Wayfarer (Passenger 2)

“Damn you, Carter,” she said, “not now, damn you—”

“Nicholas?” Etta couldn’t stop saying his name, as if that would be enough to pull him back to consciousness. “Tell me what’s happening!”

“We’re running out of time, that’s what’s bloody happening,” Sophia said, and with no other warning, slapped him across the face.

EVEN AS HE CAME TO AGAIN, the darkness in his vision remained like a halo around her face, as if to dash away the dream of her. But she was still there.

Etta was still there.

She knelt in front of him, smelling of fire smoke, warm, sweet bread, a home. The mud that was smeared across her face had caught a single strand of her hair, sticking it to her cheek. For the life of him, he could not say why he found this unbearably endearing.

“You’re not okay, are you?” she whispered.

He knew it was Sophia behind him, propping him up so he could face them—them, because Julian was hovering a few short feet away, looking so uncertain he was nearly unrecognizable to Nicholas.

“Julian,” he said, letting his relief bleed into the words. He hadn’t realized it until now, how grateful he was that these two had found one another. Etta would protect Julian; and Julian would ensure Etta didn’t have to be alone.

Hearing his name, his half brother drew closer to their small circle. “This is the part where I tell you I’m a fool and an ingrate, and you punch me.”

Meeting his gaze, seeing Julian’s face, Nicholas thought of the rage that he’d always imagined would pour through him, boiling with years’ worth of resentment and ill-humored thoughts and words. But what he felt now was simply peace. That small part of him was resolved, and thankful, and above all, glad; this was his brother, and not even death had changed his love for him. “Perhaps another time?”

He gave Sophia a meaningful look, then glanced at Etta.

“Fine,” Sophia said. And then, to Etta: “I’m sorry about the way I treated you. I’m also sorry your mother is a demon from hell.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, and the things I said, except for when you deserved them,” Etta said, her words wavering, even as she tried to steady them. “But why won’t anyone answer my question? What’s happening?”

His abominable pride did not let him ask for help to stand, but the others offered it regardless. Etta held both of his forearms, keeping his balance for him. The fear on her face tore at him. Nicholas turned to look at Sophia and Julian. “I need a moment.”

“We don’t have long,” Sophia said. “I can explain it to them. Just go!”

He shook his head. God grant me time enough for this. “It’ll only be a moment. Please.”

He was sure she would fight him until the breath left both of their bodies. But instead, Sophia let out a small huff and nodded. She drew Julian away, back up toward the edge of the trail.

Etta turned his face back toward her own.

“Tell me,” she said. “Please, just tell me what’s going on. Why were you with Ironwood? Are you all right? What happened to your arm?”

Of course she had noticed.

“I am not completely myself at the moment,” Nicholas admitted. “There isn’t time for it all, only what is necessary. If I could pluck this moment out of time and keep us here forever, I would. But we cannot stop time; we can only right it again.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Etta said. Her heart shone in her face, lit softly like a candle, as she brought it close to his, as if trying to give him her light. He burned with the regret of it, not trusting his body to hold her the way he wanted to, without collapsing again.

“But our plan,” she continued, her lips close to his ear, “it has to change. We can’t destroy it.”

And he knew devastation. Pure, unadulterated pain. Etta saw it flash in his face, and knew from the way denial pooled in her eyes…on this, they could not be reconciled. He captured her mouth again, trying to soften the blow, to find the words he needed. The cool night bit at his skin, but her lips were hot, insistent, moving over his own as if to launch her own argument.

Nicholas tore himself away, trying to still her long enough to reintroduce her to reason.

“It has to be destroyed, you said as much yourself,” he said. “I know the consequences, I know what might come of it, but Etta—do you see? Do you feel how much of this is outside our hands? If this is ever going to end, let it be now. Your mother—she came to me in the desert, just after you were orphaned. She spoke of a war to come.”

“I know all about this,” Etta interrupted.

“She wasn’t wrong. This is the war which never ends. The one that exists between the families,” he said. “There’s a shape to this, a pattern.”

Etta flinched at that word, already shaking her head, trying to capture his lips again, keep him from finishing. “No, no, no—don’t say that, don’t use that word—”

He deserved a bloody medal for having the will to stop her from kissing him.

“I cannot help but think there is no lasting peace between the families because there is something deeply unnatural about us, what we can do,” he continued. “It must be time’s revenge that we inherently repel one another. It feels to me as if these conflicts are trying to force us back to our natural times, where we’re meant to be.”