Fractured Infinities

Time Travel

Once we're outside of the Golden Boar, Ben lifts me up so I can survey the market. "What now, milady?"

"Now?" I glance around the teeming marketplace. There's a garish purple tent to our left, decorated with glittering golden letters promising the passerby their heart's desire, while the drab grey stall on our right appears completely deserted. Smoke puffs in rhythmic bursts from a tent farther down the lane, accompanied by the jangle of bells; goat-like creatures bleat from a pen across the way. Though most of the people hurrying up and down the lane are smiling, desperation glitters in their eyes.

I can't help feeling a shade of that same sense of desperation. The glitter of Goblin Market seems to urge me forward, a siren song just out of hearing range that promises all I could wish for if I just venture a bit deeper into the market. Come, try your luck, it whispers. Anything you need, anything you want, anything you could possibly imagine can be found here if you just look hard enough.

I sigh. It might even be true, but I'm not sure I can take the time to look. In many ways, Goblin Market is a pocket universe all on its own, with more twists and turns than any labyrinth ever built. We could spend years here, and never notice the passage of time until we got back into Oberon's realm or the human world. If Underhill's relationship to time is that of a boat drifting to and fro on a long anchor chain, Goblin Market is an unmoored raft tossed on the stormy sea – there's no predicting or controlling where it goes.

"Mary?" A touch of worry has entered the huntsman's voice. "Are ya alright?"

With a start, I realize I've been silent for nigh on five minutes now. Shutting out the alluring call of the market, I shape my mask into a smile. "Yes, of course." I glance around one more time. "I think it might be best if we head back now."

Surprise makes the huntsman's eyes widen. "Are ya sure? Didn't ya say we could look for, what'd ya call them, time mages? Just cause we didn't find Quicksilver doesn't mean we can't find one of them."

Everything about that statement feels logical to me, so why do I waver? Is my irrational disappointment over Quicksilver clouding my judgement? Truth be told, I completely forgot that a tempus mage might also be able to help with our predicament.

But a little voice inside me warns me to be wary. Some instinct, buried near the part of me that enforces my geas to answer truthfully, is vibrating with alarm at the suggestion of finding a strange mage, yet I can't tell why. There's no compulsion that forbids me to seek out help, and it's not like we would simply waltz up to the first sorcerer we saw and beg for help. To do that would be foolhardy at best, and end in death or enslavement at worst.

Yet... I still hesitate. Tempus magic is chancy; most attempts to manipulate time end with the wielder dead or insane. Only the very powerful survive, and even they tend to be eccentric.

If I was human, I'd roll my eyes in frustration. Before talking to Orion, I was confident that a time mage would be able to help us should we fail to find my creator. But now my instincts are telling me otherwise. It's simply not logical! If I wasn't who I am, I'd suspect that someone had cast a spell on me to cause this abrupt change of heart, but surely I would have felt something like that. And what would be the point of such a spell, anyway?

With a sigh of annoyance, I push the niggling warning to the back of my mind. Instincts are all well and good for mortals, but I prefer to operate on logic, and logic dictates that we find a time mage.

When I tell the huntsman this, he smiles. "Alright, so where do we look?"

"Good question." This place really needs a guidebook – I'm sure one could be made with the proper enchantments. "We'll simply have to find a guide again."