The Dreamwalker's Path

2/ Time’s Chamber, Sanctuary

Time sat in a high backed chair looking out of the window through half closed eyes. There was no need for physical form at the moment, but Time enjoyed being able to experience the world as other things did—or as closely to the way other things did as she could.

At present, her form was still-caught somewhere between that of the child and of the maiden. Long hair was plaited in delicate braids, pinned with white flowers to the back of her head. Wayward curls framed her face, and her omniscient- self looked upon her physical form in the chair and decided that she looked sufficiently pretty by the standards of the race that had created her.

Even that did not put her mind at ease. The witch had said no.

She had known that the witch would say no even before she’d gone into Linear Time to ask her, but she had promised Lyriel that she would go and ask. It had been the only way that he would agree to become Sanctuary’s anchor.

The thought made her bite her lip. With Lyriel holding the city of Sanctuary together, the fractures she’d been feeling had stopped forming at least. But the angel had been telling her the truth when he told her that he was much weaker than he had been upon his arrival at Sanctuary.

In those early days, if he had been the anchor of Sanctuary, the fractures that were slowly occurring along the faults in the city would have healed themselves entirely in just a few linear days. Now, however, the angel’s strength was only so much that he could keep new cracks from forming and the old cracks from getting wider.

Whether she wanted to or not, she had to go back to Linear Time again and try to convince the witch to become the Twelfth Hour. Only then would the fractures heal themselves, only then would her Hours no longer doubt her. Only then—

She did not move when the door of her chamber opened, but she did not need to turn and look at the creature to know who approached.

“I hope that you are here to apologize, Seven; I have been most deeply hurt by your behavior as of late.” Time tried not to be too concerned by the fact that Seven was not wearing his garb. There could be many reasons for that, she knew. One of the chief complaints among the Hours was that the stiff fabric was uncomfortable, and stifling. Still, it wasn’t something that Time was keen for her Hours to overlook while in her presence.

Her pride wasn’t the only reason for her concern regarding the Hour’s dress; Seven had been angry with her since their confrontation those few months ago, and some part of her dreaded how his anger would finally manifest. She had made him a promise, and she barely kept it. They both knew that, by the terms of their original agreement, he was well within his rights to retire from his position. Only Time knew how disastrous that might be for the city. Time and the Historian.

To her relief, when Trite circled around the chair to take the seat opposite her, he didn’t look like he was going to argue anymore.

Instead, the Hour settled in the chair, elbows on the arms

of the chair, fingers laced and hands against his belly. He looked at Time with a solemn, but unreadable expression, and Time was reminded of how very inhuman most of her Hours truly were.

Perhaps that was her mistake. Perhaps knowing that she had such a strong hold on human reality, she should have contented herself with that, instead of trying to casually integrate herself into the many other, more powerful realities that existed. All for the sake of just a little more power. Perhaps then that witch wouldn’t have been able to go for so long without any of them noticing her in the city. Perhaps, too, Lia wouldn’t be as adamant about refusing her. Then, just perhaps, her entire city wouldn’t be falling apart.

Perhaps. But chances were that everything would have unfolded just the same.

As Time attempted to console herself, Trite continued to gaze at her unblinkingly. Jack o’ lantern’s eyes moved across the form that was caught between forms; Time was neither child nor maiden, and Trite couldn’t help but approve. This was the form that best suited time. Not the pretty child, not the beautiful maiden, and not the wrinkled old woman. This gawky, stringy adolescent girl; on this form, he expected to see the slight sneer that Time always wore, and to hear the spoiled, entitled tone of her voice. This was the Time that he met centuries ago, the Time who had showed up in his woods, a lost adolescent, looking for a new friend.

He’d meant to apologize, but seeing the all-powerful Time in the form which she had first appeared to him stirred another bout of discontent. So instead of I’m sorry, he found himself saying, “You lied to me.”

He lowered his gaze, feeling slightly ashamed of the words, however true he felt them to be.

"I did what?”

At first, Trite thought that Time’s voice was angry, but when heartbeats passed and Time didn’t begin a martyr’s speech, he realized that it wasn’t anger he heard, but confusion.

Carefully looking up, he studied the baffled expression on the woman-child’s face. Apparently, whatever she thought he was going to say, you lied to me wasn’t it. That, he supposed, only made sense; it wasn’t what he thought he was going to say either.

He took advantage of her confusion, though, and spoke again. “You lied to me; when you found me out-casted on the outskirts of the lands of my people, you told me that you would take me to a place where I would be loved and respected; you told me that I would be treated as an equal, despite the crimes that I had been accused of.”

Now the confusion was transforming into the anger he expected. Her form quivered and built itself up to the dignified maiden. When she spoke, her voice was low, but livid. “Tell me how I have lied, Trite of No Home to Call His Own. Tell me how bringing you to Sanctuary, giving you one of the most coveted positions across all planes of existence, a new place to live, a new family, tell me how all of that is a lie.”

Trite shook his head. “I have been in your service for many centuries now, Time, and while it’s true you gave me a place to live and put me in a position to build friendships, that is not what you promised. You promised equality, but you hide things from me; you promised respect, and yet you shut me down each time that I raise my voice to offer a suggestion; you promised me love, and all I feel from you is annoyance.”

“You are equal to the other Hours,” Time quipped, body sagging into the form of the old woman. “and the people of Sanctuary respect and love you. I don’t understand what more you want.”

Trite shook his head. Of course she didn’t understand. Time had been made cruel and unforgiving. It was not her nature to understand why he would struggle after she promised him love and cast him away again and again.

“Where is the new Twelve, Time? How much longer until you find them and bring them here?”

