The Time Fetch

by Amy Herrick

  “Stop looking back there!” he yelled at her. “We’ve got to move faster!”

  The melody slipped away. Danton led Feenix and Brigit past the playground. It was buried, now, under drifts of snow, an otherworldly little city of towers and slides. Then they were passing the old, abandoned toll-keeper’s booth. For a second, Brigit could have sworn she saw someone standing inside of it, peering out at them. Then the face was gone.

  It was only a matter of minutes—if minutes still existed—before they had reached what should have been the main road.

  Brigit felt Danton’s hand tighten on her own and pull her to a halt. Beside them Feenix gave a loud gasp and stopped, too. It took Brigit a moment to understand that the road had been replaced by a silent river of emptiness, a wide unmoving ribbon of nothing—a void without color or light or sound or smell. The foragers, for the moment, were nowhere to be seen; still the river was horrible to look at. It seemed to go against everything Brigit’s blood beat for. Yet, as she stared at it, it drew her forward, irresistibly, with a power of its own.

  Danton held on to her hand tightly.

  The emptiness ran in either direction, as far as Brigit could see, and where it ran there was no snow or wind. It didn’t rise high. You could see right over it, but it was much too wide to jump. On the far side she could make out the blowing outlines of trees, heavily shrouded in snow.

  Beyond the trees was a softly mounded hill rising up to fill the night sky.

  Brigit saw Feenix moving slowly toward the edge of the dark river, as if hypnotized.

  “What are you doing? Not so close!” Danton yelled, and he reached out and grabbed hold of her. He pulled her back. “Now everybody hold hands. Don’t let go, whatever you do. It doesn’t seem to be so strong when we’re touching.”

  Feenix gazed at the two of them for moment without recognition, then slowly came back to herself. “We’re toast,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “There’s got to be some way over it,” Danton said stubbornly.

  “Not unless you brought your wings,” Feenix replied.

  Danton didn’t answer her. “What’s that?” he said sharply. “I hear something.”

  Brigit heard it, too, or felt it. A thundering sound. It didn’t seem to be in the air, but moved through the ground beneath their feet. It was coming closer.

  “What?” Feenix cried. “What is it?”

  The thing, whatever it was, burst from the trees to their left, running at them. It was four-legged and huge, and it blocked out the blowing night sky, gathering speed as it came.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Hot Chocolate

  When Edward stopped one more time to look into the window of the café, he saw to his surprise that one of the armchairs seemed to have changed positions. He could have sworn that just a few seconds ago it had been in the back of the room, but now it was drawn close to the window. It was covered in worn red velvet and looked deep and deliciously warm.

  He turned and looked at the others again, and there was just the tail end of Feenix’s long black coat flying out behind her. It didn’t look as long as it used to be, maybe because she’d grown a few inches when they passed through the time rip. He wondered if he would have recognized her if he had met her on the street.

  He wondered how much older he was. Would it just be his body that had aged? Or had he actually jumped to some future point in his own life? He poked around in his mind trying to see if he had any new memories that he didn’t remember having from before. Would he even be able to recognize memories like that if he had them or would they just seem like they had always been there? What if he had become something he didn’t want to be?

  What he needed was a hot chocolate and a moment to think. He took a step toward the café. The wind must have caught hold of the door, for it blew open as he approached, just wide enough to let one person through. The warmth curled out and around him and tenderly pulled him inside.

  The door shut behind him. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but the rich aroma of ground beans lifted his spirits. A seedy, oniony scent of a toasted everything bagel filled the air and assured him that he had made the right choice. This was where he needed to be. He stamped the snow off his feet and looked around. A basket with a pair of red mittens and a red wool hat stood on the table by the door, but otherwise the place looked empty.

  He approached the counter, feeling in his pocket to see if he had any money. To his relief he found a couple of crumpled dollar bills. The man behind the counter, however, had disappeared.

