The Triad of Finity (10 page)

“This is nice,” said Dean.

Oliver turned to see him with his face upturned to the sun, his eyes closed. It was funny; Oliver hadn’t even noticed that they were standing in daylight strong enough to slay him instantly. He’d been more concerned with Emalie. He looked up at the brilliant orb. “Can’t feel it.”

“No, but just having to squint is nice,” said Dean. He sighed. “I miss it.” He looked down, holding out his bare arms with their ruined skin, and his face fell. The purple and tan blotches had become more like black and dark brown. A rift had opened by his elbow, dripping black, foamy fluid. Dean just shook his head.

Oliver turned back to the farm. “Where is everybody?” he asked aloud, forgetting that she couldn’t hear him.

“The farm is in pretty good shape,” said the Emalie guide, “considering we’ve only been here three months.”

“Three months?” Oliver asked aloud.

“Dad’s gotten into the daily routines with everybody. Kathleen goes fly fishing in the stream all the time. She’s teaching me. We have an enchantment to call the fish. This way.” Emalie started walking down the hill.

But Oliver didn’t move.

“Come on,” said Dean.

“No.” He couldn’t take it anymore. To see Emalie again but not see her, to be led along without his questions being answered. It was making him crazy!

Emalie stopped and turned. “Wait, yeah … I should explain,” she said, almost like she still knew what he was thinking. “I’m writing this letter as I go—there’s no backspace button in 1868, you know?—and I just realized that I have to explain the whole time thing, don’t I? That’s probably bugging you, since you’re getting this letter so much later.” She made a sympathetic smile.

“Yes,” said Oliver uselessly.

“Listen,” Emalie continued. “At the time that I’m writing this letter, I’ve been here for a little over three months. We left in September, you remember, but when we arrived in Arcana, it was December. Time travel is funny like that. Anyway, now it’s March 13, 1868. And you guys are probably worried about how Arcana gets destroyed in April, according to history, but remember, that history was written before we gathered all the Orani here. I have a great-great-grand-cousin here named Aralene, who’s crazy and honestly if we hadn’t all showed up, I’d bet on her being the one who would’ve ended up causing the mass hysteria that supposedly destroyed this town, but none of that matters, because we’re here now, so the future will be different. And besides, we’ll be gone long before April.”

“Okay,” said Oliver. “But what about—”

“And I know what you’re thinking. … You’re reading this after over two years. I—” Her face grew serious, her mouth small. “I don’t know what that’s been like for you guys, but … it was necessary. We have news for you, and I had to wait to give it to you until you needed to know.”

“Needed to know?” Oliver found himself nearly shouting. “What about needing to know that you were alive? Or that you were ever going to get in touch?” The Emalie guide just gazed at him blankly, almost like she knew to give him time to respond. “Why couldn’t you have sent little notes,” Oliver went on, “like, just to let us know that we’d hear from you at some point? Why—”

Emalie started speaking again. “I’ve heard your messages, the ones you sent with the wraiths. We pick them up during our monitoring circle. They’re sweet. …” Emalie trailed off and for a moment her face cracked, her eyes seeming to grow. Oliver knew that face, and knew that at least a little, she was missing him too. It helped to see it, and calmed him down a little.

“Half-Light is monitoring you,” said Emalie, “and there are others out there, like Désirée, who could have been listening. Could have traced any message I sent before now …” Emalie looked back at the circular building. “I’m sorry, you guys,” she said. “I’m so sorry it’s been so long, but, like I said, now is the time, and I can’t make this long, so I have to show you what you need to know.”

She started walking again.

“Come on,” Dean said to Oliver, following her.

Oliver caught up and they walked past the farmhouse to the circular building. They followed Emalie through the open door.

There was a single large room inside, dark, candles and incense burning around the walls. A circle of women sat on the dirt floor, dressed in white robes, legs crossed, wrists on their knees, palms up. Above them, filling the high open space, was a massive model of orbiting spheres and clouds. There were solid brass objects like planets, and other nebulous shapes that glowed with luminous stars inside them, almost like bubbles. There were hundreds, and the sense of thousands more in the blurry distance, like they were seeing just one small slice of the universe. A map, Oliver figured. As the worlds spun, dotted lines appeared and disappeared, momentarily connecting worlds.

