Isaac relished the run. Every footstep matched a heartbeat from the drum under the ground. As he climbed higher and higher, the world unrolled at his feet until he reached the peak of the mountain of dirt.

He stood in the center of the bubble, far above the swamp. It was a lonely patch of flat ground. The great orange sky stretched out above him and the black marsh encircled him below. The star hung directly above him, glowing a dim cherry-red.

It looked nothing like the garden.

When Isaac first woke up in Oshun, he had no word for it but paradise. That lush, dappled jungle was a far cry from this plateau of dust, but it thrilled him all the same. It sounded the same.

In the distance, the line of the ship’s anchor cut across the sky, leading down into the mire. He could almost make out the green anchor at the bottom, settling into the mud.

Behind it, the storm was approaching. Its shivering, distant roar grew louder with every passing second. It was a constant reminder that he had to act quickly.

Isaac scanned the dirt. If Harley was looking for food, she wouldn’t be up here. The top of the hill was utterly barren. The only signs of life came from the withered weeds clawing their way up through cracks in the ground. The air was hot and stifling and dead.

He spotted a little valley on the other side of the mountain, dotted with strange brown lumps. At first glance, they looked like boulders, but their shapes were artificially similar.

There was a flicker of movement between them. It caught his eye with a sudden flash of gold, like sunlight rippling on water. Isaac squinted. Someone was down there, moving across the valley.

It had to be Harley. Isaac started jogging down the hill, relieved to be moving again, relieved to have a direction and a purpose. The heat was starting to get to him.

Eventually the ground leveled out. Brackish pools dotted the landscape and spiked pillars of moss shaded his path.

As he got closer, the odd lumps resolved into barrels. They lay scattered across the desolate valley. A few of them were broken, oozing a thick blue-gray liquid onto the ground.

Harley stood among them, though from a distance Isaac could see only her tangled blond hair and red uniform. She was crouched over one of the barrels.

Isaac reached the top of the valley and shouted, “Hello!”

Harley looked up, startled, taking a few steps back. She stared up at him as he scrambled down the dirt slope. Her eyes were wide, and she swayed a little back and forth as if she couldn’t quite get her balance.

Isaac stopped and waved from across the haphazard mess of barrels. “My name is Isaac. I’m a wizard,” he said. “SEIDR sent us to rescue you.”

Finally, Harley raised a hand and waved back. Her movements were slow and disjointed, like her body was out of sync with her mind.

“Are you alright?” Isaac asked. She was beginning to unsettle him.

“Ye-es,” she said slowly. “It’s just a lot to process, you know? It’s been a really weird day.”

Now that he took a second look, she seemed dazed. Her eyes never quite focused on him.

“I can imagine,” Isaac said softly, knowing he couldn’t possibly imagine. “But listen, there’s a ship just over the hill. We should get back there as soon as possible, before the storm hits.”

“How did you even find us?” Harley asked. She didn’t seem to have registered anything he just said. “Spelder said no one was coming. He said no one knew we’d been stranded.”

“Well, he was wrong about that. Felix and some of the others made it back—”

“Felix? He’s okay?”

“He’s fine.”

“Oh, that bastard. Thank God.” She stumbled back, leaning against one of the barrels. Relief was etched across her face. “I knew it. I knew he’d figure something out. Shit.”

It was disconcerting. Isaac didn’t expect Harley to be happy that Felix survived. If anything, he thought she would be furious. He was already angry at the weaver, and he hadn’t even been on the Rambler.

But maybe she didn’t know that Felix was responsible for the ship’s destruction. Maybe Spelder never told her. Isaac twisted his hands together, uncertain as to whether he should break the news or keep his mouth shut.

His better judgment told him to stay out of it. And Harley seemed to be in no state for sudden revelations—she was barely standing already.

“Who else made it?” she asked, staring off into the swamp. “Is Kai alive?”

“I’m not sure,” Isaac said. The names escaped him. “I’m sorry. It was Felix and two other people, I think.”

