Naecia was curled in peaceful slumber against the wall of her chamber, still wearing the diadem, feet sticking out the open gap in the glass. “Is she going to be okay?” I asked.

“She came close to the Fray, but her coherence is nominal now. Her mind was simply overtaxed, I think, by everything that happened.”

“What happens if you go all the way down?”

Aptat turned back to the display, spun the image with a gesture. After a long enough pause, I realized they weren’t planning to answer the question. “What happens,” I asked again, this time with some grain in my voice, “if you hit the Fray?”

Aptat waved the hologram away. “Evanescence, disaggregation. Oblivion.” Then swiveling to face me, “The Universe takes you back, Ben.”

59 Not.

60 Lie.

61 Nyssa sylvatica.

62 Five, if it’s your granny.

63 Autocannibalism. May explain Patton.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE INSTRUMENT MAKER

The woman sat inside a small shop, her large, deer-like eyes shining thoughtfully as she flicked a thin strand of wood with a fore-digit while bending it around a mold. Plink. Plink-plink-plinnnngg. There it was, the sound she’d been listening for.

She held the wood in place while reaching for a clamp with her other hand, knocking some unfinished blanks to the ground along with a pile of tacks. Unphased, she dabbed the pieces with glue, checked the sound once more – pling – and tightened the clamp. With the component ready for curing, she hung it on a peg alongside a row of more than two hundred just like it and allowed herself a moment to appreciate all the hard work. A quick smile, just for her, and she was on to the next task.

The Instrument Maker had been the one to fashion ukelaklavas for Odvella since before it was even considered a place. Now it was a good-sized town, with plenty of other able artisans up to the task if she wasn’t, but she was, and no one trusted anyone else with the music. She’d built the music for more Processions than anyone, having done it five times during her life, which was a momentous feat for an event so rare. People didn’t come from all around to hear the Processions played on someone else’s ukelavs. They wanted to hear hers. Three hundred and one of the instruments were required, each representing a separate segment of the moons’ journey to apex.

This was to be her final time building the music that would guide the moons along their way. After she was gone, someone else would continue the tradition, but it would never again sound like it had sounded when played on her instruments and set to her arrangement. It would be gone, living only in the memories of those who had heard it. Some thought that was sad. Others, the Instrument Maker included, thought that was what made each era so special.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Naecia stirred in her chamber, moaning out off-key notes. “Ah, good,” said Aptat. They trotted over but stopped halfway and turned to me. “Back to your cell, Ben. I think my ‘debt’ has been paid.”