“This is the Orani circle,” said Emalie. “The circle of Six, plus Selene and Phoebe—that’s my mom, oh, and they call me Eos, which means dawn—and Aunt Kathleen’s here too. Everyone’s gathered here for safety, but also because of what’s about to happen.”

Oliver wanted to ask what, but remembered it was useless. He instead watched the orbiting worlds above, lines flickering between them.

“Those lines are connections,” said Emalie. “Convergences, where worlds pass close enough to one another that their forces weave together and influence one another, and watch …”

The worlds kept spinning, dipping and diving in broad arcs, and then Oliver could see it starting to happen: a number of objects drifted into a line, and a new beam of light began to form in between them, a bright white, solid beam of energy connecting the worlds. It was happening in other places in the model, too: things lining up, and many bursts of white light, lines connecting worlds like spider silk, at every angle, with all the lines converging in the center.

Oliver had seen this, a diagram of it, in his Multi-World Math book, the giant sphere of lines connecting in the middle, forming a star-like shape, and finally he remembered the familiar term, the one he’d heard recently, just as Emalie said it—

“A Great Radiance,” said Emalie. “When the worlds line up, and the forces stream with minimum distance from one to the next, in toward Nexia. It’s like a moment of perfect universal balance, and it only happens once every thirty-five thousand, three hundred and sixty-four years.” Emalie shrugged. “Give or take a decade. During a Great Radiance, travel from one world to the next is simplest. And there’s one happening just about a week from your current date. When it happens, Earth will be at its closest distance to Nexia.”

“A week?” Oliver exclaimed. “So then what?” But based on the tightening in his gut, he was pretty sure that he already knew.

“That’s when Illisius will summon you—well, us I mean. He can’t bring us to Nexia before then; even he’s not that strong.”

“But,” said Oliver, “you’re there, in Arcana.”

Emalie smiled, almost like she could hear him. “Don’t worry, I know you’re making your worried no-face right now,” said Emalie. “We’re coming back.”

Oliver felt a surge of relief. “When?”

“We have a few more things to do. I shouldn’t tell you too much; I know you’re being questioned by Half-Light—but basically, we’re preparing enchantments for when we go to Nexia. Not just you and me: all of us. I’m coming back to you, and the rest of the Orani are heading for Nexia. To fight.”

“Okay …” said Oliver, “but what about—”

“But what about the Triad of Finity,” said Emalie. “That’s what you’ll be wondering. Well, we’re close to figuring that out, too, or at least, to figuring out where we can find the one who knows. By the time I come back, we’ll know.”

Emalie turned to them. “Okay, I’m at the end of the page and that’s all the enchantment power I’ve got. So … I’ll see you guys soon, okay? It’s just going to be a few more days.”

“Sounds good,” said Dean.

“Yeah,” said Oliver. He tried to smile, then remembered that it didn’t matter because she couldn’t see him anyway. And besides, he didn’t want to smile. Despite all the other things he’d just heard, only one fact was dominating all the rest in his mind: one week. That was it. Then, the end. But, no, not just the end anymore. Emalie was coming back. Maybe there was still a chance. …

“Bye guys.” The vision of Arcana began to flicker. White light edged in from the borders.

Once again, Oliver found himself saying goodbye when Emalie couldn’t hear him. …

There was a flash and they were back in the stone chamber. Oliver blinked, then looked down at the letter. The words were gone, the weathered paper blank.

“That’s so secret agent,” said Dean with a chuckle.

Oliver tried to respond, but couldn’t really. The whole experience had left him drained. Seeing her, knowing how close the end now was, but also just the frustration of not being able to reply to her, to really talk with her, touch her …

He looked around the long rectangular table now, and when he saw it was blank, he bent and looked around the sides. If he understood correctly, this letter had been sitting in this vault for over a hundred and fifty years, sent here just after Emalie prepared it, and stored until its delivery date. Maybe she’d written others, and they were here somewhere, in an alcove, or a safe or something.

Oliver peered at the walls but they were smooth. He checked around the coffin-like table. It did seem to have a lip, almost like it was in fact a box of some kind. Oliver pulled up on this edge, but the thick padlock held tight.

