“But that can’t be. Unless somehow the Seers were wrong, or someone managed to destroy the universe themselves.”
Elli shakes her head. “That’s impossible. No one’s ever found a way to do that before.”
The way she says it—like someone’s tried it in the past—makes me shiver, and I clench my arms around my body to steady myself. “This isn’t good. There has to be a way to save Oman.”
“Don’t go getting ideas in your head. Once his universe started dying, all hope for him was lost. And as far as the scroll goes, like I said earlier, they’re not always accurate.”
“And how often is it that they’re wrong?”
Elli hesitates before admitting the truth. “About as often as universes die.”
“So what do I do? How do I find out more about what’s going on?”
She begins to wind up the scroll, shuffling her hands back and forth over one end to reel the parchment back in. “There’s one way I know of, but it’s risky. If you’re caught, they might throw you into the void, and me as well for just telling you about it.”
“Tell me,” I say, my face set in determination.
As she climbs the ladder and sets the scroll back on its shelf she replies, “Go find a Seer. Ask them yourselves. They’re bound by the laws of The House to tell you something whenever you ask a question, though it’s not always the answer you’re looking for.”
I turn to stomp back down the tunnel, but Elli’s hand closing around my elbow stops me.
“Amara—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Yes, I know. Be careful. Don’t get caught. I’ll do my best.”
Elli narrows her gaze. “I was about to say, don’t get lost. The best way back is to follow me.”
Then she strides ahead of me, leading me back the way we came.
I know where the Seers’ chambers are, but I’ve never actually been there. Members of The House aren’t supposed to go unless summoned to hear a prophecy—one that often pertains to the death of a universe—and that rarely happens. The halls are bustling by the time I leave the Archives Room and I weave past bodies to get there, giving my best impression of innocence whenever someone catches my eye. Once I reach the right door I wait for the opportune moment—when the crowd closes around me and I all but disappear—and then I turn the knob and slip across the threshold.
The Seeing Room is cast not in torchlight but in a thin blue glow that seeps from cracks in the walls. The room is empty but for a marble throne jutting from the center of the circular space. The Seer on duty sits there, wearing long white robes that caress the floor as her chest falls up and down in tandem with her breaths.
She sees me and scowls. “You’re not supposed to be here. I didn’t call on you.”
“I know,” I say, “but I need your guidance. Something is going terribly wrong. Watchers and universes are dying.”
“That’s part of nature’s plan. We’re cast into the void and new members of The House come to be. Hasn’t your mentor taught you that?”
“Of course. But this time it’s different. In the past few days, two universes have died. Dena’s, and now Oman’s.”
The Seer frowns, shifts in her throne. “I don’t stay up to date on the goings on around me. My head’s already full of too much of the future. The present can’t fit inside.”
“Well, then, you might be able to tell me what’s going on, can’t you?” I needle.
She purses her lips together, mulling over the idea for several moments before beckoning me forward. “Come, dear. Give me your hand.”
I shuffle over to the throne and hold out my palm. She wraps her cold fingers around mine and I feel a shock course through my body. It isn’t the same kind I felt when Noah touched me. This one is painful and makes my bones shake; my hands and feet go numb and I topple back onto the floor, slipping from the Seer’s grasp. She herself crumbles onto the throne, breathing hard.
“This—this can’t be,” she gasps.
“What is it? What did you see?” I ask, staggering to my feet.
She rolls her eyes upon me and they are haunting, fearful. “I saw you, Amara, Watcher of The House. I saw the future that surrounds you.”
“Tell me. I need to know.”
The Seer takes in a gulp of air before answering. “You’re right. There is something wrong with the order of things. They’ve been disturbed. And it’s you who must put this place back the way it was, or remove the pieces until The House falls apart.”
Her reply is cryptic at best and I’m about to ply her for more information when a booming knock echoes from the other side of the door.
“Come out this instant, Amara! I know you’re in there!” Nim’s muffled shout roars.
I can’t decide what to do as my gaze switches back and forth between the exit and the Seer—between the lies of The House and the truth—but Nim decides for me when she bursts through the door and drags me out by the arm.
Once we’re in the hall she resumes her yelling again. “You think no one would find out? Someone saw you slip into the Seeing Room and alerted me at once. Just what do you think you were doing in there?”
“I was asking her about Dena and Oman, about why universes are suddenly being destroyed all at once. And I was right to. She told me—”
Nim holds up a finger to silence me. “Don’t you dare repeat a word of what the Seer said. Whatever they utter is bonded to the individual who hears it. To repeat a prophecy to others is sacrilege.”
“But I—”
“This is a rule of The House, Amara. To defy it means automatic casting into the void.”
I clench my jaw and glare at Nim with all the condemnation I can muster, but she dwarfs it with a look of disappointment she reserves only for me. Finally I relent, letting my shoulders bend in and my head fall. Nim grasps me hard by the arm, her nails digging into my skin as she leads me back to my bedchamber.
“Two days locked in your room,” she says. “No watching in the meantime. And no visiting Elli.” I look at her with mutiny and she adds, “That’s right, you heard me. You shouldn’t be spending time in the Archives Room as it is. Maybe the next several hours will give you time to learn how to obey the rules for once.”
