Page 89 of Atlas of Unknowable Things
“There,” I said, pointing. “I need to go through that opening.”
The water there was three-quarters of the way up the gate. Beyond that, there was only darkness.
“Isabelle,” said Aspen. “No.”
“It’s going to be fine,” I said. “We’ll break this lock. I’ll suit up and swim through to the second gate over there. I’ll get that aperture open—someone will have to go with me and close it behind me right away—and then I’ll start the swim down to the breach.”
I looked at their disbelieving faces and then at the ancient gates before me, at the gray-black water sloshing against the stone walls, out to the horrors that awaited me beyond.
As I suited up, I thought about Charles, about how he would have laughed to see how ridiculous I looked in flippers. I thought about Robin, about the secret self I’d had the chance to become. And I thought about you, sitting there reading my final words. I wonder what you will make of them. Will you think me mad?Will you think this all an extravagant fiction? If so, that means I succeeded. And if not, if I’ve failed, then you will know that every word I’ve written here is the truth. I hope with my very soul that’s not the case.
When I said goodbye to Aspen and Lexi, I had hope in my heart, but as soon as my eyes met Finn’s, the reality of my situation came into clear focus.
He put his hands on my shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do.”
“We could organize a team.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Given the time constraint, given the damage to the observatory, do you really think we have time for that?”
He hesitated. “You know we don’t.”
“And how many lives would be lost? Finn, you need to let me do this. No one else is going to die because of me.”
“You don’t have to be a martyr.”
“I promise I’m not trying to martyr myself,” I said. “I don’t want to die, but I don’t want anyone else to, either. It’s better to live nobly than long, isn’t that right, Finn?”
He gave me a weak smile. “I was drunk when I said that.”
“And you never know,” I said, smiling, wiping a tear that had sprung to my eyes. “Sometimes people have extraordinary luck, don’t they? People survive things they shouldn’t.”
It was more than a question. It was a plea, a plea for him to lie to me.
He looked away and then nodded.
“Finn,” I said, my voice suddenly commanding, “if I don’t come back, you know what to do?”
He looked at me again, his eyes filled with authority, withabsolute certainty. “You can trust me,” he said, and then he took my hand in his. “Safe passage, my dear friend.”
I’ve switched to voice recording now. I’m out here in the water that is not water. I’ve done it now, successfully capped the well, repaired the breach. We’re safe, at least for now. At least until mankind’s hubris takes us right to the edge of our own destruction yet again.
I’m on my way back now. I can see hints of sunlight coming from somewhere, but glancing behind me, I can also see something else, something emerging from the darkness, swimming toward me with the fury of a thousand leviathans. I don’t know if it’s the mother or the father. I don’t even know if it’s related to the nymphs. All I know is that it’s coming for me. I see something like scales, something like fire.
I see a rush of indigo bubbles.
I see what I think might be an eye. It’s too large and too close to tell.
I hear myself scream.
In an instant, I’m no longer in the water. I’m deep in the woods, in almost complete darkness. I know this place from its scent, from the cedar and pine.
“Hello?” I call, and my voice echoes back to me.
Somewhere far in the distance, I think I hear a voice cry out, inconsolable sobs.
“Hello?” I call, but again my words are hollow and tinny, and they return only an echo.
