The Atlas Six (The Atlas 1)

“Atlas?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, almost daily.”

“Hm. Odd.” Aiya smiled. “Though I suppose he was always very enthusiastic.”

“Is it common for researchers to take over the position of Caretaker?” Reina asked. Researcher appealed to her; Caretaker, with all its corresponding logistics and politics, did not. “Will Dalton be next?”

“Well, to be honest Dalton is precisely the sort of person who would want to be a Caretaker rather than a researcher, but no,” Aiya said. “Atlas was a special case. Caretakers are usually selected by the Society’s board of trustees from well outside its internal functions.”

“Any reason for that?”

“Something about not drawing from a poisoned well, I’m sure. Not in Atlas’ case, of course,” she added as an afterthought. “He would have been a natural choice for it; he’s so well-liked. Dalton, though… a mystery.” A frown. “I would have thought him more likely to pursue something else.”

Their books arrived side by side. Reina’s was a duplicate of Leucippus’ The Great Cosmology. Aiya’s was untitled.

“Do you come back to the archives often?” Reina asked.

“No, not very,” said Aiya. “Still, it is a valuable resource. There is much more than you can imagine contained within these walls.”

She tucked the book into her bag, turning to Reina with a smile.

“Please do enjoy your time here,” she said. “It’s all worth it, truly. I had my doubts at first, but in the end, you really must believe me. I would do it over, easily.”

“Was it difficult?” Reina asked. “The elimination process.”

Briefly Aiya’s smile faltered. “Initiation itself, you mean?”

“No, I mean… is it difficult,” Reina attempted to phrase, “choosing which of your initiation class to eliminate?”

“Oh, yes. Unimaginably.” The smile resumed. “But as I said, it is worth it. Have a wonderful day,” Aiya said, offering Reina a polite, deferential bow and turning quickly away, the sound of her stiletto heels echoing through the reading room.

Reina had the sense that she had just had a very strange interaction, though she couldn’t quite explain why. The sensation stuck with her for most of the following days, flitting in and out of her thoughts without deriving any solid conclusions.

Between working, sparring with Nico (Reina had felt he was the stronger hand-to-hand combatant and also, she needed the exercise), and reading for pleasure, there wasn’t much time to concern herself with the irrelevant or the unimportant. She was quite content, really, though she had the vague sense that the others around her weren’t.

MotherMotherMother, one of the ferns whined one day, fawning droopily over a shelf. Mother there is troubletroubletrouble in the air, Mother pleaseplease do you see it?

At first Reina assumed it was the unholy alliance burgeoning between Callum and Tristan. They had always been very likely to be found in each other’s presence, seeing as a line had (intentionally or not) been drawn between the physical specialists and the others, but lately it was becoming less likely to see one without the other. They were frequently in furtive conversation; usually Callum leaning in while Tristan spoke. Reina had thought it was a good thing, or at least a perfectly fine thing, as it meant that Parisa would not have Tristan glued to her side. Gradually, though, it became more evident that Parisa was being punished for something; whether her punishment was coming from Tristan’s hands or Callum’s was relatively unclear.

The trouble with Tristan, and the reason Reina sometimes preferred Callum, was his meanness, his bite. It was sharp, brittle, and made unavoidably more malicious due to his…

Intelligence was an underwhelming word. Tristan was more than simply witty or clever or knowledgeable; he was quick, and always the first to see when something was wrong. At first Reina thought he was nitpicking, being contrary just for the sake of contradicting something, but it had become increasingly obvious that unless Tristan knew exactly what to correct, he didn’t bother speaking. He had, for better or worse, a breathtaking apathy to almost everything, which only collided with derision when something was problematically out of place. Reina could not decide whether that intuitive cruelty was worse with Ca

llum, who couldn’t be bothered with any of their work, or with Parisa, who seemed to find herself above it.

Parisa’s outward demeanor didn’t change; not because she was suffering and trying to hide it, much to Reina’s disappointment, but because she was distracted. She didn’t seem to feel the loss of Tristan at all, and it wasn’t until the drooping fern bemoaned the state of oxygen in the room that Reina identified the cause.

“There is a natural transition from space to time,” said Dalton, who was standing beside Atlas, as he often was. “Most modern physicists, in fact, do not believe there is any distinction at all. Some do not even believe that time exists; at least, not in our fictionalized conception of it, where it can be traveled in some sort of linear way.”

The reminder of Dalton Ellery’s existence in the world brought Reina back to her conversation with Aiya, prompting her to think again of Aiya’s confusion over Dalton’s decision to return. In Reina’s opinion, Dalton seemed a natural academic—the epitome of ‘those who can’t do, teach’—and yet Aiya had looked as though the prospect of such a thing was incomprehensible. The idea that Dalton might be withholding a powerful magical ability that had required more than two years’ time to master was intriguing; even compelling.

And Reina, finally spotting the way Parisa’s eyes fell on Dalton, was clearly not the only one compelled.

She supposed it explained a lot of things; why Parisa was often unaccounted for, for one thing, and why the loss of Tristan, Parisa’s initial paramour of choice (or so it seemed) was not particularly bothersome to her. Immediately, Reina’s conflict about whether Callum and Tristan were ganging up on Parisa vanished, leaving her with a sense of disappointment in its place.

Of course Parisa was plotting something. She wasn’t a woman the same way Reina was a woman, or the way Libby was. She was a woman in the weaponized sense, the kind who would step on others to keep herself at the top, and from the looks of it, she was having no trouble getting what she wanted.