Altered

  I’m caught in the moment. The waves thundering against the rocks, the piercing cries of seagulls, the thick darkness that wraps us in a haze of fog.

  “I could make the time. It’s another perk of my superiority,” I remind him. But before I close the gap between his mouth and mine, light blinds us.

  “Ad, this is your father,” I hear Dante yell from a distance. “Let go of that boy before you make me vomit.”

  “I need to speak with him about invoking his parental claims,” I mutter, but Erik chuckles.

  The rest of the group is on the next bend of the road winding up the side of the island, so Erik and I race toward them. When we reach them, Dante gives me a hug, catching me by surprise. I’m transported back to the night of my retrieval—the last time I felt a parent’s arms around me. When he drops his arms, he backs away, not meeting my eyes.

  “We thought you both drowned,” Valery whispers, looping her arm through mine. “But Jost and Dante wouldn’t stop looking.”

  Wistfulness flashes across her face, but can’t settle onto her drawn, tired countenance. I hook an arm around her waist and her head sinks onto my shoulder.

  My eyes fall to Jost, but he turns away, not even offering a hello. If he’d had doubts about where my relationship with Erik was heading, he doesn’t anymore. I don’t blame him for not looking at me. I can’t change any of it though, so I trudge forward. Dante nods awkwardly at me. He might be able to pull out his parental feelings in jest, but he can’t express them now.

  “Have you found the entrance to the prison yet?” Erik asks.

  “We’ve been looking for you,” Jost says. His voice, though weary, lacks recrimination.

  “You’ve found us. Let’s go,” I say, finding myself energized by proximity to our destination.

  “Ad.” Jost catches my arm and draws me to the side. “I’m glad you’re safe. Both of you.”

  We shift awkwardly and I think he might hug me, but he doesn’t. Instead he gives me a small smile before he turns back to our mission.

  The island is dark, no light shining from the wind-beaten watchtower. Without the sun, the only light comes from the stars and a crescent moon perched in the dusky sky. The silhouette of the fortress grows larger as we draw nearer. It should intimidate, but all I feel is the tug of familiarity. Stone walls that reach to the sky, a well-placed turret. It’s not so different from the Coventry, except this prison has windows—something the Guild didn’t permit us. But even with windows, it looks impossible to escape this place.

  A variety of buildings dot the perimeter, but they are as silent as death. Save for the occasional dancing light that disappears as soon as I turn to follow it, there’s no sign of life.

  “What if no one’s here?” I ask Dante.

  “Then we keep looking,” he assures me, but there’s doubt seeping into his words. Perhaps he’s starting to understand the role of a father after all. He’s trying to offer me comfort and assurance even if it’s a lie.

  If Alcatraz is abandoned, where we will start? I know it will come to a decision: keep looking or reenter Arras through the loophole to save our families. For the first time, standing on the brink of discovery, I face the possibility of returning. I know I can’t—won’t—go back. I can’t choose Amie over an entire world, and I buoy myself against the ache of that realization, because if I let myself feel it, I’ll shatter on the spot.

  The yard is enclosed by a concrete wall and foreboding-looking wire loops across the top. We circle the perimeter for a long time before we find a loading dock that leads us to an entrance.

  “I thought there would be more security,” Jost notes. He takes a few steps forward so the handlight’s beam travels to the front of the prison.

  “Yeah, this place looks dead,” Valery says in a small voice. “Maybe we should turn back.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “This place is huge. We won’t know anything until we get inside.”

  Valery whimpers her acquiescence. Dante draws a gun from its holster and hands it to Erik. Jost already has one.

  “If something happens, the best thing you can do is warp us some safety,” Dante tells me.

  The thought stops me cold. Even with practice, I’ve barely been able to control my grasp on Earth’s wild strands. If I choose the wrong one, I could sever one of them. I could bring Alcatraz tumbling down on us.

  Dante stops and places a hand on my shoulder. “You can do it, Adelice. You’ll have to.”

