Eko, P.J., Gisco, Kidah, and I stand together on the ice sheet, looking at the gaping mouth of the fissure as it starts to close. The great plates of ice shift far beneath the surface, and in seconds the crevasse narrows and slams shut. “Well, that’s that,” Kidah says. “It’s over.”
I think of my father, lying encased in the ice for all eternity, and of the Dark Lord and the Omega Box, down there with him. “How is it over?” I ask. “First Dargon came back in time to destroy the oceans. Then the Dark Lord struck at the Amazon and the Arctic. Won’t the Dark Army just send someone else back to the Turning Point, to strike at another vulnerable region?”
“You bet,” Kidah agrees. “That’s exactly what they’ll do. But I’m going to put a stop to it once and for all.”
I look back at him. “How can you do that?”
“There’s only one way,” he answers softly. “I have to lock time. Once I do, no one can travel back and forth. The past will feed into the future in a one-way stream, as it was meant to do. But there will be a cost.”
“What cost?” I ask him warily. If I’ve learned anything from my adventures, it’s that the costs when time-travel is involved are high and usually very personal.
“For me, it will cost my life,” Kidah explains matter-of-factly. “The locking of time will drain my essence. And for you, it will mean a choice. Are you of the future or of the past?” His question hangs in the air, and I’m very conscious that P.J. is standing on one side of me, and Eko on the other.
I turn to P.J., and as I look at her I can’t help remembering when my father squeezed my hand for the last time and gasped, “Destiny and duty, Jair.” I have the strange feeling that my life has been building toward this decision since the moment I was born, not in Hadley-by-Hudson, as I was led to believe, but in a troubled future world a thousand years from now. My mother is still in that world, and my father, who just died before my eyes, was battling to save it. And even though I only visited that world briefly, I can feel it pulling at me, and I know that I have a crucial role to play there.
Before I can speak, P.J. reads my face. “I heard what your father said to you,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “I understand now that your life is not completely your own.” She stops and swallows. “Anyway, Jack, the more I’ve watched you with these wizards and ninjas, the more I know you’re one of them. You belong with them in the future, even if part of you wants to stay here with me.”
Then she looks at Kidah and tells him, with surprising strength, “You’re wrong. Time can’t be locked. Maybe people won’t be able to travel back and forth, but nothing can stop us from remembering.”
“Very true, my dear,” the wizard agrees with a smile. “Everyone here will remember exactly what happened.”
He turns to me. “Jack, a time traveler who makes a round-trip journey can later recall all of his experiences. If you choose the future, you will remember your entire life as Jack Danielson. We have saved the oceans, the Amazon, and now the Arctic, and the future will now heal itself. But the people who live in that future will not have made the round-trip. They will carry no memory of losing to the Dark Army or living in a wrecked world.”
I look back at him and nod. “So I’ll be all alone with those memories?”
No, I’ll be right there with you, old bean, Gisco promises. Sadly, I foresee a vegetarian future. When you want to reminisce about bacon cheeseburgers, I’ll be ready.
“I’m sure there will be many wonderful new things to focus on,” Eko promises softly. “Shall we go, Jack?”
“In a minute,” I tell her. I turn to P.J. and the rest of them step a little bit away. “This is what you want, right?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. “But it’s what has to be. We both know that.” She tries to smile bravely, but doesn’t quite pull it off. Instead, she steps forward and takes my hand, and looks into my eyes one last time. “I know it’s corny but I’ll think of you every day, Jack. You’re a part of me, and you always will be.”
“And I’ll be thinking about you a thousand years from now,” I promise, squeezing her hand. “Especially that first kiss you gave me, under the bleachers.”
“Here it is again,” she says, and kisses me long and tenderly on the lips. Finally, she steps back. “Goodbye, Jack,” she whispers and turns away.
I walk back to the rest of the group and ask Kidah, in a voice husky with emotion, “How will she get home?”
“I’ll take her myself,” he promises. “Are you ready?”
“As much as I’ll ever be.”
“Good. Because they’re ready for you a thousand years from now,” he says. “Farewell, Prince of Dann. Travel safe.” He embraces me, and maybe it’s the cold wind, but when we separate I see that the wizard’s eyes are tearing.
“How exactly are we supposed to get back?” I ask him.
He grins and opens his mouth to reply. I hear another “Farewell,” or perhaps he says: “You can never tell,” or maybe: “Listen for the bell.” It does sound like a bell is tinkling, and Kidah’s face starts to spin around. Or maybe I’m the one who’s spinning.
Eko has taken my hand, and we’re whirling together. Gisco is there, too.
For the third and last time in my life, I make the agonizing passage, and come to the dark threshold that looms like the gateway to death.
A black tongue licks me in. I’m in the large intestine of an event horizon, being digested.
And then I’m out the other side, blinking in warm sunlight and listening to a deafening buzzing sound. The good news is I didn’t land in a sandstorm, or on an iceberg. The buzzing doesn’t come from a swarm of locusts or sky-darkening glagour.
It’s applause. I’m standing on a raised dais. There’s a ceremony going on, and I’m at the center of it. A thousand people are watching and clapping.
Eko is standing next to me. And I spot Gisco on the fringes of the crowd. Kneel and bend your head, old bean, he tells me telepathically. This is your big moment.
I also spot my mother, beaming proudly. It’s clear from her face that she has no memory of the horrors we encountered when we rescued my dad from the Fortress of Aighar, or how he had to leave her to go back in time.
I don’t completely comprehend what’s going on, but I follow Gisco’s instructions and kneel and lower my head.
A dignified old man with a gray beard steps forward holding a glittering crown. “All hail the King of Dann,” he says, and I feel him slip the crown onto my head.
“Thanks,” I manage to mutter.
“You’re welcome, Sire,” he responds. “Now rise to your people.”
I stand up, and the applause builds.
I wave back at the crowd, and put my right arm around Eko’s waist. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispers.
“Yes,” I agree, looking out at the sun-splashed scene. But the whole thing also feels very strange. In fact, I’m a little dizzy, and I can barely take it all in.
There’s the air, for one thing. I’ve never smelled air this pure before. It has a faintly sweet taste, as if tinged with lavender and honey.
Songbirds in nearby trees provide the musical accompaniment to the coronation ceremony. High overhead, an eagle traces majestic circles in an azure sky of crystalline clarity.
Beyond the cheering crowd, a sandy beach slopes to a wave-splashed ocean, which glitters a pristine shade of blue-green. Dolphins frolic in the surf, leaping from the water and dancing on their tails.
It’s a beautiful world, an Eden-like world, but not a world I recognize.
I look out at the people clapping. They all have healthy faces, and confident, optimistic eyes. Even the oldest men and women present, with white hair and gripping canes, seem to have no sense of the horrors of the past, the vagaries of fate, or the way good can change to bad in an instant.
I whisper to myself, “It’s not their fault. They just don’t remember.”
“Did you say something?” Eko asks, taking my hand and raising it high with her own.
“This feels very strange,” I tell her.
“It’s the way things are supposed to be,” she replies. “You’ll get used to it, and—” But the rest of her words are drowned out by the roar of the crowd.