The Legend of the Rift (16 page)

I
NEVER THOUGHT
I'd miss the Dream. The horrific, end-of-the-civilization Dream that puts me at the brink of death. But I do miss it now.

I want the world to be opening beneath my feet, the kingdom to be crumbling around me. I want to be frightened by griffins and vromaskis and running to save my own life.

Because these new dreams are worse.

In this one, I am floating in nothing. I don't know where to go or what to do. My body is as tiny as an atom and as large as the solar system. It is expanding and contracting in a blink of a nanosecond. I can see nothing. I can hear, smell, feel nothing, but I know I am not alone. First a blot of black whisks into my vision and disappears into a cloud. Then I see Cass, and Marco
and Eloise and Torquin. What is going on? All of them are as scared as I am.

They are calling to me without sound, pulling on me without touch. JACK, GET US OUT. JACK, DO SOMETHING.

Why me?

WHY?

I don't know how we got here. I don't know where to go. But I am the one who must make the decisions.

Somehow, it's on me. But how can I? I am Jack the Nothing. Jack the Failure.

I am the Tailor unspooling.

I am the Destroyer destroyed.

I hurtle and bounce, grow and shrink. I hear screeching tires and hospital beeps, submarines and waterfalls, howling vizzeets and whispering zombies, death threats in sitcom dialog, the Song of the Heptakiklos.

And somewhere in the mix, as if to taunt me, are the old sounds from the Old Dream. They want to torture me, too. The explosions and screams. They know that I want out. They know that I will trade this for the destruction of a continent.

So I decide.

We are going there. Now.

But I fail there, too. Because now, as clear as my hand, Aly is pushing me away.

Aly is telling me there is work to be done.

Aly is pushing me back, back to this dream, to this place
that is ripping me apart.

Where do I go? I ask.

WHERE DO I GO?

But her face fades.

Home!

Yes. Home. All I want to do is go there. My yard and my bike and all the things I like. My bed, which I see now.

I reach out to my bed. From here it is a thousand light-years away.

From a thousand light-years away I see that something is under the covers—WHO'S BEEN SLEEPING IN MY BED! So I yank the cover off and I scream.

It is a skeleton, grinning at me, its teeth chattering, surrounded by a swarm of bugs that rises into the air in the shape of a globe. A Loculus of Flies.

I clutch the Loculus closer. It's still in my hands.

Number six.

NO, it COULD have been number six. But it's not.

Because one Loculus is lost to the Rift. Because Jack the Tailor is Jack the Failure.

I remember the moment we lost it—Aly screaming, clutching it as she sinks . . . sinks . . .

And now all I can think of is that. The rift and the sword. The rift and the Heptakiklos and the island that is tilting . . . tilting . . .

O
N THE POSITIVE
side, the sun was bright, and the air smelled like the sea.

On the negative side, I felt like someone had reached into my gut, squeezed hard, and pulled me inside out like a shirt.

All in all, I would rather have been in Disney World. Or even in a vat of vizzeet spit. Anything but in the pain that I was feeling right then. I think it took me fifteen minutes to stop screaming, and another fifteen to feel like my skin had finally found my body and attached itself again.

The first thing that came into actual focus was Marco's face. I'd never seen it so contorted with pain.
“Do not. Ever. Let that happen. Again,”
he said.

I nodded dumbly. That was a no-brainer.

Where were we? I blinked until the surroundings came into focus. I could see the columns of the House of Wenders-aka-Massa. Soldiers, monks, and rebels were pouring out of the surrounding buildings, shouting to one another. I could see Torquin stumbling about, rubbing his back and arms against a brick wall as if to test if he was really there.

“What the heck just happened, Brother Jack?” Marco said. “I feel like I was just taken apart and reassembled.”

“Marco,” I said in a choked whisper, “where are Cass and—?”

Before I could finish, Marco grabbed my arm. He pulled me up, and I stumbled after him across the compound.

Not far from the cafeteria, Cass and his sister were lying like rag dolls in the dirt. As Massa surrounded them, Brother Asclepius raced out of the hospital. He knelt by them, feeling for their pulses. “Alive,” he said. “Bring them inside.”

Already a team of technicians was exiting the hospital with two stretchers. They carefully loaded Cass and Eloise on them.

As the team went through the hospital doors, I could see Aliyah and her guards sweeping down the steps of the House of Massa. She was carrying a sturdy golden box. “The Loculus of Healing is inside,” she explained, holding it toward me. “I think they need it. The blessings of
Massarym on them. I will wait. And then I have many questions for you. Go.”

