The Time Fetch (17 page)

“There’s got to be some way over it,” Danton said stubbornly.

“Not unless you brought your wings,” Feenix replied.

Danton didn’t answer her. “What’s that?” he said sharply. “I hear something.”

Brigit heard it, too, or felt it. A thundering sound. It didn’t seem to be in the air, but moved through the ground beneath their feet. It was coming closer.

“What?” Feenix cried. “What is it?”

The thing, whatever it was, burst from the trees to their left, running at them. It was four-legged and huge, and it blocked out the blowing night sky, gathering speed as it came.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hot Chocolate

When Edward stopped one more time to look into the window of the café, he saw to his surprise that one of the armchairs seemed to have changed positions. He could have sworn that just a few seconds ago it had been in the back of the room, but now it was drawn close to the window. It was covered in worn red velvet and looked deep and deliciously warm.

He turned and looked at the others again, and there was just the tail end of Feenix’s long black coat flying out behind her. It didn’t look as long as it used to be, maybe because she’d grown a few inches when they passed through the time rip. He wondered if he would have recognized her if he had met her on the street.

He wondered how much older
he
was. Would it just be his body that had aged? Or had he actually jumped to some future point in his own life? He poked around in his mind trying to see if he had any new memories that he didn’t remember having from before. Would he even be able to recognize memories like that if he had them or would they just seem like they had always been there? What if he had become something he didn’t want to be?

What he needed was a hot chocolate and a moment to think. He took a step toward the café. The wind must have caught hold of the door, for it blew open as he approached, just wide enough to let one person through. The warmth curled out and around him and tenderly pulled him inside.

The door shut behind him. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but the rich aroma of ground beans lifted his spirits. A seedy, oniony scent of a toasted everything bagel filled the air and assured him that he had made the right choice. This was where he needed to be. He stamped the snow off his feet and looked around. A basket with a pair of red mittens and a red wool hat stood on the table by the door, but otherwise the place looked empty.

He approached the counter, feeling in his pocket to see if he had any money. To his relief he found a couple of crumpled dollar bills. The man behind the counter, however, had disappeared.

“Hello?” Edward called out, craning his neck to see if someone was back there. He could see an open doorway, which appeared to lead to a kitchen. “Hello? Anybody here?”

On the counter was a platter of muffins, cookies, and assorted brownies. Too many choices. A cup of hot chocolate was all he needed.

The silence was broken by a muffled sound of wailing baby. There were footsteps and then the crying stopped.

Edward called out another hello.

This time the man appeared. He was an older guy, wearing a white apron. He had oily gray hair pulled back into a ponytail and an earring in his ear. Edward wondered if he looked familiar. The thought of all those memories he couldn’t quite reach made him feel slightly queasy. The man was wearing an apron and wiping his hands on a towel.

“Babies,” the man said. “Now there was an invention. I’d give my two left thumbs to get hold of whoever came up with that one. Don’t you agree?”

Edward was momentarily stumped. He’d never given much thought to babies one way or another. “Well, yeah. They seem like they would be a lot of work.”

“Exactly!” The man paused and looked Edward over. “And for what? Why the grand campaign for everything to reproduce itself? Why all that furling and unfurling of DNA, all that winding and unwinding, all that Sturm und Drang, fuss and puss and bloody mess when everything ends up dissolving back into nothing anyway?”

Now, normally, Edward wouldn’t have had much problem agreeing with a rant like this, but there was something about the guy that made him uneasy. “Does seem like an awfully big waste of energy,” Edward agreed after a pause.

Ponytail smiled. “A man after my own heart. I knew it the moment I saw you walk in.”

This was not, for some reason, information Edward was happy to hear.

“Hot chocolate?” the man asked, grinning.

Nor did Edward appreciate having his mind read. He hesitated. “Sure.”

Ponytail disappeared into the back. Edward took the opportunity to examine his surroundings and was startled to see a tall, dark-haired young man standing at the far end of the counter, gazing at him curiously. Edward had been sure that there was no one else in the room when he came in. But he immediately liked the guy’s face. It was the face of somebody who leaned on things and watched with friendly amusement.

Ponytail returned carrying two hot chocolates towering with whipped cream. He carefully placed the cups on the counter. “Hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

Edward said nothing. It came to him with a jolt that the guy watching from the other side of the room was himself reflected in a mirror.

