“We didn’t pick a fight,” Rainbow said. “We didn’t know the street was brimming with trolls. And we couldn’t help the alarm.”
“Alarm?” Neven said.
“Yeah. A car alarm went off. Everything was fine before then.”
She was still pacing. “You weren’t prepared.”
“We had weapons,” I said. “I thought we did OK?” Immediately, I wanted to take back the words. Of course we hadn’t done OK. We’d even gotten the weapons wrong.
Just tell me what to do, I’ll fix it, I’ll do better.
I swallowed the words. The last thing I should do was be just as needy and unsure as before.
“You could have died.” Neven fixed a hard look on me.
My gut churned.
She stopped pacing and faced us. “Sit,” she barked. Within seconds we sat in a half circle around her. I plucked at the grass next to me, pluck pluck pluck, and I recognized the nervous, useless gesture but couldn’t stop.
“The Powers That Be are why the rift spun out of control,” Neven said.
I snapped to attention. So did the others.
Neven scanned the fields beyond us for movement. “As I’ve explained: Rifts are interdimensional portals. They’re gaps in a world’s reality, zipped open by the Powers, allowing them to influence that world. The rifts are normally so small as to be invisible. Hazel, as with every Chosen One, the rift is linked to you. Rifts shadow the Chosen One, allowing the Powers to tweak the world around their hero to aid their training and development. When a Chosen One reaches a certain age or state, the rift widens to allow for more significant changes. In your case, the trigger was turning sixteen. Then, once a Chosen One completes their mission to save the world through an act of heroism, the rift closes.”
Red leaned forward. “This rift did more than just widen slightly.”
“And it was huge from the start,” I added. “Not small or invisible at all.”
“The Powers That Be are . . .” Neven tilted her head. The sun glared on her scales. “The Powers can reach through the walls between worlds to tamper with your dimension. When they tamper too much, the walls become unstable. And when the walls are unstable and the Powers play around with that world anyway, what’s supposed to be a tiny gap can instead rip wide open.”
I rubbed my legs to keep warm. As the adrenaline wore off, the cold seeped in.
I didn’t know why Neven was finally offering explanations, but the more I knew about the rift and the Powers, the better.
One phrase she’d used stood out. “Play around?” I echoed.
“I’m not done.” Neven fixed her eyes on me. “Once you were born and your rift tore open far beyond expectations, the Power in charge of this situation tried to close it. It failed. If a rift this size followed you the way rifts are programmed to, however, it would’ve swallowed buildings in your wake. The Power managed to pin the rift in place, but its programming didn’t change. When you strayed too far, the rift would squirm to reach you, with all the unfortunate side effects that entailed. At least the chaos was restricted to a single place.”
“Why couldn’t the Power simply close it?” I asked.
“Rifts aren’t programmed to close on demand. Instead, they react to specific triggers—such as your birthday. When the rift expanded that night, the Power could no longer contain it. It snapped loose from the farm, from you. Sixteen years of pent-up energy sent it bouncing around.”
“You keep saying programmed. What does that mean?” Four asked. “Is this like The Matrix?”
“Come again?”
“It’s an old movie.” Four’s voice went thin, worried. “Is our whole world just code the Powers whipped up? Are we living in a simulation?”
“The Powers had nothing to do with creating your world. They simply stumbled upon . . . upon the constellation of dimensions that your world belongs to. The Powers learned how to peek into those dimensions and how to alter them. It’s not dissimilar from humans’ discovery of DNA. Life developed without your involvement or understanding, but you learned its rules and that allowed you to tinker with it.”
“So they’re interdimensional hackers.” Rainbow had her legs crossed, elbows in the crooks of her knees.
“Extradimensional may be the more accurate term.” Neven inclined her head. “The Powers now severely regret certain restrictions they wrote into their programs, such as the inability to manually close rifts. From what I understand, those restrictions were implemented precisely to prevent situations like the one we’re in now. Frequently closing, reopening, and tweaking rifts—as many Powers were wont to do—weakens dimensional walls. Thus, the rifts are programmed ahead of time in order to maintain structural integrity. But it merely slows the process. As long as the Powers continue to open rifts and alter worlds, the walls will continue to weaken. Which brings us to our current predicament.”