“Alright.” Harley drummed on the barrel. “That’s good. I really thought it was just Spelder. I thought we were stuck, you know? This is … better.” She finally met Isaac’s eyes. “You said you brought a ship.”

“It’s anchored back there,” Isaac said, pointing over his shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

The storm was creeping up on them already, a murmur that grew ever-louder. Isaac had not witnessed a storm in Oshun for a very long time, but he could never forget the sheer chaos of the rain streaming in every direction at once. He hoped they could outrun it.

“We should bring the honey,” Harley said.

“What?”

She pointed at the barrels. “They fell from the Rambler. I saw them land over here. Don’t want to waste them.”

“It doesn’t look like honey,” Isaac said, eyeing the sludge leaking out of a broken barrel. “It’s blue.”

She raised her eyebrows in an exaggerated, quizzical look. Her pupils were enormous. “I thought you were supposed to be a wizard.”

“I just started,” Isaac said tersely. “This is my first voyage.”

“Huh. Wizards use blue honey all the time, dude.” She kicked one of the barrels lightly. “It’s important. Surprised nobody told you.”

“I’m sure Miriam was getting around to it,” Isaac said. “Look, we really should leave. I don’t want to get stuck in the downpour.”

“Look.” Harley pushed one of the barrels over and rocked it back and forth. “We can bring a couple along easily. They roll.”

“We can’t waste any time. I don’t know how long we have before the storm gets here.”

“Then you grab one and I grab one, and we can go.”

Her chin jutted out stubbornly. There was something off about her; maybe she was still in shock. Isaac didn’t want to argue.

“Alright. Fine.” He pulled the closest honey barrel onto its side. It was even heavier than he expected.

Harley had already started pushing hers toward the top of the hill. She threw her weight behind it, huffing and puffing, but her pace was agonizingly slow. The whole mountain of dirt loomed ahead of them.

“This will take forever,” Isaac said. “Why don’t we go around?”

“Through the swamp?”

“We could float the barrels on the water.”

“Huh. Alright. Not the worst idea I’ve heard.”

It didn’t take long to roll a few of the honey barrels down to the edge of the bog. The two of them started wading through the knee-deep water, herding the barrels alongside them.

Swarms of flies tracked them across the swamp. Isaac was constantly swatting them away from his face and shoulders. Harley didn’t seem to mind.

The black water was just transparent enough to see the little pink-white fish that wriggled like worms along the surface. There were other things, long and slimy and too deep to be visible, brushing against Isaac’s submerged ankles. He hoped they were plants.

The water at least kept him cool, but his shoulders and the top of his head grew uncomfortably hot. The red star overhead was relentless. Aside from the occasional column of moss, there was no shade.

Harley hummed a little song, and Isaac envied her levity. Or perhaps it was a mask.

He was dreadfully curious about the attack and the skelfing, but he didn’t want to stir up such recent and unpleasant memories. For a while they slogged through the mud with only the sound of splashing and birds to keep them company.

But curiosity sank its claws into him until he could not stay quiet. There was no harm in asking, he thought. Not if he did it right.

“Does this happen a lot? Ships getting destroyed?” He glanced over at her, but her face was placid and unreadable.

“It used to. But there hasn’t been anything like this in a while.” She pushed the barrel in front of her, watching it roll over in the dark water. “It’s weird. Like, it’s just something you hear about until it happens to you.”

“What was it like?”

She didn’t say anything. A red bird swooped over their heads, shrieking out a single high-pitched note.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he added, guilt and fascination warring with each other. “It’s just … I’ve never seen a skelfing up close. I want to know what to expect.”

“You can’t expect anything. That’s the funny thing about it.” Her voice wavered. “I saw the ship getting ripped up and I saw whatever it did to Osmund, but I don’t even know if I saw it. I knew it was there, but I don’t know how I knew. Whether I was seeing it or hearing it or something else.”

