The clock in Kirika Lake was a wonder to behold. An ornate structure built mostly of glass, throwing off rainbow reflections across the water in all directions. A remarkable construct built by unknown engineers in ages past, that many came to see in pilgrimages, where they would take the memories of what they had witnessed with them to their graves. Truly, the water clock was one of the world's wonders.

Except that it was broken.

In fact it had been broken for a long time. This great work was incomplete. Its true nature only recently discovered, in that it was more than a simple timepiece. It was able to regulate time itself.

Many had been aware that the clock had once served a greater purpose, but only now that the continuity of Revaliir was breaking down, was it clear that the builders of the clock had another more vital purpose to its construction. It was not simply a work of astounding beauty. It was Revaliir's last hope.

Mendean stood on the deck of a long skiff, bristling with the power he did not usually experience when he was in his homeland. In Parvpora, the divine gifts were diminished, and he liked it that way. Standing here with hands on hips, squinting up at the immense structure that rose out of the water, he felt less like a person and more like a symbol. A representation of the hopes and dreams of others. The power that flowed through his veins reduced his humanity, making him feel less like the person he knew himself to be.

The clock was a shambles right now. Covered in a mess of ropes, scaffolds and pulleys, workmen from around the globe struggled to understand each other as they barked commands in different tongues. It was certainly slowing the work down and there had already been a number of deaths, but he had been told that every large construction project came hand-in-hand with death. There would be more accidents here though, for those shear glass surfaces, great heights, many tonnes of water, the lack of understanding between groups of workers, all combined with the great haste that was required, meant that it was inevitable. People would die here, and there was little he could do to prevent it.

He looked down and around. There must have been at least a hundred boats, of varying sizes. Many carried construction materials back and forth from the shore. Gangplanks had been lashed to the clock's might struts, nearest the water, for workers to alight from their many vessels. Mendean spotted a number of men and women in rowing boats casting a watchful eye over anyone close to the clock. Judging by their lack of clothes, and the short ropes with inflated bladders attached to them that they carried, they were there purely for the safety of anyone who might fall into the water.

Casting his eye over the shore, there were thousands of people gathered. Some were there to offer whatever support they could, while others had come here, believing the end of the world was nigh and that it would culminate here. He also spotted the flags of many noble houses. That meant there were soldiers present. For the most part, having all these mutual enemies together in one place was a risk, but not even the rulers of Arri would risk turning them away, especially if they came offering help. Presumably they would keep each other in check, or at least, that was the hope amongst Arri's leaders. The end of the world made for strange bedfellows, it would seem.

“Čokot,” whispered the dream walker as he extended a hand towards a relatively quiet patch of shore. Cries went up and people rushed to the side of the skiff, shouting in Wyllmochvaran, for they were his countrymen. He gestured for calm and they quietened down, stepping away from the bough as the water below them churned and bubbled.

Some were unable to suppress their cries of horror as a tangled mass of dark tendrils burst from the lake's surface, dripping like the stuff of nightmares, brought into sharp relief, by the clear light of the desert sun. Mendean stepped forward, spreading his arms wide while he turned his face to the tangled mass of writhing weed-like tendrils. Several of them detaching from the main mass and reaching down with surprising delicacy as they wrapped round the god's arms and waist to lift him high into the air with the gentleness of a mother lifting her babe from its cot.

Once above the mass, it seemed to bow beneath his weight, bending and elongating as it released him. With supernatural grace, Mendean walked upon the tendrils, never slipping. For wherever he placed his feet, a tendril would be waiting for him. As more of them emerged from the waters in front of him, the ones behind him sank back beneath the surface. In this way, he was able to walk back to the shore, that was now emptier than before, for few wished to be near those things. Mendean smiled. He was not usually given to public displays of his power, but it was unavoidable. Besides, there would be others like him here who would show off even more. Of that he had no doubt.

Climbing the sloping shore, something made him hesitate and look up. For a moment, the sky beyond the slope darkened and flickered. Pursing his lips, he knew what it meant. Another time-wave was coming. He had observed that something about the clock kept the worst effects at bay. Only this morning he had watched the skin on the backs of his hands suddenly loosen and become sullied by liver spots, but the effect had been momentary. Even though it was not fully repaired, the clock was still somehow able to keep the worst effects at bay. But the protection offered was barely enough. He dreaded to think how bad things must be in other parts of the world.

