CHAPTER TEN #2
I’d almost forgotten that the eclipse was approaching so quickly – the fair’s night sky is an overlay of the skies across dimensions, but this eclipse exists solely in this space.
Normally, there are a few stargazing events leading up to it, but it’s either been quiet or we’ve all been too distracted to notice.
Scrying during the eclipse wouldn’t have been at the forefront of my mind either way.
Everyone is looking at me expectantly, and I hope to the powers above that my guilt isn’t etched across my features.
Have you gotten that far with your spell? I ask her. We haven’t spoken about her work since I returned from Troy.
Far enough, Quill says. And this girl, she is fresh.
Her ties to her timeline are strong, deeper than any object you’ve brought back to me.
It should sort out the problem of sentimental value that we’ve faced with all your buttons.
Once we establish that connection to her home, I can build on it to open a channel through the carousel.
How do I explain this to them? I ask. Would it raise suspicion, revealing that Quill’s been working on a way to intentionally open portals through the carousel? Would they all tie it back to me? I make the split-second decision to keep this fairly vague. Quill, after all, is always up to something.
That I am, Quill says, pleased.
I suck in a deep breath and begin relaying her plan, careful with every word I offer.
Geneva’s too sharp for me to slip up and show that this is something I’ve been working on with Quill.
Ender becomes alert, his gaze shifting warily between Quill and me.
I give him a short shake of the head. Later.
“Quill can scry?” Beam asks, floating above my hand. “Why haven’t you told me this before? We could have looked at dinosaurs!”
Tell the little one that unless she has a memento from the Mesozoic Era, I’m unable to assist her. And that she still would not be able to ride a triceratops, Quill says.
“How does scrying work?” Valentin asks, uncertain whether to direct the question to the book or to me.
“You need an object from the time period,” I explain, slowing my speech so it seems as though I’m repeating information as Quill relays it to me.
It’s easier to disguise how my breath hitches.
This is my trump card, my most cherished secret, and I can only hope no one is picking up on the broader implications.
“And you still have your clothes, your jewelry, and they’re fresh.
Traces of your life are all over it. This connection will be heightened on the night of the eclipse, and with Quill’s help, we should at least be able to answer the question of who you are and where you come from. ”
And with any luck, how we can take her back.
And maybe me, as well.
Careful, Quill warns. You’re not the same as her. She was brought here against her will, and the threads of time need untangling around her presence. Even if we find out where and when she’s from, it does not guarantee a path home. We have never succeeded in retracing your footsteps.
I wince, then school my expression when I catch Geneva studying me. Ultimately, Quill is right. Even if we do succeed for Valentin, it doesn’t mean we’ll be able to replicate the effort for me.
It is still the best chance we have, Quill says gently. I, for one, am eager to see how much we can uncover. The carousel has never communicated with us like this. Don’t you want to know what it has to say to you?
It’s true. We’ve dealt with the carousel’s displeasure in the form of food options being limited, or candles being extinguished, but ghosts vanishing? Timelines going extinct? We’re grappling with consequences I’d never imagined.
Even Everest is worried, and he laughed when a ghost held an axe to his throat.
“Any time you’d like to clue us in would be wonderful,” Geneva says, pressing a long, manicured nail into her cheek. “None of you were raised with any manners.”
I jump. “Sorry, we were just discussing logistics for the eclipse–”
Such a good liar, Quill purrs.
“And how we can go from scrying to actually bringing Valentin home. We’ve never been able to choose our destination before, but that’s a hurdle for later.”
“But shouldn’t the carousel lead us that way?” Valentin asks. “I thought you said it points you in the right direction?”
“Sure, it’ll take you back at some point, but that could be tomorrow or a century from now,” I say. “Time is a flowing river, to the carousel; it’s constantly moving, and in no rush.”
The tick in Ender’s jaw tells me that he knows the details of this conversation that I’m keeping hidden.
“The eclipse is in two weeks,” I say. “We will embark on another trip next week, and maybe we’ll be saved the trouble of scrying and get you home sooner.”
“Am I going on this trip?” Valentin asks.
“Maybe she should wait,” Ender says nervously. “The last one did not go as planned.”