Isaac tried to wrap his head around that. He didn’t even know where to start.

“It’s not good to think about,” Harley said. “Not while we’re still here.”

At that Isaac felt a little tremor of fear, as if merely talking about skelfing was enough to summon them. He’d forgotten for a second how vulnerable they still were. How every moment in Oshun was a risk by default.

In response, the heartbeat of the bubble jumped, the steady drum losing its rhythm for a moment. For Isaac, it was like missing a stair.

He stumbled and caught himself on his staff, planting it down in the mud and leaning against it. He did not want to fall into this stagnant swamp water. He could only imagine what lurked under the surface. Probably an ear infection.

“You alright?” Harley asked, blinking at him.

“Yes,” Isaac said, steadying himself. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I used to wonder too,” she said. “But it was better not knowing. Is it different for wizards?”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t scared of them. Or you’re not supposed to be.”

“That’s the idea,” Isaac said. “I’m still working on it, I think.”

“Oh.” Harley looked ahead, frowning a little. “Me too.”

Isaac was able to keep his mouth shut after that. Once burned, twice shy.

Finally, he saw the anchor line trailing down from the sky, and they began to steer the barrels toward it.

It wasn’t long before they ran into Miriam coming back the other way. She waved to them from one of the long green ridges which sloped out of the water. Isaac waved back.

“Harley!” she called, and Harley jerked her head up. She seemed just as surprised to see Miriam as she had been when Isaac first arrived.

“Hello,” she said cautiously. “Haven’t I seen you before?”

“A few times. Miriam Oleander. How are you doing?” Miriam walked down to the bank, keeping her distance from the water.

Harley shrugged. “Still making up my mind.”

They had almost reached the anchor’s plant-covered cage. It was just ahead, perched on a mound of mud. Isaac gave his barrel one last shove and watched it float lazily to the shore.

“What are you two doing with those barrels?”

“She found them back there,” Isaac said, pointing toward the hills. “Apparently they were on the Rambler. They’re full of honey—”

“Blue honey,” Harley clarified.

“You don’t say.” Miriam stroked her chin, glancing between the barrels and Harley. “Harley … ”

“That’s my name,” Harley said, with her eyes fixed on the sky.

“You didn’t happen to eat any, did you?”

The weaver shrugged again. “I tried it. Didn’t know if we were gonna find any other food. I really didn’t want to eat the fish. They look like intestines.”

“I see.”

Isaac dragged his barrel up onto the shore. “That’s not bad, is it?”

“It’s not ideal,” Miriam said. “But it should be fine. She’s not quite lucid. After a few hours it’ll wear off.”

“What does it do?”

“It’s a sleep substitute. Helps wizards stay awake on long voyages.” Miriam held out her staff and Harley took it, leaning on it as she climbed up the muddy slope. “But it’s a pain in the ass to make. Expensive, too.”

“I always thought it would be more interesting,” Harley mumbled. “But I mostly just feel tired and fuzzy.”

“It’s not too exciting,” Miriam said. “Was there any more left over?”

“At least a dozen barrels,” Isaac said. “Some of them were broken.”

“Hm. Well, two isn’t a bad start. You can throw them in here.” She walked up to the anchor and unlatched something. “We’ll be taking the anchor back up to the ship.”

Part of the square cage swung open, the plants still clinging to its bars. Its interior was spotted with light and shadow, with mud splattering the timber grid on the floor.

Spelder sat inside, with one of his legs stretched out stiffly in front of him. He was fidgeting with a bedraggled green feather. “Ah. I see you found Harley. Can we go?”

“Hello to you too,” Harley said, climbing unsteadily into the cage.

“That depends,” Miriam said. “She discovered some blue honey left over from the Rambler. I’m told there’s a stash on the other side of the hill.”

“And?”

“If we have time, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a couple more,” Miriam said. “My own stock is running low. I didn’t know you had so much aboard.”

