Birth of Chaos

by Elise Kova

  “Coming here . . . isn’t a good thing.” Wayne shook his head and continued on. Jo wanted to ask what he meant, if it was less about the place and more about her that wasn’t a good thing, but she held her tongue. She didn’t really feel confident in her voice right now anyway.

  When Wayne didn’t look back to see if she was following, Jo finally fell into step behind him. She brought up her palm again, looking at the hand that had cracked the desk as she walked. She had been outside of time—she hadn’t clocked in; there should’ve been no way she could have affected anything in the real world. Hadn’t she placed her hand down on the desk before, and not a single paper fluttered?

  Jo pulled her attention back to the path only to find a small farmhouse already ahead of them. The tin roof of its porch sagged, one of the support beams on the end leaning at an awkward angle. The wood was sun-bleached, more so at the edges near the rusting roof where it was, marginally, protected from the elements. The wooden supports of the windows stood without glass, the only thing that could stand the test of time.

  It was a forgotten home, in a forgotten corner of the world, for two forgotten ghosts.

  “What is this place?” Jo asked softly.

  Wayne froze at the threshold, one foot up on a beam that should never be able to support his weight —that is, if he still had weight to bear in the real world. His eyes ran over her and Jo felt the significance of his assessment. She must have measured up to whatever yardstick he was using; the heavy sigh told her so.

  “You were right, Jo.”

  “About what?”

  “There was a woman, once.” He reached out to a beam, resting his palm on one of the splintered, worn pillars that was barely keeping the house alive. “Margaret, a bright dame, sensible, wicked wit. You two would have gotten along.”

  When he spoke of Margaret, it was similar feeling to when Nico had spoken of Julia. A profound longing, a feeling of closeness through whatever they saw in Jo that reminded them of their lost loves. But it was also a distance. She was not them, and no one was ever going to try to convince themselves she was.

  “There was an Australian. . . he’d come to New York for work and, well, ended up at the company she was at.” Wayne shook his head. “We’d been seeing each other on the hush . . . but she wanted me to make things proper.”

  “And you didn’t.”

  “Don’t know why I didn’t. . . I should’ve,” he chastised himself. “She couldn’t wait—a girl like that shouldn’t be made to wait. And I lost her.”

  “So she moved back here? To Australia?”

  “She moved back to Australia with her husband at the first sign of economic downturn . . . But that’s not here.” Wayne stepped forward, leaving Jo to follow if she wanted to hear the rest of the conversation. “This is New Zealand.”

  Jo nearly stumbled as she squeezed through the door—barely open wide enough to make jumping back into time unnecessary. “Why are we here?”

  “I started looking at this region of the world after she left. Turns out, it’s startlingly beautiful. When I joined the Society at first and learned I could go anywhere I wanted with the Door, I started wandering and found this place and kept coming back whenever I needed to think.”

  “You? Mister ‘be careful with time,’ just wandered?” Jo couldn’t stop her laughter, though she did her best to make sure it sounded kind.

  “Never said I wasted time doing it.” He paused. “Well, long enough to open the front door. The whole place nearly broke down when I moved it just a little, too.”

  “I can see why . . .” Jo reached out a hand to touch the wall. But at the sight of her hand hovering over the wood, she remembered the desk, and withdrew.

  The floor had sagged in places, hanging between supports that were struggling against the weight of time. In the sunlight that streamed through a large bay window to her right, a small tree grew up, insistent, through the floor. To the left was a small kitchen area, and stairs that had as many missing treads as existent ones.

  “It’s beautiful, in its own way.” There was something enchanting about how the elements wore things down, made them blend with the nature that surrounded them. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the police station. This was how things were meant to break, all a part of the natural order.

  “It’s quiet.”

  Jo could feel his eyes as she walked over to what would’ve been the main living area. She inspected a sofa opposite the bay window. He hadn’t brought up the strange incident yet. But she knew it was coming. She could only play at peace for so long.