  “Hello?” Edward called out, craning his neck to see if someone was back there. He could see an open doorway, which appeared to lead to a kitchen. “Hello? Anybody here?”

  On the counter was a platter of muffins, cookies, and assorted brownies. Too many choices. A cup of hot chocolate was all he needed.

  The silence was broken by a muffled sound of wailing baby. There were footsteps and then the crying stopped.

  Edward called out another hello.

  This time the man appeared. He was an older guy, wearing a white apron. He had oily gray hair pulled back into a ponytail and an earring in his ear. Edward wondered if he looked familiar. The thought of all those memories he couldn’t quite reach made him feel slightly queasy. The man was wearing an apron and wiping his hands on a towel.

  “Babies,” the man said. “Now there was an invention. I’d give my two left thumbs to get hold of whoever came up with that one. Don’t you agree?”

  Edward was momentarily stumped. He’d never given much thought to babies one way or another. “Well, yeah. They seem like they would be a lot of work.”

  “Exactly!” The man paused and looked Edward over. “And for what? Why the grand campaign for everything to reproduce itself? Why all that furling and unfurling of DNA, all that winding and unwinding, all that Sturm und Drang, fuss and puss and bloody mess when everything ends up dissolving back into nothing anyway?”

  Now, normally, Edward wouldn’t have had much problem agreeing with a rant like this, but there was something about the guy that made him uneasy. “Does seem like an awfully big waste of energy,” Edward agreed after a pause.

  Ponytail smiled. “A man after my own heart. I knew it the moment I saw you walk in.”

  This was not, for some reason, information Edward was happy to hear.

  “Hot chocolate?” the man asked, grinning.

  Nor did Edward appreciate having his mind read. He hesitated. “Sure.”

  Ponytail disappeared into the back. Edward took the opportunity to examine his surroundings and was startled to see a tall, dark-haired young man standing at the far end of the counter, gazing at him curiously. Edward had been sure that there was no one else in the room when he came in. But he immediately liked the guy’s face. It was the face of somebody who leaned on things and watched with friendly amusement.

  Ponytail returned carrying two hot chocolates towering with whipped cream. He carefully placed the cups on the counter. “Hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

  Edward said nothing. It came to him with a jolt that the guy watching from the other side of the room was himself reflected in a mirror.

  Whoaaa.

  “So you and your friends just out for a stroll in the breeze?”

  Edward quickly tore his gaze away from his reflection. It was too weird. He took a careful sip of the hot chocolate, feeling Ponytail’s eyes on him.

  “You saw us?”

  “Why didn’t they come in with you?”

  Edward was startled. Why was that any of this guy’s business? “They were in a hurry,” he replied.

  Ponytail shook his head. “It’s lunatic, isn’t it? Everybody rushing around. And then they all end up in exactly the same place they began.”

  Edward had so often had this exact same thought. We were nothing before we were born and that’s what we went back to when we died. But somehow, he felt annoyed at the way the man was implying that the two of them were old buddies who shared
a secret that everybody else was too stupid to see. He was also uncomfortable with the way the man watched him so closely every time he took a sip. Although, he had to say, the hot chocolate was good. Rich, creamy, and not too sweet. And something had been added to it that gave it a slightly peppery flavor. Cayenne, maybe.

  “So where were they going?” the man asked carelessly.

  Edward shrugged and took a quick glance at himself doing the same thing in the mirror. “What do you put in this?” he asked. “It’s got an interesting flavor.”

  Ponytail smiled. “Out of this world, isn’t it? Why don’t you go sit down for a few minutes,” he suggested, pointing at the red armchair. “You could use a little break.”

  Edward had to admit that the armchair looked really inviting. He stole a glance at himself in the mirror again. The face wasn’t bad looking at all. He saw with a flush of manly pride that it could have used a shave. As he turned away, he could have sworn that his reflection gave him a quick warning shake of the head.

  “Well, I’d like to, but I don’t think I should. I’ve got to—catch up with the others.”