Isaac loaded the barrels into the cage, one at a time. They were coated with dark mud. He hoped they were watertight.

“It was supposed to be a long voyage. Before the whole … insubordination thing.” Spelder frowned. “But I say we leave now. Harley and I have been stuck here for long enough.”

“I don’t mind,” Harley said. “What’s another hour or two, anyway?”

“We don’t have an hour or two,” Spelder said. “That storm’s gonna hit in less than fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t know.” Miriam scowled. “Let me think.”

In a bolt of alarm, Isaac realized they would be returning to SEIDR as soon as they got back to the Albatross. It felt like they’d only just arrived.

When he looked up, the star seemed to wink at him, pulsing through the saturated orange sky. “I think we should go back for more honey,” he said, though he couldn’t care less about the ship’s honey supply.

“Miriam?” Spelder asked, his voice strained. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t think I was ever in danger of that,” Miriam said.

“You can hear it, can’t you? You’d have to be dumb to stick around. We should leave now.”

The storm was clamoring from afar—a dark haze on the other side of the sky, growing steadily larger. Miriam sighed. “You might be right about this one.”

“Of course I am.”

“Alright. Go on, Isaac.” Miriam pointed toward the anchor. “We’re already cutting it close.”

Isaac opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, sensing that he couldn’t argue his way out of this one. They were really leaving.

His mouth flooded with a bitter taste. The departure was worse than he’d expected, almost as bad as never arriving at all. But he’d almost resigned himself to it when a strange melody lifted up from under his feet.

Oshun was full of odd sounds, curious music that echoed from one bubble to another or poured down from the star above. Its melodies were haunting, alien, rising and falling inexplicably out of the blue void. They had no human quality to them; they were born of the spheres.

This was different. Personal. Someone might as well have been calling Isaac’s name for how obvious it was. He knew immediately that it was a song for him.

It was a lilting, slow and nostalgic tune, familiar and yet without any name or distinct memory attached. Isaac froze in place.

“Can you hear that?” he whispered.

“The storm?”

“The piano.” It really was a piano, distinct and crisp, separate from Oshun’s chorus in every way.

She cocked her head. There was a growing concern spreading across her face. “I think you should get in the anchor. We can talk about this once we’re back on the ship.”

“You really don’t hear it,” he said in disbelief, glancing between her and Spelder. They looked incredulous. “I’m not imagining this.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Spelder asked. “There’s no piano. We need to leave.”

“It’s coming from over there,” Isaac said, pointing in the direction of the song—deeper into the swamp, on the left flank of the dirt hills. He could not tell how far away it might be, but that didn’t matter. He was pulled toward it like a tree bending with the wind. Already he was starting to turn.

“He’s making this up,” Spelder said flatly, looking at Miriam. “I don’t hear shit.”

“I am not!” Isaac said, and the tune became even louder in his ears. It was practically beckoning. He took a few steps back. “It’s real, alright?”

He knew what he was about to do, and knew how terrible it was. Make no mistake, he made all his mistakes drenched in self-awareness.

But there was something inexorable in the song he could not deny. He was angry, dreadfully angry, that anyone would ask him to. This was an invitation, and refusing it would be a grave error.

Miriam must have seen some sign of this on his face, for she stepped forward and said, “Isaac—”

He turned on his heel and ran.

“Isaac Skinner!”

He ignored the shouts from behind him.

The sound of pursuit quickly faded away, drowned by his squelching footsteps in the mud. He was faster than Miriam. Both Spelder and Harley were in no state to be chasing anyone.

He scrambled over the hills and into the water again. It felt colder. As he waded across the pools, and climbed over the little green ridges, he spared no thought for where he was going. All his attention was devoted to the song.

It was a simple and melancholy melody, and the chords were always the same. As long as he was chasing them he felt the brilliant, burning purpose that nothing else could grant him. This was exactly what he wanted. It sounded like home.

