by Ted Sanders
“We can go back to Ka’hoka,” Horace said. “We can bring back an army. Go’nesh and Teokas and—”
“There’s no army we can bring back that Isabel won’t strike down. It’s up to us.” She pointed to the rockfall. “Why won’t I do what I said I could? I’m telling you, I can stop them here. You know how fast I am underground.”
Something thoughtful suddenly bloomed in Horace’s eyes. “I believe you,” he said. “But because you don’t do it, that means there must be something that stops you from trying.”
“There’s nothing,” Chloe insisted. “Isabel won’t cleave me. This whole thing she’s doing is her stupid attempt to save me. And there’s nothing else I’m afraid of. Not the golem, not the Mordin, not the—”
And then she knew. There was one thing that would stop her, one thing that would give her pause.
“An Auditor,” she breathed. “Did you see an Auditor?”
Chloe had battled Auditors before. She’d even killed one once, as she’d wrestled it for control of the Alvalaithen. She’d cast away the Auditor’s grip on the Alvalaithen’s power while the Auditor was underground. Going solid the instant she’d lost the ability to remain thin, the Auditor had died instantly.
But a strong Auditor might do the very same to Chloe.
Horace was nodding. “I didn’t see an Auditor. But if I were the Riven, after what happened at the last Mothergate, I’d sure bring one now.”
Chloe stamped her foot. “Dammit, Horace. It’s awfully hard to be a hero, what with you flinging your logic all around like some . . . logic-pooping monkey.” Chloe grabbed his hand, pulling him away. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to the Mothergate. Whatever we’re going to do, we’ve got to do it there.”
They ran. Their footsteps echoed through the empty tunnels. Chloe was so furious—and yes, frightened—at the idea of facing another Auditor that absolutely no ideas came to her. She was stronger now than the last time, she knew that, but she couldn’t be sure that an Auditor wouldn’t be able to evict her from the Alvalaithen, if even for a moment. And a moment was all it would take, if Chloe was underground. What would happen to Horace then? Her worry nagged at her grumpily as they ran. By the time they got back to the Mothergate at last, she was down to the dregs of her confidence, clinging to hopes too blind to be sensible.
But at least there was this: if hope was a blind thing, the Fel’Daera was not. Horace was already taking it out as they stumbled to a halt, puffing hard.
“This time, tell me everything,” Chloe said.
He shook his head. “I can’t promise you that.”
She scowled at him, knowing he was right. Taking direction from the Fel’Daera was like becoming a puppet. Freedom of choice wasn’t free when you already knew what your choices would be.
“Tell me where everyone is, then,” she said. “The Auditor. Isabel. I need to know. And Joshua too—don’t forget what I said about him.” A thought suddenly occurred to her, the first decent one she’d had since leaving the rockfall. The vaguest spark of an idea, but at least it was a spark.
Horace nodded. “I remember. You want to save him.”
“I’m going to save him. Bet you anything he’s not making that portal on his own this time. I bet they had to bring the Auditor in to do it.” There was no real reason to think this was true, but she made herself think it anyway. More blind hope—her own personal version of seeing the future. Her spark of an idea became a tiny flame.
Again Horace prepared himself—this time studying Chloe for a moment that was uncomfortably long—and again he lifted the open Fel’Daera to his eyes. He began to walk, slowly roaming the space around the Mothergate, watching the future that would unfold here and narrating what he saw. Chloe followed him.
“Here they come,” he said, sweeping his arm. “Eleven minutes from now.”
“How many?”
“I count thirty Riven, at least. Dr. Jericho is right here, with Isabel beside him.” He pointed to the floor. “He senses the box.”
With his powers, Dr. Jericho had the ability to sense the Fel’Daera when it was open in the past—which meant that in the future, he was sensing Horace right now. It gave Chloe a headache to keep it straight, but for Horace it was nothing at all, as if both present and future were simultaneously alive.
Horace laughed. “He’s trying to be cool about it, but he’s worried.”
