by J. A. White
“What went wrong?” Grace asked, her eyes blazing with interest.
“How do you know anything—”
Grace held out a hand, stopping him.
“You live in a tower. Hidden in time. Alone.”
She leaned back in her chair, awaiting his response.
“There were consequences,” Querin finally replied, studying his stew. “My forays into time attracted the attention of a type of . . . entity, I guess you’d call it, though some might go as far as to call them gods. In any case, they did not take kindly to my experiments. These Khr’nouls—their name in the old tongue of my people—have rigid beliefs about time and its boundaries and see it as their duty to maintain some sort of order. One of them escaped through a tear I had made. There were some . . . casualties.”
Except Kara could see by the haunted look in Querin’s eyes that it had not been some at all. It had been more like many, or even all.
That’s the real reason why no one speaks of Kronia anymore. It no longer exists.
“By the time the other regions sent their armies I had been painted as this insane zealot, too dangerous to live. But I’m a survivor. I was not about to let them execute me for one little mistake. So I found a nice little patch of time to hide in and continue my experiments.” He spread his short arms wide. “And here we are.”
Kara glanced across the table at her companions, hoping to gauge their reaction to Querin’s tale. Taff shook his head slightly—I don’t trust him—while Grace stubbornly regarded Kara with a mystifying half smile that could have meant anything. For her part, Kara was fairly certain that some of Querin’s story had been truthful, but not all of it. He reminded her of the men her father used to barter with when they went to market, stretching the truth thin as taffy if it helped them make a sale.
“So,” Querin said, “you now have me at an advantage. You know my story, but I don’t know yours. What brings you to the Hourglass Tower?”
“Yes,” Grace chimed in, crossing her arms and beaming at Kara. “What brings us to the Hourglass Tower?”
Kara paused, wondering if she should send Grace out of the room for this part, and then decided that it didn’t really matter. She’s bound to learn the truth of why we’re here sooner or later.
“I’m looking for a special spellbook,” Kara said. “It’s been split into four sections, and—”
“Ahh,” Querin said, shifting forward in his seat. “The First Grimoire. The Vulkera.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Grace sit straighter, listening closely.
“So you’ve heard of it?” Kara asked.
“Of course. Its power is legendary. You hope to wield it, wexari?”
“No,” Kara said. The thought of ever using a grimoire again, especially one with such a history of evil, made her ill. “I want to keep it out of the hands of a very bad witch. She already has one grim. I need to find where the last three are located so I can get to them first.”
Querin pulled at the end of his beard. His fingers glistened with oil.
“Such a thing is possible here,” he said. “I must ask, though. Would it not be better to just leave them be? The pieces of the Vulkera have been hidden for millennia. Surely they are safe from this ‘bad witch’ you speak of.”
“She’s already found the first grim,” Kara said. “There’s no reason to think she won’t find the others.”
“I see your point. Very well. Count on my full support in your noble quest. The knowledge you seek can be found within the tower.”
“You’ll help us?” Taff asked. “Just like that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the group. Kara remembered her father’s description of Querin as a dangerous man. She knew very little about him, but she could tell that he wasn’t the type to give something for nothing.
“What do you want in return?” she asked.
Querin pulled out his watch. Checked the time. Slipped it back inside his pocket.
“Now that you mention it, there is one thing,” he said. “A technicality, if you will. To enter the bowels of the tower, you must carve your name into the door—the Lower Door, since your question is about the past. That’s the only way it will open.”
“Why?” Kara asked.
“Is it so important to know? After all, you’re trying to save the world. Surely your noble nature won’t allow any minor impediment to stand in your way.”
“Tell me anyway,” Kara said.
“Let’s just say that by inscribing your name in the door you are agreeing to a certain obligation—to be performed at a later date, of course. You’ll have plenty of time to play hero before we reach that point.”
Taff rose to his feet, his hand hovering over the slingshot at his belt.
“What obligation?” he asked.
“Oh no,” Grace said, throwing up her hands in mock fear. “You’ve angered the whelp. Better tell us quick or face his wrath.”
Querin sighed.
“Very well. Carving your name into the door constitutes a binding, mystical pact. I told you about the Khr’nouls, right—how they have these antiquated ideas that humans should be slaves to the forward march of time? Well, they’re not too happy about my tower here. I have to keep moving it around, hiding in different pockets of time. Quite tiresome—and they always find me in the end.”
Kara thought about the long scratches along the side of the tower, the rubble strewn along the stairs.
“But that’s where you come in,” Querin said brightly. “I can placate the Khr’nouls, at least for a little while, by offering them someone else in my place. They’re angry that I’m using years well beyond what I’m entitled to, but if I replace those years with someone else’s—it’s all the same to them.”
Kara rose to her feet. Darno stood with her, baring his teeth.
“The names in the door?” Kara asked. “Those are . . . sacrifices?”
“I don’t particularly care for that word,” Querin said. “The visitors who chose to carve their names in my doors required a certain piece of information, which I supplied in exchange for a later obligation on their part.”
