Air Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  Kyja wanted to tell him that if he wanted to protect Marcus, the best way to do it was to bring him here. But she bit back the words, knowing what he’d say.

  The wizard smiled as though reading her thoughts. “If you care about him as much as you say you do, you will go back to bed while I think over what I’ve learned tonight. I will study the note. It may mean exactly what you think it does. If so, it will provide the solution we have been looking for. If not, we will avoid making what could be a terrible mistake. Tomorrow we can try the aptura discerna again.”

  It made sense. Kyja had known she was being rash. Maybe her feeling was wrong. She believed the wizard when he said the monastery was safe. Still . . .

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll go back to my room.”

  The wizard studied her, clearly suspicious. “You give me your word that you will wait before doing anything?”

  Kyja nodded. “I give you my word.”

  Master Therapass nodded. “At times you must choose logic over feelings. Wisdom comes with experience.”

  “I know.” Kyja ran a hand longingly over the colored window, then walked to the door. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” the wizard said and went back to studying.

  As soon as they were in the hallway, Riph Raph landed on Kyja’s shoulder, and she walked quickly to the stairs. The guard there gave the skyte a suspicious frown and touched the hilt of his sword.

  “Tell me you aren’t going to do what I think you are,” Riph Raph said, digging his talons into Kyja’s arm.

  She set her jaw. “There are times to trust your feelings. Times when logic is a bunch of hogwash, no matter what experience and wisdom might say.”

  Riph Raph huffed. “You promised the wizard you’d wait.”

  “And I will.” Kyja broke into a run, and the skyte had to flap his wings to keep from falling off. “Right until I get to my room.”

  Chapter 9

  The Will Be

  Marcus was in the hall again. “This way!” the little boy called, running deeper into the corridor. “It’s more fun the farther you go.”

  Marcus followed the boy, noticing how the paintings he passed continued to go back in time. There was one of him studying in his quarters. Him in the desert. He jogged past a couple of doors and stopped at a painting of Kyja, Riph Raph, and himself riding the motorcycle. He ran his fingers across the image, realizing just how much he missed Kyja, and looked at the closed door beside it.

  “If I go in, I’ll be . . . ?”

  “With the girl? ” The little boy giggled. “As long as you want.”

  “Back there, it ended,” Marcus said, remembering how everything had turned black inside the previous door.

  The guide shook his head. “Didn’t end,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to touch the tip of his nose with his finger. “Memory just went away when the other Marcus left. Have to stay with him if you want to stay in the memory.”

  That made sense. If this was his past, he couldn’t see things he hadn’t experienced. A thought occurred to him. “How far back can I go?”

  “How far do you want to go?”

  “Could I see my . . .” Marcus rubbed a hand across his mouth. “When I was a baby?”

  “Your parents?” The boy grinned as though he and Marcus had shared an especially good joke.

  Marcus had never known his mother or his father. Even his name wasn’t real. Elder Ephraim had given it to him when he was discovered as a baby. Marcus, after a famous bishop. And Kanenas because it was the Greek word for nobody.

  The boy held out his pint-sized fingers. “Pay me, and I’ll show you.”

  Marcus gripped the coin, his hand trembling. This might be his only chance to discover who he really was. “If I go, I can come back?”

  The guide’s smile faltered ever so slightly. “Won’t want to.”

  He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Of course I would.”

  “Nope.” The boy shook his head. “People who live in the past never want to leave it. The past is safe. It’s known. You can visit only the good parts. Skip the bad.”

  For a moment, Marcus was tempted. If he stayed in the past, he could relive all the happiest experiences of his life. He could see his family. Maybe, even more importantly, the pressure of saving a world—something he was still struggling to even comprehend—would be removed from his shoulders. If I stay here, I can’t fail.

  “You can’t succeed either.” Kyja’s voice was so clear, Marcus looked around, sure she had to be somewhere nearby.