“What about Joshua? And is there an Auditor?” Chloe dropped to one knee. Drawing lightly from the Alvalaithen, she reached into her shoe, took hold of her sock, and pulled it loose right through her flesh, through her shoe. Horace, thankfully, was too busy to notice, still choreographing what was about to unfold.
“There’s an Auditor, yes,” he said, walking. “And I think you’re right. I think she’s got control of the Laithe. She’s standing over here, and Joshua’s right in front of her.”
Chloe hurried to the spot where Joshua would be. Dangling her sock, she lowered it into the ground. She buried it, leaving just the tiniest tip showing, and let it go.
“What else?” she said. “Is there a golem?”
“No golem.” Horace turned back toward the Mothergate, the Fel’Daera still at his eyes. “But no Chloe, either,” he said. “I don’t see you.”
That was good. That was right. Chloe’s hope burned brighter still. It was a stupid hope, maybe, a hope for a thing that might not get them what they needed. But it was something. “I’m underground,” she said.
“What about the Auditor?”
“I’ll be deep. I’ll be fast. Where will you be?”
He pointed. “I’m over there. I’m—”
He stopped, staring. He stood frozen for several long moments, and then snapped the box closed.
“Do you know what you’re going to do?” he asked her.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?”
“Not at all,” said Horace. “You aren’t there.”
“But I am. What are you going to do? Did you see yourself?”
“Yes.” His eyes darted back and forth sharply, his mind clearly racing. “I think I’m going to do something . . . heroic.”
“Define heroic. Please distinguish it from stupid.”
“I think the stupid part will already be over.”
“Oh my god.”
“Remember Samuel?”
“Of course,” Chloe said. “The wannabe. Thrall-blighted himself to death.”
“Right, but before that, he kept trying to send the astrolabe through the Fel’Daera.”
“Which is impossible.”
“Ordinarily, yes,” said Horace. “It’s too grounded in the present to be sent into the future. But what if it wasn’t grounded?”
Chloe squinted at him, pursing her lips. Horace was having one of those moments where he was trying to drag her into a conversation he was really having with himself. “Okay,” she said, “you’ve obviously figured out some brilliant thing. Just tell me.”
“I didn’t figure it out. I saw it. Or I saw it, and then I figured—”
“Horace,” she said. “Please.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out the astrolabe. He held it up like the answer to everything. “I’m going to take the astrolabe back into the Mothergate. Right now.”
“No.”
“Yes, and I’m going to let it align to the time in there. It’s going to set itself to all the crazy flows of time inside the Mothergate, and then—”
“No,” Chloe said. No way was she going to let him do this thing.
“—and then when I bring it back out here, I’ll send it through the Fel’Daera. It’ll work, because the astrolabe won’t be set to the present anymore. It’ll be set to every time. Every time everywhere. Everywhere the Fel’Daera sends things. It’ll be ungrounded.”
“That’s assuming you can escape the Mothergate without the astrolabe set to this time,” Chloe said, thrusting a finger at the floor.
“But I do get to escape. I come back. I
already saw.”
“Did you see yourself go in? Or come out?”
“No, but—”
“So check now,” she said. “Convince me you do it. Then you can go.”
“Chloe, you know I can’t do that. It’s a fool’s proof.”
She did know it, of course. A fool’s proof was a kind of circular argument the Fel’Daera could be forced to make, and it could go horribly wrong. You couldn’t ask the Fel’Daera for permission to do something, especially if you were secretly planning to do that thing no matter what the box revealed. Those desires had a way of creating a future that was easy to misinterpret—the box might give you a sign that encouraged you do the thing, but with zero actual assurance that the thing would work out. A fool’s proof had sent Chloe back to her house the night it burned down, where she’d been trapped inside the flames with the Alvalaithen—her skin taking none of the physical damage, but her mind taking every bit of the pain.
“Horace, it probably won’t go bad if you go back into the Mothergate, but if it does, it could go really bad.”