He didn’t know why he had asked. Like much of this conversation, it wasn’t at all what he had meant to say when he opened his mouth, and yet it was the only damned thing that he could think of to keep the conversation going. Because if they stopped talking now, Trite knew that Time would never speak to him in the same capacity again.

Time shifted and glared at her Seventh Hour. “That is not your business.”

“And that is neither the respect, love, nor equality that I was promised, Time,” he hissed between bared teeth.

Child-like once more, Time ran her fingers through her long locks and rearranged the crisp folds of her little white dress. “I told you months ago that finding a new Twelve would be difficult and that placing someone incompatible to that part of the city could do more harm than good;” she delivered the lie smoothly, and Seven a fleeting glance. Then, with a sort of whimsical dismissal, she added, “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Seven. I am doing the best I can—I even have a candidate that I am hoping will accept the position soon.”

She did not add who the candidate in question was. The liklihood of either Seven or Eight discussing the matter with each other was minimal. She had told Eight as a reward for a service performed, and he was not the sort of creature that shared privledged information for kindness’ sake. And Seven? He was too loyal to take a conversation they had outside of this room.

So, let Eight know the identity of the woman, and let Seven know the possibility of her arrival, if it would appease the pair of them. Her only regret was that she had told Eight about that Dreamwalking bitch before discussing the matter with the woman herself, and she wasn’t going to risk spreading the word further in the increasingly likely notion that she failed to convince the woman to fall in line.

The Seventh Hour leaned forward with a measure of relief and expectance in his strangely animal face. “That is good news, isn’t it? Having to find someone compatible is the hardest part, is it not? You’ve said that much before.”

Time arched an eyebrow and laughed softly. “Well, usually, yes.” She leaned against her hand and offered the Hour a careless smile before adding, “Though in this particular instance, dealing with her has been tedious, to say the least.”

Pale brows drew together, and Trite canted his head. “How so?”

Time pursed her lips for a moment and glanced away, “is complicated, and she has responsibilities that I’m not sure she’d be willing to walk away from.”

“What job could she possibly have that is more important than Sanctuary?”

“That is not something I have the right to tell you, not any more than if you were asking personal questions about Four or Eight or the other Hours. Eventually she will come to us, though, and in the meanwhile, I have stabilized the city as best as I can.”

“As best as you can,” he echoed, the line of worry over his orange eyes deepened. “Time, I don’t—”

“I gave the former Twelve thirteen years before officially summoning him,” Time interrupted him with the reminder. “Sanctuary was fine during that time, we will be fine for a little while longer.”

“Sebastian was a child, of course you gave him more time, but we met him, Time. Before he was summoned for the first time, he was in Sanctuary, his time overlapped with the Twelve before him. Right now, we have no one holding the two districts that fall under Twelve’s jurisdiction.”

“You have me to hold the pieces,” the child that was Time snapped at her Hour.

“Then why has the city begun to crumble, Time? If you’re holding the sections of Sanctuary in check and we can afford to wait for this new Hour to show up whenever she feels like it, why is the weather changing? Why are the gods trying to escape from the Temple, why are cracks to other plains appearing along the faults? Please, Time, explain to me while the world that you created seems to be falling apart under us if everything is really okay.”

Time looked away. She was again caught in the form of the adolescent girl, and for a moment, Trite dared hope.

“You have been loyal to me, Seven,” she began softly, “but your questions on this matter are not appreciated.” She held up a hand at his protest. “I understand that I owe you answers. I am not blind to that. I know that I we are approaching a moment when telling you will be impossible to avoid any longer, though I had hoped that I would be able to avoid it all together...”

Trite reached out and put his hand over Time’s hands. “Then don’t put it off. Tell me, if just me. I am the only one among us who has questioned you on this matter. You know that Kuro and Isanthe are loyal to you to a fault. Tevahn loves you, as do Mara and M’delina. Shikhar and Gabe are warriors who will follow you to the end, and Sune is as much in your debt as I am. Ilya and Lomiel have concerns, but I can reassure them if you only give me a reason.”

“I do not have answers for everything that you ask me, Trite,” Time’s voice was half exasperated, half defiant, and dignified to the bone. “The forces that helped me to make this city are wild and unpredictable. They belong to a younger creature than the one you see before you now. A creature not yet tamed by man, or any other species; I simply existed and I did as it pleased me to do. I do not remember every nuance or inkling that contributed to the construction of Sanctuary, and I cannot account for its failings. Do you understand, Trite?” She put her other hand on top of the demon’s, and the maiden looked into his eyes with all the earnestness that Trite was sure she possessed.

“I am not holding answers back from you to be cruel, I simply have no answers to give you.” She looked beseechingly at her Hour. “The only thing that I can say with certainty is that, for now, I am holding the pieces, and while the cracks in the city’s foundation won’t heal until Twelve takes her place among us, they won’t worsen and new cracks will not appear.”

Trite sat back, feeling defeated. Now when he spoke, the words came out as he had intended originally, “I’m sorry, Time.”

At the very least, Time looked consoled by his apology. She let go of his hand and sat back in her chair, turning back to the window so that she could continue to gaze out at the city and the people.

It seemed as though that she had nothing more to say to him, and so Trite stood. “I’ll leave you now, Time. There is an Eastling witch and child that Eight has asked me to check on during my pass, and I’ll need an early start to do so.”

When Time didn’t respond, Trite turned and headed toward the door.

“Trite, wait,” The crone had turned in her chair to regard him imploringly. “I have one more thing that I can tell you.”

Trite paused, looked over his shoulder, waited, hand on the doorknob.

Time shifted from old crone to little girl again. “Thank you,” the little girl said with that same, careless smile. “Thank you for trusting me.”