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  "Like you, I had many questions, not the least of which was how he could possibly be over four hundred years old. He told me he used alchemy to place himself within the minds of others, living within a man or a woman for a number of years before moving forward to the next, until he reached our present time."

  His son Nathaniel, who has been tending the fire, turns toward him. He has the same sandy hair and blue eyes we share with Ezekiah. "Alchemy?"

  Robert leans in. "The man you spoke with, the physical flesh and blood was not Faryndon, but a host to Faryndon's mind?"

  "Correct. Quite astonishing."

  Inoue, always the skeptical scientist, protests. "Surely you don't believe this claim, Ezekiah. He sounds like a bit of loon to me." He chuckles, drawing others into his humor.

  "Of course, I didn't believe him. Who would?"

  The five nod.

  "However, over the course of our crossing, he demonstrated the veracity of his claim."

  "Father, surely not. What sane man would think—"

  Ezekiah shifts his gaze to Nathaniel. "This sane man. Believe me, son. If I had known the burden I would carry I would have declined his request for assistance."

  "What did this Faryndon fellow want from you?"

  "To protect his discovery from those who would use it for ill gain and evil."

  Robert sits back, crossing his arms. "Most interesting, Ezekiah. Please, continue. I think I speak for all when I say we'd like to know what Faryndon discovered."

  "That is the thing, my friends. What he discovered is so powerful, so dangerous, I dare not let its force loose on the world until the moment of greatest need. I will not be telling you, my dearest and most trusted friends, what he discovered. But he asked me, and I now ask you, a bold favor. Faryndon, living over four hundred years had long since lost all naivety about men and the world. He knew one day his secret would come to light and when it did, he wanted a structure in place to protect men from themselves. To that end, he entrusted me, and I now entrust you with a box I ask you keep unopened and locked."

  Inoue says lightheartedly, "Ezekiah, what is in this box that you want us to protect? A method of making gold?"

  The men all chuckle nervously, throwing amused glances at each other.

  "No, Inoue. These boxes hold mighty Pandora herself. If one box opens, all must be opened to protect the world and everything and everyone we hold dear."

  Taylor Grimes, who had been silent, speaks. "Why not open them now? Put all of our cards on the table. Do you not trust us to utilize this Pandora for the good?"

  "Yes, which is why I am entrusting you with the boxes. But I need you all to believe me when I say, holding the boxes in safety offers a weighty enough task. So I ask you, my friends, to be guardians, passing the sacred duty on to your eldest when they turn twenty-one, which I deem to be an age of sufficient maturity and wisdom for such responsibility."

  He looks around the room, his friends thoughtfully considering his every word.

  "I ask each of you now if you are willing to take on the mantel of protector, guardian of this sacred knowledge."

  Robert rises, walking to the hearth, the fire crackling in the silence. "Ezekiah, if we are to guard some terrible instrument of Chaos, some portal to Hades, and pass this horrendous responsibility on to our heirs, you must trust us to first see this thing we are charged to protect. I too have been alive long enough to know the vagaries of even a righteous man's heart. Forbid a man to open a box and you guarantee that one day, he will, against his better nature, open said box."

  Ezekiah considers the faces of these men he trusts with his life and now with the existence of the world, as they all nod in agreement with Robert. They don't understand what they ask, but as he looks around the room he knows the truth of Robert's words. Better to reveal the secret in a controlled environment, than to risk one of the five giving in to his curiosity.

  "Very well. Come into the dining room. Together we will, in this singular moment, open the boxes so you may know the terrible truth Faryndon discovered. Once you have experienced the powers alchemical research has wrought, you may, with clear knowledge of the burden and the consequences, choose to be a guardian, or not."

  Stepping into an adjoining room, the men sit in front of identical leather-bound boxes with a quill centered within an interlaced unicursal hexagram embossed on the top.

  "Before we begin, I must have your solemn oath as gentlemen and my friends, that you will never speak to anyone outside of this circle regarding what you are about to witness. Do I have your word?"