  We snake through the entrance, looking for a way inside the prison. We’re about to give up when a creak puts us on high alert. No one moves in the group, but as the seconds tick by it seems more likely that we’re dealing with the wind and nothing more. The entrance empties into a small sally port like the ones used in the Icebox safe house. The door on the other side is unlocked. If the Whorl was here, they wouldn’t allow such lax conditions. My heart sinks right as a gunshot whistles by and buffets along the walls behind me. I’m so taken aback that I don’t react until Dante shoves me to the ground, his other arm swinging his gun into position in front of him. The crack of bullets bounces around the large concrete enclosure and I snap to, willing myself to see the wild fabric of the universe. To my surprise it comes into focus easily and I realize we’re not dealing with a vacant, decrepit building. The prison has been reinforced against both nature and time.

  The strands of time don’t flash with the inconsistency I’ve grown accustomed to. They aren’t wild, but rigid and set, making them easier to see and harder to manipulate. But it’s amazing what adrenaline can do and I wrench a long, thick strand from its locked position and ruffle it in my hand. The effect is instantaneous, the warp blocking a shot just in time. The bullet ricochets off the strands, skittering across the floor. From a distance I see the guard who’s shooting at us peek out from behind a concrete pillar, confused by what’s happened. It’s the opening we need, and Dante fires around the warped spot, hitting him in the shoulder. The guard’s gun clatters to the floor and he falls back. Alive, but stunned.

  Scrambling to our feet, we rush at him. Erik grabs his gun, tucking it into the waistband of his pants.

  “Where are the others?” Dante demands, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the wounded man’s temple.

  “There are none,” the guard splutters. “Only me.”

  “We’ll find them,” Dante threatens.

  “Only my family. Please don’t hurt them,” he begs, clutching his bloody shoulder.

  “We won’t hurt your family,” I say softly. “I promise. We need to know if there are other guards.”

  “No one else is here but the scientist,” he says quickly.

  “The scientist?” Dante repeats, daring a glance at me.

  “Are you going to kill him?” the guard asks in a tremulous voice.

  “We’re going to save him,” I say.

  The guard’s eyes dart to each of us, trying to make sense of who we are and why we’ve come. “They don’t keep him here.” He nods to the silent cell block behind him. “He lives in the old warden’s house.”

  I’d expected to steal a machine, not stumble upon a scientist tucked away on a prison island.

  “If you’re smart,” Dante says, his gun still on the guard, “you’ll get your wife to tend to that wound and then you’ll get off this island. If you come back for us, she’ll be burying you. Do you understand?”

  The man groans a yes, clearly torn between his duty and his life.

  “I can’t promise they won’t hurt your family if you attack us again, Lucas,” I say, reading the name tag on the guard’s antiquated uniform.

  Dante doesn’t lower his gun as the man shuffles toward the exit and I wait, dread pulsing through me, to see if he’ll shoot him. As soon as he gets to the door, Dante calls out and I freeze expectantly. “Lucas, I wouldn’t bother contacting your superiors—not if you want to protect your family. I’d hide if I were you.”

  “Where?” Lucas asks in a hopeless tone. “There’s nowher
e to hide from them.”

  “The Icebox,” Dante answers.

  “That’s four hours from here.”

  “You better get moving then,” Dante says. “And don’t look back.”

  He nods once at us, revulsion and shame mingling in his features.

  “Why would they keep a scientist on the island but outside the prison?” I ask. “They have all these cells.”

  “Prisoners are happier when they forget they’re in a cage,” Erik reminds me.

  “But if he’s not locked up, why doesn’t he leave?” Valery asks in a shaking voice. Her features are pale with fear.

  “Look at this rock,” I tell her. “There’s no escaping.” I keep my thoughts about the composition of the prison to myself. If the Guild has artificially altered it, I need to study it more to understand how and why they’ve used such resources, although I have a pretty good idea already. Whatever secrets the Guild keeps here are locked not only on this island but also in time, like the moments I warped to guard my rendezvouses with Jost at the Coventry.