  “And it’s far away from people.”

  “You said that earlier.” She didn’t look at him when she spoke; she didn’t want to see him out of pure fear that they’d escalate each other again and whatever was in her would be unleashed.

  “I don’t know if I can trust you around others.”

  Jo pressed her eyes closed. There it was. That horrible assessment. Why did it feel as though it was something that had been levied against her for her entire life? She had never been good at making, or keeping, friends. Only ever Yuusuke, really. She’d always had the worst luck that ultimately resulted in everything imploding due to her own actions or surrounding circumstances. Which was sort of how things had happened with Yuusuke, and now the Society.

  “I told you, Wayne, I don’t know what happened.” Jo finally turned. “I wish I did, I really do because if. . . if I knew, then I could stop it from happening like that again.”

  “You think it could happen again?”

  It was impossible to miss the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, attempting to hold back a twinge of lingering concern that he hadn’t wanted Jo to catch. But she was hyper-focused on his face. And she would never forget what it had looked like as it had stared at her in terror.

  “I don’t know.” She dared to be honest.

  Wayne sighed, running a hand through his hair. He paced between the entrance to the room she stood in and the stairs. Not a floorboard creaked, not a mote of dust fell out of place.

  “You didn’t clock in when I wasn’t looking . . . did you?” he asked hopefully.

  “No.”

  He cursed under his breath. Finally, he stopped, his back toward her, as if he couldn’t face her for what he had to say next. “I’m out of my depth here, Jo.”

  “Wayne, I—”

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  She hadn’t been expecting that question. Even worse, she didn’t have a good answer for it. At least, she didn’t have an answer that was likely to benefit her.

  “I don’t know,” Jo admitted. “But I wouldn’t do anything rash.” She hoped. “We don’t know what happened. But perhaps this is good, Wayne. Perhaps this is some aspect of my power that no one knew about before.”

  Wayne seemed to be thinking the notion over, which gave Jo a margin of optimism.

  “I mean, I was talking about bringing down the Society when—”

  He held up a hand. “I’m stopping you right there.”

  “But perhaps we could—”

  “I don’t know what’s going on, doll. But you remember when I told you about brodies?” She nodded—they were bad ideas. “This is the definition of one. Right here.”

  She wanted to scream and embrace him all at the same time. She wanted to scream at him for ignoring an opportunity or, at the very least, for betraying her. But she also wanted to embrace him, reassure him, tell her friend that she knew he was struggling with this just as she was. They were both confused and more than a little off-balance, but they could figure it out if they just stuck together. Jo was left reeling at the stark contrast in impulses.

  In the end, the result of all the conflicting drives was for her to do absolutely nothing.

  “So, what are you going to do?” she asked, finally.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Jo stared out the window, watching the wind play in the waves of grasses that covered the world outside in
a thick blanket. Her hand balled into a fist, as if trying to catch the fear and panic that had welled up in the wake of the desk and squash it like an annoying fly.

  “We can use this to our advantage.” She finished her earlier thought, the one he’d interrupted.

  “Brodies, remember?”

  She heard Wayne approaching her, but Jo didn’t turn to face him, not yet. Whatever that feeling of power was—the one assuring her that she could break him if she tried hard enough—it was only there if she looked at him. Jo didn’t want to exert that magic. If he agreed to help her, it had to be of his own accord.

  “I hear you. I do. But I need you to hear me. Nothing is going to change unless we do something to change it. It will be one wish after the next, faster and more impossible than the last, until none of us are left.” Until Pan gets what she wants. She kept the last thought to herself. Jo had no proof other than a feeling and she didn’t want Wayne to get distracted with the idea of turning Pan into an enemy. “You can’t possibly be okay with that?”

  Jo looked to him then. Not with magic, but with pleading eyes, searching to see if he felt even remotely as she did.

  “Of course I’m not okay with that.” He ran a hand over his hair. “It’s just that . . .”

