her shoulder. Another moment, and she snapped the book shut. She sat up on the sand and turned to face Eric, making a triangle of the three of them.

    ¡°Who is he?¡± Elizabeth asked. She nodded up the beach as she swept her long golden hair back over one shoulder.

    ¡°Works for the Lockbreaker. Name¡¯s Oivos. Weird guy. But they all are.¡±

    ¡°The Lockbreaker?¡± asked Heidi.

    ¡°He runs the mafia, basically,¡± said Eric. ¡°Mostly on our side, I think.¡± He twisted to throw a glance at the fat man. The man, Oivos, looked up from his electronic device and raised a cigar in acknowledgment of them. He was definitely watching them and must have been doing so for some time.

    ¡°Anything new on the Hollow Moon?¡± asked Elizabeth.

    Eric shrugged. ¡°Heidi¡¯s guards are crazy. Good guards, though.¡± Winnow and Splitter both seemed pleased at this remark. ¡°Got a bike. My Guardian¡¯s a bitch. So¡¯s my moon. These gods are fuckin obnoxious. The usual.¡± He pulled the red-trimmed headphones back down around his neck. But not the shades. Never the shades. ¡°Hey, you guys look nice. I¡¯m overdressed. This beach is chill. We should get Jim up in here.¡±

    And just like that, Heidi became uncomfortably aware of her bathing suit. It was plain and blue. Of course, when he¡¯d said ¡®you guys,¡¯ he¡¯d meant ¡®Elizabeth.¡¯ Because Elizabeth did look nice. More than nice. Except for those burn scars. Eric must have already known about those, or else he was being unusually thoughtful, because he made no smartass remarks about them to Elizabeth.

    ¡°Care to surf, Eric?¡± Elizabeth gestured out at the waves. ¡°Heidi¡¯s a great teacher.¡± Heidi doubted that. Elizabeth was simply a natural.

    Eric thought about it for a minute. ¡°Nah. And what¡¯s with this umbrella? Is it made of paper?¡±

    ¡°What would you like to do, then?¡± said Elizabeth.

    Eric scratched his chin, where several dozen specks of facial hair had not been shaved. ¡°First, we sit here and chill for a while. Just talk and shit. Then we get some strategy going on.¡±

    ¡°Strategy?¡± Heidi asked.

    ¡°Like, how we¡¯re gonna do it. Win. Get that key, you know. And then we go into town. This guy causes a fuckin riot,¡± he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Splitter, ¡°and we get some stupid weird food that¡¯ll probably fuck us up for a couple days.¡±

    And this is what they did.

    But as they were leaving the beach, while the clouds above brought darkness by their absence as they scurried for the horizons at the distant song of Lady Wings, Fiora again messaged Heidi.

    FI: SEE?

    FI: I am so smart

    FI: I am always right

    FI: (not really!)

    HS: You all just text us because you don¡¯t have anything better to do, don¡¯t you?

    FI: Weeeeeeeelllll

    FI: pretty much yeah

    FI: I got Eric to come though!

    HS: You did?

    FI: yeah!

    FI: it was me :)

    HS: Why?

    FI: I wanted to see what would happen!

    FI: I am so curious about romance for humans

    HS: Oh god.

    FI: hee hee!

    FI: I do not understand you very much

    FI: I can say this though: it will not work out between you and Eric :(

    HS: Who said anything about that?

    FI: it is going to be him and Kaitlyn Carter, I can already see it

    FI: it is SO obvious

    HS: How did I get here, talking to some fake god about teenage romance?

    FI: teenage?

    FI: is that significant?

    FI: do you have different mating rituals depending on age?!

    HS: Goodbye.

    FI: no wait!

    FI: aargh!

    FI: it must be a sensitive topic

    *

    AK: Well if it isn¡¯t the stuttering butterfly girl

    KC: ?

    KC: why are you saying that like we suddenly just met?

    KC: YOU messaged ME

    KC: I¡¯m eating lunch!

    AK: It¡¯s so boring here

    AK: I never liked libraries

    AK: Nothing to fight

    KC: nothing except IGNORANCE! >:)

    AK: nerd

    KC: so I¡¯m your last resort?

    AK: You¡¯re LESS boring

    AK: At least it¡¯s funny to watch you make a fool of yourself

    KC: hey!

    AK: You¡¯re always trying to impress people

    AK: Trying to look like you¡¯re not afraid

    AK: Doesn¡¯t work on me!

    AK: I can smell fear

    AK: And you reek

    AK: What is it, afraid of dying?

    AK: I was flipping back through your book and saw you already died once

    AK: And you¡¯re out of second chances

    AK: Next one¡¯s for real

    KC: Leave me alone, Akkama!

    AK: Hey, you remembered my name!

    AK: Awesome

    AK: We¡¯re friends now ;)

    KC: We are not friends!

    KC: You¡¯re being mean to Heidi!

    AK: Worried about her?

    AK: She¡¯s tough

    AK: You want to know what she thinks about you?

    AK: I can tell that you¡¯re worried about what those ¡°friends¡± of yours think about you

    KC: I am not!

    AK: Yeah you are

    AK: Don¡¯t need to be Derxis to see through that lie ;)

    AK: I mean it¡¯s all written down right here

    AK: And why shouldn¡¯t you be worried?

    AK: You¡¯re not like them

    AK: They¡¯ll never understand you

    AK: Plus you¡¯ll probably get someone killed one of these days

    AK: You are reckless

    AK: Acarnus thinks you¡¯re smart and I¡¯m sure he¡¯s right about that, but I know there¡¯s a huge difference between intelligence and competence

    KC: none of that is true!

    AK: Aww, are you sure?

    AK: You¡¯ve never wondered if you really belong with the rest of them?

    AK: Maybe they just tolerate you

    AK: Maybe you amuse them

    AK: What do you think, butterfly girl?

    KC: I think you¡¯re totally wrong!

    KC: I¡¯m not really a butterfly

    AK: Wow, really?

    AK: ^sarcasm^

    AK: Well I¡¯m not really a snake

    KC: you ARE a snake!

    KC: not that I dislike snakes!

    KC: but I DO dislike you!

    KC: (it¡¯s just that on Earth snakes are a metaphor for untrustworthy people)

    AK: Bahaha!

    KC: have you been saying these kinds of things to Heidi?

    KC: >:(

    AK: Hey, make all the angry faces you want

    AK: And yeah, I have

    AK: And she listens to me

    AK: Because I¡¯m right

    AK: What are you gonna do about it?

    KC: you¡¯re NOT right!

    KC: we are all friends! and we love each other!

    AK: pfft!

    AK: WHAT

    AK: ahahaha I hate Jeronimy¡¯s fucking guts but I should show him this

    AK: Maybe he¡¯d die laughing

    KC: it¡¯s true!

    AK: True?

    AK: Hey, let me fill you in on something that¡¯s true

    AK: Free of charge

    AK: You are going to die

    AK: And everyone you know and ¡®love¡¯ is going to die

    AK: Sooner or later

    AK: Probably sooner

    AK: And there¡¯s nothing you can do about it

    KC: I know that!

    KC: It¡¯s OBVIOUS you weirdo!

    KC: We all know we¡¯re going to die

    AK: Shush! I¡¯m not finished!

    KC: I don¡¯t care!

    KC: I¡¯m not interested in hearing the rest of your stupid speech!

    AK: Well too bad!

    AK: What are you gonna do about it?

    KC: maybe I¡¯ll just block you!

    AK: You could

    AK: I¡¯d still be able to see you though

    AK: I¡¯d be watching you

    AK: All the time

    AK: Or maybe I¡¯d get bored and move back over to the lonely girl

    AK: She doesn¡¯t talk back, but she reads everything I say

    KC: you¡¯re horrible!

    KC: you know what I think? I think that because your race doesn¡¯t biologically reproduce you lack the psychological mechanisms for empathy, and I mean YOU PERSONALLY, Akkama!

    KC: OR you are just being mean!

    AK: I told you, I¡¯m bored

    KC: you¡¯re just being a bully! so leave us all alone unless you have anything nice to say

    AK: Nah

 Chapter 19: The Montage (part 5)

    Chapter 19: The Montage (part 5)

    Out of all the uses Elizabeth had discovered for her odd and finicky ¡®movement¡¯ powers, her favorite was probably her ability to ski uphill. She swept upwards through the powder into the cold bright of day. She cut across snowy meadows without slowing, she banked at high speeds around copses of evergreens and frosted thickets, and she occasionally caught air off of an unexpected jump. Once she even skied right off a sudden cliff. She killed her momentum on the way down so that she touched lightly to the powder forty feet below, but the shock of it still left her heart racing. She paused there at the bottom to collect herself before she continued on¡ªwhich was as simple as instilling herself with forward momentum.

    Elizabeth was still too nervous to try, but she was becoming increasingly sure that nothing was really stopping her from just skiing right up into the air and not coming down.

    Momentum was everywhere; Arcadelt had shown her. Movement was everything. Movement was change, as Deuteronomy had said in the dream. And it was also, as Lord Fair had said, life. She was beginning to understand why the symbol for movement¡ªher symbol¡ªwas a flower.

    In direct contrast to her growing command over Newton¡¯s laws, however, stood her utter inability to make a positive impact on the deteriorating situation of Sisyphus, the Garden Moon. The Five Rings had maintained a delicate balance with King Basileus at the center. Now, as Eric had so eloquently and concisely summarized it after she¡¯d spent ten minutes explaining, it had all gone to shit. And it seemed there was little, if anything, the Hero of Movement could do about it. Oh, everyone wanted her to help. Everyone wanted her opinion, as long as it was the same as theirs. An emissary had spoken to her just an hour earlier, in fact. She had rattled the door on its hinges when leaving the greenhouse afterward.

    Now she cooled off on a jagged chunk of dark granite, one arm around Callie, watching the unending curtain of snow descend over the mountain landscape. The sight never failed to calm her nerves. Her skis, floral patterned, lay in the snow, and after a few minutes Elizabeth joined them. She sat in the powder and marched through a stretching routine, easing the sore muscles of her legs. So much skiing recently.

    Something popped nearby, a sound like the death of a soap bubble grown to massive proportions. A brief cry of alarm followed, then a muffled thud as something landed in the snow nearby. Elizabeth tensed, ready to spring to action, but Callie reassured her by reacting with only a curious look toward the sound.

    ¡°What?¡± said a voice, its source hidden behind a deep snowbank. It was Isaac¡¯s voice, faintly modulated as it came through his spacesuit. ¡°Snow?¡± A white songbird flitted into view. ¡°ARKO, where am I?¡±

    ¡°Over here, Isaac,¡± she said.

    ¡°Elizabeth?¡± After a moment he appeared, fully vested in his black spacesuit with the mirrored visor, floundering through the powder. He looked so awkward and out of his element that Elizabeth chuckled to herself as he approached.

    ¡°How did you get here, Isaac?¡± she asked once he had cleared the snowbank.

    ¡°I¡ªhang on.¡± He removed his helmet with a hiss, then made it vanish. ¡°I teleported! Although I was trying to go to Eric, so¡­¡± He adjusted his glasses, frowning. He looked even paler than usual in this world of white. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he had shadows under his eyes. Maybe he was a bit too pale.

    ¡°Are you ok?¡± she asked.

    ¡°What? Yeah. Yeah, I just¡­man, that took a lot out of me.¡±

    ¡°You came here all the way from the fleet?¡±

    He nodded, then gazed around. ¡°Where are we? Is this that Mountain?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°No. Magic won¡¯t work on the Mountain. You would not be able to teleport there.¡±

    ¡°Woah! Cool.¡± He made a thick woolen hat from mist and pulled it down over his enormous ears.

    It wasn¡¯t really ¡®cool,¡¯ though. No magic, no technology. There was only one way to get to the top of the Mountain: on foot. Or, conceivably, riding an animal¡ªsomething she had never done.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said, rising from the snow. ¡°You haven¡¯t seen my greenhouse yet, have you?¡±

    Isaac petted Callie behind the ears. ¡°Sure!¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll lead the way.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll¡ªwhat? Lead? Where? Why?¡± He said ¡®lead¡¯ like the metal. ¡°Did you mean ¡®led¡¯? But that¡¯s still not right¡­¡± He looked confused, and Elizabeth felt the same way.

    ¡°What?¡± she said. ¡°Lead, Isaac. ¡®Leed.¡¯ I¡¯m  leading the way.¡±

    ¡°Oh,  that lead. Haha, for some reason I thought you meant, like, the element. Probably because I was thinking earlier about the lead shielding in my ship. Like, I haven¡¯t even considered cosmic radiation. Why would I? There¡¯s no sun!¡±

    It took Elizabeth a quiet, snowy minute to understand. Isaac had just confused a spoken homograph. Lead and lead. How? Why?

    ¡°It¡¯s a ways down,¡± she said, shelving the question for the moment. ¡°Can you ski, Isaac?¡±

    He grinned. ¡°Yeah!¡±

    He made skis and they set off down the mountain. Elizabeth hadn¡¯t gone far from home, and the way was not steep. It was a relaxing ride, retracing the ghostly remains of her former tracks, weaving over broad angled fields of crisp fresh-fallen powder. The greenhouse came into sight ahead, a glowing beacon of warmth and light. It made her realize the sky was slowly darkening. Evening was coming on.

    They ended their run in a shallow valley that opened into a long narrow fir-scattered clearing at the foot of the Greenhouse. She could have coasted all the way there, but she stopped to walk the rest of the way with Isaac. They allowed their skis to evaporate before continuing on foot.

    ¡°We¡¯re close now,¡± she said. He could see that perfectly well for himself, but this comment was an experiment. She¡¯d pronounced ¡®close¡¯ wrongly, as in, ¡®to close a book.¡¯ Isaac either did not notice or declined to point it out. She tried again with a more obvious one. ¡°It¡¯s like an icy desert up here sometimes.¡± She pronounced ¡®desert¡¯ as though she meant the act of deserting. Like ¡®dessert.¡¯

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Isaac, looking around. ¡°A desert? I guess. It¡¯s pretty cool, though. Reminds me of home.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± she said. ¡°I feel the same. Sometimes it brings a tear to my eye.¡± She pronounced ¡®tear¡¯ as in the verb. Isaac, being Isaac, was sure to comment on these incorrect pronunciations if he noticed them. But he did not appear to notice.

    ¡°Did you, like, ski  up the hill, by the way?¡± he asked.

    She nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Cool. Heh¡ªcool, right? Ha ha.¡±

    They crunched through the snow for a moment in silence. Elizabeth recalled something she¡¯d wanted to ask.

    ¡°Isaac,¡± she said, ¡°these gods say their race is actually called the daimon.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Do you know what that word means?¡±

    ¡°Um. Does it have anything to do with diamonds?¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s Greek. It means the same thing as daemon, which is the word that became ¡®demon¡¯ in English.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Woah, I wonder if that¡¯s significant?¡±

    ¡°Well, in Latin, ¡®daemon¡¯ didn¡¯t always mean ¡®demon¡¯ the way we think of it now, evil spirits and such. It also meant, just generally, spiritual powers or gods. I think.¡±

    ¡°Oh!¡± he said. ¡°I get it. Because like in the Bible, other ¡®gods¡¯ are actually just demons, or ¡®powers¡¯ they¡¯re sometimes called.¡±

    Elizabeth didn¡¯t know how much the Bible had to do with it, but she agreed. ¡°One could essentially say that ¡®daimon¡¯ is synonymous with ¡®god.¡¯ In a language from Earth.¡±

    He grasped what she was getting at. ¡°You think they¡¯re just a part of the story too?¡±

    ¡°What is ¡®the story?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Well, in the Narrative,¡± said Isaac, ¡°there¡¯s us, and there¡¯s everything else. But there¡¯s also these gods, or daimon, but they¡¯re actually outside right now. They¡¯re not, like,  in here with us. And then there¡¯s the beings that seem to understand, sort of, that this is all just a contrived scenario, like Arcadelt and the Guardians. I mean, this world is  called ¡®The Narrative,¡¯ and everybody knows it!¡±

    ¡°And so?¡±

    ¡°So like everything here is real, but some things are more real than others.¡±

    ¡°Very Orwellian of you.¡±

    ¡°And Black,¡± said Isaac, suddenly serious. ¡°Abraham Black. Like, is he even a human?¡±

    ¡°Why does that matter?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s on Earth right now. Or, like, a version of him. But he¡¯s also here.¡±

    ¡°Do you know where?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I had ARKO check it out,¡± he said. ¡°Turns out Heidi¡¯s already met him. The one here, in our Narrative.¡±

    This was news to Elizabeth. Heidi had said nothing about that. And from Isaac¡¯s tone of voice, he was concerned as well.

    Here they reached the back door to Elizabeth¡¯s greenhouse. They stepped through, greeted by one of the handful of guards Laska had insisted on sending back with Elizabeth. This one, lizard-like, was surprised to see Isaac. The feeling was mutual, and it took some coaxing from Elizabeth to get Isaac to stop staring at the lizard-person and come along into the greenhouse.

    She gave him a brief tour: the biomes, her living quarters, her guest rooms should he be interested in staying. The cable lift, of all things, particularly fascinated him. Why, he wondered, was Detach Cabin an option on the lift system? A valid question.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he said as they peered down through the dark evening to the lights of Kotho far below. ¡°Wanna make a door?¡±

    ¡°I thought your station exploded,¡± she replied.

    ¡°It did, for sure,¡± he said. ¡°But look. My platform is safe.¡± He raised his hands as though holding an invisible basketball. A pale cube appeared there, and he caught it before it fell. ¡°Tada! This is ARKO, by the way.¡± The little cube had a miniature door on the center of one face, a perfect tiny replica of Isaac¡¯s futuristic archway that served as his door atop the Citadel. Charlie, still in a songbird form, hopped down onto Isaac¡¯s sleeve for a closer look. Isaac turned the cube to show her another door: Jimothy¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ve only got Jim¡¯s so far,¡± he said. ¡°Actually, this is why I was going to see Eric.¡±

    ¡°What happens if Jimothy tries to go through his door onto your platform while it is that size?¡± she asked. Isaac¡¯s eyes widened in curiosity. The question had not occurred to him.

    ¡°Let¡¯s find out!¡± he said.

    Soon after, they stood upon the flat, frozen flower that served as her own platform: golden, hexagonal, crusted with frost.

    ¡°Has Kate been pestering you about our band?¡± he asked as they ascended the final stairway. ¡°She keeps pushing me to write music. But like, it¡¯s so hard! And nothing I write is good, anyway.¡±

    ¡°She wants me to sing,¡± said Elizabeth.

    ¡°And you don¡¯t want to.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question. He knew she didn¡¯t want to. They rose up into the snowy night around her platform. Hers had three doors now: her own, Jimothy¡¯s, and Kate¡¯s. ¡°You¡¯re actually a good singer,¡± he added.

    ¡°Skill is a matter of perspective,¡± she replied. ¡°The trouble is that we always compare ourselves to those with greater skill. Better singers, better writers. As it should be.¡±

    Isaac made another hat for himself against the cold. Elizabeth had no need; she¡¯d donned actual, real clothes made of wool, not mist. Warm and soft. ¡°I guess,¡± he said. ¡°But it¡¯s still really hard not to get down on myself. When everything else I see is so much better.¡±

    She understood that entirely.

    ¡°I always ask myself,¡± he continued, ¡°¡®why do I do this?¡¯¡±

    ¡°A fair question,¡± she said as she bent to stroke Callie. ¡°Do you have an answer? Why do you do it?¡±

    He looked up into the snowy dark, glasses partly fogged from his breath; the lenses reflected the lights of the greenhouse. ¡°I mean I guess it¡ªdon¡¯t laugh¡ªbut it¡¯s like, through my silly, useless, insignificant art, I just try to imitate God. He¡¯s the real Creator, right?¡±

    Hmm.

    ¡°What about you?¡± he asked.

    Why did she sing? Why did she write poetry? Why did she keep doing it even though it never ceased to disappoint? But when she heard such beautiful music, and read such beautiful poems¡­what else was she supposed to do? That was her answer: ¡°What else am I supposed to do?¡±

    ¡°Cool,¡± he said. ¡°So are you gonna dance or sing?¡±

    He meant for the door. She hadn¡¯t considered.

    ¡°Also, do you have a piano?¡±

    She did, downstairs. It was an upright, white and wooden, painted with poppies. Isaac transported it onto her flower.

    And still she didn¡¯t know what exactly to do. With Jim, she hadn¡¯t even planned on making a door. And with Kate, it had been easy. But¡­ ¡°What are you going to play?¡± she asked Isaac.

    ¡°Well,¡± he replied, ¡°what are you gonna do? Can you improvise?¡±

    Elizabeth did not want to improvise. She had never liked improvisational singing. She always felt the urge to sing lyrics, and then to rhyme them, but she could not compose a poem so quickly in her head. Nor, however, did she wish to dance for an audience of just Isaac. Kate was her best friend, and Jimothy was¡­well, Jimothy. Isaac was a clown who would feel no compunctions about laughing at her. He wouldn¡¯t mean anything by it, but still, he would laugh.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to write,¡± she said. The words came out of her mouth before she had fully processed them.

    Isaac cocked his head, looking out at the snowy darkness. ¡°Will that work?¡± he wondered.

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Jimothy had painted; she had danced. It obviously didn¡¯t have to be music.

    Isaac shrugged. He turned back to the piano. He played a scale: two octaves, up and down. ¡°So¡­¡±

    ¡°So just play something.¡± Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the platform, vaguely annoyed without understanding exactly why. She removed the magic poetry book from her coat and materialized a pencil to write with.

    Isaac tapped one note a few times, thinking. Then he began to play. It was something simple at first: an arpeggio, major, with an ostinato in the left hand. It was cool and calm like the falling snow. It made her realize that she hadn¡¯t heard him play very much, and that he was better than she¡¯d thought.

    Callie brushed against Elizabeth¡¯s knees as she struggled to think of something to write. She thought that the inspiration would simply come, as it had for her dance with Jimothy or her singing with Kate. But no. Here she was, pencil against blank page, while Isaac hit an off-key note and stumbled with the rhythm. Maybe this simply wasn¡¯t the time. Maybe it would be more difficult with Isaac.

    Or maybe she just had to begin. Wasn¡¯t it always this way? She doubted herself, doubted her skill. And the doubt might be justified, but that was no reason not to try.

    But what to write? There were no words. Callie nuzzled up against her as if to say, just write  something.

    So she wrote the word  snow, with no idea what, if anything, might come after. The soft scrape of the pencil lead across the page agitated the falling snow around the platform. It flurried softly as though disturbed by an unfelt breeze.

    Isaac didn¡¯t appear to notice; his eyes were closed. But his music, by coincidence, became a bit more excited. He began experimenting. Here was a new chord. There was a repetition now of one note, a bassline against all the rest.

    The paper shivered under her cold fingers, wanting to be written on. She took a deep breath, and tried.

    It¡¯s been snowing days and nights ¨C

    A winter without end

    And Isaac there is lost in lights

    But still he is my friend.

    He and I love snow

    And things we do not know

    And we both have far to go

    Before we reach The End.

    She didn¡¯t sign her name or close the book. She frowned critically at what she had written. It was nothing special. She realized that she had used ¡°The Garden of Proserpine¡± as a baseline for the rhythm and rhyme scheme. Isaac being ¡®lost in lights¡¯ was a reference to how he devoted so much time and energy to thinking about things otherworldly and spiritual. But they were similar in loving things they did not know. For Isaac it was God; for Elizabeth it was the mysterious pain of art. Maybe Isaac would have said that those weren¡¯t such different things.

    ¡°Uh¡­so how¡¯s it going?¡± asked Isaac. His music faltered. He was looking at her. The light made his thin face seem almost ghoulishly pale against the dark night. ¡°Should I try something else? Something, uh¡­more classical? Or, like¡­a waltz?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°It was fine.¡± She hadn¡¯t really been listening, but it had been nice, hadn¡¯t it? Yes. Nice. But maybe ¡®nice¡¯ wasn¡¯t good enough. Jimothy¡¯s painting went far beyond ¡®nice.¡¯ So did Kate¡¯s skills as a bassist. Perhaps they had carried her with their talent. Perhaps she and Isaac both lacked the skill to create a door.

    Isaac¡¯s fingers fell from the keys. He scrunched his eyebrows at her. ¡°What? It doesn¡¯t have to be perfect.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± she asked.

    He rolled his eyes. ¡°Come on. ¡®Perfection¡¯ isn¡¯t even a real thing. It¡¯s like Dwayne told me once, God is pleased by sincerity, not quality. And his opinion is the one that matters, right?¡±

    Very helpful. ¡°Do you play for God, Isaac? Isn¡¯t that a lot of pressure? Isn¡¯t he perfect? How could anything you do¡­anything  anyone does¡­¡±

    Isaac spread his hands. ¡°Well, that¡¯s it. We¡¯re so far from perfection, there¡¯s no sense trying. Like, even if my music or my writing isn¡¯t great¡ªwhich it isn¡¯t, I know¡ªbut still¡­like, that¡¯s no reason not to try. If it was, then, like, there¡¯d be no point anyone ever doing anything.¡±

    They had been here before, the two of them. Isaac was not her closest friend, but he shared experiences with her that no one else did: the joy of reading, the trials of writing, the self-doubt and the agony of creation which none of their other friends seemed to feel.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll never be Millay, or Swinburne, or Shelley. Of course not. I know, Isaac. It¡¯s still hard sometimes.¡±

    Isaac nodded enthusiastically and turned back to the keyboard. ¡°Well for me it¡¯s hard, like,  all the time. But¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°I think I can speak for all of us when I say I think it¡¯s okay you¡¯re not Millay or Shinburn. You know, I¡¯m pretty sure I wouldn¡¯t want them here instead of you if I had the choice. I think Elizabeth Eddison¡ªand her poetry¡ªis pretty cool too. Even if neither is perfect.¡±

    A warm sensation grew within Elizabeth upon hearing that. AJ would have said something like that. It didn¡¯t sound much like Isaac, though. ¡°Isaac,¡± she said with a coy inquisitiveness to her tone, ¡°was that piece of encouragement a Dwayne Hartman Special?¡±

    ¡°Eh¡­yeah.¡± He laughed and tapped his thin fingers on the keys. He was itching to keep playing, she could tell. ¡°If you ever hear me say something wise, you can probably make that same assumption. Still true, though.¡±

    She smiled. ¡°Let¡¯s try again.¡±

    Isaac needed no further encouragement. He did go for a waltz this time, one with just a trace of the blues.

    And Elizabeth wrote, thinking of the music and how it made her feel. It was about her home, and her family, and her childhood. And no, it wasn¡¯t perfect. But when she signed her name and closed the book, it burst open in a blizzard of pages.

    Snow and paper swirled away up into the dark, dancing a waltz, pulling Elizabeth up in their wake, a flock of paper birds in the cold winter¡¯s night.

    The stars were dancing too; she felt them even beyond the clouds. They turned like a key in the mechanism of a vast lock, and the lock was made of stars, and when the last tumbler clicked into place, the Bright World blazed in the Empyrean.

    And it turned out that if you went through a door to Isaac¡¯s platform while it was still small, then you became small as well.

    Poetry is not in my words. It never has been, nor ever shall be.

    Poetry is not in my mouth; it graces not my tongue, nor dances flaming from my lips.

    Poetry is in my eyes.

    It is in the stars, and in the skies

    It is in my memories and scars.

    It drinks the thunder, and pours forth song!

    It is the pain of beauty

    The sadness of the skies

    The lostness of the far horizons

    The bitter pain of parting

    And the warmth of hoping to meet again.

    - Elizabeth Eddison

    *

    EW: Hey

    EW: yo

    EW: Hey you should go talk to your dragon

    EW: oh yeah?

    EW: yeah

    EW: whats the code

    EW: the what?

    EW: the secret code that i decided id use if i ever tried to contact my past self

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    EW: when did you decide that?

    EW: I mean when did I decide that

    EW: fuck

    EW: i decided it just now when i realized that some bonehead might try to trip me up only they forgot that i never fucking capitalize anything in text

    EW: dumbass

    EW blocked EW

    Eric¡¯s texts now float glowing in the air in front of him. A bit of ARKO-tech, borrowed from Isaac because it is too much of a pain in the ass to whip his phone out every time someone wants to talk to him. ¡°Never been so fuckin popular,¡± he says, his voice loud inside the helmet. It¡¯s funny that he¡¯s popular because his moon is a deserted wasteland.

    He¡¯s parked by the lakeshore, halfway around his moon, observing a chasm in the earth from the padded seat of his LZR-17, or laserbike, as he¡¯s calling it. Because the roads are clear, he can go halfway around his moon via the great equatorial highway in a single afternoon, leaving the protection of the metronomes in the three capable and amazingly strong hands of Shgthaskhtaskhad or whatever-the-fuck his name is.

    The laserbike goes fast, really fast, but he¡¯s found out that the default safety settings make it almost impossible to wreck even if he¡¯s trying to. It¡¯s almost weird how easy it is to use. Except not really, because he¡¯s obviously supposed to use it. He¡¯s supposed to roll around his big dead moon on a laserbike, just like he¡¯s supposed to go down the ramp in front of him into the bottomless dark chasm, into the empty center of the Hollow Moon.

    The opening is hundreds of yards across. And unlike a lot of the gaping abysses scattered around his moon, which are the result of collapse, this one is here on purpose. Several roads turn into ramps that corkscrew down around the concrete edge of the hole until lost in the darkness below. It is not lost on Eric that this shaft is easily large enough for a dragon the size of Eranex.

    Eric has never been to the heart of his moon. Probably that¡¯s where the fucking dragon¡¯s lair is, down in there among all the skeletal framework that his moon has on the inside instead of actual, like, rock and lava.

    Frisby chirps nervously and bites Eric¡¯s hair from his perch on Eric¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Eric agrees. ¡°Why doesn¡¯t the lake drain down to the center of the moon?¡± The body of water curves around his moon, covering a solid quarter of the total surface, but he calls it a lake because it is fresh water.

    Well, he has to do it. Eventually he has to fucking go down there and check it out. Way down to the center, way deeper than he¡¯s gone before with Jacob. But he¡¯ll need some backup. Jacob? Yeah, he¡¯d be good. And maybe Kate. He wants Kate for this one. He voices these ideas to Frisby. ¡°What you think, Mr. Wiser?¡±

    Frisby wants to know: why Kate?

    Eric opens his mouth, expecting an easy answer, but it isn¡¯t there. He shrugs. ¡°Just seems right. I¡¯ll ask.¡±

    With Frisby on lookout, Eric throws a message to Kate, the words glowing red overlaid onto the pit in front of him.

    EW: yo

    KC: yo

    EW: down for an adventure?

    KC: um

    KC: not now, sorry!

