God of Clocks

by Alan Campbell

  Iron Head's men beached their boats all along the shore, the hulls scraping the pebbles with a sound like growling cats, and soon the entire party had disembarked. There were more than forty craft of all sizes, their dark shapes strewn along the water's edge. Rosella and Abner stayed close to the captain, Rachel, and Mina, but Oran and his woodsmen herded their people over to one side, evidently to maintain a structure of authority amongst their own.

  The thaumaturge let her dog jump down onto the beach, and then strolled over to where Rachel's temporally removed twin stood peering into the mists that shrouded the Flower Lake. Dark patches of smoke lingered here and there, wherever the rafts drifted.

  “You didn't have to hit her, did you?” she said.

  “She had it coming, Mina.”

  “How?”

  The twin shrugged. “A future version of her got me into this whole mess. Or maybe it was a past version, I don't know. Trying to unravel these paradoxes gives me a headache. I haven't slept, and I just spent the last ten hours up to my knees in the freezing lake, lashing logs together with the bloody Hericans.” She snorted. “We built every single one of them by hand—and for what? Did you see any arconites back there? They're still slugging it out on the other side of the lake. All that effort wasted, and it's her fault. Or another version of her self's fault. There was no reason for me to come back here at all.” Her eyes met Mina's. “I'm sorry for striking her; I was annoyed at myself, I suppose. Now you're going to tell me that I gave myself this bruise.”

  “Well, you are her,” Mina said. “Ten hours from now.”

  “She's me,” the twin insisted, “ten hours ago. I'm the real Rachel… the definitive one. I left your side less than half a day ago… or I will leave your side—gods, this is confusing—and now you look at me like I'm a stranger.”

  “You're both the same person.”

  The assassin shook her head in frustration. “I don't like the idea of there being two of me. It's creepy. And she has a job to do. Apparently, now she needs to go back into the past and do all the pointless backbreaking labour I've just done before she'll really become me…” She ground her teeth together. “At least I think so… You see how mad this situation is? I should have ignored Sabor altogether.”

  “I'm itching to see this castle of his.”

  The future Rachel grunted. “It isn't quite what you think it is. It surprises you, and it disappoints you—I remember that well enough. Time travel is much harder work than you'd expect, because it involves a hell of a lot of walking.” Then she hissed in frustration and turned to stride up the beach. “Come on!” she exclaimed. “The castle is this way.” She stole a glance back at Rachel. “And don't ask how I found my way there in the first place. I simply followed me after me socked me in the eye…and that makes no sense whatsoever. Paradoxes! Just thinking about it is enough to drive you insane. Let the god of clocks explain it all again!”

  Mina opened her mouth to speak, but Rachel's twin lifted her hand and, without even looking round, said, “Sabor will explain that too, Mina. We can travel that far back, but there are problems, as you'll see.”

  Rachel caught up with the thaumaturge as the party climbed the loose gravel bank behind the beach. “What were you going to ask her?”

  “I was going ask you why Sabor, or an agent of his, couldn't simply travel far enough back in time to prevent the battle at Coreollis. If we'd stopped the slaughter, the portal would never have opened. Then the king's arconites would still be in Hell.”

  Rachel just shook her head in confusion. The logic was entirely unfathomable to her, and she began to understand her future self's miserable mood. But did she really have to return and confront herself again? What if she elected not to?

  The Burntwater refugees slowly moved in single file along the narrow track. Dense woodland hemmed them on either side, and hoarded a deep grey silence that seemed entirely devoid of life. The ground rose steadily before them, till soon the group was climbing between well-worn boulders. The air became cooler, fresh now with the scent of mountain rain.

  Rosella and Abner Hill stayed close to Iron Head's soldiers, while Oran's militia followed some distance behind. This latter group seemed content to sulk silently, but their whores muttered and complained. Despite the family ties between Iron Head and his brother, the two men and their respective troops had little contact with each other. No one spoke outside their own party. Even Rachel's temporal twin kept her head down and her mouth shut.

