Beyond the Wall of Time

by Russell Kirkpatrick

  Little of the Conch remained. Hard to believe this scattered wreckage had transported them north such a short time ago. Anomer wondered what had happened to the passengers, what their last moments had been like. The woman who had been sailing north to visit her sick mother, had she been battered to death below decks in her first-class compartment? Did the Fallows family, whose youngest daughter had caught a fever and died on the voyage, end up being washed off the deck by a huge wave? Did they die in each other’s arms, or alone amidst towering waves? From what Cylene had said, there was none alive bar she and Kidson by the time the wreck fetched up on the coast. It would have been a terrifying last few hours, he had no doubt.

  He joined the scholar in picking through the wreckage, searching for Noetos’s pack and their other possessions. Noetos had reduced the vessel to pieces the size of his forearm or smaller, the result of a detonation of magic so strong it had knocked Anomer to the ground where he stood at the far end of the beach. A few larger beams lay together further up the beach, towards the forest, and the two searchers focused their efforts there.

  There were a few heartening finds. Anomer’s own sword and some of his clothes lay under a pile of decking, along with a couple of Mustar’s shirts. As the searchers sifted through the wreckage a raft made of clothes and sailcloth floated in on the waves. And Morayle let out a whoop, holding up the Sword of Roudhos. After that, their returns diminished.

  As the sun touched the treetops, Arathé hailed his mind.

  Brother, it strikes me there’s a better way of searching, she said. The huanu stone is anti-magical, right? And we were taught in Andratan that everything has its own magical quotient, its essenza. He nodded mentally to her. So if you search using magic, you should be able to sense the absence of magic in a specific place.

  Like using torchlight to find something lost in the dark? He imagined having a magical sense that could sweep over the beach, and instantly found he could see magic.

  It was breathtaking.

  The nearest he could come to describing what he could see was a lattice of thin golden threads matting the landscape, connecting everything with everything. No, not everything: the threads were thickest between the individual pieces of the shipwreck; because, Anomer supposed, they had until recently been parts of one thing. Threads ran through the air, though there were not nearly so many and they appeared much thinner. Something about the thickness was important, though he had no idea what. He doubted it mattered to the task at hand. Larger objects, those composed of many things, were lumps of magical gold, node-like junctions of thousands of threaded pathways.

  Beside him, Moralye stooped, lifted and peered, oblivious to his amazement.

  This may be what Lenares sees, Arathé remarked, her strength trickling in union with his. If so, I can understand why she is so different from the rest of us.

  I don’t see any obvious gap, Anomer said, trying to focus on the mundanity of their search. The threads seem to be evenly spread across the beach.

  Have you looked in the water?

  No; I never thought it might have been thrown into the sea.

  He turned to gaze out on the placid bay, and immediately saw what he was looking for: an absence, a place where the threads melted into nothingness.

  “Are there toothwhales?” Moralye’s voice intruded upon his inward vision of splendour.

  “Toothwhales? I’ve not heard of such things. What are they?”

  “Good.” She nodded in obvious relief and waded in the direction he pointed.

  She worked through a tightly packed zone of debris, taking a wide berth around a knot of bobbing bodies. Anomer wondered if they were from the Conch, if they had made it through the storm only to die as the ship cast itself onto the beach. Would he recognise them if he looked closely at their cold faces? This led to thoughts of Cylene and he tried to think of something else.

  “Keep going forward,” he called to her as the water reached her waist. “Forward; about ten paces more. Left a little, to your left. About there.”

  She seemed to stand still for some time, the waves surging around her chest. Anomer guessed she was feeling the sandy floor with her feet.

  “I have something!” she cried.

  “Did you mean sharks?” he asked her.

  “What?”

  “Sharks. Big fish with very sharp teeth. Is that what you meant by toothwhales?”

  Moralye froze in the act of reaching down into the water. “Yes,” she said. “Do you have any of those?”

  “Not around here,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. “We see them out beyond The Rhoos sometimes, shadowing the Neherian fleet, but they don’t often come inshore. Water’s not deep enough for them.”

  She clearly didn’t find this at all comforting. “They are so large that this depth of water cannot sustain them?”

  Anomer noted the quaver in her voice. He didn’t answer her.

  You are such a stupid brother, Arathé said to him. He shot back a mental agreement.

  “See if you can pick up the pack,” he called to Moralye.

  She grimaced at him, then leaned over until her head practically touched the water. Clearly, she still could not reach the pack.

  The next wave approached her.

  “Moralye, watch out,” he called.

  She jerked up straight, eyes wide, her head turning left and right.

  “Just a wave,” Anomer said. “Look, I’m coming out to help you.”

  Such a clever boy, Arathé said. Frighten her when she’s feeling vulnerable, then emphasise her weakness by offering to help. Such wonderfully sensitive creatures, males.

  Aye, and females show such good sense by distracting people from the task at hand. He started into the surf, which was surprisingly warm.