Screaming! Thousands of voices, screaming! Reaching the top of the slope, Mendean's head jerked around at the deafening sound, his senses nearly overwhelmed by the psychic pressure coming from the direction of the maze. However, when he looked, he saw no maze. Instead a darkened plain, scorched and churned by unknown forces. His eyes widened as a column, formed of thousands of people, pressed together and lifted into the atramentous sky, surged up, dragging anyone too close into the whole. Every one of them seemed blackened and covered in filthy rags. Every one of them screaming in terror as they were lifted as one into the towering mass. Many pleaded for mercy and some even noticed the young man standing alone on a ridge. He raised his hands, preparing a spell, almost by instinct…

And then the terrible vision was gone. Another time, once more shut away. The maze returned. But what had that terrible vision been? Was it the past? The future? Or another world entirely? As his mind slowed, he saw others struggling to get up. Some were screaming and pleading at thin air. He could see in their minds that they had lost loved ones to that terrible scene. Those who had not been able to get out of the way of the time-wave had been drawn into whatever that had been.

Mendean dusted himself down and checked the sky. It was noon. Barely half the day gone and already something terrible had happened. It was only going to get worse.

Is there anyone who can hear me?

A voice, faint like a distant shout, swept through the maze from one side to the other in a focused beam. It was weak, a telepathic touch from a mind far away.

Is there anyone who can hear me? came the voice again. If you can, please shout so I can hear you …

As someone who was supposed to be seeing the scholars- and their books, writing materials, and trunks of gears, springs, and strange crystals- Luthene didn't feel very useful. Her injured leg bothered her, but there were no signs of any lingering infection. A Wyllmochvaran scholar, who had studied under and apothecary for a time, had given her something for it, and it helped, but dulled r mind; she refused to take any more. If they got into trouble, she'd need her wits, and the rush of a fight would ensure that her injury didn't slow her. All the same, Luthene hoped she would have no need to draw a blade.

Arri, Luthene learned, was a kingdom located in an oasis in the northern part of the Harena desert. The scholars had arranged for a guide to meet them in Cittapashe, then take them through the desert along routes typically used by the nomads who cell such an inhospitable place home. It meant taking a longer route to Arri, but they'd find sources of water along the way. The desert was insufferably hot, so they traveled at night; it was still hot then, too, but at least there wasn't the sun making it worse. In spite of this, the journey wasn't too difficult.

Until the wave hit.

Luthene never saw it coming. It was nearly sunrise, and she had stepped away from the rest of the group to relieve herself before getting ready to sleep for a few hours. As a result, she didn't realise anything was wrong until she heard the screaming. At first, she thought it came from the scholars, but there were too many voices. By the time she rejoined the group, the wave had passed… and it took some of the scholars, their supplies, and their guide as well. In a panic, Luthene looked for Galin, terrified that she had lost him,  taken him on this pointy venture and lost him, but then he appeared from behind the huddled mass of remaining scholars.

The rest of the trip was far more subdued, as they were forced to travel directly to Arri now that they had no guide to take them to sources of water along the way. There wasn't much food, and another scholar died in agony after eating a plant he had found. When they finally reached the damn oasis, the group was tired, hungry, dehydrated, and smaller… but they still had the trunk with clock parts.

The scholars wasted no time in heading for the clock. Luthene barely had time to eat and wash before she was summoned to take them there. While she was eager to see it herself, she also wanted rest, and rest won out. The group set off early the following morning, and they arrived at the site of the clock about an hour later. There was a large group there already, a mixture of scholars, mages, soldiers, and even common labourers engaged in the more menial construction efforts. From the lake came tentacles, and a young man walked atop them; from this distance, Luthene could not be certain, but she thought he might be barefoot.

Another wave washed over the area. Luthene reached for Galin, but saw skeleton where her hand should be. Then, just like that, it was gone, but once again some people had been lost with it. Luthene looked around, counting; all those she had arrived with were still there.

Is there anyone who can hear me? Luthene heard, and she jerked her hear up and looked for the speaker. Only she couldn't tell from what direction the cry had come.

Who are you? Luthene said, and it took a moment for her to realise that she had not spoken aloud. I can hear you, she said, louder, buy still silent. Where are you?

