The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)

 

 

“To hide the truth.” There was a long silence. Then he sighed. “We were stealing from the king, and my brother was caught in a trap, his leg crushed between two stones. I couldn’t save him, but I couldn’t leave him—not all of him. We were inseparable. If the king saw his face, he’d know I’d been there too. I remember it so well. The smell of the blood. The sound of his sobbing. He died calling for our mother. I had to saw at the tendons. Stomp on the bones of his neck. The blood on my face felt like tears. His death, my pain. I sacrificed, but to keep secrets, and now I remember . . . everything.”

 

My face twisted in disgust, in pity. “Can’t you drink from the Lethe?”

 

“And forget him? Never. I love my brother.” He sighed again, and his voice echoed in the dark. “Seeing the skull reminds me of him.”

 

“You can see in this?”

 

“It’s easier if you close your eyes.”

 

“What is?”

 

When the answer came, I felt his hot breath in my ear. “Remembering.”

 

A hand grabbed my wrist; I screamed and flailed at him, but I didn’t connect. Still, he released me, and I stumbled back with a splash. Cold water seeped into my boots as I panted, searching the blackness with unseeing eyes. His laughter echoed through the cavern, shaking my core.

 

“I didn’t come here to amuse you,” I shouted, louder than I had to, but my voice was high and scared in the dark.

 

“A happy coincidence, then,” he replied.

 

I gritted my teeth, trying to slow my racing heart. I’d been wasting time with these questions about Trophonius. What did I really need to know? “Is Crowhurst waiting for me by the pools?”

 

“He’s already fled.”

 

A stab of disappointment—but perhaps it had been impossible, undoing the very circumstances that had brought me here. “How do I get back to the Mnemosyne?”

 

“You’re already there.”

 

I blinked, suddenly very aware of the icy coldness climbing the leg of my trousers. “It’s not above?”

 

“The pools above are Lethe. It is always easier to forget than to remember.”

 

He said it simply, and I believed him. I knelt and dipped the canteen into the pool. Full, it was cold and heavy. I slid it back into my pocket, where it matched the weight of the lock. I paused, turning the next question over in my mind, considering whether or not to ask. “Will I save Kashmir?”

 

“No.”

 

Everything fell away then, and the air of the cave was not half as cold as the pit of my despair. “Why not?”

 

“It’s not up to you.”

 

“Then who?”

 

“It’s not your fate,” he said. “I cannot tell you.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“I don’t believe you!”

 

“I don’t care. Though perhaps it’s not the Mnemosyne you want, but the Lethe.”

 

“I will never forget Kashmir.”

 

“I know.”

 

I swore at him. Trophonius was wrong, he had to be. I had not come so far to be foiled—I would find a way, if I had to go down to the treasury and carry Kashmir out myself. Plowing through the water, I returned to dry ground. Where was the mouth of the cave? I could no longer see the light. “How do I get out of here?”

 

“But . . .” The oracle’s tone changed, and a note of uncertainty vibrated in the cavern. “Won’t you drink?”

 

“Why should I?”

 

“Because if you do, you’ll know what will happen.”

 

“With Kashmir?”

 

“With everything,” he said, and his voice low and tempting. “You will know what is possible, what is probable, and what only has a passing chance. What might happen, and what should never. If you drink, your eyes will become open. You will emerge from the dark cave, and all that came before will be like shadows on the wall. You will finally see, and you will know everything.”

 

“Everything?” For a moment, my mind reeled with the prospect of knowledge—of truth, bitter and beautiful. I had chased it for so long. But then I frowned. “Why are you asking whether I’ll drink? Don’t you know the answer?”

 

“I know the most likely answer, and the least. But I don’t know which you’ll actually give.”

 

“So Joss was right. There is a chance to change things.” There came no answer—but then again, I had not asked a question. “Did Crowhurst drink?”

 

When the oracle spoke, I heard the smile in his voice. “What do you think?”

 

“I think . . .” I swallowed. “I think knowledge takes sacrifice. I already know what I need to.”

 

He laughed again. “And what is that, little girl?”

 

“Enough to know better. How do I get out?”

 

He was silent then, for a long time. “The map.”

 

I touched my arm; the sleeve still covered the ink. “But I can’t see like you can.”

 

“I told you. Close your eyes.”