To Pan’s dismay, Kallitech wasn’t connected to the Koptik sewer system. Inside the sewer, she headed north till she reached a loop. Then, like an imp crawling from a den of darkness, Pan slunk above ground. She stayed low and buried herself in tall grass. With a few well-placed portals, she crawled her way to Kallitech.

Her last portal spit her out on cobblestones. As Pan crawled through, she felt exposed, mostly because she was. The sky above Kallitech was blue and open, with few clouds.

What day is it?

Pan got to her feet. She peered into the city and found it a perfect match for the scenery of old paintings. Small stone buildings, no more than two stories high, lined a stone walk. Kallitech was not a place for cars. From the looks of it, Kallitech was not a place for people. Pan saw no one, yet the city seemed well-tended.

Signs declared buildings closed, until late spring or summer. The sound of waves traveled through the empty city, and Pan thought she understood the place’s history. Kallitech, once a city of visitors, was now a vacation destination for well-to-do Scaldin. They probably bought up all the houses, until there were few year-round residents left, living in the smallest of the homes.

Pan passed the first buildings. She picked up speed and walked the street down its center. She hoped no one would be inside the church of the Mother Tree. She needed to find that arcane.

Control of time could win the battle against Brynn. Forget that. Control of time could make the battle against Brynn irrelevant. Pan could go back and never start this mess. Better yet, she could go back and rescue the other reapers from their untimely deaths. If Pan got ambitious enough, could she stop the original reapers? Change their role in history?

Pan started to see evidence of decay. Some weeds grew between cobbles. The window frames of buildings showed old, splintered wood, damaged by winter’s melt. The stone held moss, and not one house possessed an inhabitant.

Yet, the place would keep, till the residents came for the summer. Old Scaldin towns were built as a part of nature, and Kallitech would weather its isolation. 

Trees and flowers appeared native to the area, selected for their ability to resist weeds. Sprigs of ivy climbed walls. They ran in grooves designed for that purpose. Plants blanketed roofs, and in larger buildings, Mother Trees had a room of their own, for which they provided the ceiling.   

Wind ruffled Pan’s inky hair. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warm breeze. When she opened them, she saw a spire ahead.

“Church of the Mother Tree.” Pan kept her eyes on the spire and started to run. She ran until she rounded a building and saw the church’s upper facade.

The front of the church opened wide and showed off its Mother Tree. Pan stopped to stare.

No Mother Tree in Pittura even approached this one’s size. This tree had a trunk so wide, it would take several Pans with their arms outstretched to hug the whole thing round. This tree provided half of the church’s ceiling. Its branches stretched up past the stone and tickled the spire’s base. The lowest floors of the church hid behind Kallitech’s shorter buildings, but Pan knew the tree’s roots would be there. The roots dug deep past the church’s foundation.

“Mother Tree,” Pan said.

She resumed her walk. She still had far to go. The cobbles seemed to stretch for ages, and she couldn’t see the church’s entrance.

She wondered, Why walk?

Pan sighted an open church window. She outstretched her arm and drew a portal. It stretched from the height of her head down to her ankles. As it popped into existence, Pan peered through. The portal showed a church window on the lower part of the spire. Branches and leaves brushed the sill, which was just large enough for Pan to stand upon. Beyond the sill, the window overlooked a large room – a long way down.

With care, Pan stepped through. As the portal faded from sight, Pan grasped the window frame. Her feet just fit the sill’s width. She glanced back and saw the top of the Mother Tree. Wind moved the leaves. Pan faced forward and looked at the church floor below.

Fastened to the back wall, fallen branches became repurposed. They sprawled from floor to ceiling. They formed a fan of limbs and twigs. All had fallen from the Mother Tree.

Just ahead of the wall, Pan saw a raised dais. The dais possessed patterned tile, formed into the shapes of symbols and arcane rings. They meant something to the Scaldin of long ago.

Directly below, Pan spied an open space. She studied its tile, wooden sculptures, and benches of stone. Around the room’s edges, doorways beckoned into bright side rooms.

With a deep breath, Pan stepped out over the open church. She fell and telekinetically slowed her descent. She landed with a soft step and walked a few paces into the church’s center. Then, she got busy.