  “Actually, it’s a good thing that he’s not locked up,” Dante assures Valery.

  She gives him a blank look. I’m not sure I know what he’s getting at either.

  “The scientist will have food,” Dante says, making for the exit. “I’m hungry.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE WARDEN’S HOUSE LIES BEYOND THE PRISON—far enough to be both convenient to it and secluded from it. Its stone façade sweeps into elegant lines and a tiled roof. Light glows from several of the oversized windows as we make our way to the door. The boys keep their guns raised, and I catch Dante looking back over his shoulder.

  We congregate on a worn porch, and I rap on the door. Then we wait, barely breathing, for an answer.

  When the door swings open, I can’t stifle my surprise. I know the scientist. He’s the man from the news clipping in the Old Curiosity Shop and from the propaganda film I watched at Kincaid’s estate. Kairos. He’s no older now than he was then. He has the same aging skin and shock of unkempt white hair. His eyes are ancient and tired.

  “Company,” he says. His tone is friendly but his voice peaks strangely on the word, highlighting the vowels and making them sound exotic on his tongue. He ignores the guns leveled at his head. “I was making tea. I’ll have to put more water on.”

  “Hold it right there,” Dante says.

  “My boy,” the scientist says, and I hear the slight shift in his tone—not to anger but rather annoyance—“I’m a man of science, not violence. Keep your guns if you must, but I promise I’m not going to attack you with boiling water.”

  I bite against the smile tugging at my lips. No one makes a move to go inside, so I step forward, following him as he shuffles off. Erik is at my side in an instant. He’s lowered his gun, but it’s still in his hand.

  “Your friend does not trust me,” the scientist notes.

  I blush a little, oddly embarrassed to feel we’ve insulted him with our wariness. It’s a strange reaction given that I know I’m in the presence of the man who’s responsible for creating the first looms and Arras itself.

  “He’s a little protective,” I say apologetically.

  “Ah, a beau then?” the old man asks with a wink, and I flush more.

  “I won’t let them shoot you,” I say.

  The man’s head falls back and he laughs, deep and bellowing, ignoring the kettle he’s filling. “I like you. I will pretend that was a joke and that we are friends. Yes?”

  “Yes,” I confirm with a smile.

  “What are your names?” he asks, setting the kettle to heat on the stove. He ambles to the cupboard and riffles through its contents. Next to me Erik cracks his knuckles until I push his hands apart.

  “I’m Adelice Lewys,” I say.

  “And you are here to destroy the Guild of Twelve Nations?” He says the last words with mock ferocity, but I hear it in his voice: he’s not mocking our desire, he’s dismissing it. He must have seen his fair share of failed attempts to destroy the Guild over the years.

  “I suppose,” I say. “I want to separate the worlds. Not destroy them per se.”

  “A worthy ambition,” he notes. “If a foolish one.”

  I blink against his honesty. He offers me a mug with a tea bag perched and waiting inside. “You bear my mark.”

  I look at my outstretched hand, at my techprint, and nod. “Kairos. Your name.”

  “Not my name, but I’m flattered. They called me Dr. Albert Einstein before they called me a traitor and stuck me in here,” he says.

  “Dr. Einstein, I’m Adelice,” I say, this time offering my right hand to shake his. It feels awkward given my own preference for the left hand, but we manage it.

  “Albert,” he says firmly. “Call me Albert. I have not been called Dr. Einstein in so long it feels I have lost the privilege.”

  “We have a lot of questions,” Erik says. He’s juggling the gun and a chipped teacup and it makes me laugh.

  “I think you can put that away,” I say, motioning to his weapon.

  Erik takes a long look at Albert and then looks back at me. I nod encouragingly and he slips the gun into his waistband.

  “Yes, but it will not do to answer them here,” Albert says as the teakettle shrieks its readiness on the stove. “And the tea is ready.”