Whoaaa.

“So you and your friends just out for a stroll in the breeze?”

Edward quickly tore his gaze away from his reflection. It was too weird. He took a careful sip of the hot chocolate, feeling Ponytail’s eyes on him.

“You saw us?”

“Why didn’t they come in with you?”

Edward was startled. Why was that any of this guy’s business? “They were in a hurry,” he replied.

Ponytail shook his head. “It’s lunatic, isn’t it? Everybody rushing around. And then they all end up in exactly the same place they began.”

Edward had so often had this exact same thought. We were nothing before we were born and that’s what we went back to when we died. But somehow, he felt annoyed at the way the man was implying that the two of them were old buddies who shared a secret that everybody else was too stupid to see. He was also uncomfortable with the way the man watched him so closely every time he took a sip. Although, he had to say, the hot chocolate was good. Rich, creamy, and not too sweet. And something had been added to it that gave it a slightly peppery flavor. Cayenne, maybe.

“So where were they going?” the man asked carelessly.

Edward shrugged and took a quick glance at himself doing the same thing in the mirror. “What do you put in this?” he asked. “It’s got an interesting flavor.”

Ponytail smiled. “Out of this world, isn’t it? Why don’t you go sit down for a few minutes,” he suggested, pointing at the red armchair. “You could use a little break.”

Edward had to admit that the armchair looked really inviting. He stole a glance at himself in the mirror again. The face wasn’t bad looking at all. He saw with a flush of manly pride that it could have used a shave. As he turned away, he could have sworn that his reflection gave him a quick warning shake of the head.

“Well, I’d like to, but I don’t think I should. I’ve got to—catch up with the others.”

Ponytail lifted one eyebrow. “Really? Are you sure that’s what you want to do? What harm would a minute or two do? Wouldn’t you be more help to them if you restored your strength a little and then caught up with them?”

There was something confusing about this. How did this guy know that anybody needed any help? But it was hard for Edward to think. That armchair looked more and more inviting and the warmth of the café was beginning to make him sleepy. The guy was perfectly right. What harm would a few minutes do?

He allowed himself to be led to the armchair. From the corner of his eye he noticed his reflection following along. His posture had improved, he saw. In fact, he looked like he was in pretty good shape. Had he taken to working out?

He sank down toward the armchair and the armchair seemed to rise up to meet him.

Ponytail stood over him. He looked pleased with himself. “Don’t worry. I promise you they won’t get far on a night like this.”

There was something creepy about having the guy loom over him this way, but the chair was so comfy. It was soft and enfolding and cloudlike, yet it supported him perfectly, like an adjustable mattress from a late-night TV commercial. “Who are you?” Edward asked. In the back of his mind he knew this was not only a rude but also a weird question to ask, but he suddenly felt an urgent need to know.

Ponytail laughed. “I’ll tell you who I am, if you tell me where your friends think they’re going.”

Edward tried to take a look at himself in the mirror, but he was too comfortable. He couldn’t bring himself to move his head. “They’re going to some meeting place.”

“And where would that meeting place be?”

“The Weaver’s Hill,” he found himself answering. “Up past the Third Street entrance.”

“Aahh. Yes. I know the spot well,” the man said thoughtfully. “That gateway is certainly the closest, but hardly suitable for those of your nature. Getting past those cats requires skills your friends most certainly won’t have.”

Edward struggled to sit up in the chair. “Who
are
you?” he asked again. Some part of him was angry, but the rest of him seemed to have gone far, far away. He was having trouble even getting his voice to work.

“Does it really matter? When it is all just dancing atoms and mostly empty space?”

What?
“Who are you?” Edward repeated.

“Well—I go by numerous names. ‘Unraveler’ would be most fitting for this occasion, I think.”

Edward knew this sounded familiar, but now he couldn’t remember why. “What does that mean?”

Ponytail shook his head. “Your lack of education is astounding. Don’t they teach you people about entropy and order, about the warp and woof, about the forces that create and the dark energy that levels? I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. Ignorance is one of my strongest allies. Would you mind giving me the Fetch now?” He held out his hand.

Edward stared at it. He noticed with a shudder that the man’s thumb was on backward. “I don’t have it,” he said thickly.

“What? You must be lying. I can smell it clearly.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Well, then, who’s got it?” he demanded with impatience.

