The Symphony was loud inside his head, with nothing to distract from it. It penetrated him, flowing around and through, part of him. And finally, finally, he heard the music he’d been searching for over the last couple months—those sounds defining his being—his impact in the Grand Symphony, like seeing the back of his head in a mirror. These were the notes he’d changed in the ruined city of Dalhni, forcing his panic away.
Sam reached for the dissonant percussion of his anxiety, keyed louder than it had any right to be. It would take a permanent change to bring the music into equilibrium, and he still hadn’t completely recovered from what he’d done at the Dome of the Assembly. He shifted notes in his composition, bringing the volume down a fraction. His heart slowed. His legs moved quicker through the crystal. If he’d been able to breathe, he would have let out a sigh.
But there was a void where those notes had been.
How many more can I use? Can I dampen my anxiety permanently?
Just a few more.
He lowered the volume again, and suddenly there were more themes audible in his music, as if his anxiety drowned them out.
He reached for the music, wondering what it could be.
Flashes.
His Aunt Martha cooking cheese hominy for breakfast.
Aunt Martha showing him how to sew.
His father, working in his shop.
His mother, teaching him how to climb trees.
He could remember their faces.
The voice hadn’t taken his memories away completely. It had hidden them. He had to find the rest, but had no more notes to spare. The void in his core ate at him. Later. He would find this place again later.
He followed the Nostelrahn for what seemed like hours, tears dripping down his cheeks. Maybe it was minutes? It was impossible to say. The Nether supplied everything his body required, but he couldn’t ask Wor Wobniar where they were going or what they would do. He simply reveled in those few memories. He remembered his parents and Aunt Martha, though what had happened to them was still vague. They had all died, hadn’t they? Was he to blame? He still couldn’t remember enough of Earth to return, and he doubted he ever would. But there wasn’t anything left for him there, while here…Enos and Inas were here.
The prophet’s head flaps faced forward and xy moved through the wall gracefully, like a fish slipping through the water. They were getting closer to the anomaly, which took up more of his vision.
Finally, Wor Wobniar’s form shimmered, xyr silver aura sliding around facets of the crystal, and xy stepped down and turned, xyr three pointed feet doing a complex dance. Sam splayed one hand out against the edge of the Nether wall, but from the inside. There was a void or bubble, but inside the wall, completely enveloped by crystal. It was filled with vines and green, blue, red plants, and there was some sort of structure. Sam pushed through and out of the wall, stumbling forward.
His lungs complained and he blew out the stale air he’d taken in before entering the wall, then sucked in a giant breath, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs. He straightened and wiped his eyes, catching the Nostelrahn’s head flaps all focused on him.
“It is a strange experience the first few passages through the wall,” Wor Wobniar said.
“I…yes, it is,” Sam said, once he’d gotten his breath back. “Where are we?”
The Nostelrahn opened all three arms, scuttling around in a circle. “This is the House of Time—placed where only one from the House of Time has access. I have been the only member since my mentor became one with the web, seventy cycles past.”
Sam pulled his composition to the core of his being, standing straighter, regaining most of his notes. Part of that change had been permanent. He’d lost more notes in the other change, but those were fully worth the cost. He could remember his family’s faces.
His silver glow faded.
“Walk this way,” Wor Wobniar said, and gestured toward the building—like an ancient stone temple, covered in vines and flowers. “It is comfortable inside.”
Sam followed xyr, sorting through returned memories. The space inside the wall was not large, a sphere like a giant terrarium inside thick glass. Plants grew wild across the ground, and even hung from the curved ceiling. It was cozy, especially if Sam ignored the depthless emptiness of the translucent wall. He stepped over a vine as thick as his thigh as they approached the building. Inas would have loved it here. He had a small shelf of plants in Majus Caroom’s apartment.