  Moralye bent over again, resignation on her face, and was struck by the next wave. With a squeal she disappeared.

  “Damn,” Anomer breathed, and began to run towards her.

  A moment later she emerged, one arm held high. “I have it!” she called, then coughed and spat seawater from her mouth.

  He joined her in the surf and together they stared at the green-stone carving of his sister. Arathé looked too, using his eyes. It must have burst free of Father’s pack, he said to her.

  Not very prepossessing, is it, she said. Not for something that has caused so much trouble.

  Something rippled across the magical lattice.

  Things don’t have to be prepossessing to cause trouble, he answered her grimly.

  Did you see that? she sent, interrupting him.

  What? he replied, just as a larger ripple sped across their golden vision.

  That. What is it?

  He stared in the direction from which the ripples had come. There, in the sky, far out to sea, was another absence of magic: a vast circular maw where threads ended as though severed by knives. Faint stars were visible within the hole in the sky, a window to another place.

  Moralye tugged his arm. “Are we going to go back to shore, or shall we wait for the toothwhales?”

  “We’re going back,” Anomer said hastily. “We need to hurry.”

  Another ripple began to form below the hole in the sky. Anomer knew they were in danger, but the sheer size of it kept his eyes fixed to the spot. Arathé shrieked a warning.

  “I see it, sister,” he said aloud. “Come on,” he added, turning to Moralye. “Run!”

  The huge ripple struck just as they were leaving the water. The magical lattice billowed up into a mountain, then surged over them. A moment later the earth shook, knocking them both to the ground. Beside him Moralye screamed. Somewhere nearby his sister emitted a high-pitched whine. He himself bellowed in fear. The shaking intensified, pulling him left and right, throwing him into the air and dashing his head into the surprisingly hard sand, once, twice and again.

  He tried to stand, but the earth kept throwing him back down. He caught a glimpse of Moralye kneeling in the shallow water some distance away, though s
he had been beside him a moment ago.

  The sand collapsed beneath him.

  For a moment he visualised himself falling into a bottomless pit, but he found himself in a hole a foot deep, the sand below him hot to the touch. He scrambled out of the depression and clung to the ground as the tremor continued.

  Another ripple surged past.

  The ground heaved. Sand billowed into the air. Anomer found himself lifted off the ground as though bucked from a horse. His landing knocked the wind from his chest.

  The earth groaned like a wounded animal: the sound was deafening. A deep grinding noise came from somewhere beneath him and he levered himself to his feet in fear. Then his eye caught something that disoriented him further. The trees in the coastal forest were moving southwards relative to the beach.

  With a violent jerk the further part of the forest relocated itself a dozen paces to his right and some indeterminate distance further away. The motion was accompanied by a noise that seemed to exploit every pitch his ears were capable of hearing, from a deep growl to a shrill scream.

  Booms, rattles, crashes and bangs surrounded him.

  Beside him the sand began to move. He rolled away in a panic, then stood to see the sand fountaining up as though it was water forced through a pipe. All over the beach the same thing was happening. The booming and banging continued; the remaining upright trees began to crash to the ground. Another shake knocked the legs out from under him.

  Above the beach, the hole in the world stared down at him like a giant dark eye.

  The shaking began to slacken.

  Arathé? Sister?

  Here, Anomer, she said, and stood up from the place in the forest where she’d been thrown.

  Are you hurt?

  Bruised, she said. Duon is awake.

  I’m not surprised.

  Another tremor rippled across the beach and he fell to his hands and knees.

  A moment later Moralye had an arm around him. “Anomer, are you all right?” she asked.

  He nodded, and the two of them struggled across the sand towards his sister, who had Duon in tow.

  The four of them clung to each other.

  “When will this end?” Moralye whimpered.

  “When we end it,” Anomer said.

  Duon probed a bloody scrape on his cheek. “The gods are too powerfu1.”

  “Not powerful enough to have killed us yet,” Arathé signalled.

  “No, but powerful enough that in time they will break the world,” Moralye said.

  Anomer looked at their crazed surroundings: fountains still heaving sand into the air, the coastal forest flattened, the bay choppy with waves heading in every direction.

  “Where is Cylene’s body?” he asked.

  Noetos had no memory of anything since he’d laid Cylene on the beach. He supposed he’d been walking about the forest. Nothing else would explain the scratches and bruises on his arms and legs, no doubt from repeated encounters with fallen trees. He’d lain face down on the pine needles for some time after the last fall, heedless of anything around him, which was where the corpse of Dryman found him.

  Thick fingers curled around his shoulder and jerked him to his feet. At any other time, shock would have claimed him at a confrontation with a dead man; however, the fisherman was so drained he could stare into Dryman’s face with equanimity.

  Dryman’s face, yes, but it was not Dryman who stared out of those dark eyes. The eyes crinkled a little and the head tilted to one side, as though the body’s occupant was somewhat puzzled by what he saw.

