Timelock

by David Klass

  The icy walls around us shake as we fly upward through the moulin in a race against time. The rumble gets louder and the shaking more violent till it feels like we’re in the middle of an earthquake.

  I see daylight ahead, but the moulin is collapsing in on itself. Just as the walls of the tunnel come down, we burst outside into daylight. The disc carries us a half mile across the ice sheet before setting us down gently in a deep drift.

  65

  Eko, P.J., Gisco, Kidah, and I stand together on the ice sheet, looking at the gaping mouth of the fissure as it starts to close. The great plates of ice shift far beneath the surface, and in seconds the crevasse narrows and slams shut. “Well, that’s that,” Kidah says. “It’s over.”

  I think of my father, lying encased in the ice for all eternity, and of the Dark Lord and the Omega Box, down there with him. “How is it over?” I ask. “First Dargon came back in time to destroy the oceans. Then the Dark Lord struck at the Amazon and the Arctic. Won’t the Dark Army just send someone else back to the Turning Point, to strike at another vulnerable region?”

  “You bet,” Kidah agrees. “That’s exactly what they’ll do. But I’m going to put a stop to it once and for all.”

  I look back at him. “How can you do that?”

  “There’s only one way,” he answers softly. “I have to lock time. Once I do, no one can travel back and forth. The past will feed into the future in a one-way stream, as it was meant to do. But there will be a cost.”

  “What cost?” I ask him warily. If I’ve learned anything from my adventures, it’s that the costs when time-travel is involved are high and usually very personal.

  “For me, it will cost my life,” Kidah explains matter-of-factly. “The locking of time will drain my essence. And for you, it will mean a choice. Are you of the future or of the past?” His question hangs in the air, and I’m very conscious that P.J. is standing on one side of me, and Eko on the other.

  I turn to P.J., and as I look at her I can’t help remembering when my father squeezed my hand for the last time and gasped, “Destiny and duty, Jair.” I have the strange feeling that my life has been building toward this decision since the moment I was born, not in Hadley-by-Hudson, as I was led to believe, but in a troubled future world a thousand years from now. My mother is still in that world, and my father, who just died before my eyes, was battling to save it. And even though I only visited that world briefly, I can feel it pulling at me, and I know that I have a crucial role to play there.

  Before I can speak, P.J. reads my face. “I heard what your father said to you,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “I understand now that your life is not completely your own.” She stops and swallows. “Anyway, Jack, the more I’ve watched you with these wizards and ninjas, the more I know you’re one of them. You belong with them in the future, even if part of you wants to stay here with me.”

  Then she looks at Kidah and tells him, with surprising strength, “You’re wrong. Time can’t be locked. Maybe people won’t be able to travel back and forth, but nothing can stop us from remembering.”

  “Very true, my dear,” the wizard agrees with a smile. “Everyone here will remember exactly what happened.”

  He turns to me. “Jack, a time traveler who makes a round-trip journey can later recall all of his experiences. If you choose the future, you will remember your entire life as Jack Danielson. We have saved the oceans, the Amazon, and now the Arctic, and the future will now heal itself. But the people who live in that future will not have made the round-trip. They will carry no memory of losing to the Dark Army or living in a wrecked world.”

  I look back at him and nod. “So I’ll be all alone with those memories?”

  No, I’ll be right there with you, old bean, Gisco promises. Sadly, I foresee a vegetarian future. When you want to reminisce about bacon cheeseburgers, I’ll be ready.

  “I’m sure there will be many wonderful new things to focus on,” Eko promises softly. “Shall we go, Jack?”

  “In a minute,” I tell her. I turn to P.J. and the rest of them step a little bit away. “This is what you want, right?” I ask her.

  “No,” she says. “But it’s what has to be. We both know that.” She tries to smile bravely, but doesn’t quite pull it off. Instead, she steps forward and takes my hand, and looks into my eyes one last time. “I know it’s corny but I’ll think of you every day, Jack. You’re a part of me, and you always will be.”

