World's End

by Jake Halpern

  When the food was ready, Alfonso offered it to both Bilblox and the girl. The threesome ate silently, and afterward, everyone, including Bilblox, seemed to feel a bit better.

  Alfonso cleaned off the dishes in the snow and then turned to the girl, who was sitting next to the fire, perched on her feet like a ragtag bird.

  "What's your name?"

  Alfonso was startled to see that the girl was now a teenager, roughly his age. She had put on six inches and her hair had lengthened from her shoulders down to her waist—all in the span of seconds.

  "You're ... you're..."

  "About fourteen years old," answered the girl. "I must be feeling nervous. I always take on this age when I'm feeling this way. I hate it."

  "I don't blame ya," said Bilblox weakly. "Bein' a teenager ain't exactly a picnic."

  "What's your name?" Alfonso asked again.

  "Marta," replied the girl.

  "So tell us," said Alfonso, "how do you become an ageling?"

  "Oh, there's really nothing to it," said Marta. "That's what happens when you rub the green ash into your eyes."

  "Green ash," replied Alfonso matter-of-factly. He was doing his best to be casual. "So you're from Jasber?"

  "Of course," said Marta. She looked surprised. "I'm the seer of Jasber."

  She went on to explain how she had become a seer—how she'd rubbed the green ash into her eyes, entered a deep coma, and then returned to consciousness with the power of clairvoyance. She also described the vision she had earlier in the week, the vision in which Kiril set a fire in Jasber that burned much of the city and, ultimately, claimed her parents' lives. She explained that this vision had prompted her to flee Monastery Isle in the hopes of warning her parents but that her plan had failed and she ended up getting swept down the river and out into the Sea of Clouds.

  "Marta," said Alfono finally. He reached out and touched her hand. "You know your way through this maze?"

  "I think so," she slowly replied. "There is a grand loop that the sweepers always use. That's what they call it. It starts at the City Gate—you know, the gate into Jasber. Then it goes south, down to where we entered the maze. Then it heads north again, back toward the City Gate, and passes the Great Sleeper's cottage."

  "Cottage!" exclaimed Alfonso. "What do you know about the cottage? That's where my dad might be!"

  Marta gave an awkward look, and finally stammered, "I'm s-s-sorry, Alfonso..."

  Alfonso went pale.

  "Marta, ya gotta tell us, what do you know about his dad?" asked Bilblox.

  "Well, honestly, not much," said Marta. "I mean, I think he must be Alfonso's father—they look so much alike."

  "You've seen him?" asked Bilblox.

  "No, I've never actually seen him," said Marta, rather nervously. "Everyone knows about him, of course, because he arrived with the Dormian bloom. I knew he was in his cottage. Everyone in Jasber knows that..."

  "So how do ya know what he looks like?" asked Bilblox.

  "Because I saw him in a vision," explained Marta.

  "I don't understand," said Alfonso with a sigh of exasperation.

  "Seers only have visions about the things we stare at," explained Marta. "That's why the monks positioned the chair so I was staring only at the Founding Tree. Anyway, when I saw Kiril climbing the cliff toward the razor hedges, I had a glimpse into Kiril's future." Her voice became quiet, so that Alfonso and Bilblox had to lean closer. "Kiril was watching ... he was watching your father die in the snow."

  "When? Where?" demanded Bilblox.

  "I don't know when," said Marta defensively. "There was no clock. But it happened in the maze. There was blood on the snow and the smell of smoke in the air. Your father was right outside the cottage ... I think."

  Bilblox stood up at once and smothered the remains of the fire with his boot. "Let's get goin'," he said. "Maybe there's still time."

  CHAPTER 50

  THE SECRET OF THE SPHERE

  AFTER HILL AND RESUZA had passed more than eighteen hours in the cave, the winter storm finally died down and it was time to leave. Hill was still very weak from his wound, and though he could stand to get more rest, they were almost out of food. All that remained was a dollop of honey. They needed to sail the catamaran back to the lighthouse.

