by Heidi Heilig
“Not if we give it a few years. Say, 1892.”
Something about the way he said it—his tone, too casual—made me take another look. In his eyes, the regret echoed my own, reverberating in my chest until I felt like I might crack in two. To cover, I went to rummage through the remaining maps of Hawaii. “That’s a dangerous year, with the revolution. And here, look . . . 1895.”
Blake came to stand beside me, and when he spoke, his voice was soft. “It has to be before 1892.”
“We don’t have a map of 1892. You’ll have to wait until we reach it on my native timeline—that’s nearly six years.”
“I can be patient.”
Gritting my teeth, I rounded on him. “Why would you join the Wilcox rebellion? Don’t you remember? They failed. Seven men died.”
“Your book said eight, Miss Song.”
I stared at him; he did not flinch. “You think I’ll help you martyr yourself?” I said at last. “Now? When I’ve lost so much?”
“Lost so much because of me.”
“Because of you?” Hearing him say it shook something loose in me. “He—he made a choice too, Blake. Don’t take that from him.”
“And don’t take mine from me, Miss Song.” For a long time we stood there, eyes locked, but I was the first to turn away. Gently, I slid the map of 1895 back into the cupboard. Then I swallowed, blinking rapidly, focusing on the porthole, the desk—and Crowhurst’s flask full of Lethe water, glowing in the golden light of afternoon.
I had not thought to give it to Joss, for it was not half so tempting as the Mnemosyne. Or at least, it hadn’t been. I took it up, rubbing my thumb over the warm copper. Then I shook my head and threw it into the cupboard below the desk. “I have time to change your mind.”
“You may try, Miss Song.”
I shut the cupboard and dashed away my tears with the back of my hand. “Maybe a visit to New York will help. I know how much you liked the city.”
“New York?”
“Slate will need his map. The one of 1868. He left it behind when he . . . he left it behind.”
“Slate?” Blake stepped closer, hesitant. “You think he survived?”
My heart squeezed like a fist; his words choked me. I closed my eyes and saw my father’s face—the smile as he said his last words to me: I love you, Nixie. “He dies in 1868, in Joss’s opium den. Not at sea. He was lost, but he survived.”
“So we’ll wait for him there? In New York?”
“We will. But not forever.” I sighed. “There’s still something to be said for letting go.”
“I agree with you there.” Blake smiled a little and put his hat back on his head. He made a little bow on his way out. I shut the door behind him and leaned my head against it.
“Must we lose him too, amira?” Kash had propped himself up on one elbow, and he watched me with sorrow in his green eyes.
Pushing off the door, I sank down beside him on the edge of the bed, gathering one of his hands in mine. “We all have to make our own choices.”
Kashmir sighed, brushing my hand against his lips. “Then what’s next? After New York?”
“I don’t know,” I said softly. “But we have time to figure it out.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The border between myth and history is less like a line drawn on a map and more like the Margins themselves—uncertain gray areas that shift over time. History is indeed written by the victors—or more accurately, the dominant culture—and even primary documents can be influenced by the worldview of their authors. So in this book, what do we consider myth and what do we agree is history?
MYTHS
KER-YS
When I was looking for a setting for Book Two, I wondered where to go after Paradise. Two choices presented themselves: a utopia or a hell. Ker-Ys is a bit of both.
Ker-Ys itself is a myth, but I based my description of it loosely on Mont Saint-Michel, an island commune off the coast of France, accessible by a strip of land only exposed by low tide. As noted in the novel, the legend gives different names given for Dahut (or Ahes). In addition, the king’s name is alternately given as Gralon, Granlon, or Gradlon (the version “Grand L’Un” is my own invention). Gradlon the Great was a popular hero of many Celtic myths from the fifth century; Saint Guinole (aka Saint Winwaloe) also lived during that time. But the story of Ker-Ys likely originated much later, near the end of the fifteenth century, after which it was told and retold in various different versions, including Emile Souvestre’s 1844 Foyer breton.
Ker-Ys is not the only lost land in Celtic lore: Lyonesse and Cantr’er Gwaelod are similar legends. Interestingly, during both the fifth and the fifteenth centuries, two geological events took place that might have inspired these stories. Between 400 and 500 A.D., rising sea levels flooded a great island off the Cornish Peninsula, turning it into an archipelago now called the Isles of Scilly. And in the fifteenth century, Europe was under the frozen spell of the Little Ice Age, where glacial expansion lowered sea levels again. These real-life events may have given rise to tales of sunken cities.
THE ORACLE AT BOEOTIA
The story of Trophonius also has several versions. Some say he was a hero, others that he was a demon, still others than he was a god. In one origin story, he and his brother built Apollo’s temple at Delphi—in another, the two siblings robbed a king’s treasury. The second version is the one I used. Either way, Trophonius disappeared into a cavern at Lebadea to become a chthonic being.
His cavern and his cult were described in detail by Pausanias, the great second-century geographer. Unfortunately, the primary documents were lost, and his words survive only through a fifteenth-century copy filled with errors. Still, the ritual by which petitioners would seek knowledge seems terrifying—so much so that “to descend into the cave of Trophonius” was another way of saying “to be frightened out of one’s wits.”
After making sacrifices and drinking the sacred waters, one would enter into a narrow hole in the ground, with a feeling akin to being buried alive. There, afraid and alone, the petitioner would be given a glimpse of the future, after which they would be spit out of the earth. The priests would then carry the gibbering victim to the temple and seat him on the Mnemosyne Throne, where his ramblings would be recorded and shaped into prophecy before they were forgotten.