I let her voice drown out into a dull murmur while I think of more important matters. My mind is focused the image of Oman lying sick on the floor of the Watch Room, and the words of the Seer. Her prophecy repeats over and over in my ears.
It’s you who must put this place back the way it was, or remove the pieces until The House falls apart.
I don’t want to be the one responsible for the future of The House, but if the Seer said it, then it must be true. My heart flutters nervously against my chest as I realize Oman’s universe dying isn’t the end of the destruction that has been slowly infiltrating the walls of my home.
It’s just the beginning, and now I have two days stuck in my room to wait for more chaos to unfold.
Chapter Nine
My room is dark and dry, and I hate it. The only time I spend here is when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer and am forced to sleep. The two days Nim confines me inside my bedchamber seems to drag on forever, and when she finally comes to the door to release me I am desperate to leave. I say all the things she wants me to, and more.
“I’m sorry, Nim. I’ll never disobey The House again, I swear it.”
Nim raises an eyebrow. “We all know that’s not true, Amara. But it means something that you’ll try.”
“And what about Dante? Did he find out about me going to see the Seer?” I ask.
“I didn’t tell him, and it’s best if you don’t mention it, either,” she replies. “He’s a Leader, and isn’t particularly fond of you in the first place. If he found out he’d send you into the void in a heartbeat.”
I set my hand against my chest and feel my own heart flutter against my ribcage. It isn’t like Nim to keep secrets from The House, and the idea of her doing so for my benefit makes me feel something more for her than
my usual disdain and disregard. I realize in that moment she cares for me the way Noah’s parents care for him, and my cheeks turn warm at the thought.
“Thank you, Nim. Really. I don’t know how to repay you,” I say.
A smile flits across her mouth, there and then gone again in an instant. “Just stay away from trouble, and we’ll be even. Now, you better come with me before I change my mind.”
“Where are we going?”
Nim’s expression turns grave. “Oman isn’t doing well. His universe is at the end of its cycle already and his health is failing even faster than Dena’s. I know you only just met him the day you found him ill, but I’m guessing you want to see him one last time before his funeral.”
I nod. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
Nim leads me through halls and past doors. The air in The House is more somber than usual, and every time one of my footsteps echoes out through the expanse I cringe. We make it to the Sick Room alright, but once we arrive we’re cast to the back of a long line of fellow Watchers. They all say they’ve come to wish goodbye to their dear friend Oman, but I know the real reason. They are guilty over not doing the same for Dena—guilty for disposing of her before her last breath.
As I think it, part of me becomes sure Oman’s demise is punishment—the sentence for not taking better care of Dena, for not listening to her silent screams before dumping her into the void.
As Nim and I advance closer to Oman’s bedside, I catch sight of him. He lies frail and shaking on a marble altar, the thin white sheet covering him providing little warmth to stay his shivering frame. The knuckles of his right hand have gone white as they clutch down on a circular object: the orb that holds his universe. Even through the small slits in between his fingers, I can make out explosions of red and orange—planets succumbing to destruction.
“Nim?” I ask, pointing at the sight.
She inclines her head slightly and lowers her voice to a whisper. “He won’t let go of it, even in his sleep. The Aiders think he has decided that if he doesn’t give up the orb, he can’t be cast into the void.”
I want to cry out for him, tell him it will all be okay. But it won’t, and it can’t, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better.
The line dwindles now, those paying heed to Oman exiting back out into the hall with masks of sadness and sympathy hiding their faces. I find it hard to believe that any of them feel either of those emotions at all. The members of The House hate death and dying; they cast it out as taboo moments after it ekes its way into the world. To them, Oman is just another reminder that there is an end to things—that eventually life is over, forever, for good.
When it’s my turn to visit Oman’s bedside, Nim hangs behind. I silently thank her for the gesture of privacy and round the altar to stand next to his head.
“Hello, Oman,” I murmur. “It’s me, Amara. Do you remember?”
Oman stirs under the white sheet, his eyes rolling in my direction. He lifts a feeble arm across his body and wraps his cold fingers around mine. I take the action as a response and continue on.
“I found you in the Watch Room. You were sick. It happened so fast. I wish I’d been there to …”
My words trail off. To what? Save him? Watch over him as his livelihood was ripped away? What could I have possibly done? The truth weasels its way onto my tongue, and I eventually admit what I wanted to say all along.
“I wish I’d been there to see what happened to you. To know what did this. Because I know it isn’t natural, Oman. I know this can’t just be a coincidence.”
Oman squeezes my hand harder now, drawing my palm into his chest. I bend across his torso so that the motion isn’t uncomfortable, and the tips of my hair brush against his sallow cheeks.
“Thank you,” he gasps, the words nearly indistinguishable amongst the bustle of bodies leading into the Sick Room. “Thank you for believing me.”
He pries my fingers open with one hand and tips the other over my palm. When I pull away, I feel the cool pressure of his universe enclosed within my hand. I look at him askance, but he just gives me the slightest of nods and then lolls his head to the other side as if I was never there at all.
