Chapter 7 #2
“I-I-I…” Again and again, I shook my head. “It’s impossible,” I ended up saying. “They want us to unwin the Turning Trials, and it’s impossible. I tried unkilling this clockbeast, and it was very much interested in killing me. I can’t outrun it—its legs are too long. Impossible.”
“As is everything,” the Cheshire said—but it wasn’t.
“Nothing is impossible.” And everyone knew this.
“That is what I said,” the cat claimed—how rude. “To answer your other question, I only came to remember what you will forget, O-ra.”
The Cheshire stood up, walked toward the tree trunk and up the bark.
Backward.
“Don’t worry, I will never help you. In fact, I don’t remember saving your life later at all.”
That grin. Those sharp, sharp teeth.
“Wait.” I moved—forward, toward the tree.
Toward the cat that had already climbed back onto the branch and moved in such a strange but natural way as it spun to face me again.
“What about…what about your history, then? If you won’t help me, can you tell me what it looks like?
What I do?” Because if my tomorrow was his yesterday, somehow…
“Yes. You do everything wrong again.”
My stomach twisted. The cat grinned wider.
“So…that’s it? I’m just supposed to unkill this creature and let it kill me instead?” Because that was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard, and I would not do it. I would live in this forest forever instead.
“Perhaps,” the Cheshire said, and it lay down on the branch, put its chin over its crossed paws.
That grin never went away—and it made me sick to my stomach.
“Or-a, perhaps you could simply let the monster chase a future you instead. There’s no reason to fix all your problems in the present, is there? ”
The cat was fading away into nothing.
“Wait-wait—don’t go!” I moved closer, terrified to be on my own now, because at least this cat wasn’t coming to eat me.
It was just grinning and talking nonsense instead.
“I can’t just leave my problems for the future—I’m in a trial!
I have to unwin this game. There must be something you can tell me! ”
But the cat had already disappeared—all of it, except the teeth.
“There is…one thing,” it said, and I only saw the teeth moving slightly. “Try to remember to forget him properly this time…”
“Wait!” I shouted at the top of my voice, and I had half a mind to climb the tree to that branch, too, to grab that grin and make it stay.
But it was already gone, and the only thing it left behind was his voice in my mind:
“Enjoy the tea party!”
A scream of frustration escaped me, and I found myself kicking trees as I moved from one side to the other. Jinx always told me to control my temper when I couldn’t control it, and apparently, I still hadn’t learned how.
I kept going until I exhausted myself, then sat on the ground with my knees raised, those knives still in my hands, the clockbeast’s carcass just to my side.
The forest was quiet, and maybe it was just me, but it wasn’t as dark as before. The canopy seemed greener when I looked up—could it be that the sun was already unsetting?
I pulled out my Life Clock to check the time—seven-twelve. And the clockbeast was still on the ground motionless, the carcass mocking me.
I kept my eyes on the hands of my Life Clock, hoping to give myself time to calm down.
In it, I still had fifty-four minutes left.
Magic, apparently, cost more here than it did out there, but it was still almost funny.
The most I’d ever seen in my parents’ chronobanks was twenty minutes, and I’d thought that was a limitless amount of magic when I was a kid.
This one was definitely no ordinary chronobank. It had allowed us to gather minutes in whatever it was that we’d done in the trials. The forward trials.
Normal chronobanks didn’t allow for that. The Diamonds made them with the Sparetime they harvested from the air, and compressed it into crystals, and then attached those crystals to chronobanks to be used as fuel for magic.
A very important thing, indeed. Luckily, there was plenty of Sparetime going about—and dangerous if left unharvested, too.
It was the time that the world naturally shed.
Every passing second left a trail behind, an echo.
And every moment that never fully came left behind potential.
All that unused time lying about wasn’t good for anybody.
It could coat rivers and fields and buildings, create disruptions in time, cause all kinds of anomalies and even attract timewraiths (which were another nightmare altogether).
The chronobanks were the perfect solution, which was why everyone believed Time had sent the sentinel Diamond to the Clockrealm, too.
No others could harvest Sparetime so efficiently.
I touched the glass of the Life Clock with my thumb, tried to trace the small hands, especially the ones that told time. They moved backward—just like the cat. Cheshire. A grinning cat who spoke.
I sighed and closed my eyes.
Maybe I could sleep for a while. Maybe I could take the Cheshire’s advice and let a future me deal with the clockbeast instead.
Future me. Who was past me, in fact. But it was still in my future currently, somehow.
What a strange, strange world—I’d thought it before, and I’d think it again.
Future me.
Something about those two words.
My mind ran away from me quietly, slowly at first, then all at once.
I could have passed out, or maybe even fallen asleep for all I could tell, but in my mind, I was falling down this large hole in the ground, and I saw the strangest things—shelves and books and potions—and the cat.
Cheshire with his impossible grin and senseless words.
I live backward, O-ra—just the way he said my name.
I only came to remember what you will forget—which was what, exactly?
I already didn’t remember so much, and I didn’t even know how much I didn’t remember.
Let the monster chase a future you instead—I was a future me now, from then, was I not?
Future me.
A clock ticked somewhere in the shelves of this tunnel that went down-down-down. Only in my mind, of course. But a clock ticked and a hand turned forward, not back. Not like mine.
My eyes opened. I held my breath as the smile stretched my lips wider and wider until I had a grin to rival the Cheshire’s.
Because I knew exactly what he’d tried to tell me, even if he didn’t say it in plain words.
The knives forgotten, I reached for the pouch again, put the clockbeast’s head on that raised root near the lantern, and got to work.
It cost me seven minutes’ worth of Sparetime to replace the gears I’d broken this time, but it worked. I straightened the hands with my fingers as well as I could, then put the face back in place, and wound the crown—ten minutes later. Ten minutes into my current future.
Then I pressed the crown in place and waited for a tick.