  But it was only in his head. Yet the voice was right. If he stayed here, there was no chance he and Kyja could open the drift. He would be dooming them and their worlds to destruction. He couldn’t do that.

  “Sorry, kid.” He tossed the coin, sending it rolling down the corridor. As the boy raced after it, Marcus turned and ran in the other direction.

  At the end of the hallway, he thought he’d smash face-first into the yellow wall. Instead he found himself back in the icy pit. His hands were so numb he could hardly feel the last two coins in his palm. He turned the top one over and read, “Will be.”

  Marcus floated in a swirling mist. Not the one from the pit. This was warm and slightly damp. He tried to wave it away, but his hands seemed as insubstantial as the fog around him. He looked at his arms and legs, realizing he could see right through them. Was he dead? A ghost?

  “I give you this one chance to go back,” a soft voice said.

  Marcus turned to see a man watching him. The face was lined, the blond hair thinning, but he recognized the boy from the Is and the Was. Like Marcus, he appeared to be little more than a spirit floating among clouds of dark smoke.

  “Why would I turn back?” Marcus asked. The Is had been a dead end, forcing him to leave the monks. The Was, no more than memories disguised as reality. But, assuming this swirling smoke was the Will Be, he might actually be able to learn something here—to get a glimpse of his future.

  The transparent guide frowned, his blue eyes stern in a way neither of his earlier selves had been—as if life had taught him things he would rather not know. “The future is a fickle thing, shifting and prone to change. But go any farther, and you lock it permanently in place.”

  “That’s not possible,” Marcus said. “If I don’t like what I see, I’ll do something different. I’ll change the future.” He could feel his tongue and lips forming the words, his breath pushing them out of his mouth. But they were barely loud enough for him to hear.

  The guide stared at him wordlessly.

  Marcus squinted, trying to see through the fog. He could almost glimpse what was on the other side, but just as he started to focus, the images changed. He tried to chew on the tip of his thumb, but his teeth went right through it. Seeing even a small amount into the future might help him figure out a way out of his current mess. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?

  “Take me to the Will Be,” he said.

  The guide nodded.

  Marcus found himself in a familiar room—Master Therapass’s study. It looked even more disorganized than usual. Marcus reached out to pick up a fallen book and only when his hand moved through it did he realize he was still a ghost.

  “You are in a world yet to come,” the guide said. “Your presence is insubstantial.”

  “Where is everyone?” Marcus asked.

  The guide led him out of the room and down a hallway to a window. Marcus looked out and gasped. Terra ne Staric looked like it had been through a war. Huge chunks of the tower lay scattered on the ground. The outer wall was damaged almost everywhere, and the surrounding countryside was shredded, as if some giant dragon had raked its claws from one end to the other.

  “What happened here?” he whispered.

  The guide pressed his lips together. “The future.”

  Outside the western gate, a large group of people gathered around something that glittered in the sun. If Marcus could get down to them, maybe he could find o
ut what had happened and come up with a way to prevent it.

  “What are they doing?” he asked.

  In a blink, he and his guide were inside the crowd. Most of the people were crying or had been recently. Marcus recognized some of them.

  “I can’t believe it,” sobbed Bella the cook, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth.

  A one-armed man with a scraggly gray beard put his arm around the cook’s shoulders. “I don’t understand how this could have happened.”

  Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Something terrible had happened. He moved forward to see what they were all looking at and passed a pair of children pressing their faces into their mother’s dress.

  “Hush, my babies, hush,” the woman whispered, patting her children’s heads. But she was crying as hard as they were. It took Marcus a moment to recognize the mother as Char, the wife of Rhaidnan—the man who had given his life to save Marcus and Kyja from the zentan.

  Thinking of Kyja made Marcus realize he hadn’t seen her yet. “Where is she?” he tried to shout, but his voice barely made a peep. “Tell me Kyja’s all right.”