And then the storm broke over the bubble and the water came roaring down. It met him like an orchestra, matching the rhythm of the piano. Isaac threw his head back and reveled in it. Despite the torrents of rain, the sky was still a clear orange. The star shone through the raindrops and cast serpentine rainbows across the bubble’s surface.

Under all of it, the song remained the same. It tugged at Isaac’s heart. He was meant to be here, and everything was going to be alright.

So it seemed, and so I wish it could be. But Isaac quickly learned the difference between seeming and being.

In the midst of his glorious run, he halted, mud up to his shins, sweat soaking through his shirt, rain running down his face.

He’d run out of swamp.

Before him, the curved tangerine dome of the sky came sweeping down. It cut off the world in an implacable wall. It was a softly faded orange creamsicle color, swirling with tiny currents of red.

This was the end of the bubble. The sound was still calling him, echoing out from ahead and below. Now he realized that its volume never wavered, and “ahead and below” could mean another few feet or a billion miles.

He fell to his knees, all his disappointment immolated by an unexpected rage. The rain pelted his back and shoulders, heavy and growing heavier. He wanted to dissolve in it.

This was the other side of the coin, the intense fury and self-loathing that followed every flight of fancy. He was a fool.

Too late, he realized that his ire was seeping into the ground. The heartbeat began to speed up.

He tried to calm himself, but it was pointless. Too little, too late. The steady thrumming from beneath grew louder and faster until it was overlapping itself, a thunder that almost sounded like applause. It eclipsed the clamor of the rain and the piano. It was a fitting drum roll for the end of the world.

And then it snapped, and the bubble woke up, and all Isaac could think was, what have I done?

***

The classroom was just about the last place Felix wanted to be, and yet there he was. Before him, the unwashed masses; behind him, a chalkboard covered with so many messy notes and scrawled illustrations that it was practically abstract art.

When he caught a glimpse of the board, from the corner of his eye, it always seemed to be moving. The lines wriggled a little, bending toward a shape that never fully materialized.

It was all in his head, he knew. That was the worst part. There was something in his brain that hadn’t been there before. It all came from that single moment before he grabbed the loom, the moment the whole illusion fell apart.

It would not leave him alone. It left him with the horrifyingly uncomfortable feeling that he was tiptoeing around his own mind, trying not to disturb the thing which sat in the center of it.

It was impossible to focus on teaching under these circumstances. Technically he was supposed to have some kind of structure, maybe even a lesson plan, but he figured they could cut him a break for one class. It had been a very long week.

So he started talking about the fractals, because he loved them. He could ramble about fabric meta-theory all day, but the damn students always got in the way. He was just about to start explaining the nuances of his algorithm when one of them raised a hand.

“You,” Felix said, pointing. “What is it?” He never bothered to learn their names.

“Isn’t this kind of useless?” the man asked. His voice was bored. He looked young, maybe early twenties. Almost as young as Felix when he’d started attending the Academy. “I mean, the patterns look kind of interesting, but it’s not like they have anything to do with weaving.”

Felix’s left eye twitched. “It is the furthest thing from useless,” he said, and then was helpless to stop the tide of sheer frustration that came pouring out of his mouth. “Any remotely competent weaver would understand that. You’ve betrayed your own utter ignorance at what the fabric actually is. You want to weave? Fine! Weave. You will be precisely as important as a sewing machine.” He knew he was ranting, and had neither the willpower or the inclination to stop himself. “I, meanwhile, intend to discover the universal formula behind the fabric, something infinitely more useful than anything you will accomplish over the course of your dismal lives. Imagine calling the equation of life itself, the explanation of the very reality we inhabit, useless. I can think of nothing more pathetic.”

The blank expressions of the front row students finally sank in. He stopped, leaning against his desk, wiping some of the spittle off his lips. He felt suddenly exhausted. There was still another hour on the clock. It might as well have been eternity.

Another student’s hand popped up, and he nodded toward her, relieved at the distraction. “Yes?”