    EW: damn what happened to ¡®adventure awaits¡¯ and all that shit

    KC: just not right now :(

    EW: aight

    EW: busy with something?

    KC: no

    KC: just

    KC: not feeling good

    EW: bummer

    EW: whats wrong?

    KC: I¡¯m just not feeling good

    EW: well yeah you said that

    EW: but like in what way are you not feeling good

    KC: I¡¯m just not!

    EW: what the fuck does that even mean

    EW: like are you sick or did a monster jump you or what

    KC: I¡¯m not sick!

    KC: or injured

    EW: then whats the deal

    EW: get drugged again?

    KC: no!

    KC: I just don¡¯t want to talk about it!

    EW: well damn now you got me curious

    KC: don¡¯t worry about it, Eric

    EW: maybe i can guess

    KC: I said leave me alone!

    EW: you didnt say that

    KC: I¡¯m saying it now!

    EW: okay but like

    EW: how long do you think youll not be feeling good

    KC: what did I just say?!

    EW: but like is it serious

    KC: fine!

    EW: whats fine

    KC: I¡¯m on my period, you asshole!

    EW: well damn

    EW: you could have led with that

    KC: no!

    KC: no I could not have, Eric!

    KC: goodbye

    EW: okay see ya

    EW: guess ill catch you later

    EW: in like a few days or whatever

    EW: wonder how long that shit lasts

    EW: maybe jacob knows

    EW: whoops didnt mean to ramble

    EW: i mean i guess youre just ignoring me now

    EW: like youll read these later

    EW: maybe when youve calmed down or whatever

    EW: yo future kate

    EW: whats up

    EW: man this is sorta like time travel

    EW: thats my jam

    EW: i guess anything put in writing is time travel

    KC: Jesus Christ Eric just shut the fuck up!

    EW: damn

    EW: language

    KC blocked EW

    The text fades from the air, leaving Eric staring at the dark pit. He taps a simple rhythm on the grip of the laserbike with one hand. ¡°You know,¡± he says to Frisby after a long moment of contemplation, ¡°that shit¡¯s the kind of reason I told Liz to warn me when I¡¯m being an asshole.¡± He keeps tapping. ¡°Should probably apologize for that later.¡±

    One of the things the laserbike does with texting is to display a little picture of whoever he¡¯s talking to. He¡¯d set Kate¡¯s picture to be the one taken by the Theians on the first night of her arrival on her moon: muddy, soaked, a total mess, grinning stupidly and clutching her guitar. He clicks off the communications function with a flick of his thumb. Then, with another efficient motion, he sets some melodic techno music playing in his headphones. He leans forward onto the bike and begins easing his way down the broad, spiraling ramp and into the depths of his moon.

    *

    Isaac took Eric to Hyperion on a special mission to Eric and Jim to make a door. Isaac had grown the cube back to size inside one of the ADS Limitation¡¯s hanger bays; with the artificial gravity turned off in the hangar, the cube could drift in the center of the room, held in place by invisible cushions of force, slowly rotating just as it had outside the Void Station.

    Isaac¡¯s cube had three doors: his, Liz¡¯s, and Jim¡¯s.

    ¡°How should we do it?¡± asked Eric. ¡°Just a jam sesh, or what?¡± They jumped up toward the rotating cube, and both of them landed awkwardly as it flipped them and asserted its own soft gravity.

    ¡°I guess,¡± Isaac replied. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the rules are for making a door.¡±

    ¡°Can we do it on Jim¡¯s moon?¡±

    Isaac shrugged. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll find out.¡± They¡¯d landed on the doorless snowflake side of the cube; Kate¡¯s side. Isaac led Eric over the edge onto Jim¡¯s paintbrush-engraved side, where a big dark stone door loomed up out of the pale circuitry.

    ¡°And you said we make stars by doing the door thing?¡±

    ¡°Something like that. The stars are falling, right?¡± They fell regularly now, dropping from the Empyrean down to Ardia, where they burned up in the atmosphere with explosive rainbows of colors. ¡°Well, new stars come from the Bright World.¡±

    ¡°And I guess it likes music? Huh.¡± Eric put a hand on the solid dark rock of Jim¡¯s door. ¡°Gotta get me one of these. How¡¯d you do it with Jim? He doesn¡¯t do music.¡±

    ¡°He painted me playing the piano,¡± said Isaac. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± He heaved open the door, which out of them all was heaviest and hardest to open. But it swung inward, and on the other side lay darkness and colored light.

    ¡°Whoa,¡± said Eric. ¡°Fucking nighttime over there.¡± They stepped through, and Isaac swung the door shut behind him.

    It was the middle of the night on Hyperion, which meant that monsters were about. But here at the top of the lighthouse they stood on stained glass, lit from below by a dazzling brilliance. They had stepped onto Jim¡¯s slice, so it was all green below, but their other colors were only a few steps away. Out in the night, the searchlight-beam of the lighthouse swept in a regular circuit, describing a full circle once every six seconds. Each slice of the stained-glass hexagon at their feet shone brighter as the light turned below. Each of the four doors on Jim¡¯s platform was lit in colors. Isaac thought that his own gleaming silvery arch looked pretty darn cool in the deep purple illumination.

    Eric was already on his way down; Isaac followed. They shielded their eyes as they passed the room with the shining crystals. Down they went, calling Jim¡¯s name. He wasn¡¯t in the art room, nor the floor with his bedroom, nor the guest rooms, nor the kitchen, nor the storage level.

    Only when they neared the ground floor, shouting Jim¡¯s name, did he respond. ¡°Down here!¡± But there was another sound from down there, a spooky muttering, scrabbling sound.

    Isaac led the way down the last flight of stairs along the curved wall. Colored lights dimly illuminated the ground floor. It smelled like paint and playdoh. The walls had been colored white. Jimothy stood at one of the walls, splattered with black, graffitiing something. An array of paints lay at his feet, both liquid paint in buckets and aerosol spray paint. Isaac registered these things in the first moment before the rest of the room caught and held his attention.

    It was filled with shadow monsters.

    His upgraded Void Suit (mk.17.4) now came equipped with a compact laser minigun on his right forearm. He raised it, ready to fire, and suddenly he was down the steps and beside Jimothy, without having moved in-between.

    Eric¡¯s reaction was not as dramatic. ¡°Jim,¡± he said, his voice level, ¡°the fuck is going on here, bro?¡±

    Jimothy grinned at them. ¡°Hey, guys!¡± he said. He gestured at the shuffling crowd of shadow monsters. ¡°I¡¯m teaching them how to paint!¡±

    ¡°How to¡­¡± Eric shook his head and descended the stairs. ¡°Put it down, Isaac.¡±

    Isaac lowered the laser gun. The shadow monsters didn¡¯t seem aggressive. He could hardly discern their shapes in the dim light. Two playdoh golems lurked in the back, perhaps watching, though it was hard to say since they didn¡¯t have faces. Were they bouncers? Did Jim even need bouncers?

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jim, clearly excited about this. ¡°They always mark things up, right? And I realized they were actually graffitiing! But they¡¯re not very good at it. So, I thought, maybe they¡¯d like it if I, you know, gave them some tips.¡±

    ¡°Jim,¡± said Isaac, ¡°they¡¯re the  bad guys.¡±

    Now Jim looked confused. ¡°But,¡± he said, ¡°weren¡¯t you the one that told me that nobody is  really a bad guy?¡±

    ¡°Okay, yeah. But Jim, I was talking about  people , not antagonistic narrative constructs!¡±

    Jim, now more confused than ever, said, ¡°But¡­.what¡¯s the difference?¡±

    ¡°Chill, Isaac,¡± said Eric. He¡¯d taken a few steps toward the crowd of shadow monsters. Except it wasn¡¯t so much a ¡®crowd¡¯ as a ¡®class,¡¯ was it? Isaac suddenly had a vision of Jimothy as a teacher in school, and all these shadow monsters sitting in desks fiddling with their pencils and trying to pay to attention. He laughed.

    The shadow monsters edged back from Eric. But they didn¡¯t attack.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re so bad,¡± Jimothy continued. ¡°They just don¡¯t like bright light. And they actually really like colors. They just¡­they don¡¯t have any!¡± Jimothy spoke this part aghast, as though he had stumbled upon the worst possible tragedy.

    Isaac didn¡¯t know what to think. This didn¡¯t fit with what he knew about the Narrative. The shadow monsters  should be just mindless antagonistic constructs,  right? They even  looked like low-effort stock bad guys. He was pretty sure Jim wasn¡¯t supposed to befriend them.

    ¡°You guys want to help?¡± Jimothy asked. He offered a dripping bucket of blue paint to Isaac.

    ¡°Teach shadow monsters how to graffiti properly?¡± said Eric. ¡°Hell yeah. This is exactly how I like to spend my evenings. Gimme the spray paint.¡±

    Isaac sighed, shrugged, and reached for the bucket of blue.

    *

    Jimothy didn¡¯t think he was a very good teacher, but he did his best. He couldn¡¯t think of how to explain things with words, so he just showed the shadows how to do it. He painted things: trees and mountains and the lake of ink and the city of Chiaroscuro and his lighthouse and Maugrim and the village of the playdoh golems. And himself and his friends. And the shattered window that showed the ten gods; he recreated that in a mural on a wall. Eric and Isaac had fun goofing around and doing their best to paint stuff on the white walls, but the shadows watched Jimothy.

    After a while they got restless because day was approaching, so Jimothy gave them all of his paints and took all the color from the walls to make them white again. Then he and Eric and Isaac sat on the steps up to the next level, and Isaac went and got some popcorn, and they observed as the shadow creatures made a complete mess of the bottom floor. The shadows hooted and screeched, flinging paint and rupturing the aerosol cans, splattering and smearing color all over the floor and walls. Three white angels¡ªdog, hummingbird, miniature dragon¡ªmingled in with the shadows. It looked like a game developed in which the shadows tried to paint the angels. Of course, it didn¡¯t work.

    The shadows were really trying to paint, though. And as Eric observed, they seemed to be having fun.

    But they had to go when day came, and the sky outside lightened to the blank white of dawn, and the black of night retreated across the canvas of the sky like a spreading ink stain in reverse. Jimothy opened the heavy front door from across the room with a passing thought to let the shadows ooze out into the dawn. He didn¡¯t know where they went during the day. He didn¡¯t really know anything about them, except that they seemed to like coloring.

    ¡°Maybe what I should do,¡± he said, yawning, as they all surveyed the mess once the shadows had left, ¡°is leave out a bunch of paint for them, so they can do it themselves at night. Maybe they can help me color my moon!¡±

    The room looked like a tornado had come in and thrown his paints all over everything. The smell of it was almost overwhelming. His shoes stuck to the floor with every step.

    ¡°Hey look,¡± said Eric, ¡°it¡¯s you.¡± He pointed out a roughly humanoid figure that had been marked onto one wall. Its features were unrecognizable, but it had a long green mark at the end of one arm, and at its side was a white blob supported by four uneven white pillars. It was Jimothy with his cane, and Hazel at his side.

    ¡°Aww,¡± said Isaac. ¡°Look at this. Is this the sea of ink?¡± He was standing in front of a huge black smear on one wall. There was a tiny green triangle in the middle of it.

    ¡°Yeah, I think so,¡± said Jim.

    Isaac put a hand to his chin in thought. ¡°Maybe,¡± he said, ¡°what you need to do is color the sea of ink. Then maybe the shadows will help you paint your whole moon!¡±

    ¡°With ink?¡± asked Jim.

    Isaac shrugged. ¡°Is it actually ink?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jim. ¡°It¡¯s just ink. Um. Actual ink.¡±

    ¡°Huh. Hey, the one painting you had earlier, that was the gods, right? The ten guys looking up at the sun or whatever?¡±

    Jimothy nodded. He yawned again and put a hand on the sticky wall, recreating the mural he¡¯d made earlier. It was a faithful recreation of the stained-glass window he¡¯d put back together in the nearby ruins. The mural appeared on the wall, just as it had been before. Eric swore under his breath.

    ¡°So that¡¯s them,¡± said Isaac.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Jim. ¡°That¡¯s what Rasmus said. It¡¯s them.¡±

    ¡°There he is.¡± Isaac pointed at the biggest of the ten figures, the one with tiny chips of yellow highlights around his shoulders and face. The tallest of the others barely came up to his chest.

    ¡°You tired Jim?¡± asked Eric. ¡°Guess so; you¡¯ve been up all night.¡±

    ¡°Your moons all have different day/night cycles,¡± said Isaac. ¡°We¡¯re all on different sleep schedules.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll go to bed now,¡± said Jim. ¡°For a bit.¡±

    ¡°Cool,¡± said Eric. ¡°We¡¯ll just chill.¡±

    ¡°Oh, bro,¡± said Isaac, ¡°Why don¡¯t we go get some crystals for him while he¡¯s sleeping?¡±

    ¡°Sounds good,¡± said Eric. ¡°Just shoot us a message when you¡¯re up, Jim. Then we can make a door or some shit.¡±

    Jimothy nodded. Yawning again, and realizing all at once how tired he was, he wrapped himself in light and carried himself up to the level of his living area. He paused to look at some of his paintings, finished and unfinished, around the room. Three were the best: of Elizabeth, Kate, and Isaac. The paintings that had made the doors.

    He remembered something while washing up in the bathroom. Something he had meant to do ever since talking to Fiora, the green one. The black paint on his arms reminded him.

    JW: Hi

    JR: the fuck you want

    JR: i¡¯m busy

    JW: Oh

    JW: Ok, then maybe we can talk later

    JW: Sorry

    JR: what could you possibly have to say to me you fuckin cut-rate color priest

    JR: i got godly shit to do

    JR: gotta figure out how to end you losers

    JR: maybe everyone else is gonna just fuckin give up

    JR: not me

    JW: Well like I said, if you¡¯re busy maybe we can just talk later

    JR: gods damn it just fucking spit it out

    JR: all you humans are slow as shit

    JR: just fucking witless dipshits honestly

    JR: but you are the worst

    JR: you just talk and talk

    JR: but you never fucking say anything

    JW: Okay

    JW: It¡¯s just that I was talking to the green one earlier

    JW: Fiora

    JR: that fucking halfwit?

    JR: this¡¯ll be good

    JW: um

    JW: Well she said she¡¯s worried about you

    JW: That you might be lonely and stuff

    JW: And I was just thinking

    JW: That wouldn¡¯t be fun

    JW: I mean, I wouldn¡¯t like that if it was me

    JW: So I just thought maybe we could talk

    JW: Are you still there?

    JR: hang on i gotta go kill fiora

    JR: just a sec

    JW: wait!

    JR: why?

    JW: don¡¯t do that!

    JR: yeah it was a fucking joke you moron

    JR: i mean i would have done it months ago if i didn¡¯t mind rasmus turning me into a gods damn stain on the wall afterward

    JR: now listen up you troglodyte

    JR: i don¡¯t care about fiora and i don¡¯t care about you and i especially don¡¯t give a single rotting fucking tash about what either of you think

    JR: i don¡¯t care that fiora¡¯s got this some mental illness or whatever bullshit makes her concerned about people that hate her green fucking guts

    JR: i don¡¯t care that you think you¡¯re some kind of noble hero who¡¯s gonna conquer the Narrative through the power of friendship

    JR: cause that¡¯s all bullshit

    JR: it doesn¡¯t work like that

    JR: pro tip, human: this isn¡¯t that kind of story

    JR: and if you wanna see for yourself you can go ask the fucking bright world how things are gonna go

    JR: not that you¡¯ll be around to see it, right?

    JR: at least you got that going for you, huh? won¡¯t have to watch your friends die cause you¡¯ll be already fucking dead

    JW: that

    JW: It might not

    JR: finish your gods damn sentences

    JR: might not happen?

    JR: who¡¯s gonna stop it, you?

    JR: cause you¡¯re the Big Fucking Hero?

    JR: heh

    JR: just wait

    JR: your art is stupid

    JR: you are stupid

    JR: aren¡¯t even a real color priest

    JR: why am i even talking to you?

    JR: we¡¯ll just see if you can save the whole fucking world, huh?

    JR: i¡¯ll just be up here with my popcorn

    JW: maybe

    JW: we should talk later

    JR: no wait

    JR: i¡¯m getting warmed up now

    JR: i¡¯ve heard the fucking music

    JR: i know what it sounds like

    JR: can¡¯t fight the bright world

    JR: we didn¡¯t even need to try killing you

    JR: not that i¡¯m gonna stop trying

    JR: my favorite part is gonna be watching all your friends cry their dumb little hearts out when you drop dead

    JR: like boo fucking hoo

    JR: who do you think will cry the most?

    JR: guess my money¡¯s on the cat girl

    JR: we should take fucking bets up here

    JR: you can even get in the action, what do you say?

    JW: you¡¯re mean

    JR: holy shit

    JR: i¡¯m so fucking sorry

    JR: wait are you crying now?

    JR: i don¡¯t have your book so i can¡¯t fucking see you but i bet you are

    JR: you are, right?

    JR: that¡¯s terrific

    JR: you guys are so damn fragile

    JW: I¡¯m going to go now

    JR: already?

    JR: well hey, I changed my mind, this has been great

    JR: really cheered me up, just what I needed honestly

    JR: feel free to message me just absolutely fucking anytime

    Hazel growled at Jimothy¡¯s phone as he set it on his bedside table with a shaking hand. Jimothy sniffed. He wiped his eyes. Hazel jumped halfway up into Jimothy¡¯s lap. Jimothy hugged the dog fiercely, hard enough that he might have hurt Hazel if he had been a normal dog.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die, Hazel,¡± he said. The words were hoarse, because his throat was so tight it hurt. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to die. I¡¯m scared.¡±

    His phone buzzed on the wood beside his bed, but he ignored it. He needed to sleep. Everything would be better after sleeping, even though he¡¯d have the weird dreams again, the ones about rolling through endless mist in some huge car with a bunch of people he sort of knew.

    His phone vibrated again. Hazel growled at it, took it in his ivory jaws, and vanished for a moment in a blink of light. The phone was gone. Good boy.

    Hazel cuddled with Jim as he collapsed onto his bed and hauled a single thick sheet over them both.

 Chapter 19: The Montage (part 6)

    Chapter 19: The Montage (part 6)

    Ezekiel Starlight. He didn¡¯t like his name, but he couldn¡¯t change it. It had been written somewhere next to Jordan Dae and Shadrach Therst.

    No, he didn¡¯t care much for names. The Dark Man had it figured out. With no name, who could identify him? Who could understand him?

    Here was a name he disliked in particular: Abraham Black.

    ¡°He¡¯s should be at the Lab by now,¡± he said into a telephone. His voice crossed dimensional boundaries to Jordan.

    ¡°Y¡¯know, it¡¯s funny,¡± said Jordan Dae, ¡°not here yet.¡±

    ¡°Late, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Y¡¯know, yeah. Shoulda been here by now.¡±

    ¡°I got some reinforcements,¡± said Ezekiel. One of them stood next to him, a tall black man wearing orange and grey like all the rest. This man wore a heavy rectangular box strapped to his back. A tall black man wearing orange and grey, like all the rest, stood next to Ezekiel. He had a heavy rectangular box strapped to his back, which was wired up to a rotary dial telephone. Ezekiel spoke through the telephone, resembling a soldier on the battlefield communicating via a portable radio. Except it wasn¡¯t a battlefield. It was the Museum. He could have reclined on a nearby chaise velvet lounge chair within spitting distance of a grand piano polished to mirror shine in the warm light. Ezekiel wasn¡¯t fooled, nor were his newfound armed allies from his original story. They were alert, weapons ready. This was enemy territory. This was the target.

    ¡°Great,¡± said Jordan, though she didn¡¯t sound enthused, ¡°that¡¯s great. How many?¡±

    ¡°About a dozen, I guess. They came through from their side. Is Shadrach there?¡±

    ¡°Y¡¯know, it¡¯s funny,¡± she said. ¡°That Shade character came to talk. Talking with Shad now. Made it here ahead of Black. Wants to make a deal.¡±

    ¡°Then make the deal, I guess.¡± Anything to improve their chances against Black.

    ¡°That¡¯s what Shad said. ¡®We be alone here for long? Nohow.¡¯ That¡¯s what he said.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ll have plenty of company soon, I guess. Just don¡¯t let them get in here. I¡¯ll have my hands full with McFinn. But I¡¯ll try to get back there and help.¡±

    ¡°What about that Dark Man?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s around. Just watching.¡± Ezekiel hadn¡¯t ever seen him do more than watch, and he didn¡¯t want to. He¡¯d been worried about this operation, the reinforcements, intruding into the Museum. But they¡¯d done it from their end, by the book. Ezekiel had broken no rules to help them. He didn¡¯t think so. But who knew all the Museum¡¯s rules? Only the Dark Man.

    ¡°Y¡¯know, it¡¯s funny,¡± said Jordan. ¡°I¡¯m getting excited for this.¡±

    ¡°I guess.¡±

    *

    It¡¯s been over a week since Absolem zapped Eric into the present tense, but who¡¯s counting? The whole concept of ¡®week¡¯ is pretty meaningless when they¡¯re all on their different sleep schedules, anyway. Really, the only way Eric can know for sure is that Ardian time, the standard in the Narrative, is more or less comparable to Earth time, with 24-hour days and all that. It doesn¡¯t have weeks, just like it doesn¡¯t have months or seasons or years because it doesn¡¯t orbit a star like a normal fucking planet, but Eric will take what he can get in the realm of temporal stability.

    And now they¡¯re lying in ambush for these bug monsters somewhere in a stormy desert on Ardia, and Heidi¡¯s telling him about this thing her guards do on the Metal Moon to pass the time.

    ¡°So they make bets on how each other¡¯s gonna die?¡± he asks.

    ¡°Pretty much,¡± she says. ¡°Like this: bet you¡¯ll die by pissing off Kate.¡±

    ¡°Oh, real funny. Yeah, here¡¯s mine: bet you¡¯ll die by fraternizing with a homicidal psychopath named Abraham Black.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not¡­¡± Heidi begins, but then she apparently realizes she can¡¯t really deny that Black is either of those things.

    ¡°He fucking killed Isaac,¡± Eric reminds her.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t him,¡± she says. ¡°Not this one.¡±

    Eric grunts in response. ¡°Where the hell are they, anyway?¡± He picks up his mist-made binoculars and peers out into the desert. It¡¯s barren rust-colored rock, crinkled and folded up into a maze of ridges and gulleys. Somewhere down below lies a hive of generic bug monsters that have been causing problems in this part of the world.

    He and Heidi sit on one of the higher ridges at the front of a battalion of Ardian troops, ready to ambush the shit out of some generic bug monsters once they are lured to the surface. Eric doesn¡¯t know how the monsters are being lured. He doesn¡¯t really understand why they¡¯re doing this, why it¡¯s important. Isaac knows all that shit, all the reasons and backstory. Isaac loves the fucking lore, because he is a nerd. But to Eric it¡¯s just a by-the-numbers side quest. It might be fun, though. And he could always use more practice at manipulating the beat.

    He doesn¡¯t know where exactly everyone else is, except that Kate is keeping away the clouds and Isaac is somewhere up in the atmosphere coordinating everything with ARKO, and Liz is elsewhere with one of the Ladies, and Jim opted out because he¡¯s not really down with killing things, even basic bug baddies, despite being the most powerful of them all.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he says to Heidi, ¡°have you, like, killed anyone yet?¡±

    Heidi is silent for a moment. Her helmet is off, so he¡¯s looking at classic Heidi with the red bandana headband and big brown eyes. Except she¡¯s also got all the badass hi-tech armor. She¡¯s playing with a flat metal stick, rolling it around her fingers. Her surfboard. ¡°Have you?¡± she says.

    Eric doesn¡¯t know, and he tells her so. ¡°There was that cyborg thing.¡±

    ¡°I remember,¡± she says.

    ¡°And there are these, like, machines or whatever in my moon. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re alive.¡±

    Heidi nods.

    ¡°And I¡¯ve killed a few monsters, but I don¡¯t know if those count as people. But I¡¯m just thinking, you know, cause Jim¡­like, what things are okay to kill?¡±

    ¡°Do questions like that actually matter?¡± says Heidi. ¡°You just do what you have to do, whether it¡¯s okay or not. Right?¡±

    She says ¡®right?¡¯ like it¡¯s an actual question, like she doesn¡¯t really know if it¡¯s right. And Eric doesn¡¯t know either. ¡°Sounds right,¡± he says. ¡°Isaac thinks even the ¡®people¡¯ here aren¡¯t real like we are.¡±

    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t seem that way, does it?¡± says Heidi. She looks back at her current selection of friendly monstrosities brought down from the Metal Moon. The comparatively uninteresting troops of Ardia give Heidi¡¯s guards a wide space to themselves.

    Eric thinks about Jacob Hollow and others he has met here: Lords and Ladies, the Lockbreaker, Eranex, Theians, Yvethians. Some of them seem real enough, like people who might actually exist on Earth were they given a human form. Others are caricatures who might as well have labels like BAD GUY or COMIC RELIEF written on their fucking foreheads.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the fucking metric?¡± Eric mutters. He doesn¡¯t want to care about this shit. But he kind of has to, because what if he legit kills someone, someone with a soul, and what if Isaac is right and there is a God and Eric¡¯s going to meet him someday with blood on his hands? And what if that¡¯s what he has to do to get back to Leah?

    Such thoughts, he can see, do not trouble Heidi. She is practical. She does whatever she thinks she needs to, and for her it¡¯s as simple as that.

    He changes the topic. ¡°Jim¡¯s birthday is soon,¡± he says. Jim¡¯s birthday wish hasn¡¯t changed: he wants all six of them to be together. It seems very doable now. In fact, Jim would have pretty much gotten his wish today if he had decided to show up to the bug monster extermination fest.

    Heidi gets weird like she always does when the subject of Jimothy comes up. She shuffles uncomfortably and she obviously wants to say something, but she holds herself back. Eric has discarded the idea that Heidi has a crush on Jimothy. It¡¯s more like she¡¯s fascinated by him, but embarrassed about it.

    She works up her courage and says, ¡°Why does he care so much?¡± she says it like she¡¯s not really expecting an answer. And sure enough, Eric has no answer to give. He just shrugs. But he smiles, too, because he remembers Elizabeth asking a similar question long ago.  Why is Jimothy so¡­kind?

    It is one of life¡¯s great mysteries, but it probably has something to do with the best big brother in the world.

    Finally, it happens. Movement down below. Heidi points it out to him: figures crawling through the folds in the landscape. Even though it¡¯s morning (sort of, technically) it¡¯s pretty dark out and stars crawl overhead because Kate is keeping the clouds away. The bugs don¡¯t like light. She¡¯ll bring the clouds back in once the trap is sprung. But Eric has to admit that the red desert in the weird half-light of clouds on the distant horizons, with a couple moons visible overhead and the occasional star falling and exploding from the dark sky, it all looks pretty fucking cool.

    He calls it in to Isaac. ¡°AMs inbound,¡± he says. He pings the coordinates.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Copy,¡± says Isaac, who tries and fails to sound serious. ¡°Threat level?¡±

    ¡°The fuck is that?¡±

    ¡°Just say something.¡±

    ¡°Fine. AMs inbound, threat level 4, please advise. Is that what you wanted to hear?¡±

    ¡°You should say ¡®over and out¡¯ or something.¡±

    Eric clicks off the headset without replying. Heidi says, ¡°He can¡¯t take anything seriously, can he?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± says Eric. Then, in fairness to Isaac, he adds, ¡°well, some things. Sometimes.¡± He sees doubt in Heidi¡¯s eyes. She¡¯s never been a big fan of Isaac, and Eric can see why. But he feels like he needs to defend his bro, so he says, ¡°when he does take things seriously, he gets shit done. Like, when that happens, you can relax. Just kick up your feet, grab a soda, watch him go.¡± Eric has seen this many times: in school projects, childhood adventures, and more recently in Isaac trying to figure out what the fuck is going on with this Narrative.

    But here, now, Heidi has a point. This bug-hunt sidequest is a game to Isaac, just another part of the story.

    That¡¯s what he¡¯s thinking when he notices that the ground below him is trembling. That¡¯s all the warning any of them get, but it¡¯s enough.

    The monsters cleave up through the rock and hard-packed earth, claws and carapaces rusty with red dust, multifaceted eyes gleaming in the starlight. Each monster is the size of a rhinoceros. They¡¯re bigger than Eric expected.

    Eric, of course, has plenty of time. He has become used to the ticking of the Narrative¡¯s time, the heartbeat which he suspects belongs to the Bright World. He slows it down, heaving himself against its momentum until the bug monsters are barely moving; fountains of dirt freeze in midair as they erupt from below. He puts on his helmet and gets out his weapon.

    His latest weapon no doubt has a much cooler name than what he calls it: sword-on-a-stick. It is great at cutting things, and it is also some kind of laser assault rifle that can shoot out arcs of the blue energy that dances over the blade.

    He cuts up a few of the bugs before he starts to get tired of holding back the metronome. He has enough time to do the most important thing: turn on the music inside his helmet. The music is everything. He can match its beat, and he can use it to stutter the big ticking pendulum, the beating heart of time itself. Or, alternatively, his own personal heartbeat. Or anything else¡¯s.

    The initial assault from the bugs, though it did catch them off-guard, does not last long. The troops of Ardia and the guards of Orpheus make quick work of these low-level stock grunts. But Eric, looking out over the starry desert, can see that there are many more bugs than expected, and some of them are, in a word, big.

    Heidi is down the hill, struggling with a couple of the bugs. Eric steps closer and stands by to watch. It doesn¡¯t take long. Heidi reaches up with one hand and makes a fist. She collapses one bug in on itself like she¡¯s a goddamn sith lord, and she doesn¡¯t need to worry about the other one because suddenly Bahamut is all over it, rapidly and systematically dismembering its shiny carapace.

    ¡°Thanks for the help,¡± Heidi says as she gets up and wipes green goop from the visor of her helmet. She doesn¡¯t have speakers in her helmet like Isaac, so her voice is muffled.

    ¡°Hey, remember what I said about assuming monsters were on your side? That guy looked friendlier than Ruth, c¡¯mon.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you.¡± He can¡¯t see her face, but he thinks she¡¯s smiling.

    Light pours over the desert as cloudbanks sweep back in, rushing over the sky like a flood released. Lightning crashes within the strangely bright thunderstorm. Eric and Heidi can see that someone, somewhere, has fucked up. They, and the troops with them, are supposed to ambush and destroy an unsuspecting horde of bugs. But in the grand scheme of things, it looks like they¡¯re being mostly ignored. Most of the bugs, including the really fucking big ones that no one told Eric about, are several miles off, down in a broad valley of flat rock scattered with boulders.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that where Elizabeth is?¡± asks Heidi, beside him.