  No more than a quarter of a league into the forest, the track came to another shoreline, with a similarly pebbled beach. It seemed they had traversed a narrow peninsula and thus arrived at an inlet on the other side. Here the waters were mirror still, for this part of the Flower Lake formed a natural harbour. A number of small metal boats lay grounded upon silver shingles, beyond which stood a cluster of simple wooden houses and sheds.

  The Hericans waited for them at the edge of their settlement. They were small, tough-looking people with weathered faces not unlike those of their Burntwater neighbours. Evidently they had been busy felling trees, as there were a great number of ragged stubs behind the waterline. Iron Head shook the leader's hand. “I appreciate all the work you put into those rafts, Kevin.”

  The man barely raised his hooded eyes. “The lady promised Sabor would pay us. Same weight in copper for all the iron we sacrificed to make those burners,” he said. “We've not an oil pot left in the village, and there's still sixteen hundredweight of candlefish to be processed before they rot. So you have your brother Eli remind Lord Sabor which Hericans in which timeline he's supposed to pay, and sod his paradoxes. We've heard that excuse too often.”

  “You have my word on that. I'll speak to Eli myself.”

  The other man nodded.

  Iron Head peered over at the other villagers and the tiny group of buildings behind them. “You got plans to avoid those arconites?” he said. “They'll probably head this way eventually.”

  Kevin yawned. “Hide in the forest, I suppose. What are they going to do? Conquer Kevin's Jetty in the name of Hell?”

  “Fair enough. We'll leave you in peace, then.”

  Kevin yawned again. “Hide in the forest, I suppose,” he said. “What are they going to do? Conquer Kevin's Jetty in the name of Hell?”

  Iron Head frowned at him. “All right, Kevin. We'll leave you in peace.”

  Rachel and Mina exchanged a glance.

  Mina whispered in her ear, “There must be consequences to time travel. Sabor's probably gone and broken some part of the universe.”

  “Great.”

  Mina leaned over and whispered again, “There must be consequences to—”

  “Mina!”

  The thaumaturge smiled. “I'm sorry. I couldn't resist it.”

  Rachel's twin led the group on through the village. Kevin's Jetty was a dismal little settlement where the slatted timber dwellings had been rubbed with grease or oil as weatherproofing. The whole place stank of fish. From the opposite edge of the village the path continued around the narrow bay and climbed a headland beyond. Rachel sensed someone at her side, and turned to find Rosella and her husband, Abner, there.

  “We're staying here,” the innkeeper's wife declared. “The Hericans have already agreed. We can hide with them when the arconites come.”

  Abner just glared at her.

  “I'm sorry for everything that's happened,” Rachel said. “I should never have involved you.”

  “No, you shouldn't have,” Rosella replied. “You should never have come and kicked down our door.” She hesitated. “We lost everything: our home, our business, our stock—even our savings that were buried in the ground outside the Rusty Saw.”

  Rachel didn't know what to say to that.

  “Abner thinks maybe… maybe you should compensate us. You have all that gold, after all.”

  The assassin sighed. “The coins are in Dill's mouth,” she said. “I'm sorry, Rosella, we've got nothing to give you.”

&nbs
p; “Nothing?”

  Rachel shook her head.

  The couple turned away and walked back towards the Her icans.

  “Oh, you're not going to let that depress you?” Mina was stroking Basilis with one glassy hand. “I've never seen you look so miserable. It's war, Rachel. Stuff happens.” She gave a half frown. “And didn't she attack you with an axe? I can't remember … was that before or after her husband shot you in the head?”

  “She was only defending her property.”

  “And you were exercising your right to seize that property.”

  “My right?”

  “By executing Cospinol's grand vision for our freedom, the god of brine and fog granted you the right.”

  Rachel felt utterly miserable. “What gives him the authority?” she said harshly.

  “He's bigger than us, so he can crush us mere mortals under his salty thumb. Relax now. That's the beauty of war. Utter subservience to one's leaders absolves a soldier of the consequences of her actions. Shift the blame, Rachel. It makes it easier to sleep at night.”

