The thrum of propellers carried dully from outside, blending with the steady drone of the engines and the hiss of the mechanism that fed fuel into the combustion chamber from a special tank. Axel sat silently, scowling at the map spread across the table. His lips moved as he muttered numbers, measuring distances with a pair of compasses. It was one of those rare moments when the aeronaut came down, leaving the wheel behind, to take part in discussions and decisions. But this case was truly urgent.

  Axel measured the map with his instruments several times, jotted a few numbers on a blank sheet, then began calculating in columns, filling the page with figures. He sighed, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and finally marked a cross on a section of the map in the northern part of the Regerlim forest.

  "So. We’re flying here."

  "Approximately," Petros nodded. The rest of the expedition members, including Hector, sat around the table in the lamplight. "Give or take a couple of miles, which is your margin for landing the aerostat."

  "How generous of you, Professor!" Axel sneered. As always, in moments of tension, his natural sarcasm seeped through. "Of course, considering all the pirouettes I’ve had to pull off flying this thing, setting her down in the middle of a forest is hardly a problem… But fine, we’ll see on the spot. Still, there are more than a few unresolved issues I’d like to clarify."

  "Such as?" Saelin asked coolly.

  "Point one, the most important. Fuel. We’re about to run dry, and this spot is at least three days’ flight from the nearest human settlements. First, we need to land in one of those towns and try to buy ilmarite to refill the tanks. Only then will I be ready to go further. We always have to carry the bare minimum of fuel to avoid overload, you understand?"

  "Perfectly," Petros agreed. "We’ll factor that into our plans. And the second point?"

  Axel tore his gaze from the map and drew a thick line beneath his last number.

  "You know it yourselves," he said. "Druids. When we signed the contract, there was no mention of us crawling into the lair of those savages. But in Western Vaimar, the rumors… People vanish. Disappear into the forest and never return. Many are afraid, moving far away from those parts, and I don’t want any extra danger landing on my ass either. What guarantees can you give me that, while I wait for your return from the next shrine and guard the aerostat, I won’t get jumped by a pack of painted cannibals?"

  "You’ll have your guarantees, Axel," Petros smirked. "You will."

  "If you please, Professor, be specific."

  "Certainly. First, which city do you plan to buy ilmarite in?"

  The aeronaut scratched his head and looked at the map again.

  "There’s the human settlement of Steiling here," he said. "I think it makes sense to fly there. It’s a detour of a day’s flight, but at least we’ll be sure to refuel and then head toward your shrine."

  "Wonderful!" Petros rubbed his hands. "Then in Steiling we’ll also hire ourselves a druid guide."

  Axel shook his head.

  "And how will you choose a trustworthy clan? What if you get cannibals? Honestly, I wouldn’t trust those people at all… They might take a pile of money from us and then abandon us halfway if it’s no longer worth their while."

  "We don’t have much choice," Petros answered calmly. "There aren’t ‘trustworthy clans.’ But it’s better to hire someone than no one at all. So, more optimism, my friend. Fortune has favored us so far, and I see no reason why it should turn away now."

  Vergilius approached, smiling, and raised his glass.

  "A fine evening, gentlemen," he said. "And fine work today. I must admit, our very first expedition exceeded all my expectations."

  "Any results from the analysis?" Petros asked.

  "Quite fascinating. A most curious specimen, I mean the traces of magic left at the site of the crossroads. My colleagues at the Department of Temporal Magic will be ecstatic. I’ve only just begun processing the data, but I can say with certainty: no one has ever seen anything like it. In fact, we didn’t even imagine such a thing could exist."

  "Care to enlighten us?" Petros grinned. "For the love of Aktos, in plain words. Saelin may still follow you, but I’ll struggle."

  "I’ll try. We’ve found traces of former crossroads before, and even a couple of documented cases when they were still open. There’s a theory of space-time distortions that roughly explains the existing data… The essence is this: in order for the predictions to match experiment, we had to introduce certain constants. One of them is the energy required to merge two points on the timeline and open a physical passage between them. And it’s an enormous number. No such energy source exists in nature. That’s one of the reasons why we’ve never been able to reproduce a crossroads in laboratory conditions. But today’s data… In a sense, they allow us to refine those constants. And it turns out the required energy is even greater than we thought. It possibly comes from another source, or is focused differently."

  "What do you mean?"

  "My theory is that there are two fundamentally different types of crossroads: artificial ones, like the one we witnessed today, and spontaneous ones. A few quick calculations suggest that spontaneous crossroads could have formed thanks to constructive interference of secondary waves radiating through space-time when an artificial passage was opened. That’s why they appeared who knows when and where. And for creating an artificial crossroads, some device was used. Perhaps the very thing the Priests held in their hands on the frescoes."