Rainbow made a face. “The Powers screwed up. That’s what all this is about.”
“Yes. So you see: The rift is their problem. The trolls are your problem. If you’re still sufficiently linked to the rift, the act of completing your destiny may trigger the rift to close as it was intended to.”
“If,” I repeated. “Is all this a guess?”
“In a way. We can’t tell how much of the rift’s programming is affected. It attempted to follow you for sixteen years and still reacted to your birthday, which is a good sign . . .”
“But it no longer follows me now.”
“Hence: If.”
“So . . .” I worried at my lip. “The Powers must have known the walls were weakening. They opened the rift anyway. Which means they must’ve needed a Chosen One badly enough to risk further destabilizing the walls. Which means these trolls have to be really dangerous.”
“How are we supposed to fix this?” Red said quietly. “We have a magic knife. That’s it.”
“A small one,” I said.
“Aside from that, we’re four sixteen-year-olds who can’t fight or do magic. Five, if we find that other Hazel.”
“We do have a hunter on the team,” Rainbow said. “That counts for something.”
I smiled wryly.
Neven’s story didn’t add up, though.
“The trolls are a new threat.” I was sorting through my thoughts even as I spoke. “Only a few days old. But the Powers That Be set up the rift sixteen years ago.”
Rainbow toyed with the laces on her boots. “The Powers can probably see into the future or something.”
“Where did those trolls even come from?” Red wondered. “Were they in hiding all this time? What brought them out?”
Four nodded. “All that other weird stuff came through the rift, but this didn’t. It’s separate. So . . .”
“Is it?” I looked intently at Neven.
“The trolls did come through the rift,” Neven admitted. “Years ago. Your government held them captive in your barns, same as they did with me. The trolls only recently escaped.”
“So not only did the Powers open a rift sixteen years ago to train a Chosen One to fight a threat that didn’t yet exist,” I said, “they opened that rift to fight a threat that would only exist because of that rift. Is that what you’re saying?”
“A threat that exists because the Powers themselves sent it through the rift,” Neven said.
I reeled back. “No,” I said, my throat suddenly raw—
“A threat that escaped your farm because, two days ago, the Powers helped it do so.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I didn’t know when I’d stopped fiddling with the grass. “The Powers That Be did this on purpose?”
“They choose a world. They select a Chosen One. They program a rift. They plant a threat.” Neven lowered her head, coming face-to-face with me. “I’m sorry, Hazel. It’s artificial. All of it.”
“They plant—What do you mean, they select a Chosen One? It’s not something they just know?” My voice caught. The others were looking at me, but I couldn’t
take my eyes off Neven.
“They choose. Sometimes at random. Sometimes not. They might choose someone who’s connected to the threat they’re planning, or who’s well equipped to fight it. In your case, I believe they simply liked the idea of a farm kid with mysterious parentage.” Neven’s mouth twitched. Smile or scowl, I couldn’t tell. “It’s traditional.”
“They liked the idea,” I echoed.
“Why?” Rainbow said. “Christ. Why?”
“What I know of the Powers, I’ve learned solely through observation; a lot is hazy even to me.” Neven stood, pulling her lumbering body up from the grass, which was smushed flat beneath her. Hesitation was written all over her features. She favored her injured paw, raising it so the claws barely touched the grass. “But I do know the Powers have a particular affinity for good heroes—for good stories. They also seem to have a particular affinity for your world, given how often they’ve chosen it as a backdrop for the little . . . productions.
“Every time they stick their finger in, whether to open a rift or nudge reality sideways, it destabilizes the walls further.”
“They have fingers?” Rainbow scoffed.
I looked sideways. That was her takeaway?
“The Powers occasionally have fingers,” Neven said. “They find corporeality amusing.”