“The House of Time, like the other houses,” Wor Wobniar said, “can affect more than what its name implies. The change I made—and which you copied—compressed our bodies’ experience of travel through the wall. Any other majus trying to reach this spot must turn back or perish in the wall from lack of sustenance. The Nether will support a being as long as possible, but there are limits.”
“The maji mentioned that,” Sam said. “But they said maji can only pass through the columns.”
“Correct.” Wor Wobniar pulled back a curtain of hanging vines. “Many aspects of the House of Time are non-reversible. We must be careful how we use our notes. We can compress and extend our experience for a few minutes and recover our music. Any longer and we will lose it.”
“Non-reversible. I see,” Sam said. Then what he used to regain his memories would not return to him. How much could he risk? He’d try again later, when he had more time. Some of what the voice took away might be gone forever. Still, he felt more centered than in days. He could learn this.
At the entrance to the temple of the House of Time Wor Wobniar clacked in a circle to face him. “I am the prophet of the House of Time,” xy said. “There is an unbroken line of prophets in our facet, reaching from the time of the last Dissolution, though information has been lost over the centuries. Your facet,” xy gestured to him with one claw, “must have lost its prophets and the House of Time at some point, or your Effature would have known more of the Dissolution.”
“The Aridori War,” Sam said. From what he knew, it was the most calamitous event in his facet of the Nether.
My facet. As if I’ve lived there longer than about two months. But before that is still hazy.
Wor Wobniar nodded. “That is likely.”
Sam waved his hands, palms out. “So why me? Why the Houses of Matter and Time?”
“One of the oldest pieces of information we have,” Wor Wobniar said, the lights on xyr head flashing a complex pattern, “is a scrap of information on the House of Matter. No one knows the physical location, but there are fabled to be artifacts of exquisite power inside. Those of the House of Matter may once have been as numerous as the other aspects of the Grand Symphony.”
Xy climbed two steps, then turned back. “I suspect many of those ancients of the House of Matter were also attuned to the House of Time, though the reverse is not true. It is why I can teach you, at least of Time.”
Sam frowned. “Matter and Time sounds like a powerful combination.” Perhaps connected to the lines he saw and knowledge of how events would occur?
“Yes,” Wor Wobniar said. “Of the House of Matter, come inside and we will find what we can.”
Sam followed the Nostelrahn’s tiptoeing steps over vines growing across the steps into the building. He traced a finger along the pitted stone as he passed. It was old and volcanic, like pictures he’d seen of Hawaii. The thought of Earth brought a tightness to his throat. He could remember pictures and places, but not enough detail to make a portal. His home was here, in the Nether.
“How old is this place?” he asked, to distract himself. The bubble inside the Nether was close and comfy, though it contained a stone temple.
“I do not know,” Wor Wobniar answered, turning so the flashing lights across xyr head were visible. Xyr serrated jaws ground in time with the lights. “It stores every piece of information from the House of Time. As far as I know, this building could have stood since the last Dissolution, or longer.” The walls of the temple were thicker than Sam’s arm was long.
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Inside, there were hanging orange lights, which Sam recognized. They were majus-fueled lights, made from the Houses of Power and Potential. The same type illuminated the interior of the Spire of the Maji.
The building was one open room with a high ceiling, several stories above, and the lights cast long shadows across rows of shelves and stands holding items made of metal, wood, stone, and crystal. To his sides were racks of cubbyholes, each one holding a rolled sheet of sheer material. The shelves rose into the gloom of the ceiling, eight or more times his height.
Wor Wobniar spread xyr arms in three directions, claws clicking as xy gestured to the shelves and stands. “This is the collected knowledge of the House of Time.” Xyr head flaps oriented on Sam. “You are the first I have shown this to. I have been the only one here since my mentor joined the web.”
Sam’s eyes roamed the interior. It was large, impressive, and ancient, but with a feeling of something hidden. He counted. Even if each cubby held a scroll or two of great importance, there didn’t seem enough to account for thousands upon thousands of cycles. He was used to the data storage of computers. All this could have fit on one disc.