  "Excellent work, Vergilius," Petros smiled. "See? You were afraid our plan was flawed, that we’d get nothing. This alone was worth venturing into Vaimar, wasn’t it?"

  "Actually, there’s so much data it could take six months to analyze it all," Vergilius said, adjusting his glasses. "And working aboard this shaking crate is very difficult. Don’t you think it would be wise to take a pause? I heard we plan to land in Steiling. Why not spend more time there, think everything over carefully, register our discovery, contact the Vaimar Mages’ Guild so they can protect the shrine from looters? We might even return there several times to make more precise descriptions of what we found. Each such find is a treasure, not only for you as a historian but for many other branches of science…"

  "Impossible, Vergilius. We won’t be returning anywhere," Petros said sharply, cold fire flashing in his eyes. "We’ll strike while the iron is hot. We still have several such shrines ahead, each with even more incredible discoveries awaiting us. We are pioneers, and we won’t give up our glory, nor our right to enter history! All these shrines—they will bear our names!"

  Vergilius sighed deeply and adjusted his glasses.

  "I believe it’s better to move forward more slowly, but with greater attention to detail," he said in his dull tone. "I do not agree with your approach, Petros."

  "When we return to Mainor, then you, Vergilius, can organize another dozen expeditions to study today’s site. Well? Who else wants to go back, or stay in Steiling for a month? That’s your right! I’m not dragging anyone behind me!" Petros added acidly, sweeping his gaze across the group.

  Vergilius pressed his lips tight and raised his hand. No one followed his example. All stared at Petros in fear.

  "Just as I thought," Petros said, glancing at Vergilius, and suddenly smiled in a way that was almost frightening. "Sorry, my friend, but you’re in the minority."

  ***

  The clouds were thick and impenetrable, hanging oppressively low overhead, as if pressing down and robbing a man even of the light of distant stars. The lantern burning at the front of the aerostat only deepened the night’s darkness, filled with the mournful moan of the wind and the groaning of ropes. Beyond the thin railing, one could barely make out the outlines of the propellers spinning with a quiet hum—and beyond them, everything lay shrouded in gloom. But the sky was restless: gray clouds swirled, in some places pitch-black, in others breaking apart to reveal a deep blue vault pierced by the soft light of the young moon.

  Petros shivered. He packed his pipe, his fingers trembling as they shielded the tiny spark of the flint from the wind. Lit up, staring forward without really seeing anything ahead, drew long. Smoke rose upward and melted away in thin rings. Petros was deep in thought.

  "Can’t sleep either?"

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  He wasn’t surprised. Blowing out smoke, he took the stem from his mouth for a while, savoring the tobacco’s aroma, stretching out the satisfaction.

  "After a day like this, it’ll be a while before I sleep."

  "How close do you think we came to the goal today?" Saelin asked, stepping up beside him, a goblet of wine in his hand, leaning against the railing.

  "Quite close, I think. We convinced Konrad, Vergilius, and Nubel that the ancient Nocturns could indeed create crossroads of time. Just now, Konrad and I translated the inscription from the pedestal. It said something like… ‘The Seer awaits in the sanctuary of Vaimos.’ Perhaps it’s one of the sanctuaries still ahead of us."

  "The Seer?" Saelin repeated.

  "Yes. It’s an adjective mostly used in ancient texts to describe the High Priest. As far as we can tell, all High Priests were called Seers."

  "Seems they expected that one day their people would unite, drive the foreigners out of Laugdeil, and power would return to the High Priest. That’s what the key was for," Saelin suggested.

  Petros thought for a while, blowing out a smoke ring.

  "High Priests didn’t wield much real power," he said at last. "The Nocturns had a republic, governed by a consul elected by the senate. High Priests, in truth, had little influence politically, and often became pawns of the different parties… But if the frescoes are to be trusted, it looks as if only they could create the crossroads of time. We know their office wasn’t hereditary. When a High Priest died, the search for his successor began. That search could take years, though usually no more than five or ten. Once they found the new High Priest, they crowned him to office, and he remained so until death."

  "Fascinating… But what does it matter?" Saelin asked, leaning back on the railing, his elbows resting on it.

  "Don’t you see? There’s a connection between what we’re searching for and these Seers. On all the frescoes we saw today, it’s always the High Priest who opens the passage. Does that mean that, by his authority, only he was entrusted with the responsibility to create the crossroads? Or does it mean that only he could create them, and that this very ability was the reason he gained his authority in the first place?"

  "You think it takes a special ability?"

