The River of No Return

flows.”
    Alva nodded.
    “The Guild is . . . a bank?”
    “Yes. It trades in futures. Actually, the plural is wrong. It trades in future. In the future. In one, singular, unalterable future.”
    “Okay,” Nick said, excitement taking hold. “I get it! So the Guild speculates on the uncertainty of future markets. Hedge funds. Hedging your bets.”
    “Yes.”
    “But the Guild doesn’t have to speculate, does it? It doesn’t have to hedge its bets because it knows the future.”
    “Right.”
    “And that’s why the past must stay the same. So that the future stays the same. I thought they were rich because they knew the past. But it’s because they know the future. They know every single thing that’s going to happen, right up until the end of the world!”
    “But now the end of the world has changed,” Alva said, her voice very soft. “Do you see, Nick, why they are desperate? Why we are desperate? The end has turned around and is racing back toward the beginning.”
    Nick looked at Alva and she looked back at him. Her face was as placid as if they were discussing the weather. For the first time Nick let himself really think about the Pale and what it meant. He gripped the table half a second before he felt panic blow through him full force, panic in the form of the river, cold and deep, and it was filling his lungs, his eyes. . . .
    “Nick!”
    Someone was shouting his name.
    “Nick!”
    He felt a tickle on his face, like the wing of a butterfly. And then a sharp pain, like a wasp sting.
    He slapped his hand to his cheek and heard a chuckle. He opened his eyes. He was on the floor of the pub, and Alva was bending over him. “What happened?”
    “I had to slap you, like I had to slap Henry,” she said, smiling.
    Nick clambered to his feet and slumped into his chair. He put his head in his hands. “It’s getting worse,” he said. “The more I am aware of the river, the more it seems to drag at me. Thinking about the Pale just now . . .”
    Alva put her hand on his shoulder. “It is because you aren’t trained,” she said. “They sent you back with no training and expected you to be safe. It’s as if a pilot had taken you up in an airplane and then handed you the controls and said, ‘Land it.’”
    Nick groaned. “Then train me, for the love of God. I’m fit, I’m halfway intelligent, I’m a soldier—train me!”
    “Training takes months, Nick. To learn to jump, and to learn to do it safely—”
    “Yes, yes, I know. They told me. It takes too long. But there must be something I can do to keep from being swept away every time I think about the river.”
    Alva sat down opposite him again. “When it happens, what does it feel like?”
    “Like all of time is stampeding through me—like a wind or a . . . well, like a river. And I am like a little boat, or a leaf—clinging to my mooring by the most fragile of threads. . . .” Nick found that his hand was in his pocket. He drew out the acorn.
    “What is that?”
    Nick closed his fingers. He didn’t want her to see it.
    “An acorn.” She answered her own question. “The fruit of unenclosed land.”
    “Pardon?”
    “That’s what acorn means. ‘The fruit of unenclosed land.’” She smiled at him.
    He clenched the acorn tightly in his fist and drew a deep breath. “I am in love,” he said.
    Her eyes opened wide, but she said nothing.
    “And this acorn . . . it is . . . it reminds me of that love.” He found that confessing it felt good. “I don’t know why, but it is.” Nick felt calmer now. The rushing in his ears receded. He smiled at Alva. “There. That’s my secret. You have the Pale and the Talisman and time travel and these catacombs. I have an acorn.”
    Alva nodded. “I understand.” She sipped her beer and he sipped his. The moment felt . . . brotherly.
    “May I ask you,” Alva said after a moment, “is that acorn from here? I mean, is it from 1815? Not the twenty-first century?”
    “Yes. It is from now.”
    Alva sucked in her cheeks. “I wonder . . .” She tapped the tabletop with one finger. “I think your acorn might be your salvation. I can’t train you to jump in one day, but I might be able to help you anchor yourself firmly to this time. Do you trust me?”
    “Of course.”
    She smiled. “You say that quickly, you who are meant to betray me.”
    “I think you know that I—” He stopped.
    “That you are Ofan?”
    Nick frowned. He didn’t know if that was