  “Stop it,” Rachel snapped. “You're just doing this to annoy me. I made the decision, not Cospinol. I fucked up, and now I've ruined that woman's life because of it. Knowing we're at war doesn't make it any easier.”

  Basilis barked suddenly. Mina looked down at the dog and then smiled. “He thinks you're a lousy Spine assassin,” she said, “but a very good soldier. Remember, the Adepts that Deepgate's Spine used to create by chemical torture are severely limited. Those assassins cannot develop their talents further once the Spine have finished raping their brains. But you can. Just think of war itself as a more gradual tempering process. You can let it break you, or change you.” She ruffled the dog's ears. “He's glad you weren't wasted under the Spine needles.”

  Rachel grunted. “What would he know? He's just a dog.” She strode on ahead of the thaumaturge.

  Irritated and thoroughly depressed, Rachel just wanted to be left alone now. Rosella's departure had left a shadow in her heart. Rachel had hardly spoken to the woman, didn't know what sort of a person she was, and until very recently hadn't actually cared. Had she spoken even once to the woman's husband?

  Oran stepped in front of her, interrupting her thoughts. Ten of his men stood behind him. She'd been so preoccupied that she had hardly noticed them approaching. “You owe us wages,” the woodsmen's leader said in a hoarse whisper. “And blood money for the two of us you killed.”

  Rachel glanced back along the path. Iron Head and his men were only just leaving the outskirts of Kevin's Jetty, so none of them had yet noticed this confrontation.

  “Your wages are in Dill's mouth,” she said. “Go get them if you want.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “Look at her,” he growled. “Her legs are still shaking. She's too weak now to pull another stunt like the one in the tavern.” He reached out for her.

  Rachel sidestepped him easily, then backed away, her misery rapidly turning to anger. Oran and his men spread out to surround her, but she had no intention of allowing herself to become trapped. She was fully alert now, ready for any move they might make.

  A hand on her shoulder startled her. She hadn't heard anyone sneak up behind her. She turned…

  … and looked into the eyes of her twin.

  The future Rachel said, “My legs aren't shaking, Oran. Tell your men to stand down. You saw what I did in the Rusty Saw. Now imagine what two of me could do to you right here and now.”

  The woodsmen halted, and dark looks passed amongst them. Oran opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a shout from further down the path.

  “What's this, brother?” Iron Head was quickly approaching. “You wouldn't be picking fights with women, would you?” He laughed. “That's not like the man I used to know.”

  “Stay out of our business, Reed,” Oran growled at the Burntwater captain. “Two of my men died defending Lord Rys's honour.”

  “Rys's honour?” Iron Head replied contemptuously. “Since when did the god of flowers and knives appoint you his champion? Did I miss your appearance at his court?”

  “It was a fair fight until she stepped in.”

  The captain grunted. “I heard about the last fair fight of yours,” he said. “A family on the Deepcut road, wasn't it? Strapping seventeen-year-old lad and his old grandfather.”

  “Poachers,” Oran snarled. “Lord Rys charges us to uphold the law in his forests. This is his land, his deer and fowl—not yours, Reed. Those who steal from him deserve what they get.”

  Iron Head had reached the group by now. He hadn't drawn either of his weapons. “Aye, they told me all about it,” he said. “But I forget, Oran, how many sparrows had that boy and the old man stolen from Rys?”

  The scar on Oran's forehead reddened. He wheeled, gesturing angrily to his men, and they moved back into the forest.

  Iron Head turned to the two Rachels. “Stay away from him,” he said. “He'll put a knife in your back any chance he gets.”

  The future Rachel said, “We reach the castle safely, Iron Head. I remember that much.”

  The captain shook his head. “Don't count on it, Miss Hael. This may or may not be the same past that you remember. We've all witnessed a lot of…unusual events recently. Around these parts, history has a habit of changing when you least expect it to.”

  Rachel's twin just grunted and walked away.