  Resuza glanced over at Hill. "You're right," he said. He had read her concern. "Shall we get going? A few days in the lighthouse will likely mend me up right quick. I think I'm stable enough to spend some time on the catamaran. Your makeshift bandages did the trick."

  Resuza nodded. "With any luck we'll be back at the lighthouse in time for dinner," she said with forced cheer. "And then we can think about going back to these razor hedges and trying to find Alfonso and Bilblox."

  After gathering up their belongings, they exited the cave and emerged into the glaring morning light. The skies had cleared and a gentle breeze was blowing. It took them several minutes to return to the small beach where they had left the catamaran. As they rounded the corner, Resuza saw the vessel and was happy to note that it had weathered the storm nicely. Her spirits lifted. She reached into her pocket and took out the sphere and decided to give it another toss.

  However, at that moment, she got an uneasy feeling—the kind of feeling you get when you are being watched. She looked up and noticed a man standing on the deck of their catamaran, staring at them. He had appeared out of nowhere. Moments later, four other men climbed out of the cabin below. They were dressed entirely in furs and long, mangy beards swayed below their chins. Across their chests they wore belts of ammunition and each had a musket stuck into the belts.

  Resuza's heart sank. It was highly unlikely that these people had boarded the catamaran with good intentions. Hill gripped her arm tightly. He had just seen them too.

  One of the men stepped off the catamaran and onto the beach. He had a mane of fiery red hair that was only barely contained by a mud-colored woolen hat. The man whistled loudly and, an instant later, his four companions jumped down to the beach as well.

  Resuza eyed Hill to gauge his reaction. He was gazing off into the distance. What was Hill looking at? Then she saw for herself. About a quarter mile off the shore, half concealed by a small iceberg, floated a long wooden barge.

  "That must be their boat," remarked Hill.

  "Who are they?" asked Resuza.

  "Trouble," whispered Hill.

  The five men walked quickly toward Resuza and Hill and stopped about twenty feet away. The man with the red beard shouted something in a foreign tongue, which Hill did not understand.

  "Do you understand what he said?" asked Hill.

  "I think so," said Resuza. "He says we have two choices. The first is that we go with them back to their boat."

  "What's the second?"

  "They kill us," replied Resuza.

  "That doesn't sound like much of a choice," said Hill wearily. He eyed the men, all of whom were now pointing their muskets at them. "I think we better do as they say."

  ***

  The man with the red beard positioned himself at the helm of the catamaran and steered it toward the wooden barge. Meanwhile, the other men kept their guns trained on Hill and Resuza. Resuza had moved the blue sphere into her pocket and she kept it at the ready, but it seemed downright suicidal to start a fight now. Painful as it was, they would have to wait for a more opportune moment to flee.

  Once they reached the barge, the men ordered Hill and Resuza off the catamaran onto the barge itself, and then down a narrow set of stairs that led into the belly of the ship. Here, to their great dismay, Hill and Resuza found several hundred prisoners packed into a very small space. The hatch to the deck slammed shut behind them.

  Hardly anyone looked up as Resuza and Hill entered. They all appeared sickly and malnourished. The prisoners were packed in so tightly that it was difficult to move about. There was a stench in the air so pungent that it made Resuza's nostrils burn. A grotesque man, more skeleton than human, sidled up to Resuza, who was standing i
n front of Hill.

  "Scared?" he said with a terrible, rasping laugh. "Don't be too frightened, gorgeous. You'll be lookin' just as wretched as me and the other slaves soon enough."

  "Slaves?" inquired Resuza.

  "A few months ago, we were farmers," said the man. "And now we're all to be sold as slaves. Whaddya think you was on—a pleasure cruise? You'll make a pretty prize." He reached out a hand to touch her hair.

  Hill sidled up alongside Resuza and pushed the man away.

  "How long before we try to escape?" whispered Resuza.

  Hill glanced around and shook his head grimly.

  "First chance we get," replied Hill softly. "Though I'm not in fighting shape, it's a risk we'll have to take."

  "We never should have surrendered ourselves," griped Resuza bitterly. "What were we thinking?"