“This is…this is it?” he asked. He didn’t want to give offense, but the chances of him finding meaningful records pertaining to his situation was low. He didn’t think every answer of the Houses of Matter and Time would be laid out in front of him, but…
Wor Wobniar’s mouthparts grated in a rough laugh. “This is the House of Time. Wait.” Xy held up one claw.
Sam waited, eyeing the blocks of pitted stone stacked with no space between.
Wait for what? What is xy not telling me—
A wave of silver washed through the temple, leaving him dizzy. The blocks of stone were in the same places, yet not. Seams were at different heights. Colors were subtly changed. He stared at the Nostelrahn.
“Each cubby holds many scrolls, though not all are accessible at the same…time.” Xy glanced around. “This iteration may hold for the next few minutes, or even a lightening. It is one of my favorites.” These stone blocks were lighter, and a few gleamed with reflective material caught in their structure.
“I see.” The weight of the collected knowledge pressed against Sam. Even the Symphony seemed more complex, with little ditties and solos spinning off from the main melody to spiral into their own music. It was playing faster than before the change. He bent his knees without thinking, his shoulders weighed down, his breathing becoming fast and deep.
“It’s a lot,” he said. “I can feel the age.”
“It hits people differently at first,” Wor Wobniar said. Xy waved a claw at a pair of stools set in front of a slab of stone. “Sit if you need, and get your bearings.”
Sam did so, and breathed a little easier. It wasn’t exactly a panic attack, but similar. His eyes wandered around the room. The scrolls must have been this facet’s equivalent of books, though made of an unfamiliar fabric. He sat as Wor Wobniar busied xyrself in various nooks, picking up this scroll and that, searching through them and ultimately rejecting them all.
Then another curtain of silver passed, leaving Sam’s stool wobbling in a different direction. This time, artifacts glinted from several shelves, and he realized many were made of Nether crystal. There was almost a physical weight in the building, pressing down from the history and records sitting silently in rows and columns. It had the feeling of a cathedral, dark, shadowy, and ageless.
“This place can teach me of the House of Matter?” he asked.
“I am certain there is information in one of the iterations,” Wor Wobniar said. “There is plenty on the House of Time. Ah. Fortunate we are here now.” Xy scuttled to a shelf now containing artifacts, xyr head flaps waving like a fish’s fins. “I believe this iteration holds it. It has been here since my mentor… Ah. Here.” Xy plucked something up in one claw and scuttled back to Sam. “This will help.”
Sam accepted the object, which was warm to the touch. It was translucent, made of Nether material, and shaped in part like a ring, though with a section missing, like a “C”. He slipped it on a finger. It fit, with other little nubbins cradling the fingers next to that one.
“What is it?”
“A focus tool.” Wor Wobniar was silent for a moment. Lights flashed across xyr forehead, but the Nether didn’t translate them. Then, “This belonged to my mentor, one of the Praveadi—the purple beings you saw.” Xy gestured with a claw. “Ey taught me much, and one of ey’s final acts was to take off the focus, shortly before ey left this reality. As far as I know, there are only two of these tools. You have some in your facet?”
The ring of crystal suddenly felt very heavy on Sam’s hand. A promise. A burden. A responsibility. “I don’t know where they would be.” Around them, the House of Time wavered again, and these stones were black as night, sucking in what little the majus lights produced.
“Then you will need this one,” Wor Wobniar said. Sam could hardly see xyr. “It aids in our perception of the Vloeinkaal.”
“You’ve said that word before,” Sam said. “What is it?”
Wor Wobniar waved xyr head flaps in thought. “It is like…a web of time. A sequence of cause and effect. A pool where an outcome may or may not happen. It is complex.”
Sam sat up straighter on the little stool. It didn’t wobble anymore. “Does it look like translucent lines, connecting everything together?”