 

Aria sat quietly in the cockpit and listened to Sotir. He communicated with Alban, and Sotir’s aura showed more than a hint of lavender.

“No, I have no new information,” Sotir said.

“Alright.” Alban sounded a touch suspicious. “We’re going to set a trap for her. If by some unlikely chance she contacts you, don’t alert her. Alban out.”

Sotir turned to Aria and Gavain.

“They haven’t seen Pan yet?” Aria asked, feigning concern for Alban’s potential listening devices.

“No.” Sotir shook his head. He rose from his chair and curled his finger in a come hither gesture. His aura seemed to do the same.

Gavain got up. He offered his hand to Aria.

She accepted. She used his assistance to stand, but she dropped his hand as soon as she gained her feet. She still stank of Porza, but Gavain and Sotir ignored it, gentlemen both.

As they walked in silence from the cockpit to the gangway, Aria considered Gavain. His aura stayed close to his person. It glowed in hues of lavender and sickly yellow. She didn’t see his usual affection, probably for the best. Aria needed to focus on Pan not her future romance.

And yet…Aria longed to draw that affection forth. She longed to ask Sotir for a reading to see her way through the tough patches. She wanted to know if her plans for Gavain would fall short. As Alban said, she had a long way to go before she could defer some of her service to Scaldigir. Gavain might not wait that long.

“How old are you?” Aria whispered.

“Thirty-two.”

Seven-year gap. Ouch.

“You?” Gavain asked.

“Twenty-five.”

“Oh.” Gavain’s aura filled with yellow. Then, blue began to twist over his base colors. The lavender in his aura grew stronger.

Was that a good sign?

Sotir cleared his throat. “Come on.”

The sound of wind grew close, and Aria looked out the open gangway. She saw the white glow of grass.

Sotir led them into the outdoors. They walked several paces from the ship.

“At some point, Alban’s ship will let him know we’ve landed, but I delayed the report.” Sotir stared towards Kallitech. “I’m no expert, but it should be enough.”

“He’ll stay away?” Aria asked.

Sotir nodded. “He will. He’s suspicious, but by the time he abandons Altech, this will all be over.” Sotir raised a small device and pressed a button.

Motors revved. Aria spun around. Two bikes dropped out of the ship’s lower hold. They landed on their wheels and sped towards the three waiting Scaldin. The bikes trailed red and blue auras.

“I’ve never ridden one of these before,” Gavain said. “Alban made sure I didn’t get the practice.” He stepped aside as the two bikes came to a stop.

Sotir shrugged. “Neither have I, but I know how to ride a pedal bike. How hard can it be?”

“I guess...” Gavain grabbed one of the motorbike’s handlebars. He turned to Aria. “Who are you riding with?” His aura stretched towards her.

Aria wanted to ride alone and send the two men together. Then, she could think in peace. But, no matter what she wished, she couldn’t ride alone. In fact, she could never drive. Auras affected her vision, and that meant she couldn’t work any kind of vehicle, not spaceship, car, or motorbike. Some Scaldin argued she shouldn’t even ride a regular bike. So, she’d have to do all her thinking, behind one of these men. She looked between Gavain and Sotir. One wanted her. One didn’t care either way.

Aria turned to Gavain. His aura surged with hope.

“I’d like to ride with Sotir if that’s alright. We need time to make plans.” Aria hung her head.

Gavain’s aura sank into grey.

“I’ll ride back with you,” Aria promised. “And for now, you won’t have to smell me.”

“I don’t mind it that much,” Gavain said.

“You mind.” Aria smiled.

“I certainly do,” Sotir said. “But we should use the ride to plan. Then, we can ensure Pan gets a chance to smell you. It’s her fault after all.”

Gavain’s aura showed a dull emerald. He was a jealous one but innocent enough.

Aria crossed to Sotir’s side. She felt a pang at Gavain’s displeasure, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. She needed her fortune read.

 

On the outskirts of the church, Pan moved between rooms. Inside, she found plenty of sarcophagi. Some were carved in relief with the likeness of their occupants. Others possessed flat figures, etched into the lid of the grave. Still, more had settled for a simple plaque, proclaiming name, dates, and profession. Pan checked every one, and none of them described themselves as arcane.

She meandered back into the main room. She found it darker than the outer rooms. Light filtered from much higher up, and though the church had many windows, the main room gave all its light to the Mother Tree.

