“Enough,” I snarl. “We’ll take your gifts and be on our way.”
She slams her book shut, and although I doubt there’s anything beyond those bandages, it’s as if I can feel her gaze. The tome disappears and is replaced by two smaller books. She hands one to each of us, then gives a breathy laugh and switches them. “Always good to read something new, isn’t it?”
George immediately begins examining the book, a violet, velvet-covered thing. Mine is weather-worn leather.
“Farewell, travelers,” Clio says. “I shall enjoy chronicling the rest of your journey.”
With a final crack of her neck, the Fate disappears, leaving us alone in the passageway.
George looks up at me. “I should know better than to open books from strangers we meet in a labyrinth, but color me intrigued.”
“This is … unprecedented, to be certain,” I say. “We should—”
Before I can get the words out, George opens the cover of his book. His eyes turn white.
I roll my own to the sky. “Fuck it,” I say and open the cover.
There are no words, no ink, no pages even. Instead, there’s a bright flash of light then complete darkness. My stomach roils, as if I’m falling out of the lift in the Great Chasm, down, down, down. I land on all fours and squint up into the sun.
This place … I’ve never seen it before. I’m surrounded by dense forest. The scent of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor.
Laughter sounds, and a small boy runs by. He’s crafted a makeshift bow and arrow from a few bendy branches. A knit wool cap sits atop his dark hair, and he sports a red and black checkered shirt. No clothing the youth of the Vale would wear.
This is the human realm.
Creamy light floods my vision, and the images change. Water sprays upon my face. I steady myself on the steel railing of a ship. A young man, head low as he scans a notebook, walks toward me.
“Pardon me,” I begin, but he doesn’t look up. He walks straightthroughme. A chill runs up my spine.
“Trowels, brushes, shovels, pickaxes, sifters, tape measurers, rulers, notebooks, pencils, compass, map of the Nile … I’m forgetting something,” he murmurs to himself.
That distracted mumbling—it’s familiar. Before I can think further, the light floods my vision once again. Now, I’m blinking up into the blinding sun. The heat is nearly all-consuming, but I push myself up. Giant, triangular structures of stone surround me. I gasp, staggering backward, trying to take in their size.
“Boggles the mind how the blocks were moved up the superstructure! How do you think it was done? Ramps, leverages, counterweights?” A man’s voice tears me from my thoughts.
I turn to see a man’s back. A woman, hidden by his silhouette, laughs and says, “Oh, darling, when the human spirit sets its sights on something, nothing is impossible.”
She steps out from behind him to touch his shoulder. My heart thunders in my chest. Rosalina. It’s—
It’s not Rosalina. It must have been the heat clouding my vision, but the way her dark eyes squinted up at him, the curl of her hairjust soover her brow, the smile …
It’s not Rosalina. It’s her mother.
I stagger forward. The man she’s touching smiles down with eyes of crystal blue.
This is George’s life.
Suddenly, the images rush faster through my vision. Anya lounging on the bow of a wooden ship as it traverses a river past banks of sand, while George fumbles with a clunky black box that suddenly emits a blinding light. George chasing Anya through the dense woods of his childhood, raindrops falling across her face as she laughs and smiles. Them sitting across from each other at a wooden table, her cheeks streaked with tears. George wears a tan tunic with matching pants and a broad-brimmed hat of the same color. He holds a letter in his shaking hands.
“I have to go,” he says.
She stands and screams, “I left to escape war! I will not go back!”
Mounds of mud dripping with blood. Bangs ricocheting in my ears so loudly, I fall to my knees. Dancing and laughing through a crowd of people. The heat of a jungle, then the bitter windsacross a field of ice. A long, narrow metal structure, like the hull of a great ship, surging across the horizon, emitting great plumes of steam. Music like I’ve never heard before, a gorgeous low tone, as a man blows into a brass tube while Anya and George stare at each other in a smoky, dark room. She brushes a hand across his cheek and murmurs, “I will love you across the ages.”
More and more images flash before my eyes; I see them for only a second, and yet it’s as if I’m there with them. I feel the weight of the years pass over me.
This isn’t a lifetime. This is more than that, more years than any human has ever lived.
