Altered (36 page)

“He can,” Albert confirms. “Do you feel it necessary?”

“How else can we liberate the people? Separate Earth from Arras?” Dante cries, the words a fervent verdict of Cormac’s fate. “The Guild’s time is up.”

Albert holds my gaze. He’s not asking us a practical question, he’s asking me an ethical one. He’s asking me to look inside myself and see how far I’m willing to go.

“If we separated the worlds, Arras would have to learn to depend on its own resources. There would be upheaval. Change,” I say softly.

“The course of evolution would begin again,” Albert replies.

“Does anyone have any clue what we’re talking about?” Erik asks, but Dante tells him to shut up. If the others are having trouble following, they aren’t about to interrupt.

“Where do we begin?” I ask.

“I can guide you,” Albert says, a sad smile peeking from beneath his mustache, “but it will be difficult. Arras is a parasitic universe syphoning Earth’s time and resources, but if the edges of Arras were bound and released, the composition of Earth would achieve critical mass, creating a rift in space-time that Arras could occupy, separate from Earth. It could heal. The looms would be useless then, but Arras would be self-sustaining.”

“And the Whorl can do this?” I ask in a breathless voice, trying to wrap my head around what Albert is telling us. If Arras was separated from Earth, both could survive. I wouldn’t have to choose which world to save, and I could prevent the growing threat of all-out war between them.

“The Whorl can tie the edges of Arras together, separating them from the looms and knitting Arras’s time into an infinite weave.” Albert knits his fingers together into a circle and holds it to his eyes. “Time will flow from beginning to end in a ceaseless circle of life.”

“That’s why we need you. We need the Whorl,” Dante says.

“Ah, dear boy, I do not have the Whorl.”

“Then where is it?” Jost demands. He’s risen from his seat and he grips the mantel. His desperation to get back to Arras and save Sebrina is written in anguished lines over his face.

“The Whorl is not a thing. It is a person,” Albert says.

“You’re the Whorl,” Dante guesses.

“No,” Albert says with a shake of his head. “She is.”

His finger points directly at me.

THE BURDEN OF HIS WORDS SETTLES DOWN on me, weighing across my chest. I don’t hear how the others react. They blur out of focus as I’m forced once again to confront responsibility and purpose. I should be accustomed to this tangled dance of power and obligation, but I feel the constriction of it. I tried to let go of the idea of saving myself, of saving Amie, but the idea of saving the world on my own—of wielding such terrible and awesome power—is nearly more than I can bear.

“Adelice.” Erik is beside me, coaxing me back to the present. His hands are wrapped, hot, around my wrists. “You okay?”

I anchor myself in his presence. Erik pushes me and accepts me when I’m still only human. If I can latch on to him and syphon his strength, maybe I can face what’s coming next.

“How can you know that?” Dante is demanding of Albert. I focus on his words, willing my mind to participate in the exchange of information.

“You said she was the Creweler,” Albert says, but he’s holding something back. I can see that.

“I was supposed to be the Creweler,” I correct. “I never finished my training.”

“So you can catch the elements and command them,” he says. “What else? There is more.”

I nod, pushing the information out of my torpid mind. “I can alter like a Tailor.”

“So genetically you have both powers,” he says.

“Yes, I must have gotten them from my parents,” I say, filling him in on the strange relationship between Dante and me. On how the time dilation has affected our lives’ courses as we lived on the disparate timelines of two worlds.

“Has your mother been tested? It would be interesting to analyze her genetic makeup, along with his—”

I stop him before the lump in my throat swells and dams my voice. “My mother is a Remnant. I doubt she’d cooperate.”

“Her mother’s genetics and mine,” Dante jumps in, “created something special, unique, like a mutation.”

“Not exactly, dear boy,” Albert says, and then pauses. “I feel especially strange calling you that now, given that you have a nearly grown daughter.”

“It’s weird for the rest of us, too,” Erik says.