  "We were thinking that there is a time and a place to pick a fight or make a run for it," Hill replied. "And that wasn't it."

  Resuza made no reply.

  "Come on," said Hill. "There's a small stove in the corner. Let's go warm up."

  Hill and Resuza pushed their way over to the corner where a thick-boned woman with gray hair and raw pink skin was warming up a pot of watery gruel.

  "Mind if we warm up by the stove?" asked Resuza.

  "Be my guest," said the woman. She spoke in a Uralic mountain dialect that Resuza understood. The woman took the pot off the stove and cradled it in her arms as if she were holding a great treasure. Then she opened the door to the stove and revealed a meager bed of burning coals. "Warm up while ya can, dearie," said the woman. "But don't be eyein' my pooridge cuz' I ain't sharin'."

  Resuza and Hill huddled around the open door of the stove and greedily drew as close to the heat as they could. Together they stared blankly into the fire's embers. Slowly, without even fully thinking about it, Resuza reached into her pocket and took out the blue sphere. She eyed Hill.

  Hill grimaced.

  "I think the situation is officially desperate," said Resuza.

  "It's our only weapon," whispered Hill.

  "We don't know how to use the sphere," said Resuza. "Alfonso can control it much better than we can. He never should've given it to us! But now that we have it, and he's somewhere far away, it may help us in another way. After all, the monk threw it into the fire. What if it gives us an even greater weapon?"

  With a sigh of resignation, Hill nodded.

  Resuza looked around to see if anyone was watching them. There were no guards around and the slaves were all far too listless and deadened to pay them any mind. Resuza took the blue sphere and placed it directly into the coals of the fire. It turned purple and then red. Resuza glanced at Hill. "That should do it," whispered Hill. Resuza used her metal cup and discreetly prodded the sphere out of the fire and onto the floor near a mound of snow, which had been brought in to serve as drinking water for the prisoners. The sphere sizzled as it came in contact with the snow. Its glassy surface immediately cracked in several places and then rapidly dissolved into bluish colored sand. Sitting on the sand was a narrow five-inch-long cylinder of gleaming silver that, apparently, had been inside of the sphere itself. The cylinder tapered to a point at one end.

  Resuza picked it up. "I've seen this before," she said softly.

  Hill looked at her and then at the cylinder. "You're right," he whispered.

  "It's one of the symbols of Jasber," said Resuza in an amazed voice. "We saw it on the rosewood lid and above the tunnel that leads to the Jasber Gate."

  "Yes," said Hill. His eyes glimmered with excitement as he thought back to their conversation with Josephus weeks ago in Somnos. "I believe it's the Foreseeing Pen."

  CHAPTER 51

  A GLIMPSE OF SUMMER

  DEEP WITHIN THE MAZE, a delicate layer of frost covered the thorns, while a thicker layer of snow covered the leaves of the hedges. It was bitterly cold, the kind of cold that causes tears to freeze within seconds and spit to crackle before it reaches the ground. Alfonso, Bilblox, and Marta trudged along through the maze, battling through snowdrifts and trying not to sweat from the exertion, because to sweat meant becoming even colder than they already were. They shivered down to their bones and feared going to sleep, because they might not wake up. Even Kõrgu, the massive wolf with her thick pelt of fur, shivered and whined. They were all exhausted and close to passing out.

  It was late morning and they had been walking for eight hours straight. They stood quietly at yet another intersection and looked at Marta, who leaned forward and stared directly down. Marta was scrutinizing the ground with the utmost concentration, never blinking or wiping away the occasional snowflake that landed on her cheek. She forgot about Alfonso and Bilblox and Kõrgu. She forgot about the maze, and her parents, and Jasber, and Dormia. She even forgot about herself and, as she did, she stopped feeling her limbs. The cold bite of the wind vanished, and gradually the snow on the ground began to thin and then melt away. The ground beneath her turned muddy and the air was warm. It was summer, late August to be exact. Marta was using her powers of foresight to see the ground as it would look in the future, roughly eight months from now.

