Sync: Caulborn 1.5 Read online

  The world slowed down.

  Abraham, his partner, and Wheatson were moving in slow motion. Tendrils of shadow bloomed around them, then shimmered and twisted as they wove together, forming full, if insubstantial, copies of the men. They shimmered and seemed to move just a moment or two out of sync with their physical counterparts. What the hell? Were these ghosts? No one but me seemed to notice them. Actually, the things didn’t seem to notice one another either, as I watched a few of them phase through each other.

  One that was superimposed directly over Abraham moved like it was drawing a gun. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d stepped to the side, away from where it would be firing, and a moment later, the real Abraham drew and fired right at where I’d been standing. A shadow over Abraham’s partner dove toward my current location, and again my reflexes kicked in as I sidestepped back and to the left. A moment later, the big man sailed through empty air, his outstretched fingers narrowly missing me.

  The cold should’ve numbed my body, dulled my reaction times, but instead, I felt light as a feather. My mind raced at speeds I’d never experienced before. In the time it took for Abraham’s partner to crash to the ground, I’d thought through all the possible attacks that each Entropic could sling at me and the counterattacks I could perform. I realized I was overthinking things; at this speed, simple tactics would be best. I latched on to both of them telekinetically and slammed them head first into the wall. They slumped. The odd silhouettes, very faint now, twitched. Once of them, barely visible, leapt up, grabbed its head, and then vanished. Another specter flailed wildly as it slapped at its wrist before it vanished.

  The two men stayed motionless on the floor. I looked at Wheatson. Three silhouettes hovered around him. One was holding its sides, as if it were laughing. Another was clutching its stomach, as if wounded. The third’s arm came out and hit my shoulder in a friendly jab. A moment later, Wheatson’s real fist gently made contact with me.

  “Nicely done, Corinthos.” There were three copies of his voice. One pained, one laughing, and this one, which was slightly louder than the others. I squinted, trying to get a better view of the specters. More silhouettes appeared around Wheatson as I concentrated. All moved slightly differently. The differences were so subtle, they were nearly impossible to discern. I focused harder. More silhouettes popped up. There must’ve been fifty of them now. The harder I concentrated, the more I saw. Seventy. A hundred. The entire room was filled with shadows now, all of them with Wheatson’s voice, all of them asking variants on the question, “Are you all right?”

  I felt something warm on my lip. I brushed my hand across my mouth, and it came away bloody. My hand had a dozen silhouettes of its own. Some closed into a fist, others flicked the blood away, and others moved to wipe themselves on my pant leg. I planted my real hand on the ground in front of me as I fell to my knees, my heart thundering in my ears.

  The real Wheatson was frantically mashing the buttons on his watch. “Come on, come on, reinstate the tachyon field you friggin’ piece of junk.” His voice cut through the susurrus of the shadow voices. A blast of pain lanced straight through my forehead. More warmth on my lip. Drops of blood stained the concrete floor of the warehouse. My heart was slamming against my chest, its rhythm so fast that I couldn’t feel the rests between the beats. I retched, and bile burned my throat as everything I’d ever eaten tried to claw its way out.

  Another blast of wind; this one returned the warmth. The silhouettes vanished. My eyes were screwed so tightly shut that I had a hard time opening them. I felt Wheatson’s hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Corinthos. That was a close one, but you’re made of tougher stuff than that. Breathe. Just breathe.”

  After an eternity, my heart slowed down and my stomach settled. I rolled onto my back with a groan. Wheatson nodded to himself, satisfied that I’d pull through. He hustled over to the unconscious men. “Friggin’ Entropics,” he muttered as he roughly ripped the watch from Abraham’s arm. “Yeah, you heard me,” he said to the unconscious man. “You don’t deserve the name of Chronicler. You’re an Entropic.”

  “Why do you call them that?” I asked as I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. “Why not something more sinister, like Dark Chronicler?”

