The Dreamwalker's Path

“By the chimes, Time, What is happening to Sanctuary?”

Eleven tall figures, each in a robe of a different color, stood before a twelfth. Their voices weren’t loud, but their questions rang with an unforeseen accusation; Time, the figure before whom they stood, shifted the weight of its woman-esque body from one foot to another and did its best not to look either worried or angry.

These were eleven hours of the twelve who were meant to guard the city of Sanctuary. As she was the creator, they were the enforcers, the law keepers. They were the creatures that she had hand-chosen to make sure that Sanctuary did not fall into chaos.

An empty space marked where her Twelfth Hour should be, and Time did her best not to let her sandy eyes linger for too long on the spot.

It had been a sad day to see the end of Sebastian the Black of the Twelfth Hour—not just because he occupied a position that she cherished above all the other Hours, but because he had been a youthful, inventive creature who knew when to follow the rules and when to break them. Time had liked him especially. Even though he’d been nearly human in comparison to the other, he had proved himself especially resilient over the years.

And now he was dead.

Tragic really. Especially tragic, as the treacherous little witch who had ended her Hour had not only slain him and released a terrible power back into the world when she freed the Alchemist. She was also the cause of the slowly unraveling chaos that had begun to take the city after the departure of the Twelfth Hour—chaos, Time thought bitterly, that the remainder of her Hours were now seeking her out to amend.

“Time,” the speaker called out to her again, his voice a biting command in the chilled air of the Hour’s Hall, “answer us!”

Time morphed, the woman she had been withered, shrank, and filled out again into the shape of a child. Now, her child-face turned to regard the speaker, a pale man with sun yellow hair and orange eyes that matched his robe. “Do not be rude, Seven.”

The little girl’s voice that she had adopted sounded absurd commanding the near six foot tall demon, but Seven took a step back and lowered his gaze.

“Now’s not exactly the time to be diplomatic, either, Mistress,” another speaker, woman shaped, but not woman, dressed in a brown surcoat murmured in response to Time’s reproach. “Something is happening in Sanctuary; we can all feel it, and we won’t be able to monitor it properly unless you tell us what’s going on.”

There were further murmurs of agreement from the figures who stood on either side of the soft-spoken creature.

Seeing that he had some sort of support from his fellow Hours, Seven spoke again. “The Southern Courtyard had a sunset yesterday, and in East Lake, it rained,” he paused, looked at the faces of the other men and women in the circle and then back to Time who had grown into a young woman with flowers in her hair. “These are not things that happen without our encouragement in Sanctuary, Time, and in the past few weeks, we have all noticed our control over these aspects of the city slipping.”

Time arched a blonde eyebrow. “Who created Sanctuary? Do you think that I need the likes of you to tell me that the sun rises here and that the rain falls when it has never before done without an Hour’s guiding hand? Of course not! I know, Trite. I know about the changes, and I know about the riots that still occasionally break between the east and west. I know a dozen other things besides, and I do not need you to tell them to me.”

The voice of the young woman rippled from youth to that of middle age. “I am aware of everything, and I know why it is happening; it does not concern any of you.” The woman’s sandy blonde hair grew out to grey; her face began to sag with age. “All you need to worry about is making sure that the gangs that were broken up last winter continue to work within the community to help rebuild, do you understand?”

The Hours looked at each other searchingly, their questions apparent in each of their faces.

Their doubt stirred in Time another hot bout of anger toward that girl who had crept into her city and released the Alchemist.

This was her fault. If she had never come to Sanctuary, had never freed the Alchemist, had never caused her Twelfth Hour to foolishly sacrifice himself, she wouldn’t be standing here with her Hours doubting her.

Drawing herself up to the full height of a girl of ten, she spared a biting glance at each of the robed figures in turn. “I’ll remind you,” she said in a smooth voice, “that the last time an Hour didn’t trust me, he ended up dead.” She pursed her lips as she grew slowly back into the form of a young woman. “I would hate to lose another one of you because you were too stubborn to trust my judgment about the city that I created.”

She watched with satisfaction as her Hours cast their gaze to the ground, refusing to meet her eyes. Good, she thought, now they remember that they are not immortal, as I am. Now they remember that I will continue to exist long after each of them is gone.

For a long moment, none of them spoke, and then the Fourth Hour, tall and elegant in her white garb, stepped forward.

“I do not doubt you, Time; of course I trust that you know what is happening to your own city, and I trust that you will tell each of us in turn—if you feel that it is important for us to know.”

Her yellow eyes slid sideways in her narrow face, and he looked pointedly at the masculine figure of the first Hour. In his turn, he stepped forward, his stiff red surcoat brushing the ground. Putting his hand over his heart, he offered a murmured complement to Four’s declaration.

One by one each of Time’s Hours followed Four’s example and apologized for their doubts; one by one, they reaffirmed their faith in Time and pledged their allegiances to her once more.

One by one…except for Seven. The demon had not turned his gaze away from her in shame. He had not turned his eyes away when she looked at him, and he did not offer an apology now.

Fixed in the form of a young woman, she continued to watch him, waiting, and each of her Hours turned their own attentions toward the orange-clad demon.

Finally, his jack o’ lantern eyes glowing in earnest, Seven said, “I do not doubt you Time; my intentions have never been to make you believe that. My only concern is that you take too much upon yourself. I worry—” he paused, thought, began again, “It is my dearest hope that you allow us, your own servants, to help you bear whatever burdens you carry. Is that not, after all, why you chose each of us to be your Hours?”