“Genetic abilities skip around, appearing in seemingly strange fashion, but they’re not random. Once it became clear that I had a method of separating the worlds, the Guild worked feverishly to prevent that from happening,” Albert says.

“Why? Why would they want to remain dependent on Earth?” Jost asks. “Earth was a threat to them.”

“And an opportunity. You must not forget these were businessmen,” Albert tells him. “Earth had resources, and the Guild was uncertain we wouldn’t require more of them. But I think, truly, they were unable to divorce themselves from the possibility of this world. What if they could discover ways of using it to their own advantage later? And then there was the real need of a hiding spot should their schemes be discovered.”

“In case anyone found out the same men were running the show,” I say.

“But they had Tailors to keep that a secret,” Dante says.

“Yes, but men are fickle. Uprisings occur no matter how tightly you grip the masses in your hands. Earth was an insurance plan, but more important, tying Arras off from Earth would take away their looms. It would take away their control.

“Your story about your unusual parentage answers a lot of my questions,” Albert continues. “The Guild tried very hard to prevent you from existing.”

“And they’ve always seemed overeager to have me.” None of this was news. Dante had told me this before, but Albert had insights Dante could only guess at.

“Marriage laws, segregation, courtship appointments. It is a strange way to run a world, no?” Albert asks.

“They told us we had to be pure.”

“An antiquated means of control, but unfortunately many well-meaning parents and authorities bought into it. Those laws enabled the Guild to hide the true motivation behind their actions.”

“Which was?” Dante asks.

“Controlling the genetics of those who came into the weave,” he says. “We engineered Spinsters, cultivated the creative, life-giving nature of women, but Tailors were an unanticipated side effect.”

“How did it happen?” I ask.

“We studied boys, too. We needed to see how the experiments would affect male offspring. They did not seem to possess the necessary abilities, so we felt assured we could measure and control the populace. We could easily guess which girls might be born with the ability. Marriages were arranged, children were watched, we waited for signs.”

I recall Loricel telling me how she watched me, covered up for me. No one would second-guess her motives. It was clear she had wanted to be done with the system after decades of choosing sacrifice over self, but how had they not known I could be the thing they dreaded the most?

“So you tagged us?” Dante says with a note of disgust.

“I’m afraid so. When we realized we had misunderstood the nature of the genetic ability in boys, I saw my opportunity. A child born with both sets of the genetic makeup to weave and to alter could bind Earth off. Everything centered on that child.”

“It couldn’t have been a boy then?” I ask.

“No, only a girl could possess both genetic traits. The weaving trait refused to manifest in male children, but alteration could pass to a female. The Guild worked hard to prevent that through monitoring the population,” Albert explains.

“But I don’t understand,” Jost interrupts. “How can she have both if the abilities are both born of the same engineering?”

“The genes evolved, much in the way that genes have evolved to make us smarter, more resilient. Think of it as lines in a book.” Albert lifts a volume from the table near him and opens to a page. “We cannot have two line ones in the same book. Weaving is line one, and Tailoring, or altering, is line two. They are different lines of the genetic code. Adelice possesses both genetic lines from her parents. They are separate and unique abilities, even though on a fundamental level their structure and composition are strikingly similar.”

“And because I have both I can capture the elements needed to ensure Arras is whole—”

“While being able to tie it off, altering its fundamental makeup in the most profound way,” Albert says, his words more an intonation to the universe than fact.

“Good,” I say, blinking. “I wouldn’t want this to be easy.”

“I know it is a lot to take in,” Albert says.

“Yes, and we’re on a timetable,” Dante butts in. “We’re going to have to sort out this tangled web elsewhere.”

Albert gives him a curious look. “You assume Lucas will betray you?”

“Remember how we said we fell in with Kincaid,” I say quietly. “We gave him the slip, but it won’t take him long to track us.”

“I see,” Albert says. “If you have the abilities you claim, you know it will be difficult for me to leave this island. I will need your assistance.”