  “Just what? You’re afraid of bringing down the Society and us all dying? How is that any different than the path we’re on? Other than it just happens faster?”

  When Wayne said nothing, she continued.

  “Look, Wayne, I don’t understand what happened.” She was back to staring at her open palm. “But perhaps this is what we need to—how did Pan put it? Dismantle? The Society. It was an avenue no one could explore before because my magic wasn’t part of the equation.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “If I’m wrong I’ll stop before I get too far ahead.”

  Wayne thought about this, conflict written across his face. Did he believe her? That she would stop? Jo hoped he did, because she honestly didn’t know if she believed herself. Still, when he said nothing, Jo tried for one more nudge.

  “If you don’t want to help outright, that’s fine. But promise me you won’t get in my way? Promise me you’ll keep what happened there between us?”

  Finally, the man seemed to breathe once more. “All right, doll. I won’t get in your way, and I’ll try to give you leeway where I can. But if things start going haywire, I’m going right to Snow or Eslar.”

  He extended a hand. Jo stared at it for a moment. It wasn’t the best she could’ve hoped for, but it was far from the worst. Her fingers curled around his, and they shook on it.

  “You’ve got a deal, Mr. Davis.”

  BTCOTS NOTES 2

  Frequent search term: “Divine Power.”

  Lead??

  BOW OF THE GODDESS (Eslar’s book).

  God-lore in Age of M.

  What about Age of Gods? Holdover? Ask Snow?

  Search other lore.

  Why do ppl remember gods when forget everything else after world(s) rebuilt?

  GREAT BATTLE OF THE GODS

  aka: “Titanomachy,” “Battle of Titans,” Legend of the 2 God Kings, Dharma v. Adharma, War for Humanity… etc.

  Gods battle for dominion over universe. Usually original/superior vs newer/lesser.

  Winner builds world

  Losers=reduced to demigods and/or made into servants for newer gods

  No mention of wishes

  Elder vs Newer gods? Significant? See bold

  Chapter 8

  Breakdown

  Wayne didn’t say anything else until they were standing in the briefing room, starting for the doors that headed into the Society. He paused, palm on the door, looking over his shoulder at her. For the briefest of moments, Jo expected him to say that their deal was off, that he’d reconsidered his position.

  “Everyone will want to know what we found. I’ll check the common room, you check the bedrooms. We’ll all meet in the common room in ten.”

  “Not the briefing room?” Jo asked as they started down the long hall to the Four-Way.

  “No, I’ve had enough of that room for one lifetime,” he muttered.

  “I’m inclined to agree.” Jo paused in the center of the Four-Way as Wayne started ahead. But, as if feeling her eyes on him, he turned and stared, stalling at the start of the other hallway toward the common room. “Wayne, thank you.”

  What she wanted to say was, don’t forget our deal. But the words lingered behind her lips, unspoken.

  “Don’t mention it.” He shrugged. “It’s not like I have any better ideas of how we should go about tackling this situation.”

  Without another word, Jo started up the stairs and Wayne down the hall. She couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by “this situation.” Her magic? Or the Society in general? For her sake, and the sake of exploring her plans, she hoped it was the latter.

  Jo went to Eslar’s door first. He was the natural choice as “team mom” and his door was the first one she encountered. But he didn’t respond to her knock, so Jo worked her way back to Samson’s.

  The door opened and two familiar eyes widened at the sight of her. “Jo? How did it go?”

  “Fine. Yeah, fine, I guess.” She shrugged. Way to sound nonchalant, Jo mentally scolded. She couldn’t help but glance at Wayne’s door, if he didn’t blow it, she just may. “We wanted to brainstorm with the crew, tell everyone what we found.”

  “Yes. Yes, just a moment.” Samson scurried back into his room, leaving the door open. Rushing over to one of the worktables, he began to fumble with every bobble, setting it in a new order.