  Ponytail lifted one eyebrow. “Really? Are you sure that’s what you want to do? What harm would a minute or two do? Wouldn’t you be more help to them if you restored your strength a little and then caught up with them?”

  There was something confusing about this. How did this guy know that anybody needed any help? But it was hard for Edward to think. That armchair looked more and more inviting and the warmth of the café was beginning to make him sleepy. The guy was perfectly right. What harm would a few minutes do?

  He allowed himself to be led to the armchair. From the corner of his eye he noticed his reflection following along. His posture had improved, he saw. In fact, he looked like he was in pretty good shape. Had he taken to working out?

  He sank down toward the armchair and the armchair seemed to rise up to meet him.

  Ponytail stood over him. He looked pleased with himself. “Don’t worry. I promise you they won’t get far on a night like this.”

  There was something creepy about having the guy loom over him this way, but the chair was so comfy. It was soft and enfolding and cloudlike, yet it supported him perfectly, like an adjustable mattress from a late-night TV commercial. “Who are you?” Edward asked. In the back of his mind he knew this was not only a rude but also a weird question to ask, but he suddenly felt an urgent need to know.

  Ponytail laughed. “I’ll tell you who I am, if you tell me where your friends think they’re going.”

  Edward tried to take a look at himself in the mirror, but he was too comfortable. He couldn’t bring himself to move his head. “They’re going to some meeting place.”

  “And where would that meeting place be?”

  “The Weaver’s Hill,” he found himself answering. “Up past the Third Street entrance.”

  “Aahh. Yes. I know the spot well,” the man said thoughtfully. “That gateway is certainly the closest, but hardly suitable for those of your nature. Getting past those cats requires skills your friends most certainly won’t have.”

  Edward struggled to sit up in the chair. “Who are you?” he asked again. Some part of him was angry, but the rest of him seemed to have gone far, far away. He was having trouble even getting his voice to work.

  “Does it really matter? When it is all just dancing atoms and mostly empty space?”

  What? “Who are you?” Edward repeated.

  “Well—I go by numerous names. ‘Unraveler’ would be most fitting for this occasion, I think.”

  Edward knew this sounded familiar, but now he couldn’t remember why. “What does that mean?”

  Ponytail shook his head. “Your lack of education is astounding. Don’t they teach you people about entropy and order, about the warp and woof, about the forces that create and the dark energy that levels? I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. Ignorance is one of my strongest allies. Would you mind giving me the Fetch now?” He held out his hand.

  Edward stared at it. He noticed with a shudder that the man’s thumb was on backward. “I don’t have it,” he said thickly.

  “What? You must be lying. I can smell it clearly.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Well, then, who’s got it?” he demanded with impatience.

  Edward didn’t see why he should tell this guy anything, but found the words coming out of his mouth anyway. “Danton. Danton’s got it.”

  “Danton is the tall one?”

  “Yes.” Edward made another effort to get himself up out of the chair, but his arms and legs were so heavy, and his brain was so tired.

  Ponytail watched him with interest. “What do you think you’re trying to do? Even if you were not such a sapless sort of fellow, even if you or any of your foolish companions happened to know the song to call them in, it would be too late.”

  Sapless? Who was he calling sapless? But Edward felt himself sinking. He managed to turn his head to look, one more time, for his reflection in the mirror. To his surprise, his reflection was gone.

  In another moment Edward was asleep.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Spider

  All three of them stood frozen. There was no escaping whatever it was that rushed toward them now. The creature was too big and too fast. As it drew closer Brigit saw its golden horns. They were so big, the beast would surely find a human being of no more consequence than a dandelion puff. Its hooves sent the snow flying up into the air.

  With an unexpected grace for such a big creature, it came to a stop several feet away from the wide rip of nothingness that lay in front of them. Brigit saw that it was not some sort of monster, but a deer. A stag. A huge stag with golden antlers. It stood there, its great brown sides heaving, as if it had traveled here very fast and from very far away.

