by Jake Halpern
"Nathalia is such a beautiful name," said Kiril quietly, almost to himself. He ignored the question. "The name is very worthy of you."
Kiril looked at Nathalia tenderly for a moment, reached out, and ran his finger across her cheek. Nathalia shivered. Kiril stood up. "In a time of war," continued Kiril, "there is, unfortunately, no room for empathy or affection. The only pleasure I give myself is vengeance. It is—"
Kiril stopped midsentence. "Where is Josephus?"
Josephus had been lying on the dirt floor of the room, but at that moment, he was nowhere to be seen.
Kiril's eyes flashed with anger. "You drew my attention away so Josephus could skulk away! And where is my leather rucksack? Josephus!"
Kiril rushed out the door and cursed his mistake in not keeping an eye on the historian. On the ledge, the glider that they had been using was parked at the edge of the runway. It was in perfect shape—the zwodszay had left it alone. But where was Josephus? He couldn't have gone far; after all, he was nearly dead from the stress of the journey. Kiril strained his eyes into the darkness. The only light was the ever present red glow radiating up from the depth of the fault.
Kiril heard Josephus before he saw him. The old historian was on the runway and staggering toward the edge. He dragged the large leather rucksack behind him. Kiril broke into a run and sprinted toward him.
"What do you think you're doing?" gasped Kiril, when he finally caught up with Josephus at the edge of the runway.
Josephus stood four or five feet from the edge of the fault with the leather rucksack dangling from his arm. Inside the bag were all the remaining items from the list. Kiril eyed the bag greedily.
"Keep your distance," Josephus warned in a trembling voice. Clearly, he was at the end of his strength, and it took all his effort to stay conscious and inch forward. "You know I can't let you have this rucksack."
"I am disappointed in you," said Kiril calmly. "I thought you and I had an understanding."
Josephus didn't reply immediately; instead he inched closer to the edge of the fault. He was now just two or three feet from the precipice.
"Give me that bag!" Kiril demanded.
"Never!" hissed Josephus.
As he said this, Josephus turned toward the edge of the fault. Yet, before he could take a single step, a sudden blow knocked his legs out from under him. Josephus found himself on his back, staring up at Kiril. Kiril reached down, grabbed the leather rucksack from Josephus's hands with commanding force, and then opened the sack to inspect its contents.
"Where is the vial of dagárgala and the lid to the rosewood box?" demanded Kiril.
"I-I threw them over the cliff," stammered Josephus.
"LIAR!" bellowed Kiril as he grabbed Josephus by the throat. "Hand them over or I snap your neck!"
Josephus's face turned red, then blue, then purple. He slumped to the ground. Kiril reached into Josephus's coat and found the rosewood lid, with the glass vial securely tied to it.
"No," gasped Josephus.
"Goodbye old man," said Kiril.
The last thing that Josephus saw was Kiril's fist coming down and smashing him in the face.
Much later, Josephus awoke with a thundering headache. He rolled onto his back and managed after much effort to lift his head. There were no signs of Kiril, but he saw something else just above the cloud layer. It was a glider, their glider! And though Josephus could not see who was in it, he knew perfectly well that Kiril was the pilot.
He had left them.
Josephus was now alone with his wounded niece and a mob of hungry zwodszay who were lurking in the darkness. He turned back to the lonely hut.
"N-Nathalia!" he yelled, his voice cracking with sorrow. "NATHALIA!"
CHAPTER 35
HOME AGAIN
LEIF PERPLEXON'S TAN AND LANKY BODY cut through the cool waters of Lake Witekkon, trailing millions of bubbles. After gliding for several feet, he expertly dolphin-kicked up to the surface, which shimmered with the sun's reflection. His head exploded through the surface into the dazzling light of day. The sky was a spotless blue. Towering evergreens lined the rocky shore. A slight breeze rippled across the water, carrying along inquisitive dragonflies. A family of loons called to one another in the distance. By all appearances, it was an absolutely perfect summer day in northern Minnesota.