Pausanias also mentioned the two mythic rivers—the Lethe and the Mnemosyne—that bubbled up in springs beside the cavern. Here geography shades to myth; though the Herkyna River is fed by springs in the area, the Lethe and the Mnemosyne are most commonly found in Hades, as in Plato’s Myth of Er.
HISTORY
DONALD CROWHURST’S LAST VOYAGE
In 1968, Donald Crowhurst set out from England on a trimaran called Teignmouth Electron, in the hopes of winning a single-handed race around the world. At first, he seemed a long shot: his boat was untested, he was competing against much more experienced sailors, and he’d had a string of personal and business failures to date. Still, he was certain he could win—in fact, he had to win. His debts left no other option.
Surprisingly, he reported record speeds sailing south toward the Horn and soon became a media darling; after six months, as competitors dropped out of the race through choice or circumstance, he became a sure thing. Welcome parties were planned, grand ceremonies and parades—and an inspection of his logbooks, of course, just to make sure everything was on the level. All of that was set aside when the Teignmouth Electron was found drifting in the Sargasso Sea, abandoned without sign of a storm or struggle.
The ship’s clock was missing, along with one of his logbooks—likely, the one in which he’d recorded the fake version of his journey: the version where he raced around the world at record-breaking speeds. Review of the books left behind pointed to Crowhurst’s probable fate—suicide after eight months of solitude and pressure—though as in any mysterious disappearance, some people are certain he survived.
Either way, his logbooks show a descent into madness and despair, c
ountered by an odd certainty that he had unlocked the secrets of the universe. References to “the game” and becoming a “cosmic being” are taken from those passages. For readers interested in further information, The Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst, by Tomalin and Hall, was invaluable to me.
THE THIRD VOYAGE OF CAPTAIN JAMES COOK
Nearly two hundred years before Crowhurst, another famous mariner set out on his own final voyage. By 1776, Captain James Cook had circumnavigated the globe twice. Hailed as a hero, he’d been made a fellow of the Royal Society and was given an honorary retirement by the royal navy as well as the Copley Gold medal.
Certainly he’d come a long way from his apprenticeship days, and no one would have blamed him for taking his retirement. But something drove him back to sea. Perhaps it was his ambition, which he said led him “not only farther than any man has been before me, but as far as I think it is possible for a man to go.” On this voyage, though, Cook went too far.
By all accounts, he’d been a fair and beloved leader, but something changed between his second and third voyages. Though he was greeted warmly upon his arrival in Hawaii, he wore out his welcome rather quickly with his irrational behavior and demands. When a group of frustrated Hawaiians stole one of Cook’s small boats, Cook himself marched up to the king of Hawaii and attempted to hold him as ransom for the return of the cutter. The Hawaiians fought back, and Cook was struck and killed in the fray.
What caused the bizarre behavior that led to his death in Kealakekua Bay? One may speculate, though there is no record of a prophecy made by a mysterious woman in the Port of London.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
All ships need a good crew—this past year, I’ve sailed with the best.
My great thanks to Martha Mihalick, for making sure this book is shipshape, stem to stern, through her patience both at the helm and at the holystone. Thanks also to Molly Ker Hawn, without whom the Temptation would not have left port.
To the librarians and booksellers, thank you for being real-life Navigators, carrying us magically to places out of myth and history.
Fair winds brought me to the Sweet Sixteens—more real than two pieces of eight (pardon the puns) and worth their weight in gold. Special thanks to Alwyn Hamilton, who, when asked for an emergency critique, swung to the rescue with guns blazing.
I salute the assorted tars, salts, and scalawags who inspire me: here are dragons born. Cristina Das, Elspeth Morris, and Michelle Veazie on art history; Matt Holohan and Tommaso Sciortino on gods and devils; Paul Bruno on fate and free will; Nelson Lugo with all the cards up his sleeves; Fyodor Pavlov for the cut of his jib; Mike Pettry and Allison Posner for their siren song.
I’m ever grateful for Jennifer Baker, Bean River Haskell, Brittany of Brittany’s Book Rambles, Kris of My Friends are Fiction, and Rachel of A Perfection Called Books. Thank you for ringing the ship’s bell for Book One (or were you sounding the alarm?).
To the old salts and sea dogs—Becky Albertalli, Rae Carson, Jodi Meadows, Danielle Paige, Adam Silvera, and Anne Ursu—thank you for sharing your charts of the seas through which I’m now sailing.
My boundless appreciation for the team at Greenwillow, particularly Tim Smith for his weather eye on first watch, Gina Rizzo for flying our flag, and Sylvie Le Floc’h for designing it.
Love and gratitude to my family—Thekla and Duncan, Matt and Lisa, Ken and Cindy, Mom and Dad—for being there under red skies, at night or in the morning.
And always, to Bret and Felix, who buoy me up.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HEIDI HEILIG grew up in Hawaii, where she rode horses and raised peacocks, and then she moved to New York City. She is the author of The Girl from Everywhere, and also holds an MFA in musical theatre writing from New York University. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband, their son, and their pet snake, whose wings will likely grow in any day now.
www.heidiheilig.com
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BOOKS BY HEIDI HEILIG
The Girl from Everywhere
The Ship Beyond Time
CREDITS
Front cover art © 2017 by Ray Shappell
Cover photographs © 2017 by GeoStock / Getty Images, Biwa Studio / Getty Images, Yuris/ Shutterstock
Cover design by Sylvie Le Floc’h
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
THE SHIP BEYOND TIME. Copyright © 2017 by Heidi Heilig. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Map illustrations copyright © 2017 by Maxime Plasse (here, here) and Ryan O’Rourke (here, here)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016962542
EPub Edition © February 2017 ISBN 9780062380807
ISBN 978-0-06-238078-4 (trade ed.)
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Greenwillow Books
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