“Did you really get half of your ship killed?”

Felix stared at her for a very long time before very quietly asking, “What?”

She looked around for support, but the rest of the class was silent. “I just … heard it around,” she said lamely.

“From who?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“I am not responsible for what happened,” he spat, pointing at her for emphasis. “And for all we know, they’re still alive. Understand?”

None of them met his eyes. Felix felt bile rising up in his throat. He could not face this for another five minutes.

“Class dismissed,” he said abruptly, and turned around to face the board. Behind his back, he knew they were leaning to whisper back and forth, trading rumors and lies and insults.

He had to talk to Caleb. Now.

***

Felix staked out the west cafeteria, where most of the Institute’s scientists ate. His stakeout consisted of waiting, watching, and chewing his nails until his fingers were raw.

He spent a combined ten hours over two days camped in a booth near the entrance before he finally spotted Caleb in line at the salad bar.

Caleb Friar had big glasses and big hair that hid a very small face. His lab coat was stained green around the collar, and he’d rolled up the baggy sleeves to his elbows.

He meandered down the line, grabbed a mug of hot chocolate, and sat down alone in a secluded booth. Perfect. Felix sidled around the room and slid onto the bench across from the scientist.

Caleb’s head jerked up. He stared at Felix with surprise that morphed into resignation. “Felix.”

“Hello, Caleb,” Felix said with a tight smile. “How are you doing?”

“Terrible,” Caleb said. “Thanks for asking. I know why you’re here, by the way.”

Felix leaned on the table. “I’m here because I’m concerned about you. And what you might have been saying to the wrong people.”

“Such as the human resources department?” Caleb speared a lettuce leaf on his fork.

“Well, yes. Now that you’ve mentioned it, what have you been saying about me?”

“The truth.” Caleb pointed his fork at Felix. His eyes were bright with hate behind the lenses. “You’re responsible for all of it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You think I don’t have ears? I was on the ship too. There’s no point in lying to me about it.”

“You can’t—”

“Save your breath,” Caleb said. “I heard Spelder telling you we had to leave, alright? And you did nothing. If you had listened, none of this would have happened.”

“If I’d listened?” Felix scoffed. His eyes were burning. “If Spelder had told me that a fucking demon was heading our way, I would have left. If he gave me any sign of what was actually going on—but all he said was turn this ship around without a single good reason why. I—look, I’d just been weaving for ten hours straight. I was exhausted. Forgive me if I didn’t want to weave for another ten. I didn’t know!”

“That’s a poor excuse for killing four people.”

“You don’t know if they’re—wait. What do you mean, killing four people?”

“Haven’t you figured it out?”

Felix stared at him. “There were six people on the ship.”

“Seven.”

“What are you even talking about?” Felix spat.

“All the ships are designed for a crew of seven. We had enough supplies for seven people.” Caleb sighed. “How about this. After the skelfing, how many of us were left on the Rambler?”

The word four drifted across Felix’s mind. He shook his head. “Three. You, me, and Kai.”

“And if there was someone else, someone who fell into the isthmus and vanished, how would any of us know?”

Felix recoiled. He’d expected this to be an unpleasant conversation, but it was far worse than he could have imagined. Bile rose up in his throat. “You don’t really think … ”

“I remember it. Almost.” Caleb took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. His voice was low and monotone. “In flashes. A hand. A face. Like a stranger in a dream.”

“I had no idea.” Felix swallowed. His mind grasped blindly for a person that no longer existed. “But there’s no way I could have prevented that.”

Caleb shrugged. “You should have done your job. None of this would have happened.”

“I should have left you there, for all the fucking trouble you’re causing me now.”

“Maybe.” Caleb took a sip of his hot chocolate. “But it’s too late now. You’ll just have to live with that regret.”

Felix did regret. Fervently. Whole-heartedly. He got up from the table and stumbled away from the cafeteria, wondering why everything terrible was always his fault.