    ¡°Guys,¡± says Isaac, ¡°we got a Sizeable Problem. They¡¯re all on Liz for some reason.¡± There is a brief pause, then he continues, ¡°Get over there; I¡¯m gonna get some help.¡±

    ¡°Some help?¡± Eric asks. ¡°What is ¡®some help?¡¯¡± But Isaac only says, ¡°If you die¡­¡± And Eric gives the required reply with a sardonic grin, ¡°¡­die with honor.¡±

    Heidi has already enlarged her metal surfboard. Eric turns and scrambles back up the slope to his fallen laserbike. Up here at the top, troops and guards are surveying the landscape just as Eric and Heidi had a moment before. They aren¡¯t stupid; they can see that their ambush has already failed.

    ¡°Get over there,¡± says Eric. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the obvious mass of bug-monsters teeming toward Elizabeth¡¯s location. For once, he isn¡¯t too self-conscious about the fact that all these badasses take orders from him even though he¡¯s just this stupid fucking kid with no idea what he¡¯s doing. ¡°Clear ¡®em out on the way.¡± Then again, it¡¯s not rocket science here. These badasses came here to kill bug monsters.

    He rights the bike, hops on, thumbs the switch that brings it to life. Frisby perches at the front like always, crouched like some adorable hood ornament up on the headlight. Eric¡¯s helmet interfaces with the advanced computerized systems of the bike, assessing the layout of the surrounding terrain by downloading the scan that ARKO just ran seconds previously from Isaac¡¯s ship up in the sky. It determines the optimal path, highlighting allies and enemies along the way. Heidi is already up and away, surfing through the air.

    Eric peels out and zooms toward Elizabeth¡¯s location. The terrain is rough, but the laserbike has this interesting way of just ignoring that. It can skate along on tracks of light that it lays down as it goes. It can¡¯t fly, but it can glide a bit, and it¡¯s pretty good at jumping. It¡¯s fucking awesome, in other words, and even the terrain of the desert canyonlands poses little challenge. He rides toward the sound of ringing chimes¡ªchimes so deep and loud they shake the earth.

    He arrives at about the same time as Heidi, and not a second too soon, because Isaac¡¯s ¡®Sizeable Problem¡¯ was a fucking understatement.

    There are bugs here¡ªthousands¡ªtheir bodies making small hills as Ardian troops gun them down by the truckload. Cannon fodder for miles. But there are also bugs the size of houses, new varieties with more legs and more claws, and tougher armor that shrugs off the bullets and lasers and strange possibly magical beam weapons of the Ardians. A knot of these behemoths swarms around Lady Chimes, the source of the cacophonous ringing sound. She is small by comparison, but she lays into them with tubes of metal that look like pipes pried from a gigantic organ, and every blow cracks their armored shells with a sickening crunch in time to the chime. But it is clear there are too many. It is clear, from a glance, that everything is fucked.

    Some of the bugs, the really big ones, are covered in ribbons of purple fire, fire that actually looks like words when Eric gets closer. They are doing something near Lady Chimes, and Eric realizes all at once that Liz is there, in among them. She shoots out from between two of the monsters as though launched from a sling. One of the giant insects follows her with a great spring that clears the seething mass of insectile bodies. It is like a double-decker bus chasing Elizabeth through the bright sky at maximum speed. She stops suddenly as though striking an invisible wall. She reaches out a hand behind her, and the giant flaming bug monster also comes to a dead stop, paused in midair just behind her. Elizabeth turns and delivers a spinning downward strike with her heel. The action itself doesn¡¯t look all that impressive, but the bug slams to the ground and shakes the earth with the crush of its impact as though God himself had given it the fucking People¡¯s Elbow. Lightning crashes dramatically overhead.

    Eric is moving now, not sure when exactly he abandoned the bike. More bugs are coming, bigger and bigger ones, and some are just too fucking big, insects the size of whales burning with deep purple words branded onto their gleaming carapaces. Eric gets it now¡ªthey¡¯re after Liz because she has the words too. Heidi¡¯s voice filters into his ears from the comm channel, but he can¡¯t tell what she¡¯s saying because at his current speed it will take her about half a minute from his perspective to say a single word. She¡¯ll have to wait until the heartbeat of time thumps again.

    He runs toward Liz, all the bugs around him moving like they¡¯re stuck in cold molasses. But the beat can¡¯t be stopped, so he leaps up into the air and lets it go again. Everything flicks back into the default tempo, and his slow-momentum launches him up into the air. Heidi speaks: ¡°Have to reatr¡ª¡± He catches the rhythm again on the next beat, like reaching out and easing a swinging pendulum to a halt, and he¡¯s getting pretty damn good at that. And just like that, he¡¯s back in the groove, in-sync with the music thumping inside his helmet. Slowwww - normal - slowwwww - normal. When he¡¯s slow, he¡¯s pretty much untouchable. When time beats back into standard tempo for that split second, he¡¯s vulnerable. He needs to observe, to be careful, to predict how things are moving lest the rhythm put him right in the path of a laser or one of those snapping claws. It is exhilarating and terrifying.

    He severs the legs from a bug monster; he climbs up onto another and gives it a good stabbing. But his blade is small now compared to these beasts, like fighting a rabid dog with a butterknife, and his projectiles are pretty much useless. This isn¡¯t his fight, he realizes. Big guys like this are not his ideal type of foe. The matchup is bad. There¡¯s not much for the percussionist to do in this song except maybe play support. He can¡¯t hurt these fucking things, but he can protect Liz and get her the fuck out of here. He wonders if Jim would be able to clean house here. Maybe. Elizabeth said she¡¯d seen him tear up a giant sea monster like it was nothing. But he must have limits.

    Eric is catching up to Liz, but she¡¯s constantly moving and she¡¯s as fast as he is even with his tempo advantage. She¡¯s gotta keep moving, because otherwise she gets swarmed. Eric tries to think: how the fuck are they getting out of here?

    He¡¯s getting close to Liz, and if he can just get a hold of her then he can take her along for a ride on his little journey through the heartbeat of reality. That is when Isaac reappears overhead, his sleek black ship cutting down through the clouds. His ship has lasers, of course, and those rain down a spray of precision shots like a glowing blue rain that strikes down a swath of bugs to one side, but the lasers are insignificant compared to the other thing dropping from Isaac¡¯s ship. It looks like an enormous person, clad in full armor and holding an absurdly massive sword.

    Holy shit, Eric thinks, is that Lo¡ª

    As the sky is torn asunder by Lord Fierce¡¯s wrath and thunder, so shakes the barren rocky ground on which Lord Fierce¡¯s feet be found. He calls aloud, his voice a sounding clarion cry: no Hero on this day shall die. He strikes the earth; the stone recoils; the bugs that burrow in the soil shrink back to their dark home below, for they have met their fiercest foe. The mighty Lady Chimes he sees, who strives to reach the hero, and decrees Lord Fierce: it shall not be. Says Lord to Lady: your treachery shall not go unmatched by this my blade whose wrath you know. No chime shall mark the grave of she who scarred the bark of my brother tree. Flowers his eyes, now burned in Script, with scrivener and ice for crypt!

    Then does Lord Fierce lay her low, his sword aswing into his foe, and crush her¡ªwing and chime and bone. Nor are the beasts more fit to live who dare emerge beneath this sky, whose scriven words in cursed script doom all who read to never die. And so he strides, his blade adance, a harvester in ripened fields, advancing to cleave the burning dross and so avenge his fairest loss.

    Eric, until this moment, had thought that he¡¯d become used to the way the Lords narrated, even so much that he could interrupt them if he had to. Fuckin nope. Not here. Lord Fierce descended from the bright skies, cut down Lady Chimes, and cleaved a grisly path to Elizabeth directly through the worst of the swarm all before Eric could get a voluntary action in edgewise. Fierce must not have known that Lady Chimes was on their side now. Or else, given that Chimes had sort of caused Lord Fair¡¯s death, he didn¡¯t fucking care. He had swatted her like a bug, and the word ¡°DEAD¡± may as well have appeared in blinking neon lights where she lay crumpled in the impact crater she¡¯d made in the cliffside.

    And speaking of swatting bugs, not one of the titanic burning monstrous insects stood a ghost of a chance against Lord Fierce. He and his sword were a pair; that sword was approximately the size of a fucking surfboard, and Lord Fierce was built like the Incredible Hulk; he would have gotten the net in his eyes by walking under a basketball hoop. His armor was dull and tarnished, like the blade of the sword. The sword tapered to a blunt tip, worn and stained. It didn¡¯t look very sharp. It was a sword for battering and crushing, not stabbing or slicing. Lord Fierce swung it around like it weighed nothing, but it hit like it weighed everything. Nothing slowed it down: not the armor of the giant bugs, not the boulders it clipped into rubble, not even the ground itself when a swing took it down that way. The entire world might as well have been rice paper.

    The bugs soon caught on to this concept and beat a chaotic retreat. Eric let go of the tempo, the beat, the music. He pulled off his helmet, feeling weird and lightheaded, then instantly regretted doing so because the stench of bug guts was overwhelming. And the bug guts were everywhere. Eric stepped through the corpses, still wary of stragglers, toward Elizabeth. He found Lord Fierce kneeling in front of her like he was about to be knighted, though him kneeling didn¡¯t even bring him down to eye level with her, and the thought of her lifting that sword was laughable. But they were quite a scene together, surrounded by dead monsters under a bright and stormy sky.

    Only then did Eric realize, belatedly, that Lord Fierce¡¯s overwhelming narrative presence had jolted him right back into the past tense. But he didn¡¯t want to think about that.

    [end montage]

 Chapter 20

    Chapter 20

    Alan Sheppard

    The sages have a hundred maps to give

    That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,

    They rattle reason out through many a sieve

    That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:

    And all these things are less than dust to me

    Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

    -Chesterton

    No one looked more surprised than Rebecca when, instead of accepting Nicholas Carter¡¯s open arms of embrace, she slapped him across the face hard enough to send him staggering to the damp asphalt. ¡°What the hell, Nick?¡± she demanded. ¡°Leaving us? Dying in a plane crash?¡±

    ¡°Er,¡± he said, dazed. ¡°I can explain. To an extent.¡± He paused. ¡°That means I can¡¯t explain everything. Er. Or, most things. A majority of things, in consideration, ah, fall into that category. Of things I can¡¯t explain. Er¡­¡±

    Rebecca¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Oh god,¡± she whispered. ¡°You¡¯re real.¡±

    Nicholas Carter got to his feet and rubbed the red mark on the side of his face. He adjusted his glasses and the sad, stained rag of a lab coat that hung limply around him. ¡°That is correct. Er. As far as I am aware. But before you slap me agai¡ª¡±

    The second slap came from the other side; a backhand. Alan winced. That one stung. By this time, the whole circus had piled out of the ALL-Rover. They gathered in a cluster to watch this peculiar reunion in the fog.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Nicholas Carter, peering at them. He smiled, and it was a smile of relief. ¡°Good,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re all here.¡±

    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± Rebecca whispered. ¡°God, you look 20 years older.¡± She was right. Alan had seen Mr. Carter in pictures, and there had been no creases of age on his thin face, nor graying streaks in his hair.

    ¡°Twenty?¡± Nicholas adjusted his glasses in confusion and scratched at his greasy hair. ¡°It, er, it should be ten. Could you, eh, introduce me? I am¡ªoh!¡±

    Rebecca stepped forward and hugged him. Nicholas flailed for a moment before awkwardly hugging her in return. Rebecca spoke in a low voice, so that only her brother and Alan nearby could hear. ¡°The hell do you mean ¡®it should be ten¡¯?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been, er, ten years. Since I¡¯ve seen you, that is.¡±

    She stepped back, and already she looked annoyed enough to slap him again. ¡°Nick, you disappeared four years ago.¡±

    ¡°Er. Yes. Well¡­oh!¡± He looked past her at Alan and the rest. ¡°Hello,¡± he said, nervously adjusting his glasses. ¡°I am, eh, Nicholas Carter. Er. I know who you all are.¡±

    Alan, Dwayne, Michael, AJ, Leah, Amelia, and Elmer all looked back at Nicholas with some degree of silent expectation. They all knew who he was, too. They also all knew that he was supposed to be dead.

    ¡°Eh. Yes. An explanation. As promised. Well¡­you know, Becky, I put a great deal of consideration into this meeting. Er. How it would go. What I would say. But, eh, now I¡¯m here¡­oh.¡± He became distracted by their surroundings, which changed again. The fog nearby coalesced into a sunny green landscape of rolling hills, in which brightly colored numbers the size of elephants frolicked about. It was interesting, but nothing too unusual. Alan had seen Leah drawing this in crayon earlier, so it came as little surprise. Only Elmer got excited over this temporary new view, exclaiming something about the orange sky. It began to collapse back into grey nothingness.

    ¡°Nick,¡± said Rebecca. She snapped her fingers, drawing his attention. ¡°Focus.¡±

    ¡°Oh! Of course. Right. It¡¯s only¡­the genesis mist. Remarkable. Creativity, given form. Never ceases to amaze.¡±

    Alan wasn¡¯t sure he agreed with that. The ¡®genesis mist¡¯ had ceased to amaze him some time ago.

    Nicholas Carter took a deep breath, then puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. ¡°You see, Rebecca,¡± he said. ¡°Your brother did die in the plane accident. Though it was not an accident.¡±

    Silence.

    He continued. ¡°I am not that man. I intended to get in touch with him, but¡­Ah. ¡®Intended¡¯ means that it was something I had planned on doing.¡±

    Rebecca put a hand to her head, an act Alan already recognized as her unique brand of dangerous confusion. ¡°I know what it means, Nick,¡± she said. It was a placeholder sentence, spoken because she was thinking of what she really wanted to say. It had the worn-out sound of something she had said to him a thousand times.

    ¡°I am from a previous time, Rebecca,¡± Nicholas continued. ¡°Er. The same time, but not the same iteration. It is difficult to explain. Ah, ¡®iteration¡¯ means¡ª¡±

    ¡°Are you telling me,¡± Rebecca interrupted, ¡°that there are¡ªor were¡ªtwo of you, Nick?¡± Her voice had a dangerous edge to it, which did not go unnoticed by Mr. Carter.

    ¡°Er. Yes. For a few years. We were the same, of course, except that I was ten years his senior. He didn¡¯t know about me. Er. Though I planned on collaborating. I never¡­got the chance.¡±

    ¡°And he died,¡± said Rebecca, ¡°and you¡­¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t contact you, Rebecca,¡± said Nicholas, a tone of pleading in his voice. ¡°It would have put you and Kaitlyn in danger. I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do you think we gave a damn about danger?¡± Rebecca didn¡¯t shout. It was worse than that¡ªa low, fierce whisper.

    ¡°I wanted to, Rebecca.¡± Nicholas had tears in his eyes now. ¡°I missed Kaitlyn.¡±

    A new voice spoke, low and rough. ¡°Let¡¯s get in out of this fog.¡± It was Dwayne Hartman. Both of the Carters started as though remembering they weren¡¯t alone.

    ¡°Wild,¡± added AJ, speaking suddenly. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­make us some¡­tea.¡± She glanced at both Dwayne and Rebecca as though wondering whether tea alone would suffice.

    Leah¡¯s numerical landscape closed in with fog, and they all proceeded inside. Minutes later, with hot drinks, Nicholas Carter resumed his explanation. He did so nervously, for Rebecca was watching him, unreadable. She had not spoken since entering the ALL-Rover.

    ¡°So you¡¯re Christmas,¡± said Alan once they¡¯d settled in the main cabin of the vehicle, which now seemed more cramped than ever.

    Nicholas nodded. A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ¡°St. Nick.¡± Michael chuckled. ¡°It was, er, Isaac¡¯s idea,¡± said Nicholas. ¡°The name.¡± He paused. ¡°Because Saint Nicholas is a common moniker of Santa Claus. Who is related to Christmas. Therefore, er¡­¡± He trailed off, took a long sip of his tea.

    ¡°So you¡¯ve been involved with October Industries,¡± said Alan. ¡°You¡¯ve been on the inside.¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Not just involved,¡± said Nicholas. ¡°I, er, founded October Industries. This iteration of it, that is. I¡¯m the one they know as Nikola Raschez.¡±

    Alan almost spat out his coffee. ¡°Raschez?  You?¡±

    Nicholas nodded. He gestured at the lab coat, as if that provided some further explanation. He hadn¡¯t taken it off after coming inside, though it clung to him with damp.

    His revelation that he founded October Industries had caused a stir. Every person in the room except Dwayne had run into October Industries, and October Industries had always been the enemy. They had killed Kaitlyn Carter. Rebecca had her thermos in a white-knuckled death grip.

    ¡°I intended it to help them,¡± said Nicholas. ¡°Er. The six, that is. Oh.¡± He suddenly noticed Leah¡¯s drawing on the table with the numbers roaming about on green hills. Alan took a cue from Rebecca and snapped his fingers to get Nicholas¡¯ attention back on track. ¡°Er. Yes. But after the Breach incident, well, those three took over, I¡¯m afraid. Ah. The ¡®Breach¡¯ is that incident from a few months back which caused the resonance and, er, brought you two in. As well as, er, Black.¡±

    When he said ¡®you two¡¯, he looked at Elmer and Amelia. Amelia tilted her head quizzically in response. Elmer beamed gormlessly over his steaming mug.

    An itemized list of questions filed through Alan¡¯s mind. Since Rebecca remained stubbornly silent, Alan decided to just start through them. He spoke his thoughts out loud. ¡°So you were in charge of October Industries, but there was a coup.¡± Nicholas nodded in confirmation. ¡°Who are ¡®those three?¡¯¡±

    ¡°Ezekiel, Jordan, Shadrach.¡± Alan vaguely recalled hearing or seeing those names from his time with October Industries, though he knew little about them. ¡°Er. They aren¡¯t from this world.¡± Nicholas said this casually, as an afterthought. He sipped his tea, unaware he had said anything unusual.

    Amelia spoke up. ¡°Back to this, ¡®Breach,¡¯ Mr. Carter¡­¡±

    ¡°Nick, please.¡±

    ¡°Nick. Do you mean that you are responsible for bringing Elmer and I here? For losing our memories?¡± Her tone indicated that this crime would not go unpunished.

    ¡°Now, now, Amelia!¡± said Elmer. ¡°It hasn¡¯t been  all bad! Remember those fish. Koi! And goodness me, the variety of tea they have here¡­¡±

    ¡°The, er, memory loss was unintended. But the process was untested. Yes, right. I meant to bring you two, and Jacob Hollow, and Mr. Shade here to Earth. To help the six. Because you all appear human, you see. Couldn¡¯t have brought that Ruth¡ªha! Er. And it worked, except for the memory loss. Still, we could have managed. But those three did something, ah, unanticipated, by also importing¡­er. Someone else.¡±

    Michael and Dwayne and Amelia all spoke together, saying some variation of ¡°Black¡± or ¡°Abraham Black.¡±

    Nicholas nodded sadly. Then his brows scrunched up in confusion. ¡°But not just  any Abraham Black. Er. Not even the one from your Narrative,¡± he gestured at Amelia and Elmer. ¡°From¡­somewhere else. And he, well, he ruined everything. For me, and for those three. He destroyed the facility, er, as you are well aware, Mr. Sheppard, and allowed the others, including you two, to scatter before I could explain anything. Er.¡± He sighed. ¡°And then it all went wrong. Er. That was where my control of events, ah, slipped.¡±

    ¡°Your control?¡± asked Alan.

    Nicholas adjusted his glasses. ¡°It¡¯s why I came back. To the, eh, to the past. To make sure¡­things worked out. And despite Black, and the, er, takeover by those dratted three¡­it has in fact worked out rather well.¡±

    No one present found this to be an accurate assessment, and most of them voiced this opinion at once. Kaitlyn and Isaac murdered, the world ended (maybe?), Jimothy and Elizabeth comatose, etc.

    Nicholas raised his thin, pale hands for silence, and received it after a moment. ¡°It has been, er, not ideal, I admit. But the important thing is, they all made it.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Alan demanded. ¡°Who made it where, Mr. Carter?¡±

    ¡°Well, the six, of course. Er. That is, Eric, Heidi, Kaitlyn, Isaac, Elizabeth, Jimothy. Er. They are in their Narrative. All six, which is a good start.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± said Rebecca, speaking for the first time, ¡°Kaitlyn is¡­alive?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely,¡± said Nicholas. ¡°Er. As far as I know. I can¡¯t see for myself until we enter the Museum, but from Riley¡¯s last observation it seems they are at least alive.¡±

    ¡°Riley¡­¡± Rebecca clearly had no idea how Riley came into it, but she accepted this. ¡°Of course, damn him.¡±

    ¡°It is unfortunate,¡± said Nicholas, ¡°that, er, Kaitlyn and Isaac¡¯s native bodies perished.¡± His face twisted with pain at the consideration of Kaitlyn¡¯s death. ¡°But you have Jimothy and Elizabeth here, correct? Ah. Good. And Riley has found Eric and Heidi. So you see, we have four, right as rain. Ah, ¡®right as rain¡¯ is an expression which means that they are functioning properly.¡±

    ¡°I know that one!¡± Elmer whispered to Amelia.

    Nicholas set down his tea, careful to avoid Leah¡¯s crayon drawing. ¡°Shall we wake them up?¡±

    They stared at him.

    ¡°Verily,¡± said AJ after a moment.

    ¡°Excellent. Er. Mr. Whyte, do you have the device?¡±

    ¡°The¡­? Oh!¡± Michael handed AJ his mug and moved to dig through the storage box in which they¡¯d stashed the things from his car. Alan knew exactly what it was: a stack of six silvery discs, which Michael jokingly called the ¡®death pancakes.¡¯ Maybe, after all these months, Alan was about to learn what exactly it was for.

    Michael found it after only a moment. He handed it reverently to Nicholas. ¡°Good, good,¡± said Nicholas as he examined the discs. ¡°Unharmed. Er. Unopened. Should be¡­ah! These two.¡± He twisted the discs and slid them apart by means of hidden catches. The back of each disc had a smooth, flat surface. Nicholas selected one of the discs. He placed both his thumbs on the surface, which glowed briefly with blue scan lines. Nicholas held his eye close, staring into the disc. Then it fell apart with a  snick to reveal something within that looked like a palm-sized ceramic hexagon, white as snow, nestled in a protective foam cushion.

    Amelia and Elmer murmured together as Nicholas repeated this process with another disk. It seemed to trigger a memory, for Elmer procured that battered notebook and proceeded to scrawl something in it.

    ¡°What are those?¡± asked Michael when Nicholas stood up, a small white hexagon in each hand.

    ¡°Er. They belonged to Jimothy and Elizabeth. From the previous, eh, iteration. Defunct, as you see.¡± He held them so that everyone could see. Each had six little black symbols. ¡°Defunct is a word meaning, eh, that they no longer work. Come.¡± He rose and proceeded to the back of the ALL-Rover. ¡°Clara,¡± he said on the way, ¡°have you, eh, alerted Riley? That I have made contact?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she said.

    ¡°Tell him I¡¯m waking them up, as well.¡±

    ¡°Understood. Query: will I meet ARKO soon?¡±

    ¡°Maybe, maybe.¡± Nicholas came to a halt in front of the door to Jimothy and Elizabeth¡¯s room. ¡°Er. I have not done this before. Oh! There you are! I was wondering.¡± He said this in response to the blue rubber ball, the one that bounced autonomously. It bounded out of the bunk room and made several circuits around Nicholas, careening off the walls and floor with hollow rubbery whacking sounds. It seemed excited, if a racquetball¡¯s movement could be described that way.

    ¡°Do you know what that is?¡± asked Michael, curious.

    ¡°It is, er, a souvenir,¡± said Nicholas. ¡°It¡¯s been a great help. Haven¡¯t you?¡± The ball danced around his feet, then hopped up and balanced perfectly atop Nicholas¡¯s head. ¡°Now,¡± he said again, ignoring the ball. ¡°Come along, Michael. Amber Jane.¡±

    There wasn¡¯t enough room in the tiny bunkroom for everyone, so the rest of them waited outside while Nicholas did whatever he had gone in there to do.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think,¡± said Rebecca, next to Alan.

    Alan had no reply. Everyone seemed mainly puzzled by the revelations Nicholas Carter had casually unloaded onto them. ¡°Does he always talk like that?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± said Rebecca. ¡°He¡¯s in his own world all the time. So easily distracted. So out of touch.¡± She said it with affection. ¡°I don¡¯t regret slapping him, though.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know all the details,¡± said Alan, ¡°But if he really was Raschez, then he¡¯s right that contacting you could¡¯ve put you and Kaitlyn at risk from those three.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± said Rebecca, now grim. ¡°He still has a lot of explaining to do.¡±

    But the explaining would have to wait until after the reunions, because from the sounds of excitement within the bunkroom, Jimothy and Elizabeth had woken up.

 Chapter 21

    Chapter 21

    Kaitlyn Carter

    The light in Absolem¡¯s chamber was silent, but it was hard to ignore. If Kate closed her eyes against the brightness of the cavern and the rainbows slithering through crystals, then shapes and stars danced behind her eyelids, patterns weaving and folding into each other. The light was like the Museum; it reacted to her music. Absolem liked her playing here, dropping lazy chains of notes into the cold, still air of his chamber. She could feel him stirring in his glassy chrysalis as she leaned against it. It gave her an idea. Maybe music was what he needed to metamorphose. Maybe his metamorphosis was a metaphor! Hehe. But also, maybe just her playing wasn¡¯t enough. Maybe they all had to be together, playing together, to do it.

    ¡­together¡­

    She opened her eyes to look at the others. Talk about  together! Shlushluth and Thlytri stood across the room, leaning against each other (though really it was Thlytri leaning against Shlushluth since he was so much bigger), whispering. Shlushluth¡¯s big feathery white antennae twitched down to make brief contact with Thlytri¡¯s thin blue ones. Kate wondered what that meant, what it felt like.

    Polyom, perched nearby on the crystal floor with a scroll unrolled in front of her, made a noise of amusement. ¡°Youth,¡± she said to Kate, as though Kate would know exactly what she was talking about.

    ¡°W-what about it?¡± Kate asked.

    Polyom moved her head in a way that made Kate think her attention had shifted to the lovers over there, but it was so hard to tell with those multifaceted eyes. ¡°Love comes easily to the young.¡± Her high, fluted voice sounded amused, though spoke softly so Thlytri and Shlushluth wouldn¡¯t hear.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Kate. ¡°R-really?¡±  Kate herself was young, after all! And it didn¡¯t seem like love was coming very easily to  her. At least, well, not in the way it should.

    ¡°It takes effort, these days,¡± said Polyom, ¡°for Mormo and I to be in love.¡±

    ¡°B-but you¡¯re so c-c-cute together!¡±

    Polyom laughed; her thin body quivered and her twilight-stained wings flapped a few times, making a gust of wind that blew Kate¡¯s hair around her face. ¡°You are cute, Kaitlyn Carter,¡± she said. ¡°Even without wings.¡±

    ¡­wings¡­

    ¡°Soon, Absolem! I p-promise!¡± She bopped her head gently against the cold crystal of his chrysalis, then replied to Polyom. ¡°B-but I have no one t-to be c-cute with!¡±

    Polyom carefully rolled the scroll up and stowed it in a case strapped to her thorax. ¡°What about Eric Walker?¡±

    Kate¡¯s playing faltered as her fingers suddenly forgot how to move on their own. She had been afraid of Polyom saying that. Because now she felt uncomfortably warm and confused. ¡°Um,¡± she said, ¡°n-no!¡± She was immediately embarrassed at how defensive she sounded, and she realized she had said it rather loudly when Thlytri and Shlushluth across the room looked at her with curiosity.

    But it was just that Eric was cool and all, and clever and brave and other good things, but he also made her so mad! And he was with Liz anyway, maybe, kind-of, so it was a definitive  no go¡ªnot that she wanted to  go anyway¡ªor anywhere, even, with him, except maybe to the morgue so she could kill him without inconveniencing anyone whenever he was being an insensitive jerk!  And  he wasn¡¯t a vegetarian, even though she could respect that. But also she had noticed that her heart beat a little faster when she touched him, which admittedly might have had something to do with his time/heartbeat powers, and she had even caught herself thinking about asking Liz how to be prettier, which was not at all something she had ever been interested in before. And of course she couldn¡¯t ask  Liz that! Even though Liz would definitely have some  pro tips.

    And anyway, thinking  rationally, which is what she did best, it was obvious that any  purely hypothetical attraction between any of them was simply due to their proximity and mutual engagement in a strange, new, wonderful but dangerous environment. Everybody knew that people bond when they experience danger together! And hormonal adolescents such as themselves could easily confuse such a thing with romantic affection! And that was all there was to it!

    Now to explain all this to Polyom.

    ¡°¡­Ms. Carter?¡± asked Polyom, concerned.

    ¡°¡®Ms. C-carter¡¯ is m-my aunt!¡± Kate declared. ¡°I¡¯m just K-kate, remember?¡±

    Her phone buzzed. She checked it cautiously. Because wouldn¡¯t it be just the perfect coincidence if he¡­

    FI: this looks like a job for me!

    ¡°Sh-sh-shut up, Fiora!¡± She shouted it up at the skies, desecrating the lovely stillness of Absolem¡¯s chamber. ¡°And d-don¡¯t you d-da-d-dare t-talk to the others about this! Sorry, Polyom.¡± Polyom flapped one wing at Kate, which meant  no worries.

    FI: oh, this is interesting

    FI: when you blush it¡¯s red!

    FI: even though your skin is white

    KC: some humans have brown skin

    FI: like Heidi Sheppard?

    KC: even darker

    KC: almost black sometimes

    FI: is their blood still red?

    KC: yeah

    FI: you are all SO WEIRD

    RO: Leave her be, Fiora.

    KC: are you two always together?

    FI: yeah!

    RO: No.

    FI: Rosma loves me! She does!

    RO: I tolerate you.

    FI: but you do not tolerate anyone else

    FI: so it is the same thing!

    KC: aww!

    RO: Leave us. I have a question for the human.

    FI: she has a naaaame, Rosma!

    RO: I care not.

    KC: what is your question?

    RO: A moment, human.

    RO: There. We are alone.

    KC: I¡¯m not alone!

    RO: My question: how didst thou manage to contact Zayana in the Museum?

    RO: At the first.

    KC: her number was just in my phone

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    KC: why?

    RO: I saw another human here. Now, having observed thee and thy kin, I know this one to be different. Know ye of any others of your kind adrift in this place?

    KC: uh

    KC: was it the Dark Man?

    RO: Nay, not he.

    KC: what did it look like?

    KC: man or woman?

    RO: I...am not sure.

    KC: what was it wearing?

