Dani glances from me to Orion and back. “Sorry, what now? Is he saying the actual Book of Signs is here?”
“No,” I say sharply. “There’s no such thing. He’s chasing a myth.”
“Why not, though?” Orion inspects the plaque in the dim light, feeling the edges with his fingers. “I mean, thisisa sign, technically, and if we could find a book—aha! Dani, I put my pack over by yours. Would you grab the vial in there labeledspirit of niter?”
Dani raises her eyebrows at him, skeptical, but she rummages around in his rucksack and pulls out the correct vial, handing it over. Carefully, Orion unstoppers it and uses a dropper to apply the clear, watery liquid inside around the edges of the plaque. The metal hisses and fumes everywhere the liquid touches, causing all three of us to draw back, our arms pressed against our noses and mouths to keep from breathing it in. When the hissing finally stops and the smoke residue clears away, the plaque has fallen to the ground, leaving a dark, gaping hole in the wall behind it.
Orion steps forward, reaching a hand inside and pulling out one singular item: a book bound by a soft flexible material, with faint gold etching and pages and pages andpagesof brittle, yellowed paper pressed together inside.
“How about that?” Orion looks at me from beneath his lashes, a smug grin curling his mouth. “I don’t want to say ‘I told you so,’ V, but…”
I rub at my temples like I’m getting a headache. “You’re gonna be even more insufferable after this.”
Dani’s eyes get twice as big as Orion unsnaps the latch and opens it. “Holy shit. That’s alotof paper.”
“The writing is kind of strange.” Orion frowns down at the lines of black markings that cover every page. “Everything is spelled just a little bit different, but it looks like a journal or a record of some kind. Handwritten by Covenant. Different years, though.”
I lean close, scanning the pages, but reading has never been a strong suit of mine. I’ve always known just enough to get by, and my brain is completely unprepared to pick apart a bunch of words that only look vaguely similar to the words I’m used to seeing. Orion was always the better reader, to the point that I often just let him do it for me and explain what everything meant afterward.
“What does that mean? The different years, I mean.”
“Our years are numbered from the original creation of Trinity—or, at least, from the first year that there was a Heraldic Ministry to start counting them. This… could potentially have been written before that. We’re talking over two thousand years ago.” He moves toward the edge of the room, where the roof has fallen away and there’s more ambient light to read by. “This first entry sounds like it’s about that generator out there that’s making naphtha. Listen.”
It’s taken nearly a decade for us to perfect the design, but our day of triumph has finally arrived. Perhaps I should saymydayof triumph. How long did I labor in obscurity, receiving nothing but derision? But in the end, I am proven correct. The diamond generator is running exactly as intended, and naphtha will be the next, great innovation in energy. Already we have orders coming in from across Trinity, and Ms. Vicar is confident that we will soon be naming whatever price we choose.
Dani barks out a laugh, her lips curling upward but without any mirth in her eyes. “So holy and benevolent, our Heralds, huh? Just salivating over how much paper they could make.”
Orion delicately turns the pages, his eyes skimming quickly over the words. “Here—this one is about a year later.”
Yesterday we officially established the Herald Power Company. Some of the founders are disgruntled—they had wanted to name it after themselves—but I believe Herald was the better choice if I do say so myself. Herald, as in a sign that something great is about to happen, and isn’t that just what we’re doing here? Affecting great change on Trinity? I actually heard a report yesterday that called naphtha the single greatest invention in the history of our world. It is an achievement beyond my wildest dreams.
I lean against the wall next to where the plaque used to be, watching the columns of light flare and die away, over and over.
“The dates are getting a little more spaced out. Most of it looks like it’s about how well the company is doing, how everyone is using naphtha now, blah blah blah.” Orion pauses about halfway through the pages. “This is interesting.”
I’m increasingly concerned about the worsening drought all across Trinity. It is affecting every continent; no region, in fact, seems to be untouched, and there are reports that even when storm clouds do form, they bring lightning but no rain. Mabel argued with me last night that the naphtha production process is connected to these changes, but I am not convinced. To think that our one small company can cause a worldwide shift of such magnitude? That is putting ourselves above the Creator Himself, which is the height of hubris. Many, in fact, are saying that this is a natural weather shift that was always bound to happen, and I am inclined to agree with them.
Dani hisses through her teeth. “Magnastorms. He’s talking about magnastorms.”
But my mind catches on something else. One word:rain. There used to be rain on Trinity, a long time ago. Just like in my dreams.
“Shit,” Orion breathes as he gets another few dozen pages further. “It gets worse. Listen.”
I am endeavoring to steady my hand enough so that I may record this, but it is difficult. I am so shaken. Yesterday I went down to the town of Opportunity to see for myself whether the rumors had any truth to them. But even so, I was not fully prepared for what I witnessed. The land there is completely transformed, the grass and plant life gone, the soil all blown away by harsh, hot winds, and in its place is metal of some kind. It looks similar to bronze or copper, but it is harder and more resilient than that. An alloy perhaps. Even the homes and buildings in the town are being transformed into a similar material, and the citizens of Opportunity can offer no explanation for it. But it looks to be spreading…
Trinity’s song circles me, softer, slower, sadder than usual, and I feel my heartbeat and my breathing slow with it. Orion’s voice, his words, the passages he’s reading—they all wash over me in a way that doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.
Dani paces an angry circle around the room, running her hands roughly through her hair. But she doesn’t seem to have any words for what she’s feeling, either, so both of us just wait, tension hanging in the air, for whatever Orion reads next.
He’s in the final pages of the journal when he stops again:
Today I went back down to Opportunity at the request of their mayor. It is only half a day’s ride away from our headquarters, which makes it an easy enough trip, and I thought perhaps they needed my assistance with the hub of naphtha aqueducts down there since they often experience small leaks. But that was not the case.
The mayor brought me to meet an older woman who had lived and worked in Opportunity all her life. Her name was Liza—I had actually met her once or twice, a very pleasant, workmanlike woman—but she was so transformed on this visit that I almost could not breathe. Her eyes had gone white, her dress and hair quite wild, and she sat in the middle of her cottage without seeming to see us at all. She just hummed this strange melody over and over.
The mayor hoped I might know what ails her, but I dared not tell him what I write now in this record. Liza had been the one who kept and repaired the naphtha aqueducts all these years. I had witnessed her a dozentimes or more with the substance all over her body as she repaired leaks. And as soon as I saw her altered state today, I knew.
Mabel was right all those years ago. It’s the naphtha.
