Chaos

by Lanie Bross

  “Big-time,” Jasmine whispered, and then plastered on a smile. “Hi, Aunt Hillary.”

  “Don’t you look just like your mother with your hair like that. Everyone always said she was a beauty, but I never saw it myself.”

  Let the insults begin.

  “I won’t be long,” Luc said, ducking his head to address the words to Jasmine.

  “Let’s get moving, then,” Aunt Hillary said. “Do you have any idea what the roads are like? You’d think a city this size, on the West Coast, would be able to recover from an earthquake faster than this.”

  Jasmine gave him a look that begged please let me stay and I’ll join a convent and never say a bad word again, but he just leaned in and kissed her cheek. The sooner he got started, the sooner it would all be over. He hoped.

  “This neighborhood certainly looks interest—” Aunt Hillary’s voice cut off when he shut the door.

  Jasmine glared at him out the window as the car crept down the block. Luc watched until it turned and disappeared, then ran back upstairs to grab his backpack and a jacket. The Land of the Two Suns got very cold at night, and this time, he’d be ready.

  Luc stepped outside their apartment and pulled the archer from his pocket. It popped open and the tiny figure began to spin. It slowed and nearly came to a stop, pointing east.

  Luc moved in that direction, his instincts sharper than they had been. Traveling across the universe, seeing worlds where order ticked like a clock or oceans were composed of shadows—it had changed him, somehow.

  The archer, the necklace he had taken from Rhys, would function as a compass and lead him to another world. It pointed toward Market Square.

  When he reached Third Street, the archer’s bow quivered right and left.

  Luc’s heartbeat stuttered with it.

  The Crossroad had to be close.

  The sun had already dipped below the tops of the buildings around him. Power had not been restored to this part of the city yet, so dusk sat heavy; the buildings were dark brushstrokes against the faded-denim-blue sky. With most of the shops in this area closed, the streets were largely quiet and empty of people, except for the sounds of work crews close by.

  It was a long shot, but he didn’t have anywhere else to start.

  The archer had stopped with its tiny arrow pointed toward the Market Square angel.

  Luc circled the angel statue, the same way he had that morning. The archer swung safely on the chain around his neck. He hoped this was an entrance to the Crossroad.

  Corinthe had told him to look for something out of place, something not quite right; inconsistencies, flaws in the logical tapestry of the world, were a sign of an entrance. He stared up at the angel, its pose strikingly similar to the enormous, blank-faced statues that had come alive and granted him passage to the Great Gardens in Pyralis.

  He did a double take. The angel’s wings had been raised toward the sky earlier, he’d swear it. Now they were folded together, lowered.

  The back of his neck prickled and his breathing sped up. Luc looked around to be sure no one was watching, then reached under his shirt to pull out the archer.

  It leads you to your heart’s desire.

  Rhys.

  Luc closed his eyes and chanted the man’s name over and over in his head. He pictured the Land of the Two Suns.

  The tiny archer spun around in circles and Luc held his breath. Come on.

  For what seemed like an eternity, the archer simply continued to spin. Luc’s chest was tight with impatience. After several long seconds, disappointment numbed his hands. The archer was still turning, as fast as ever. Maybe he’d misremembered the position of the statue’s wings. Maybe he’d wanted to find the Crossroad so badly, he’d invented one.

  But just then, the archer stopped, its arrow pointing directly at the statue’s stone wings.

  Just like that, Luc was flooded with excitement. His hands shook slightly as he circled the statue. The wings seemed to shimmer in front of his eyes, and when he reached up to touch them, they spread upward in a graceful arch and a flash of blinding light took his breath away.

  The force of the sudden winds blew him backward, and Luc found himself falling through darkness and shrieking noise. For a moment, he panicked, and he felt a hundred thousand invisible fingers ripping at his body. He had to focus or he’d be lost in the Crossroad forever.

  He gripped the archer and pictured Rhys surrounded by red sand and a black ocean.

  Take me to Rhys.