  “And I’ll be thinking about you a thousand years from now,” I promise, squeezing her hand. “Especially that first kiss you gave me, under the bleachers.”

  “Here it is again,” she says, and kisses me long and tenderly on the lips. Finally, she steps back. “Goodbye, Jack,” she whispers and turns away.

  I walk back to the rest of the group and ask Kidah, in a voice husky with emotion, “How will she get home?”

  “I’ll take her myself,” he promises. “Are you ready?”

  “As much as I’ll ever be.”

  “Good. Because they’re ready for you a thousand years from now,” he says. “Farewell, Prince of Dann. Travel safe.” He embraces me, and maybe it’s the cold wind, but when we separate I see that the wizard’s eyes are tearing.

  “How exactly are we supposed to get back?” I ask him.

  He grins and opens his mouth to reply. I hear another “Farewell,” or perhaps he says: “You can never tell,” or maybe: “Listen for the bell.” It does sound like a bell is tinkling, and Kidah’s face starts to spin around. Or maybe I’m the one who’s spinning.

  Eko has taken my hand, and we’re whirling together. Gisco is there, too.

  For the third and last time in my life, I make the agonizing passage, and come to the dark threshold that looms like the gateway to death.

  A black tongue licks me in. I’m in the large intestine of an event horizon, being digested.

  And then I’m out the other side, blinking in warm sunlight and listening to a deafening buzzing sound. The good news is I didn’t land in a sandstorm, or on an iceberg. The buzzing doesn’t come from a swarm of locusts or sky-darkening glagour.

  It’s applause. I’m standing on a raised dais. There’s a ceremony going on, and I’m at the center of it. A thousand people are watching and clapping.

  Eko is standing next to me. And I spot Gisco on the fringes of the crowd. Kneel and bend your head, old bean, he tells me telepathically. This is your big moment.

  I also spot my mother, beaming proudly. It’s clear from her face that she has no memory of the horrors we encountered when we rescued my dad from the Fortress of Aighar, or how he had to leave her to go back in time.

  I don’t completely comprehend what’s going on, but I follow Gisco’s instructions and kneel and lower my head.

  A dignified old man with a gray beard steps forward holding a glittering crown. “All hail the King of Dann,” he says, and I feel him slip the crown onto my head.

  “Thanks,” I manage to mutter.

  “You’re welcome, Sire,” he responds. “Now rise to your people.”

  I stand up, and the applause builds.

  I wave back at the crowd, and put my right arm around Eko’s waist. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispers.

  “Yes,” I agree, looking out at the sun-splashed scene. But the whole thing also feels very strange. In fact, I’m a little dizzy, and I can barely take it all in.

  There’s the air, for one thing. I’ve never smelled air this pure before. It has a faintly sweet taste, as if tinged with lavender and honey.

  Songbirds in nearby trees provide the musical accompaniment to the coronation ceremony. High overhead, an eagle traces majestic circles in an azure sky of crystalline clarity.

  Beyond the cheering crowd, a sandy beach slopes to a wave-splashed ocean, which glitters a pristine shade of blue-green. Dolphins frolic in the surf, leaping from the water and dancing on their tails.

  It’s a beautiful world, an Eden-like world, but not a world I recognize.
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br />   I look out at the people clapping. They all have healthy faces, and confident, optimistic eyes. Even the oldest men and women present, with white hair and gripping canes, seem to have no sense of the horrors of the past, the vagaries of fate, or the way good can change to bad in an instant.

  I whisper to myself, “It’s not their fault. They just don’t remember.”

  “Did you say something?” Eko asks, taking my hand and raising it high with her own.

  “This feels very strange,” I tell her.

  “It’s the way things are supposed to be,” she replies. “You’ll get used to it, and—” But the rest of her words are drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

  Epilogue

  P.J.

  Manhattan. Ten at night. An old gentleman in a long black coat and a teenage girl in a parka step out of a cab. It’s a cold October night, but compared to the Greenland Ice Sheet, it’s practically mild.