  "The more I read the Vaimarakirian and other documents from that era, the more I see this question is crucial. It may be vital to us, Saelin. What if the artifact alone isn’t enough? What if it also has to be in the hands of the right person?"

  "Then we’ll find that person, simple as that," Saelin shrugged, his eyes flashing.

  "Yes, but how? What quality must one have to open a crossroads of time? What if I or you already possess it, without knowing? What if it lies in one of our close companions? How would you determine that? Hand Octarus to each one and ask them to try?"

  "I think you’re worrying too early about this, Petros…"

  "It’s never too early to worry about such things."

  Silence fell again, broken only by the steady thrum of the propellers. Then Petros suddenly spoke:

  "Saelin… Why are you here?"

  "What?"

  "Why did you convince me to do this? How is it that we met, the only two people in the world who believed in the existence of a time machine strongly enough to set out and search for it? I know what drove me to believe. But what about you?"

  "We all have skeletons in the closet that we’re in no hurry to reveal to strangers," Saelin smirked crookedly. "We all want to change something in the past, don’t we?"

  "Strangers? Is that what we are? And for the record, I don’t want to change anything…"

  "Ha-ha, of course… Don’t tell me you’re here purely for science, just to satisfy your curiosity. Nonsense, Petros. You want to use the time machine, and you will if you ever get the chance. We both know that. Let me guess. Ashley? You want to go back and fix things so she wouldn’t have chosen Roger over you?"

  "To hell with her!" Petros’s eyes flared, but his voice trembled, betraying the falsehood Saelin heard in it. "Let her do as she pleases. I’m rich and successful. I could have a hundred women like her if I wanted…"

  "Then why did you invite her on this expedition?" Saelin smiled. "When the Academy let you choose anyone you wished—why her? Don’t tell me it was out of old friendship. You still hope for something, Petros. Jealousy gnaws at you. You’d have been better off not bringing her along; it was a mistake, and you know it. Her presence clouds your judgment."

  In an instant, Petros closed the distance between them, standing directly before Saelin, his gaze burning with fury.

  "Shut up," he said, breathing heavily. "Don’t ever open your mouth again if you’re going to talk about me and Ashley. And you still haven’t answered my question. What skeletons are in your closet, Erik? I brought Ashley—and you brought Hector. Why?"

  Saelin held his gaze, silent, smiling coldly.

  And then the silence was shattered by a scream.

  A scream filled with horror, agony, and hellish pain. Saelin gasped, dropping his goblet, which rolled across the deck, flew over the edge, and disappeared into the void. But the professor was already rushing down the stairs, for it was his son, Hector, who screamed.

  Lamps flared to life. Ashley, Nubel, and Vergilius rose slowly from their bunks, frightened to death, rubbing their eyes. Axel and Konrad were already kneeling beside the boy, who was gasping in their arms, still groaning, his eyes wide and darting wildly. There was terror in them such as Saelin had never seen. He leaned over his son, staring into his face…

  "Don’t come closer!" Hector shrieked in a hoarse, broken voice. "Don’t come closer! Please, leave me, don’t touch me!.."

  Saelin flinched and drew back, but then realized his son wasn’t pointing at him. Hector’s mad, terrified eyes were fixed on the stairs, where Petros was hurrying down.

  "What the…" The professor’s jaw dropped. He swept his gaze across those clustered around the boy. And then Hector’s head lolled back limply, his trembling hand fell to the floor. He was pale as a corpse, his hands scratched raw, his bitten lips and chin streaked with blood. Ashley pressed her fingers to his wrist and instantly pulled back.

  "Aktos!"

  "What!" Saelin roared. "What’s wrong with him?! Hector! Hector, can you hear me?"

  "His pulse is racing…" Ashley murmured. "Breath’s ragged. Like he’s just run a mile-long sprint. But alive, and apparently unharmed… no fever, nothing else…"

  "I… I’m fine," Hector whispered with effort. "It’s nothing…"

  "Bad dream?" Konrad asked suddenly.

  "Something like that… yeah…"

  "What? What did you see?" Saelin asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.

  Hector was silent for a moment, slowly returning to himself.

  "Death," he said hoarsely.

  ***

  Steiling was a small backwater town, lying at the very end of one of the branches of the main road. It was the farthest place where man had stepped beyond the edge of the Regerlim forest, reaching the peat bogs that stretched across one of the most remote and dangerous regions of the taiga. Here, the wide western highway ended in a dead stop. The last villages, hamlets, and farmsteads, populated mostly by laborers, woodcutters, and carpenters, huddled tightly among the frequent glades and thick woods.