Edward didn’t see why he should tell this guy anything, but found the words coming out of his mouth anyway. “Danton. Danton’s got it.”

“Danton is the tall one?”

“Yes.” Edward made another effort to get himself up out of the chair, but his arms and legs were so heavy, and his brain was so tired.

Ponytail watched him with interest. “What do you think you’re trying to do? Even if you were not such a sapless sort of fellow, even if you or any of your foolish companions happened to know the song to call them in, it would be too late.”

Sapless?
Who was he calling sapless? But Edward felt himself sinking. He managed to turn his head to look, one more time, for his reflection in the mirror. To his surprise, his reflection was gone.

In another moment Edward was asleep.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Spider

All three of them stood frozen. There was no escaping whatever it was that rushed toward them now. The creature was too big and too fast. As it drew closer Brigit saw its golden horns. They were so big, the beast would surely find a human being of no more consequence than a dandelion puff. Its hooves sent the snow flying up into the air.

With an unexpected grace for such a big creature, it came to a stop several feet away from the wide rip of nothingness that lay in front of them. Brigit saw that it was not some sort of monster, but a deer. A stag. A huge stag with golden antlers. It stood there, its great brown sides heaving, as if it had traveled here very fast and from very far away.

Danton hesitated only a moment before he stepped forward and stood in front of the stag. Brigit wondered, as always, where his courage came from. What a straight, clear line he moved in. How wonderful it must be to be like that. She went and stood beside him. The animal towered over them, but remained unmoving, merely gazing at them with its great liquid eyes.

Feenix joined them.

“What do you think it wants?” Danton whispered.

The deer continued to stare at them.

“I hope it’s not hungry,” Feenix said nervously.

“Well, it’s not going to be interested in eating us.” Danton said. “I’m pretty sure they’re herbivores.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Feenix. “Of course they are.” She let go of Brigit’s hand and stepped forward, plunging her hand into her coat pocket. She pulled out the red apple she had chosen for Edward’s aunt. She held it out toward the stag.

The stag gazed at the apple with its unblinking eyes. Then it gave a short snuffle of pleasure. It stretched its great neck forward and opening its mouth, lifted the fruit delicately from Feenix’s hand. For a moment it simply held the shining fruit in its mouth, then it bit down with a loud crunch. With one more crunch the apple was gone.

Brigit grabbed hold of Feenix’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Now what?” Danton whispered.

The stag tossed its head back and gave a short snort of impatience, its breath steaming into the air. Slowly and a bit awkwardly, it lowered its hind quarters into the snow.

“What’s it doing?” Feenix whispered.

“I have no idea,” Danton said, puzzled.

But Brigit thought she understood. She had heard tales of the great winter stag from her grandfather, and she was pretty sure it must be here to help them. She let go of Feenix’s hand and gathering the little portion of courage that was hers, she approached the deer.

It was a terrifying animal, but beautiful, as well.

“Hey!” Danton cried, following close behind her. “What are you doing?”

She ignored him and climbed clumsily onto the great animal’s back. When she had seated herself as firmly as she could, she turned and looked at the other two.

“Seriously?” Feenix wailed. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

“But of course she’s right!” said Danton. “How do you always know this stuff, Brigit? You’re brilliant. It wants to take us over the time rip, doesn’t it? That’s gotta be what’s going on. Come on, follow me.”

In a moment he had clambered up behind Brigit. Then Feenix, grumbling, climbed up behind him.

Danton wrapped his arms around Brigit’s waist. How strange it was that a person could have room in herself for such different feelings. She was filled with terror yet also with a kind of yearning to lean backward into him. He had called her brilliant. Just the thought of it made her face go red.

“Are we ready?” Danton asked.

She was distracted by the feel of the animal’s heart against her legs, a deep, steady beating like a drum keeping time. And she could smell its strange smell—a mix of some things she thought she knew, grass and moss and cold water running over rocks, and then something else she couldn’t name, something that made her blood race with anticipation.

The stag stood and turned to face the River of Nothingness. Brigit leaned forward and threw her arms around the creature’s neck to steady herself. The others held on behind.

“Let’s go!” Danton said loudly. Brigit felt him give the stag a quick kick with his heels.

They were off.