  The two of them stand near the Barnard campus, watching the cars speed by on Broadway. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell my roommates,” P.J. finally says.

  “Abducted by aliens?” Kidah suggests.

  “Yeah, that might work.” She laughs nervously. “My parents are probably going to have me committed to an insane asylum.”

  “They’ll be very happy to get you back,” Kidah assures her. “One suggestion: if I were you I’d make a point of telling them that you’re positive you won’t be disappearing again. They’ll believe you.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  The old man smiles. “I am a wizard.” He glances at his gold pocket watch. “I’d better be going. It was a great pleasure escorting you home, and getting to know you. You’re really a swell gal.”

  “Too bad you couldn’t be my uncle,” P.J. says. “You’d make a great eccentric uncle.” She looks back at him, and tries to be strong, and resist the urge to grab him, to hold on to him. Once he’s gone, it will truly all be over. “Well, I guess this is goodbye,” she finally whispers. “You’ve got to lock time, and I have to convince people I’m not totally insane. I don’t know which will be harder.”

  Kidah grins and pulls her in for a last embrace and an avuncular kiss on the forehead. As they separate, P.J. gasps. His eyes have disappeared, and it’s like she’s looking into twin black holes. “I see,” he growls in an unearthly voice, from far away.

  Then he’s Kidah again, and his eyes glint as he smiles at her. “We have many powers in the future, and the rarest of them all is prophecy. Every once in a while I have that gift. For you, my dear, I see a long and happy life.” He raises his palm to her temple, as if administering a benediction. “A wonderful career as a graphic artist. A happy marriage to a gentle and caring man. Three lovely children. A boy and two girls.”

  P.J. looks back at him, awed and unsure. “Do you really see those things or are you just trying to make me feel better? You must know I’ll never be able to forget Jack, or any of this, as long as I live.”

  “That’s very true,” Kidah acknowledges. “But time heals all wounds, my dear. And I saw one more thing you might care to know. Your firstborn will be a beautiful baby boy, and you’ll name him Jack. When you nurse him, and tuck him in at night, you’ll think of that other Jack and be sad. But you’ll also be happy, because when we remember those we love, we keep them close to our hearts.” He glances at his watch. “Now I’d really better go.”

  P.J. nods. She hesitates, and asks in a low voice, “Is locking time going to be very painful for you?”

  “How should I know?” Kidah shrugs. “I never did it before.” He flashes her a smile. “Don’t worry about me. All my friends are gone, and I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Do you know Manhattan?” she asks. “Can I give you directions . . . ?”

  “No need,” Kidah tells her. “I’ll find my way. Goodbye, my dear.”

  A downtown bus rolls to a stop, and he gets on, and waves to her once through the window.

  P.J. watches the bus pull away and pick up speed down Broadway.

  Then she turns and walks slowly in through the iron gate of the campus and is soon swallowed up in a small throng of other college girls.

  Kidah

  The Empire State Building’s observation deck is almost closed when the old man enters the building through the revolving door and hurries through the lobby.

  “Only twenty more minutes,” the guard at the desk says, glancing up from his newspaper. He’s got the sports section open to the racing page. “It’s getting cold up there. You might want to come back tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” Kidah tells him. “Twenty minutes should do fine. Hey, not that I know anything, but if I were you I’d go with Lucky Lady in the third race, to win.”

  The guard gives him a curious look.

  Kidah steps by him into the elevator and rides the rickety car up to the top. He gets off and pauses to watch a family hurry in, the mother shushing a crying infant, the older children’s cheeks red from the cold.

  Then the wizard walks to the most deserted corner of the deck. The evening has been overcast, but suddenly the clouds part and a full moon and brilliant stars shine down.

  Kidah stands there with the great city spread out beneath him, and the Milky Way gleaming above. He drinks it in—two magnificent constellations, one man-made and temporary, the other eternal and infinite.

  “Sheesh,” he says to himself. “Sure is a beautiful night.”

