“I don’t blame them. I gave mortals a road map that would carry them through the entire existence of this world. I never considered that, maybe, they didn’t like what I’d planned for them.”
“Were we coming to the end?” I asked. As much as I was concerned about my mother and the heretics, you didn’t get a chance to sit down with the greatest power in the world very often. If I hadn’t asked questions, I would’ve gone crazy with curiosity.
“All things end, Jace,” the Flame said with surprising weariness. “The sacred energy flows through the pattern, it guides the course of men and women and children and dragons and monsters and demons. It twists and turns through the ages, and with every new event, it loses some of its spark. The world is a vast machine—that’s the easiest way to think of it. Jinsei is its fuel. And, eventually, the fuel runs out. The motor seizes up. The machine rusts away.”
“It doesn’t have to,” I said. “Machines can be repaired, refueled. It’s a choice to let them fall apart. And something tells me this is your decision, not ours.”
The Empyrean Flame let out an old woman’s cackle and waggled a pudgy baby’s index finger at me.
“You have been listening in your classes. You’re right. I could put more jinsei into the world’s tank. We could replace the broken bits. But this machine needs more than that, Jace. It needs a firm hand on the wheel to keep it moving in the right direction. If there’s no hand to steer it, the machine will careen off the road. No one wants that.”
“And no one wants to die, either.” It was hard to stay seated, not just because I was restless and my shoulder ached, but because I didn’t like where this conversation was headed. Putting me in the throne and then talking about a hand on the wheel had implications I didn’t want to explore. “Let’s assume the car keeps running. How do we keep it from crashing?”
“You have two choices, I suppose,” the Flame said. “A skillful driver can keep the car on even the most treacherous of roads. As long as there’s fuel in the tank, it will keep going. But, as we’ve seen, skilled drivers still get fatigued. They lose focus. Their eyes drift closed. And then”—the Flame clapped hands gnarled with arthritis, and a thunderous boom erupted around us—“disaster.”
That was a good point. No matter who was in charge, eventually someone would make a mistake and run the whole world off the rails. That’s how we’d gotten into this mess.
“We could switch drivers,” I said. “Set up a schedule. Take turns. You drive until you get tired or you start missing turns, then someone else takes over. Seems simple enough.”
“Does it?” The Flame’s voice was suddenly sharp and biting. “I think we’ve seen how that works. No one willingly lets go of the wheel once it’s in their hands. That leads to death and war, and we’ll just wind up here again.”
The Flame sat back in the rickety chair. Its legs cracked and bowed as he took on mass and grew taller. Then she shook her head and smoothed her skirts with the palms of a young woman’s hands with long red nails. By the time her fingers reached her knees, his fingers were as big around as sausages, the knuckles creased with old scars.
“It’s wearisome, Jace. And I’m already so very, very tired. Which is why I must ask you a favor.”
“I’m not doing it,” I said suddenly. My shoulder hurt worse than it had before. The edges of my wound itched as the jinsei in my body struggled to stitch it back together. I needed to get help soon, or I’d end up with a serious mess on my hands. But I wasn’t about to take on whatever responsibility the Flame wanted to dump on me.
“You don’t even know what I plan to ask.” The Flame laughed. “I like you. You’re confident, maybe a little too confident. But I don’t want you to rule the world, Jace.”
Well, that was a relief. I tried to imagine how my friends would’ve thought of me if the Flame made me Emperor of the World.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right, honored—”
I had no idea how to address a creature of this power. Or if it even was a creature. The Flame had always been described to me as a sort of universal intelligence, something that just was. You didn’t give it an honorific, because its name was the highest praise in the universe.
“Don’t worry about any of that,” the Flame said. “Listen, you’re far too young to steer the machine. That’s clear. And no one will listen to you if you start pointing fingers and telling other people to take the wheel. No offense, but you’re a kid. A brave, resourceful kid, nearly a man grown. But, still, a kid.
“And that’s why there is something else you can do for me.”
The Flame looked toward the ceiling. My eyes followed hers and saw an enormous dome of complex scrivenings. Lines joined arcs, knotworks of delicate filigree bound one cluster to another. I tried to focus on one piece of it at a time, but even the smallest details were so complex it was impossible for my brain to absorb them. What I could understand, though, were the dark blots that spread out across the Grand Design. I watched in horror as jinsei poured into those ruptured areas and spiraled away into the darkness.
“If we can’t replace the driver, and the machine itself is kept in good shape, then it’s the road that must be at fault.” The Flame let out a wistful sigh.
“How do we fix it?” I asked.
“We don’t.” The Flame chuckled through a trio of voices.