  Wheatson grimaced at me. “A Chronicler protects time. A Chronicler keeps the past safe from the future.” He gestured at the fallen men. “These jokers exist to sow chaos, to seed the very universe with entropy. They draw entropy directly from the Entropic Glass through these,” he shook the watch in his fist. “And that entropy gets released directly into the timestream.”

  “Is that what the liquid running up from their suits was?”

  Wheatson nodded. “Exactly. They draw it into themselves, and it gets dispersed through their bodies. That entropy pollutes time, distorts causality, and generally screws up the world as we know and love it.” His voice softened. “But I’ll fix that. I’ll fix everything.” He looked at me and beamed. “You’re brilliant, Corinthos. Absolutely brilliant. Well done, old boy, well done indeed. With this,” he held up the confiscated timepiece, “we can travel to the Citadel, fix the central clock, and then everything will go back to normal.”

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position and leaned against a pallet of antiquated video-game hardware. “Why can’t your magic watch do that?”

  He glanced at his own watch. “Bastards changed the access codes on me. I couldn’t get in.” He jiggled Abraham’s watch by its strap. “But they left their codes keyed in. Remember, it’s always a good practice to clear out your passwords.”

  “Thanks for the PSA. Now how about you fill me in on what the hell just happened?”

  Wheatson gave me a too-innocent look. “What do you mean?” He moved over to Abraham’s partner, and liberated his watch too.

  “No bullshit, Wheatson. What were those shadows?”

  “Later.” He held up a hand against my protest. “Vincent, I promise I will tell you. Just not right now. Come on.” He tossed me the other watch. “Hang on to this, it might come in handy.” Then he put one hand on my shoulder, the other holding Abraham’s watch. “Next stop, the Citadel.” The world vanished in a burst of blue light.

  When my vision cleared, we were in a courtyard paved with gray hexagonal stones. The smell of plastic and wood from the warehouse was gone, replaced by a faint musty smell. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. A five-story stone structure rose in front of me. It was a sort of tiered pyramid, the kind of thing I remember reading about when I was doing reports on the Incas back in seventh grade. It was made of the same sort of gray rock as the stones in the courtyard. As my eyes traveled up, my breath caught. Not because of the pyramid itself, but because of the sky. Purple and pink waves of light flowed and pulsed from the top of the pyramid, drifting off in all directions. Every now and then, a shimmer of light and darkness, like lightning flashes, pierced the otherwise peaceful color scheme.

  “That’s the timestream itself,” Wheatson said from next to me. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve sat here for what seemed like hours just staring at it. But there’s no time to sightsee, Corinthos. We need to get to the top of the Citadel. The central clock is housed in there.”

  “How many people do you think are inside?” I asked as I checked my faith reserves. All gods are like batteries charged by their followers’ faith, and the psychic powers that I get from the Urisk are fueled by that faith. I was about half full and figured I could probably handle nine or ten Entropics if they were all geared like Abraham and his partner.

  Wheatson did some more math in the air with his forefinger. “Five, maybe six hundred.”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you on crack? There’s no way I can take that many.”

  Wheatson’s eyes held none of the craziness I’d seen earlier. “We have to try, Corinthos,” he said somberly.

  I ran a hand over my face and looked back at the Cita
del. I pointed at the top story. “Are there any windows or doors to the outside up there?”

  Wheatson pursed his lips. “There are a couple of skylights in the observatories, but they only open from the inside, and they’re made of transparent titanium.”

  “Trans—?” I shook my head. “Forget it. It won’t be a problem.” I telekinetically pushed off of the ground as hard as I could, launching myself into the sky. It was higher than I’d originally thought. I caught the lip of the first tier’s roof with my fingers and felt the wind rush out of me as I collided with the wall. I hung there for a moment, giving my lungs a chance to recover, and then pulled myself over the edge. I telekinetically hauled Wheatson up a moment later.

  He rubbed his hands together vigorously. “That’s thinking, Corinthos. Very nice. Bypass all of the guards. Come on, then, up we go.”