I took the Loculus from her and ran to the hospital.

I hadn't a clue what had just happened, but figuring that out would have to wait.

“So, back in that chamber, you just touched that Loculus—even though you didn't know which one it would be?” Cass said, lying on a hospital bed next to his sister's bed.

I nodded. It felt great to be talking to a totally normal Cass and Eloise. The Loculus of Healing had worked on them. Aliyah and Brother Asclepius were watching their vital signs in a state of awe. To be honest, Marco, Torquin, and I had put hands on that Loculus, too. All of our bodies had taken a beating.

“I knew it had to be either Time Travel or Teleportation,” I said. “And either one would get us out of there.”

“Well, everyone around here looks the same age as when we left,” Eloise said. “So it wasn't Time Travel.”

“Good choice,” Marco said. “Better than being speared by Amazons.”

“Teleportation hurts,” Eloise said.

Torquin nodded. “Take body apart, put back together. Very painful.”

“I don't think that's what happened,” Brother Asclepius said. “That's the
Star Trek
version—you know, the molecules
dissolve and reappear like magic somewhere else. But think about it. When you talk on the phone, your voice doesn't travel. It's turned into
information
—little bits of data that are decoded at the other end.”

“That can happen with bodies?” Marco said.

“Theoretically,” Brother Asclepius said. “Atoms are atoms. They're all the same. So if the information on how to build a Marco is sent to a new set of atoms somewhere else,
they
assemble themselves. The thing is, that process would take an extraordinary amount of energy! It's a miracle you didn't die from the experience.”

“When it comes to Atlantis, some things are best left unexplained,” Cass said.

“What I don't understand is, how did you get the Loculus to place you back precisely here, on this island?” Asclepius asked. “As opposed to someplace random, like the middle of the Arctic or West Africa?”

I took a deep breath. “I'm not exactly sure. I wasn't really thinking. We went into some weird state, sort of like sleeping. I could feel my body growing and contracting. I thought we were all going to explode. Then I started thinking about Aly and Atlantis. I could see her yelling at me. It was crazy—like
she
was guiding me, telling me to go back to the island. When I concentrated on this place—boom, we were here.”

“That's how all the Loculi work,” Marco said. “It's the
think system. You think about what you need to do, and they do it.”

Brother Asclepius scratched his head. “As a man of science hired by the Massa, I have had to accept many things. But I'm afraid there's no scientific basis for the think system.”

“Can't wait to hear what you say about time travel,” Marco said.

Aliyah, who had been quiet this whole time, finally leaned forward on her folding chair. “Jack, where is Brother Dimitrios?”

The room fell into a heavy silence. I tried to think of a way to word it, but Eloise beat me to it.

“He died,” she said softly, “trying to get us the Loculus. Which was fake anyway.”

As I explained what had happened—Dimitrios's death and the news of his betrayal, Aliyah's face grew ashen. “Dimitrios . . . had a strong will and could be devious,” she said softly. “But this kind of treachery? I find this very hard to believe. Your source . . . was he, or she, trustworthy?”

I shrugged. “That wouldn't be the first word I'd use to describe Herostratus.”

“Then I—I don't know what to believe,” Aliyah said, standing up. “I will choose not to convict him without proof. And I will miss him. While you prepare for the final
part of your journey tomorrow, I will arrange a service in his memory.”

“Tomorrow?” I said. “Aliyah, I don't know if we have that kind of time.”

“If I'm not mistaken,” Aliyah said, “the last Wonder of the Ancient World is in Egypt—the site of the Lighthouse of Alexandria. How do you expect to go there?”

Her question lingered unanswered. I thought about Slippy, which we'd left at the airport in Turkey.

“Jack, if you're going to suggest the Loculus of Teleportation,” Cass said, “I will personally throw you to the vromaskis.”

“Well, you will be pleased to know I have given this some thought,” Aliyah said. “I've made arrangements with our agents in Turkey to retrieve the stealth jet from Izmir. Upon its arrival here, shortly before sunrise, we will inspect it and prepare it for your departure.”

“Sunrise?”
Cass said. “But that's nearly a half day—”

“You will use that time to peruse the writings of your hero, Wenders,” Aliyah said. “We have been examining them to the best of our ability during your absence. He appeared to have written extensively about the Lighthouse. I urge you, with your linguistic abilities, to be fully prepared this time. We cannot risk losing another of our respected comrades. Please wait here while we get the material.”

