Chapter One-Hundred Forty

Syaoran gaped as the woman's flesh melted like candle wax. What? he thought, recoiling. "What?" His voice came out as a thready whisper. The woman—the one who'd taken them in, fed them, given them shade and water—continued to smile even as the skin of her face melted away, exposing bones that liquefied moments later. Her clothing, too, began to melt, the colors blending with the flesh-toned substance she had become, and in seconds, all identifying features disappeared as she became a puddle on the ground. After three seconds more, even that was gone, and Syaoran went on staring at the spot where she'd been standing. Impossible, he thought. This can't be real.

He wondered if anyone had ever wished so intensely that they were hallucinating. He doubted it. All the color seeped from his face, and he turned to his traveling companions. Kurogane had one hand on his sword, and Fai's claws had extended to their full length, though neither of them seemed to know where to strike, or whether to strike at all. Syaoran reached inside himself to summon his sword, but before he could, he caught sight of another figure—the man who'd explained the purpose of the festival minutes ago—starting to melt just as their hostess had. And all the while, the conversations around them continued, as light and friendly as they'd been from the first day they'd been here.

"What's going on?" Kurogane demanded, drawing his sword.

"Mokona didn't do anything!" the creature cried. "None of us did anything!"

But we did do something, Syaoran realized, sickened. Moments ago, he'd decided to press the remaining people for information, to ask questions in an attempt to change the pattern their arrival had established. This nightmare had only begun after he'd redirected the conversation. We did this. I did this. His throat tightened until he wasn't sure he'd be able to speak, but he couldn't stay silent and risk altering the pattern further. These people may have been living the same day over and over, but they still have a right to live. "We did do something," he told the others. "We changed things. These people have been living this day over and over again without any interference, but when we arrived here, we changed it. We did this."

"But why would they melt?" Mokona asked, her voice trembling.

"I don't know," Kurogane growled. "But it explains why there are fewer of them today than there were yesterday." He twisted, red eyes narrowing as others in the crowd began to dissolve. "These people . . . They're not alive, are they? Not the same way we are."

Why does it matter? Syaoran wondered as another man began to liquefy. Why does it matter whether they're really alive if this is how it ends for them? That doesn't make it any less awful.

"They're not illusions," Fai finally said. "They may be magical constructs, or perhaps ordinary people who have had their minds altered, but they're definitely real."

"But does that mean that Mokona and the rest of us did something to make this happen?" Mokona asked.

Our fault. My fault. Mine. "We have to get to the ruins," Syaoran said, looking down so he wouldn't have to watch anyone else disappear. "If there's any place untouched by all of this, it will be the ruins. That's where Sakura will be, if she's here at all."

"Maybe," Fai allowed, following him as he pushed through what was left of the crowd. "But which Sakura?"

"The Sakura that I met." His voice sounded shaky even to his own ears.

"You mean through the eyes of the other . . ." Kurogane began, then trailed off as Syaoran met his gaze.

"No. The Sakura I was with until the day I was taken." He turned away, afraid to look at the ninja's face, at what he might see there. Afraid that he might change his mind, if he did manage to save Sakura.

He picked up the pace, weaving through the crowd, then breaking into a run as more and more people melted around him. I can't, he thought. I can't, I can't, I can't . . .

"Hey, mister!" a high-pitched voice asked. Syaoran staggered, looking over his shoulder. His eyes froze on the face of the boy who crashed into him every afternoon with the basket of apples, and he almost fell to his knees where he stood. No more. I can't. No more . . . "Where are you and your friends going?" the boy went on, cheerful as ever. A film of tears covered Syaoran's eyes. "It isn't safe in town. Come stay with us." The child spread his arms wide in welcome, and Syaoran felt something give way inside him. I never asked his name, he realized. I never asked any of them for their names, and now they're dying all around me.

"Come stay with us," the boy repeated, the sides of his face beginning to sag. No more, Syaoran thought, staggering toward the child. Each of his legs felt as heavy as if they'd been pumped full of lead. No more, please, no more . . . "Come stay with us."

As he reached the boy, his knees gave out. "I'm sorry," he whispered, taking the child's hands. "To live without moving forward is the same as being dead," he went on, wishing he believed it, wishing that it didn't feel like he'd personally slaughtered everyone in the city. "But there is no justification for what my being here has done to you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His voice wavered. The boy's face started to dissolve, becoming unrecognizable, but his voice continued to repeat those last words—"Come stay with us."

This will never happen again, Syaoran decided in that moment, wrapping his arms around the boy as his body continued to dissolve. I will not allow anything like this ever to happen again. He tried to say as much as the boy repeated his final words, but his breath shook, and he could barely understand his own desperate apologies. It was only when he felt a pair of arms pulling him to his feet that he stopped whispering long enough to to realize he was crying.