Leif blinked. It was all still there. It was perfect. Even the taste of the lake water was vivid with its tang of minerals from the glacier-scoured bedrock. He was swimming in the elixir of life. Leif glanced about. About a hundred meters away lay the rocky beach and, just beyond it, he saw the small cottage and modest greenhouse.
Home!
Leif did a furious front crawl until he reached the beach. As he swam, he felt fit and strong. The ache in his bones, the weariness of his muscles, the numb feeling in his brain—all of it was gone. He pulled himself up onto the beach and there, standing just feet away, was his wife, dressed in shorts and a tank top. She looked slim and girlish, the way she was when they first met.
"Thank goodness you're okay," said Judy as she rushed over and hugged her husband. "I got so worried when that lightning storm passed through. It happened so fast! Did you get out of the water in time? You must have. I'm just so glad you're back."
"Yes..." stammered Leif. "I'm fine—I just..."
"Dad!"
Leif looked up and saw his son, Alfonso, sprinting toward him. Alfonso looked exactly the same age as when Leif had seen him last.
"Dad!" yelped Alfonso as he leapt into his father's arms. "I knew you'd be okay."
"Come on," said Judy. "I have some egg salad and roast beef on the table. Let's have lunch."
"I'll get Pappy!" shouted Alfonso, as he dashed toward the greenhouse.
Leif and Judy walked over to a picnic table at the far end of the beach that was loaded with a large pitcher of iced lemonade and platters of egg salad and roast beef sandwiches, as well as watermelon, and warm chocolate brownies.
"This is the day I drowned," Leif said, almost to himself.
"What?" asked Judy.
"Nothing," said Leif. But he was certain of it now. He was reliving the day, over six years ago, when he had disappeared from World's End. It was as if someone had turned back the clock; only now, in this version of history, Leif emerged from his swim and returned to his family.
"This isn't real, is it?" asked Leif.
"What?" inquired Judy. "What are you talking about?"
"This isn't really happening," said Leif. "This is some kind of dream."
"Don't be silly," said Judy, as she pinched her husband affectionately on the cheek.
"Don't do that," said Leif with a laugh. "You know I hate it when you pinch me."
"But it felt real, didn't it?" asked Judy.
"Yeah," confessed Leif, "It did." He sat down at the picnic table in front of an egg salad sandwich and sank his teeth into the soft, doughy rye bread. It was delicious. In his right hand he gripped a brownie that gleamed with rich chocolate. "My goodness," said Leif, "it's good to be home."
Leif heard a dog barking in the distance and he looked up. A playful golden retriever bounded toward them. The dog looked familiar, but Leif couldn't figure out why, because he never owned a dog in World's End.
"Is that ... but it couldn't be ... is that Sockeye?" asked Leif.
Judy nodded.
"But Sockeye never lived in World's End," protested Leif. "He was the dog that lived in the orphanage where I grew up. Sockeye would have to be more than ... well, more than thirty years old. And look at him—he looks like a puppy."
"Alfonso loves him," said Judy resolutely, ignoring what her husband had just said.
"None of this is really happening," said Leif rather forlornly. "It's not real."
"What does it matter?" asked Judy as she kissed her husband on the head. Leif felt the warmth of her lips against his lake-cooled brow. She stared at him.
"And what does 'real' mean anyway? You're here, I'm here, Alfonso is here,
Pappy's coming from the greenhouse. What else do you want?"
"No," protested Leif. "In the real world you and Alfonso are suffering."
"Look at me," said Judy sternly. She grabbed her husband by the shoulders. "I am Judy. I am your wife. Do I look like I am suffering? I'm so happy to see you. Don't you dare leave me now." Her face softened and she kissed him lightly on the lips. "Besides, we have a surprise for you at dinner. Your parents are coming over from Somnos and your brother will be here too. You haven't seen them in decades. Stay for dinner, please."
A lone tear ran down Leif's cheek. "Okay," he murmured softly. "I'll stay."
"Make yourself at home, my love," said Judy soothingly. For a moment, she seemed almost crafty, which Leif knew was very much unlike her true nature. "Besides," she added with a knowing smile, "you've already eaten a lotus berry and you'll soon be eating another. I suspect that you'll be here for a very, very long time."