“You killed them,” Kara said.
“Not me,” Querin said, aghast. “The Khr’nouls.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Grace said. “You said those things were like gods. Surely one little life wouldn’t be enough to fill them up.”
“It wouldn’t be,” Querin said, “if it were only one little life. But when the Khr’nouls feast on someone, they don’t just eat their present—they eat their future as well, their unlived time. Children who will now never be born, and their children’s children, and so on and so forth—timeline after timeline erased from existence and swallowed whole. You understand? To the Khr’nouls, a human is far more than just a single meal. It’s a banquet of infinite possibilities.” Querin flicked the back of his hand through the air as though he were discussing an easily negligible detail. “But all that comes much later. Carve your name in my door today, and nothing will happen. The Khr’nouls aren’t hungry yet, and you are not the first person on my list. And then one day—perhaps a year from now, or ten years, or maybe not until you’re old and wrinkled—you’ll hear a knocking at your door, and it will be your friend Querin Fyndrake. I’ll take you back here to the Hourglass Tower and your debt shall be repaid.”
The Slanting Hall was suddenly as silent as a tomb.
Grace turned to Kara.
“You should definitely do it,” she said.
“No!” exclaimed Taff. “You can’t! We’ll find another way—any other way.”
Querin held up his hand.
“Don’t decide now,” he said, consulting his watch again. “You need rest. Enjoy the hospitality of my tower and give me your decision in the morning. Or the next day, or the day after that.” He looked up at Kara and smiled. “I have all the time in the world.”
Kara’s chambers were luxurious. Cedarwood ince
nse burned in several ornate censers placed throughout the room. A pitcher of ice-cold water and a bowl of caramels sat on her nightstand. The bed was canopied with lace curtains and the mattress held her body like a warm embrace.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t sleep.
Taff had gone to bed angry with her. He didn’t understand why she was even considering Querin’s proposal. “Do you have any other ideas?” Kara had finally snapped. “Because if so, I’d really love to hear them!” Taff had run into his room and bolted the door behind him, tears in his eyes.
He doesn’t understand, Kara thought.
She wished she could gather those she loved and live her days in some obscure corner of the world, but it could never be. Precious few memories remained of her mother—most lost to the passage of years or sacrificed to magic—but the lessons imparted by Helena Westfall had become an incontrovertible part of Kara herself. The greatest of these was the importance of taking responsibility for your own actions.
I’m the one who freed Rygoth. I’m the one who needs to stop her.
This wasn’t a conversation that she would bother having with her brother. Taff would just tell her that she was being too hard on herself. He can’t possibly understand. Safi saw the darkness that consumes the world after Rygoth gathers the pieces of the Vulkera, and if that happens it won’t be Taff’s fault. It will be mine.
Safi.
Kara bolted upright.
Maybe there was another way.
She stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over the bunched sheets in her excitement. On the other side of the room was a dressing table covered with vials of makeup and perfumed oil, an altar for princesses and pampered little girls. Kara didn’t care about any of that.
All she wanted was the mirror.
Safi has been leading Rygoth astray intentionally, but I bet she can use her powers to locate the other three grims if she really wants to. We could rescue her. Or, if that’s impossible, get the location of the grims by some other means: a message through Bethany, or maybe one of my flying friends. It’s risky, sure—but a lot better than putting my trust in Querin Fyndrake.
She needed to talk to Bethany. Immediately.
“How do I do this again?” Kara asked herself, trying to recall her conversation with the witch. Since casting the spell that brought them here Kara’s mind had been sluggish. I just need sleep. That’s all. Finally, she remembered the information she needed. “Picture Bethany’s face. Two fingers to the mirror. Not the thumb, though. The thumb breaks the spell.”
Kara lit a candle and her reflection shimmered in the darkness. She placed her fingers against the cold surface of the glass.
Almost immediately, a plume of mist collided with the other side of the mirror and parted like a curtain.
“Bethany!” Kara began. “We need to talk. I have an idea—”
The mist cleared.
“Hello, Kara,” Rygoth said. Her fragmented eyes sparkled with a dozen colors. “What a pleasant surprise.”
The Spider Queen was wearing a garnet-red gown with long gloves to match. On her lustrous blond hair rested a webbed crown twisted from iron spires. She was clearly amused by Kara’s shocked reaction, and yet the resultant smile actually diminished her beauty. Full lips and perfect teeth couldn’t hide the truth: her interpretation of happiness was hopelessly broken, and only pain would ever bring her joy.
“Where’s Bethany?” Kara asked. “If you’ve hurt her—”
“I don’t hurt people, wexari. I kill them.” Rygoth shook her head. “When are you going to realize that we’re not playing a child’s game here?”
Kara felt her hands tremble, but she managed to hold back her tears.
“Bethany’s dead?” she asked.
Rygoth held her gaze, drinking in Kara’s sorrow.
“Not yet,” she finally said. “I was angry, of course, when I learned that she had betrayed me. But the witch still serves a purpose. Her powers, limited as they are, can allow us to communicate with each other from now on. That could prove useful.”