Pan wondered, Could the tree hide the grave of the arcane?

The Mother Tree, a feature of every old church, welcomed visitors at the entrance. It would be an honor to be buried beneath it. Maybe, an arcane could achieve such an honor.

Pan approached the tree. Many of its roots stretched across the church floor. Pan knew she saw only the shallow ones.

Dipinta trees put out a plethora of roots. They reached in every direction, except up. It was the branches’ job to reach up. They put out leaves and white or pink flowers in the spring. Dipinta trees grew slow, but they got big.

The tree before Pan was ancient.

As she approached, she saw fallen petals. The wind picked some up and carried them away. She had just missed the pink blooms. She stepped from tile to soil. With care, she traversed the shallow roots and reached the short, fat trunk. It extended a bare ten feet before it burst into branches.

“Not many come to see you anymore?” Pan stroked the bark.

Her fingers traveled the tree’s deep groves. She searched the soil. Aside from roots snaking under and through it, she saw no evidence of disruption. A centuries old grave would have settled long ago. Pan didn’t feel like digging. She had no way to know if it would be worth the work.

With a sigh, Pan laid her forehead against the tree. “I was born in the wrong century. A few hundred years earlier, and I would have been…free.”

Though the church was empty, Pan couldn’t help but wish for a friendly spirit. Perhaps, one in the guise of a small forest animal. It might guide her to the body she sought. But, where were all these good spirits?

Stories would have Pan believe such things existed, but she never saw them. She didn’t see the ghosts of those who accomplished their goals, or the ghosts of those who made amends before death. She didn’t see the nature spirits that inhabited every Scaldin legend. Pan wondered if they existed at all. Even if they did, why would they bestow their presence on a reaper?

Pan turned from the tree and walked back over the roots. She stared straight ahead and beheld the altar. Branches, treated with an anti-decay solution, created an impressive fan of dead wood. With her eyes, Pan followed the fan from the top, with its tiny twigs, down to the thick great logs, bolted just above the altar dais. A hole served as the center of the fan. Actually, it was a door.

Pan quickened her pace. She crossed the church, trotted up the dais, and reached the back wall. The door stood open, and Pan entered. She shielded her eyes.

Light streamed from a long, open window, set high on the wall. Pan had to keep her arm up. She searched the room, and saw a glittering sarcophagus. With caution, Pan approached. The sarcophagus possessed no label, no plaque, no carving, no statue, nothing. Pan needed to look inside, but Pan couldn’t find the seam. She ran her hands over glittering marble. All felt smooth.

She huffed, took a step back, and declared, “I don’t want to do this. I hope you’re who I think you are.”

Pan closed her eyes and tried to telekinetically jiggle the tomb. It held fast. She tried harder, and it cracked. As Pan exerted all the force she could muster, the lid fell to pieces. She opened her eyes, raced to the coffin’s edge, and looked inside.

She saw a woman, with distinct alien features, well preserved. Black hair flowed in waves from the woman’s crown to her waist. She looked less grey and more uneven in color.

Pan reached inside. She saw bones but also some skin, pulled tight over the unyielding core of the body.

Pan touched one folded hand and reaped.

 

“Sotir?” Aria asked. She spoke softly into his ear.

He didn’t answer. The motorcycle buzzed loud. Maybe, he didn’t hear.

Though it felt against her instincts, she called louder, “Sotir?!”

“Yes?” he shouted back.

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind reading my fortune.” Aria cringed. How could she be thinking about marriage at a time like this? How could she ignore her friend’s plight in favor of her own, more trivial situation?

“Your fortune in regards to Gavain?” Sotir asked.

Aria winced. She knew Gavain couldn’t hear them over the sound of his motorbike and theirs. He drove far enough off that he probably didn’t realize they spoke at all.

Aria answered a little too soft, “Yes.”

Sotir heard her anyway. “Aria, you should know better. You can’t drive because of your power, and I shouldn’t use my power while driving.”

Sotir handled the bike well. Aria thought that was because he did use his power.

“Well, nevermind then,” Aria mumbled.

Maybe, Sotir heard her. Maybe, he didn’t. Still, he answered, “Now, if you ask me what I’ve read before we got on this bike, I could answer. It’s a not a dedicated read though.”

