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Authors: Sean Williams
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the sight of the glassy black figure watching her from the fringes of the group. The glast. She couldn’t deal with him — it — right now. At one sound from those smooth crystal lips she might shatter into a million pieces.
‘What did you see?’ asked Tom, brushing her wavy brown hair back from her face. He of all of them understood what it was like to have crazy dreams. ‘How was she, this time?’
Not so angry , Shilly thought. That was a change, but she wasn’t sure it counted as an improvement. The awful grief she felt in her future self wasn’t new — she had picked that up before, in fractured, fleeting glimpses — but its cause had never been obvious. Now she knew. In that world, Sal was dead. Her future self had let him down, somehow. That the world was dying seemed a lesser concern against that one hard, unbearable fact.
But this other Shilly was bearing it, somehow. She continued with her life’s work: the creation of a charm that was supposed to be important. She endured.
Shilly felt a bubble of sorrow swell up inside her. Swallowing it was difficult. This latest dream confirmed so many of her present fears: that Sal was in danger, that the world might not be saved, that all her efforts could yet come to nothing. What would happen to her if she failed to understand the charm in time? Would she become the future self she saw in her dreams, hunched and withered and living in a hole in the ground?
The complexities of past and present were too much for her to grasp. It was difficult enough concentrating on the charm alone. That was the point of it all. That was what Tom was really asking. She forced herself to push everything else aside, to swallow the bubble, and answer him as best she could.
‘I saw a new section,’ she said, still with her eyes shut.
‘Do you think you can get it down?’
She nodded. Images of lines and patterns danced in the pinkness of her closed eyelids. She felt the pen and parchment in her hands, poised to draw. The details were difficult to hold in her mind. After five days of concerted effort, she still had little more than disconnected fragments, many dozens of them, with no clear way of putting them together.
Her right hand began to move, almost of its own volition. She opened her eyes a crack to follow its progress. Details were all she had, and she would get them down as best she could. For half an hour, all she did was draw, ignoring Tom and the others as though they, too, were in another world — one she was equally happy to forget for the time being.
When she was done, she felt exhausted to the very core. Altitude sickness was only part of it. Twice every day, the growing band halted its headlong journey in order to let her sleep in peace. An hour was enough, with the help of Vehofnehu and his strange meditation techniques, for her to dream of her other self. A time of feverish drawing usually followed. Then it would be back onto the man’kin steed she shared with Tom to resume the journey. And somehow, while she slept, their numbers kept on growing…
Vehofnehu helped her to her feet and rubbed her mittened hands between his to bring circulation back to her fingertips. She could barely feel them. ‘This is hard for you,’ he said. ‘I know.’ His dark brown eyes were recessed slightly above prominent cheeks and whiskery white hairs, but they radiated nothing but compassion. The corners of his wide mouth were very slightly turned down. His fingers were callused, but long and strong and very warm as they wrapped right around her hands. ‘We are asking a lot. If it wasn’t so important —’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said, dismissing his concerns with a weary nod. She was the only one with a link to the distant future. The vision of all the other seers failed beyond a particular point. Even the Holy Immortals, who travelled backwards in time as naturally as humans travelled forward, couldn’t say what happened after that point. That the future
‘What did you see?’ asked Tom, brushing her wavy brown hair back from her face. He of all of them understood what it was like to have crazy dreams. ‘How was she, this time?’
Not so angry , Shilly thought. That was a change, but she wasn’t sure it counted as an improvement. The awful grief she felt in her future self wasn’t new — she had picked that up before, in fractured, fleeting glimpses — but its cause had never been obvious. Now she knew. In that world, Sal was dead. Her future self had let him down, somehow. That the world was dying seemed a lesser concern against that one hard, unbearable fact.
But this other Shilly was bearing it, somehow. She continued with her life’s work: the creation of a charm that was supposed to be important. She endured.
Shilly felt a bubble of sorrow swell up inside her. Swallowing it was difficult. This latest dream confirmed so many of her present fears: that Sal was in danger, that the world might not be saved, that all her efforts could yet come to nothing. What would happen to her if she failed to understand the charm in time? Would she become the future self she saw in her dreams, hunched and withered and living in a hole in the ground?
The complexities of past and present were too much for her to grasp. It was difficult enough concentrating on the charm alone. That was the point of it all. That was what Tom was really asking. She forced herself to push everything else aside, to swallow the bubble, and answer him as best she could.
‘I saw a new section,’ she said, still with her eyes shut.
‘Do you think you can get it down?’
She nodded. Images of lines and patterns danced in the pinkness of her closed eyelids. She felt the pen and parchment in her hands, poised to draw. The details were difficult to hold in her mind. After five days of concerted effort, she still had little more than disconnected fragments, many dozens of them, with no clear way of putting them together.
Her right hand began to move, almost of its own volition. She opened her eyes a crack to follow its progress. Details were all she had, and she would get them down as best she could. For half an hour, all she did was draw, ignoring Tom and the others as though they, too, were in another world — one she was equally happy to forget for the time being.
When she was done, she felt exhausted to the very core. Altitude sickness was only part of it. Twice every day, the growing band halted its headlong journey in order to let her sleep in peace. An hour was enough, with the help of Vehofnehu and his strange meditation techniques, for her to dream of her other self. A time of feverish drawing usually followed. Then it would be back onto the man’kin steed she shared with Tom to resume the journey. And somehow, while she slept, their numbers kept on growing…
Vehofnehu helped her to her feet and rubbed her mittened hands between his to bring circulation back to her fingertips. She could barely feel them. ‘This is hard for you,’ he said. ‘I know.’ His dark brown eyes were recessed slightly above prominent cheeks and whiskery white hairs, but they radiated nothing but compassion. The corners of his wide mouth were very slightly turned down. His fingers were callused, but long and strong and very warm as they wrapped right around her hands. ‘We are asking a lot. If it wasn’t so important —’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said, dismissing his concerns with a weary nod. She was the only one with a link to the distant future. The vision of all the other seers failed beyond a particular point. Even the Holy Immortals, who travelled backwards in time as naturally as humans travelled forward, couldn’t say what happened after that point. That the future
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