The Nostelrahn’s lights all flashed, in surprise. “You have encountered this already? It took me many cycles to separate it from the Symphony.” Xy scuttled closer. “Perhaps because you perceive both the Houses of Time and Matter? We must study this.”
“It was only for an instant,” Sam said, “and it’s only happened a couple times. I can’t see it on purpose.”
“Still, it means you are well-tuned to the House of Time.”
“And the House of Matter?”
Wor Wobniar settled on xyr tripod of legs. “That is more difficult.”
“Do you have a directory of information?” Sam asked. Another wave passed through—the last several had come quickly, one after another, as if the House of Time was showing off—and Sam squinted in the renewed light. There was a difference in this iteration, like a crack in the wall poured light through from elsewhere. Cataloging this place might well be impossible.
“The thirty-second prophet listed the information and artifacts in many of the iterations, though not all,” xy replied, “and some scrolls have been moved since then. Still, it is a start.”
Sam didn’t want to ask the next question, but it boiled out of him. “How…how long will this take? Enos is still captive, and there are important events coming in my facet of the Nether. Inas and I need to get back…”
Wor Wobniar’s head flaps oriented on him. “You must train for when the Dissolution arrives. Look around.” Xy gestured to several cubbies in the temple and now Sam saw the scrolls there were…flickering, as if they didn’t know whether they belonged in this reality or not.
“You see this?” xy asked, and Sam nodded. “One of the signs I reported to the Effature. The Dissolution is closer than it should be, interfering with the flow of time. I suspect that is why you have arrived here now.”
“Like fate?” Sam asked. He didn’t like an unknown force controlling what he did. “I came to the Nether by accident.”
Wor Wobniar stood motionless. If xy was human, Sam thought xy would be staring off into the distance. The scrolls stopped flickering.
“Interesting. I suspect you will learn more when you can look into the Vloeinkaal. It told me you were here. It said the chime would ring and our facets were moving close enough together to cross. It pointed me toward the bridge between our facets, unused for more than a thousand cycles.”
“Did it tell you what the Dissolution is?” Sam asked. “I’ve heard the name, but no explanation.”
Wor Wobniar’s head flaps fluttered. “It is a change to the entire universe, recomposing the Grand Symphony a
ll at once, though perhaps an occasion we may live through? An end and a beginning at the same moment. That is all I know.”
Sam frowned. Another event no one knew about. “What if Inas and I stay a day or so?” he suggested. He had to help find Enos. “Then we must go back to our facet.” This was supposed to be a meeting between representatives. Except now Wor Wobniar wanted to keep him here and train him. If it was anything like what Majus Cyrysi did, it would be a matter of ten-days, months, or even cycles, instead of days.
“Hm. You will need to come back.”
“Or you could come to our facet.”
“That could happen.” Wor Wobniar scuttled close, until Sam could smell xyr strange, spicy scent. “Make no mistake, the Dissolution is approaching faster than any of us anticipate. It should not be here for thousands of cycles yet, but the Vloeinkaal proclaims it to all who can perceive its wrongness.”
Once again, the House of Time flickered and changed around them in a flash of silver.
INTERLUDE III
Construction and Activation
- Our reality is not as simple as it appears. We well know there is a sequence of mathematically related vibrations underlying the fabric of reality—maji can tap into these to produce effects outside of normal physics. But though the maji claim dominance in this field, precious few go further than that. Are there other Grand Symphonies fueling different universes? Are there themes we are not yet aware of? This is what the Society of my youth protected against—the unknown unknowns. The older I become, the more I appreciate both the danger and the opportunity of these hidden safeguards.
Personal journal of Mandamon Feldo, Councilor for the House of Potential
“You really need all this old stuff for your device?” Gompt asked. He poked through a rack containing capped beakers of chemicals while Krat tapped her feet. Mandamon wasn’t completely certain how Krat sensed things. The System Beast had no visible head or hands. But Krat seemed well aware of her surroundings.
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