  Jo took the unspoken invitation, taking a step into the room, but going no further without being expressly invited.

  His room was an identical arrangement to how she’d found it last time—industrial tables sandwiched between rustic beams on the ceiling and fur rugs on the floor. And yet, there was something markedly different. The last time she was there he’d had a sort of organization to his workstations. Now, it was as if mechanical beasts had been laid out on the tables and carved open, their innards exposed. There were nests of wires and precariously screwed-together towers that sat atop scraps of leather and wood.

  “Is . . .” Jo paused, regretting opening her mouth.

  “Is, what?” Samson continued to move things around, though nothing actually seemed to get tidier. He just shifted the clutter, spreading it evenly again but in a new arrangement. “I’m sorry. Messy, I know. Want to get some order before I go. So I can come back and know what’s happening. With it. This. Happening with this. I usually don’t have it so. . . But. . .”

  “Is everything okay, Samson?” she whispered softly.

  His shoulders stiffened, nearly rising to his ears. He didn’t turn to look at her. His chin dropped to his chest, and all she could see were the large shoulders of the crafter and a tuft of fire-orange hair.

  “Ever, ever since Nico,” he struggled to get out his name. “I can’t seem to make anything but food. And even that. . . Every time I try, nothing is right. Things keep breaking down. I don’t know why. I don’t know why it’s all so . . . fragile.”

  “I should go,” Jo whispered. Either it was all fragile because he was fragile right now. Or it was because of her. Somehow.

  The desk was back in her mind, the feelings about Wayne—about how she could break him if she could. That dark thought of using her magic on something living. She didn’t know what percentage chance all that was related to Samson’s dilemma, but she wasn’t going to take the risk.

  “But . . . Oh, okay.” Samson spun, as if he was going to stop her. For a brief moment she saw him unfurl, unravel into a bright and bold banner. But the wind was sucked from his sails once more and he shrank again.

  “It’s not you,” she said quickly. It’s me. How cliché. “I’m just going to get Takako.”

  “Oh, yes, right, the wish.”

  The wish was the furthest thing from Jo’s mind right now. “We’ll
—”

  Two quick knocks on the door, drawing both of their attention to the elf that stood in its frame. Without so much as waiting for a welcome, he said, “Samson, I wanted to know if—Jo?”

  She gave a small wave from where she stood, just to the right inside the door.

  “Was it you who was knocking earlier?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Wayne and I just got back. We wanted to debrief with everyone in the common room, so I was collecting people.”

  “Then there is no time to waste.”

  They made a quick stop at Takako’s room, but no one answered, so they headed back down to the Four-Way and left. As expected, Takako and Wayne were already seated on the couch. They were whispering something, but stopped promptly the moment the rest of the team entered.

  “Took you all long enough.” Wayne leaned back on the couch, spreading out his arms.

  “It was only a minute.” Jo rolled her eyes, sitting on the opposite edge of the couch.

  “Why don’t you both start from the beginning,” Eslar said, still standing while everyone else sat.

  Wayne took the lead, filling in the group on what they’d found in the real world. Jo paid particularly close attention to see what parts he’d glossed over and how he’d smoothed everything out to make nothing seem amiss with the rest of the team. Needless to say, there was no mention of the desk.

  “Right, then,” Eslar said, when Wayne had finally finished. “So we have an idea of what the Bone Carver’s next movements may be. We also know that while the police are closing in, this seems to have eluded them so far. How can we best use this to our advantage?”

  Jo didn’t hesitate in taking the lead. She wanted this wish to run on her terms. “We’re dealing with an android, not a human, and the patterns have me thinking. . . even if the Carver functions as a human does, he’s still a machine. Samson, you’re the best we have when it comes to all things mechanical and constructed. Do you have any ideas?”

  He winced slightly. How stupid could she be? He’d just told her about his issues constructing right now. Yet Jo had never seen him build a bobble so quickly.