He looked genuinely insulted. “I’m the Keeper of the Fel’Daera.”
“I know. And you’re a walking talking clock. But you heard Falo—she went into the Mothergate and felt like she came right back out, except when she came out, three years had gone by! Plus, if you go in there and unhook the astrolabe from the present, won’t that be sort of like cutting the string of a kite? One second you’re tethered, and the next you’re not.”
“I’ll be ready for it. Look, I know it’s dangerous, but I feel like you’re not hearing me. I saw myself sending the astrolabe. It happens. I’m going to send it.”
All that light in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid. He was going to do this, and she wasn’t going to stop him. “Fine,” she said. “But what happens when you do send it? I mean, what’s the point?”
The light suddenly went out. “I’m not sure.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing. I closed the box as soon as I realized I was sending the astrolabe.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to see any further.”
“And that’s the truth?”
“Why would I lie?”
Plenty of reasons, actually. Most of them not so good. Her skeptical silence must have unnerved him, because he said, “Chloe, I didn’t want to see. I was afraid.”
“Afraid,” she repeated, testing out the word. And then she understood. “You think it could be the end. Sending the astrolabe could be the end.”
He rolled his head side to side, neither a yes or a no. “I don’t think it will be, but . . .”
“But it could be. It could force the Mothergates to close.”
“It’s possible. Nothing twists the Medium like the Fel’Daera. And it seems like sending the astrolabe would be a pretty big twist.”
A fear like nothing Chloe had ever known seized hold of her, crushing her. She’d thought she was ready, prepared for the end. But she wasn’t. Not at all.
“How much longer?” she said, gesturing to the Fel’Daera.
“Seven minutes, twelve seconds.”
Seven minutes! Worst case scenario, seven minutes to live. She had to forcibly remind herself, though, that the sudden closing of the Mothergates was not the worst case scenario. The reminder didn’t help.
“This is crazy, Horace,” she said, trying to turn her fear into anger. “Why don’t you just refuse the willed path? Thrall-blight twists the Medium too. That’s what Samuel did.”
But Horace only shook his head. “You’ve got a plan of your own. You had it before I opened the box—an inkling, anyway. Whatever it is, it’s a part of the future I saw. If I refuse the willed path now, your plan falls apart too. It all falls apart.”
She dropped her head into her hand, rubbing her temples. So much to consider. So much to fear. So much to rage at.
“Chloe,” Horace said softly. She looked up at him. “I do my thing. You do yours. It’s not that we have no other choice, it’s that we already made the choice. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
“It’s time, then,” he said.
They went back to the Mothergate together, through the wispy remnants of the Veil. Horace still held the astrolabe in his hand. The black mass loomed and pulsed.
Horace reached for her. Cautiously he put his hand inside her chest, through the sturdy plate of bone beneath her throat. She thought she might die. He scooped around the back of the Alvalaithen, lifting it. She let him, willing the dragonfly to go solid in his palm. He held the fluttering thing, gazing at it for a moment as if astonished at what he was doing, and then laid it softly back against her skin.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her. “I promise.”
He turned and stepped into the Mothergate. It sizzled briefly around the edges of his body as he entered, like hot oil. And then he was gone.
“Horace!” Chloe shouted. Her voice rolled into the Veil and was swallowed.
She was alone.
She just stood there, staring into the black.
And then Horace stumbled out of the Mothergate. Gasping.
Chloe actually leapt back, startled, but then her heart swelled. He was safe.
Horace’s eyes, wide and searching, fell on her. He grabbed her, pulling her close. He talked into her hair, his voice buzzing against her skin.
“Chloe!” he cried. “You’re still here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, are you—” He thrust her out to arm’s length, looking her up and down frantically, then pulled her close again.
She just stood there, letting him hold her, arms at her sides. “That was fast,” she said. She squirmed, trying to fight free. “Did you do it?”