There was a moment of silence, and then the mind that had spoken out returned, louder and clearer and focused. There was relief in the tone, and it sounded vaguely like a woman.

So there is someone there with the right kind of mind. Assuming the sun works the same way here as it does in my world, and you measure distance the same way, I'm … two, maybe one and a half miles south-west from that town or whatever it is where I'm guessing you are.

There was a pause, and when the voice returned, it was starting to sound strained.

Look, I came through a portal. I need to know what's happening. But first, I need water and shade or whatever it is keeps you alive out here, and I won't go near that tangle, not if it's unstable enough for me to feel it out here. Will you help me?

Luthene was confused at first. The right sort of mind? What did she mean by that? And what about the sun, how else could it work? Then the voice- a woman, she thought- mentioned she came through a portal, and it made a bit more sense. So the scholars had been right about people entering Revaliir from other worlds. But friend or foe?

The woman needed help, and Luthene wasn't sure how to offer it. Afar as two miles southwest, but from where Luthene stood, or from the town? The woman didn't want to get near the tangle, but the problem was, the tangle was everywhere.

Someone approached Luthene, a woman with strange green and red eyes. "Bring her here," the woman said. "It's not as bad nearer the clock."

First, Luthene sought out Galin, and told him she needed to looking for someone. Another fool's errand, perhaps, but so much of this trip was. She started to walk southwest.

It's Timedeath, Luthene said, but she more thought the words, hoping the foreign woman could hear. Time seems to pass differently for people, and sometimes it will pass in waves, forcing people to experience another time- past, future, occasionally the present but an alternate present. It's difficult to explain. All of this started during the war, when one of the Conclave was killed, a woman who titled herself Goddess of the Hours. We only now found a way to repair the damage, or at least that is the hope. There's a clock here, and the theory is that it can regulate time. Try coming to me; it's a bit more stable nearer the clock, or so the scholars tell me.

If Luthene were looking for it - if she knew how - she would have felt the mental presence recede to the barest touch, keeping a faint link so as not to lose her, but neither listening or speaking. It wasn't until Luthene began to direct her thoughts outwards again that the stranger resumed the firm mental contact.

At the word Timedeath, something shivered down the connection between them, but the reaction was swiftly suppressed. And then, as Luthene told her story, there was silence. Blankness, static, a deliberate hiding of every thought that might be going through the stranger's head.

There was no reply to Luthene's explanation. The stranger was still there, but whatever she was thinking, she did not want Luthene to hear it.

It wasn't hard to find the woman; a dark blot on the top of a rise resolved itself into a figure surrounded by scattered detritus. An elven woman stood there, in undertunic and trousers, staring at Luthene's approach. There was a pack at her feet, and a furred winter cloak, and thick woolen clothes that had been discarded in the heat. There was no sign of any weapon. Even from a distance, it was clear she was suffering from the heat; her light tunic was sweat-drenched and her hair, oddly streaked with strands of grey, was a limp frizz around her pinched face.

I see you. The communication abruptly resumed. Thank you. The woman - the goddess. Her tone was stilted and awkward. How did she die?

For a long while, the mental voice was silent, and Luthene wondered if she was still there, or if she had gone back through a portal to her own world. But she kept going anyway, feeling something, and Luthene followed that feeling until she saw something on top of a rise. Luthene quickened her pace a bit, but still favouring her right leg a bit. 

When she was close enough to see the woman clearly, she saw that she had stripped down to her undertunic, and there was a bundle of furs nearby. No one in their right mind would wear such heavy clothing here, which lead credence to the woman's claim that she arrived through a portal. Luthene herself was dressed in a light, drab brown tunic, trousers, and a leather cuirass. There was a sword strapped to her belt, along with a long knife.

The voice returned, and Luthene answered it. During the war, the Godslayer, Randal, challenged her to a duel. He had a weapon he said could kill those of the Conclave, who call themselves gods, and he wanted to prove that he could. He hated that woman in particular, though I never learned why. I never even knew her name, just her title. I think she was a good person, though; she died well. She was helpless, and all it took was a glancing blow to turn her to dust, but she died well. Luthene paused a long while, and by the time she could say more, she was close enough to speak aloud. "I was there when it happened. I had been fighting with Randal, but after watching him kill her, I left. I couldn't such a man." She handed the woman a canteen. "My name is…" Again Luthene paused. "Just call me Alyson. That's what I go by these days."