The edge of the emptiness wasn’t far. The stag trotted slowly at first, then faster. The animal’s muscles prepared for the jump. Brigit held her breath as it leaped into the air and sailed way higher than gravity would ever have normally permitted. On the stag, she somehow knew, there would be no question of getting stuck. There was hardly any of that fizzing, dissolving sensation, just a little in the fingertips and toes. It was only a matter of moments before they had reached the top of the arc and were coming down on the other side.

They landed with a soft
thump
and the snow flew up around them. Then the stag was off again, carrying them along the path through the trees. When they broke out of the little woods and into the open, Brigit saw, not far off in front of them, the earth rising up into a mound shaped like a loaf of bread.
The Weaver’s Hill,
she thought, her heart lifting toward it. The deer did not hesitate, but raced forward. In another moment, they had begun the ascent.

From the base, the hill did not look big at all. It seemed to be just a gentle rise in the midst of the Long Meadow. But as the stag climbed, Brigit realized that the hill must be much steeper and higher than it appeared from the bottom. The path was rocky and bare of snow in some places and in other places the snow had drifted deeply. Thick stretches of woods passed by them on either side. The stag’s heart beat steadily beneath their legs. When at last they reached the top, the animal stopped and knelt down, and the threesome tumbled off.

Brigit felt it right away—the thinness of the air. It took her a moment to catch her breath, then she straightened and saw that the snow had almost stopped. Overhead, the heavy darkness had begun to lift and turn to clouds, which drifted past each other like great white ships.

“Do you see this?” Feenix called out. She had stumbled a few steps away from the other two.

Brigit and Danton went over to where Feenix stood at the edge of the hill beneath the branches of a great bare oak tree. When they got to her they saw that beside her was an iron park bench. It was placed so that one might enjoy the view. Danton whistled softly.

They should have been looking out at the Long Meadow, rolling and stretching away in front of them. But that was not what they saw. They were so high up that what they saw was the whole of Brooklyn—or what remained of it—lying far below them. From here, it was easy to spot the vast swarms of glittering time foragers devouring their way through the streets. Wherever they traveled, they left behind a canyon or a rip or a river of nothingness, and as they moved from place to place the swarms grew rapidly in size. From where the threesome stood, they could see, too, the river that they had crossed over. It was rising swiftly and now lapped at the base of the great hill that they stood upon.

Brigit couldn’t bear the sight of this and looked up and away. High in the oak tree, she spotted an old abandoned bird’s nest wedged into the crook of a branch. Beyond it, she saw with despair that the stars were going out one by one.

“What happened to that deer?” Feenix asked suddenly. They all looked around. “Did anybody see which way it went?”

They listened for any sound, but there was only quiet.

“Well, now what?” Feenix asked quietly. “Anybody got any ideas?”

Nobody did.

“Who’s got the Fetch thingie?” she asked.

Danton drew it from his pocket. Feenix reached for it, but he seemed reluctant to let it go.

“Well, are you going to let me look at it or not?” she asked impatiently.

He sighed and released it into her hand.

She turned it around, examining it slowly.

Suddenly something moved up in the branches of the oak tree. “Did you see that?” Danton asked, lowering his voice.

They all stared up through the branches, straining their eyes.

“There,” Feenix hissed, pointing.

They followed her finger. Yes, there was definitely something up there.

Nobody moved. Very slowly they became aware of movements and shiftings along all the branches of the tree and in the shadows around its base.

“What’s going on?” Feenix asked. “Something’s happening, I think.”

Brigit saw that it was like one of those puzzle pages in a children’s magazine—the kind where there is a drawing of a beach or a classroom or a picnic in a forest. At first, you don’t see anything except the picture in front of you, and then slowly you start to spot all the objects camouflaged in the scenery—all sorts of oddly floating things—teapots and hammers and shoes and whatever. That’s the way it was here, only they weren’t teapots and hammers.

Up in the branches of the tree, they were able to make out several small faces, wrinkled like dried apples, peering down at them. People, Brigit saw. Little people in woolen pants and leather jackets. Then she saw two much bigger people, sitting side by side. They had great wrinkled hairy faces and earlobes that hung to their shoulders. Trolls of some kind, she thought. On the branch above them was stretched a woman with a mossy, wet fish tail. Beneath the tree, Brigit made out a three-headed dog and a woman with six arms.