  Inoue inclined his head in affirmation.

  "I must hear all of you say the words. Will you keep our secret?"

  Each man in turn seals the communal secret with his oath. As instructed, they open the boxes, taking out a fountain pen.

  "Think of your family several generations into the past. Taylor, of whom do you think?"

  "My great-great-grandfather, Winston Grimes of England."

  He asks each man to say the name of his distant deceased relative.

  "Now I ask you to take pen to paper, writing the date precisely one day from their death, followed by the first and last name of the person you just shared with me."

  He waits for his friends and son to write, as all five men freeze in a momentary coma-like state. Seconds pass, until each man in turn comes back from his inking, the room erupting in shock and dismay.

  "My god. That was unimaginable!"

  "Did I, did we, hallucinate?"

  "What drug brings such visions?"

  "By all things holy. Am I dead? Have I walked among the dead?"

  "To dream such things. You are right, Ezekiah. This instrument speaks for Pandora and Hades."

  He lets his friends continue to ponder aloud at the wondrous terrible experience just endured before interrupting them.

  "So, you see my friends. These boxes must remain locked and protected. Using a pen could lead to catastrophe. Which is why we are a league of five. Five guardians of the pens."

  Taylor Grimes studies the pen in his hand, then places the instrument back in its box. "What is the purpose of this instrument?"

  "We use the pens to combat any force attempting to alter the natural flow of time." He scans the faces of his associates. "I must reveal one more important piece of information. Tobias told me the pens would one day provide salvation for our world." He holds up a hand to staunch any questions. "He did not divulge either the timing or the nature of the event requiring such instruments to subjugate a great evil. He charged us with protecting time and keeping the pens safe for the moment when they will be needed the most."

  Ezekiah's words bring a hush to the room. Each man, in silence, replaces his pen in its box.

  Inoue asks, "What name will you give this society of protectors?"

  "Yes, I've given that some thought. Not wanting to bring any attention to us, we are simply the League, my friends." He pours another glass of sherry for his rattled colleagues, offering a toast to the new society.

  Ian has the look of a man sobered by heavy responsibility, physically older than only a few moments before. "There are six of us, but only five boxes."

  "Yes, I have carried this burden alone for too many years. Tonight I pass my pen, Renascentia, to Nathaniel and the other pens to each of you. I hope you will agree, I have earned my rest."

  I sense more behind his words, a darker meaning. Individually and together the five men assure Ezekiah that he had done his part. Afterwards, one by one, they step into the darkness, their box hidden in a bag he had instructed them to bring to the night's meeting.

  Nathaniel is the last to leave. Ezekiah pulls him close in his arms, then releases his embrace. "I beg your forgiveness for this heavy burden I have placed in your hands tonight."

  "My shoulders are wide, Father." He smiles. "I believe I inherited the trait from you."

  "I am always and forever proud of you, Nathaniel." He shakes his hand, and sees him with his pen, Renascentia, o
ut the door.

  After everyone leaves he steps to the mantel. He reaches past his mourning ribbon worn during his viewing of the fallen President at Independence Hall, for the walnut box. Sitting at the fading hearth with the box on his lap, he pours one more sherry.

  "I know you're there. Do you have something to say to me or will you loiter in my mind, unacknowledged?"

  He sounds angry, almost paranoid. Dad's mind has gone silent and I feel like I'm alone with his thoughts. "Ezekiah, it's Addison, your great-great-great grandson."

  "This is how you trick me, Kairos?"

  "No. I'm Addison. I've got some things to fix in our present time continuum."

  "Things to fix. Of course. Don't we all?" A weary, haunted laugh leaves his lips.

  "My father…Thomas, thought an education in the beginnings of the League would help.

  "Did he now? And I suppose you claim we have protected time into your century."

  Well, yes.

  "Be gone! I do not need voices in my head to tell me I have failed. I only hope my colleagues fair better against your evil deceptions." He lets out a weary sigh. "Now I beg your forgiveness, but I must be on my way."