He let her go. He looked at her like she was the one who had lost her mind. “How long was I—?” he began, and then he fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out the astrolabe and clumsily forced it into her hand. “Take it,” he said. “If I keep it, it’ll reset itself. Don’t look at it or think about it.”
Bewildered, Chloe shoved the astrolabe into her pocket. As she did, she caught a glimpse of madly spinning dials, flashing colors.
“You did it, didn’t you?” she said. “How did you do it so fast?”
Horace shook his head. “Not fast. Not fast at all. How long was I gone?”
“Like, barely. Maybe five seconds.”
He nodded, looking up and all around at the Veil, like he was trying to get his bearings. Goose bumps blossomed up and down Chloe’s arms as understanding slowly dawned.
“Horace,” she said softly, “how long were you gone?”
He swallowed, letting loose a hiccupping groan that was part laugh, part cry. “Six days.” He began to nod, his breath slowing. “Five seconds here . . . six days there,” he said, still nodding. “But I’m back now. And you’re still here. It’s okay.”
Chloe grabbed him. She hauled him in close, and he wrapped his arms around her, sobbing.
Six days inside the Mothergate. Six days alone in there—in his mind, anyway—but only five seconds here. Her head swam to catch up with him, to where he’d been. Six days, lost and frightened, hopelessness growing by the hour.
“It is okay,” she told him. “I’m sorry. You must have been so scared.”
He nodded into her neck, grabbing her harder. And she knew that most of his fear had been for her, not for him.
“I couldn’t get out,” he said. “After I uncoupled the astrolabe from the present, I couldn’t tell myself the story right. I think it’s because I was going back the way I’d come. The end was the same as the beginning, and I just—” He let out a great sigh, sagging in her arms. She steeled her legs for the both of them, sure he’d collapse if she let him go.
Slowly, after long moments, he disentangled himself. He stepped back, wiping his eyes.
“Oh my god,” he said. “That sucked.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Chloe said, and she couldn’t. “But you did it. The astrolabe is—”
He waved his hands in her face. “Don’t even think about the astrolabe. I’m not sure how it sets itself, or how long it’ll hold all the streams of time it’s holding now. But yes, I did it.”
“Okay,” Chloe said, pulling her thoughts away. “You’re amazing. You might be the most amazing person there ever was. Definitely second most, at least.”
Horace laughed, his eyes beginning to clear. He was coming back to her, back to himself. Chloe shook her head, blinking away tears. “So how long until they get here?”
Horace laid a hand on the Fel’Daera, as if it could help his sense of time come back more quickly. And maybe it could, because he said, “Two minutes and twenty-nine seconds.”
“Okay. That’s good.” She took him by the elbow, leading him past the Mothergate, to the opposite side of where the Riven would be. “I need to know how long it’ll be between the moment the Riven get here and the moment you send the astrolabe.”
“Fifty-three seconds,” Horace said instantly.
“Fifty-three seconds. That’s good. I can do that.” They kept walking. Now for the next part—how far was far enough? How far was too far? “What’s an Auditor’s range, do you think?” she asked. “How far away would you need to be so that she couldn’t take over your instrument?”
“I’d say a hundred feet, at least.”
That sounded about right. “I’m doubling it,” Chloe said. They kept walking until they were two hundred feet from where the Auditor would be. Chloe bent and pulled her other sock free through her shoe.
“What are you doing?” Horace asked. “Is this your plan?”
“This is my plan,” she said, shaking her sock at him. “Don’t mock the sock.”
She knelt and slipped the sock into the ground again, but this time only halfway. She left the foot part of it aboveground, lying there like a white flag. Okay—a dingy white flag. But she could see it.
She pointed at it, looking Horace in the eye. “The second you send the astrolabe, you run for this sock. I mean the very second. Understand?”
“No,” said Horace. “But yes.”
“You’re not the fastest,” said Chloe, which was, to be honest, putting it rather kindly. “You’re going to have to really, really run.”