Kara nodded blankly, though she could think of nothing she might ever want to say to the Spider Queen.
I can’t tell her that, though, because then she has no reason to keep Bethany alive.
“I was impressed by your escape at the farmhouse,” Rygoth said.
“I’m surprised you didn’t come yourself.”
Rygoth shrugged.
“I sent my twins because I have more important things to do. Killing you is an errand, nothing more. I’ll get to it eventually. Right now I want to show you something.”
Rygoth peeled off her glove, revealing a hand that had swollen to two times its normal size. Raw tunnels split the overstretched skin, which was unable to contain the expanding flesh beneath it. Kara could see a star-shaped welt near the base of the palm where Darno had stung her.
“I underestimated you. I freely admit that.” Rygoth turned her misshapen hand in the air, regarding it from every angle. “Next time I won’t be so careless. Knowing that, do you really think you can pit your magic against mine? And I don’t mean a contest over the will of one insignificant creature. I mean a true battle.”
“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”
Rygoth shook her head as though Kara had disappointed her.
“You already had your moment. Don’t you understand? I have an army of witches. I can create monsters with the snap of my fingers. I control the minds of men and beasts.”
“Then why do you need the Vulkera?”
“I don’t need it,” Rygoth said, stepping forward. “I want it. They’ve given me a crown, call me queen, but I have no desire to rule. All I want is the magic. Imagine what it must feel like to snuff out the light of the sun like a candle flame, or lift an entire city into the sky and flip it upside down. I’m bored of being wexari. I want to be a god.”
Rygoth’s hair had come loose and fallen over her fractured eyes. Plumes of breath fogged her side of the mirror.
Kara took a step back.
“What about all the people you’ll hurt?” she asked quietly. “Don’t you care at all?”
Rygoth smiled and began to tuck her hair back beneath her crown.
“I’ve enjoyed our conversation,” she said. “You know what to do if you want to contact me again. There will come a time where even you realize that there is no point resisting anymore. I’ll be waiting.”
Kara picked up a censer and smashed it against the mirror. Glass shattered. A sliver found its way into her forearm. Kara absentmindedly picked it out and stared at the drop of blood welling at its end.
I can’t let that monster get ahold of the Vulkera. I need to get to the grims first and hide them where she’ll never find them.
And to do that, I have to carve my name into Querin’s door.
Now that Kara had made her decision, it seemed pointless to wait any longer. She left her room and retraced her steps. As she grew closer to the Slanting Hall she heard a sawing sound. At first she thought it was just Querin doing some kind of late-night work, but then she realized what else the sound could be and quickened her pace.
The moment that Kara entered the hall she saw the small figure standing in front of the Lower Door. She ran to him.
“Don’t be mad,” Taff said.
With rising horror she saw the knife in his hand, and then, looking past him, four letters, freshly carved:
Taff
“No!” Kara wailed, tracing one finger along the letters, praying her eyes were deceiving her. “You didn’t!”
“I had to do something,” Taff said.
“What have you done?” Kara screamed, shaking him by the shoulders. “What have you done?”
“You can’t do this alone! I wanted to help!”
Kara took him in her arms and held him tight.
“I can’t lose you,” she said. “Not you. Anyone but you.”
Kara’s violent sobs reverberated throughout the Slanted Hall, muffling the creak of the wooden
door as it yawned open.
Kara burst into Querin’s bedchambers and demanded that he remove Taff’s name from the door, but the little man, groggy with sleep, just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he said. “Magical pact. What’s done is done.”
He made little attempt to hide his pleasure. The Khr’nouls would now have their sacrifice, affording him more stolen time to live in his tower.
He’s like Rygoth. He doesn’t care who gets hurt, as long as he gets what he wants.
“I’ll take his place,” Kara said.
“You are more than welcome to add your name. Plenty of room to be found on the Lower Door. Most visitors are interested in its twin on the opposite end, which leads to the upper half of the tower—a glimpse into the future, not the past. But sacrificing yourself won’t change a thing as far as young Taff’s fate. I told you: magical pact. The lad is an impressive negotiator, though. Before he carved his name he made me swear that you could both pass through the door and not just him.” Querin took her hand and patted it gently. “Your brother sacrificed himself for you. That’s true love. Can’t you just enjoy it?”
Kara shook him away and called out for Darno. The wolf crept into the room, scorpion tail raised high.
“How about if—”
“—your beast kills me? I’ll die, just like any mortal man. But you should know that if any harm befalls me, there are certain defenses that will be activated throughout the tower. You’ll never make it out alive. And, just in case you were thinking you might chance it anyway, you should know that even if I die the Khr’nouls will still come for your brother.”
“This isn’t something you can fix, Kara,” Taff said. “I wanted to do this. This is how I help you. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
“We can learn about the Vulkera now,” Taff said. “That’s why we came here. Everything else can wait.”
“Listen to your brother,” Querin said. “He’s clearly the voice of reason in the family.”