  Albert carefully pours the boiling water into the waiting cups, trying not to spill and apologizing repeatedly for the few drops that splash onto our hands. He’s no threat, but that might mean he’s no help either. I help him with the mugs and we take them into the other room and disburse them to Jost, Dante, and Valery. The three linger, uncomfortably, in the sitting room and Albert gestures for them to sit down while he goes to shut the front door.

  When he returns he introduces himself and waits patiently while the others give their names. He repeats each as if consigning it to memory.

  “We have a lot of questions, Albert,” Dante says. “Not the least of which is why you’re living here.”

  “Instead of the cold prison?” Albert guesses. “A concession for good behavior. The Guild of Twelve Nations views me as a threat intellectually not physically. As long as people are kept away from me, I’m not a risk.”

  “And your guard and his family?” Jost asks.

  “Lucas and his family are simple people. Lovely supper guests, but not terribly interested in physics and my scientific mumbo jumbo.” Albert pauses, his cup hovering near his lips. His whiskers tickling its rim. “I do hope you have not hurt them.”

  “We sent them away,” I assure him. “We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

  “A curious method of revolution.”

  “We’re not here to hurt anyone who is innocent,” Dante corrects.

  “But what is innocence?” Albert muses. “Ignorance?”

  “Maybe,” Dante says, shifting in his chair.

  “Or good intentions?” Albert adds.

  I look across the room at my companions. Only Erik seems at ease, blowing steam off his tea and taking shallow sips. The rest roost with their shoulders hunched, hanging on Albert’s every word.

  “Maybe a gut reaction,” I offer. “Lucas was acting on orders. Something we can all forgive.”

  “You have acted under orders then?” he asks.

  I remember the thick, coarse strand I removed from the loom under Loricel’s watchful eye. I had acted under orders with good intentions, but under Albert’s piercing gaze, I don’t feel absolved.

  “I have,” I admit, “but not anymore.”

  “And that is how you became a rebel,” he says. “Did you flee from Arras or were you born of Earth?”

  “We’re refugees,” I tell him.

  “So many of you and so young. How did you discover the truth?”

  “I was taken into service,” I begin.

  “A renegade Spinster? Delightful.”

  “Adelice was set to be the new Creweler, and she can alter.” Erik jumps in. I flash him a look
for interrupting me, but it’s clear he thought I should cut to the chase.

  “Then you are the one I’ve waited for.” Albert’s words are so soft that I’m not sure anyone else heard them, as though they were meant only for me. “Do you each bear the mark of Kairos?”

  “No,” Dante says. “Only Adelice and I do. The true rebellion died out years ago, but we are rebuilding. Although another man pretends to have the same agenda as our predecessors.”

  “There is a false rebellion now?” Albert asks questions with the interest of a man awoken from a long sleep. He has no idea what’s happened in the outside world since he was left here.

  “A man named Kincaid wants to find the Whorl,” I tell him.

  “I know Kincaid,” Albert says darkly. “If he’s fallen from the Guild’s favor, he’s no one to trifle with.”

  “Unfortunately we learned that the hard way,” I say.

  “So this is it?” Albert asks. “The final withering offspring of rebellion.”

  “No, there are more of us, but not enough to stand up to the Guild.” Dante has told me of the expectations he had when he came to Earth, of the stories his mother—my grandmother—whispered to him of a powerful legion of men who could free Arras. But they were only stories, and the rebellion was once a fledgling barely able to stand on its own legs.

  “When they locked me away, armies were mounting,” Albert says, slipping into nostalgia. “They weren’t my armies though. No matter what they claimed.”

  “Why not?” I ask, surprised.

  “Because I wasn’t interested in starting another war. I didn’t believe it was my place to end the Guild or their politics. I merely wanted to stop their destruction of those that remained on this planet. The best way to do this was to separate the worlds and end Arras’s dependence on Earth.” His tea sloshes dangerously as he waves his arms.

  “But you must have known what the Guild was capable of,” I say.

  “The Guild is not so different from the governments of Earth. Civil war, world war, these are the inventions of men,” he says. “Terrible inventions, but part of the span of human history. Perhaps someday we may as a species evolve past violence.”