“Eddie’s Christmas tree,” Danton said in an awed whisper.

“Solstice tree,” Feenix corrected him.

“Whatever,” he answered softly.

Brigit saw that it was Edward’s Solstice tree and more. There were several tall, thin, very
faint
looking people. You could actually see right through them, she realized. And then there were the heads sticking up out of the snow, large fierce godlike heads, whose bodies appeared to be still underground. Brigit spotted what she realized must be a minotaur—a thickly muscled man with the head of a bull. The man-bull was dressed only in some sort of loincloth and he glared at the humans and shivered in the cold. It occurred to her that what had happened here was like what happened when there was a flood or a forest fire. All the creatures went racing ahead of the disaster, looking for safety. Only now there was nowhere else to go. They were all in the same fix.

For a long moment, the young people stood staring into the shadows, while the solstice folk stared back at them.

Then Brigit felt someone pinch her arm through her coat. “It’s them,” Feenix croaked. “Over there by that lion with the woman’s head on it.”

Brigit spotted the sphinx and then she saw the two hags. They were young hags, but Brigit had no doubt they were Feenix’s hags. One of them carried an awful pig-faced baby in a basket on her back. The other had only a single nostril. They seemed to be trying to stay off to the side of the crowd, as if they were not eager to be seen.

Brigit reflected that however terrifying they might once have been, they, too, had been brought low by this calamity. She didn’t think there was much to fear from them now. She gave Feenix a brief pat of encouragement. Then Danton stepped forward.

He cleared his throat and stopped. Brigit knew he was trying to figure out how to address them.

“Friends—” he tried.

There was a low growl. Danton took a small step backward. It was the dog with three heads. Each head had its own long snakelike neck.

Danton tried again. “Ancient Ones, Most Honored and Powerful Beings—”

The dog stilled itself.

“As you all know, something terrible has gone wrong—”

One of the dog’s heads, the black one with the white eye patch, interrupted him with a growl.
“Because of your ignorance and carelessness.”

Danton eyed the hungry-looking head unhappily. “Yes—we know and we are deeply sorry.”

“Although, I’d just like to point out,” Feenix interrupted, “that your people have played their own part in this mess.” She pointed in the direction of the witches, but they had somehow managed to shrink out of sight.

There was an angry buzzing in the crowd.

“You dare!”
growled the dog. It shot one of its heads toward Feenix and bared its fangs.

“We don’t have time for this,” Danton said sternly. “We have the Fetch. Show them, Feenix.”

Feenix held the Fetch out for all to see.

There was a long indrawn breath among the watchers. Then there was silence. No one shuffled a foot, no one rustled a wing.

Brigit turned and saw how fast the river was rising. It was halfway up the mountain. Brooklyn was gone. Everything was gone. Where were her parents and her grandfather now? she wondered fearfully. There were no lights or sound or movement. The timelessness climbed steadily toward them.

A tall woman, cloaked in silver from head to toe, had come out of the shadows. She floated toward them over the snow, her feet not appearing to move at all. Brigit knew from the stories that this meant she was of the Old Folk—a fairy woman.

The fairy woman stopped a short distance from the threesome. “What has happened here is, as you say, not the fault of only one. All together must count their share of the responsibility and then must bow to what will come. The Fetch was not meant to be disturbed. At the end of its season, its queen summoned her foragers back. She used herself up in doing so and the foragers fell into their long sleep, which is where they should have stayed until the Keeper came to collect the Fetch. It is our terrible misfortune that through some accident or carelessness the Fetch was moved from where it hid. Some of the sleepers awoke and were permitted to escape. Now it is too late. There is no one to sing the Calling In and our world is lost.” She gestured at the rapidly rising river. “It would be best for each of us to use the time that remains in making peace with what must come.”

Danton shook his head angrily. He looked at her and then around at all the others. “We’ve gone to a lot of trouble and come a very long way just to bow our heads and allow our world to get eaten down into a big fat nothing. Tell us about the ‘Calling In.’ What is it? Maybe we can figure it out.”

“This is not a thing to figure out. The ‘Calling In’ is a song. The queen knew it. But for most beings—even of our order—it is difficult and dangerous even to listen to. I have made it my business never to hear it. There may have been a few rare humans who had the trick of carrying it, but that was in the old days. I believe there are none of those left in your generation.”