  I grimaced at him. Telekinetic ascensions were draining on my faith reserves. Plus, this guy was heavier than he looked. I repeated the process a few more times and got us up to the top tier. We hadn’t passed any other windows or doors on the way up. There were no signs of life anywhere. I leaned against the wall for a moment to catch my breath.

  “Where are we, anyway?” I asked.

  “This? This is Nowhen. We’re outside of normal time right now.” Wheatson beamed. “It’s a great place. You never get hungry, you don’t need to sleep, you don’t age, and it never rains or snows here.” He pursed his lips. “Not much weather at all, actually. But with the observatories, you can look into the timestream and see any sunset or storm that you want.”

  “Speaking of which, where are those skylights you mentioned?”

  Wheatson beckoned me forward and led me to a slightly shinier spot on the floor that was easily forty feet square. The purple and pink streaks in the sky reflected on it in hypnotic patterns. I made my way to one of the edges and knelt down next to it. I placed my hands on the glass and marveled at how smooth it was; the surface was solid, but it felt like liquid silk. I ran my fingers over it a few times, and then Opened the skylight. My father, Janus, is a god of time, but he’s also a god of doors. One particular trick I inherited from him is the ability to Open anything. Doors, windows, skylights, pickle jars, you name it, if it can be Opened, I can do it. The skylight swung upward soundlessly. Just below, a massive lens stared up at me. The thing must’ve been thirty feet across, and twice that tall. I scanned the area below as best I could for hostiles, but didn’t see anything. Wheatson came up beside me.

  “Forgot you could do that Opening trick,” he said as he chucked me on the shoulder. “And don’t worry, no one’s in there. If they were, you’d be dead by now.”

  I grunted and levitated us down into the chamber. I had a hard time pinpointing the room’s light source. The stones themselves gave off a faint light that brightened when Wheatson and I touched down. Wheatson smiled at the giant telescope and patted it affectionately. “Hello, Betsy,” he grinned.

  “You named the telescope?”

  “Not telescope, Chronoscope. It sees through time. I’ll show you another time.” He smirked. “Heh. No pun intended.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “Come on, the central clock is down this way.” We cracked the doors open a hair and saw two figures standing guard just outside the door. We pushed the doors shut.

  I pointed at his gun. “How many rounds do you have?”

  Wheatson shook his head. “We’re outside time here, remember? A chronobullet won’t have any affect.” I frowned and felt at my faith reserves. I figured I’d used a lot ascending the Citadel, and was surprised to find I was still about half full. Maybe the fact that time didn’t actually flow here somehow conserved my resources. Hauling Wheatson up as much as I had should’ve left me completely exhausted instead of just tired.

  I took a breath. “All right. Be ready to catch them.” I cracked the door open again and hit them both in the back of the head with quick telekinetic bursts. They crumpled to the floor, and Wheatson and I dragged them into the Chronoscope’s chamber. Wheatson relieved them of their watches and stuffed one into his pocket. He kept the other out, tapping its face. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Cycling,” he replied. “Looking for orders from the Tempus. They’re still searching for us. Doesn’t look like they found Abraham and Cooter yet.”

  “Cooter? Seriously? That big guy was named Cooter?”

  “Yeah, always thought he looked more like a Cletus, personally.” He tapped the screen a few more times as he spoke. “No sign that they know we’re here,” he said as he strapped the liberated watch on next to his own and Abraham’s. “The central clock is down this hallway.”

  We hustled down the hallway, trying to watch in all directions. We rounded a corner and came upon a set of ten-foot-tall bronze double doors, with a huge hourglass etched upon each. “This is it,” Wheatson said as he gestured to the doors. “Open ’er up.”

  I pressed my palms to the doors and obliged. The doors swung in, revealing a huge chamber at least sixty feet square. An hourglass twice as tall as I was stood on a raised dais in the center of the room, and the spiraling pink and purple lights I’d seen outside streamed from the sands as they passed through the glass.

  The doors abruptly slammed shut behind us. “That’s bad,” Wheatson said softly. Forty men suddenly appeared around us. “Oh. That’s worse.”