  It was very rare to see the maze without any snow or ice. This far north, and at this altitude, snow cover was more or less permanent, except for a short period each August. During this interval, no more than a few days and sometimes even less, the snow receded and the actual ground of the maze became visible. This is what Marta wanted to see, because beaten into the muddy earth was a faint but clear path, the result of countless generations of labyrinth sweepers following the grand loop that Marta had described to Bilblox and Alfonso. It was common knowledge that most sweepers followed a specific loop on their patrols through the maze. Although they often varied their route, this particular loop was the fastest and most direct to the key areas of the maze. Of course, the route itself was a closely kept secret. Because of the frequent snowfall, it was never visible to the naked eye except during the few days in August when the entire labyrinth thawed.

  Marta studied the ground closely and saw the unmistakable depression of a path in constant use. It continued straight and then, several hundred yards ahead, it turned left at an intersection. From here, she knew the path would twist and turn its way northward, all the way to the Great Sleeper's cottage and then on to the City Gate. And, at every intersection, Marta would have to stare at the ground and peer again into the future. For the most part, Marta could not will herself into having detailed visions of the future, like the one she'd had of Kiril burning Jasber Isle. She could, however, will herself into having very brief glimpses of the future, almost snapshots, which never lasted for more than a fraction of a second. Marta could control these flashes to a certain extent—even directing how far into the future she wanted to see—but the process exhausted her.

  "It's straight ahead and then left at the first intersection," gasped Marta as she looked up from the ground. She was breathing heavily. She had already led them through four intersections, and she was getting quite tired. She also noticed her old and wrinkled hands, covered with liver spots and small, angry-red veins. They looked even older than before, and she noticed that they were shaking uncontrollably.

  Alfonso shook his head. "You look even older than on the rowboat. I didn't think it was possible for you to get any older."

  "Can you give me a hand?" croaked Marta. "I get very tired after I have my visions."

  Kõrgu led Bilblox over to where Marta was standing. With great tenderness, Bilblox scooped Marta up and began walking forward with her in his arms. "Don't worry, er ... ma'am," said Bilblox. "I can carry ya the whole way if need be."

  "Thank you," gasped Marta.

  They plodded onward through the snow in silence.

  "Marta," said Alfonso finally, "in your vision, did you see my father actually dead?"

  Marta paused. "He was lying on the ground, and he did not move," she replied.

  "But that doesn't mean he was dead," replied Alfonso.


  "No," said Marta. "But it's hard to imagine how he could have survived lying in the snow in that way, without moving."

  "With any luck, we'll get there in time," said Bilblox.

  "B-B-Beware," wheezed Marta, who now looked as if she were well over one hundred years old. "Beware of the snow snakes."

  CHAPTER 52

  THE GREAT SLEEPER'S COTTAGE

  IT HAD BEEN MANY HOURS since Leif left the relative comfort of Zinedine's dirt cave. He knew that his survival depended on making it back to the cottage and finally he was close. In fact, he had almost made it to the cottage when he sensed that he was being followed. He could hear something long and heavy sliding through the snow. On several occasions, he glanced backwards, but each time he saw nothing. At times, he thought he saw powdery snowdrifts shifting, as if something was underneath them, but he couldn't be sure.

  He suspected that it was a snow snake, the kind the sweepers had warned him about: up to a hundred feet long, as wide as a barrel, and fast. Lethal in every way. It appeared as if the snake was stalking him and it was only a matter of time before it struck. Somehow, he had to shake this creature. The cottage was nearby, and if he was correct, it was on the other side of the razor hedge he was currently facing.

  It was time to do something he had only managed to do once before, something beyond hypnogogia. Like Alfonso, Leif could enter hypnogogia. At first, he had been content with just this ability. It had helped him many times along the trip to Jasber. And he continued to practice hypnogogia once he was banished to the cottage in the razor hedges, in the hopes that he would be able to escape. It was there, after studying the same Alexandria box as Alfonso, that he discovered that hypnogogia was not only an incredible ability to have, but it was also the doorway to the mastery of other skills. Of course, just to stay in hypnogogia was draining, so he had only scraped the surface of what he believed he could potentially do.