  Ahead the land rose steadily. In a long single file they climbed the narrow trail up through the forest and over the rocky headland behind the bay. Uncomfortable in her future self's company, Rachel slowed her pace, allowing her twin to walk on ahead with Iron Head. Something about that woman unnerved her. Perhaps it was in the glances they shared, the terrible intimacy and understanding she saw in her twin's eyes, as if at that very moment they both knew each other's thoughts with utter certainty. It was like they were gazing warily into each other's souls.

  One soul, or two?

  Rachel didn't want to think about the metaphysical aspects of the situation. It was enough to know that the other woman felt just as uncomfortable. They both considered themselves to be the real Rachel Hael, the only Rachel Hael, and neither wanted the other casting doubt upon that belief.

  As she turned to look for Mina, a shaft of sunlight lit up a patch of ground over to her left so that, for a moment, yellow lichen blazed brightly against the grey rocks. Rachel glanced up and saw the sun now shining overhead. The fog that had followed them from Coreollis was finally dissipating.

  Mina was struggling up the trail below—her hooded figure moved slowly, pausing to rest every few steps, while Basilis bounded across the rocks ahead and then turned and waited for his mistress to catch up.

  From this vantage point, Rachel could see a great expanse of silver water and the curve of the bay sweeping round to Kevin's Jetty. The mists had now retreated far across the Flower Lake and formed a grey haze in the distance, intermingled with filthy plumes of black and ochre smoke from the Hericans' rafts. Wind or current had now carried those rude vessels much further to the east. She looked for Burntwater on the opposite shore, hoping for a glimpse of Dill, but the settlement remained hidden by the last of the fog.

  Here the skies were rapidly clearing. Warm sunlight bathed the green forest and the pebbled beaches along the lakeshore. Birds chittered and whistled amongst the trees. It was the first time Rachel had seen real colour for a long while, she realized. There was no sign of Oran or his people, so she sat on a rock and waited for Mina to join her.

  “At least it's a nice day,” Mina said, when she finally caught up. “I'd almost forgotten what the sun feels like.” She paused, rested a hand on the rock, and took a deep breath. “There was a limit to how long I could maintain the fog, and I fear this is it.”

  “You did well,” Rachel said. “We're nearly there.”

  Mina nodded towards the smoke clouds rising from the lake. “Those rafts aren't going to be a distraction for very much longer. Menoa's arconites will soon sp
ot them for what they are.”

  “They never were a real distraction,” Rachel said. “All that effort was a complete waste of time. Making those rafts didn't help our escape, and they didn't help Dill. She should have crossed the lake and warned Iron Head to expect us. Without those delays at Burntwater we'd have reached Sabor's castle by now. Dill and Hasp would then be safe.”

  “I don't know,” Mina replied. “Isn't it best not to alter what has already happened if you can avoid it? Our present situation could be a lot worse.” She gazed at the smoke-filled horizon. “I think you should do exactly what she did when it's time for you to return. Enlist the Hericans, build these rafts”—she smiled—“and don't forget to punch yourself in the face.”

  “I'm not doing anything,” Rachel said. “If we reach the castle safely, I'm staying there until we can figure out a way to reach Heaven. We have a job to do. Why would I want to come back here?”

  “You did come back here. Right now you're a hundred yards further up this same trail.”

  “She's not me.”

  “I'm sorry, Rachel, but she absolutely is you.”

  The assassin snorted. “Well, then, she can travel back in time again. I don't see the point of any of it.”

  Mina gave her a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you will… given time.”

  The trail passed over the headland and then meandered down into a shallow valley before the landscape began to rise ahead of them again. For another hour they climbed up through dense, centuries-old pine forest. On either side of them the thick canopy sheltered verdant, cathedral-like spaces carpeted with mats of brown needles. The path itself had been cut into steps to form a steeply sloping ravine between the trees. Rachel did not find the going particularly taxing, but Mina continued to struggle. She accepted Rachel's arm with gratitude.