“Let’s go,” he muttered. He turned and crossed the room, tossing the letter into the fire bowl, where it curled into a black fist. He yanked open the door and walked out.

Dean followed him back out onto the damp walkway. “But that was all good news, right? I mean, we know when, now, and there’s a plan, and we’re going to see Emalie. …”

Oliver leaned on the wooden railing and stared out into the darkness of space in all directions. Light spray from the Acheron cataract tingled on his cheek. “Yeah,” he said. Dean was right, but still. … “It doesn’t change the fact that we’re going to have to go to the Gate. Face Illisius, and do … something. Or the world ends. And it’s only days away.”

“Yeah, well, there’s that,” said Dean.

“Gentlemen.” They found one of the spider-like workers beside them. “If you are ready for return delivery, please say ‘Return’ now.”

“Return,” said Oliver.

A Hermesian demon soared up out of the darkness and hovered, snatching them both in its claws. With furious wing beats, it lifted alongside the waterfall, up and up. They flew back over the rock plains, the deep jungle, to the tree house platform.

“Use your countersign to return to your time-space location,” instructed the speaker. “Thank you for using Aeonian Parcel Services, and have a pleasant existence.”

The creature flew off. Oliver and Dean pressed their wrists, and found themselves back in the restaurant booth once more. This time, no one awaited them.

Outside in the damp evening, Dean asked: “What do you want to do now?”

“I’m just gonna go home,” said Oliver. With everything that had just happened, Oliver felt like he didn’t want to do anything or be anywhere. It was a mix of anticipation and frustration that left him feeling completely drained. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Oliver walked home, not wanting to take the bus, but just to walk until his jumbled head felt settled.

By the time Oliver got home it was nearing dawn. Phlox and Sebastian were already in their coffin. Oliver climbed into his and shut the lid. His thoughts had calmed down somewhat since the letter. As much as he felt nervous about what was to come, he had also managed to build some new hope. Emalie was coming back. He would see her again, and they would know what the Triad was and they would stand up to Illisius. He didn’t know how they’d do these things, but it was at least possible. Finally, he felt like there was some hope again. And soon after that, he fell asleep.

Before long, Oliver found himself back in the hallway in his mind, standing at the door to his demon room.

He entered. The first thing he noticed was that a whole row of the bookshelf was now full, each book with a black spine, each with a silver Skrit etched in it. Oliver looked out the cohesion window, through the eyes of Illisius, and saw a very different scene than the last time.

There were people everywhere, bustling in all directions. It was dawn, golden light streaming through hazy air. Up ahead, the light illuminated a thick cloud of smoke that was billowing from the top of a huge, black steam engine, the words Central Pacific Railroad in giant letters on its side.

Oliver felt like he was there, navigating this crowd, jostling among their shoulders. He saw that the men were dressed in tweed and wore bowler hats, cowboy hats, and thick mustaches. He—well, Illisius, but it felt like he was doing it—glanced left to see that he was walking with someone, a woman in a fine, lace-trimmed lavender dress. Her face was hidden by a pink parasol held over her shoulder.

In the distance there was water and the masts of large sailing vessels, then steep brown hills on the far side of a wide bay. Oliver guessed from the surroundings and the railroad that this might be San Francisco.

“Tickets!”

Illisius and his companion stopped before a pinstripe-suited conductor who was checking the tickets of passengers before they boarded the train.

“Now boarding! Central Pacific to Reno and points East. And remember folks, your tickets have to have today’s date! No jumping ahead ’cause you want to beat the rush out to those new gold strikes. If you’re ticket doesn’t say March fourteenth, then you’re not getting on board. Last call!”

Illisius and his travel mate reached the conductor. Oliver saw a smooth pale hand reach out, handing two tickets to the man.

“All right, let’s see,” said the conductor. “Where’s your final destination?”

Illisius spoke, and the conductor nodded. He punched their tickets and waved them on, but Oliver was already sinking away, out of the room, upward, back to his coffin, where he awoke with a panicked jolt, his eyes popping open, his arms flailing. He slammed the lid of his coffin open and sat up.