  Danton hesitated only a moment before he stepped forward and stood in front of the stag. Brigit wondered, as always, where his courage came from. What a straight, clear line he moved in. How wonderful it must be to be like that. She went and stood beside him. The animal towered over them, but remained unmoving, merely gazing at them with its great liquid eyes.

  Feenix joined them.

  “What do you think it wants?” Danton whispered.

  The deer continued to stare at them.

  “I hope it’s not hungry,” Feenix said nervously.

  “Well, it’s not going to be interested in eating us.” Danton said. “I’m pretty sure they’re herbivores.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Feenix. “Of course they are.” She let go of Brigit’s hand and stepped forward, plunging her hand into her coat pocket. She pulled out the red apple she had chosen for Edward’s aunt. She held it out toward the stag.

  The stag gazed at the apple with its unblinking eyes. Then it gave a short snuffle of pleasure. It stretched its great neck forward and opening its mouth, lifted the fruit delicately from Feenix’s hand. For a moment it simply held the shining fruit in its mouth, then it bit down with a loud crunch. With one more crunch the apple was gone.

  Brigit grabbed hold of Feenix’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “Now what?” Danton whispered.

  The stag tossed its head back and gave a short snort of impatience, its breath steaming into the air. Slowly and a bit awkwardly, it lowered its hind quarters into the snow.

  “What’s it doing?” Feenix whispered.

  “I have no idea,” Danton said, puzzled.

  But Brigit thought she understood. She had heard tales of the great winter stag from her grandfather, and she was pretty sure it must be here to help them. She let go of Feenix’s hand and gathering the little portion of courage that was hers, she approached the deer.

  It was a terrifying animal, but beautiful, as well.

  “Hey!” Danton cried, following close behind her. “What are you doing?”

  She ignored him and climbed clumsily onto the great animal’s back. When she had seated herself as firmly as she could, she turned
and looked at the other two.

  “Seriously?” Feenix wailed. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

  “But of course she’s right!” said Danton. “How do you always know this stuff, Brigit? You’re brilliant. It wants to take us over the time rip, doesn’t it? That’s gotta be what’s going on. Come on, follow me.”

  In a moment he had clambered up behind Brigit. Then Feenix, grumbling, climbed up behind him.

  Danton wrapped his arms around Brigit’s waist. How strange it was that a person could have room in herself for such different feelings. She was filled with terror yet also with a kind of yearning to lean backward into him. He had called her brilliant. Just the thought of it made her face go red.

  “Are we ready?” Danton asked.

  She was distracted by the feel of the animal’s heart against her legs, a deep, steady beating like a drum keeping time. And she could smell its strange smell—a mix of some things she thought she knew, grass and moss and cold water running over rocks, and then something else she couldn’t name, something that made her blood race with anticipation.

  The stag stood and turned to face the River of Nothingness. Brigit leaned forward and threw her arms around the creature’s neck to steady herself. The others held on behind.

  “Let’s go!” Danton said loudly. Brigit felt him give the stag a quick kick with his heels.

  They were off.

  The edge of the emptiness wasn’t far. The stag trotted slowly at first, then faster. The animal’s muscles prepared for the jump. Brigit held her breath as it leaped into the air and sailed way higher than gravity would ever have normally permitted. On the stag, she somehow knew, there would be no question of getting stuck. There was hardly any of that fizzing, dissolving sensation, just a little in the fingertips and toes. It was only a matter of moments before they had reached the top of the arc and were coming down on the other side.

  They landed with a soft thump and the snow flew up around them. Then the stag was off again, carrying them along the path through the trees. When they broke out of the little woods and into the open, Brigit saw, not far off in front of them, the earth rising up into a mound shaped like a loaf of bread. The Weaver’s Hill, she thought, her heart lifting toward it. The deer did not hesitate, but raced forward. In another moment, they had begun the ascent.