  Yes, of course.

  He raises the sherry to his lips, taking a sip, and places the cut crystal glass on the edge of his side table. The glass teeters, falling to the hardwood floor and shattering into pieces. He pays no attention.

  Ezekiah slowly opens the box on his lap, revealing his Colt Army revolver. With a practiced hand, he loads a chamber of the cylinder with powder and a paper wrapped ball, pressing it into place with the loading lever. After arming the cylinder with a firing cap, he aligns the loaded chamber with the gun’s barrel. He moves the box to the side table, but keeps the gun in his hand.

  What are you doing? Ezekiah. Dad, say something.

  He pulls the hammer fully back with a thumb until it clicks into place.

  "Are you real?"

  Yes. We've inked you.

  "If only I could be sure. Your presence would give me hope. If you're real, my plan to keep Faryndon's research alive succeeds, while protecting the world from the terrible powers he unlocked. But I think instead, you are my dark enemy. I've been such a fool."

  No, you did establish the League.

  "I wish it were true. I had hoped to utilize Faryndon's alchemical discovery, wielding the pen for the welfare of all. If you do exist, do not make my mistakes, young Addison. I failed, but I hope to be remembered as a man of honor."

  Oh, my god. Ezekiah, don't do this!

  Ezekiah positions the pistol’s muzzle under his chin. “If only I had seen through your deceptions, Kairos, catastrophe could have been avoided."

  Please, Ezekiah. Not this. Stop!

  His finger curls around the trigger. “By my own actions I loosed Pandora. The president fallen from an assassin’s bullet, but I might as well have pulled the trigger, just as I do tonight…”

  ***

  Die back pulls us into Dad's present-side study. He still holds the pen in his hand, Ezekiah's name in green ink beneath it. We share silence, but I can't hold my rage any longer.

  "What the hell? Why did you ink us into Ezekiah when you knew he'd blow his brains out right in front of us?"

  You needed to know. He calmly screws the top back onto Renascentia.

  "I came to you for help, not to be told the League is one huge cluster fuck!"

  Addison, you heard him, his paranoia. He inked too many full lives, gradually losing his ability to distinguish between present and past. He wanted to ensure the pens would be secure, but his mind, floating anchor-less in a sea of time, finally destroyed him.

  "Yeah, I kind of figured it out when brain matter flew everywhere."

  Dad places Renascentia in the box, closing the lid. I get you're angry, but if you're going to be an Inker, you need to know the origins of the League and the dangers of our work.

  "We should have stopped him. Why did you keep me from stopping him?"

  Our role is to preserve the continuum, not change it to meet our needs.

  God, I'm so pissed. I want to hit, to kick, but my inked consciousness feels like I'm in a straight-jacket.

  "He knew the danger. Why did he use the pen in the first place? Why would he take the risk?"

  He was a scientist, Addison. I suppose he had to have his own empirical evidence.

  "But you heard him. He allowed Booth to murder Lincoln."

  With a twist, he locks the box, slipping the key-chain over his head, dropping the key under his shirt. He couldn't have known the consequences. You know from your own experience—

  "I don't need to be reminded of Nikki. Don't you think I know how much I screwed up?"

  I'm sorry. I'm just saying how all of us know from experience why Ezekiah used his pen. And if it helps, Ezekiah's actions had no influence. In fact, the League kept Booth alive in order to maintain Lincoln's death in the original continuum.

  Right. Jules and I saw the mission note on Booth when we returned from Alexandria.

  "But God, Dad. Why did I have to see him kill himself?"

  You know why, Addison. His death, the death he chose for himself, was our die back.

  Yes, of course. Our die back. Sometimes living seems like it's more about dying. A silence rests between our thoughts, Dad letting the silence be until I'm ready to talk again.

  "And Taylor Grimes. Was that Cameron's great-great-great-grandfather?”

  Yes. And Taylor seemed to be chomping at the bit to open the boxes, even back then.

