“The seams are splitting. Dark matter is consuming them, triggering chain reactions of heightened entropy and introducing fragmentation on a level never seen. We believe there is only one way to stop it.”
“How does it involve me?” Tick asked.
The Haunce’s current face—a boy, maybe only ten years old—frowned at the interruption, then the expression smoothed away like rippling water. “As we said, we have been observing the Realities for countless centuries. And in all that time, there have been only two people with a concentration of soulikens and Chi’karda levels similar to ours. You are one of those people, Atticus. And Mistress Jane is the other. We do not yet understand how the two of you came to possess this power or why you both came to exist in the same period of time. But it will take your combined powers to reverse what has happened today.”
Tick had to bite his lip. He wanted to shout a million questions, refute the Haunce’s words. If saving the Realities depended on him and Jane—depended on their cooperation—then the battle was over before it had begun.
The glowing orb of the Haunce flexed, as if taking a deep breath. “We must rebind the seams of the Realities and restore stability to the inner workings of quantum physics. To do so, we will need to harness an unprecedented amount of Chi’karda. And to do that, we will need four components.”
The Haunce paused, and Tick felt the agony of each passing second.
“In all of the Realities of the Multiverse there is a place where the Chi’karda levels are exponentially higher than at any other place. So concentrated, in fact, it makes the Realitant headquarters in the Bermuda Triangle look like a spark of static compared to a lightning storm. You and Mistress Jane must join us there.”
“Is it the place in the desert?” Tick asked. “Where Jane had that black tree? The dark matter, the Blade of Shattered Hope?”
The Haunce—now showing the face of an older, homely woman—slowly shook its head. “No. Jane chose that spot because it best fit her needs for linking the different elements of the Blade. Because she had an Alterant of herself in the same place in all thirteen Realities, it was more a matter of the substance of the Blade than it was of Chi’karda.”
“Then where do we have to go?” Tick was saving the biggest and most obvious question for last: How in the world would they get Jane to cooperate with them?
“There’s a place in the Thirteenth Reality where . . .” The Haunce faltered. The face of an Indian woman, the red dot on her forehead looking almost black against the blue glow of her skin, wore a look of complete sadness. “It is a place of atrocities and horror. We are sorry; it is hard for us to talk about it.” Another long pause.
Tick didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer. After millennia of observing the world and all the things humans had done—both good and bad—the Haunce was having difficulty talking about a place to which Tick had to go. The thought was terrifying.
The Haunce finally continued, the look of sadness now draped across the face of a young Asian man. “We do not know why evil things have always been drawn to this
particular spot in the Thirteenth Reality. There have been thousands upon thousands of deaths there—perhaps millions. The Chi’karda levels created by those tragedies is unsurpassed.”
Tick swallowed a big lump, then took a guess. “It’s where Jane’s castle is, isn’t it?”
The eyes of a little girl met Tick’s. “No. Not there. Somewhere much, much worse.”
Tick waited.
“The place we must gather,” the Haunce said, seeming to have recovered its composure a little, “and where you must bring Jane, is . . . the Factory.”
“The Factory?” Tick repeated.
The Haunce nodded. “Yes. It is the place where Jane manufactures her creatures. Her abominations. It is a hideous, wretched place full of death and tortured souls. But also the site of massive amounts of Chi’karda.”
“And what do we do once we get there?” Tick asked. He was trying not to think too much about what a creepy and horrible place the Factory must be. “Assuming that we somehow convince Jane to come with us and do what we ask, I mean.”
The pulsing, silver-blue orb of the Haunce moved several feet across the floor and back again, as if pacing, deep in thought. “The task you and Jane must do is simple. Both of you need to concentrate and summon every ounce of Chi’karda you can. Gather as much as you can, and then you must channel to us. Our job will be to harness the power and combine it with the Chi’karda that already exists within the Factory.”
The Haunce quit pacing and took another one of those deep breaths. “Once we have gathered enough power, we will bleed the Chi’karda through the cracks of space and time, binding the seals of the Realities that are currently rupturing. Quite honestly, the task could destroy us, but we believe we can save the Multiverse before that happens. Before we ourselves cease to exist.”
Tick didn’t know what to think. The whys and hows didn’t matter so much at the moment, and he couldn’t pretend to feel a pang of potential loss at hearing that the Haunce might die in the act. Especially if the Haunce’s sacrifice would save thirteen entire worlds—and his family. But still, hearing it all poured out so short and sweet when so much was on the line was dizzying.
“Do you have anything to say?” the Haunce asked, now showing the face of a pretty girl about Tick’s age.
“Not a thing,” Tick responded. “I don’t know what else I can do but trust you. If you say we can do this, then let’s do it. I guess the first thing is to figure out how to get Jane to play along. I’m sure once we tell her what’s about to happen, she’ll have to. I mean, how could she want everything to disappear, including her? That’d be beyond stupid.”
“We can only hope.” The Haunce morphed into an old woman. “There is one final thing to say before we begin. You must know that a lull has occurred in the fragmentation of the Realities. For the moment, they are safe. And so is your family. But . . .”
Tick felt a thrilling rush of joy as he realized that somehow he’d known all along that his family was safe. The relief lasted only a second before being tempered. “But?” he repeated, thinking, What now?
The face of a small boy responded. “But we have only thirty hours until the fragmentation begins again. And when it does, it will not stop until all that we know ceases to exist.”