CHAPTER SIX
We do learn her name later that day. Valentin.
That’s what it says on the gold inscription she wears around her neck. It brings her a small sense of comfort, and she clings to the locket like Calliope holds on to her distaste for me. Until she passes out, that is.
“Well, hopefully, she’ll sleep off some of that panic,” Everest says, corralling me out of the darkened tent where she’s fast asleep and towards the once-in-a-century council meeting I’m being forced to attend.
Time travel can knock us out from anywhere between ten hours to three days, and since this was an unexpected first trip, I’m hoping she skews towards the longer end of the scale so we can figure out what to do with her.
The “council” has gathered in the main tent, but it’s a fancy term for any ghosts feeling self-important enough that day.
Historically, it’s been called by ghosts who need a quarrel resolved by the peacekeeper (me) and ends up being a short session where we come up with some sort of compromise to satiate all parties.
Unfortunately, Valentin’s appearance and the carousel’s deterioration has everyone wanting to chime in.
If the carousel is like the fair’s brain, whirling with intrusive thoughts, the main tent, currently sporting emerald-green stripes, is its heart. Today, it’s cold as ice.
“Can we get some fire in here?” I ask out loud. The fair’s conscience hums around me, but it’s muted. I stare at the hearth, which is normally ablaze, but today it sputters with effort. Around it stand at least twenty ghosts, ranging from perturbed to distressed.
“I don’t think we’re going to get much warmth,” Everest says. I swear the fair sniffles at his remark, before a tiny flame sparks to life.
“Thank you,” I say to the fair, rattled by its painful display of something so typically commonplace as a fire.
What’s next? Our food? Time travel? The fair itself?
The possibilities of catastrophes build like a looming avalanche.
“I left Valentin to rest, but we should include her in future discussions.”
“I don’t care about her,” Iris sniffs. “What’s going to happen to the carousel?”
“I’m going to make a trip tomorrow,” I say. “See if I can figure out what’s going on.”
“We are,” Everest says, catching me off guard.
“Wait, since when do you join?” Ender asks. Every ghost looks just as surprised.
Everest shrugs. “I told Ryka I’d be joining back when the rot first spread.”
“He did,” I confirm hesitantly. Deciding not to draw more attention to his involvement in our affairs, I continue. “As most of you may know, this degree of rot is unprecedented.”
“Most of us don’t know,” Ender says. It’s true: most of the ghosts are more recent occupants of the fair.
They tend to cycle in and out of resting places as they grow bored.
Only a few, like Beam, Ender, and Keshav have been here longer than me, and even they arrived during Geneva’s reign as keeper.
The history of this place is infinite, impossible to learn in full.
“We only let the knots remain for too long once, when…well, you know. And the fair’s magic slowed down. ”
I shift uncomfortably. I’d refused to go into the carousel to treat a rot in my early, early days.
I’d been so worn out from the unexpected transition in my life that I’d sat back and rejected the part of my personality that obsessively follows instructions in favor of saying ‘no’.
You’d think that was growth meant to be rewarded, but the fair suffered as a result – the candles quenched, the insular warmth of the tents dissipated, and to Beam’s distress, we had no cotton candy.
That had been enough for her to beg me to go do my job.
“That was one teeny tiny knot,” Geneva says. “This is a whole infection! I don’t think our problem will be as minute as suffering through a bit of a chill.”
“The issue is so widespread, it could threaten the stability of our entire dimension,” Keshav says quietly. “Maybe more than ours.”
“Did you not hear?” Iris asks. “My arm has been disappearing! My timeline is collapsing.”
All eyes turn to where she’s pointing at her right arm, which looks exactly the same as her left.
Ender peers at it. “It is a little more transparent.”
“Am I more transparent?” Beam says, frowning down at herself.
“I see no difference,” Geneva snips.
“I saw Iris’s arm flicker last night!” another ghost says.
“Me too!”
“We’ll keep an eye on the arm,” I interrupt as the paranoia around me balloons.
I hear other ghosts worry about vanishing heads and try not to crumble.
It’s not just the carousel I’ve been responsible for – it’s the fair and its residents as well.
Everest may be around now, but the burden of their worries, their pain, has always fallen on me and, right now, it’s growing too heavy to bear.
“And come to me if anything else goes wrong.”
“What happens if our realm collapses?” Beam asks, voice trembling. “What happens to Everest?”