Time canted her head to the side and stared at Seven with wide, unblinking eyes. Her lips pursed together in a thin line and she slowly raised her eyebrow in a wordless discontent.

“I am Time itself, Seven,” she said the words slowly, purposefully, laying the weight of each syllable on the demon’s shoulders again, hoping that, this time, he would understand them. I am the Creator of this city. Without me, it, nor you as you know yourself, nor the Hours around you would exist, do you understand that?”

The demon met her gaze. Too late did Time remember that this particular Hour had been on the brink of losing everything he loved before she had recognized his power and made him her Seventh Hour. Too late did she remember that he’d been so close to doing so because, like any good soldier, he had followed orders without question, and too late did she remember the conditions he had laid down before accepting his title:

“I won’t follow you blindly,” he said as they sat in the purple imar grass that stood tall enough to hide them from the rest of the world. “I’ll protect this city of yours. I can give you my word as a warrior on that, but I have seen what destruction blind devotion can bring. I will pledge my allegiance to you, but in turn, you must accept that I will never follow an order that I don’t see the purpose of and that you refuse to explain the reason behind…”

She should never have activated the power he possessed. She should never have risen him to the rank of Hour knowing what he had done and what he was willing to do again.

But she had needed him, because without him...

Without any of them...

Anyway, Sanctuary had been new, then, and the request seemed like a small thing. And like all the others, he seemed too small and too finite to think beyond the present moment or to question what she told him.

And then that girl set the Alchemist free.

Slowly, Time went through the motions of breathing. Telling them her secrets now risked bringing up more questions than it answered, but not telling them risked one skeptical warrior planting seeds of doubt in the minds of the others.

She compromised. Not a lie. But not the entire truth, either.

“The changes that you feel in the city are due to the position of Twelve being unoccupied.” She spoke slowly and carefully, balancing truth with her uncertainty. “Each of you, as you are aware, is linked to a small portion of Sanctuary, and each of you acts as a pillar to keep it stable and stationary—to keep it from changing too quickly or without cause, and to keep it from returning back into linear time. I’ve not yet found someone who is compatible with the ability to hold Sanctuary, or to Step out of linear time, and so I have not yet found a replacement for our recently lost Hour of Twelve.”

The Hours exchanged looks with each other again.

“It is imperative,” Time continued, “that in these next few weeks, as I search for another Twelve, you each remain faithful to me and hold fast your own pieces of Sanctuary. The changes will cease, but only if each of you can maintain your own pieces of the city meticulously, and agree to continue to serve me unwaveringly.”

“So, as long as we continue doing as you ask of us, the city will remain?” This time it was Eight who spoke. Like the late Twelve, and like a few of the other Hours who had close contact with human kind, Eight appeared as any dark haired, pale skinned man. The green of his surcoat brought out a light tint in his dark eye, and his strong jaw and wide nose gave him an almost handsome appearance, despite the missing eye and the patchworked skin around the socket, which he had not bothered to cover today.

But Time had known Eight for an eon and more, now, and she knew that his appearance was used to put his prey of choice at ease. His kind did not live by the increasingly strict laws of the vampires as Twelve did, and it was no secret among Time or her Hours that, occasionally, a lost denizen of the city who sought help from Eight did not find his way home again.

Still, he was a good Hour, popular among the people who lived in Sanctuary because he smiled openly and laughed often. They did not know that, occasionally he was the last thing that their lost loved ones saw.

Time answered his question with a nod. “Yes, that’s correct.” She looked at each of her Hours imploringly, “Can you promise me this? Each of you? Can you promise that you will do what you can to keep up your pieces of Sanctuary safe so that it does not fail while I search for a new Twelve?”

Each Hour promised, hands over hearts, as one, and Time let herself fall into the form of an old woman again.

“Thank you.” With a sigh and a light gesture of her now-wrinkled hand, Time dismissed her Hours so that she could have a few moments to herself to think.

And then, almost as an afterthought, she looked after the group as they disappeared through the wide doors of her suite, and called, “Oh, Eight? Stay a moment, would you?”

The Eighth Hour paused, letting the others pass move passed him through the door. “Time?”

“I would speak with you, if you can spare another few moments.”

With one half-glance down the hall to where the rest of the Hours were going, Eight returned to the chamber of the Place of Meeting and took his place before Time again.

He was curious but, Time saw, willing to wait patiently until she had collected her thoughts well enough to broach the matter.

But Time was too full of thoughts to think of a tactful way to address the matter on her mind so, at length, she stated:

“Your mother’s people,” she began carefully. “They are familiar with magic.”

Of all of the subjects that the Eighth Hour had expected Time to broach, it was clear that this wasn’t one of them. He raised his eyebrows in an involuntary expression of his surprise, but his tone was level when he answered, “Yes,” his voice was hesitant, “you could say that. We’re brought up with certain...Gifts that we’re taught to nourish. But the magic of my father’s people may serve you better.”

“A magic that you were not brought up with. No, Eight. Forget your father’s kind. It’s your mother’s blood and talents which I seek.”

A pause while he evaluated his next words, “We aren’t a kind people, Time. The magic we use is not lightly used by those who wish to remain in the good graces of the world­, as I believe you know.”

Time nodded, and for a long moment she was silent.

Eight watched curiously as his mistress made a full cycle from old woman to little girl, through adolescents and into adulthood only to shrink once more into the un-complimentary form of a hag.

“Eight,” when she spoke, her words came with a disquieted resolve, but she looked as sure of herself as he’d ever seen her. “I have a job for you.”