  Then he closes his eyes, opens his arms wide, and begins to sing. It’s a strange, haunting song. Sometimes its cadence recalls the pounding waves of the ocean, sometimes the wind blasting through the Amazon rain forest, and sometimes an iceberg calving off from a great Greenland glacier.

  The night wind picks up and whips around him, faster and faster. Lightning stabs down out of a clear sky and strikes again and again, all around the observation deck.

  Kidah’s song grows urgent. His fingers begin moving, as if he’s sewing stitches into the mantle of darkness.

  And then his body begins to change. He stretches taller, and wider, and he also grows thinner. Soon he’s twenty feet tall, then thirty, then fifty. He becomes paper-thin, and even as he transforms, his fingers continue moving through the darkness, as if making tight, careful stitches.

  His essence spreads out over the night sky like smoke. He sings one final verse of his song, and ends with a smile. There’s a tremendous thunderclap that goes on and on. It rattles the Manhattan skyscrapers, and the Empire State Building shivers down to its foundation.

  Some in the city below are afraid that it’s a terrorist bomb.

  Others whisper a prayer, believing Judgment Day is at hand.

  But finally the thunderclap ends, and all is calm. A gentle rain begins to patter down. It continues falling through the night and stops just before first dawn, so that early risers are greeted with a bright and cheerful sunrise.

  Jair

  He wakes in darkness and for a few moments has no idea where he is. Then he hears Eko’s shallow breathing next to him, and remembers. A storm rages outside, and when lightning flashes he sees her beautiful profile turned toward him, her hand on the edge of his pillow as if she is reaching out to him in sleep.

  Jack eases himself silently out of the bed. Eko was always a light sleeper, but now that she’s pregnant, she sleeps more soundly. He manages not to wake her as he creeps across the room.

  Then he is in the hall, heading for the nearest doorway. There are no guards or watchmen on duty, because there are no enemies. He slips outside, into the storm. Cold rain falls on his shoulders and runs through his hair.

  He walks to the beach, strips off his clothes, and dives into the wind-churned waves. The ocean is warmer than the rain, and he swims straight out to sea in swift strokes. Half a mile out, he spots several large shapes darting toward him, and when he sees the shadowy triangles of their dorsal fins he fears they might be sharks.

  But then they greet him as a friend, and he knows from their playful t
elepathic tone they’re dolphins.

  He now has the ability to communicate with wild creatures—it came to him when his father died.

  He returns the dolphins’ good wishes, and hitches a ride on one of their backs.

  They speed along parallel to the shoreline, and in the flashes of lightning he sees the outlines of the palace and the sleeping city laid out gracefully on the hills. A school of flying fish skip over them, and in the distance he spots the enormous silhouette of a blue whale—the largest species of living thing the earth has ever seen. They had almost gone extinct at the Turning Point, but now blue whales are often seen from the palace, lumbering along like ocean liners.

  He hops off the dolphin’s back, and tells his fin-tailed friends that he wants to be alone. They laugh and swim off, leaving him.

  The rain slackens and he floats on his back.

  Yes, the memories still come to him.

  Night is the worst time. They start in his dreams, and linger when he wakes. Memories of a neat colonial house in a small town on the east bank of the Hudson River. A woman weeding a vegetable garden. A gentle father throwing a football in Hadley Park. And a girl with auburn hair teasing him even as she smiles at him.

  Jack looks up into the stormy night sky. Lightning flashes, and for an instant he sees a face in the dark clouds—the features of a benevolent old wizard smiling down at him as if to say, “Sheesh—nobody gets everything.”

  He is suddenly overcome with anger and regret, and dives deep beneath the surface, so far down that if he swam another few strokes he could never make it back up in time. But the anger passes and he changes direction at the last moment. When he kicks his way back to the surface he swims strongly for home.

  As he nears the palace beach, he sees a lone shadow standing on the rocks looking out to sea. He doesn’t need to see her face to know that it’s Eko.

  He smiles and waves at her, and climbs out of the water into her arms.