  "Why didn't they stop him? "

  Dad walks over to the window, a light rain tapping drops against the pane. He never acted on his words. However, the League did censure Cameron's father, Walter, for abusing his responsibility as an Inker. He repeatedly made shifts in the temporal flow which had to be repaired, as best as could be accomplished. The League banned him from participation and confiscated his pen for safe-keeping until his son reached the age of twenty-one.

  "How did Walter take it, being censured from the League?"

  Not well. He got into drugs, cocaine, and eventually, heroine, I suppose to give him something of the rush he felt using the pen in an inking. His wife divorced him and took custody of Cameron when he was twelve. Cameron came home from junior high a year later to find the front door kicked in.

  "Walter?"

  Yeah. He had broken into the house, we think to steal some money for his habit. The boy found his mother shot in the head in her bedroom and his father dead from a self-inflicted gunshot in the den.

  "Man, that's got to do something to your mind."

  From the window Dad watches a neighbor fumble with her car keys by a station wagon. I imagine Cameron holds the League responsible for his parents' deaths. And he might have a point.

  "Did the League consider throwing him out?"

  Cameron's been a very loyal soldier to the cause. However, he's too enthusiastic if you ask me. He should have been reined in years ago. Instead, he continues to endanger my family.

  "How has he endangered our family?"

  We have a lot to discuss and not much time. Maybe we better get on to more important things.

  "Dad, what did he do?"

  He took actions he thought were necessary to protect the League, Addison. And unfortunately, the League let him get away with it. Don't trust your Uncle Cameron. He won't admit it, but I think he holds us responsible for his parents' deaths and is determined to destroy us. Whatever his motivations, another, more dangerous enemy lurks in the past.

  "Kairos?"

  Ah, you know. As you heard, Ezekiah suspected an enemy named Kairos to be deceiving him, manipulating his actions. In the 1960's we developed a set of algorithms enabling us to identify shifts and their focal points. Once we had the tool, we confirmed Kairos' existence.

  "Kairos tried to blood ink me twice and I think I ran into him again in Peru. He's the one who murders you."

  I'm not surprised. Kairos appears to be intent on
destroying us and controlling the continuum. Dad returns to the desk chair, resting his forearms on the blotter. I know all of this has come to you suddenly and I didn't want to involve you until you were older, but Addison, we need you to stop him, protect our League and restore the continuum.

  "Stop an unknown enemy in an altered time continuum? Sure, Dad. I just need to nail the cure for cancer first."

  He doesn't pick up on my humor. Dad leans back, closing his eyes.

  You need to do anything, everything to stop him. Do you understand what I'm saying to you? Trust yourself and Maya. No one else. You told me you acquired the Alchi̱meía?

  "Yeah, with your help. We hid it under the Great Lighthouse on Pharos Island."

  He jumps to his feet, pacing the study again. Excellent. It must remain hidden, but I will hide a partial translation where you found the pen.

  "Partial?"

  The contents of the Alchimeía are too dangerous in our current context. But the passage I will leave for you describes the process for shifting the continuum with the five pens. It's not precise, but it sounds like any continuum would be better than the one you have right now. Once you've stabilized the continuum you must retrieve the Alchi̱meía. There you will find the answers for how to return the continuum to its Critical Path. Remember, possession of the five pens is your best chance of bringing Jules and Nikki back and stopping our enemy from reaching his goals.

  Dad, along with Jules and Nikki, maybe you don't have to die. Maybe your murder only happens in the one continuum.

  Maybe. We'll see.

  "I won't let you die. If I have to I'll blood ink you home."

  You will do no such thing, son. I will not live at the expense of others' lives. So put it out of your mind right now. Understood?

  "I just don't want you to be dead."

  I know. But no matter what future awaits, one thing remains constant.

  "Yeah? What's that?"

  He lifts a stun gun from a side drawer in the desk, placing the metal contacts on his neck. I love you, Addison. Always have and always will. I will die proud to have you for a son.