“But they can’t snap their occasional fingers and fix it all,” I said.
“No. They’re not omnipotent. Manipulating the walls bordering dimensions is far harder than manipulating the dimensions themselves. The Powers could get rid of the trolls, but that would be shooting themselves in the occasional foot. The trolls allow you to perform your required act of heroism; if you can’t complete your destiny, they lose their best hope of closing the rift.”
“Why did you decide to tell us this?” Red asked.
“And why now?” I added.
For several long seconds, Neven didn’t answer. I started to think she’d simply say, “Rules,” the way she had before.
Dark clouds were spreading overhead. They stole the sun, leaving Neven’s scales dark and matted.
“Hazel,” she said, and I didn’t know whether she was addressing me or all of us, “you could have died just now. You may still. I suspect the Powers triggered that car alarm to draw out the trolls and push you along. When they get impatient, they drop hints. Give nudges. I am very tired of playing along with that game. You weren’t prepared for something so large as this.”
“But you do play along. You work for them.” Rainbow stood and slapped the grass from the back of her coat.
“Why do you work for them?” Red said.
“It’s not . . .,” Neven started. Not important? Not relevant? Whatever she’d planned to say, she changed her mind. “Roughly four hundred years ago, using your units of time, a Chosen One was appointed to save their world. They trained. They traveled. They found compatriots. They found love. They found a dragon—an aggressive, willful dragon, who chased them across the continent for disturbing her home, and whose antagonism faded once she learned the Chosen One’s mission. The two began to cooperate. Mistrustful, at first. Reluctant. They became partners. Eventually, they became friends. They fought the forces of evil together. And they failed. And the world ended.”
I watched her, barely daring to blink.
“The Powers plucked me from my dimension a second after my Chosen One died; a second before I would have died, too. They let me watch the destruction from afar. Bit by slow, inevitable bit.
“Despite our failure, the Powers were impressed with my performance. They offered me a job. If I refused, I’d be returned to a home that no longer existed. So I learned their rules. I played along with their games I so despise.” She hesitated. “I’ve seen what happens when Chosen Ones fail. I do what I can to help them succeed.”
Rainbow didn’t look impressed. “Within these arbitrary-as-hell rules they set up?”
“Neven didn’t have to tell us about this,” Four said.
“I didn’t,” Neven agreed. “And I’ll probably face consequences. Listen. I’ll give you a few minutes to decide what to do. Whatever your choice, I respect it. But . . . the Power may interfere further to give you incentive. They are eager to see you defeat the trolls. Soon.”
“Incentive?” Red echoed.
“Some choice.” Rainbow crossed her arms. “We can walk away, as long as we ignore that the world will end?”
“Allowing you to make an informed decision is the best I can do for you.” Neven dipped her head. “Use that whistle when you’re ready.”
She took off over the field toward the forest, as simple as a flap of her wings.
Then it was just the four of us in a half circle, Rainbow the only one standing. She watched Neven leave. Wind whipped blue-violet strands around her face, and she yanked a stray lock from her eyes. “Shit.” The anger that’d laced her tone seconds ago was gone. “Shit.”
“This is why we’re here?” Red climbed to her feet. “Not to help save the world, but to feature in some game?”
I rubbed my shins, saying nothing. We should talk about what this meant, about what to do, except. Except I couldn’t get my thoughts on track.
Random, Neven kept saying in my mind. Artificial. Select. Playing.
By my side, Four had her head low, staring at the grass between her crossed legs. She was breathing shallowly.
I was doing the same thing. I hadn’t realized. My chest felt tight. I couldn’t get enough air. I unzipped my coat to invite the breeze in, but barely felt a difference. Heat still coated every inch of me. I shrugged the coat off, except one hand got stuck, the cuff too tight around my arm and the sleeve turning inside out as I tried to tear it free, and I was wrestling with my coat and trying to push it off and it was just one big mess and the coat was so ripped up that the filling got everywhere, and God, it was just getting hotter—
“Prime,” Red said quietly. “Are you OK?”