I back away into the hall and wait for Nim to emerge. She comes out minutes later, completely unaware of the exchange that took place between Oman and me.
“What now?” she asks.
“I—I think I need some time alone,” I stammer, hoping she doesn’t catch me in the lie. “I want to go watch my universe for a little while—hide out in the stars. I’ll come back once I feel better.” I should feel guilt over breaking my promise to her so soon after it was given, but I don’t. Oman gave me his universe for a reason, and I have to see it through.
“I understand. I’ll take you as far as the Storage Room and then I’ll let you be on your way.”
Nim takes me to the room with the drawers, watching as my shaking hands shove the key suspended around my neck into the lock. I place the orb holding my universe into the pocket not holding Oman’s. When I pass by Nim into the hall I try to give her my best imitation of a reassuring smile and I guess it works, because she departs in the opposite direction and allows me to head to the Watch Room by myself.
I ease the door shut behind me. No one else is in the room. I pick the first empty basin I come to, pulling Oman’s universe from my pocket and tipping it into the clear bowl until it rests suspended in the air above. The image of the chaos contained within the glass reflects across the walls, tinting the room red with death.
I take a deep breath as the sight of imploding planets and galaxies dance across the walls, wondering if Oman saw any of this before he began to die. The crystal ball paints a tapestry of destruction across the marble of The House, shimmering in the dim torchlight set into the alcoves.
Shaking my head hard and focusing on my duty, I allow my body to transform into smoke. It starts at the top of my head and works its way down to my arms, easing through my fingertips and coursing into my toes. I am mist caught up in space and time, and I am diving down, down into Oman’s dying universe.
The first thing I feel when I pass into the dying Watcher’s world is the heat of chaos. I see things expanding and contracting and disappearing altogether—planets and solar systems and galaxies. My mind begs me to run—to abandon this world and return to The House, where things are safe and real and alive—but I refuse to listen.
I wind through an array of dying stars, their light dimming into nothingness as I pass by. Planets implode beneath me, turning the blackness of night into infinite red holes that span across light years.
It is terrifying and beautiful, all at once. I am both in awe and in horror at the sight of it. I have never seen something so volatile and explosive in my life, and I never thought I would until now, this very moment, as I swim through a universe wrapped in death.
I finally spot a planet not yet dead and careen into its atmosphere, turning from smoke to solidity as I hit the ground. The place is a cacophony of noise and disorder as the life forms there run to and fro across the pitted, rocky landscape. Meteors crash down across the earth, colliding into villages and cities as I watch on. I am a tiny dot amongst screams and crying. The world is ending, and the poor entities that exist here are slowly exploding into dust.
It is then that I see them, through the wreckage contained on the surface of this imploding planet. Black cloaked figures meander through the masses, slow and steady as if the casualties don’t affect them at all. They crest over the edge of a crater, and their hooded forms turn in my direction.
They have no eyes but I know they see me, and then they are floating as fast as I can run in the opposite direction.
The adrenaline coursing through my veins pulls me toward them, and I am sprinting through the swarm of bodies, dodging volcanic eruptions and storms of fire to come closer to the figures that elude me in the distance.
The cloaked beings lead me into the ruins of a village. Infernos rage in buildings
and across streets. I dodge debris and piles of ash as I dash across the landscape, always one great length behind those that I pursue.
A life form jumps into my path, its blue skin charred from the billows of smoke that rise up around us. Its appendages swing wildly around me and as it spots me it lets loose a string of unintelligible syllables. I can’t speak the language and know nothing of this race but its intentions are clear: “Help me,” it says, its eyes tugging at my heartstrings. “Save me.”
I gulp back my guilt and sidestep the entity, catching the tail end of a billowing cloak rounding a corner up ahead. I turn to follow and have to stop myself before I plunge into a mile-wide crater below. The cliff’s edge crumbles beneath my toes as I shuffle backward and stare out across the expanse.
The cloaked figures stand on the opposite edge of the hole, their faces nothing but shadow in the depths of their hoods. Even then, I can feel their emotions radiating toward me—triumph, disdain, hatred. I am everything they despise, and they are everything I don’t understand.
“Who are you?” I scream across the land.
The figures don’t answer. Instead they just wisp into black smoke, catapulting up through the atmosphere. I follow them soon after, my own gray mist form of molecules chasing after with a vigor I didn’t know I possessed.
We pass stars and solar systems; we travel through black holes and galaxies. Nothing is left untouched by the destruction that plagues the universe. I try to scream but as smoke the only thing that bursts forth from my lungs is fumes and ire, a puff that’s barely visible among the implosions and sea of red before me.
And then the black smoke wafts away, blinking out of view altogether, and I am left alone among a dying universe.
I look around me, and for the first time my mortality grips at my stomach. Members of The House don’t perish unless they are killed, whether that be by the universe they watch or at the hand of another being, and I’m not unaware of the danger that surrounds me. The meteors that whiz by can tear me apart; the planets that implode can draw me into their orbit and obliterate my atoms.
Across the Universe Page 6