  When they slowly descended, choosing a wide patch on the town’s outskirts, not far from the low palisade surrounding the clusters of houses, the evening sky was sullen. The clouds drifted westward without ever breaking into rain, while the air hung heavy and stifling. The streets at this hour were not deserted. Carts creaked, horses neighed, people returned from their work in the surrounding forests, and at some sawmills and carpenters’ shops, the workday wasn’t even over yet. People stared, fearfully folding their hands in a special gesture said to ward off spirits, as they watched the flying machine slowly land.

  Petros left at once, announcing that he needed to check in with the local Mages’ Guild and then wander through the taverns to speak with druids. Axel went to purchase ilmarite for the aerostat. Inside the flying ship, in the dim daylight filtering through the portholes and the glow of the lamps, Ashley, Hector, who now felt perfectly well, Nubel, Konrad, Saelin, and Vergilius remained seated. Vergilius was slowly and thoughtfully leafing through some ancient manuscript.

  "Don’t you think Petros is hiding something from us?" he suddenly asked loudly.

  Ashley turned to him in surprise. Saelin coughed and adjusted his pince-nez.

  "Explain," he said coldly. "What exactly bothers you?"

  Vergilius was silent for a while. He rose, went to the window, nearly blocking the light. He looked outside at the town’s walls, the straw-roofed houses, the distant spires of the governor’s mansion in the center. The sun was sinking slowly, veiled by clouds, while gnats swirled in the air.

  "Our arrangement," the scholar finally said. "I understand, of course, that formally we play second fiddle in this expedition. We only assist this ‘virtuoso.’ And should something go wrong, the blame falls squarely on him… But damn it, listen—Ashley, Saelin. I don’t like the way he treats us. As… tools. You see? I feel like an instrument, not a colleague, and certainly not a friend."

  "That’s a natural feeling," Ashley said uncertainly. "He… feels it’s his moment of glory, that he’s on the verge of something important… Afraid of scaring off fortune?"

  "For example—" Vergilius seemed not to hear her. He walked to the chest lying at the head of Petros’s sleeping bag. Its lid was shut with a massive gilt lock with a cunning keyhole, impossible to pick. "Since Asternia, he’s been dragging this chest with its personal key, hiding everything inside, and guarding it so no one touches his treasures. I’ve seen him stash books, documents, and things he takes from the shrines… As if plundering weren’t enough, he won’t even let us examine the artifacts we all discovered together. I see no reason to hide it all from us. None. What could be in those manuscripts that he can’t trust us with? The aerostat is always under watch. No outsider could possibly get in. So what’s the conclusion?"

  He glanced at the others and declared bitterly:

  "He doesn’t trust us, gentlemen. And I don’t like it. We’re a team, damn it. We shouldn’t have secrets, but we do."

  "I agree!" Nubel piped up in his thin voice. "It… uh… it bothers me too! He doesn’t treat me like a person at all!"

  "Fine," Saelin sighed. "And what do you propose to do?"

  "We should try talking to him." Vergilius shrugged. "All right, I’m willing to wait until we’ve explored one more shrine. But after that… he’ll owe us an explanation. I believe transparency and openness are essential for work on a project of this magnitude."

  "Oh, come now, Vergilius," Ashley waved him off. "Do as you please, but I say it’s wrong to think so poorly of your friends. The expedition’s only been going on for a couple of weeks; it’s too early for conclusions. And we are working. We haven’t been idle these days, especially Petros—he’s the one working the hardest. And he’s honestly earning every coin the Academy invested in this expedition."

  Vergilius fell silent.

  "I’m tired of being cooped up," Konrad suddenly muttered. "I’ll go wander around town. Sitting in this gondola all day, day after day, is enough to drive a man mad."

  He stepped outside; footsteps were heard fading down the overgrown path toward the town walls. Vergilius shook his head. Nubel gazed thoughtfully out the porthole.

  "I could use a walk myself," he said apologetically, slowly rising. "Just a short one. I’m tired of always hanging in the air. I want to feel solid ground under my feet again, if only for a bit…"

  Ashley said nothing. Vergilius said nothing. Hector, wearied, closed his eyes, setting aside the book he had been reading.

  "You all right?" Ashley asked. "Hector?"

  "I’m fine, Miss Nielder," he answered after a pause. "Perfectly fine…"

  "Hector, have you had dreams like that before?" Vergilius asked. "Nightmares of that sort?"

  The younger Saelin raised his head, casting a wary glance at his father. Ashley noticed.

  "No, Master Vergilius, it was the first time," Hector said. His voice didn’t waver, but somehow Ashley knew for certain he was lying.