CHAPTER 36
CROSSING THE RIVER
SEVERAL HUNDRED MILES AWAY, in the ancient city of Jasber, Marta's entire body was shaking. The color was gone from her face and her breathing had turned shallow and rapid. The vision of what she had foreseen—the fire that would soon devour Jasber's armory and her parents' home—was still vivid in her mind's eye. This horrible fate would come to pass in just a matter of days. Her parents would likely die. Marta had to do something. The man with the white eyes and the hideous scar on his face had to be stopped. Marta had to do something before he set the armory ablaze. But how? She struggled to maintain her concentration as she descended the narrow spiral staircase of the tower to the stone promenade where the abbot was waiting for her. She felt tired and suddenly quite old. Her bones creaked as she stepped downward.
The abbot was smoking his pipe and humming a sleepy lullaby to himself. He noticed Marta coming down the staircase and woke up. When he saw her face, his content expression turned worried.
"You had a vision," said the abbot. "An upsetting one?"
Marta nodded.
"And the Founding Tree?" asked the abbot. "What will happen? When?"
Marta said nothing. The fatigue was so overwhelming, she could barely think.
"What's the matter, my child?" asked the abbot. "Tell me what you have foreseen."
"Something awful," whispered Marta.
The abbot nodded. He placed his arm around Marta in a kindly, grandfatherly way. "Now, now, now," said the abbot soothingly. "No matter what you have seen—no matter how bad it is—there is no cause for alarm. We can intervene and change the course of fate. That is what we do. Now tell me, when did this vision of yours take place?"
"One week from now," replied Marta.
"My goodness," said the abbot. Despite the fact that he was trying to remain calm, there was a trace of panic in his voice. "W-What happens to the Founding Tree just seven days from now?"
"Nothing happens to the Founding Tree," replied Marta quietly.
"What?" said the abbot. Then comprehension bloomed on his face. "Marta, you didn't! Please tell me you didn't!" He stared as she buried her face in her hands. "You had a vision unrelated to the tree. My child! You know that is strictly forbidden!"
"I had a vision about my parents!" Marta blurted out. "There will be a terrible fire in the city, and my parents' house will burn—"
"Silence!" thundered the abbot. The old man seemed more frightened than angry. "You must never speak of this again, not to me or anyone else. This is sacrilege."
"But—" began Marta.
"No!" said the abbot. "Seers may only use their powers to make prophecies about the Founding Tree. This is the rule that cannot—must not—be broken! Without this discipline, what is to stop seers from using their powers recklessly and as they see fit—telling people who will die, who will prosper, who will be betrayed, who will be exalted, and in what manner? Such wide-ranging prophecies bring anarchy. That is why the Foreseeing Pen was hidden away millennia ago. The alternative is chaos!" He was breathing heavily and his face had turned red. The abbot leaned in close to Marta.
"I don't care what you saw; if it doesn't involve the Founding Tree, then it is no concern of mine—or of yours. Tell no one. The survival of our people depends on it." He paused and his expression softened. "You must not speak of this to anyone."
Marta nodded despondently.
"Oh my dear, dear girl," muttered the abbot. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"
***
Several hours later, Marta lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. She was in the Seers' Room, the traditional octagon-shaped bedroom that all seers had lived in for thousands of years. In keeping with the goal of protecting the seer's powers, the room was windowless, so that the seer's visions would be focused only on the Founding Tree. However, given the exalted status of the seer, the bedroom was exceedingly comfortable. Marta's bed was spacious, immaculately clean, and piled high with pillows and soft blankets. A silk fabric draped high over the four extended posts of the bed gave the bed a cozy, tentlike feel. The floor was carpeted with soft rugs. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting seers from ages past. In the corner stood a tall water chime, which gurgled peacefully. Although meant to inspire soothing contemplation, at the moment the water chime had the opposite effect on Marta. She wanted to knock it to the ground. Her pounding heart reverberated in her head, and she clenched her hands into angry red fists.