  The guide took his arm and pulled him through the crowd. Suddenly, Marcus didn’t want to see whatever it was the people were crying over. “No,” he tried to say, tearing at the guide’s hand. But the word wouldn’t come, and the man’s grip was too strong.

  They stood at the edge of an open hole. The leaders of the city surrounded a glittering glass box suspended above the hole. Master Therapass stood at the head of the group, looking older than Marcus had ever seen him. His eyes were dark red holes.

  Marcus didn’t want to look at the box, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze traveled from the gold handles carved like leaves to the white satin blanket inside. To still, pale arms inside. Black hair braided with flowers around a girl’s head. And finally, the face that he knew so well. The lips that had kissed him what felt like yesterday. Her eyes were closed, but that didn’t stop him from remembering what they looked like.

  “No!” he screamed. “No. Take me back. I changed my mind.”

  The guide only looked at him.

  Kyja couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her be. He’d die himself before he let anything happen to her. He had to know how this had happened so he could stop whatever had done this to her. He had to stop it.

  “Show me,” he sobbed, tears burning his cheeks.

  Now they stood in a dark, foul-smelling dungeon, in front of a barred cell. Water dripped slowly from the ceiling in a steady pat, pat, pat.

  A man knelt before the cell. It was Breslek Broomhead, the new High Lord of Terra ne Staric. “Did you do it?” the High Lord asked, his hands gripping the iron bars of the prison cell. “Did you kill her?”

  A figure sat hunched in the back of the cell, head down, face lost in shadows. Marcus lunged toward the bars. He had to know who had done this. No matter what it took, he would see that this coward would never get anywhere near Kyja.

  As Marcus reached the cell, the figure whispered, “Yes.” He looked up and Marcus fell backward.

  “No,” he said, his mouth dry. It wasn’t possible. Of all the people who might harm Kyja this one couldn’t.

  “I did it,” the person in the back of the cell said. “I murdered her.”

  Marcus felt his mind snapping. The person who had killed Kyja—the one he had to stop—was himself.

  The coin dropped from his numb fingers and rang on the dungeon floor.

  Chapter 10

  The Time of Shadows

  Maybe you should think about this a little more,” Riph Raph said, hopping from the chair to Kyja’s bed and back again. “Master Therapass seemed pretty sure that bringing Marcus to Farworld was a bad idea.”

  “Master Therapass thinks everything’s a bad idea.” Kyja walked to the balcony and looked out at the night sky. Two of the three moons were visible—an almost completely full pink circle and a green fingernail. Should she wait to pull Marcus over? She definitely didn’t want to put him in danger. But what if he was already in danger, and she did nothing about it?

  She ran her fingers along the worn surface of the stone railing. Should she try to help Marcus but risk hurting him or leave him to something that might be even worse? There was no good choice.

  Riph Raph flapped over to the balcony. “What if you can’t find him?”

  Kyja chewed the inside of her cheeks. The first time she’d found Marcus, she wasn’t even sure he existed—or if he did, where he was. She’d never heard of Earth, but she’d found him then. “It wouldn’t hurt to look for him.”

  The skyte clucked. “Why do I think I’ll regret agreeing to this?”

  “You’re not agreeing,” Kyja snapped. “You’re not doing anything.”

  Riph Raph cringed at her tone, making her feel worse than she already did. Things were happening on Farworld—none of them good. The strange weather patterns were drying up every body of water. Land and water magic had lost most of their potency. Cascade and Lanctrus-Darnoc hadn’t been seen or heard from in months. None of it spelled anything good, and yet, as far as she could see, no one was doing anything about it. They were waiting, studying, planning. It was enough to make her scream.

  “Keep an eye on the door,” she said, crossing to her bed. “I promise, if anything seems wrong, I’ll stop.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.” Riph Raph flicked his tail. “I’m not doing anything.”

