“Because two selves from separate worlds can’t come into contact. It contravenes every rule of time and space going. You’d bloody disappear.”

I shake my head and say nothing. Vidhan reaches into his back pocket and produces a faded, time-yellowed booklet.

“Here,” he says, handing it to me, bending it back in shape.

I turn the booklet over in my hands. “What’s this?”

“Everything you need to know.”

The cover print is faded, but easy enough to read. A title—no picture, no author, nothing but text. I turn the book over. Nothing on the sepia back. I flip to the front again. The title and subtitle stand alone on an otherwise empty cover.

THE BOOK OF SEVEN

A PATHFINDER’S HANDBOOK

I turn the first page, well-thumbed and greasy, and read a few quick lines of dense, strangely worded text.

There have always been, and will always be, the Seven. At the dawn of the enlightened age, in the land of Pharaohs, came the first understanding of the SEVEN WORLDS. The Seven form a free-flowing ecosystem of independent universes in parallel. A MULTIVERSE. All worlds are discovered, but one. The seventh. By this author it is considered to be the perfect realm.

When I look up from reading, Vidhan is watching me keenly.

“So?” he asks.

“So, it’s bizarre. Who’s the author?”

“No one knows. Me? I reckon it’s a compilation—writings of all the masters. Especially the elder ones. Reckon Mother even wrote some.”

“Interesting style,” I say, handing it back to him.

“Keep it,” he says. “You’ll need it more than me. When ya get the chance, read the chapter on Falling.”

“Why that chapter?”

“Just read it.”

I sense the conversation is closed, so I thank him and stuff the book in my pocket. Over his shoulder, I notice Malik and Akuji walking towards us.

Malik glances at Vidhan and takes in the strewn salt, the empty saltcellar. Then he looks at me. “You should’ve eaten. I told you.”

“I’m fine,” I say, standing. “If that’s what you’re asking. So, let’s go find this Mother of yours.”

Malik smiles and nods. “Vidhan, you ready?”

“Born ready.”

“Kuji?”

She keeps her eyes on me, makes the faintest gesture with her hand.

“All right then,” Malik says. “We go in pairs and—”

“Pairs?” Vidhan interrupts.

Malik raises an eyebrow. “You got something better in mind, Prof?”

Vidhan grins. “Just wondering when you became master of all our destinies.”

“Ah, quit your whining,” Malik says.

They eyeball each other, smirking. It comes off like banter, rather than genuine irritation, and suddenly I feel like someone who doesn’t belong. I turn from Malik to Vidhan and then to the bloodless Akuji. She’s looking at me with the hint of a smile on her lips, as if she’s taking pleasure in my discomfort.