“Don’t call me that. Hazel.” I finally got a hold of that sleeve and tore it free. “My name is Hazel.” My voice sounded choked.
Red sank to her knees in front of me. “Hey, so’s mine. Betcha I can even guess your last name.” Something tugged nervously at her lips.
I wanted to say something. Ask what the hell she was trying to do. I couldn’t get the words out.
“Guys, we need to—” Rainbow started.
“Wait,” Red bit, snappier than I’d ever heard her.
“Rainbow’s right, we should, we should . . .” Tears pooled in my eyes. “It’s random? The Powers only chose me ’cause they like farm kids? I kept thinking they must’ve gotten it wrong and I wasn’t the Chosen One, but I figured, I figured there was maybe something I hadn’t seen yet, maybe they were right and somehow I could do what they wanted like in the stories, and, and . . .” The air I sucked in didn’t seem to reach my lungs, no matter how much my chest strained and tried and hurt. “I’m just random. There’s nothing about me. Nothing special. Nothing that lets me do this. No destiny. No reason I’ll succeed. I’m just. Christ. I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t. Rainbow’s right. We should talk about . . . Neven’s world ended because her Chosen One failed and we, we can’t do the same, we should . . .”
By my side, Four was shaking. Her cheeks glistened. She was sucking in air, big gasps of it. They didn’t help her any more than they did me. Her face was turning a blotchy bright red, and I didn’t need to wonder if I ever looked like that, because I knew I did right at that moment.
“Hazel, both of you—” Red tried to meet my eyes.
“I can’t breathe.” Four’s voice wavered. “I’m sorry, I can’t . . .”
I scrambled to my feet. This wasn’t right. I couldn’t sit here and freak out with them staring at me. I had to go. Like I could shuck it all off if I ran quickly enough. Like if I stayed here, I’d stop breathing entirely, and then—that’d be failure, too, wouldn’t it? A Chosen One dying before even getting twenty-four hours into her mission.
Choking to death. Not fighting evil or heroically sacrificing herself or saving the world.
Just choking.
Every movement sent the world spinning. Or maybe I was the one spinning. I took a step, stumbled. A hand on my bicep kept me upright. I pulled away. This was wrong. I was wrong. Something was happening, something bad, they didn’t realize how bad this was—
“Wait, listen! I know what you’re feeling.” Red stood right in front of me, her hands raised before her. “You’re not sick. You’re not dying. This is a panic attack.”
“It’s not,” I said, crying now—when had I started to cry?—“something’s wrong, something’s wrong, everything feels wrong, I can’t breathe, can’t do this . . .”
Rainbow stood frozen in the background.
“You need to breathe,” Red said. “I swear it’ll help.”
Breathe: Easy to say. It was too stuffy and hot here. I needed to get to the top of that hill. There’d be fresh air up there. I stumbled away.
“Dr. Hayston?” a Hazel behind me said. “Me too.”
I didn’t know what that meant and the thought slipped away. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this stupid destiny that I wasn’t even supposed to have and that I’d still managed to screw up. For me. For the other Hazels. For the world.
Footsteps behind me. “Hazel, calm down—No, I mean, it’s OK. It’ll be OK. You know what helped me? It’ll sound silly, but I swear, just try it. All right?”
Red caught up to me. I didn’t know where I was going; I was atop the hill, the forest behind me and the road in front. Wind cooled my sweat-soaked skin, but it didn’t help me breathe.
I wasn’t Chosen.
I was chosen.
Someone selected me because they might as well. I was just a stupid teenage girl no more special than any other, I was going to die and take the world with me—
“Try this. Clap your hands here, right in front of your hips. Then here, above your head.” Red clapped her hands low, then high. She kept her eyes on me all the while. “I know this is scary, but I promise it helps.”
She kept clapping. I sucked in strangled half breaths and watched her through blurry eyes.
The Art of Saving the World Page 13