She had to do something.
Marta stood up and began pacing around her large room. Three of the room's walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, containing ancient books from all around the world. The abbot was obsessed with foreign languages and, when he learned that Marta was a very quick study, he insisted that she learn as many foreign tongues as possible in order to keep her mind sharp.
The other walls in the room were hung with tapestries, except for one final wall, which was bare but for an ornate gold curtain that covered the opening to a ledge set within the wall. The ledge was empty, but centuries ago, it was the resting place of the Foreseeing Pen, which the seer would use to write down all manner of prophecies, from the smallest flick of a butterfly's wing to the eruptions of volcanoes. Now the pen was gone, and the seer could predict only what was in her line of sight. And that had been bad enough, thought Marta.
Suddenly, she stopped her pacing and rushed to the bookcase nearest her bed. There was just one thing that would calm her down. She knelt down and shoved heavy books out of their resting places. They tumbled to the carpeted floor before her. She coughed a little from the swirling dust and then found what she was looking for: a folded piece of parchment.
The door reverberated with a sharp knock. "Marta?" It was one of the monks stationed near her door. Obviously, he had heard the thud of the books falling to the floor.
Marta breathed deeply and composed herself. "Everything is fine. I found the book I was looking for. Be at peace, kind monk."
"Be at peace, kind seer," came the melodious reply.
Marta brought the parchment to her bed and quickly unfolded it. If the monks knew she had this, they would be furious. It was a serious breach of rules to possess any reminder of the world she had left behind. And after the vision Marta had today, if the abbott saw she had a drawing of her family...
She sat on her bed, skinny legs dangling, and traced the outline of her family. Her mother, father, and two brothers. Her older brother, Stoven, was almost a man and had nearly reached her father's height and weight, while Danyel, the younger one, was still a boy. She smiled at Danyel's hair, which always stuck straight out in wild formations.
A polite tapping interrupted her thoughts. It was the abbot. Marta knew she had only seconds. She tumbled off the bed, ran to the bare wall, and hid the parchment in the alcove behind the gold curtain. The door opened and the abbot appeared, looking concerned.
"I heard reports of noise in this room," he said. "Obviously, you are welcome to do whatever you would like, as long as—"
"As long as the rule
s are respected." Marta finished his sentence.
The abbot nodded. He looked at the pile of books scattered across the floor near her bed.
"Dearest Marta," he said in his most gentle voice. "I know you are suffering because of your vision. Believe me when I tell you that the only option is to put it out of your head. You are our seer. Your mind must be strong enough to forget."
Marta nodded. She would forget the vision, she said to herself. After she warned her family.
CHAPTER 37
RESCUE
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, in the gloomy darkness, Alfonso and the rest of the group were preparing to move on. They gathered around their parked gliders, getting ready to take off. They stowed their bags and double-checked all the bindings that lashed the glider together. A distant, dry noise interrupted their concentration. Misty barked for everyone to hit the ground.
"Nobody move," hissed Misty. "Them magmons is comin' back!"
The dry-sounding noise grew louder and more distinct. They could make out the sound of flapping wings and as they did, a windstorm began to blow all around them.
"Please no," whimpered Clink. "It's too soon for me to die. I've finally made it out of Somnos. My life has just begun—"
"Shut yer trap and lay quiet!" snapped Misty.
The wind was blowing furiously now. Dust, bits of ice, and other debris swirled angrily around them, and the sound of the flapping wings grew deafeningly loud.
At one point, in the thick of the windstorm, Alfonso dared a glance upward. He saw the belly of an enormous creature flying overhead. The creature looked a bit like a bird, but it had scales like a reptile, and a long slithering tail like a snake. It was huge, at least one hundred feet long. It looked as if several of these creatures, perhaps as many as five of them, were flying together in a tight formation. They passed quickly overhead and did not seem to notice or care about the human beings below.
"That was close," gasped Misty, once the magmons had passed. "Musta been that food we were cookin'. Didn't I tell ya they're curious creatures! Well, I 'ope that's the last we seen of them!"