Ch. 12

The first self-consistent magickal time loop was used to prove that white always has a winning move in chess. The second self-consistent magickal time loop was used for an adulterous tryst. The third self-consistent magickal time loop revealed the first two self-consistent time loops to be the result of an earlier self-consistent time loop.

-Chronomancy Demystified, Remystified by Jurgen Park

"Why is an older me trying to kill me? Why—how isn't that a paradox? What—" Horry cuts off and squeezes his hands together under the sheets.

"A young boy was prophesied to defeat a Dark King. The wording of such prophecies are ambiguous, and often so vague as to be useless—in fact, all we know about magick requires them to be nearly useless."

"You can't tell it to me, can you?"

Alvin sighs and fusses with the stitching at his sleeve. "Worse, Horry. I do not know it anymore, because I was the one who made it secret. I only know its general shape, and my best impression of that shape I have given to you: that you were prophesied to defeat a Dark King. One can tease out more of a shape by measuring how a prophecy interacts with other forbidden prophecies—there's an art to it—but yours, or perhaps, my sealing of it, has been stubbornly strong. Most alarming, I think, is that I bound the prophecy to become readable once it has come to pass, just as you saw with the text of your story in the Library. Yours, it seems, hasn't yet."

Horry pauses and digests the existence of a blurry, unknowable prophecy.

"But everyone thinks I defeated … him…"

"Because you did Horry. That is what is so perplexing, and maddening about prophecy. At times, I feel they are the cruelest joke of Magick, because they rarely clarify, and so often are self-fulfilling in what they drive people to do—how they drive people to respond. That is why I am being so careful, Horry. Because if I had any guess, the you that you saw last night looked like someone driven to the point of fracture, and the only other times I have seen such…persistence, prophecy has been driver of that ruin."

"So you can't tell me anything…" Horry trails off.

Alvin sighs again. "I can reiterate, as empty as it may seem, that there are two places in the world where you are truly safe. Your home with the Durblys and here at Chogbort's. I can tell you that Voltabort was defeated a very long time ago, by the combined sacrifice of your parents and yourself. He has adherents—adherents that wear the mask you saw last night, and he may always have adherents, and they may always hunt you, but they cannot reach you here, because I am the second most powerful warizard in history, and they are not so bold as to test me."

"My parents," Horry says—just the words, hardly any inflection.

The old warizard takes a deep breath and frowns. He looks out the window behind Horry and thinks.

"I can make excuses, Horry. I'm ever so good at it, having lived as long as I have. I've made enough mistakes, failed enough friends, caused enough tragedies that they come to mind immediately—not because I seek an excuse, but because of my familiarity with destruction. I failed you Horry, personally. I failed you, and I may never atone. The night your parents died is my greatest such failure. I will never forgive myself for allowing you to be trapped in that prison with your Uncle. These are not things I can change, because what has happened is written. I can only offer you the future," he continues to look out the window.

The non-pain that he feels with the mentioning of his parents blossoms into something else—a different sort of hurt, a cracked kind of emptiness. Horry tries to push it away, but it's stubborn—like pushing on sand—like trying to shape water. It hurts, and it doesn't go away. Again, he deflects:

"Could…you be the Dark King?"

Alvin smiles a grim smile, and looks back down at Horry, "I have considered the thought more than once. I certainly have the power—the knowledge, the fortitude, the ruthlessness," the smile disappears, "but I do not have one particular quality crucial to royalty: I do not Want. I would sooner destroy all of Marlin's artifacts—tear down the entire edifice of Magick itself, than submit one single being to my will. I teach, Horry, and I defend. The day I break that oath, you have my permission to strike me down."

"Voltabort-he-who-must-be-named—" Horry coughs, "—what did he want?"

"He wanted to reshape the world—a noble idea, but terribly dangerous in practice. He wanted to free magick from the shackles of fate. So he gathered artifacts that he thought would allow him to do this. When he could not get those artifacts he stole them. When he could not steal them, he killed for them. When he could not kill for them, he subverted, sabotaged, destroyed. He was ruthless because he believed in the purity of his goal—that this universe was worth losing if it meant another could be free to write its own story. But alas, every story is already written, so how could he possibly succeed? It was a riddle that drove him mad."

"Did one of those artifacts, um, allow for time-travel?"

"Ah, time travel is easy, Horry. Changing what has already happened—now that is the tricky part,"

"So it's not impossible?"

"I know of one way to do it, which is currently impossible. But of course, what is 'current' is a matter of perspective if such changes could be made, now isn't it?

"H-how do you do it?" Horry says, suddenly.

"I would not be a mysterious old warizard if I gave up all of my secrets, Horry. But I assure you, some day, I will tell you."

Alvin stands, takes a wand from his robes, and hands it back to Horry, "Thank you for letting me borrow this," he winks, "but I'm afraid I must return to the festivities of the day—students will be arriving shortly."

Horry's stomach sinks, "Oh, right…"

"I understand if you want to forego the day's activities—you've suffered enough trauma that I think Madame Pampelmousses would throttle me if I asked anything of you. So consider it an offer. You are a full student of Chogbort's, and are free to hole up and read a book in the infirmary for as long as you wish, or you are free to leave and join other first year students in orientation. I would only become concerned if you decided you never wanted to leave the infirmary—or perhaps if you got lost down the hall there," he nods in the direction of the infinite row of beds, "But please, take as long as you need."

Without hesitation, "I'll go. Orientation, I mean. I think…I don't think I want to be here…alone."

Alvin smiles and his eyes brighten, "Excellent, I'll fetch Horbid. He can lead you towards the first event. And if at any time, for any reason, you are uncomfortable here, let any of the faculty know. They are familiar with your circumstances, and understand that this is your home, now."

"I'm already uncomfortable here, but, um, I think that's okay. It's a new thing, right? A whole new world? Would be kind of crazy to be comfortable…" Horry trails off again.

"Hmm, would you like to be obscured?"

"What?"

"Oh, I mean I can make you appear different, if you don't want to draw attention to yourself. As you saw in the Alley, your scar is something of a magnet."

"Oh, um, yes—but just the scar though. People don't know what I look like, right?"

"Oh, they absolutely do, but it shouldn't be a problem, I think," Alvin smiles.