    RO: Dark clothes. A cape. Copper hair. A staff, tipped with arda.

    KC: ARE YOU SERIOUS?!

    KC: what the hell is uncle Riley doing in the Museum!?!?!?

    KC: 8o

    RO: Thou knowest this one?

    KC: no, this is a good thing!

    KC: I mean yes, I know him!

    RO: Is this human dangerous?

    KC: goodness, yes!

    KC: but he¡¯s on our side!

    KC: I mean, us humans

    KC: and he probably knows everything that¡¯s going on!

    KC: he¡¯s really really smart!

    RO: I see.

    RO: I shall consult Acarnus on this matter.

    RO: Meanwhile...you humans can be white or brown in coloration?

    KC: yeah, but it¡¯s not really a big deal for us

    KC: I mean, it IS, for some people, but not for any good reasons like you guys have

    RO: White and brown are the colors we now lack.

    KC: lack?

    KC: oh, do you mean the two that aren¡¯t with you any more?

    RO: Aye.

    RO: The white is by far the greater loss.

    RO: She was true.

    ¡­true¡­

    KC: !!!

    KC: Absolem! What are you doing in our chat?!

    ¡­lost¡­

    RO: Aye. She is lost to us.

    KC: how did she die?

    RO: She lives.

    RO: Alone on a dying world. Hopeless, trapped in a doomed Narrative.

    RO: We can see her, as we can see thee. But we cannot speak. She is truly alone.

    RO: She will die soon. It will be a relief, for her and for us.

    KC: that¡¯s horrible

    RO: Reality is horrible.

    KC: at least you can keep track of her

    RO: Few of us read her book any longer.

    RO: But I do.

    RO: No guilt is mine in this matter.

    RO: And I fear not to witness her suffering.

    RO: It is all that I can do for her.

    KC: there must be some way to get her, though, right?

    RO: We had one idea.

    KC: what was it!?

    RO: To open a white door.

    KC: oh...

    KC: I see

    KC: and...are you still trying that?

    RO: Akkama is. And Jeronimy. No force compels more greatly than guilt.

    RO: As for myself, I never believed Anthea could be retrieved, by any means.

    RO: Her future is lost, surrendered by her own choice to such a wretch as Jeronimy. Foolishness. An inexcusable waste.

    RO: We must look to our own future, for it seems no less grim.

    KC: I¡¯m really sorry about your friend

    KC: I really am

    KC: that¡¯s so sad

    RO: She was not my friend.

    RO: She was my leader.

    RO: She was one whom I would follow.

    RO: None like her remain.

    KC: I wish I could help her

    RO: Help thyself.

    RO: Do as thou must.

    RO: I shall do no less.

    RO: All else is foolishness.

    KC: that¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, Rosma!

    KC: there¡¯s always a way to a happy ending!

    KC: we can find it together

    KC: watch this:

    KC: I PROMISE I¡¯ll help you!

    KC: OK?!

    ¡­hope¡­

    KC: you said it, Absolem!

    ¡­dream¡­

    KC: yeah!

    KC: we can help each other, Rosma

    KC: we have to!

    KC: are you still there?

    KC: well even if you¡¯re ignoring me now, there¡¯s one more thing

    KC: if you see Riley again, can you please tell him where we are, or give him my book or something?

    KC: he won¡¯t fight unless he feels threatened

    KC: so, like, you really don¡¯t want to threaten him, okay?

 Chapter 22

    Chapter 22

    Elizabeth Eddison

    She saw the swinging of Lord Fierce¡¯s blade, the greatest weapon in the Narrative, and it was like the swinging of the planets around the sun¡ªnot to be stopped, not to slowed. She had understood as soon as she had seen it: infinite momentum, an impossibility. The pinnacle, perhaps, of her own powers. Nothing¡ªno other weapon, no creature or barrier or force in all the universe of the Narrative and perhaps beyond¡ªcould halt the swing of that sword. Save, perhaps, a singular white door. And save, perhaps, Elizabeth herself.

    It swung in her dreams, back and forth, all of reality and every solid object therein obstructing it as much as air. In her dreams: back and forth. Movement. Momentum. Inertia. Change = movement + time. A bud blossoming in the snow. A flower bright, among the ice, on a cold and starry night. A top that would not spin, because perpetual motion (perpetual change) is impossible¡ªas impossible as Lord Fierce¡¯s blade.

    She woke up shivering, though she was warm. From one dream into another. It must have been so, for she saw above her the blurry face of Amber Jane Eddison.

    Elizabeth was bleary and groggy upon awakening in the cramped bunk bed. Her head was full of cotton and bewilderment. Where? Why? What? The questions didn¡¯t seem to matter as much when AJ was holding her tight.

    Elizabeth pieced it together over the next hour, though it seemed that the hour flowed past while she watched from afar. She put on her glasses, and she stretched and stretched because her entire body felt stiff as a board. Facts came to her one by one: she was ravenous. Her leg and stomach didn¡¯t hurt from words of purple fire. She was with Jim and AJ and Mike, who were all happy to see her. She understood, more from AJ¡¯s tone of voice than from anything her sister actually said, that she had been asleep here for a long time, and AJ had been beside herself with worry.

    When Elizabeth staggered out into a larger room in search of food, supported by AJ, she saw an array of new and old acquaintances. Elmer and Amelia, same as always. Leah, adorable. Rebecca Carter with one man she didn¡¯t recognize and another who could only have been Alan Sheppard. Finally Dwayne Hartman, a bearded bear of a man who sat beside Leah and showed her something in a book. Music. He was teaching her the notes on a staff using a hymnal.

    They welcomed her warmly, none more so than Elmer. She learned that she¡¯d been asleep for days. Which was odd, since she was quite sure it had been a couple of weeks since she¡¯d seen any of these people. And Jim was there with her, equally perplexed.

    ¡°What were you doing?¡± AJ asked as soon as her sister had freshened up in the cramped bathroom and sat down in front of some food. ¡°Lizzy? On the¡­uh, the other side. Nick says it¡¯s important. Where were you just before you woke up here?¡±

    What had she been doing? Elizabeth tried to remember. ¡°In¡­my greenhouse?¡± The man she didn¡¯t know, who must be Nick, leaned back in relief on hearing this. Jim also gave an adequate answer, something about being with Isaac.

    ¡°We need to talk,¡± said the man named Nick. ¡°Soon. Er. But you can eat first, of course.¡±

    Everything improved as soon as she got some food in her; it never failed. There were some small oddities. For example: she tried to summon a spoon with which to eat the cup of chocolate pudding, but she only ended up holding her hand in the air for a few seconds while nothing happened. She had awoken in what looked like the cabin of some small, private, luxury aircraft, and there was a grey cloud out the windows, but she didn¡¯t feel at all that they were moving. And Jimothy confirmed that he retained his ability to color things with a thought; he startled some of them by making the table phase through a short rainbow of colors. Not everyone was startled; Nick, Elmer, and Amelia hardly seemed to notice, while Leah clapped her hands in polite approval.

    We need to talk, the man named Nick had said. And talk they did, soon after the meal, for there was something urgent in his tone.

    ¡°Just you,¡± the man said as he led her toward the front of the plane. ¡°Er. I¡¯ll speak to Jimothy later.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m coming too,¡± said AJ, who had not left Elizabeth¡¯s side this whole time.

    ¡°You will be, er¡­confused, I¡¯m afraid.¡± said Nick, looking hesitant.

    ¡°What¡¯s new?¡± said AJ. She wielded a hairbrush in one hand.

    Nick shrugged and took the two of them into the front cabin. Here Elizabeth saw that she had been wrong; this was not a plane. Or, not exactly. This room had the look of a pilot¡¯s cabin, with narrow seats on either side. Nick took a seat on one side; AJ and Liz squeezed into the other so that Elizabeth could sit sideways and face Nick while AJ brushed her hair from behind. And she had not realized, until just then, how much she missed having AJ brush her hair.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind if I¡­er. Coffee.¡± Nick held up a mug to demonstrate that, yes, he did indeed have coffee. The smell of it filled the cabin. ¡°Good thing is, it¡¯s you I can talk to,¡± he said.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Elizabeth. She yawned, still waking up a bit. Lingering cobwebs of confusion gummed up the workings of her mind, but that all seemed fine. She was comfortable, safe.

    ¡°Well. Er. Isaac has difficulty taking things seriously. Ah, and his beliefs trump his reasoning. Every time. Kaitlyn is a bit unfocused. Jimothy shouldn¡¯t be placed in responsibility for everyone. Er. Heidi is practical, but perhaps too much so. And Eric cannot, er, pull together sufficient abstract nonlinear reasoning to really understand the Narrative.¡±

    He must have seen puzzlement in her eyes, because he frowned, searching for her question. ¡°Ah,¡± he said, ¡°¡®sufficient¡¯ is a word meaning that, er, there is enough.¡±

    ¡°I¡­I know what ¡®sufficient¡¯ means,¡± she said. ¡°But¡­how do you know so much about us? Who are you?¡±

    His eyes widened in comic astonishment. For a moment he looked a lot like Isaac, especially with the boxy glasses and dark, unkempt hair. ¡°Oh! My apologies. Er. I¡¯m Nicholas Carter. Or Nikola Raschez, if you like. But, eh, I prefer the former.¡±

    ¡°Nicholas¡­ Kate¡¯s dad?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Alive. Though, er, not the same one, so to speak, as the one Kate grew up with. I am from, eh, a previous iteration. Are you aware, Elizabeth, that this has all happened before? Not quite exactly the same. Yet, er, similar.¡±

    Elizabeth struggled to understand. AJ¡¯s brushing stopped, and her sister said, ¡°Is that where Jimothy¡¯s painting came from? The one I found?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± said Elizabeth.

    Nicholas Carter pointed a pale finger at AJ with the hand holding the coffee mug. ¡°Exactly. I brought that painting back, you see, among other things, just as I brought Callie.¡±

    AJ and Elizabeth spoke together. ¡°Callie?¡±

    Nick nodded. ¡°Let me, er, attempt to be clear. Which is, I am aware, a thing for which I am not known. Clarity, that is. Er. Not my forte, you might say. ¡®Forte¡¯ is a musical term, meaning ¡®loud.¡¯¡± He paused, blinked. ¡°It likely has, eh, other meanings.¡±

    They waited for him to continue. ¡°You have experienced the Narrative before, Elizabeth. You and your friends. Er. Possibly many times, though I don¡¯t know how many.¡±

    ¡°How could we have done it many times?¡± asked Elizabeth.

    ¡°Eric,¡± said Nick, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°Da Capo, often abbreviated D.C., is a musical term, er, in Italian, meaning, ¡®from the top.¡¯¡±

    Elizabeth could not fathom what the segue into musical terminology had to do with anything. ¡°What?¡±

    Nick blinked. ¡°Ah,¡± he said as he grasped the source of her confusion. ¡°Italian. It means something from Italy. Or in this case, the language.¡±

    Elizabeth tried a different tactic. ¡°Why,¡± she said, ¡°did you come back?¡±

    ¡°Well. Er. We had to try again, didn¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Did we?¡±

    ¡°Er. Yes. Now,¡± as though everything had been cleared up, ¡°our first order of business. How are things going in the Narrative? How long have you been in there? Er. I have been unable to directly observe this time.¡±

    The best approach, Elizabeth thought, would be to just keep him talking and circle back around to her questions eventually. ¡°It¡¯s been close to two weeks, as best we can tell,¡± she said. As best Eric could tell, really.

    He nodded. ¡°A few days here on Earth. So that¡¯s consistent. Good, good! And¡ªhow goes it? Any Champions yet?¡±

    ¡°¡­no. In fact, it has been going rather poorly, I think. The gods decided to try to kill us, and almost succeeded with the help of the Ladies. As a result, everything has been¡­messy.¡± She rubbed at her stomach, where the Chirographic would be.

    Nick began to speak, but AJ interrupted him. ¡°Gods?  Kill you? Liz, what is going on?¡±

    ¡°Their substitute bodies are located in a prefabricated Narrative designed to grant access to an alternate dimension,¡± said Nick, annoyed at being interrupted. ¡°Please, Amber Jane, this is of great importance. Er. A ¡®dimension¡¯ here means a plane of existence, or world, or perhaps, in this case, a dream.¡±

    AJ brushed Elizabeth¡¯s hair with renewed vigor.

    ¡°Now,¡± said Nick, troubled, adjusting his glasses. ¡°What¡¯s this about gods? And what ladies? Er. I don¡¯t recall any of that from last time.¡±

    Last time? ¡°The Ladies of Skywater,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°The ten gods.¡±

    ¡°Ladies of Skywater? Gods? Ten?¡± Nick shook his head, frowning. ¡°This is different. Drat! I took meticulous notes¡­¡±

    ¡°You said you were watching us last time?¡±

    He nodded.

    ¡°Any¡­advice?¡±

    ¡°Of course! Er. Though at this point I¡¯m not sure I can say how much remains valid. Let us see. Oh, where to begin?¡±

    ¡°Who can we trust? And what should we watch out for? Start there.¡±

    ¡°Right. Right. Allies, enemies. You may not know. Let¡¯s see. Er. Don¡¯t trust Lord Foe. You do, eh, still have the Lords, do you? Friend, Foe, the rest.¡±

    Elizabeth nodded. ¡°We have already learned about Lord Foe. He nearly killed Jimothy.¡± AJ began muttering something behind Elizabeth. Elizabeth nearly asked her to speak up before realizing that it was a prayer.

    ¡°Other enemies. The Dark Ruler, of course. The Mandragoran. Fjellheim the Strategist, though he won¡¯t actually attack you, I believe. There¡¯s the Lockbreaker in Skywater. Reacher. Vyrix. Captain Bellafide. Those are some of the greater threats.¡±

    Elizabeth tried to lock these names in her memory. She had heard of most of them; Captain Bellafide was notorious, and Laska considered her a personal enemy. Elizabeth had heard the name of Fjellheim, supposedly some master tactician for the Dark World. But Reacher, Vyrix, and the Mandragoran?

    ¡°What about Lord Found?¡± she asked Nick, pulling randomly from her cache of questions. ¡°Do you know where he is?¡±

    ¡°Alas, no,¡± he said. ¡°But, I do know about Chrestomanci. He¡¯s in the Desolate Sea. Er. Be careful saying his name, of course. Out loud, of course.¡±

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    She hadn¡¯t heard of Chrestomanci. She made a note. Be careful about saying the name. Out loud, of course. ¡°Can you give us allies, Mr. Carter? We are in need of those.¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Certainly. Er. Besides the Lords and Arcadelt, there is of course the king of your own moon, Basileus.¡± Elizabeth cringed at the sudden unwelcome memory of the frail king landing in a crumpled heap on the snow. Nick went on without noticing. ¡°Aisling the Leaf. And¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait. Aisling the Leaf. Who is that?¡±

    ¡°A sylph. Er. At the Sky Tree. You haven¡¯t met her?¡± Elizabeth shook her head. ¡°Ah. Er. Yes. She proved quite an asset.¡± He chuckled. ¡°And Jimothy was rather taken with her.¡±

    ¡°Ok. Continue.¡±

    ¡°Er. Admiral Emberstar, of the Ardian fleet. ARKO, of course, provided he doesn¡¯t catch any Chirographic in his code. Script in his script, if you will. Heh.¡± About five questions got caught in a logjam in Elizabeth¡¯s mind; none made it past her lips. Nick didn¡¯t notice, and kept going. ¡°There is Thisk, on the Metal Moon. It saved your life, you know.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­¡±

    ¡°Er. But most of all, of course, the leaders of Icarus.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­Icarus?¡±

    ¡°The Star Moon, yes. Er. Inherently contradictory name, that. Always bothered Isaac. Most of them will help, and they are powerful allies. Especially the white one, the one with wings that resembles an angel. Er. A Biblical angel, that is. Er. Though Isaac assures me, the imagery is inaccurate. And he quite liked her.¡±

    Star Moon? ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Inaccurate. It means that, well, it is wrong. According to Isaac¡ª¡±

    ¡°No. I mean, there is no Star Moon. Isaac has the Void Moon. It doesn¡¯t even exist. He only had a space station.¡±

    A troubled expression clouded Nick¡¯s features. He sipped his coffee in vexation. ¡°Damn,¡± he said. ¡°Er. I assumed it would reset. That isn¡¯t good.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re getting ahead of ourselves,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°I need the whole story. Start at the beginning.¡±

    ¡°Right. Of course. Er. The precise beginning is unknown to me. At this point. The original cause, that is. Eh. Though, it is probably Riley¡¯s fault. And perhaps mine. As well.¡±

    His brows creased in thought, and he adjusted his glasses, and again he reminded Elizabeth of Isaac. As with Isaac, she tried to exercise patience. He would get around to it. Eventually.

    ¡°You¡ªby which I mean, you six youngsters¡ªhave been in the Narrative before. As I said, an unknown number of times. Each time, something went wrong. Er. From what little I have been able to gather, the causes have varied. Often, you died without ever making it to the Museum, Elizabeth. Also often, Heidi was scarcely even in contact with the rest of you. And there were¡­other factors. Suffice to say, you were repeatedly forced to reset. Er. Try again.¡±

    ¡°With¡­Eric?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Luckily, his presence at least seems to have been a constant. He was always able to buy a wish from the Bright World. To start over.¡±

    AJ whispered something behind Elizabeth. ¡°Da capo,¡± she whispered. ¡°From the beginning.¡±

    ¡°But, eh, with each reset, memories also were lost. So little changed. Only, er, minor variations with each new attempt. But for whatever reason¡ªperhaps, ah, sheer fortunate circumstance¡ªyou had a particularly good crack at it. That is the timeline, or iteration, you might say, from which I originate. All six of you made it into the Narrative, alive, and I was able to, er, watch, in a sense. From the Museum.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°If we were doing well¡­what went wrong?¡±

    ¡°Ah. Well. Isaac, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Isaac? What did he do?¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not quite sure. Er. You were nearing victory, or so it seemed, in the, er, Penultimate Narrative, as we might call it. When suddenly, Isaac purchased a wish from the Bright World.¡±

    ¡°What did he wish for?¡±

    ¡°We, ah, don¡¯t know. Not exactly. But the result was that his moon vanished, as did all of its residents and Isaac himself. And, most critically, the dark key.¡±

    ¡°The dark key?¡±

    ¡°It was located on the Star Moon at the time, you see. So, when the moon vanished, the key disappeared with it. Er. And with no dark key¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­the story can¡¯t be finished,¡± Elizabeth concluded. ¡°The white door at Skywater can¡¯t be opened.¡± The absolute certainty implanted within her by Arcadelt remained fresh in her mind: the  only  way to open the white door is with the dark key. She might find a way to circumvent other Narrative rules, but not that one.

    Nick nodded sadly. ¡°Precisely.¡±

    Elizabeth felt a familiar rush of annoyance toward Isaac. ¡°Why would he do that?¡±

    ¡°He said something to the effect that God had told him to do it. That was the last anyone heard from him.¡±

    That sounded just like Isaac. ¡°Well,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°What happened then?¡±

    ¡°We realized that the disappearance of the dark key meant we had to try yet again. We¡ªby which I mean you and I, Elizabeth¡ªdevised a plan. This time, things would be different. Each of you, except for Jimothy, would purchase a wish from the Bright World. Eric last, of course, as his wish would be to enact the reset. Heidi used her wish to send two emails into the past¡ªone to herself, and one to Isaac containing the CHIME program which she had created, knowing he would get you all to use the program.¡±

    ¡°Heidi made CHIME?¡±

    ¡°Yes, with ARKO¡¯s help, because it was critical that you could communicate even after Riley initiated the Cascade. Er. Kaitlyn¡¯s wish was to send me back physically into the past as part of the Da Capo. And your wish was to send Callie back with me to protect you and AJ.¡±

    Elizabeth wished Callie was here now. She needed something fluffy to hug.

    ¡°The rest is rather, er, simple. I arrived nearly ten years ago, accompanied by those three from October Industries, who were my allies at the time. I gave you Callie, and I made sure to, eh, keep watch over the six of you. I established October Industries and grew it into a successful, if, eh, somewhat clandestine organization. ¡®Clandestine¡¯ is a word meaning ¡®secretive.¡¯ I established contact with Riley, and I intended to do the same to this timeline¡¯s version of myself, who was ten years younger than I. But then¡­¡±

    ¡°He died,¡± Elizabeth said.

    ¡°He was murdered. Although I did not know that at once. That was how it began, the usurpation of October Industries out from under me. Still, you will agree, things have more or less worked out, even after that fiasco with Abraham Black.¡± He smiled, and did seem rather pleased with himself.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Fiasco. It means that¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, about Black.¡±

    ¡°Er. Yes. Those three brought him in. I believe they intended to use him against me. And against you. They badly miscalculated.¡±

    Nick appeared to be finished now. He sipped his coffee and grimaced as though it had a sour taste.

    ¡°So,¡± said Elizabeth, coming back around to the part of all this that puzzled her the most. ¡°It was Isaac.¡±

    ¡°It seems that way. Er. But we don¡¯t know what he wished for, exactly, or why. We only know the results. He was, unfortunately, going a bit off the rails, there at the end. ¡®Off the rails¡¯ is an expre¡ª¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°He became increasingly convinced that he was only a character in a book.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s already starting,¡± said Elizabeth. ¡°I was talking to him recently, and he was confusing homographs. He responded to the spelling of my words, not the sound.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Nick. ¡°It¡¯s worrying. Still, er, it¡¯s good to hear that he¡¯s safe. And Kaitlyn as well. I was concerned about my children, considering their native bodies have both perished.¡±

    ¡°Children?¡±

    ¡°Offspring. Er. Biological progeny. In animal reproduction¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know what children are, Mr. Carter.¡±

    He looked at her blankly, clearly stumped about what her question might be. Then his eyes widened in understanding. ¡°Oh! Er. You don¡¯t know. Wait a moment. Do  none of you know? I had thought¡­but it becomes so difficult to keep track of these things.¡±

    ¡°Know  what, Mr. Carter?¡±

    ¡°Well, er, that Isaac and Kaitlyn are siblings. Step-siblings, actually. They share a common father. That being, er, myself.¡±

    Elizabeth had thought that no further revelation could shock her on this tumultuous morning. She had been wrong. But now, all at once, it seemed so obvious. She could see it plain before her: Nicholas Carter looked like Isaac Milton in forty years. ¡°None of us¡­knew that, Mr. Carter.¡±

    He sighed. ¡°I do not think I should have kept that from her. From  my Kaitlyn. Here in this world where I do not belong, I watched a younger version of myself make the same mistakes I made. It didn¡¯t feel right to¡­interfere. Er.¡±

    Elizabeth had so many questions. Step-siblings? How? With whom? How had Isaac wound up in Montana? Why had it been kept a secret? And how would they react when they found out? Elizabeth would have to tell them. Who should she tell first?

    ¡°This must be a lot. Er. To take in,¡± said Nicholas Carter. ¡°I apologize. We still have much to discuss. Especially about these ¡®gods,¡¯ and events in your Narrative. But I should leave you to think things over for a while. Er. There is just one more thing. An, er, a not insignificant difficulty.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± she asked. He was right about it being a lot to take in. She would need some processing time after this.

    ¡°It¡¯s, er, Jimothy.¡±

    She didn¡¯t like the sound of that. Her tone was guarded when she replied, ¡°What about Jimothy?¡±

    ¡°Has he¡­er. Has he had any strokes yet?¡±

    She stiffened; her mouth open from shock. AJ put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ¡°Strokes?¡±

    ¡°Er. Oh. I can see, from your reaction, that this is another thing you do not know.¡± He looked miserable now, like a new doctor telling their first patient they¡¯re going to die.

    ¡°Mr. Carter,¡± said Elizabeth, struggling to keep her voice calm but unable to prevent a tremulous quaver. ¡°What is wrong with Jimothy?¡±

    ¡°There is¡­er. A tumor. In his brain. Occipital and parietal lobe. Er. Inoperable. Malignant. And¡­lethal.¡±

    Just as with Isaac and Kate, it all came together at once. The headaches. The Bleeding God. Why Mr. Carter had skipped Jimothy in his account of their wishes in the penultimate Narrative.

    Elizabeth struggled to remain calm. Logically, all of them had been in some form of mortal danger in these past two weeks. She herself had a sentient language seared onto her body, at least as malignant and dangerous as any tumor. But¡­

    ¡°What,¡± she said, trembling, ¡°can we do about it?¡±

    Nick nodded in approval, but his eyes were serious. ¡°That¡¯s the way. I know of two possible solutions. One, you might already guess.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°A wish. Obviously.¡±

    ¡°Yes. But. Er. A wish of that type is likely to be¡­costly.¡±

    ¡°And the other way?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­according to Lord Fair, there is a healing elixir. It will cure anything. Er. It can be made from the petals of a flower.¡±

    He didn¡¯t have to say which flower it was.

 Chapter 23

    Chapter 23

    Eric Walker

    Eric awoke abruptly, with no awareness of when or where or how he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered was¡­being on his moon? Talking to the blue gorilla? He sat up and shivered against a sudden gust of chill wind. He sat in the dark, in the open, facing an array of distant lights. The first order of business was making a damn coat for himself.

    But when he tried, nothing happened. He wasn¡¯t wearing the medallion. And for that matter, all his clothes were different.

    ¡°Well now,¡± said a voice with an Irish accent. ¡°That¡¯s one, anyway.¡±

    A man stood behind him, cape billowing dramatically in the wind. He had a long cane tipped with glimmering crystals, but could not make out his features in the shadows. At his feet¡­

    Eric was upright in a second. Then, immediately, was back onto the cold, gritty tarmac as his muscles failed him. His entire body was stiff. What the hell? ¡°The fuck did you do to Heidi?¡± he croaked. His throat was dry.

    The man laughed. Not a sinister laugh, but a good-natured chuckle. ¡°Calm down, Mr. Walker,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯s fine. Though I can¡¯t get her to wake up at the moment.¡± That Irish accent threw Eric off. He had no idea who this person was.

    ¡°Might need to take it slow for a bit,¡± said the man.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Eric. He did as the man suggested and flexed his arms and legs, working out the kinks.

    ¡°Name¡¯s McFinn. Riley McFinn. A pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Eric Walker.¡± The man bowed at Eric with a flourish of cape and cane. ¡°And before we continue, let¡¯s get in out of this cold, aye?¡± He stooped down to grab Heidi, hauled her up, and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. ¡°This way.¡± He marched off into the dark.

    ¡°Wait¡­¡± Eric struggled to his feet and took a few teetering steps. His body soon remembered how to walk, and he struggled after McFinn. He saw, from his new vantage point, that he¡¯d been lying on the runway of an airfield of vast proportions. Countless colored lights made paths and lines and alleys curving through the dark, all the way to the black, starry horizons.

    He ignored this and focused on catching up with McFinn. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Heidi?¡± he asked. His voice was rusty, his throat dry.

    ¡°Just asleep, no worries.¡±

    ¡°But she won¡¯t wake up?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t be conscious in two places at once,¡± Riley answered. ¡°I expect she¡¯s occupied over there, didn¡¯t want to be bothered. Here we are.¡± He descended into an almost invisible gap in the airfield, a dark stairway down into the tarmac.

    ¡°How long¡¯s it been?¡± McFinn asked once they¡¯d dropped out of reach of the wind. A bright light detached from somewhere on McFinn¡¯s person and hovered in the air, illuminating the stairs.

    ¡°Uh¡­how long?¡±

    ¡°In the Narrative. How long for you?¡±

    Right, the Narrative. ¡°Coming up on two weeks.¡±

    ¡°I see,¡± said McFinn with a click of his tongue. ¡°Been around three days on Earth. Since you left.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­how¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Time dilation. Temporal relationships are a bit strange here.¡± He illustrated ¡®here¡¯ with a vague wave of his hand, indicating their surroundings. It was this gesture that made Eric finally understand where they were. Back in the Museum. McFinn continued, ¡°You know how in a story the writer may compress or elongate the passage of time? For pacing or dramatic tension?¡±

    Did Eric know that? ¡°Sounds about right,¡± he said. ¡°So it¡¯s like that? The Museum goofs up time?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not  like that, lad. It  is  that. Ah. Where are we, now?¡± The stairs had terminated in a square wooden platform just large enough for the three of them. Riley set Heidi gently down on the floor and inspected a nearby panel of wooden levers. Heidi looked peacefully asleep. She wore the same clothes she¡¯d worn on Earth, the ones she¡¯d wandered around the Museum in. And so was he.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°So¡­¡± said Eric, putting it together. ¡°We didn¡¯t actually  go into the Narrative? Or, we left behind a copy?¡±

    ¡°The copy is the one in the Narrative, I believe,¡± answered Riley. ¡°The angel creates it. According to Nick.¡± This didn¡¯t really clear anything up, and Eric was about to ask another question when McFinn pulled a lever, apparently at random.

    Eric¡¯s stomach rose up into his chest as they plummeted down into the dark. McFinn, unconcerned by the drop, continued. ¡°Only one of your bodies can be conscious at a time.¡± The darkness vanished as they fell into a warmly lit world of ropes and lights and catwalks and sandbags. Something that must have been their counterweight rushed upward beside them. ¡°I came to get you two.¡±

    Their fall slowed; they came to a rest with a soft bump onto a creaky wooden floor strewn with sawdust. McFinn again hoisted up Heidi and proceeded as though he knew exactly where he was going.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± asked Eric, trying to take in the colossal curtains and the galaxy of colored stagelights far overhead.

    ¡°Back to Earth, I hope,¡± said McFinn. ¡°Our allies will be in danger. Including your sister.¡±

    Eric stalled out at this piece of news. Going back? Back to Leah? It seemed too good to be true. He ran to catch up with McFinn again, because hot damn that guy walked fast. ¡°How do we get back to Earth?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the tricky bit,¡± said McFinn. ¡°Technically you don¡¯t need to be awake for it, but you know. I didn¡¯t want to carry both of you. There is Ezekiel as well. He¡¯ll try to stop us, I¡¯m sure. Kill you two, if he can.¡±

    ¡°Ezekiel?¡±

    ¡°Starlight, apparently. He runs October Industries. On Earth, at any rate.¡±

    Right. Of course. Fucking October Industries. Stupid fucking name, anyway. But this¡ªall this, it was exactly what he wanted. Back to Leah. ¡°This isn¡¯t some fucking dream, right?¡± he asked.

    McFinn laughed. ¡°An astute question, Mr. Walker! But don¡¯t you know where we are?¡± At this moment, McFinn¡¯s course took him beyond one of the hanging red velvet curtains. He swept it aside with his cane, and his cape rippled to the side as he strode onto the stage beyond. ¡°The Dream Museum!¡±

    It was, of course, the biggest fucking stage Eric had ever seen in his life. You could fit a basketball court on it, plus sidelines, bleachers, and a concession stand. McFinn paused to appreciate some imaginary applause and bowed dramatically, almost dropping Heidi onto the gleaming floor.

