When Odin-Vann turned back from the door, however, James’ eyes widened. Dirt and blood stained the professor’s face like a mask.
His eyes were haunted, sunken and wild in their sockets. His clothing was torn, partially burned, and grey with gritty dust. He paused, noting the students’ shocked expressions, then made a conscious effort to calm his features. He raised his left hand, took a step toward them, and nearly collapsed before Rose and James caught him, one under each arm.
“Professor!” Rose cried, “What happened!? Are you OK?
Should we go for Madame Curio?”
“No!” Odin-Vann barked, gasping in pain as his knees buckled.
“No, I’m all right. It looks worse than it is, I promise. And there are far more important matters at hand than my wellbeing. I need your help.
Or, rather, Petra does. Now more than ever.”
Ralph’s voice was stoic, almost cold, as he crossed his arms and cocked his head. “What happened?” he demanded firmly. “What did you do? Tell us before we agree to any more help.”
“Ralph!” Rose scolded him loudly. “What’s wrong with you!?
He’s hurt, can’t you see?”
“He’s bleeding and dirty, I’ll give you that,” Ralph countered.
“But he somehow survived the destruction of Alma Aleron’s Archive, and the Loom in the Vault of Destinies. He’s responsible for what happened. I, for one, am feeling far more inclined to turn him over to Merlin and the Watch than to help him. What’s he going to destroy next, eh? What’s his newest brilliant idea?”
“Ralph!” James said, sudden anger burning his cheeks, but Scorpius overrode him, his drawling voice sounding almost bored.
“Deedle is right,” he commented, and then caught himself and turned to Ralph. “Sorry. Dolohov, is right.”
“Thank you,” Ralph sighed. He hadn’t drawn his wand, but James could see that his hands were itching to do so.
Odin-Vann seemed to regain his footing and his strength. He straightened his robes and nodded at Ralph. “You’re right. I’m sorry for rushing you. It’s been…” He laughed drily. It was a short, somewhat mad sound. “It’s been a strange few days for me. But I can’t blame you for being extremely suspicious. I would be as well. I shall tell you everything you wish to know, if I can. And yet I cannot emphasize enough, I fear, that time is very much now our enemy.”
Ralph nodded to himself and firmed his jaw. “Fine,” he said, exhaling harshly. “Start by telling us exactly what happened on Friday afternoon.”
Odin-Vann looked up at Ralph, meeting his eyes with impatience and desperation etched onto his face, but then, with a force of apparently Herculean effort, he calmed himself again. “Very well.
But let us go to the ship. It is our destination, at any rate. If you hear my short tale and decide to help, then we shall embark immediately. If not…” He shrugged and shook his head, “Then you are free to return to whatever remains of our lives.”
“Hey guys!” a voice called from the vicinity of Hagrid’s ship where it bobbed on the dark waves. James turned to look back, surprised. He recognized the voice and, even in his distress, couldn’t help smiling. The figure of Zane Walker stood on the deck of the Gertrude, his hands cupped to his mouth as he called, “You all gonna stand there kibitzing all night? I’m starting to feel a little left out.”
“Petra asked for him as well,” Odin-Vann sighed, turning back from the ship. “And she brought him here. The same way that she brought me back. By opening space like a door. She can do that now.
She can do… well, just about anything.”
“Except return the crimson thread,” James commented pointedly as the crew began to hurry down to the waiting gangplank.
“No,” Odin-Vann agreed, limping as he walked. “Opening a path to the right dimension is beyond even her powers. For that… she will need all of us.”
The group’s footsteps clumped and clanked up the gangplank to the deck of the Gertrude, where Zane greeted everyone with his irrepressible grin and a hearty handshake, as if he was a cruise director welcoming a gaggle of tourists. Above them all, the inverted mirror of the Black Lake hung precipitously, clapping its own waves and dropping cool mist.
“Let us sit,” Odin-Vann said, and James could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Just here, on the deck. I don’t have it in me to go below. This won’t take long, I hope.”
James hunkered down along the outside railing and felt the gentle roll and dip of the ship beneath him. Odin-Vann sank to an awkward sitting position against the wheelhouse, while the others formed a rough circle.
“Petra found me in my dormitory,” Zane admitted quietly to James. “Didn’t knock or anything. Just stepped right out of a black hole and onto my fake yeti-skin rug. I about peed my pants, and that’s saying something. We Zombies pride ourselves in expecting the unexpected.”
“What did she say?” James asked.
“She said that time was short and you lot would need me to do what needed to be done,” he answered with a shrug. “And that’s pretty much word-for-word. She was in a major hurry.”
“So what needs to be done?” Ralph asked, turning back to Odin-Vann.
The young professor shook his head wearily. “With the Loom destroyed, there’s only one more chance to set everything right,” he answered. “One last way to replace Morgan with Petra and reset the balance. But it will take all of us. Petra plays the most important part, and it will cost her everything, a higher price than I am willing to admit, in fact. But without us—without you lot—there’s no hope whatsoever.”
Ralph asked again, his eyes narrowed, “What did you do?”
“Someone sabotaged us,” Odin-Vann answered flatly, meeting Ralph’s accusing stare. “I had prepared so carefully, so thoroughly. I was ready for anything that might go wrong with actually restarting the Loom and replacing the thread. The spellwork was perfect. But we never even got a chance to try it. The moment we approached, we triggered something. A boundary hex of some kind, attuned either to Petra, or the thread itself, or both. The Vault contracted like a fist. It didn’t crush the Loom—that device was far too magical to be destroyed by brute strength. But it compressed its power, condensed it with titanic force, until it simply combusted. The Loom consumed itself with the blinding singularity of its own compressed energy, and the Vault exploded. The repercussions demolished the Archive and ruptured the magical fabric of the entire world. But worst of all, it halted the inertia of our dying destiny entirely. There is nothing supporting us anymore.
No fate. No purpose. No providence, or luck, or fortune. We are untethered from any intelligible directing force whatsoever. If we don’t succeed with this last, final chance… there may be no world for us to come back to.”
“But…” Rose said, her voice low with awed worry, “What can Petra do? Where can she go now to accomplish her task?”
“There is only one place,” Odin-Vann acknowledged, dropping his eyes to the deck between them. “One place where decisions still matter, where destiny can play its part.”