God of Clocks

years between you and her.” He jabbed his sword at Rachel's older self. Then he turned to his men and said, “Take them.”

Rachel's older self stepped back, her eyes darting between the approaching soldiers, calculating the odds. Rachel didn't even know if the older Spine assassin could still focus. A supernaturally fast attack right now might slay five or more of the enemy. Leaving fewer than forty for me.

She'd faced worse odds in her time.

But her other self made no such move. She simply lowered her head and stepped forward, allowing Oran's men to seize both women.

With all the chaos going on around them, nobody noticed Oran's men steer their captives away from the docks. They marched away from the lake and turned into an empty street running parallel to the promenade. Here the houses on the landward side had been all but obliterated by Iron Head's powder kegs. One of Menoa's arconites filled the dusty skies above, while Dill's own vast form towered behind them. Oran yelled, urging the group to hurry on between the two giants.

A voice rang out across the heavens: “… continue to reject our attempts at diplomacy. Should we crush your bones right now, or will you stand amongst us and hear King Menoa's terms?”

Rachel knew what was coming, but it still made her jump. Dill buried his massive cleaver in the other automaton's neck, driving the huge warrior to its knees. Its shins burst through the rubble mere yards from their fleeing party. One of Oran's men cried out and fell, buried under a collapsing wall. The others covered their heads with their hands against the spewing dust.

Now prostrate, but looming directly overhead, Menoa's fallen creature had noticed the humans underneath it. Its vast dark eye sockets seemed to stare into Rachel's own soul.

Oran was yelling up at it, “… Menoa to form an alliance. We have-”

Dill slammed his knee into the arconite's face and sent it pitching backwards. He turned suddenly and his cleaver flashed across the sky over their heads, disappearing towards the east. The ensuing gale whipped up dust from the street. The blow struck its target several blocks away with a mighty clang.

“… speak to him,” Oran finished shouting. He growled with frustration, and then ordered his men to head deeper into the stricken town.

Rachel found a chance to whisper to her other self. “I hope your moment is still to come, sis,” she said. “The brakes are off this universe now. We're well and truly careening down the road of the damned.”

“I know.”

“Can you focus?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that makes one of us. I won't be quick, but I'll back any move you-”

One of her captors shoved her forward. A dozen of his fellows followed behind, as battered-looking and ashen as earthquake survivors. They coughed and spat and constantly dragged leather gauntlets across their eyes. Whirlwinds of embers scorched the heavens behind them. The group moved on, turning south again at another intersection, while overhead the battle amongst the giants raged.

She could not now tell where they were, since nothing recognizable remained of Burntwater. She wondered if her former self had escaped with Mina by now. They would cross the lake under the cover of fog, but Rachel herself would not now be waiting in her own boat to meet them and guide them to Sabor's castle. She would not now punch her former self in the face.

Rachel lifted a hand to touch the bruise under her eye. The flesh there still felt tender and sore. How could she have sustained the blow when she had not been there to deliver it?

But of course that had all happened in a different universe than this one. This world was the one where everything went wrong, where the future would become so unbearable that Rachel herself would come back from another time to try to fix her own mistake. She turned to face her older self and said, “What are the consequences of all this? Does it really matter if you tell me now?”

The other woman hesitated, and then said, “Dill loves you. He'd do anything for you. Even if it meant his own death. Even if it meant the end of this world.”

“I don't understand.”

“Don't let the Mesmerists take you alive.”

Rachel nodded. Now at last she understood.

An order to halt came from ahead, and the party drew up before a steep bank of rubble. Oran was standing amidst rising vapours on the summit of this obstruction, his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted up against the great clamour of steel from the skies. Fuming clouds of smoke obscured all else.

But then Rachel spied something huge and metallic stir in the murky air behind the militia leader. The sounds of battle ceased. A shadow fell over her.

Her older self cried out and shoved Rachel hard to one side. But she wasn't fast enough. Five monstrous bone fingers descended and closed around the two women, the tips gouging deep furrows in the earth. The ground rocked, and Rachel fell against her other self.

She felt herself being lifted up rapidly into a cloud of choking dust. Below, Oran continued to shout, but she could not decipher his words. “Dill!” she cried. “Dill, is that you?”

But then a thundering voice came from very nearby: “I am told the name Rachel Hael holds meaning for you.” A pause, and then the arconite spoke more gently. “Is this she in my hand, Dill? We will not harm her. The king has always desired peace between us.”

Rachel's heart thundered in her chest. She struggled to breathe. “I hope you haven't missed your moment, sis,” she said, rubbing tears from her aching eyes. “The future isn't certain yet.”

She felt a hand squeeze her own. “No, it isn't.”

Through a break in the dust she saw Dill's skeletal face. Or was it him? She couldn't tell anymore. The arconites were all around her now. She could hear the massive crash of their feet, the rumble of their engines. She smelled the Maze in every quivering breath she took.

“Kneel,” Menoa's warrior commanded.

And then she saw him. He lacked expression-for that bone visage could muster none-but she knew it was Dill when he sank to the ground amidst the smouldering remains of Burntwater.

“Put down your weapon,” the arconite demanded.

Dill set his stolen cleaver down upon a row of rooftops. The partially destroyed buildings collapsed beneath it.

“The king is pleased,” the arconite said, “but he remains cautious. As a gesture of goodwill and submission, he requires that you permit us to return Lord Hasp to the Maze. We need his assistance to deal with a small matter there. Do this for the king and you have his word that Rachel Hael will not be harmed.”

Rachel threw herself against the automaton's fingers, and cried, “No!”

“If you agree,” Menoa's warrior went on, “you need only lower your head.”

Rachel cried out again, but she couldn't stop what happened next. Dill lowered his head. Menoa's arconite raised its blade and brought it crashing down upon the top of his skull.

Dill's jaw slammed into the ground with the force of a rockslide. The resulting dust cloud billowed out over the whole settlement.

Rachel watched in horror as the dust settled. The stream of doubts Menoa's warriors had been planting in Dill's soul throughout the battle had successfully weakened him, for she could see that he was injured. A deep fissure now ran from the top of Dill's cranium down to his jaw. He managed to raise his head again. Blood flowed freely between Dill's teeth and down across his chin.

“Hasp?” Rachel cried.

“This is the moment, sis.”

Rachel felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see her older self slipping her knife out from her belt. She looked tired, much older now than the two decades that separated them.

“What happens if you don't do it?” Rachel said.

“A lot of people suffer.”

Rachel took a long slow breath. “I wonder if we missed another opportunity-if I had only done something differently.”