    Eric counted on his fingers as he came up behind McFinn. ¡°So it¡¯s: get to Earth, help Leah and the others, don¡¯t get killed by OI.¡±

    ¡°You let me worry about all that, lad,¡± said McFinn. ¡°Your concern is on the other side.¡±

    ¡°What? No way. I can¡¯t help if I¡¯m¡­¡± He gestured at Heidi, limp on McFinn¡¯s shoulder. And honestly, Eric was impressed that some skinny guy like McFinn was carrying Heidi for so long. She was short, but not light. Something was odd about the arm McFinn held her with. His sleeve was rolled up, and the skin looked cracked like glass.

    ¡°Correct, Mr. Walker. But now that I¡¯ve woken you up once, you should be able to wake up again, just by going to sleep on the other side. That¡¯s according to Nick.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s how it is? Asleep in one body, awake in the other?¡±

    ¡°More or less. Though he also said that you do need real sleep as well. Asleep in both bodies, that is. Now. Any more questions?¡±

    Eric missed his ability to create objects. But what about¡­yes, there it was. The beat. He still had it. He could affect the tempo, even here.

    ¡°One more question,¡± he said. ¡°How do you get your cape to do that, look all billowy and shit? My cape just flies up over my head.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± McFinn tapped his freckled forehead. ¡°I suppose I can share a trade secret or two. It¡¯s lead, my lad.¡±

    ¡°Lead?¡±

    ¡°Or another weighty material of choice. Line the hem. A bit extra on the corners. For that dramatic flair.¡± He demonstrated by spinning¡ªagain almost dropping Heidi¡ªand waving his cape around. It did look good. All billowy. He had clearly put some thought into it. ¡°It is especially useful for keeping it  behind you when flying about or moving quickly. And it helps prevent the damn thing from falling over your head.¡±

    Eric nodded. ¡°Got it.¡±

    ¡°Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Nope. Let¡¯s go.¡±

 Chapter 24

    Chapter 24

    Heidi Sheppard

    ZA: Have you not wondered why we failed to complete our Narrative?

    HS: Not really.

    ZA: We lost our key.

    HS: The dark key?

    ZA: Yes. Abraham Black took it from the Dark Ruler. And then he disappeared.

    HS: How did he disappear?

    ZA: We do not know.

    ZA: Derxis came back from the future to save us. Then we lost our second chance.

    HS: And why are you telling me this?

    ZA: I want you to be careful with Abraham Black.

    HS: He¡¯s dangerous, yes I know, everyone has made sure to tell me.

    HS: But everything here is dangerous.

    HS: He¡¯s not that different from any of my guards.

    HS: He¡¯s not even totally on board with the Dark World.

    ZA: I know.

    ZA: I admit, you do seem more thoughtful than Akkama.

    HS: The burning god?

    ZA: And you are clearly used to dealing with dangerous beings.

    ZA: Even our Narrative did not contain a world of monsters such as Orpheus.

    HS: What exactly are you worried I¡¯m going to do with Abraham?

    ZA: I am worried that you will be tempted to manipulate him.

    HS: Manipulate?

    ZA: He is fond of you.

    HS: What are you talking about? We¡¯ve met only a few times.

    ZA: And you are still alive.

    HS: So?

    ZA: Believe me when I say that that is an extraordinary record.

    HS: Maybe you¡¯re the one who doesn¡¯t understand.

    HS: Abraham isn¡¯t a monster.

    ZA: Perhaps.

    ZA: I have a theory.

    ZA: With a sample size of only two it hardly deserves even that title. ¡®Speculation¡¯ would be more suitable.

    ZA: I wonder if that is the meaning of having a black angel.

    ZA: That it signifies a connection to Abraham Black.

    ZA: Or perhaps it merely signifies the most dangerous hero, to whom Black is naturally drawn.

    HS: I think you are reading too much into everything

    ZA: It is possible.

    ZA: Likely, even.

    ZA: I don¡¯t do much these days besides read.

    ZA: They are calling me the Blind Librarian.

    ZA: Carry on, Heidi Sheppard. Your former captive seems to desire a word.

    Heidi cut the connection with a tap on her earpiece and sighed. Abraham this, Black that. She  knew he was dangerous, okay? But what in Orpheus  wasn¡¯t ? And like her guards, he wasn¡¯t dangerous to her, Heidi. She could tell.

    She stood at the prow of the repurposed  Almost Victorious as her guard wrapped up final preparations for launch. They were calling it OPEC 1, the first Orpheus Prison Exploratory Craft. It had been heavily modified for deep diving into the core of the Metal Moon. It was the largest craft ever to be designed for such a journey. Crushing lorn, vicious gravitational tides, and of course innumerable spikes sharp as razors and hard as steel all necessitated a unique design. It had to be strong, very strong, but also flexible, because no amount of structural strength mattered when caught between two colliding lorn the size of New Caledonia. OPEC 1 could break apart into smaller, more agile modules if necessary. It would be crewed by eight guards, with additional room for passengers and cargo. Luki had been elected as captain because of his experience in the depths and his able command during the test run. The  Almost Victorious came equipped with weapons, lights, rations, clickers for confusing the rue, an angel, a Hero of Gravity, an eye-thief, and a cursed witch.

    Heidi watched the guards hurry about below. They moved casually over a landing area still scored with the marks of the battle against Lady Chains. Lady Chains had not been seen after that engagement. Had she perished out in the dangerous wilds of the Metal Moon? If not, had she received the memo from her patron god that she wasn¡¯t supposed to kill the heroes anymore?

    A low, throaty chirp sounded behind her. It was Cazzie, and Vyrix was probably with her. Heidi felt a bit uncomfortable having those two around, particularly behind her where she couldn¡¯t see, but surely they wouldn¡¯t try anything on this vessel filled with Heidi¡¯s  dangerous allies.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Think I¡¯m thtupid?¡± said Vyrix. Heidi kept forgetting that Vyrix could read thoughts.

    Heidi turned from the railing, adjusted her helmet under her arm, and locked eyes with Vyrix. Well, eye. Vyrix¡¯s one pink eye glared out from her ruined face. Her other eye was one of several moving in slow orbit around the giant white winged gecko named Cazzie.

    It was always a challenge looking at Vyrix without cringing at the sight, but Heidi was improving. Her physical reaction mattered little with Vryix, who could see her thoughts.

    ¡°Thave your pity,¡± Vyrix snarled. ¡°For thomeone who needth it.¡±

    Several of Cazzie¡¯s eyes turned toward Vryix while others continued to watch Heidi and at least one became distracted by the proceedings below. The floating eyes, some of them with unsettling clumpy bits of stringy matter still dangling from their back ends, could show no emotion on their own. Only in combination with the expressive movements of Cazzie¡¯s eyeless head could Heidi guess that she was displeased with Vyrix. Cazzie¡¯s feathery tail gave the disfigured witch a nudge from behind.

    ¡°Thtop that,¡± Vyrix muttered. Cazzie warbled in response, a sound that seemed to resonate through her entire body. ¡°I¡¯m getting to it.¡± Vyrix limped painfully another two steps toward Heidi, leaning dangerously on her gnarled black cane. Heidi¡¯s bruise from that cane had faded, but she remembered the pain. Vyrix reached one lumpy black hand into her tattered cloak. Heidi made an effort to be on guard at this action, though it was difficult when Vyrix was so small, so obviously in pain, and so unsteady that she nearly collapsed just from this simple act.

    Vyrix found what she was looking for and thrust it toward Heidi. Bahamut, nearby, perked up. Heidi sensed his tension, his readiness to pounce at an instant¡¯s notice. But the object in Vyrix¡¯s hand hung limp, dangling by a tarnished silver chain. It was a seashell, a spiraling cone small enough to fit in Heidi¡¯s palm, crimson stained with pewter.

    ¡°Take it,¡± grumbled Vyrix.

    ¡°The last time I took something from you,¡± Heidi began, but Vyrix cut her off.

    ¡°It¡¯th¡­from me,¡± Vyrix muttered. Cazzie warbled at her. ¡°From uth,¡± the witch corrected. Cazzie shifted her weight and loomed over Vyrix in what was probably disapproval. She leaned down and gently nudged the little witch, almost toppling her to the deck. ¡°Like hellth,¡± Vyrix spat back at her companion. ¡°I¡¯m not thaying that. Thay it yourthelf.¡± Vyrix began turning to leave, then stopped as if realizing that Heidi still hadn¡¯t taken the shell. She shook it at Heidi with a trembling, blackened hand. ¡°It will protect you from fire,¡± she said. ¡°A thoveriegn remedie againtht bitchy godth.¡±

    Heidi had not told Vyrix about her troubles with the Burning God. She looked at Vyrix, could read nothing but malice in her horribly scarred face, then looked at Cazzie. The eyeless feathered gecko nodded in encouragement and chirped something.

    Heidi took the shell. It was cold to the touch. She would be testing this later. To make sure it actually did what Vyrix said.

    ¡°Thure, thure,¡± Vyrix waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Tetht it all you want. Jutht don¡¯t tetht it with molten thtone. Or metal. The thpell doethn¡¯t go that far.¡±

    Cazzie appeared satisfied once Heidi had taken the shell. One of her eyes drifted down to her mouth to get licked clean by her long, blue tongue. Bahamut slithered closer to have a look at this process, although he, too, lacked eyes. In fact, although Cazzie was several times larger, and white, and winged, and feathery, they were otherwise somewhat similar in appearance.

    ¡°So are you ready to talk now?¡± asked Heidi. That was the deal. She woke them up, they gave her answers. Vyrix had already said a little about a special place deep within the Metal Moon. She had been telling the truth, confirmed by one of Heidi¡¯s guards with a knack for sensing deception. Thus the preparation of this expedition, launching soon.

    Vyrix looked like she wanted to leave, but Cazzie¡¯s tail blocked her path. A couple of her eyes drifted down to look Vyrix directly in the face, including Vyrix¡¯s own former eye. Vyrix sighed. She turned and collapsed onto the metal deck. Sitting and slouched was apparently the least painful position for her. She withdrew her pipe from somewhere in her cloak and lit it with a spark of magic. That same scent as before, like rancid battery acid, trickled through the air.

    Heidi sat facing Vyrix. They had been like this before, under different circumstance.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to apologithe for that,¡± Vyrix grumbled. ¡°I¡¯d poithon you again if I thought it would make any differenthe.¡±

    ¡°Abraham said you were going to trade me for a cure for your curse,¡± said Heidi.

    She laughed bitterly. ¡°I wath going to try. Worth a thot, yes? Probably wouldn¡¯t have worked.¡±

    ¡°How did you get cursed?¡±

    ¡°I pithed off the Dark Ruler. You do that, you die if you¡¯re lucky. He had the Mandragoran throw me into the Bleak Mathine.¡±

    ¡°How did you piss him off?¡±

    ¡°Doeth that matter?¡± Her voice rose in anger for a moment before deflating into a sullen mutter. ¡°It wath an acthident, anyway.¡±

    Cazzie didn¡¯t like this. She reared up angrily; her tail thrashed back and forth. Vyrix waved her pipe dismissively at Cazzie.

    ¡°So the Bleak Machine did¡­this?¡± Heidi gestured vaguely at Vyrix.

    Vyrix chuckled, but there was nothing nice or mirthful in the sound. Bitterness only was there, and hatred. ¡°Oh, yeth. I wath  beautiful, wathn¡¯t I, Cathie? Jutht like you, hero. Thmooth thkin, thilken hair. Dewy eyeth. Gratheful body. Muthcular and firm. Voithe like an angel. Pure heart. Et-thetera.¡±

    Fine, Heidi thought at Vyrix. Don¡¯t answer my question. That question didn¡¯t matter anyway. What do you know about the Bleak Machine?

    ¡°Oh, yeth,¡± said Vyrix, but the mocking tone had gone from her voice. Now she sounded serious. ¡°I wath flung into the Mathine. I thurvived, ath you can thee, unforthunately. But I thaw thecretth there.¡±

    Heidi leaned in.

    ¡°The Bleak Mathine,¡± said Vyrix, ¡°detherveth itth name. It cautheth the rue.¡±

    ¡°It causes¡­the rue?¡±

    ¡°Do you know what they are, Hero? The rue?¡±

    Heidi shook her head.

    ¡°They are the thoulth of thothe whothe boneth feed the bale thorn.¡± Vyrix grinned a horrid black-toothed grin as though in pleasure at this thought. Heidi felt only horror as she processed this idea. ¡°Their regretth,¡± Vyrix continued. ¡°Their lingering painth. The light of the Mathine will not let them go.¡±

    Heidi knew it was true at once. She only had to remember her experiences touching the bale thorn and compare them to the lonesome crying out of the rue. Tormented souls, trapped in anguish. The light of the Bleak Machine making the bale thorn grow on the bones of the dead. Horrific.

    ¡°Yeth,¡± said Vyrix, apparently delighted at Heidi¡¯s reaction.

    ¡°What would happen,¡± said Heidi, speaking the thought as it came to her, ¡°if the Machine was destroyed?¡±

    Vyrix recoiled in genuine shock. Then she laughed. As always, her laugh had no pleasure in it. Very much the opposite. ¡°Dethtroy the Machine?¡± She shrugged. ¡°No more Metal Moon, I gueth.¡± Then she leaned forward conspiratorially. ¡°But I do know, from what I thaw when I wath inthide, that it ith pothible. And I can thay, if I cannot be cured, I would jutht ath thoon murder that whitth curthed me.¡±

    Murder?

    ¡°It¡¯th thort-of alive. Like a very thick Bright World.¡±

    The bell sounded as Heidi wondered about this. Everything was ready; the  Almost Victorious would soon launch for the Depths on a heading provided by Vyrix. A place connected to both the Bleak Machine and the Queen of the Rue. A floating lake. A place with answers.

    ¡°We¡¯ll talk later,¡± said Heidi.

    Vyrix grinned; Heidi had to look away. ¡°I¡¯m thure.¡±

 Chapter 25

    Chapter 25

    Jimothy Whyte

    Elizabeth had explained it all to Jimothy, about how they had done this before. Isaac had done something bad, probably, although Jimothy had doubts about that. Isaac took God very seriously. So if he had done something so important, like wishing away his whole moon, he must have been really sure that God had told him to do it. And if that was the case, how could it have been a bad thing?

    Elizabeth was acting strange when she talked to him in the ALL-Rover. AJ had a very serious conversation with Mike. Jimothy didn¡¯t see the conversation, but he saw them come back from it, and the first thing they did was to look at him, worried. None of them said anything, not yet, but Jimothy figured they must know about the brain tumor. He wondered if he should tell them that he already knew, that Fiora the Bleeding God could see it in his brain ¡°like a bad egg.¡± She had a plan to help him. And he was nervous about that, sure, because she hadn¡¯t really told him what the plan was, but he was far more nervous about the tumor. Who wouldn¡¯t be nervous about having a festering piece of death growing in their brain?

    He tried to distract himself from these thoughts. In the ALL-Rover, this was easy. There were lots of new people to meet, such as Rebecca Carter, who scared him a little, and Dwayne Hartman, who strangely enough scared him not at all. Dwayne had a big beard and a big laugh, and big, big hands just like Isaac had said. He had this idea of singing, now that Jimothy and Elizabeth had joined them. Elizabeth made it clear that she would be going back to sleep before that happened.

    Alan Sheppard was just like Jimothy had imagined. He didn¡¯t really look at all like Heidi, but he gave the same sense of knowing what was going on and being fully prepared and capable of dealing with it. Which, true or not, was something that definitely made Jimothy feel better.

    There were Elmer and Amelia, of course. Jim had met them already in the Narrative, though these ones were different. It didn¡¯t matter; they were pretty much the same. Elmer laughed and jumped around and overreacted to everything like a colorful bouncy ball trapped in a small space. Amelia, who as far as Jimothy could tell had powers pretty much like his, was the opposite of Elmer. But Jimothy liked Amelia. She was secretly funny.

    Then there was Michael. Jimothy tried to tell him all about the things that had happened in the Narrative, and Michael tried to listen without asking too many questions, though that was hard for him. Michael had taken care of Jimothy¡¯s unconscious body for days. They talked about all kinds of things, including Jimothy¡¯s birthday.

    ¡°Eric figures it¡¯s in about two days,¡± said Jimothy.

    Michael put on his thinking face. ¡°That can¡¯t be right, Jim. It must be only April¡­uh. Eighth? Ninth?¡± He asked around and discovered that almost everyone had a different estimation of the date. Mr. Carter, the authority, said it didn¡¯t matter. The time that mattered was Relative Museum Time, which had nothing to do with Earth Time.

    Jimothy was happy to see that Michael and AJ looked like they¡¯d become friends. They gravitated toward each other within the cramped confines of the ALL-Rover, and Jimothy more often than not saw them together, talking and laughing. Michael smiled a lot at AJ, and Jim thought it was a really cool smile.

    ¡°What do you think?¡± asked Elizabeth one time while Jimothy watched his brother and AJ. She had a smile in her voice, which meant that she definitely wasn¡¯t asking about the brain tumor.

    Jimothy calmed down and replied. ¡°About what? There¡¯s a lot of things.¡± This was certainly true. He understood less than half of what Elizabeth and Mr. Carter had told him about wishes and the past and the future and October Industries.

    ¡°Our siblings,¡± she said. She looked like she was trying and failing to hold back a grin.

    Jimothy looked from her to Michael and AJ. Then he understood. ¡°Oh! Um. I think¡­¡± What did he think? Mainly, he just wanted Michael to be happy. And if that meant having AJ as a girlfriend, and if she also wanted that, then¡­ ¡°It makes me happy to think about,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m glad they¡¯re friends.¡±

    Elizabeth put an arm around his shoulder to give him a quick side-hug. ¡°Me too,¡± she said.

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    ¡°You make me happy, too,¡± he said, not wanting to leave her out. ¡°That we¡¯re friends.¡±

    ¡°Jimothy,¡± said Leah, who was hunched over a drawing in front of them and who hadn¡¯t appeared to be listening. ¡°Elizabeth is very pretty.¡± She said it matter-of-factly, as though it were a careful observation she had spent a long time making sure was absolutely correct.

    Jimothy didn¡¯t know why she had said that, but he never really knew why Leah said or did anything. So he agreed with her. ¡°Uh, yeah.¡±

    ¡°You,¡± she said, still without looking up, ¡°are good at drawing.¡± There was a satisfaction in how she said it, as though she had now got them both figured out.

    Several of Jimothy¡¯s latest sketches, done in colored pencil and crayon with Leah, lay on the low table. Leah had not hesitated to pull Jimothy¡¯s pictures over to her side and make editorial additions. She returned Jimothy¡¯s depiction of Eric¡¯s moon with colorful butterflies drawn over the dark buildings. On his sketch of the planetary system of Ardia with its five moons, Leah had scribbled something like a maroon and cerulean plant whose leafy vines spread out over the whole thing. When Jimothy had finished drawing the train with Christmas lights that he and Elizabeth had ridden in the Museum, Leah took it and sketched some colorful new figures into the seats, one much larger than the other two.

    Now, while Jimothy and Elizabeth sat there with her, Leah was working on something else, something of her own, scribbling furiously with a purple crayon.

    Elizabeth said, ¡°Mr. Carter says our destination is the OI Labs. ¡®Formerly, er, located in Canada.¡¯¡± She imitated Mr. Carter¡¯s odd way of speaking.

    Jimothy had heard. It made him uneasy. Going  to October Industries? ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Elizabeth gasped, a sharp intake of breath that metamorphosed into a tiny shriek of alarm. She fell up and away from the table. Jimothy could not tell what had frightened her until he noticed the violet light.

    Leah was staring in shock at the paper in front of her. A purple glow lit her face as the picture she had been drawing burned with a violet flame. Crayons melted. Weird symbols writhed and crawled on the paper as though trying to pry themselves loose. They spread in burning filaments, crawling toward Leah¡¯s hand ¨C

    The paper dissolved into a million glittering sparks. Many of the sparks were purple, and they tried to form into words in the air, but they were all sucked together into a tiny point of bright light before vanishing with a popping sound like an electrical socket being blown.

    Commotion erupted in the ALL-Rover. It had all happened too fast for most of them to even react, but everyone had heard Elizabeth¡¯s cry of fear. Alan was back in a flash from the front cabin, gun in hand. Dwayne looked ready to lay about on any threat with his two canes, carried in one huge hand like oversized chopsticks.

    Amelia sniffed, getting Leah¡¯s attention with a bony hand on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t draw those words anymore, dear,¡± she said. ¡°They are rather nasty.¡±

    Both Leah and Elizabeth were all right once it had all calmed down. Amelia had destroyed the Script before it could do more than singe Leah¡¯s sleeves. Elizabeth, eyes wide, had a hand on her stomach as though she was going to be sick. ¡°It was me,¡± she whispered to Jimothy later with an unsteady voice. ¡°It was looking for me.¡±

    And this is how everyone in the ALL-Rover learned, in a few sentences from Elizabeth and Mr. Carter, about the Chirographic Script. Basically, burning purple words were alive and evil. Avoid or destroy at all costs. Do not draw or photograph them. Do not  ever try to read them. And for god¡¯s sake, don¡¯t get any on you. (That was Mr. Carter¡¯s advice.)

    And they were getting close, Mr. Carter said. Soon, they would be at the OI Labs, formerly in Canada.

 Chapter 26

    Chapter 26

    Isaac Milton

    KC: yo Isaac!

    IM: me Isaac!

    KC: heh heh

    KC: I have some news!

    IM: Is it that your dad is alive?

    KC: MY DAD IS ALIVE!!!

    IM: Because I already know that

    KC: :D

    KC: :D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D

    KC: :¡¯D

    IM: :)

    KC: !!!!!

    KC: I mean he¡¯s SORT OF alive

    KC: it¡¯s not quite the same

    KC: but STILL!

    IM: That¡¯s really cool

    KC: I am SO HAPPY

    KC: I want to meet him!

    KC: if only my other body weren¡¯t all dead, darn it!

    IM: Yeah Liz filled me in on all that

    IM: About your dad

    KC: and is that

    KC: uh

    KC: ALL she filled you in on?

    IM: Well she also told me that I was kind of responsible for messing things up last time

    IM: But no one knows why

    IM: so, like...

    IM: my bad?

    KC: and is that AAALLLLLL she said?

    IM: uh

    IM: she said the evil purple words came to get her?

    KC: and is that AAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL?????????????

    IM: Whatever you¡¯re fishing for, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s like, in the pond

    KC: you¡¯re not picking up what I¡¯m laying down?

    IM: I¡¯m not slipping in what you¡¯re spitting

    KC: eww, what?

    IM: Isn¡¯t that a saying?

    KC: well ANYWAY

    KC: I have some more VERY INTERESTING news for you Isaac!

    IM: Oh, cool

    IM: I also have something to say to you

    IM: That I think you will find INTERESTING

    KC: !!

    KC: Isaac? Saying something  interesting?!?!?

    KC: :o

    IM: Hey!

    KC: well maybe you should go first then

    KC: and we¡¯ll just see how YOUR supposedly ¡°interesting¡± thing stacks up with mine!

    IM: uh, okay

    IM: Here I go!

    IM: (it¡¯s just Eric convinced me it would be better, in consideration that we might die soon, to just not have any regrets)

    IM: This is easier through text I guess

    IM: but it¡¯s still hard to say though

    KC: um, wait

    IM: Here it is: I think, maybe, I¡¯ve got like a crush on you

    IM: or whatever

    IM: But I don¡¯t really know, right? It¡¯s like, maybe I¡¯ve just never had close friends-that-are-girls before

    IM: but

    IM: like, what do I know right?

    IM: I should have stopped a few messages ago

    KC: ok

    KC: umm

    KC: I should have gone first

    KC: well to start with, Isaac, I don¡¯t really like you like that

    KC: at all

    KC: but that¡¯s a good thing, really!

    KC: it actually is, because of that VERY INTERESTING thing I was talking about earlier

    IM: Ok, what is it?

    KC: well

    KC: it¡¯s about my dad

    IM: ok...

    KC: see, how should I put this

    IM: just say it

    KC: right!

    KC: so it¡¯s like

    KC: your dad...

    IM: ...yeah?

    KC: and my dad...

    IM: please just say it

    KC: are not as much different people

    KC: as is often the case

    KC: parentally

    KC: between friends

    IM: I see

    IM: well

    IM: shit

    KC: Isaac!

    KC: :o

    IM: I should have known you¡¯d pull a freaking Star Wars!

    KC: me?

    IM: not you

    IM: Shut up, ARKO!

    IM: What¡¯s next, we¡¯re all gonna turn out to be clones of each other?

    KC: don¡¯t be mad, Isaac!

    KC: I thought it was super cool that we were siblings!

    KC: step-siblings actually

    IM: But this makes no sense!

    IM: HOW could Nicholas Carter be my father!? I mean, I knew my dad adopted me before he disappeared, but I thought his name was like Frank or something!

    IM: And what about my mom?!

    KC: I don¡¯t know :(

    KC: my mom died, but we have different moms

    IM: This is stupid

    IM: Are you listening up there?

    IM: This plot twist is BAD and STUPID

    IM: And it doesn¡¯t make sense!

    KC: who are you talking to?

    IM: whoever¡¯s writing this bullshit

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    KC: come on, Isaac!

    KC: also, Eric is having a bad influence on your language!

    IM: Do I even resemble your dad?

    KC: ...

    KC: actually, now that I think about it

    KC: kind of, yeah

    KC: :|

    IM: ok

    IM: cooling down

    IM: I need to think

    KC: that¡¯s the spirit!

    IM: And pray

    KC: okay, sure, that too!

    IM: Please ignore everything I have said throughout this conversation

    KC: but...

    IM: Forget it!

    IM: Let¡¯s just rewind like ten minutes

    IM: Just purge this from your memory

    KC: okay!

    KC: BZZZRRRRP!

    KC: all gone!

    IM: Ok, we¡¯ll talk later

    KC: yeah!

    KC: I¡¯ll be a cool big sister, I promise!

    IM: You¡¯re like three months older than me

    KC: FIVE >:(

    IM: wait

    IM: but

    IM: aw, whatever

    IM: later

    KC: later!

    Isaac fell back onto his bed and stared at the glossy white ceiling. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, put them back on. ¡°ARKO,¡± he said. ¡°You do DNA scans?¡±

    ¡°I can appropriate the appropriate facilities,¡± said a smooth classic-butler voice from somewhere above.

    Isaac experienced a moment of confusion. Had¡­had ARKO said those two words differently? Appropriate and appropriate? Isaac wasn¡¯t sure. He couldn¡¯t tell. ¡°Do you have a sample of Kate¡¯s DNA, by chance?¡± He would have been somewhat alarmed if ARKO replied positively. But no, ARKO replied, he only had Isaac¡¯s and Eric¡¯s and Elizabeth¡¯s and Jimothy¡¯s. Isaac didn¡¯t bother wondering where these samples had come from.

    Charlie became a penguin, which was unusual, and flopped up onto the bed to snuggle against Isaac, which was also unusual. When it came to blind immortal shapeshifting birds, Charlie was not the cuddly sort. But Isaac hugged him anyway and sighed.

    What he needed, at this moment, was a distraction. And on the ADS¡­

    ¡°ARKO, what is the current name of this ship?¡±

    ¡°The ADS Revelation.¡±

    Revelation. Was it mocking him? He had noticed a correlation between his activities and the name of the flagship, but nothing that couldn¡¯t easily be chalked up to the imagination.

    Anyway. On the ADS Revelation, there was no better distraction than Admiral Thelonius Dantalion Emberstar. Isaac threw on the standard black Void Suit in case he felt like a space walk later and stepped out into the sterile white halls of the flagship.

    Isaac found the admiral at his usual station. Several lesser officers, most of them roughly human in appearance, surrounded the great leafy fronds of their commander. Isaac slouched about nearby, waiting for them to finish, trying not to appear as emotionally unstable as he felt. He felt, in specific: bitter disappointment, undirected resentment, and frustration. And beneath all this lurked a dark humor which appreciated the absurdity of the situation, urging him to laugh. None of this, he felt sure, was the correct response. The manly response. The Dwayne Hartman response. If a situation as ludicrous as this one had frustrated the hopes of Dwayne Hartman, would he mope about in self-pity? The thought of Dwayne moping for any reason whatsoever was laughable.

    Something caught Isaac¡¯s attention. Lady Stars watched him from the balcony on the upper deck. He couldn¡¯t say how he was sure she was watching him, since he could see little besides her starry outline. She ruffled the mantle of her wings. Which stars were those he saw on her? He couldn¡¯t tell; she was too far away to show much of Earth¡¯s sky.

    ¡°Mr. Milton,¡± said the basso profundo double-reed voice of Admiral Emberstar. ¡°What troubles you?¡±

    ¡°D-danger?¡± wondered Trepidation.

    ¡°No fear!¡± advised Valiance.

    ¡°His demise,¡± suggested Woe.

    ¡°Who cares?¡± asked Furor.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± asked Felicity.

    It appeared that Admiral Thelonius had dismissed his lesser officers in order to speak to Isaac. Isaac felt bad about that, but only a little. He could think of no reason not to tell Admiral Emberstar everything. He doubted the Admiral could be of much help, but it was nice just to have someone to talk to. Or six someones.

    Isaac explained the situation in brief, though not in as brief as he would have liked since he had to pause after every sentence to allow commentary from Admirals two through six. None of them really seemed to understand what the difficulty was, which raised new questions about Admiral Emberstar¡¯s species, and specifically why he was called a ¡®father¡¯ and the other five ¡®sons,¡¯ but they did their best to cheer him up. Most of them. It was cute.

    In the end, Admiral Thelonius imparted this advice to Isaac: ¡°Need help, help someone. Need love, love someone. If sad, find sad. Sad together. It better.¡± This struck Isaac as having the ring of truth to it. It was like something Dwayne would say.

    He received a message at this point.

    FI: he is right! He is!

    FI: I always liked that Admiral guy!

    FI: he is so pretty

    Isaac excused himself from the Admiral, though he knew by now that there was no need. The Admiral had been continuing operations on several nearby monitors unhindered, all while speaking to Isaac. It was not really possible to interrupt the Admiral unless he was audibly speaking to someone.

    IM: Are you always just creeping on us?

    IM: Waiting for drama?

    FI: if you were stuck in a library, Isaac Milton, what would you do?

    IM: Like...read?

    FI: okay but if you also had watching some cool aliens do the Narrative as another thing you could do

    IM: You think we¡¯re cool?

    FI: yes!

    FI: duh!

    FI: you are like animals

    FI: and I love animals! I do!

