When Baz told a select few people of his decision—namely his parents, Professor Selandyn, and Jae—the latter, who’d been wearingthe same clothes they’d slept in, disappeared for a moment before coming back fully dressed and carrying a bag full of books and journals.
“What?” Jae said at the quizzical looks they all shot them. “If you’re going back in time to live through the events ofSong of the Drowned Godsand find the original keys, I’m obviously coming with you. Call it academic research.”
“What about the Institute?”
So much of the plan hinged on Jae’s Illusion magic. But Jae only waved Baz’s concern off. “Rusli is more than able to handle that. Besides, you’re hilarious if you think any of us will let you go alone.”
“Jae’s right, Basil,” Theodore said. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, but with so much uncertainty, it’s best to have help.”
“I would offer to come with,” Selandyn said from where she sat, fiddling with her cane, “but I’m an old woman with unforgiving bones who wouldn’t want to slow you down.”
“Beatrix,” Jae said, “you can’t be serious. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A scholar’s dream!”
“Those books have always beenyourdream. Besides, someone needs to document what’s going onhere. This combining of worlds… the potential to converse with people from all over, write their stories down… That’smycalling. I am, after all, an Omnilinguist.” She winked at Baz. “Take note of everything you see for me, though, will you?”
For a second, Baz was transported back to Aldryn, to simpler days where he helped Professor Selandyn with her research. He’d come a long way from running mundane errands for her; it felt like she was finally letting her fledgling soar on his own.
Jae rubbed their hands together excitedly. “So how about it?”
Baz couldn’t help but smile at Jae’s enthusiasm. He felt the same way, excitement thrumming at his fingertips at the thought of what they were about to do.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Baz said, holding out the pocket watch that would take them to the location and time of their choosing—which Baz hoped extended to anyworld.
“Oh, I’m ready. I’ve been ready since the moment I first opened that book.” Jae clasped Baz’s shoulder. “Let’s reclaim this adventure and make the story our own.”
51ROMIE
TRYING TO STOP THE DEVOURINGdarkness was a futile exercise, yet Atheia persisted.
It enraged her to see all these blotches of sleepscape swallowing pieces of the world whole. They kept appearing all over, faster than they could be stopped. Lightkeeper magic seemed somewhat effective in slowing the process down, and Wardcrafters had succeeded in creating barriers over affected areas. But their magic was still too thin, too weak, able to flourish only with the help of synths that could not be produced fast enough and in large enough quantities.
Even those who’d first had their magic restored by Atheia—the Selenic Order and Tidelore members who’d been with her at Aldryn—saw their power dwindling with each day that passed, so much so that they, too, had to rely on synths again to access other tidal alignments.
So it fell to Atheia to step in however she could to protect her worlds from succumbing to the seeping dark.
She’d been doing so ever since these black holes had first appeared, sometimes alone in the middle of the night, with no one there to bear witness to her efforts, and sometimes, like today, she was in plain sight, surrounded by her Tidal Council.
They’d been alerted to a cluster of pockets that had appeared in and around Cadence—or rather, what used to be Cadence, no longer a quaint seaside town but a collection of houses and cottages that grew along the base of twin peaks, as if they’d been dropped haphazardly from the skies.
Atheia had been told that, before this, most of Cadence had suffered great damage by the flooding swell of the tides. But they’d been rebuilding, safely hidden behind wards meant to protect them from the unpredictable Aldersea. Those wards hadn’t protected them from this sudden fusing together of worlds, nor had they held up against the pockets of sleepscape now threatening the town. They had appeared all over: in the skies above, eating a sizable chunk of the moss-clad mountainside; in the streets, obliterating countless thatch-roofed cottages and little gardens and shops; and at the edge of the town proper, where the Aldersea had once hugged the coast but now stood the Wychwood itself, a portion of its ancient trees swallowed by the dark.
People screamed and cried for their losses, the homes and loved ones that had been ripped away in front of their eyes. No one who had entered these rifts had gotten out. They would likely not survive the sleepscape, a place made uninhabitable for anyone but gods and Tidecallers, Dreamers and Nightmare Weavers, and the few who might be Veiled Atlas compass-bearers.
As Atheia walked the destroyed streets—all the pockets contained, for now, by her magic—she couldn’t help but feel for the the victims. Their pain was her own. This destruction had to end. Yet for every rift of darkness that was stopped, a dozen others seemed to appear elsewhere. They couldn’t go on like this.
These were thoughts she kept to herself as she molded her vessel’s features into that of the capable deity. The Tides these people could count on, with the powerful Tidal Council at her back. Yet the quiet glares sent her way told a different story: these people, despite her eagerness to help, did not trust her as they might have once. Their faith in her was dwindling, and quickly.
A little girl appeared in her path, holding a stuffed animal. She appeared lost. Atheia glided over to her, kneeling in front of her to be at eye level.
“Dearest,” she said kindly. “Where are your parents?”
The girl merely pointed at a pocket of darkness a few houses down, where it had devoured half of a squat cottage.
Bleak understanding ran like ice water through Atheia’s veins. When she looked up, dozens of villagers were watching her. The hardness of their faces revealed an anger directed solely at her. It didn’t matter to them who was to blame for this chaos; it only mattered that she was supposed to help keep them safe, and could not.
“Come on,” a young couple said to the little girl, grabbing her by the hands and turning her away from Atheia. They glared at her as they did.
Behind her, Atheia heard her Tidal Council whispering among themselves. She spun to them to see a flash of that same doubt on their faces, before they schooled their expressions into stony masks.