  Miranda paced back and forth inside her cell. The constant pulse of this living world, in the walls, the ground, the air, reminded her that her time was limited. Each thump a moment closer to her death.

  What did it matter now? Corinthe was dead and Pyralis was intact.

  The Unseen Ones had won again.

  Miranda hadn’t even fought the Tribunal when they sent several Radicals to bring her back to Vita to await trial. Once, the idea of the Tribunal would have been inconceivable. Once, the Radicals had lived up to their name: full of passion and energy and war. But no more. The Unseen Ones had squeezed them slowly into submission, had turned the Free Radicals into slaves.

  The world the Tribunal called home was unlike any in the universe, and though she was being held there as a prisoner, Miranda had to admit that it was a strangely beautiful place.

  Strange, to be imprisoned inside a vast living creature.

  The bars of her cell resembled twisting strings of DNA, forever moving, undulating, unbreakable. They shone like polished silver, catching bits of light as they moved, and were razor sharp. Each time she stepped close, bits of bright light sizzled along the thread of living molecules, electrifying the bars. Miranda knew that one touch would send a deadly shock through her body.

  Her cell hung suspended above the tissuey floor of the main chamber, and a thin membrane resembling skin stretched above and below her, making the floor of her cell sink slightly when she moved.

  Outside her cell rose great white spires of bone, curving like ribs around a cavernous space that housed the pulsing life center of Vita. Here is where the Tribunal handed down punishments.

  There had been no sign of the council members in the days—or was it weeks?—since she’d been dragged here. But now, as Miranda watched, flickers of light began appearing all around the dais. Steam rose from the ground and, one by one, the members of the Tribunal slowly assumed corporeal form.

  Dread spread through Miranda. This was it. They were assembling for her trial.

  Tess’s familiar form materialized and Miranda felt the dull ache of her loss—they shared the same matter, but Tess had made it clear Miranda was now on her own.

  One chair remained empty: Rhys’s. Secretly she had been hoping that despite everything, he might come to her defense. Stupid. The last time they talked, he made it clear that there was nothing left between them. Rhys had chosen to die an outcast. It was the reality of those who chose to live free. It was also why Miranda had tried to change things. One force should not rule the universe in its entirety. Fate must learn to bow to chance.

  But Rhys had refused to fight with her.

  The great love they had shared was gone.

  He would not come to her rescue.

  There was no one to speak on her behalf, which would make the Tribunal’s job that much easier. Sirius sat in the center, the spot reserved for the oldest star in the universe, and waved his hand. The swirling bars in front of Miranda fell away, leaving one side of her prison open.

  “Miranda, you have been charged with treason against the Tribunal. Your actions nearly caused our ruination. You behaved recklessly and without consideration of the Tribunal’s wishes. What have you to say to this?”

  A fire-haired woman had stood and was addressing Miranda. Councilwoman Basia. One of the first Radicals, and much too conservative for Miranda’s taste. Of course she would be the one to pass judgment.

  Rebellion flared inside Miranda like a flame. This was the source of her power, t
he true source of all the Radicals’ power—the desire to be free. The resistance to following rules. “You are content to sit and do nothing while the Unseen Ones treat you like caged dogs. You, our leaders, have suppressed us to the point of extinction. So why shouldn’t we fight for our lives? We are Radicals. Once whole worlds bowed before us, and any one of us was strong enough to split the fabric of the universe in two.”

  Murmurs ran among the Tribunal. Some members looked angry, while others looked scared.

  “You say you have a grand plan,” Miranda continued, “but in the meantime we are dying. By the time you realize you were wrong, it will be too late.” She wanted to shriek, to reach through the bars of her cage and shake every one of them, but even if she could reach them, they would never understand. They had grown too content. They had forgotten their true purpose. “We weaken each time a Radical dies. Our power is in our numbers, can’t you see that?”

  “Excuse me, Tribunal, may I speak?” Tess stepped up before the council and Miranda stared. She had not expected this.

  Several council members protested, but the man in the middle silenced them with his hand. “You may.”