    IM: Weird

    IM: Seems to me like humans are pretty boring compared to you daimon

    FI: you just think that because you are a human

    IM: I guess

    FI: well I am sorry that your romance did not work out for you

    IM: Please don¡¯t call it that

    FI: but you should do what the Admiral said and find someone to help!

    FI: that is always a good idea I think

    IM: I think so too

    IM: Know anybody who could use a hand?

    FI: whoa!

    FI: oh wait

    FI: that must be a human expression

    FI: with a different meaning

    FI: heh

    IM: It means, you know anybody who could use some help?

    FI: we are full of those people up here

    FI: but you probably need somebody in the Narrative

    FI: you should ask Anzu!

    IM: Anzu?

    FI: he knows everything!

    FI: and I do not think he minds at all showing you things

    FI: especially things like this

    FI: he is really just a big softie!

    IM: Well, I can check

    He had serious doubts that Anzu was any kind of ¡®softie.¡¯ And he doubted that ¡°big,¡± or any spatial category, consistently applied to his Guardian, either. Size meant nothing to Anzu. Spacey powers and all that. Anzu could fly in and out of perspective like a cartoon character, being whatever size he wanted to be.

    ¡°But how,¡± Isaac asked Charlie, who was scooting around on the floor nearby, still in penguin form, ¡°do I find Anzu?¡±

    Ask, Charlie told him. Anzu is wherever he needs to be.

    Such advice seemed incongruous coming from a fat albino penguin attempting with little success to slide on the plasteel plating.

    ¡°Ok,¡± said Isaac. ¡°Uh. Anzu. Can I¡­oh.¡±

    He said ¡®oh¡¯ because he had ceased to be in the control deck, or anywhere onboard the ADS Revelation. The starry void encompassed him. He felt a moment of panic at not having his helmet, then remembered that he could transport it to himself instantly. He plucked it from his room and fastened it down over his head. Space, he had discovered, was not really all that cold. Objects in space were cold, but exposed skin didn¡¯t freeze unless it touched something. Which made sense. There was nowhere for the body heat to go. It was like in¡ª

    Suddenly, Anzu. There, in front of him, possibly at arm¡¯s reach or possibly miles away, a pure white shape of molten light. Anzu wanted him to speak; this was relayed to Isaac by no means of verbal or nonverbal communication. It was a fact burning hot in Isaac¡¯s mind.

    ¡°Uh, Anzu,¡± he said, realizing that he had never before directly addressed his Guardian, wondering if some honorific was in order, wondering if crude words were sufficient, or perhaps even an insult of some kind to such an overwhelming otherness. Wondering, not for the first time, if Anzu was actually an angel¡ªa real angel, not some odd eyeless construct of the Museum and the Narrative. Anzu seemed to fit the basic qualifications: bright, terrifying, overwhelming. And, apparently, both omnipresent and omniscient.

    ¡°I¡­¡± He faltered, mustered his courage, pressed on. ¡°Can you show me someone who needs help? Someone that I can help?¡± All of this business with Anzu now seemed like a bad idea. Surely this was beneath Anzu. Isaac felt like a child bothering a busy parent over something trivial, a glass of water. It was a stupid request. He, Isaac, was quite capable of finding such people on his own. He could have asked ARKO. He could have asked Lady Stars. Anyone.

    ¡°You know what?¡± he said. ¡°Actually, I¡ª¡±

    Anzu became a window. His whiteness faded, resolving into an image, a bird-shaped TV screen in outer space, facing Isaac, showing him something. Someone.

    She was beautiful, that was his first thought. Not actress-beautiful, or beautiful in the way that someone might sketch a face or a figure with the intent to make it attractive. She was beautiful in some new and mysterious way that gripped him deep in his chest, that he could not put into words. Her eyes were narrow and pale, her nose hooked and sharp, her cheekbones high, her jaw delicate. She seemed young, though it was hard to tell. She sat slumped on a rock, shivering from cold, a charred and tattered blue blanket wrapped loosely around her. Was it the icy wind that made her complexion so pallid? A matted mass of chalky hair, knotted and stained, fell down her back, adrift in the wind.

    Everything about her, from her posture to her expression to the state of her attire, proclaimed defeat. It was clear at a glance: this was someone who had been crushed, who knew failure, who had reached the end of hope and had given up. It was in her staring eyes, the irises eerily white. This tragedy added depth to her beauty, cementing her in Isaac¡¯s mind as some kind of poignant fallen hero.

    Isaac was just making a second pass, examining her unusual attire and surroundings more closely, excited and fascinated, when the vision blinked away¡ªand with it, Anzu.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Isaac called. ¡°Anzu! Who is she?¡±

    No answer. Only the blank emptiness of whichever corner of space Anzu had dropped him in.

    His heart was beating fast. He wanted to see her again. He had so many questions! Where was she? What had happened to her? Why was she so sad? It hurt him to think of her like that, alone and cold and dejected, in a way that he had never quite been hurt before. It made him think that he suddenly had a new priority.

    The Bright World, he noticed, was not far away. Comparatively speaking. He could see, this close to it, that it was not just a big crystal like the stars. It had a complex structure; a spiraling, churning fractal architecture that defied comprehension.

    He turned away from the Bright World, looked away toward distant Ardia and its moons. He saw something that looked like a flock of manta rays, aglow with neon lights, schooling in the dark nearby. ¡°ARKO,¡± he said. ¡°Got something for you. Top priority.¡±

    But wait. ARKO might be good at finding things, but there was someone even better.

    Yes?  The word appeared in space.

    ¡°Find me Jimothy,¡± said Isaac. ¡°I¡¯m going to teleport.¡±

 Chapter 27

    Chapter 27

    Eric Walker

    Eric was exploring the boundaries of yet another gaping chasm on the surface of his moon when the red-text god messaged him.

    AK: Hi >;)

    ¡°Think I should talk to the Burning God?¡± he asked Kate through his headset.

    Her voice came back with a faint crackle because something down below interrupted communications and it produced a discernible effect even on the surface if they were near a big hole. A Long Fall, as Jacob called them. ¡°W-well,¡± she said, ¡°y-you have red te-text too.¡± Which wasn¡¯t any kind of actual answer, but ok. He could just barely see her over on the other side of the dark abyss, maybe a mile away. Her dress of literal sky was conspicuously bright against the drab ruins of Pyrrhus. They were in the vast brick warren of the ghetto neighborhood part of his city.

    ¡°How¡¯d it go with Isaac?¡± he asked as he picked a sinuous path through the ruins on the laserbike.

    ¡°It was soooo awkward,¡± she said. ¡°And w-w-we haven¡¯t ta-t-talked since. B-but I think it¡¯s just b-because he g-got distracted by s-s-ssssomething.¡±

    She was right about that. Something had Isaac¡¯s full attention at the moment, which was interesting all by itself. Isaac¡¯s reluctance to tell Eric exactly what it was only fueled Eric¡¯s curiosity. Isaac wasn¡¯t the secret-mission type. But he was changing, maybe more than any of them. Eric¡¯s only clue was that Jimothy had been asked to locate someone, and had failed.

    EW: yo

    AK: I¡¯ve been curious, why do you have red text?

    EW: no reason we just like randomly picked our colors for this stupid game

    AK: A game?

    EW: actually i picked red because leah said so

    AK: Who?

    EW: my little sister

    EW: adopted actually

    AK: Adopted? What does that mean?

    EW: means shes not really my sister like biologically

    AK: So...huh?

    EW: actually why the fuck do you care

    AK: !

    AK: You¡¯re right!

    AK: I DON¡¯T care.

    AK: But tell me about this game.

    EW: for fucks sake

    EW: talk to isaac about that hes the one that likes talking about games

    AK: I will.

    EW: well you got your answer now

    EW: happy?

    AK: I¡¯m ALWAYS happy.

    AK: ^_^

    AK: Look, see?

    AK: It¡¯s me, smiling!

    AK: I¡¯m going to kill you all ^_^

    EW: still on that?

    EW: didnt your princess tell you to lay off or whatever?

    AK: She was never MY princess.

    AK: I¡¯m from the Shogunate.

    AK: And I was a clan heir :)

    EW: good for you

    EW: we done here?

    AK: You gonna bond your angel to something?

    EW: what

    AK: What, you need me to speak slower?

    AK: Are

    AK: You

    AK: Going

    AK: To

    EW: shut the fuck up

    AK: Ha ha! You sound like Jeronimy

    EW: dont compare me to that guy

    EW: i am chill as you can see

    EW: whereas he is like some fucking rabid lunatic

    EW: just nonstop pitching a goddam fit

    EW: and what would i bond my angel to anyway?

    AK: Well apparently you can bond it to pretty much anything.

    AK: Everyone here besides me bonded their angels to themselves, but that was a last resort sort of thing.

    EW: they bonded to their own angels?

    EW: sounds weird man

    AK: Not much choice.

    AK: I didn¡¯t ¡®cause my angel was dead.

    EW: woah they can die?

    AK: Of course they can die!

    EW: i mean it doesnt seem real easy

    EW: to kill em

    AK: It¡¯s not.

    AK: My angel was slain by a legendary beast!

    EW: sounds badass

    AK: Got that right!

    EW: oh i get it

    EW: so thats what you guys mean when you say that youre like animals

    EW: like youre a snake

    AK: Well, not really.

    AK: The animals thing happens when we fall.

    EW: fall?

    AK: From the sky. Like stars!

    AK: We don¡¯t do that gross ¡®birthing¡¯ thing like animals.

    AK: Or like you.

    EW: it is pretty gross not gonna lie

    AK: Fiora said humans have this larval stage where they¡¯re just useless for a few years.

    EW: true

    AK: But we daimon are functional as soon as we fall!

    AK: We can think and move and use our arda and even learn to talk.

    AK: Though we still start out tiny and weak.

    EW: what does this have to do with the animals

    AK: I¡¯m getting there! Tash, I thought you were supposed to be ¡®chill¡¯

    AK: Pretty much the first thing any newfallen does is bond to some creature.

    AK: They gain some of the traits of that creature. Like if you fall in the ocean you probably bond to a fish or something, and then you get gills.

    AK: Hopefully.

    AK: And usually the type of creature we bonded to will see us as one of them and take care of us.

    AK: Lots of newfallen don¡¯t survive, of course. Infernus is a rough place!

    EW: so you bonded to a snake

    AK: A viper!

    AK: A speckled highland pacer, to be specific ;)

    EW: so you just fuckin lived with snakes as a kid?

    AK: Yep!

    EW: damn thats hardcore

    AK: Hells yeah!

    AK: Until I got taken in by the clan.

    EW: so you were already bonded to animals or whatever

    EW: and then you all bonded again to your angels

    AK: All but me!

    AK: ¡®Cause mine died.

    AK: Jeronimy too.

    EW: what about him?

    AK: His angel got bonded to Black.

    EW: what you mean good ol fucking killed-my-best-friend abe?

    AK: That¡¯s the one.

    EW: huh

    EW: as fascinating as all this useless information is

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    EW: also as weirdly informative as youre being for someone who wants to fucking kill us

    EW: i gotta go

    AK: Hey, you¡¯re all right.

    AK: Not like that really short human.

    AK: Not sorry about what¡¯s going to happen to her by the way >;)

    Eric cut the connection. He had found something interesting. ¡°Kate, get over here and take a look at this,¡± he said into his headset.

    ¡°R-r-roger!¡±

    He had rolled the laserbike into a broad square plaza lined with skeletal, angular trees. There in the middle, among the dusty stone benches and dry cracked dirt, something glowed atop a squat stone pedestal. It shone with a dull reddish light. And it looked¡­

    He got closer, inching the laserbike through the dust, trusting it to alert him if that thing was radioactive or some shit. There were no alerts, no alarms. When he neared the pedestal, he could easily make out the shape of the thing upon it. It was an ¡®S¡¯ shape, but a very specific ¡®S¡¯ shape with a line through it and two dots on either side. It was the size of both of his hands together, made of some silvery material that seemed to flow as though liquid while the dal segno kept its shape. It pulsed with a slow, red light.

    Kate began to say something else, but a wave of vertigo crashed over him. Disoriented, his cheek smarting as though slapped, he fell to the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard. Everything faded to black; something shook him¡­

    A pale freckled face, topped with carrot-red hair. Such a face didn¡¯t seem as though it was meant to be badass. And yet¡­

    ¡°McFinn?¡± Eric blinked, groggy, head swimming. His cheek hurt, he slowly realized, because he  had been slapped. ¡°Wha¡­?¡±

    ¡°Wake up, Mr. Walker,¡± said McFinn, his voice a low whisper. ¡°And keep it down.¡±  End  cape it dune. That fucking accent. But Eric could read his tone of voice well enough. Things were serious here.

    He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to order his thoughts. He and McFinn and Heidi were between a plaster wall and a white counter. Heidi lay nearby with the red welt of a slap mark on her face, still fast asleep. McFinn shook her quietly to no effect.

    ¡°What¡¯s¡­the problem?¡± said Eric, making sure to cape it dune.

    ¡°He found us,¡± said McFinn. He gave up on Heidi with a look of vexation. ¡°Got some backup, too.¡± Then, muttering to himself, ¡°Where¡¯d they come from, he wondered? If he only knew¡­¡±

    Eric noticed something he had missed before: that McFinn lacked two fingers on his left hand. The wound looked odd; the finger stumps were not smooth or rounded, but jagged like broken glass. And it was bleeding. ¡°Who?¡± he asked.

    ¡°October Industries,¡± said McFinn. He crouched up, peeked over the countertop. ¡°Ezekiel.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you like some fuckin Lex Luthor or some shit? Can¡¯t you just blow them away?¡±

    McFinn glanced down at him, annoyed. ¡°Lex Luthor is selfish. He uses his intellect only to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Come on man, forget about Lex Luthor! What¡¯s all this?¡± Eric waved a hand at McFinn¡¯s belt, arm bracers, heavy boots, staff, and cross-chest bandolier of what looked like little black cassette tapes. Maybe Kate had been exaggerating, but she had implied more than once that her uncle, just in his regular everyday getup, was loaded up with firepower equivalent to a busload of special forces operatives. Of course, it was all future techno shit several decades ahead of the rest of the world.

    McFinn ticked off numbers on his fingers. ¡°I¡¯d like to conserve resources, I am only vaguely aware of their capabilities, I have two teenagers to take care of, one of them unconscious, and finally, Mr. Walker,¡± (this was the thumb), ¡°engaging hostiles is not priority. We need to get Earthside.¡±

    ¡°Fine, sure. Where do we go?¡±

    McFinn smirked, and damn he had an annoying smirk. ¡°Wrong question, Walker.¡±

    He made ready to leave, but a thought struck Eric. ¡°Wait,¡± he said. ¡°You been wandering around here?¡±

    McFinn nodded, impatient.

    ¡°Seen a library?¡± asked Eric.

    ¡°Library? Yes. Of a sort.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±

    ¡°It was¡­flooded. Wet. We¡¯ve no time for reading, Mr. Walker.¡±

    Eric whipped out his phone. It actually felt a little weird to use a phone again after talking on a headset all this time. They were all there in CHIME: eight mysterious contacts with garbled names and nonsense symbols for their phone numbers. ¡°I might be able to get us some backup,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s go, I can type on the way.¡±

    McFinn shouldered Heidi and crept along the counter until they were out in the open. It looked like the foyer of some fancy new-age art gallery. Non-representational paintings on glaringly bright walls, architect on hallucinogens, etc. Eric didn¡¯t see anyone else, the people McFinn was worried about. But he kept a lookout as he followed the mad scientist. He knew what he was looking for: orange and grey.

    And speaking of colors, which of the gods might be willing to come help? He had a feeling the burning god would love a fight, but also that she wouldn¡¯t discriminate as to who exactly she fought. The frozen god also seemed like a stone-cold badass, but he doubted she would come to help. Who else? Orange god: no. Green god: definitely not.

    What about the boss god? The absolute unit whose outline loomed over the rest in Jim¡¯s mural. Eric hadn¡¯t spoken to him much, but he seemed friendly. Worth a shot.

    EW: yo

    EW: thunder guy

    RA: AHA!

    RA: WELL HELLO THERE, HERO OF TIME!

    EW: yeah hey listen

    EW: im in the museum with heidi and this other human

    EW: we might need some help

    RA: THE MUSEUM?

    RA: WE ARE ALSO IN THE MUSEUM

    EW: yeah i know

    ¡°Oh,¡± said McFinn. Eric, looking down at his phone, didn¡¯t see whatever McFinn saw, but he sure as hell felt the force that flung him sideways and skidded him twenty feet across the shiny white tile. He barely kept hold of his phone. Something exploded nearby. Heat bathed Eric along one side; an invisible fist punched the breath from his lungs.

    Then, before he could even get his bearings, the ground dropped out from beneath him. A hand closed on his arm. ¡°Hang on,¡± said McFinn.

    They fell into more of the same: weird art, high white walls, skylights and goofy-ass chandeliers. McFinn¡¯s grip tightened on Eric¡¯s arm as they swung down to ground level in a graceful swoop. McFinn hit the ground running, still with Heidi on his shoulder. He ducked around several corners, dropped a flat silver oval from his belt, and dragged Eric down a long dark hallway flickering with lights on the walls. They stopped a minute later, crouched in a room full of sculptures, their backs to a huge iron fish.

    ¡°The good news,¡± McFinn whispered, ¡°is that¡­¡± He paused. Then he left the sentence unfinished. He must have begun it on the assumption that he would think of something worth saying along the way. He gave Eric a look. ¡°How¡¯s your backup plan coming?¡±

    RA: WHERE ARE YOU, ERIC WALKER?

    RA: AND WHAT IS THE PROBLEM?

    EW: being chased by bad guys

    EW: in some art gallery

    RA: BAD GUYS?

    EW: october industries, you know em?

    RA: I AM AFRAID NOT

    EW: well theyre trying to kill us

    EW: so any help would be just fine

    RA: I WILL SEE WHAT I CAN DO

    RA: BUT AS YOU ARE NO DOUBT AWARE, NAVIGATION IN THIS PLACE CAN PROVE VEXING

    ¡°Maybe,¡± said Eric. ¡°They have to find us first.¡±

    ¡°Then we shouldn¡¯t count on it,¡± McFinn replied.

    ¡°Hello again, Riley McFinn,¡± said an unfamiliar voice. It came from the far side of the room. McFinn swore under his breath. Then he replied.

    ¡°Ezekiel Starlight. That was a close one.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing personal, I guess,¡± said the other voice, closer now. ¡°I¡¯d just as soon not destroy a mind like yours. I bet she¡¯d like you. If you weren¡¯t obstructing us.¡±

    ¡°Nothing personal? What is it, then?¡± McFinn was stalling for time. He handed Heidi to Eric as he spoke, then fiddled with some of the devices on his belt.

    ¡°It¡¯s about what we want,¡± Ezekiel replied. ¡°What we all want.¡± The way he said ¡®all¡¯ hinted that he was not alone.

    ¡°So tell me then,¡± said McFinn. ¡°I¡¯m curious. What  do you all want? Why go to all this trouble?¡± McFinn took one of the cassette tapes from his chest, pushed two invisible buttons on its matte black surface. Green lights blinked on and shuttled around the edges.

    ¡°We want the Museum, I guess. And you should too, McFinn. You should be on our side.¡±

    ¡°The Museum?¡± McFinn handed the rectangle to Eric and pointed at the wall opposite, which was plain, barren, white. Eric looked from the glowing box, to the wall, to McFinn. He shrugged.

    ¡°What we want is to not be characters anymore,¡± said Ezekiel Starlight. ¡°We do not want to be pawns in an unending chain of creators and their creations. We wish to break free. To become masterless. To be like God, if you will permit such a dramatic turn of phrase. Not in power, or in knowledge, but in freedom. I guess that my name is written some place where it cannot be erased. And yours is no different. I want to burn those books. I want to choose my own name.¡± He paused, and when McFinn did not respond at once, he added, ¡°Consider, McFinn. How much agency do you truly think you have? You could help us, I guess. What do you think?¡±

    McFinn was silent for a moment. He stared at the blank wall. Eric feared that he was actually considering Ezekiel¡¯s offer. But then he barked a laugh. ¡°Wrong question, Starlight,¡± he said. ¡°The truth of your words is irrelevant. It¡¯s impossible.¡± McFinn mimed throwing the black rectangle at the wall, then made an explosion with one hand.

    Ezekiel audibly sighed. ¡°You occupy a precarious position atop the precipice of my patience, I guess.¡±

    McFinn removed an object from his belt and hooked it onto Eric¡¯s ear. It clamped down almost painfully. Then he nodded at Eric and leaped from the cover of their statue. He at once became the nucleus of a brilliant maelstrom. Flashes and bizarre humming, mixed with actual gunfire, filled the room as McFinn whisked away in a blue hum. One statue exploded behind him; another melted. The floor trembled; the air became rank with acrid smoke.

    Eric chucked the black rectangle at the blank wall ahead of him and braced for an impact. He turned his body to shield Heidi, but there was no explosion. When he looked, a ragged hole had simply appeared, opening onto another exhibit. The edges were not burned, broken, or melted. A piece of the wall was just, simply, gone.

    Eric heaved Heidi over his shoulder, charged through the gap. He did not forget to speed himself up, stretching a difference of hundreds of bpms between his own heartbeat and those of everyone else in the room, McFinn and OI.

    The other side was a blank hallway, dim and white. Left, right, ahead. He chose a random direction and ran. McFinn could find him later; for now, he only had to get away. And he had no angel, no sword, no Jacob, no goon squad from Orpheus, no laserbike. Just the ability to alter the flow of time, and a damn heavy teenage girl over his shoulder.

    Someone wandered into his path, wearing an orange and gray backpack with otherwise ordinary street clothes. She was black, had dreadlocks, and surprised by his sudden appearance. She raised an arm with some mechanical augmentation attached; it fed into her backpack like some overly complicated leafblower. She was still raising that thing to aim it at Eric when he slowed her down. Her heartbeat: fucking larghissimo. He staggered past, and she was still barely turning to look when he rounded the next corner.

    He couldn¡¯t run. Way too fucking slow with Heidi. He had to hide. This thought occurred to him as he passed a painting that occupied almost the entire wall to his right. It depicted a foggy, moonlit riverbank¡ªblurry, impressionist. And he noticed, as he paused to consider his options, that he felt mist seeping out from that picture, along with a cool breeze.

    He knew at once that it was possible, because of course it fucking was, so he didn¡¯t stop to think about it. He heaved Heidi into the painting and climbed in after her.

    The scent of wet grass and the mud of the river surrounded him. A distant quavering violin played a chill song. He felt strange; this was because his body and clothes had been rendered into bleary brush strokes. His hands were wet from the cool dew on the grass. Despite the urgency, the danger, he had to flex his hands, watch his impressionist fingers close, feel the cool paint. He fought down a wave of panic.

    Behind him, a huge rectangular window showed the art gallery. If he had been quicker, maybe he could have pulled Heidi behind a painted bush and hid. But he had hesitated, and so the agents from October Industries had time to reach the painting and take a look around¡ªthree of them now.

    He didn¡¯t move. He was part of the painting, even though he was right out in the middle of it, just standing there. Maybe they wouldn¡¯t notice.

    But they did. One of them locked eyes with Eric. Eric stretched out the guy¡¯s moment of confusion for long enough¡ªjust long enough¡ªto jump out of the painting, grab the handgun from the middle guy¡¯s hip holster, and¡­

    ¡­hesitate. Because he couldn¡¯t just shoot and kill three people. They were almost standing still compared to his tempo; they were swimming in honey. It would have been easy. But he couldn¡¯t.

    He shot their gear instead, put a few slow bullets into those weird boxy backpacks that each of them wore looking like they were all set to bust some ghosts.

    Time snapped back as he dove into the painting, picked up Heidi, and hauled her along the foggy riverbank.

    Something bright crackled through the night. Eric saw it rendered in the air above him in a zig-zag series of heavy streaks of blue paint. Then it swept down and drove into him from the side, a sizzling hot whip of heat and force. He grunted, went numb, thought:  The fuck is that?!

    He barely managed to keep his grip on the imaginary metronome, muscling it to an almost-standstill. Heidi drifted in the air, tumbling down the slope in slow motion. Eric aimed some random shots behind him; bullets left the gun at jogging-speed. They were just little blobs of brassy paint.

    Something exploded nearby as he plucked Heidi from the air. He watched the light swell, grainy and textured because it was a shockwave and a slow-moving painting at the same time. He tried to run, pulling Heidi¡¯s dead weight, but he couldn¡¯t outpace the explosion. It caught him, carried him, burned his back and made him lose his grip on both Heidi and the tempo.

    Maybe the problem, he thought, was that he had no music here. No headphones. It was a hundred times easier to do the time shit with music on.

    He snapped back into real time, heartbeat hammering. They had climbed into the painting after him; he heard their approach. He coughed. He tried to think. He had a gun. He could slow time. What would Heidi do? Well, she wouldn¡¯t be in this mess because she would have just killed them already without hesitating.

    Fuck.

    He slowed it again, getting tired. Tired already? Well, he needed music for this. He slowed them down, the three OI agents; he pulled their heartbeats to a relative stop, and it was like hauling back three ropes at a time in a game of tug-of-war. He emerged from the bushes, in which every leaf was a single smear of dim bluish paint. There they were, the three OI goons. No Heidi in sight. Not on the riverbank, not on the path. She could be in the bushes somewhere. She could be in the fucking river. Could she drown? In a painting?

    He paused. He couldn¡¯t hold those three for long. He didn¡¯t have time. But he couldn¡¯t just leave Heidi. Would they find her? Would they kill her?

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he said. He aimed the gun carefully at the leg of the nearest OI agent and pulled the trigger.

    click

    The gun, a vague grayish stroke of paint in his vague blobby painted hand, was empty. He dropped it.

    They were speeding up again, turning to look at him. He had shot their gear; the backpack on one guy crawled with lines of electricity. But they still looked ready to throw down.

    He knew what Heidi would say, if she were somehow here watching this. Just run. One of us dead is better than both. And besides, these bodies were basically spares, right?

    He turned and fled out of the painting, stumbled awkwardly into the art gallery. There were more OI agents out there. But there were also more paintings. And on his own, he could be pretty damn quick.

    Later, when he had lost them, he traced his way back to the original painting and searched for Heidi. He didn¡¯t find her.

 Chapter 28

    Chapter 28

    Leah Walker

    Leah Walker didn¡¯t understand what was happening. She realized this, and made the conscious decision not to worry about it. When they finally arrived at the place they¡¯d been trying to get to, Mr. Carter said something about a door he had built and how they had to leave Earth.

    ¡°What happens to anyone who stays on Earth?¡± asked Mr. Mike.

    Mr. Carter didn¡¯t know, but he thought it wouldn¡¯t be good. ¡°This world is becoming unstable,¡± he said. ¡°Soon it might be nothing but, ah, genesis mist.¡±

    Everyone seemed sad about that, and this at least was something Leah understood. No one knew if she would see her parents again. Almost everyone else in the car also had people they might not see again. And Leah had liked Earth, even though she had not seen very much of it.

    Mr. Sheppard had a plan. Leah knew he would. Mr. Sheppard always knew what to do. But Ms. Carter didn¡¯t like the plan, and there were some raised voices, and then the plan was changed so that she was going outside too. That made sense. Leah knew how much Ms. Carter liked being outside. Ms. Carter said all the time how she didn¡¯t like being ¡®cooped up¡¯ in the ALL-Rover.

    So Ms. Carter went out with her brother and with Mr. Sheppard to make sure the coast was clear. Leah had seen no beaches outside, and she didn¡¯t even know what it meant for a coast to be clear. Was Chicago¡¯s coast clear? She didn¡¯t know. She would ask Eric when she saw him again.

    She played with Short the Turtle while everyone waited. They were all nervous. Mr. Hartman kept shuffling cards, which reminded Leah of Eric because he had always amazed her with how he could make the cards all blur together with a cool sound. The cards looked pretty silly when Mr. Hartman shuffled them, though. They looked so small. Mr. Mike kept walking back and forth and looking out of the windows. Ms. AJ went back to check on Eric¡¯s friends, Liz and Jim, who were sleeping a lot. Ms. Shape kept staring out the window.

    Leah got bored of playing with Short after a while and began pretending to be a moose. She made antlers out of her hands and stomped around the room, snuffling at everyone. She knew that mooses were really tall, and very grouchy, and also very selfish, so she took one of Mr. Hartman¡¯s cards in her mouth and did not give it back.

    Mr. Carter and the others returned, but a moose wouldn¡¯t have cared about that, so Leah stomped off and knocked over a half-full cup of coffee right into the sink. Then she dropped the card into the spilled cold coffee at the bottom of the sink. Everyone would always know that the coffee-card was the jack of hearts. This moose did not care. Like many mooses, she enjoyed messing things up. No one dared question a moose if they messed things up; that was one benefit of being a moose. Definitely the best thing about mooses, though, was that they did not stay up crying at night because of not knowing where their family was.

    ¡°Leah?¡± said Ms. AJ from over where all the grown-ups were talking. ¡°You should come listen.¡±

    Leah did not listen to boring adult stuff. She made a moose noise at Ms. AJ.

    But maybe moose Leah was a little curious what they were all talking about. She moosed over to where everyone else was, going unnoticed, which was easy because mooses were sneaky.

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    ¡°¡­dangerous,¡± said Ms. Carter, though she didn¡¯t say it with the excitement most people use when talking about dangerous things.

    ¡°Still our best chance,¡± said Mr. Sheppard.

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving Jim,¡± said Mr. Mike.

    ¡°Riley is coming,¡± said Mr. Carter. ¡°With, er, the other two. He will correct the error and follow us in this vehicle.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± said Mr. Sheppard, who looked so serious that he was almost scary. ¡°If we can¡¯t wake them up, we can¡¯t afford to carry them along. We might have to move fast.¡±

    ¡°They will be, eh, quite safe here,¡± said Mr. Carter.

    It  was boring adult stuff. Leah moved over to a window to look out at the fog. Mooses didn¡¯t like fog, but pirates did. Hmm.

    Eventually, the grown-ups finished talking. By this time Leah was writing all the words she could think of that had to do with palm trees, listing them neatly in red crayon on the back of a paper that Mr. Hartman had been using to show her music. Leah liked the music, but couldn¡¯t figure out why it always had to be  five lines. Maybe it was because most people had five fingers on each hand.

    She was working on this problem, multiplying and dividing fives and numbers with five in them at random, when she felt a huge hand settle on top of her head. Only one person had hands so big. She looked up and saw the huge beard of Mr. Hartman smiling down at her. ¡°We¡¯re staying here,¡± he told her.