  She’d soothe the skyte’s feelings later. Now it was time to act. It was either the middle of the night or slightly past. Kyja settled herself on the center of her bed, legs crossed.

  Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander. In the past, when she wanted to bring Marcus to Farworld, she’d reached for a golden rope. She didn’t know if the rope was real or imaginary, but it had always worked. Now, as she reached to find it, there was nothing.

  “Where are you?” she whispered. She pictured herself floating off the bed, through the balcony, and into the night, letting herself drift farther and farther away. She felt like a fisherman casting out her net for one certain fish. Only she had no idea where the fish was, so her net had to be extra big.

  Still nothing.

  Sweat rolled down her forehead as she reached into the dark void before her. Where was he? She’d never worked this hard to find Marcus before, never stretched so far. Little by little, she felt herself losing touch with the room she was sitting in. The sound of Riph Raph scratching anxiously at the stone floor disappeared, replaced by the smell of the outside air. The rough feel of the wool blankets against her fingers dissolved as if she was no longer in her room at all, but floating in space.

  “Marcus!” she called inside her head. “Where are you?”

  If I go, I can come back?

  The voice was so faint, she wasn’t sure she’d heard it at all. It might have been her own voice, questioning whether she was stretching too far in her search.

  Won’t want to, another voice said.

  “Marcus?” she murmured.

  A feeling came to her—one she was almost sure hadn’t come from herself. Someone was thinking . . . thinking . . . thinking what? The voice was so far away, so hard to make out. She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, trying to concentrate.

  The words came to her distantly, like the sound of an Earth radio. If I stay here, I can’t fail.

  “You can’t succeed either,” she said at once, not sure why she was saying it or who she was saying it to.

  “Who are you talking to?” Riph Raph’s words pulled her back to the room, and Kyja looked around. How long had she been sitting there? It felt like hours, but outside the balcony, the moons seemed to be in about the same positions as before.

  “I think Marcus is lost,” Kyja said. “Even he doesn’t know where he is. And I have the strongest feeling that if he doesn’t get back soon, he might never find his way out.”

  Riph Raph licked his beak and nodded. “Then go get him.”


  Marcus lay on the floor of the pit, beyond cold and exhausted. His mind ached in a way he’d never known it could—as if someone had reached into his head and torn his brain to pieces. Tears dripped down his face and froze to his cheeks.

  Let me freeze to death. Let me die here and now. It was better than the future he’d seen.

  “I won’t,” he whispered to himself. “I won’t let that happen.”

  Dully, he glanced at the last coin in his hand. It was blank. He turned it over with the tip of his thumb. The other side was blank too. Mist rolled over him—although he hadn’t heard the falls start up—and a figure in black stepped out of the fog and lifted him. He felt a blanket being wrapped around him.

  “Leave me,” he managed to get out between chattering teeth.

  “Shh,” the figure whispered.

  He felt himself being eased onto a soft bed, and he opened his eyes, expecting to see the boy again. Instead he found a woman watching him. At least, he thought it was a woman. She wore a long black robe, and her face was almost completely hidden behind a gauzy black veil. The only visible parts of her were her white hands and beautiful blue eyes.

  He was in a dark room with a shiny black floor glittering with specks of silver and gold. He rolled onto his side but saw no walls or ceiling.

  The woman leaned over him. “You didn’t choose to come here,” she said—her words a tickling breeze against his ear.

  He shook his head.

  “Yet here you are.”

  Marcus felt blood returning to his hands and feet in a painful rush. “Who are you?”

  “I thought you would have guessed.” It was impossible to read anything from the woman’s voice or eyes. “I am Time.”

  Marcus shook his head and coughed. His lungs burned. “I know. The Was. The Is. The Will Be. But when are you?”

  Instead of answering, the woman pointed a finger as white as death toward the mist they’d come through. “You can still choose any of them.”

  “The guide said I couldn’t change the future.”

  The woman nodded. “Your visit to the Will Be has set your path in stone.”