“And you should stay for the eclipse,” Beam says, twirling in the air. “It’s the best day at the fair. We have music, and drinks, and all the ghosts become real–”
“We’re already real, we’re just more corporeal,” Ender amends, but his face lights up as well. “Without any energy, that is. We’re warm again. It’s my favorite day too.”
“That sounds lovely,” Valentin says uncertainly. “What do the rest of you think?”
Keshav lowers his head towards me. “Ryka is keeper; it’s her call.”
What do I do? I ask Quill, panicking.
You’ve done quite alright so far without asking me, Quill huffs.
I also haven’t dealt with this much uncertainty.
I don’t doubt my abilities to keep this place up and running when everything proceeds as it should; what’s so destabilizing is how many variables I’m unable to parse out or control.
Should we bring Valentin with us? We will have to, eventually, in order to return her.
What if we end up in her time without her?
What if we take her somewhere else and lose her?
The tree of possibilities is dense, obscuring my vision with crisscrossing branches and leaves with serrated edges.
Quill sighs. Your entire life has been uncertainty. The difference has been in the way you see it.
I don’t come to you for platitudes, I reply.
Pass me to the little one, you’re being ungrateful again.
“Beam, she’s all yours,” I say, pulling away.
“As for Valentin, I think it’s best you stay behind during this next one.
Ender is right: we need to see if we can accomplish a normal trip before we bring you along.
You can enjoy the eclipse revelries, and with good luck, we’ll know who you are by the end of it. ”
“Ah, yes, that famed luck,” Geneva says. “Because we’ve had so much of it of late.”
I slump in my chair. “I’d like to think we’re long overdue.”
The next day, Beam floats into my tent to inform me that Everest is back and wants me to bring Valentin down to the river.
I hate the little prick of relief that spreads through me like an injection, leaving me sore and aching.
It’s impossible to ignore his absence, even when it’s for such a short period.
Last night, I missed his input during the conversation, continually underestimating how much he does to keep me anchored among the spirits.
“Is Calliope going to be there?” Valentin asks.
We’re walking down the treacherous trail that leads to the river, the lean light from the early sunrise our saving grace.
I grimace. “She’s the primary guardian of the river, so yes. But Everest will be there, so you don’t need to worry; she’s pretty good about listening to him.”
“But you avoided going down there until recently.”
Valentin is catching on a lot quicker than I’ve given her credit for. “She doesn’t have centuries worth of pent-up anger against you. And we’ve made up, sort of.”
As in, she hasn’t tried to charr me recently despite having the perfect opportunity.
“What happened, again?” Valentin asks, letting out of a puff of air as she hops down a large rock.
I’m grateful that she’s walking ahead of me, so she doesn’t see my cheeks flush. I wipe the film of sweat above my brow. “Everest and I had an incident forever ago. She hasn’t forgiven me for it.”
“Must have been some incident,” Valentin muses, evidently curious but too polite to pry.
I hope the ghosts pick up on her manners, because anyone else would’ve been down my throat about a story that I do not want to tell.
Already, the memory of my fingers grazing Everest’s skin sets off clanging bells in my head.
I change the topic. “So, did anything else come back to you?”
“I think I dreamt of my previous life last night.” Valentin winds her necklace around her fingers. “I woke up with this feeling of knowing and belonging, and it was terrifying to realize that I wasn’t back in my bed. And then it all slipped away so quickly, I couldn’t hold onto it.”
I can’t imagine what that would be like, to wake up one day and forget this place, the stability it imparts on my bones.
What would I dream of, I wonder? Egging Beam on as she provokes Quill in the archives, demanding to see dinosaurs and fairies tucked away in snow-crested woods.
Or would it be a warm nightmare: Ender relentlessly pursuing me until I listen to him explain in detail the difference between Doric and Corinthian architecture?
Would I wake up with a pit in my stomach if I’d dreamt of Everest, smiling at me in my tent, holding a mass of time in his hands like a dying star, only for it to vanish upon waking?
It’s ineffable, the people you trust with the mundane moments. The safety blanket they throw on you when you’re cold at night. Valentin looks like someone who’s been stripped of it, and I desperately hope that whatever Everest has up his sleeve helps her take a step forward.