    Leah twisted around to look at everyone else. They were packing up to leave! ¡°Where are they going?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Oh, they¡¯ll go on ahead, we¡¯ll just wait for¡­¡± Leah looked up at him. He was staring in confusion at all the numbers on her page. ¡°For your brother,¡± he finished.

    That got her attention. ¡°Eric¡¯s coming?¡±

    Mr. Hartman nodded. ¡°So we¡¯ll sit tight here while they go on ahead.¡±

    Leah said goodbye to everyone as they left. Then she went back to her numbers. Five was a weird number because no matter how many times you put it together with itself, it always ended in either a zero or another five. She went back to being a moose, because that had been fun, and she had learned a lot, and mooses liked the number five.

 Chapter 29

    Chapter 29

    Eric Walker

    Eric woke up slowly, cheek stinging, head full of warm slush. He groaned. ¡°What the hell¡­?¡±

    The last thing he clearly remembered was hiding in one of the paintings in the Museum, preparing to meet up with McFinn. Eric had reported losing Heidi. McFinn had reported finding the door. They were close, real close, to going through onto Earth. And then¡­

    Kate stared down at him, concerned. ¡°Eric!¡± she said. She raised a hand to slap him again.

    ¡°I¡¯m up, I¡¯m up,¡± he said. Dark sky behind her. Smell of dust. Sand under his fingertips. Yeah, he was back on the Hollow Moon.

    He sat up, hoping that he would become used to waking up in another body without feeling all hungover. If indeed this was what being hungover felt like. He couldn¡¯t be sure. He should ask Kate.

    ¡°W-wh-w-wha-w-are you okay?¡±

    He nodded. ¡°Your uncle woke me up on the other side,¡± he said. He looked around. His bike was close by, decorated by Frisby and Navi. Kate held the Dal segno in one hand. It maintained its shape even though the dots didn¡¯t connect to the rest of it, just like the Repeat.

    ¡°Oh! H-how was he?¡±

    ¡°A little busy. OI jumped us. And¡­fuck, I lost Heidi¡¯s spare body. Or, like, her original. Listen, why¡¯d you wake me up?¡±

    Kate rocked back to sit on her heels. She brushed sand from her painted lab coat and dress. Her dress displayed a roiling mass of stormclouds, occasionally flashing with silent lightning. ¡°Y-you were just p-pa-p-passed out!¡±

    ¡°Yeah okay well I need to get back there. Leah¡¯s in danger, and your uncle just found the door.

    ¡°Rrrrrr!¡± She grabbed her lab coat in frustration. ¡°I wish I could go with you! I want to see Riley and my dad and everyone!¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Well you shouldn¡¯t have died, he was about to say, but she didn¡¯t like thinking about that, and also she had only died to save Leah¡¯s life, and also it would have been just kind of an asshole comment in general. So he didn¡¯t say it. He was learning.

    ¡°Okay!¡± she said. ¡°Y-you need to g-ge-get back to sleep!¡±

    He sat up. ¡°I¡¯m not really tired though.¡± Also, what was he supposed to do with a Dal segno? He could worry about that later.

    Kate, as usual, had her bass at the ready. She swung it around, momentarily tangling it in her lab coat. ¡°I will p-play¡­a  soothing m-me-me-m-melody!¡±

    Eric did not have time to respond, because at that moment Eranex roared overhead. The sound was just as terrible as Eric remembered: part ripping visceral bass, part screech of tearing metal, modulated by a rapid oscillation like it was being filtered through an enormous spinning fan. And it was  so fucking loud.

    It made Kate scream, though her shriek was nothing against the roar of the dragon. Frisby and Navi cowered under the laserbike. Eric flinched down into the dirt, tried to remain calm.

    The dragon Eranex descended from the clouds in a plummeting freefall like a jumbo jet seconds before the plane crash of the century. But she spread her tattered canvas wings, and they snapped open to ease her into a swooping descent. She sped over the rooftops until her path brought her directly over the courtyard, generating a storm of dust and sand that made Eric shield his face.

    She came to rest towering over Eric and Kate, perched on a nearby building that crumbled precariously under her weight. Her form remained shrouded as before in a cloud of dark fog, and all electric lights in the area stuttered out, leaving Eric and Kate illuminated only by the dim haze of the storm overhead.

    HELLO AGAIN, HERO OF TIME, she said. Her voice boomed into his mind like a foghorn. This was exactly what she had said the first time they¡¯d met. Hello again. AND TO YOUR GUEST, HERO OF SKIES.

    Kate trembled but she remained standing. Slowly, carefully, she adjusted the strap on her guitar and stepped forward with one foot in a fighting stance against the dragon.

    The building on which Eranex perched collapsed under the weight; the dragon dropped down and shook the ground as her weight found new purchase. She hardly seemed to notice.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± Eric asked. Not to be out-braveried by Kate, he got to his feet and stepped up beside her, though his legs felt watery and weak.

    TO THE POINT, AS EVER, said Eranex, and Eric got the impression that she was smiling as she thundered into his mind. Amused. I SOMEWHAT ENVY THOSE GUARDIANS ABLE TO BANTER WITH THEIR HEROES.

    Maybe, thought Eric, he was being too hard on her all this time. Eranex talked a big game, and she was threatening as hell, but so far she hadn¡¯t actually done anything to hurt him.

    MY ROLE IS TO THREATEN, she continued. TO BRING DESPAIR, AND FINALLY TO FACE YOU, AND KILL YOU IF I CAN. I WOULD SPEAK IN RIDDLES. I WOULD PLAY THE ROLE OF DARK NEMESIS. BUT YOU HAVE NEVER CARED TO PLAY ALONG. NO INTEREST IN BEING THE HERO. IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THIS WAY.

    Eric tried to process what she said. It was not easy with her thoughts rattling his brain, especially since he had to wait until she finished before he could even think. ¡°What?¡± he muttered to himself.

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    ¡°Eric,¡± whispered Kate, ¡°she m-means you d-don¡¯t like p-pl-p-playing along with the s-story. Where she¡¯s the v-villain and y-you¡¯re the hero!¡±

    CORRECT, HERO OF SKIES. I MUST RESORT TO PLAIN ACTION, STRIPPING AWAY A FABRICATED CONTEXT.

    Eric looked to Kate for translation. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, ¡°that one I d-d-don¡¯t understand.¡±

    I WILL SHOW YOU.

    She moved; the darkness rushed down toward them. By the time Eric perceived the threat, it was too late. He reached out, seized the pendulum of time¡ª

    An eye emerged from the cloud of darkness¡ªa red spotlight eye, glaring with malice.

    NO.

    Eric landed on his back in the barren dirt. When he scrambled to his feet, things were much as they had been before, with Eranex resuming her perch atop the pile of brick and mortar that had been a building. Except Kate was no longer with him.

    A CHOICE, HERO, said the dragon. ALWAYS, IN THE END, A CHOICE.

    Eric looked around desperately. No Kate.

    SHE IS HERE. The shadows surrounding the collapsed building parted to reveal Kate, gripped in the claws of the dragon. She thrashed, shouted, and struggled feebly against claws made of rusty broken iron beams.

    Eric wanted to shout some defiance, but he didn¡¯t know what to say. He felt cold.

    ELSEWHERE IS YOUR SISTER. IN DANGER, IMMEDIATE AND DIRE.

    How did she know that? Did she actually know, or was she just reading his mind, his fears?

    I CAN PUT YOU TO SLEEP, HERO. YOU CAN GO TO HER. BE HER HERO.

    Kate cried out as the metal claws tightened around her.

    OR COME AND SAVE YOUR FRIEND.

    Eric couldn¡¯t move. What was the answer? This had to be some game, some trick.

    ¡°Eric!¡± shouted Kate. ¡°G-go for Leah, Eric! I¡¯ll be ok! T-t-trust¡ª¡±

    QUIET.

    Kate flashed with light. A bolt of lightning struck down from the sky and speared Eranex. It momentarily dispersed the darkness, exposing the skeletal form of the dragon¡ªconcrete and metal, rope and canvas. Eranex growled. STOP. Kate began to reply, apparently unharmed by the lightning, but a further tightening of the dragon¡¯s claws cut her off. She gasped, squirming in the rusty grasp of the dragon, trying to tell him something.

    SO. WHAT WILL IT BE, HERO? I AM CURIOUS.

    The weight of Frisby settled on Eric¡¯s shoulder. Frisby wanted to tell him that Navi said that Kate said that he should go get Leah.

    Okay. Thinking logically.

    On the one hand, he could see exactly what kind of danger Kate was in right now. Eranex hadn¡¯t said exactly what she planned to do with Kate, but Eric had no reason to doubt that it was bad. Possibly lethal. Whereas Leah¡¯s danger was mainly theoretical, unless he wanted to believe that ¡®immediate and dire¡¯ business that Eranex had just said.

    But why wouldn¡¯t he believe that? Both McFinn and those OI people had said pretty much the same thing. Leah was walking into a trap.

    But Leah was with allies who could protect her, while Kate was here on her own.

    But Kate had told him to leave her. Maybe she had a plan? Maybe she knew something he didn¡¯t, beyond the usual library of things that already fell into that category? Maybe this was like when he had jumped off the tower at her palace to save her, only to realize that she had not needed saving. Or maybe she was just being brave and selfless, like she had the  last time she¡¯d died for Leah¡¯s sake.

    But Leah was only a child. An awesome, cute, weird little kid who didn¡¯t deserve any of this shit.

    But Kate was one of his best friends. And¡­

    But Leah.

    Maybe he stretched out time without noticing, because it seemed like he stood there for torturous hours.

    In the end, because it was all he could do, he made a choice.

 Chapter 30

    Chapter 30

    Isaac Milton

    When I consider how my light is spent,

    ? Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

    ? And that one Talent which is death to hide

    ? Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent

    ? To serve therewith my Maker, and present

    ? My true account, lest he returning chide;

    ? ¡°Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?¡±

    ? I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent

    ? That murmur, soon replies, ¡°God doth not need

    ? Either man¡¯s work or his own gifts; who best

    ? Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

    ? Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

    ? And post o¡¯er Land and Ocean without rest:

    ? They also serve who only stand and wait.¡±

    - John Milton, ¡°On His Blindness¡±

    Isaac played his piano ship to the Bright World. Unprepared, and knowing full well that he was unprepared, he decided to go anyway. He had checked with ARKO. He had scanned the Bright World with every tool available. He had read up on the lore. There wasn¡¯t much to the lore beyond this: the Bright World was powerful and dangerous. It might be fair to describe it as a counterpoint to the Dark World, but that didn¡¯t mean it was on his side.

    He hadn¡¯t found the girl from Anzu¡¯s vision. Jimothy had no guesses about her location. ARKO could not identify or locate her.

    Finding the beautiful girl wasn¡¯t the only reason Isaac decided to go to the Bright World. The place seemed important, yet nobody really knew anything about it. Was it intelligent? Some kind of GM as Derxis suggested, moderating their Narrative? If so, he had questions for it. What had happened to his moon? What wish had he made in the previous iteration of the Narrative? And why? He¡¯d like to know that. It would be a bummer if he messed it up again somehow.

    Derxis, the Laughing God, had been to the Bright World before. His advice: don¡¯t go there. Not unless it really matters. Unless there is no other choice. Derxis either couldn¡¯t or wouldn¡¯t say exactly what the Bright World was like or what made it so dangerous. Just that you always had to pay a price. For everything you took from that place, be it power or knowledge or anything else, you damn well paid for it.

    Isaac¡¯s conviction wavered at these words. The danger was enough to make him anxious, but not quite enough to deter him. So here he was, cruising through the starry dark, approaching the big crystal stars that made the spherical empyrean around the whole Narrative. The stars ranged in scale from the size of Isaac to the size of the ship he piloted. They drifted in a two-dimensional curved plane, occasionally jostling each other, except for when they fell. When they got loose from the Empyrean, they dropped away toward Ardia as if there was some kind of attraction pulling them down.

    Apparently, they were keeping the dark out.

    Being close to the empyrean made for an outstanding view. The stars nearby were big and bright, but they shrank as the empyrean swept away in every direction and curved toward the tiny bright bead of Ardia down in the middle. The stars were like a chaotic matrix that shrank with distance until the farthest stars way on the other side of Ardia were just tiny pinpricks, barely discernible.

    Isaac considered going beyond the stars, past the empyrean into the dark beyond. Just to see what it looked like. But if the stars really were keeping something out, he didn¡¯t want to go past them and find out firsthand what it was.

    The Bright World¡¯s bizarre structure became apparent as he approached. It was smaller than Ardia or any of its moons. Much smaller than the Dark World. It was the size of, maybe, a very big city. Plus suburbs.

    The Bright World had layers. Rivers of molten diamond formed the outermost layer, sharp yet flowing, sparkling with inner light, spraying droplets that froze in the void of space and clinked against Isaac¡¯s windshield as solid diamond. The rivers coiled around the inner parts of the Bright World without beginning or end, a Mobius Ouroboros of thistly liquid light.

    Something stirred in the rivers as Isaac eased his way past, fingers stiff and cold on the keys. A colossal shape swam in the light. Isaac got the sense that it was watching him.

    Within these encompassing rivers, the Bright World became difficult to comprehend. The visual clutter was too great; there was too much light, too much movement. Yet it was not chaos, in the way that complex mathematics (the kind his sister understood) were not chaos. The Bright World was made of reflective material, glass or crystal, arranged into tessellated fractals that collapsed and exploded without end, flexing and folding with the uncanny unity of form seen in a wheeling flock of birds or a darting school of fish. A blinding, mesmerizing, brain-melting pattern. It seemed like communication, cosmic meaning beyond his grasp. His ship drifted for a while as he stared.

    And at the core of the Bright World, underneath all of this lay a sea of brilliance, the pearl at the heart of it all. It was not quite as bright as, say, the sun. He could look at it without feeling that he was doing permanent damage to his vision. And unlike the sun, which derived its light from being essentially a nonstop nuclear explosion of unfathomable heat and violence, this bright core was placid and cold.

    Something swam in that vitreous sea of light¡ªa leviathan in the bright, a creature seeing but unseen. Isaac had learned the name of this creature, which might be called the Guardian of the Bright World, or its angel. It was called the Prothagonus.

    Isaac¡¯s pianoship coasted to a slow drift just within the encircling rivers, in front of the twisting, glittering mass of mirrors and light.

    come out, said the Bright World, or maybe the Prothagonus. The voice was made of sound, and the sound was made of a shattering roar¡ªthe noise of a thousand panes of glass being crunched up together in a cement mixer, amplified until it rattled Isaac¡¯s cockpit. It wasn¡¯t speaking English, the only language Isaac knew. It wasn¡¯t speaking any Earthly language. He understood it anyway.

    He obeyed the voice. He fastened on his helmet and displaced himself to a location a few dozen feet in front of his ship. Small jumps like this, to places he could see, had become easy for him. Long-distance teleportation remained tricky.

    The visor of his helmet dimmed the shifting sea of light to a bearable level. Jim, thought Isaac, should never come here. One glance and he¡¯d have a seizure.

    The swimming creature, the leviathan in the bright, moved somewhere below. Isaac tried to peer through the churning mass of mirrors to see it, to catch a glimpse of its form or a hint of its scale. He could discern nothing more than vague hints of something vast adrift among the mesmerizing refractions.

    The mirrors turned toward him. Eyes. Hundreds, thousands of eyes¡ªeyes in incalculable array, like the stars in the sky. They were reflections, from mirror to mirror; each of the countless eyes staring at Isaac was the endpoint of an unfathomable chain of reflected images, each tracing a path from Isaac down to the Prothagonus somewhere below. The mirrors turned minutely, tracking the Prothagonus as it swam; each reflected eye remained steady, gazing at Isaac. And each eye was unique. Cat¡¯s eyes, snake¡¯s eyes, fish eyes, coin-slot goat¡¯s eyes, wavy cuttlefish eyes, multifaceted insectile eyes, goofy little shrimp eyes, horrible patchy bloodshot rainbow eyes unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen, and human eyes, especially human eyes, all of them in every color imaginable. It was a mosaic spread before him with eyes instead of tiles, and the image it formed turned Isaac¡¯s blood to ice water.

    I should not have come here, he thought. I shouldn¡¯t have come.

    But he was here.

    ¡°I am here,¡± he said, wondering afterward if he should have phrased it ¡®here am I,¡¯ just for old times¡¯ sake.

    Isaac Milton, the voice crashed in some language unknown.  have you come to bargain for a wish?

    ¡°Bargain?¡± Isaac peeled his gaze away from the mosaic of eyes and glanced around for Charlie. The bird usually flew around with him in space. But his angel, apparently, was cowering back in the ship.

    state your desire. we bargain. my default price is memories.

    What did he want? Why had he come here? And what price was he willing to pay for it?

    ¡°May I¡­ask a question?¡± His voice squeaked a little as he spoke, but he felt no embarrassment. He had to be careful, he thought, not to accidentally wish for something or say something that could be interpreted as a wish. He didn¡¯t think the Bright World was like some kind of litigious devil in a fantasy game that would always try to screw him over on his wishes. But he didn¡¯t want to take any chances.

    ask.

    ¡°What can a wish do? What are its limitations?¡±

    a wish can change something. its power is limited to the Narrative.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    And, by extension, so was the power of the Bright World, maybe? ¡°And what are the limits of its power?¡± he asked.

    there are none. the mightiest wish requires the greatest price.

    No limits. Scary. So, what, they could all get together and just wish for victory in the Narrative? But the price would no doubt be so great that it wouldn¡¯t seem like victory at all. Wasn¡¯t that what a Pyrrhic Victory meant, like the name of Eric¡¯s moon?

    He remembered Derxis¡¯ words. Wishes should be a last resort.

    ¡°I understand,¡± said Isaac to himself. ¡°They  are like GM points.¡± The whole ¡®wish¡¯ mechanic existed in the Narrative for the purpose of enabling heroic sacrifices. If things got bad, if the heroes got into a rough spot, any hero could come here and pay a price to fix things, or try. The mechanic was in place to prevent the heroes from getting soft-locked, from reaching a fail-state. And for the drama, of course. And undoubtedly, the price would always be steep. It would always hurt. It would always be in doubt whether the wish was worth it. That¡¯s how Isaac would have done it.

    But maybe¡­maybe a low-value wish would have a price he was willing to pay.

    ¡°If I ask for a wish,¡± he said, ¡°but we can¡¯t agree on a price¡­do I just walk away?¡±

    no.

    A chill ran through Isaac.

    you must fly.

    It took him a moment to understand. Was¡­was the Bright World/Prothagonus making a joke? Was it trying to be funny? Or was it just being precise? No, of course he couldn¡¯t  walk away from here; he obviously had to  fly.

    ¡°So just to be clear,¡± he said, ¡°If I reject every price that is offered¡­I can leave without paying anything? Nothing changes?¡±

    you will change. you will have failed to bargain. your conviction will have proved unequal to your desire. and there is this: if you reject the bargain and leave, you may never ask for the same wish again.

    ¡°I get it.¡± He took a deep breath. He thought about that girl he saw in Anzu¡¯s vision. How important was finding her, really?

    Dwayne Hartman answered in the back of his mind.  Every person is the center of a whole world, Isaac.  Isaac had asked, long ago, why Dwayne had jumped into an icy river, risking his own life and almost drowning to save a child swept away by the swollen spring current.  People think you save the world by helping a lot of people all at once. Well, that¡¯s fine. But helping just one single person is no different. You save one person, you save the world. That¡¯s all there is. Can¡¯t do more than that. Ain¡¯t really no such thing as ¡®everybody.¡¯ You remember that.

    And this:  At any moment, a man may be required to provide an account of his existence.

    And this:  You shall love your crooked neighbor with your crooked heart.

    And finally:  HOLD FAST.

    ¡°I¡¯m making a wish, Bright World,¡± he said. His voice was steady. ¡°I want a way to contact the girl I saw through Anzu.¡± He¡¯d said it a bit impulsively, but he thought he phrased it well. All he wanted was a way to contact her. That would be enough, he thought. He could work the rest out on his own, and surely such a small wish would not be too costly.

    for love of beauty, the knowledge of beauty. for desire, the means of desire.

    ¡­what?

    this is my price, Isaac Milton: your sight. your eyes.

    ¡°My¡­¡± He swallowed. Nope. No. Too much. ¡°Not¡­memories?¡±

    not for this.  memories are too costly for such a wish.

    ¡°More costly than my  sight?¡±

    I would take your memories of beauty, Isaac Milton. every strain of music, every sunrise, every star.

    Isaac swallowed. He felt cold, and he realized that this was because his suit was cooling him, having detected his sweat. But it was a cold sweat, and now he was shivering, and now it was heating him up.

    Isaac thought hard, desperately, though he knew instinctively that there was no time limit on this. He could stay here, under the awful gaze of countless unblinking eyes, for as long as he liked.

    He prayed. God, what should I do? There came no answer, none that he could discern.

    But he thought of Saul, blinded by God on the road to Damascus, blinded by a brilliant light. Ray Charles had been blind. Stevie Wonder had been blind. And, um¡­Aldous Huxley?

    A Bible verse came to mind, an odd but relevant one he was surprised to find in the archives of his memory: ¡°Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord?¡± That was from Exodus or Leviticus somewhere. And here was another: ¡°I will lead the blind by ways they do not know; along new paths I will guide them. I will turn darkness into light and make the rough places smooth.¡± That was¡­Isaiah?

    Of course, the Bible was full of passages about blindness, usually the healing of it.

    What were his eyes? Nothing God could not easily restore, if ever He thought Isaac needed them back. Not much when weighed against the sorrow and despair he had seen all over the girl in Anzu¡¯s vision. And with ARKO¡¯s help, he could still ¡®read¡¯ just about anything. With some practice, he could still play piano. Ray Charles, right. And hey¡ªhe¡¯d never need to bother with glasses again.

    It was, in the end, a decision made with the heart and with faith, rather than with logic or reasoning. Maybe it was only that he had a childish yet powerful infatuation. Twitterpation, Dwayne might have said with a twinkle in his eye.

    Regardless, though he never remembered quite what had happened, he left the Bright World blind, but with a new number entered into CHIME.

    He was cold. He was shaking. He was weirdly happy with a kind of panicky exhilaration. He took the helmet off in the cockpit of his pianoship. He ran his fingers over the cool keys. He knew them still. Music hadn¡¯t been taken from him.

    He touched his eyes. They were still there, but hard. He tapped them with a fingernail. Glass eyes. They didn¡¯t hurt. He felt fine. Except that he could see nothing, not even blackness.

    Charlie chirped nearby, concerned. Isaac couldn¡¯t tell what kind of bird he was now. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said to his angel. ¡°I was just, uh,  blindsided by the offer.¡± Charlie didn¡¯t laugh; he never laughed. ¡°Oh, and, uh, you¡¯re a  sight for sore  eyes. Oh¡ªand, like, it was an  eye for an eye situation in there.¡± Silence from Charlie. Isaac sighed, fighting a wave of hysterical laughter.

    ¡°ARKO,¡± he said, his voice shaky. ¡°I¡¯m gonna need a lot of help from now on.¡±

    Eye-eye, captain.

    Isaac laughed for real. His laughter lasted until he realized that ARKO hadn¡¯t said that out loud. ¡°Okay,¡± he said after a thoughtful pause. ¡°Connect me to this new number.¡±

    He waited for the soft beep. He took a long, slow breath. Then he spoke.

    IM: Hello?

 Chapter 31

    Chapter 31

    Michael Whyte

    ¡°Was it back this way?¡± Michael peeked around the corner of an intersection.

    ¡°I think¡­that way,¡± said AJ. She seemed to have some idea, which was more than Michael had. He¡¯d gotten so turned around after being separated from the others that he had no idea how to get back to the ALL-Rover. The fog, the transient creatures therein, and the occasional cluster of hurrying people from which he and AJ hid themselves, did not help.

    They crept together down a dank concrete hall. It emerged into an open space full of silvery mist. Stacks of steel sheeting rose up on their left, and a huge industrial machine of mysterious purpose loomed in the fog to their right.

    ¡°Right,¡± said Michael. ¡°I think we¡¯re back in the warehouse.¡± Or  some  warehouse, at any rate. Or a factory floor. It probably meant they were getting close. The cement underfoot and the sense of space reminded him of the place they had entered, where they had all gotten separated by the giant mist monster.

    ¡°Do you think everyone¡¯s going to meet back at the ALL-Rover?¡± asked AJ in a whisper.

    ¡°Maybe. I¡¯m just worried about our siblings.¡± Jimothy and Elizabeth had been left in the ALL-Rover for their own safety. Michael had seen the vehicle¡¯s defensive capabilities firsthand, but that didn¡¯t mean he was comfortable leaving his brother comatose inside while dangerous men were on the loose. ¡°I think we should try to wake them up,¡± he said.

    He stepped carefully out into the misty space, leading the way because he had a gun. He didn¡¯t want to have to use it, so he took it slow and stayed alert. One foot in front of the other, careful, quiet.

    Something crashed nearby, metal on cement. The sound went on for a few seconds, as if a pile of something heavy was spilling onto the floor. Someone cursed in the mist.

    Michael froze in place. AJ adhered to his free arm with a tight grip.

    Someone, possibly the same person, screamed. It sounded like a man, but echoes distorted the cry as though it reverberated from far away. The sound was abruptly cut off, replaced by shouts and a low, grumbling growl.

    The gun felt slick in his hands as Michael used it to gesture to the left, away from the noise. They shuffled carefully across the slick cement.

    A man spoke; his deep voice cut through the fog. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± A murmured reply. ¡°And who are you? Do you not know that I can see you?¡±

    Please don¡¯t be talking to us, Michael thought. Please don¡¯t¡ª

    The surrounding fog cleared, swept away in a broad circle that stranded him and AJ in an empty space on the factory floor. A forklift rested half in the mist on one side, stacked steel beams on the other. And behind, in the direction from which the deep voice had spoken, a man stood. He was not tall, but his broad shoulders made him seem large. He wore a dark gray woolen suit, singed and stained, and he peered at them through dark round spectacles that seemed to peek out from between the great mass of his black beard and shaggy hair. He carried a thick book under one arm, and in his other hand he held a fancy calabash pipe. The smoke from the pipe trickled up to join the mist above. Something about his stance, and the book and the beard, put Michael in mind of an old-school Baptist preacher, just on the brink of thundering some elegantly worded anathema involving fire and brimstone.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen him before,¡± AJ whispered, fear in her voice. She didn¡¯t need to say more.

    Michael leveled the gun at the man, and he held it with both hands to keep it steady. Still, the tip quavered. This bothered Michael since he was not, at that moment, particularly afraid. He had a gun, after all. The other man had a pipe, and a book, and a small, satisfied smile. The two orange-coated men on either side of him shifted, but did not make any aggressive moves.

    ¡°Michael Whyte? Amber Jane Eddison?¡± The man placed the pipe in his mouth and puffed on it while he opened the book under his arm and flipped through it. He came to rest on a page somewhere in the middle. The dark lenses of his eyes tilted down to read, and then the book snapped shut. The clap of the book shutting echoed strangely in the mist. Something else caught Michael¡¯s eye: the way the smoke rising from the pipe bent back down to curl around the man, wreathing him in strands of gray vapor. Michael could smell it, a woody tobacco.

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    A primal fear coiled within Michael. He should run. He should take AJ and run. The more he looked at, and heard, and now even smelled this man, the more wrong he seemed. The would-be Baptist preacher in front of Michael was setting off warning alarms that Michael hadn¡¯t even known he possessed.

    ¡°Yes?¡± asked the man, speaking around the pipe. ¡°I suppose you know who I am?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± answered Michael, in a valiant effort to keep his voice steady. AJ¡¯s hand, dislodged when Michael had raised the weapon, now returned to rest on his shoulder. That helped.

    The man removed the pipe from his mouth, replaced the book under one arm. ¡°Shadrach Therst? No? Nohow. And you: Mr. Whyte, Ms. Eddison. Are you necessary?¡±

    ¡°Necessary?¡± He shifted his weight, preparing to run.

    The man¡ªShadrach¡ªsmiled, revealing stained teeth. ¡°Nohow.¡± He gestured at them with the pipe.

    AJ saved his life. She pulled him aside with a grunt as something heavy slammed to the cement where they¡¯d been standing. Its impact shattered the cement floor; Michael¡¯s ears rang as he rolled to his feet.

    It appeared to be a huge block of metal, fallen from somewhere directly above. But even as he stared, the block began to dissolve into mist.

    ¡°Too many pieces in this game,¡± said Shadrach, unmoved. ¡°Shall we leave the pawns cluttering the field?¡± He again made a vague gesture with the pipe, from which trickled silvery grey smoke that blended into the mist.

    The mist to Michael¡¯s left coalesced into a vague hulking shape that snarled and bristled.

    Michael aimed the shaking gun again at the man called Shadrach, and this time it was with intent. ¡°Call it off,¡± said Michael. ¡°We can talk.¡±

    The man smiled and put the pipe in his mouth. ¡°Nohow.¡± A vaporous pseudopod of mist extended in front of him, took form¡ªand there was Jimothy. He stood in front of Shadrach, looking confused, blocking Michael¡¯s shot.

    Michael fired anyway. Three times, which was half. He was sure he missed at least once. He tried to ignore the false Jimothy¡¯s cries of pain, but the sound still hurt. The illusory form of his brother quavered, struggled to maintain itself. Michael fired again. (Four.) Jim dissolved entirely into fog. The beast nearby growled, moved closer, undeterred by the thunderous gunfire. AJ, who had stifled her initial squeak of alarm at the sound of the gun, pulled on his shoulder. She was right. It was time to leave. Michael put one more round into the mist in front of Shadrach, which now served as a smokescreen. He didn¡¯t know if killing or wounding the man would get rid of the monster he¡¯d summoned, but it was worth the shot.

    He heard Alan as he took AJ¡¯s hand and ran.  If you need more than six bullets, you¡¯re in more trouble than this can get you out of. Well, he had one bullet left. And there was Alan Sheppard, briefly, in the mist beside Michael as he ran.

    He and AJ ran almost directly into a wall, then followed it to the left in search of a door. Sounds of pursuit came close behind, shouts and threats. None of the voices sounded like Shadrach¡¯s.

    They found a door, locked but breakable. Michael handed AJ the gun as he heaved his weight against it. The flimsy lock splintered partway through the cheap plywood door. It took another body slam to crash the door inward.

    He didn¡¯t retrieve the gun from AJ when they ran. He unslung the camera from around his neck and popped off the lens cap. What, he thought desperately, would be most useful?

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± AJ hissed at him. ¡°Here, take this!¡± She tried to shove the gun back at him.

    Michael shook his head, glanced around. ¡°Hang on to it. One shot left.¡± They were back in the hallways. Plain cement floor, plain white walls. A red stain on the floor nearby. One open door. Michael took a picture of the blank wall. Then the open door.