Aria perked up. She caught threads of lavender in Sotir’s aura. “Tell me,” she shouted.

“Chances are good.”

Chances are good? That’s it. Aria noticed threads of amusement. They danced before her eyes.

“You sound like a cheap toy,” she accused.

“It’s the best I can offer you.”

Aria smiled. She’d take it.

“You know…Aria. I’m sorry about how you feel.” Sotir’s voice carried over his shoulder, softer than her fortune had been.

“What do you mean?” Aria spoke up.

“Not about Gavain. I mean about being arcane, how much you work, and how you want to get away from it,” Sotir said.

Aria almost let go. She loosened her grip and tightened it again as Sotir took a turn. “I don’t…”

“Forget I said it.”

Aria could never. She didn’t hate being arcane. She liked reading auras well enough – well, she could put up with it. Aria’s gaze fell to the ground. Grass passed by, seeming a blur of white. She had to put up with it. There was a difference she supposed.

Aria raised her gaze. Ahead, the white-grey glow of nature sparkled. Kallitech waited. Aria had a short amount of time to ask her last questions.

“How would you be with Pan?”

The bike swerved but corrected.

Sotir said, “Like anybody. It wouldn’t be different than any other marriage.”

“What about…children and defects?” Aria said it just loud enough to feel like an intruder.

“I don’t believe that happens. I know it doesn’t. I think there’s some other reason arcanes are deterred from marrying each other.”

Aria narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Sotir’s aura turned somber grey and blue. His original base colors still hadn’t returned. “Every time I look back, I see alien hybrids. They’re almost always the arcanes, and there’s this haze of distrust around them. There were two types of aliens here Aria. One was kind of like us. The other was different – almost scary. I think the rule came from a desire to avoid arcanes that were more like those aliens.”

Aria frowned. Pan could see ghosts. She never mentioned strange alien hybrids. Then again, there was a time when two archaeologists questioned Pan, and Pan gave them vague answers while her aura displayed a sick kind of pleasure at their expense. Aria’s eyes widened. Pan wasn’t exactly a good person. She lied for convenience. She lied for entertainment. Who knew what Pan saw?

Aria loved her anyway. She always considered Pan’s mischief somewhat benign, but she had to wonder now.

“So, you’d marry Pan and risk making children that are scary aliens?”

“No. That wouldn’t come to pass. The alien genetics are so diluted now, we don’t have to worry about recreating them. Believe me. I’ve looked.”

“You’ve looked specifically at what you and Pan would make?”

Sotir’s aura flushed orange. “Yes.”

“How? That’s so far into the future. It must take ages to get it all straight.” Aria wondered how much work it really took. Would it be feasible for Sotir to run a detailed scenario like that for her and Gavain? Should Aria set aside some cash to pay for that kind of reading?

“Oh, it does take work. But, I look far when I’m in service to Scaldigir. Why can’t I look far for myself?

It occurred to Aria that Sotir could make a lucrative living planning other people’s lives.

 

Pan let go of the body’s hand. She felt something. She let whatever it was take control and thought, I wish I could have shown myself this room to start.

 

Pan found herself perched on the windowsill. She touched the frame and looked down at the church. Everything seemed familiar: the altar, the Mother Tree, and the side rooms. Pan had vague memories of sarcophagi, under rays of light. She also had a mental image of the room where she could find the time traveler.

With a more practiced descent, Pan floated to the floor. Her body seemed to remember the motion and the fall, and she worked to make the journey smooth.

As soon as she touched down, Pan ran straight for the back room. She crossed the threshold. Light assailed her eyes, and she shielded them. Then, Pan reached with telekinesis. The sarcophagus cracked and shattered. Pan ran forward and touched the body. It all felt so familiar.

This time, Pan worked to put the power under control. She closed her eyes and pressed her knuckles against them.

“It’s not really time travel,” an unfamiliar voice said.

Pan opened her eyes and immediately closed them. She’d glimpsed a woman – alight. The woman glowed stronger than the sun’s rays.

“You send yourself a message to be received at an earlier point in time. You will remember the events that led up to the message, vaguely, like a dream. But, they’ve no longer happened. You never walked through the church. You just remember that you did.” The voice echoed a bit. “Get it in control, and you will have a powerful way to redo what you wish could be undone.”