She turned and walked toward the door, with her guards in tow.

“Respected . . .” Torquin said. “Pah!”

“She's right,” Cass said. “We can't be sure Dimitrios said those things.”

“Dimitrios lying, conniving slime,” Torquin said.

I nodded. “But why would Herostratus lie to us?”

“Herostratus lying, conniving, obnoxious, delusional, pyromaniac slime,” Torquin said. “Pick your poison.”

“The dude begged us to take him with us,” Marco said. “Maybe he was trying to win our trust.”

“All he had to do was touch one of us,” I said. “He would have teleported with us.”

“Are you sure he didn't?” Cass asked.

“Would have swatted him away,” Torquin grumbled. “Good riddance.”

Now Aliyah's guards were bustling in, carrying Herman Wenders's chest. With a thump, they dropped the oaken box onto the floor.

Aliyah swept in behind them. “The Loculus of Language is inside this box,” she said. “I advise that you use it. Knowledge is power, my children, and the lack of it can be fatal. I believe my brother's death years ago could have been prevented. I would never forgive myself if I allowed you to succumb to your youthful eagerness as he did. Am I understood?”

“Understood,” I said.

“Come, gentlemen,” she said, turning toward her guards.

As they left the hospital room, Marco opened the chest
and began taking Wenders's notebooks out. I lifted the Loculus of Language from the box and placed it on the floor.

“Where do we start?” Eloise asked.

I placed my hand on the Loculus and began reading the Latin titles on each cover. There were seven altogether. On the covers of six were dates. But the seventh book was different.

I read the title aloud: “‘Notes on the Nature of Writings Left by Prince Karai of Atlantis and Retrieved from a Devastating Fire in a Chamber of the Labyrinth of Mount Onyx'—”

“That's got to be the bat guano cave!” Cass turned to his sister. “I almost died there.”

On the first page, Wenders had written an introduction.

“‘I write this in a state of hunger and despair. My sanity leaks away by the day. Praise God for the return of my Malay deckhand, Musa, having survived an abduction by monkeys. His company, and his doggedness, have kept me alive. And his retrieval of these scrolls, after a brave foray into the labyrinth of Onyx, has compelled me to believe that our work must be preserved and will be someday discovered—and that a cure for whatever befell Burt will be found.

“‘The notes that follow were written in runes of the Atlantean Late Period by Prince Karai upon returning
to his devastated homeland after a search for his brother. They give insight into Massarym's aims and fears. I have attempted to translate as best as possible, but I leave the notes themselves to some future scholar with deeper knowledge. What follows are Karai's words. Humbly, Herman Wenders.'”

I put aside the leather book. Under it, carefully folded, was a stack of brittle-looking parchment, filled with ancient symbols.

Holding onto the Loculus, I lifted the first section and laid it flat. The symbols danced before my eyes, their meanings flying up from the page to me like voices. “I—I can understand this!” I said.

Now the others were looking over my shoulder, not bothering to touch the Loculus, as I began to read slowly:

“‘I, Karai of Atlantis, do hereby record for history the diabolical plan of my brother, Massarym, who travels from city to city in search of structures in which to hide the seven Loculi containing the power to animate the most perfect civilization in the history of the world. I have learned of several locations and traveled to them myself. I believe I found one in a great city by the sea called Ephesus. A temple to the goddess Artemis, it was a work of exceeding majesty and beauty, and a fitting tribute to Massarym's pride. Upon inspection, though, I was nearly consumed by a fire set by the most wretched of human beings. Who
would destroy such a holy site? Only a criminal of basest intent, a subhuman lackey by the name Herostratus, whose loyalty was assured by Massarym with the smallest amount of money . . .'”

“PAH!” Torquin shouted, pounding the windowsill. “Now I wish he came. Want to pound him into the ground myself.”

Cass sat back, his face darkening. “Jack, are we sure he didn't touch one of us when we jumped?”

Before I could answer, the cry of a griffin ripped the evening air. Startled, we all looked out the window.

The beast fell from the sky in a swoop of red, its talons outstretched. Below it, a small, dark creature that had been near the base of the hospital now ran for the jungle.

The little thing wasn't fast enough. The griffin plucked it from the ground, screaming with triumph. As it rose into the darkening sky, the griffin's prey dangled helplessly.

We caught a quick glimpse of it as it passed our window. It was a black cat, with unspeakable fear in its eyes.

Which were bright orange.