  Before I could react, two of them had grabbed my arms and forced me to the floor. Wheatson was similarly held. The circle of men parted, revealing another man, this one dressed in purple flowing robes, at their heads. He had steel gray hair and wire-rimmed spectacles that glinted in the purple and pink light of the room. He paused for a moment to adjust a golden medallion shaped like a sundial before approaching us. “Funny how the simple tricks we learn early on are so effective, isn’t it, Wheatson? My men and I have been waiting here, just one second out of sync with normal time. It’s something we’re all taught, and yet you walked right into it.” He tsked. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you never were effective. Yet I suppose I do owe you a modicum of thanks for delivering the godling to me.”

  “That’s not possible,” Wheatson whispered. “We’re outside time. You can’t be out of sync here.”

  The man laughed. “The glorious entropy flowing through the timestream allows for many impossible things, Wheatson. You never did learn to perform proper fourth-dimensional reasoning, did you?”

  “Who the hell is this asshole?” I asked.

  One of my captors kicked me in the kidney. “Show some respect to the Tempus,” he snarled in my ear.

  The pain only fueled my attitude problem. “That’s the Tempus?” I asked. “Man, he needs a better costume department. Get this guy a nice suit, maybe a bowtie and a fez. Bowties and fezzes are cool, you know.” Wheatson snickered and his captor struck him on the back of the head. He crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. I struggled against my captors, but one of them put a gun to my head. Not a chronopistol, but a real Dirty Harry-style .44. I stopped moving.

  “Well, well, Vincent Corinthos,” the Tempus said in a clipped voice. “Son of Janus, Caulborn operative, god of the Urisk, and all around pain in the ass. Why am I not surprised to find you here?” His face was unlined, but I got a profound sense of age from this man.

  “Tough talk from a guy in a dress,” I said.

  “Ah yes, I’d forgotten your juvenile sense of humor. ’Tis truly a shame you never outgrew that.”

  “’Tis?’ Did you just use ’tis in a sentence? Are we in Victorian England or something?”

  “We are Nowhen, Corinthos. Any and all times can be found here. Do you know how many hours I have spent devising the perfect demise for you? What conditions it would be under? How long it would take? Hmm?” He raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Buddy, you’re spending too much time breathing your own f
umes. I’ve never met you before.”

  The Tempus began laughing, then stopped. His eyes widened and a grin played at the edges of his mouth. “You’re serious? Oh, that’s rich. He’s no threat to me.” He gestured to my captors, who released my arms. His green eyes twinkled as he continued. “Corinthos, I have seen your future. I know a dozen ways your life could end based on the choices you make. I could guide you down the paths to bliss and harmony, or nudge you toward chaos and strife.”

  I looked around for a way out as he continued monologing. The room was empty except for the giant hourglass in the back. No other doors except for the ones I came through. Opening them wouldn’t be a problem, but I’d have to get to them first, and I had no idea what the Tempus or his goon squad might be able to do.

  I held up a hand and made it mouth words. “Blah, blah, blah. You’re going to die, Corinthos. Blah, blah. I’m going to kill you, Corinthos. Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before, dipshit, and I’ve heard it from guys with a lot more style than you. So tell you what, you Clock King reject, you want a piece of me, come and get it.”

  The Tempus’s eyes narrowed. He held out his right hand, palm up. A rippling ball of shimmering blue light appeared in his hand. “As you wish, Corinthos.” The ball shot out toward me. The Tempus did not throw it; it simply streaked at me of its own accord. I snapped a shield up, but the ball passed right through without slowing and struck me in the chest. Vertigo shook me to the core, and my stomach tried to empty itself again.

  When my vision cleared, I wasn’t in the central clock room. I was on a boat. Sunlight blazed down on me, uncomfortably hot in my leather bomber. The scent of salt water was a welcome change after the musty smell of Nowhen. The boat gently rocked back and forth. Sails hung limp with no wind to propel them, and the helm stood unattended. The boat seemed completely adrift.