Pan suppressed the new power and focused on the ghost. She squinted her eyes in the too strong light. “So, what do they call you? What is this power?”

“I’m a time messenger. The only one as far as I know. Be careful. You’re slipping. Thinking of the past. Don’t do that, until you have better control.”

“That is really hard to do,” Pan growled.

She focused on the ghost and its golden glow. The hair, once black, shimmered and sparkled. Pan could see the alien features, no longer mummified. In fact, the ghost was more than its living self; it looked better. Pan found it hard to call her a ghost.

Pan felt herself slipping. She sent a message about the ghost to herself, one about its features in life.

 

Pan sighed. She stood in the back room behind the altar. The sun’s light beamed through the window, but the ghost’s light had gone. Inside the broken sarcophagus, Pan saw the mummified arcane.

She was a time messenger no longer. She had yet to reap that power. She almost didn’t want to, but Pan reached in. For the third time, she touched the mummified hand and took the power.

The ghost reappeared. “It can be hard to control. After a little while though, you’ll have to concentrate to send a message. Make them clear. There’s nothing like getting a vague message from yourself and having to relive two weeks in a hellish deja vu.”

“How are you remembering this? We didn’t have that conversation.”

The ghost laughed. “I’m a time messenger even in death.”

“This is not what I thought I was getting.” Pan averted her eyes.

She didn’t want to look at the ghost. Her ghost sight could help her focus on the now, but it also reminded her of the past. How could it not?

“Well, go back and suggest that your former self doesn’t take my power.”

Pan almost slipped away into the suggested time message. “No.”

“It’ll be useful, won’t it?”

“Yes.” Pan grit her teeth.

She could certainly use it to defeat Brynn – if she could control it. Otherwise, they would find themselves in an endless loop. Actually, only Pan would. Brynn wouldn’t remember a thing.

Pan looked at the ghost and squinted. “I needed more than this. I can’t go back and help the others. I can’t send a message to a me that doesn’t exist.”

“That’s right. You can’t. You can’t send a message to a time before you were born and cure all that ails the world.”

“How far back can I go?” Suddenly, Pan worried she could wish herself back to a baby and have to relive her entire life. She’d steal a healer’s power instead if that were the case.

“The most I ever achieved was two months. Don’t worry. The limits aren’t all bad. Once the flow of time passes too far, you won’t be able to grasp it and send a message.” The ghost paced the room. She scattered light all over.

Pan set her eyes on the sarcophagus. “Sorry about the damage.” She gestured to the rubble.

“Don’t trouble yourself over it. In my day, we had a person who could absorb powers for a time, a young man. He was nothing like you.”

Pan tried to study the ghost and commit those alien features to memory, but she couldn’t stand the light. “I wonder if his body is still around. Not that I want it. I can’t keep track of myself anymore.”

“Indeed.”

Pan sighed. “I just need to last till after I defeat Brynn. I hope she gives me enough time to figure this out.”

“Who’s Brynn?”

“She’s another like me – a reaper.” Pan blinked her eyes.

“Yes, reaper. That’s a good word for it. It sounds very useful to the Scaldin.”

The ghost moved into a shadowy corner, but Pan still couldn’t look at her light. Now, Pan just saw a strange effect, where shadow passed around the light.

Pan rubbed her temple. “It isn’t useful at all. We’re the worst arcanes the Scaldin have to offer. We kill other arcanes and take their powers, or move like scavengers from body to body. I’ve waited so long to do it that I have to resort to grave robbing.” Pan frowned.

“I see. But, if you’re only robbing graves that isn’t so bad. Someone should collect the powers of the fallen. It’ll make the Scaldin strong.”

Pan didn’t think so. She couldn’t be responsible for housing every power in the world. At that moment, she determined this would be where she stopped. She had what – six powers now? Reaper, ghost seer, telekinetic, healer, portal maker, and time messenger. That was all she could manage.

Pan changed the subject. “How long have you been here?

“Here? I haven’t been here. I came because you disturbed my body.”

Pan risked a short look at the ghost. “Well, then where have you been?”

“You’d better practice. Good luck with your Brynn.” The ghost disappeared. The light dissipated.

Pan blinked. “Guess we’re done.”