Kurogane held the kid against his chest, almost relieved to hear his pleas for forgiveness give way to quiet sobbing. "Come on," he said, dragging Syaoran away from the village, toward the ruins. "Come on. What's done is done, and if you're guilty of changing things, so are the rest of us. Come on. Walk."

"My fault," the boy choked out. "It's my fault. I asked too many questions. I tried to change the pattern, and now everything's broken."

"Enough," Kurogane said sharply. "You're right: it is broken. But you were also right about one other thing: living without moving forward is the same as being dead. So either we accept that and move on, or you stay here until everyone in the city vanishes."

The kid shuddered, clinging desperately to his armor. "This shouldn't have happened."

Kurogane lifted his head, looking out at the marketplace. Most of the people had gone now, save for a few still dissolving where they stood. Not a single person left a trace; it was as if they'd walked through this world without leaving any footprints, without leaving any sign that they'd ever been alive.

But they had to move on. "We came here to rescue the princess. We don't have time to screw around, especially since this world keeps getting weirder by the day."

A light pressure on his shoulder had him spinning around, sword in hand. He lowered it when he saw the mage staring back at him. "We have hours yet before the day resets, and when it does, we will most likely wake up wherever we fall asleep, just as we have for the past few days. We can afford to spend a few minutes dealing with this." The man gestured sharply toward the marketplace, now devoid of all life. Kurogane scowled, then ruffled the kid's hair. The boy hadn't stopped crying, but he'd quieted down.

"They said the desert gets cold at night," Kurogane muttered. "Let's go see if we can find something warm to wear on our way to the ruins." Not waiting for the mage to point out that the pork bun could summon any number of warm outfits from wherever she stored their stuff, Kurogane headed for the nearest house, peering in through the windows to make sure it was indeed empty before sweeping the door-curtain aside and walking in with the kid clinging to his chest. His body shook, and Kurogane could hear every rattling breath the boy took.

He placed his hands over the kid's, prying his fingers away. "Sit down," he said sternly, pushing him into one of the kitchen chairs. The boy released him and curled up into a ball with his knees pressed against his forehead. A lump rose in Kurogane's throat. It wasn't that he didn't understand why the kid was freaking out, but it still made him profoundly uncomfortable to watch him break down like this. "I think he's in shock or something."

The mage made a noise of agreement, disappearing into one of the other rooms and returning a moment later with a thin blanket. "Here, Syaoran-kun," he said, wrapping it around the kid's shoulders and plucking Mokona from the boy's hood. "Would you summon some of those water bottles we stored away in Infinity?" Fai asked the pork bun.

Ears flat against her back, the creature opened her mouth. Several water bottles shot out of it like rockets, hitting the opposite wall and dropping to the floor. Kurogane picked one up and unscrewed the top, handing it to the kid. "Drink this. You look like you're about to pass out."

A pair of glassy brown eyes panned up to look at his face, lacking their usual spark of emotion. Face blank, Syaoran took the water bottle, staring at it. "They're all dead, aren't they?" His voice sounded fragile, like spun glass. "The people in the city. They're dead."

"They were only repeating the same few hours over and over again," Kurogane said. "That's no life."

"But they were alive. Maybe they were trapped, but they were alive. That's better than being dead, isn't it?" He said the last words as if he wasn't quite sure. Kurogane sighed, stroking the kid's hair back.

"Maybe for some people. But I sure as hell wouldn't want to live that way."

"We all share the blame," Fai said firmly, stepping forward. "You, me, Kuro-chan, and Mokona. We all changed things by coming here, so we all played a role in what happened today. It's true that we can't change it now, and that if we'd had more knowledge, we might have been able to avoid it, but we can't bring them back to life any more than I could bring my brother back to life."

The kid looked at the vampire, his eyes dull, but alert enough to loosen the knot of worry in Kurogane's chest. He's pulling himself together. That's something, at least. "The only thing we can do now is make their deaths worthwhile," Kurogane said. "And if we want to get to the ruins before time starts repeating itself again, we'd better get going."

After a moment, the boy nodded, standing up. "Yes, we should. It's a long walk." He glanced at each of them in turn, the resolve returning to his face as he did. "We came here with a goal to complete," he went on, and though he didn't sound as collected as he usually did, at least there was life in his voice. "We can't let anything hold us back." He pulled his hood up, looking out the window. "The sun's already setting. We should go before we lose any more daylight." The boy led them outside, into the now-empty city. They walked away from the marketplace, toward the gates. No one blocked their exit or stopped them to question their passage. Another person gone, Kurogane thought, pushing the gate open with his mechanical arm. He readjusted his helmet.

Nowhere to go but forward, he thought, and left the city behind.