As Luthene came closer, the woman, weary and parched as she was, stiffened. She watched her rescuer approach with eyes that were as wary and suspicious as they were red-shot and salt-rimed.

"Alyson," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. She took the canteen and drank, throat convulsing with each gulp. "Thank you." She held the canteen, still half-full, back out. She still looked … haunted.

After a moment, she turned away, bending stiffly to pick up her things. "It was snowing where I come from," she explained, voice still rough. "I'm not completely stupid. But I can't go to that - that clock. Your scholars say it's stable?" She scoffed, which turned into a hacking cough.

When she had recovered, the woman looked back at Luthene, and her face had hardened.

"You've helped a stranger," she said, with an odd pause and look at the end of that. "Thank you. You're kind. I … I don't have anything to offer you directly." She sounded awkward, as if she was unused to making transactions. "But I have …"

I have knowledge. Of the workings of these things, of - of Time. No power over it. But I know it. So get me to your scholars, some place that isn't that clock, and I may be able to help.

But I'm not going to that clock. Her tone and face were both decisive. If they say it's stable - one, they don't get it, and two, I won't risk …

She trailed away, hefting her pack onto her back and bundling her winter layers into her arms. "Let's go."

The stranger did not offer her own name, Luthene noted. Granted, Luthene had used her alias, but it was the one known to e scholars who had hired her, and she wasn't ready to reveal her true name to people. Not yet. The name of Luthene was known by too many people for all the wrong reasons. Did this other woman not introduce herself out of the same fear?

The stranger continued to speak directly into Luthene's mind, which bothered her a bit. How was such a thing possible? She knew some mages were capable of such feats, but Luthene was no mage. It was hard to hear the woman this way, like her voice passed through some sort of barrier. As though someone else was listening on Luthene's behalf, and then repeating the words.

Helping the woman gather her belongings, she said, "The scholars have been right about a lot of things where Timedeath is concerned. They spoke of portals opening from other words, and you know first-hand the truth of that. Something about… Parallel words, very similar to ours. Does that sound like your world?" 

Luthene wasn't sure what to do. Her job was to see a group of scholars to the clock, and they were her responsibility. But what the woman said intrigued her. Did they have it wrong? Was the clock not the answer? One of the scholars she had travelled to Arri with wasn't sure. Alas, he was one of the ones lost along the way.

"I have to go back to the lake where the clock is," Luthene finally said in a decisive tone, and started walking back in that direction. "At the very least, I have to tell Galin- the man I'm with- where I'm going, and most scholars are there, too. After that… we'll see. But how do you know about time, and how can you be so certain that our scholars are wrong about the clock's ability to restore it?" She paused. "And anyway, what if time works differently in our world, compared to yours? You know how time works in your world perhaps, but this is not your world. Things may be quite different in Revaliir."

The stranger nodded at the mention of parallel worlds, but did not follow Luthene. Instead, at the name Galin, she froze and looked as though she'd been struck.

It took several moments for her to shake herself out of whatever shock had taken her. She folded her arms tightly around the bundle of her cloak. Her clothes were well-tailored and made of fine fabrics, though presently covered in sand, and her gear was of good quality and most of it relatively new.

"I'm not saying they can't fix the clock or fix the whole problem," she said, rasping as if she needed another drink. "They're probably right that it's the key. I'm questioning their definition of stable. It's …" She closed her eyes for a moment. "I can't find a good analogy. But it feels taut. Like it might be a bit safer right now, but if it all goes wrong, that would be the very worst place to be. People think Time is steady and regular, always marching on, but underneath that is so much tension waiting to snap."

She shifted uneasily, watching Luthene. There was something odd going on inside her face, muscles jumping in her jaw and throat. Finally, she seemed to make a decision, and her shoulders sagged.

"We had our own problems with Time in my world. I have some experience in these matters. I'm worried that I could upset whatever balance is holding that place safe, just by being there. The eddies, the … I'm not from here. My presence may exacerbate any instabilities."

Something about the stranger's words sounded off. Her less deliberate remarks had the air of one who knew a field intimately, but then she would close off and become stiff, and the words didn't sound quite as trustworthy coming from her mouth. She pressed her lips together in a thin line, waiting for Luthene to take her at her word or else call her bluff.