“I suspect Everest will be alright,” Keshav says, clearing his throat. Even he looks anxious, which sends Geneva careening off the edge.
“You need to get this under control,” she erupts at me. Everyone straightens, sensing the storm to come.
“I am,” I hiss. “You could be more help instead of picking everything apart. You used to do this; you should understand!”
“Nothing like this happened under my reign!”
“You were keeper for a fraction of the time!”
“I could use some popcorn,” Everest jokes out loud to the fair.
“Shut up,” Geneva and I tell him in unison.
He covers his mouth with a hand, and I force myself to take deep, long breaths.
At the very least, Geneva could doubt my leadership in private, but she’s never been particularly open to that feedback.
I know I’m right: I’ve held this role the longest and that comes with handling countless hiccups.
“We are going around in circles, so I vote to adjourn for today,” I declare, forcing my shoulders back despite every instinct to curl inwards.
“Keshav, Quill, and I will continue our research at the archives, and Everest will, uh, be accompanying us into the carousel tomorrow morning. Let’s hold our theories until we gather more information, alright? ”
“We’re doomed,” Iris mutters, and everyone around her looks equally dejected.
I scowl, emulating the confidence of every single white male peer, intern, and resident that I’ve ever had to work with. “Come on, now, have I ever let you down?”
The next morning arrives so abruptly, I barely remember my head hitting the pillow.
When I find Everest waiting outside my tent, I wonder if it hit something harder instead. I know he said he’d be here this morning, but his follow-through record is abysmal.
“I’m worried about Valentin,” I confess, sleep sweeping into my eyes like sawdust. Stepping outside is a shock to the system, the bitter cold wrapping around my bones like snakes on a staff.
We typically dress light for time travel, so a thin cardigan is all I’ve slung over my long-sleeve shirt and trousers.
“She’s going to be fine,” Everest says. He’s a couple steps behind me, walking between Beam and Ender as we head towards the carousel.
Daylight’s imprints are felt across the sky; the dark violet is a softer purple, and the pure-white stars wink out one by one.
I study the halo of light around the mountain range.
“I just hope Keshav stows her in the archives if she happens to wake up early,” I say. “And if she doesn’t wake up, then he needs to keep a close eye on Iris and Geneva. Those two are up to no good; she’s a shiny new plaything.”
Everest gives my shoulder a reassuring rub. “You can’t plan for every possible scenario, doc.”
I glance over at him. “Of course I can. How do you think I’ve lasted this long as keeper?”
“By chasing all prospective successors away?” Ender asks.
“And with our help,” Beam says.
I start walking backwards, facing my companions. “You both are getting too mouthy now that we have a fourth passenger. Please remind him of the rules.”
“I know the rules,” Everest says, amused.
I ignore him. “Rule number one.”
“Leave before the string shrinks,” Beam says.
“Rule number two.”
“Prepare for all scenarios,” recites Ender.
“Rule number three.”
“No interference with the timeline,” they say together.
I ignore the lump of guilt that rises to my throat at the memory of the trinkets I’ve swiped on countless trips.
“I think I can remember those, thank you,” Everest says sarcastically.
“There’s one more,” I say.
Beam and Ender exchange a glance. I look at them expectantly.
“No talk of Everest,” Ender mumbles under his breath.
Everest frowns. “Well, that one can’t be valid when I’m coming along.”
I give him a smug smile, then spin to face the path. “I don’t see why not.”
I don’t tend to get nervous before time travel anymore, but the tainted carousel does catch me more off guard than usual.
Every day, I keep thinking it’ll miraculously heal itself, but it’s stayed relatively stagnant, like a chronic, festering wound.
Nothing about the carousel feels the way it typically does either, open and rife with the possibilities of adventure.
I can usually sense it chittering away, but right now its senses are stifled, like a clogged artery.
Up close, I scrutinize the embroidery of blackened string blockage.
Typically, we tie our Everest-manufactured string to the piece with the rot and use it to slip into the affected area.
Today, I don’t know where to begin. I spent the last day in the archives consulting with Quill and Keshav, and we identified numerous branching points using some of my research on the proximity between timelines.
The thing with time is that it’s all interlinked, non-linear, and overlapping.
There isn’t one point of inception from which this has all spread.
We have to do what I hate most: take a leap of faith.