  “You are the fisherman?” asked the mouth in a well-modulated voice. Dryman’s voice, but not his inflections. Someone else used the mercenary’s apparatus.

  “You’ve done the voice well,” Noetos replied. His heart burned with an icy fire; all he wanted to do was to goad the god standing before him. He cared nothing for the consequences. “I’m not so convinced by the way you wear the body.” He screwed his face up theatrically. “It looks a little… large for you.”

  At these words, the tiny muscles normally continually mobile in a face froze for a moment. “Answer my question,” the thing said, in a voice designed to command.

  It moved Noetos not an inch. “You’ll need to work on your presence,” he said, and sneered at the god-monster. “What is it like to spend eternity on the far side of the Wall of Time? Plenty of things to do there? Interesting people to talk to?”

  At this moment he did not fear any outcome. Finally, a game he could not possibly lose.

  “I will not ask again,” the voice said.

  “That is fortunate, for I am already bored with you. Go about your business.”

  The thing’s mouth twisted cruelly. “Did you enjoy watching the hire-girl’s death, fisherman? Did you take as much pleasure from it as I did in killing her? Oh, it was so touching, seeing you and her reunited; what else could I do but await my chance to slay her the moment you let her out of your sight?” The blue lips barked a laugh.

  No conscious thought. Duon’s sword was out of its scabbard and in his hand, the first cut underway, even before Noetos realised he was angry. He took the corpse’s left arm off at the shoulder, surprised to meet no resistance, but did not stop his attack.

  “Pain anchors me to this world,” the thing said, as clotting blood dribbled from the wound. “Kill this body and you may well—”

  Noetos had no will to listen. Everything was bent on chopping the unnatural life out of the thing that had killed his Cylene. His third cut took the corpse in the mouth, effectively silencing it.

  The body took some time to die.

  Noetos stood over it, breathing heavily, and watched the life ebb from its eyes.

  “I am enjoying this,” he whispered to it.

  The body settled on the ground with a sigh like escaping marsh gas. Just after the moment of death, the few birds in the forest rose up from their perches and flew off in a flurry of wings.

  A moment later the ground heaved.

  The sand had ceased its strange fountaining, leaving miniature volcanos dotted across the beach, each one collapsing a little more with every aftershock. The forest around them was silent save for the rustle of leaves whenever the earth shook.

  Could you have used magic to protect us from the quake? Duon asked her.

  Those were the words his question translated to, but within the question was laced a genuine interest, not a fearful demand that she protect him. She could see it was neither thoughtless nor malicious.

  I did not think to use magic, she replied. A trained magician’s first instinct would be to employ a shield. I don’t think anyone would be capable of actually defusing the earthquake itself.

  To have been a trained magician would have meant learning how to exploit others. This you did not want to do. I approve.

  Yet I do it all the time. It seems there is a new crisis every hour of every day. I took from you what I would not take from those poor prisoners in Andratan.

  You took nothing, he sent. I gave it.

  Such intensity, she thought, and held the idea deep in her mind, not allowing it to leak into her surface thoughts. I thought he was such a weak man, dry and passionless, when first I met him. Yet he accompanied my father and aided him in his defeat of the Neherians, and confronted his Emperor even though he knew the man had become a god.

  I could have killed you without meaning to, she sent. Could have drained you dry.

  No one was thinking clearly at the time. All we wanted to do was to protect Cylene. We failed. Arathé, if we cannot even protect ourselves, how can we overcome the gods?

  She mind-smiled at him. Husk has given me some ideas, she said, but did not elaborate.

  You’re worried about your father. I know you want to go searching for him, but if you do, he may resent it. I’m sure he’s safe. You still have a connection to him, so you would know if he was in serious trouble.

  Only if he asks for help.

  You’re right; we should try to find h
im.

  Despite this thought, she could see he still wasn’t sure.

  Cyclamere’s most likely with him, he sent.

  She had forgotten that. Oh yes, the man who trained him. He’ll be a levelling influence, for certain.

  Perhaps the Padouki removed Cylene’s body from the beach.

  During an earthquake?

  Duon had a wonderful heart, but sometimes she wondered about his common sense. Actually, she supposed, the fact that they were here was compelling evidence that none of them had any common sense.

  Then who took it?

  Duon, I was thrown clear into the forest. Cylene may have ended in the sea, or further in the trees. She might have been buried by one of those sand fountains. Of all our troubles, her missing body is low on the list.

  She sensed the fright in his mind before he expressed his thought. In a very odd moment, she shared his vision: he was looking out over the bay as he spoke, and she saw it through his eyes while facing towards the forest. The ocean was emptying of water. The crazy phenomenon was accompanied by a loud sucking noise.

  Where is it going?

  At that moment, in a reversal of the previous sensation, she felt Duon look through her eyes to see her father stagger into view.

  Noetos lumbered forward like a bear, blood streaming from a cut to his scalp. Eyes wide and unfocused, he didn’t seem to notice his children rushing towards him.