I pause and stare at him, not understanding.

“You must see it,” he prompts. “Use your sight, Adelice.”

Everything around me fades to the background, softening into a weave. The room comes to life in a snarl of colors and light. The time threads are frozen into place. I stare harder at Albert, willing myself to see his composition. It’s still difficult for me and I slow my breath and let go until he shifts into strands of the universe—strands tied to the time of this room.

“That’s why you’re allowed to live here,” I say. “They’ve bound you to this moment. This house.” Albert couldn’t leave if he wanted to, not without help from someone who had the skill to disentangle him from the weave of the house’s place and time. He was frozen in a prison of space and time.

“Say what?” Jost asks.

“He’s been altered. They’ve wound Albert’s strands into the time and matter here.” I turn pleading eyes to Erik, knowing he can see it as clearly as I can, but he gives me the barest shake of his head. He won’t reveal his secret, and I feel the burning promise I made to him in my very flesh.

“So he’s a part of the house,” Erik says slowly, obviously playing dumb.

“More or less,” I confirm for the benefit of the others.

“Can you, I don’t know, extract him?” Erik asks.

“I think I can.”

“I was hoping for a bit more assurance,” Erik says.

“I can,” I say more confidently, “with
Dante’s
help.” I want Erik to volunteer, but he’s made it clear that he won’t admit his alteration skills to his brother.

Dante nods, surveying Albert and the objects in the room.

“Why don’t you guys wait outside?” Dante suggests.

As soon as the others leave, Dante comes to my side and I see the same look of concentration cross his face. I know he can see the composition of Albert and the objects in the room, which should be enough.

“Can you see it?” I ask.

“I think so, but, Ad, I’m not as gifted as you are,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I can see Albert’s strands, but it’s obvious this is more advanced than simple alteration. You need someone with real training. Someone who knows the Guild’s handiwork better than I.” The statement peaks on the final word, and he leaves it hanging there. He knows Erik can alter, but he leaves the suggestion open.

“I know, but that’s why I need
you
,” I say with emphasis. “I can see the big picture. I can see how they’ve manipulated the time in here, and once I release it, he’ll need you to bind it off.”

“Tie it off?” Dante says, unsure.

“You’ll see. Watch his strands, once he’s released from the time of the room, he’ll be leaching time, sort of like bleeding, I guess. You have to stop the bleeding. That’s all.”

Albert in the meantime has remained in his seat, watching us with fascination.

“Are you ready for us to try, Doctor?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“I can’t guarantee anything,” I warn him.

“I understand and accept that. The mortal man in me is—admittedly—a bit afraid. Not so much of death but of pain. It was not pleasant when they did this to me in the first place. But the scientist in me is eager for the adventure. Your abilities fascinate me.”

“You say that now,” Dante mutters.

I take a deep breath and focus on the room. There are many strands at play in the composition of it, but perhaps because it’s more reminiscent of the artificial weave of Arras, I feel oddly at ease. I understand how this room exists and how Albert exists within it. He is part of the larger tapestry of the house, connected to the sluggish time strands that lie within its permanent architecture—objects locked into place and time. In short, a house. The trick will be to rend him of them quickly and with as little pain as possible. I focus harder until I see Albert, his natural time allotment interlaced with the permanent time of the house, locking him into place. I have to separate his strands and sever those of the room. If I fail, if I accidentally sever one of his natural time strands, the results could be disastrous, but I try not to think about that.

“I wish I had a hook or something,” I mutter.

“Why?” Dante asks in a shaky voice.

“I need to rip something. It would be easier.”

“How did you rip through Arras?” Dante asks.

“I was
really
pissed off,” I admit.

“Can you channel that, but maybe over at the wall?” Dante suggests. “If you severed the time over there, we could pull it through his strands.”

This is why I asked for Dante’s help. His second set of eyes proves invaluable. I’d been planning on severing the time of the room within Albert, which might have gotten messy.