  “Miranda has always been hotheaded.” Tess had taken a form Miranda had seen her use quite often, a human body with long brown dreadlocks. But her image flickered; she was obviously very tired. “Surely you can see that what she does is out of love for the Radicals.”

  This was certainly an unexpected twist. Here Tess was, defending her against the Tribunal. Miranda’s chest swelled with admiration and something deeper than that. Yes. With love. Tess was the closest thing Miranda had to a daughter. She was not alone after all.

  “If you would extend mercy this one time, I’m sure she will abandon her idea of a revolution.” Tess stared directly at Miranda, as though trying to communicate a warning to her. Miranda looked away. Tess might have been trying to help. But believing that Miranda would agree to bow to the wishes of the Tribunal proved that Tess really did not know her anymore.

  “Tell us, Miranda. If we agree to leniency, will you stop this destructive path and abide by our rules?” The head council member stared directly at her.

  “There can be no other answer but her death,” a second councilman said. “He has escaped. If they should manage to join forces …” Though he spoke in a soft whisper, Miranda overheard.

  They could only be talking about one person. Ford.

  He was a Radical who believed, like her, that no one should dictate how others lived or died. And he would not let her rot here forever. Not when power was within his grasp.

  The head council member ignored the objection. “If you accept our terms, you will remain imprisoned here at Vita for the rest of your days. But you will be allowed to live.”

  “What kind of life is that?” Miranda’s hands shook with barely controlled rage and she clenched them into fists at her sides. How dare they insult her with such an offer? “You must all be mad. I’m a true Radical. I will have freedom or I will have nothing.”

  There were several explosions of light and sound as various Radicals temporarily lost control of their bodily forms.

  “So you decline our offer of leniency?” the head council member asked.

  “I decline to admit that I’m wrong. I choose to go down fighting, and you should, too.” Miranda stood tall, her chin up in defiance. No matter what happened, she would never bow to their demands.

  “Then as head council of the Tribunal, I sentence you, Miranda, to death, at the hour the sands of time have determined.”

  An enormous hourglass rose from the podium. Red sand immediately began to sift down into the bottom of the hourglass.

  Miranda stared at her death sentence.

  When the last grains of sand had passed through the hourglass, she would die.

  The wind abruptly fell away. Luc found solid ground under his feet and staggered forward, off balance, doubled over by the heat. His sneakers sank into sand. When he opened his eyes, he saw the great red cliffs extending in a line as far as he could see. To his left was an ink-black ocean, washing silently against the sand.

  He’d made it.

  He turned slowly. Two suns burned brightly in an ash-white sky. In a weird way, it was good to be back. It made Corinthe feel closer. She had found him once, in this world, had wrestled him to the ground on top of the cliffs. He remembered how he’d pinned her to the ground, had seen himself reflected in her violet eyes, the color of a sunset sky.…

  As if the world itself wanted to help him, a quick gust of wind burst across the sand and revealed a tiny crystal at his feet. It glittered in the suns and he bent to pick it up, sifting through the sand. He sucked in his breath.

  In his palm he held Corinthe’s crystal earring. She was wearing the pair when he first met her on Karen’s houseboat, and had eventually given them to Rhys. Luc balled his fingers into a fist to try to crush the searing jolt of pain the memory caused.

  Had Rhys left it here for Luc to find?

  Luc covered his eyes and scanned the ocean of shadows, looking for the familiar silhouette of Rhys’s sailboat. Nothing but black, all the way to the horizon.

  Then something moved. Luc squinted. The horizon seemed to shift. Then it rose, as if a great wave were building out at sea. The tide of shadows drew back, so more and more of the red beach was exposed. It reminded Luc of pictures he’d seen of a tsunami; before the wave came, the tide abruptly went out, leaving a litter of seaweed and trash and driftwood behind.

  What the hell was going on?

  At the horizon, the wave was growing taller. Luc was standing on a vast stretch of flat desert where, only an instant before, the ocean had been. His throat was dry.

  The wave began to move.

  Shit.