    ¡°Can you run from me?¡± asked a familiar deep voice somewhere behind them.

    By now Michael knew exactly where to find the typically obscure ¡®superimpose¡¯ feature on his camera. He selected the photo he had just taken of a blank wall, aimed toward Shadrach¡¯s voice, and snapped a picture.

    The mist collapsed into a wall that blocked off the hallway. But how long would it last?

    ¡°Oh!¡± said AJ in surprise, though she had seen him do this with the camera before.

    They turned and ran.

 Chapter 32

    Chapter 32

    AJ Eddison

    After several close calls and a handful of long, stressful minutes being entirely lost, they made it back to the ALL-Rover. By the time they stumbled out of the fog and saw the vehicle resting at the center of a clearing in the fog, AJ hadn¡¯t seen or heard any pursuit for over a minute. AJ dared to hope that they had escaped.

    Michael rushed to the hatch. It opened for him as he approached. ¡°Thanks, Clara,¡± he said automatically. He had picked up on Nick¡¯s habit of talking to Clara like she was a real person. Given how Clara behaved, it was the most natural way of treating her.

    Inside, Michael paused. He ran to the front, then to the back. ¡°Clara,¡± he said as he emerged, his voice a little desperate. ¡°Where are Dwayne and Leah?¡± AJ hadn¡¯t noticed their absence until Michael said it.

    ¡°They are 234 meters ahead. I can display a map, if you wish.¡± Clara sounded unconcerned.

    ¡°Why did they leave?¡± Michael asked.

    ¡°I do not know,¡± Clara replied. ¡°No threat has been detected in the vicinity.¡±

    Michael chewed his lower lip in thought. ¡°We¡¯ll go look for them,¡± he told AJ. ¡°But first¡­¡±

    They were able to wake Jimothy, but not Elizabeth. Nick Carter had said this was nothing to be concerned about; it just meant that Elizabeth was awake in the other place and wished to remain so.

    Jimothy sat up, bleary-eyed and yawning. ¡°Whoa, hey Mike,¡± he said. ¡°Hi AJ. I just had a crazy dream.¡± He swung his legs off the bed.

    ¡°Probably wasn¡¯t a dream, Jim,¡± said Michael.

    Jimothy paused to think about this. Then his eyes widened. ¡°Oh yeah. Wow. Uh, maybe I should go back. Things were getting¡­oh. But, I was already knocked out?¡± He squinted into the distance, then rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. ¡°This is really confusing.¡±

    ¡°No worries, Jim,¡± said Mike, using a practiced tone, calm and steady. ¡°You said you were knocked out?¡±

    Jimothy¡¯s brow scrunched up with the effort of remembering. The two of them right there, concerned older brother and befuddled younger brother, were adorable. ¡°Um. Something like that? There was a lot happening. But I think that Hazel will keep me safe!¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Michael, sounding doubtful. ¡°Hazel. Ok, Jim, we need to go someplace. You up for it?¡±

    Jimothy nodded and hopped out of bed. He¡¯d gone to sleep in his normal clothes, so he was ready to go. ¡°How¡¯s Elizabeth?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s okay,¡± said AJ. ¡°She just won¡¯t wake up.¡±

    ¡°I can carry her,¡± said Jim. He grabbed his cane nearby, stood up with a lift from Michael, and stepped carefully out of the room. Elizabeth rose from her bed in a cocoon, a fine net of light that wrapped her up and lifted her from the mattress, complete with pillow and blanket. She slid through the air, out the door, and came to rest gently on the couch beside Jimothy, who appeared to be on his way to get a drink.

    AJ looked at Michael, eyes wide. Michael did not appear much surprised, but AJ didn¡¯t think she would be getting over the fact that their siblings had superpowers anytime soon.

    Jim got a drink; Michael stocked up with some more food and another handful of bullets. He also paused to take some pictures of the drawings on the table. They had all prevented Leah from drawing any dragons, but she¡¯d done plenty of butterflies and fish and other creatures, not to mention the strange places she had rendered in crayon. Some of Jimothy¡¯s work was also present; the gap in skill between his art and Leah¡¯s appeared to be nearly as great as such a gap could be.

    Michael was in a hurry to get going. He paced, tapping his camera, while they waited for Jimothy to use the bathroom. And when Jimothy finally emerged, they wasted no time in opening the hatch, saying goodbye to Clara, and venturing into the mist.

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    They knew the general direction, but neither AJ nor Michael remembered the specific path. This didn¡¯t matter, because Jimothy saw the Line. Michael had tried to explain the Line to AJ, but she wasn¡¯t sure she understood. At the moment, it seemed to be a literal line on the ground that only Jimothy could see. He led the way, and Michael followed without question, in complete confidence that Jimothy would lead them to where they needed to be.

    Elizabeth floated in the air behind Jimothy, which had made AJ nervous at first. Jimothy kept looking at Elizabeth and becoming anxious himself until he slowed to a halt.

    ¡°Uh¡­Mike?¡± he asked, his voice small. ¡°I¡­is it okay if I talk to you about something?¡±

    Michael scanned the surrounding mist, not keen on staying still. But he put a hand on Jimothy¡¯s shoulder and said, ¡°Sure, Jim. What is it?¡± He sounded so strong at that moment, so reassuring, that AJ felt a flutter in her chest.

    ¡°I¡­well, carrying Elizabeth like this just reminded me. Um. In the other place, I kind of¡­like, I got someone killed, Mike.¡± His voice broke as a pained look came over him.

    ¡°Hey,¡± said Michael, hugging his brother close with one harm. ¡°Let¡¯s sit down a sec.¡± He paused, for there was nothing nearby to sit on. A bench of blue light, like a park bench, appeared beside them, just large enough for the two of them. Michael took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship before taking a seat with Jimothy.

    AJ wondered if she should step away for a moment. But no, that was stupid. She shouldn¡¯t be on her own in the mist. And besides, neither Michael nor Jimothy would mind her listening to whatever they had to say. That thought warmed her. They were all in this together.

    Jimothy told Michael a story about a strange and fascinating girl he had invited to his lighthouse, and how a giant wolf had murdered her right in front of him. It sure sounded like a dream, something that obviously hadn¡¯t really happened. But tears were in his eyes when he talked about her light, which he still had in a box at the lighthouse.

    ¡°Jim,¡± said Michael, in a tone that said he took this entirely seriously, dream or not. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like it was your fault in any way.¡±

    Jim nodded, but he still had tears on his face as he leaned against his big brother. ¡°I know,¡± he sniffed. ¡°I know. But it still¡­¡±

    ¡°Mom wasn¡¯t your fault, Jim,¡± said Michael, an arm around his little brother to hold him close. ¡°And neither was this.¡±

    Jimothy sniffled and muttered a hesitant affirmative.

    ¡°You know what Elizabeth told me?¡± said Michael with a glance at the comatose Eddison sibling strung up in her cozy net of light. ¡°She said you saved her from a giant wolf. Was it the same one?¡±

    Jimothy nodded.

    ¡°Hey, Jim. Look at me.¡± Michael and Jim turned sideways on the bench so they faced each other. Michael took his little brother by the shoulders. ¡°Listen, Jim,¡± he said. ¡°Mom would be proud of you. And  I¡¯m proud of you. Okay? Because I know you¡¯re trying your best. I know there¡¯s a lot going on right now. But I believe in you, Jim. Got it?¡±

    Jim whispered something to himself, probably repeating Mike¡¯s words. Then he said, ¡°Got it.¡± He wiped snot and tears on his sleeve. ¡°Thanks, Mike. I believe in you, too.¡±

    They hugged. AJ¡¯s heart melted. She wished Lizzy was awake. She wanted to hug someone, too.

    ¡°Also,¡± said Jimothy, still in the hug, ¡°I, uh, I know about the tumor.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Mike after a long pause.

    ¡°But it¡¯s going to be okay,¡± Jimothy continued. There was a calm assurance in his voice. ¡°It¡¯s all going to be okay. Okay, Mike?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Okay, Jim. I¡­believe you.¡±

    Jimothy and Michael stood up, catharsis complete. For a second, while they stood side by side, Michael looked just like a bigger, stronger, more whiskery version of Jimothy.

    The Whyte brothers turned and continued into the mist. AJ caught up to Michael and took him by the hand. When he turned to look at her in surprise, she said, ¡°You  are a good brother, Michael Whyte.¡±

    Then, before she could stop herself or overthink it, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

 Chapter 33

    Chapter 33

    Elizabeth Eddison

    And were he so fortunate as scape these mantycores, yet couwlde hee never climbe up the gret cragges of yce and rocke on Koschtre Beloorn, for none is so stronge as to scale them but by art magicall, and such is the vertue of that mowntayne that no magick avayleth there, but onlie strength and wisdome alone, and as I seye these woulde not avayl to climbe those cloffes and yce ryvers.

    - E.R. Eddison,  The Worm Ouroboros

    One step at a time. The wind¡¯s bite was colder, harsher than it had been on the first day. The snow had become ice. Shale and rubble marked her way instead of frozen trees. Chasms opened in the stone across her path, and her powers of movement, now reduced, could not always safely carry her the distance.

    Onward she trudged, all bundled in warm winter clothes, prepared as she thought necessary for the trials and dangers of the Mountain. The magical poetry book remained functional, though its paper was little help beyond fueling fire.

    She became absorbed in her thoughts as she hiked up and up, retreating from the cold into the space of her mind. She spoke to herself on occasion, or to Callie, her words whipped away into the bright distance by the wind. Here at last was time and solitude for reflection, for processing.

    She considered the Narrative. How many times? How many times had she done exactly what she was doing now? And to what end? Even Nicholas Carter didn¡¯t know what would happen if they opened the white door. But what choice did they have? Earth was gone.

    Even now, it all seemed unreal. And why shouldn¡¯t it? She was in a dream; everything felt like a dream. Madness. How could Earth be gone? How could the sky have cracked open like a shell? Surely she would wake up soon, cozy and warm in her bed back home in Pennsylvania, and everything would make sense again. But she¡¯d been thinking that for two weeks now.

    She recited poetry. She knew many poems by heart. Tennyson, Longfellow, Frost and Milton. Dickinson, Millay, Browning, Shelley, Swinburne. Obscure regional writers as well¡ªresidents of her collection of unfamed poets and their once-printed verses. Dorothy Bentley Alderson, Julia Alken, Kenneth Hollingham.

    One kept coming back to her. She panted it rhythmically as she ascended, step by step: ¡°But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. Miles to go before I sleep.¡±

    The only warning was a burning pain on her stomach and leg. A painful pinprick tingling crawled over her skin, as if the words were moving.

    Cold gravel cascaded; boulders tumbled down the mountainside; the icy granite shook and shattered. The scriven beast emerged from some dark burrow to her right. It growled and huffed as it crawled into the light, scoring ice and stone alike with gleaming claws. It was like a bear with tusks, furry and white, but it flamed with violet Script.

    Its eyes were amethyst aglitter with malice, but it seemed to smell her more than to see. Perhaps the dazzling brightness blinded it; Elizabeth wore shades to counteract the light. The top of the Mountain was always dim, they said, but that was yet far.

    It would smell her out, she knew. It would follow. She had to take care of this, and the best time would be now, while the light dazed it. The Mountain drained away magic with elevation, but Elizabeth still had enough of her power to deal with this.

    Callie, who seemed immune to the Chirographic, appeared behind the beast, snapping at its heels. The bearlike monster, still groggy, turned to swat at Callie. Callie vanished; the creature¡¯s attack carved a chunk out of the solid stone of the Mountain. Scriven beasts were unnaturally strong.

    Elizabeth¡¯s knee took the creature in the side as it lumbered back around to face her. A trail of swirling snow sprayed behind her with the speed of her movement; now with a touch she transferred that speed to the bearlike beast. It slammed into the mountainside with a force that shook free avalanches on the surrounding slopes.

    Elizabeth dropped to the ground, inconvenienced by her bulky attire but unwilling to shed it for mobility. The beast snarled, clawed its way free of the depression of its impact. It was bigger than she had thought at first. It looked like a bear, but it was more the size of a small elephant. And she had hit it as hard as she could, but it hadn¡¯t been very hard. Not nearly as much as she could have done down below, off the mountain.

    She had to make this quick.

    She dodged away as the beast stumbled at her, roaring. A flicker of momentum and she soared in a graceful arc up into the air. It didn¡¯t appear that the beast could fly. She spotted the dark shapes of boulders dislodged overhead, gaining speed as they rebounded down the irregular slope.

    The bearlike beast couldn¡¯t fly, but it could jump. It pounced at her in the air, suddenly more feline than ursine. Purple flame bled from its pelt, dripped like molten amethyst from its jaws. The fire reached out for her, forming cursed words as it flickered in the air, eager for her.

    Elizabeth accelerated herself downward, narrowly avoided the Chirographic. She struck the ground hard and fast, her momentum dispersed into the stone to avoid injury. The sudden force caused pebbles to leap up around her. With a graceful sweep into a standing position, she charged these pebbles with as much momentum as she could muster. They shot like a rain of bullets at the airborne beast.

    The boulders arrived. She danced among them as they shuddered and smashed down the Mountain; she graced each with a light touch to redirect and redouble their velocity, to deliver them at great speed toward her foe.

    Elizabeth had still not quite learned to place full trust in her ability to stop objects. She could not help but flinch when her delicate hand met the onslaught of a ten-ton stone in full tilt, though she knew by now that she could make the stone stop rather than smash her to pieces. Maybe she would never get used to it. That would be fine with her.

    Her aim could have used some practice. Only three or four of the great projectiles connected with the beast. One, however, caught it square-on. A cannonball the size of a cannon, directly to the chest. She heard the gristly crunch of its body breaking. Worse, its shriek of agony. She thought she heard the words on its body shriek along with it, though that might have been her imagination.

    She knew she was safe when the awful tingling on her abdomen and calf subsided to the regular slow burn. Her script might attract the beasts, but at least there was this: it also warned her of their proximity. And when they had perished.

    She continued on up. Step by step, as a storm mounted and the wind became a blizzard. Miles to go. Further up and further in, that quote Isaac always used. What was it from, again?

    A faint ding in one ear interrupted her thoughts. A message. She reached up and tapped the earpiece. ¡°Who is it?¡±

    ¡°Rasmus, Thunder God,¡± ARKO replied in a relaxed, neutral tone.

    Fine. It would take her mind off the climb to talk to someone. ¡°Put him through.¡±

    RA: WELL DONE

    EE: Thank you. I heard you also suffer from the Chirographic?

    RA: INDEED

    RA: IT HAS PROVED TROUBLESOME ON OCCASION

    RA: HA HA HA!

    Her headset rendered Rasmus¡¯ text into a featureless monotone voice, and it transcribed her own speech flawlessly. She wondered what Rasmus really sounded like. Just how big and loud was he?

    EE: Do you have any advice for me on dealing with it?

    RA: YES

    RA: DO NOT GET ANY MORE ON YOU

    EE: Sounds wise. According to Fiora, you have been afflicted with quite a lot?

    RA: INDEED

    RA: ALTHOUGH IT IS SCARCELY A DANGER FOR MYSELF

    EE: Oh? And why is that?

    RA: I AM INSURMOUNTABLY STRONG

    EE: Really.

    RA: HOWEVER, IT POSES A THREAT TO OTHERS

    RA: YOU TOO MUST BE STRONG

    RA: THE SCRIVEN BEASTS WILL ALWAYS FIND YOU

    RA: AND DO NOT ATTEMPT TO READ IT

    EE: I have no such intentions.

    RA: BE WARY OF MIRRORS

    EE: Why is that?

    RA: IT LIKES TO CREEP ABOUT BEHIND MIRRORS

    RA: AND AT CROSSROADS

    RA: THE PAIN WILL FADE IN TIME

    RA: THANKS TO FIORA

    RA: BUT IT WILL NEVER DEPART ENTIRELY

    EE: There is no way to remove the script?

    RA: YOU COULD TRY REMOVING YOUR SKIN

    RA: BUT IT BURROWS DEEP

    RA: BEYOND THAT, I AM SURE A WISH WOULD DO

    RA: THOUGH IT IS BETTER TO OVERCOME BY MAIN FORCE OF RESOLVE

    EE: What is the Chirographic Script, exactly? Do you know?

    RA: IT IS LIKE A LIVING, THINKING FIRE

    RA: OR LIKE A DISEASE MADE OF WORDS INSTEAD OF TINY CREATURES

    RA: IT IS EVIL

    RA: MORE THAN THIS I CANNOT SAY

    EE: The real mystery is why it bears such a redundant name.

    EE: Is it of the Dark World?

    RA: PERHAPS

    RA: THE SCRIVENERS SEEM TO WORK IN ALLIANCE WITH THE DARK RULER

    EE: So. You¡¯re the Thunder God. Can you do something about this storm?

    RA: I AM NOT HE

    RA: THOUGH I CARRY A PART OF HIM WITHIN ME

    RA: HE APPOINTED ME AS SCION

    RA: TO GUARD THE TEMPLE OF THUNDER, AND TO WORK THE FORGE OF THE STORM

    EE: Who did? The real Thunder God?

    RA: YES

    RA: THERE TRULY WERE GODS, ELIZABETH EDDISON, AND I MET ONE FACE TO FACE BEFORE HE DIED

    EE: He died?

    RA: BEFORE MY EYES

    RA: ALL THE GODS OF INFERNUS PERISHED

    RA: HE WAS THE LAST

    RA: JUST AS WE, NOW, ARE THE LAST

    EE: Tell me about your world. Infernus.

    EE: It will take my mind off the climb.

    RA: WITH PLEASURE!

    RA: IT WAS A HARSH AND BEAUTIFUL WORLD

    RA: AN OLD WORLD, OF GODS AND BEASTS AND HEROES

    EE: Magic?

    RA: AND MORE!

    RA: HA HA HA!

    RA: WE DAIMON BUILT GREAT THINGS

    RA: WE CRAFTED MACHINES TO RIVAL THE GODS

    RA: WE EXPLORED THE DISTANT STARS AND WITNESSED THE WONDERS AND FURIES OF THE OUTER WILDS

    RA: BUT OUR WORLD GREW OLD

    RA: AND THE GODS PERISHED

    RA: AND WE DAIMON CEASED FALLING FROM THE STARS

    RA: IN MY TIME THERE WERE MORE STORIES OF GODS AND HEROES THAN THERE WERE GODS OR HEROES THEMSELVES

    RA: ALAS

    EE: Were you sad to leave your world?

    RA: VERY MUCH

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    RA: WE ARE HOMELESS NOW

    EE: What do you miss the most?

    RA: HMM

    RA: I MISS MY FORGE

    RA: AND THE STARS

    RA: BUT I MISS MOST ONE WHO IS NO LONGER WITH US

    RA: WHOSE ABSENCE HAS LEFT ME AS LEADER

    EE: An unenviable position, by all accounts.

    RA: AHA!

    RA: INDEED

    RA: AND ARE YOU NOT IN A SIMILAR POSITION AMONG THE HUMANS?

    EE: I don¡¯t think we really have a leader.

    EE: Maybe we don¡¯t need one like you daimon do.

    RA: YET IS IT NOT SO THAT THE REST WILL DO AS YOU ADVISE?

    EE: Perhaps.

    RA: YOU ARE REMARKABLE, ELIZABETH EDDISON

    EE: What has led you to this conclusion?

    RA: MANY HAVE TOLD YOU OF THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF THE ASCENT OF THE MOUNTAIN YOU NOW CLIMB

    RA: YET THERE YOU ARE

    EE: What choice do I have?

    RA: YOU HAVE MANY CHOICES

    RA: YOU COULD, FOR EXAMPLE, BREAK YOUR TALISMAN, SACRIFICNG YOURSELF FOR A MIGHTY WISH

    RA: YET YOU HAVE CHOSEN THE MOST DIFFICULT PATH BECAUSE YOU BELIEVE IT IS RIGHT

    RA: THAT IS ADMIRABLE

    EE: I don¡¯t care if they say it¡¯s impossible.

    EE: I¡¯m going to try.

    RA: NO

    EE: No?

    RA: SAY NOT THAT YOU WILL TRY

    RA: SAY THAT YOU WILL SUCCEED

    EE: But what if I can¡¯t?

    RA: KNOW THAT YOU CAN

    EE: But what if it truly is impossible?

    RA: THAT IS THE WRONG QUESTION FOR ONE SUCH AS YOU, WHO NOW ATTEMPTS THE TASK

    RA: YOU MUST SUCCEED

    RA: EVEN IF SUCCESS IS NOT POSSIBLE

    EE: I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re saying.

    EE: Do you even understand what you¡¯re saying?

    EE: You can¡¯t argue with definitions.

    EE: If it¡¯s impossible, it¡¯s impossible.

    EE: Two and two will never be three, no matter what you believe or how hard you believe it.

    RA: MATHEMATICS HAS NAUGHT TO DO WITH CONVICTION

    EE: Has logic to do with conviction?

    RA: ASK RATHER: WHAT HAS LOGIC TO DO WITH STORIES?

    EE: That is a foolish question.

    EE: Suppose the impossibility of climbing this mountain is written into the fabric of the reality of this Narrative. What then?

    RA: THEN I ASK:

    RA: SUPPOSE THAT YOUR FRIEND JIMOTHY WILL SURELY DIE UNLESS YOU SCALE THIS SUMMIT

    RA: WHAT THEN?

    RA: GIVE UP, WILL YOU?

    RA: SURRENDER, WILL YOU, HERO?

    EE: No.

    RA: THAT IS UNREASONABLE, ELIZABETH EDDISON

    RA: WOULD YOU TRY?

    RA: OR WOULD YOU SUCCEED?

    EE: I have no control over that.

    RA: WRONG

    RA: IF YOU ATTEMPT THE IMPOSSIBLE, YOU WILL SURELY FAIL

    RA: BUT IF YOU SUCCEED AT THE IMPOSSIBLE

    RA: BECAUSE IT IS WHAT YOU HAVE RESOLVED TO DO

    RA: THEN YOU SHALL MOVE EVEN THE STARS THEMSELVES

    RA: THESE MINE OWN HANDS HAVE DONE THAT WHICH COULD NOT BE DONE

    RA: UNTIL I DID IT

    RA: BECAUSE I HAD SO DECIDED

    RA: SO IT IS THAT RESOLVE CAN TRANSCEND ALL LIMITATIONS

    EE: I do not understand how you can believe that.

    EE: I understand what you are trying to say, but it is patently absurd.

    RA: DO YOU BELIEVE THAT, WITH THOUGHTS LIKE THOSE, YOU CAN CLIMB THIS MOUNTAIN?

    RA: PERHAPS YOU DO NOT CARE ENOUGH ABOUT YOUR REASON FOR CLIMBING

    EE: Don¡¯t you dare.

    EE: Don¡¯t you dare say that, Rasmus.

    EE: Simply because I am not some Superman like you, able to do the impossible, gives you no right to question my conviction.

    RA: I BELIEVE IN YOU, ELIZABETH EDDISON

    RA: I WISH TO SEE YOU SUCCEED

    RA: YOU MUST BELIEVE IN YOURSELF

    EE: What does belief have to do with reality?

    EE: Don¡¯t answer that.

    RA: MUCH

    RA: OH

    RA: MY APOLOGIES

    EE: God, you sound like Isaac.

    EE: I understand what you are saying. The Narrative is a story. It plays by the rules of fiction. Rules of flexible logic. I shall take your advice into consideration.

    RA: VERY GOOD

    EE: Now. Keep telling me about your world. Infernus. Tell me stories about it. About the gods.

    RA: HA HA HA!

    RA: YOUR REQUEST DELIGHTS ME!

    RA: THIS IS A FAVORITE TOPIC OF MINE

    RA: I KNOW MANY TALES OF THE GODS

    EE: Pick a favorite and go.

    RA: VERY WELL

    RA: THIS TALE BELONGS TO THE LUCKY GOD

    RA: NOW THE LUCKY GOD WANDERED THE WORLD WITH HIS EYES OPEN

    RA: AND IT CAME TO PASS THAT HE ENTERED THE REALM OF THE IRON WHITE...

    She listened to the Thunder God while he told his tales. It soon became apparent that he loved stories of the Gods. It became apparent also that the gods were real indeed, not mythological figures. They had shaped the world of Infernus from which the daimon originated. And what a strange world it was¡ªa place of magical beasts and space travel all wrapped up together, in which dragons and starships and wrathful gods might all appear in the same story. Something Isaac would come up with. Curious also how much of it coincided with the human imagination. Unicorns, sphinxes, sacred trees.

    The storm worsened as she ascended. She sheltered in a garden of immense statues, scattered throughout a broad valley that cleaved deep into the Mountain. The Mountain was vast enough to contain varied landscapes within itself. The statues in this valley were weathered and worn; broken fragments of them floated in the air, unmoved by the howling gale, stubbornly maintaining their original positions. Elizabeth huddled in the shelter of a cupped hand, curiously human in appearance.

    She returned Rasmus¡¯ favor, for he was eager to hear stories of her own world. She told him that Earth had no monsters, no dragons or magical beasts, no godlike machines, no gods that she was aware of, and only the most meagre of space travel. Rasmus had been so disappointed by all of this that she told him,

    EE: We do have heroes, though.

    So of course she had to explain to him about Joan of Arc, Oscar Schindler, William Wallace. Besides a keen awareness of her deficiencies in historical knowledge, this exercise made her also realize a striking difference between Earth¡¯s heroes and those of Infernus. Heroes on Earth opposed other people. Their status as ¡®hero¡¯ was therefore largely subjective depending on who you asked. But the heroes of Infernus fought beasts and monsters, seldom other daimon. They typically opposed tangible and incontrovertible evil.

    Rasmus wanted dramatic tales, action and adventure and mighty deeds; he hardly understood what was heroic about Oscar Schindler, and he had no time at all for Martin Luther King Jr and his pacifism. So Elizabeth told him instead about Alexander the Great, the Alamo, the Battle of Thermopylae, the siege of Troy. These were more to his taste.

    She spent the night in the vale of statues, talking late with Rasmus. The storm worsened the next day, but she pressed on. She had limited food; she had to keep going.

    It became dangerous. Her powers faded as she ascended higher. The air became thin and cold enough that even through all her layers of protection, she began to feel chill. She bunched her hands into fists inside her gloves and scrunched her toes between every step.

    Steeper, the Mountain. Darker, in stone and in light. She passed a garden¡ªa garden, of all things!¡ªits flowers as colored chips of ice.

    She turned her thoughts to Jimothy. A brain tumor? Cruel. Unfair. She hadn¡¯t told any of the rest. She couldn¡¯t say why. Jimothy: dying, with or without the various dangers of the Narrative. The fact wounded her. It enraged her. She found the strength for every step in her anger. This, she reminded herself, is why I am climbing this damned mountain.

    It became a climb in truth. She had to use her hands to scramble up the stone and ice.

    She thought: What kind of story is this Narrative? Back in Skywater, at that lovely delicious meal they had shared, all but Heidi, Isaac had theorized that it was built out of their own passions and interests. Part fairy tale, because of Kate. Space travel, because of Isaac. If all this was so¡­what kind of story was it all together? What kind of story would the six of them create?

    That¡¯s what this was all about, wasn¡¯t it? What kind of story would they make?

    Well. Elizabeth had decided that she would make sure it was one in which Jimothy did not die of a fucking brain tumor. No matter what she had to do. Even if she had to go to the Bright World and sign a loaded contract that cost her everything.

    ¡°I refuse,¡± she panted as she climbed, ¡°to write poems about¡­losing a friend¡­like that.¡±

    She thought of Rasmus, his words of encouragement. Was it really true that he could break through the limits of reality through sheer resolve? If so, was it possible that she could do the same? Regardless, his encouragement warmed her. His words rang in her mind.  Do not give up. Do what you have decided to do. And  you are remarkable.

    She didn¡¯t notice, not consciously, that she became colder and colder. Her body slowed, tired and sore, worn down by a mountain that refused to be scaled.

    She came upon a sheer cliff and had to trudge around. Long, slow, laborious.

    Around the cliff, a glacier, vast, rugged. She pressed on up, step by step, digging the spikes of her shoes into the ice. She nearly fell into a gulf in the glacier, too broad to leap. Too broad for a fabricated bridge made from mist. She was forced to retreat, to go around.

    On she went. Step by step.

    The avalanche caught her by surprise. Her mind, now sluggish, was slow to process the change; slow to react. She reached out a hand to stop the snow. But her powers were nearly gone, this high up.  Unfair, she thought as it swept her away.

    When she came to a halt, disoriented and claustrophobic, but not panicking, she thought: How much progress did I just lose?

    Callie saved her. The lynx dug a shaft down from above through the ice. But Elizabeth did not particularly feel like moving. Callie burrowed around Elizabeth and huddled close in an attempt to warm the tiny space with her body heat.

    ¡°Miles to go¡­¡± Elizabeth whispered. ¡°Before I sleep.¡±

    She wondered about Rasmus. She hadn¡¯t heard from him. Then she remembered: too high up now. She couldn¡¯t hear from anybody. All alone.

    Miles to go.

    She struggled against the snow, but her arms didn¡¯t seem to work very well. She was like a baby trying to swim. But bit by bit, she arose from the snow. Over a span of what seemed like hours, she dug her way out of the crumbly snowbank and into the dark air of the Mountain. The night sky wrapped itself right around the Mountain this high up. The sky wasn¡¯t above her; it was all around her. She could almost reach out and touch the stars. She tried, but it didn¡¯t work. They were just beyond reach.

    She couldn¡¯t see the summit. She wasn¡¯t even close. The air was thin; she panted lightly. She laid her head on the snow, and the snow felt unusually warm. Something pulled at her coat. Callie, now pawing at her, shaking her.

    ¡°Miles to go¡­¡± she muttered. ¡°Before¡­¡±

    It came, the flower bright. She saw it, cold and beautiful in the dark. Still so far away. She wanted to be there. She wanted to touch it, to see it. She didn¡¯t understand¡­what? What did she not understand? She couldn¡¯t remember.

    So warm. So tired.

    Something snarled. A tiger sound, so loud and deep and near that some ancient part of her mind wanted to scream. Instead, she laboriously opened her eyes. Or tried to.

    ¡°Foolish girl,¡± said the great cat. Its voice was the starry sky, cold and close and impossibly far. ¡°I have told you. It cannot be done.¡±

    She wanted to reply. To tell him something important. Miles to go.

    ¡°You cannot so easily reach The End, hero,¡± said Old Deuteronomy.

    Amid the cold of winter.

    ¡°I am here at the behest of one I know, the Hero of Storms,¡± her Guardian continued. ¡°I will not save you again.¡±

    When half gone was the night.

    Something warm picked her up and carried her back down the Mountain.