  It was surging toward him: a vast black shadow, tall as a mountain. Luc took a step back, then another, nearly tripping in the sand, until he felt the flat stone of the cliffs behind him. The wave was so tall it blocked out the sun. For a second, Luc was plunged into darkness.

  Then the wave simply broke apart. Figments, shadow people, poured out of the wave like foam surging offshore. They crawled up the beach; they streamed past Luc without acknowledging him.

  They were leaving. The Figments were leaving the Ocean of Shadows. Where was Rhys?

  “Excuse me.” He tried to grab at the nearest Figment; it was insubstantial as mist, and didn’t look at him. He addressed another Figment. “Hey. I need to find Rhys. Do you know where I can find him? The chemist?”

  Rhys was known for sailing the Ocean of Shadows, mixing potions to help the Figments survive their exile.

  The Figments ignored him.

  But then one turned its blank, dark face in his direction. “Come,” it whispered, its voice gentle, soft. A girl’s voice.

  She merged with the group, and Luc followed, desperately trying to distinguish his guide from the thousands of other Figments flowing down the beach, moving parallel to the cliffs. He was sweating freely now. He took off his jacket and tied it around his waist as he slogged across the shifting sands. His throat was parched, and he was acutely aware of time passing.

  At least Jas was safe.

  Just when he feared he’d made a mistake, he saw the Figments ahead of him slipping through a thin fissure in the side of the cliff face, sucked like dark beads of liquid into a vertical mouth. It was so narrow, Luc could barely make it through sideways. After a few feet, the tunnel widened, and Luc could walk normally again. The ground sloped steeply upward, and rough-hewn stairs were carved in the stone. A dim light shone from somewhere up ahead, illuminating just enough of the darkness that Luc could follow the Figments.

  It was hot and damp. The stairs were so steep Luc walked practically doubled over, using the rock walls for support. He felt dizzy with heat and closeness. Surely it had been hours since they’d started walking. But he had to keep going. He had to find Rhys.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the slope leveled off. In front of Luc was
a makeshift door, a curtain made from some kind of hide; the Figments passed through it without so much as a rustle. Luc shoved aside the curtain and felt a rush of relief so strong he could have cried out.

  He had made it. This was the room where Rhys had taken Corinthe to recover; this was where Rhys had told Luc about the Flower of Life.

  It was even warmer in here. A fire crackled in the corner.

  There was a dark shape lying in the bed.

  Luc swallowed hard.

  No.

  The blind chemist lay tucked under the same quilt Corinthe had used. Mags, his pet raven, sat perched on the headboard, cawing softly.

  “Ahhh, my boy. Welcome back. Welcome back.” Rhys’s glazed eyes were fixed on the ceiling. But of course, he had recognized Luc. Luc had stopped wondering how Rhys’s sight worked.

  Luc couldn’t form words. It was obvious that Rhys was dying. His face had lost almost all its color, and his cheeks were as sunken as those of a skeleton. The skin of his hands was paper thin, as if he’d aged a thousand years since Luc had last seen him.

  Luc took the archer from around his neck and pressed it into Rhys’s hand. It seemed the only thing he could do. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I stole it from you.”

  Rhys shook his head, and returned the archer to Luc. “I won’t need it again.” A smile flickered across his face. “My time is done.”

  “But …” Luc shook his head. It was impossible. Rhys had been fine—strong, happy—when Luc had left him. “Only a few days ago—”

  Rhys cut him off. “Time moves differently in every world, my boy. Time moves differently for everyone.” Rhys gripped his blanket. “I went in quest of my one true love. I knew what I was risking. I am too weak, too old, too foolish. So I die an old fool. I’m sorry, Miranda.”

  Rhys had his head turned away, so Luc didn’t know if he’d heard the man correctly. Before he could ask, Rhys’s sightless gaze was back on him. “What about you, my boy? Did you find your one true love?”

  “Yes.” It hurt too much to think about, much less talk about. He hadn’t been able to share his grief. “But I lost her again. Corinthe died in Pyralis. She said it was how it had to be, but it can’t be.” He swallowed back the tightness in his throat. He could hardly breathe. “This can’t be the end.”