Despite his constant questions, there were many things that Maxwell still did not know. He did not know why or how he had arrived in the Backend. He only had a vague idea of how the Backend worked and how it regulated and maintained his world. And he had no clue if he was making the right choices to get himself back to the Core.

In addition to these examples of conscious ignorance, there was also a growing mountain of things Maxwell was not even aware he didn’t know. He did not know he had just appeared on a security camera or that IT had spotted him and was flying toward him with Walter and Marigold aboard a stolen Æroship. He had no inkling that the Scholar was also searching for him with an army of appropriated and reprogrammed therapeutic robots. And he could not fathom that the facility he was about to break into contained an ocean of unused time.

He had ended up there by accident, thinking if he walked in a straight line, he would end up back at the Core in the distance. At some point, however, he must have veered off on the wrong path because the road had grown small and ragged and finally ended at something called the Intermittent Sea. That’s what the fading wooden sign over the chain-link fence said, at least. On the ground next to the fence was a different sign, plastic and yellow. It simply read Storage Facility 0251. Neither sign meant much to Maxwell. He did not know what an Intermittent Sea was, nor did this grey waterlogged rock look like any kind of storage facility he was familiar with, but he understood the third sign on the locked gate: Keep Out.

He wasn’t going back. That much was certain. He was hungry and tired, and he doubted he could retrace his steps without getting even more lost. He would make his way through this strange obstacle, whatever it was.

The large spherical mass of pitted stone grew out of the road like a tumor. It was the size of a small mountain, though it looked more like an asteroid or immense boulder. Through the gaps in the fence, he could see a metal canal that had been built in a jagged spiral around the edge of the rock. It led from bottom to top and seemed to be the only way up the giant rock. The holes that marred its surface were not typical caves, they were perfectly square and rested on top of one another like a series of pictures at some nihilistic art gallery that only permitted the same pitch-black painting. Some were small and others gigantic, but all of them seemed infinitely deep. If Maxwell’s brief time in the Backend had taught him anything, it was that some bloodthirsty hell-beast no doubt called those caves home.

The orb was not a dead end, however. From the top, Maxwell could see a new path, stretching out and leading back to the Core. It looked like a straight line, too. If he could just make his way up this structure, he could get where he was going.

Except for the Archive the day before, Maxwell had never broken into anything, and he felt a surge of adrenaline as he reached into his pocket for the screwdriver and paper clips Marigold had given him. The Backend may have been networked and automated, but they relied on pretty crappy locks for security. He picked the one securing the gate in a matter of seconds and entered the facility.

He was an intruder now, an outlaw. The thought made him giddy. A small dock sat a few meters from the gate and in it, a weather-beaten aluminum boat swayed in the water. Maxwell would normally never use something that wasn’t his, but as an intruder, he had no qualms about commandeering the craft. He took the oars in hand, looked around to confirm there were no witnesses to his aquatic crime, and set off up the canal.

He had not been in a boat since summer camp when he was thirteen years old, and at first, he struggled to figure out the mechanics of rowing. No matter what he did, he seemed at risk of running the boat into the sides of the canal, but as he kept going, he settled into a rhythm. At least rowing the boat up the incline of the canal did not seem to pose a problem. The water flowed somewhat unnaturally uphill, and once Maxwell wasn’t actively fighting it, the current carried him forward on its own. This gave him more time to examine his surroundings.

The hollowed cubes that surrounded him grew cavernous as he ascended the spiral, and more than once, Maxwell thought he saw something move within their dark interiors. He wondered if his friends were looking for him and if they would ever think to look for him here, rowing his way up a strange cliff.

fter what could have been ages or no time at all, he reached the top and saw why this facility was called the Intermittent Sea. Gone were the strangely jutting cubes. Instead, a flat expanse of water stretched out in front of him. He could see land in the distance and a thicket of patchy trees beyond the shore.

The water here differed from that of the canal. Clusters of light danced in it, shimmering their way to the surface and then sinking back to the bottom. It should have reflected the stark white sky above it, but the sea was dark and bottomless.

Maxwell did not have a long way to go, but as he made for the patch of land and the road beyond it, the wind picked up and the waves grew. The closer he drew to his destination, the stormier it became. The old Maxwell would have panicked, but this new one, well, he panicked slightly less.

He had to row into the waves. He remembered that much from summer camp, but it was easier said than done. The water was becoming choppy. Clouds circled overhead, and his novelty t-shirt was meager shelter from the sudden cold.

The trickle of rain quickly became a deluge. He repositioned his makeshift disguise over his head as shelter, but the water leaked down his face and made a home in the small of his back.

The boat rocked unsteadily. More than once it threatened to capsize. Maxwell’s world narrowed: he needed to keep things as stable as possible. He did not focus on how far away the land remained. He focused on the next minute and the one after that. Rain drenched his body, but the boat was upright. Amidst the rain and wind, he could see the rocky beach. He was going to make it. Another couple of minutes, and he would be on land.

But then something stepped forward, a shadow in the storm. It had four legs and looked as if it was walking on water, walking on water straight toward him. The creature’s body was black but coloured ropes of purple, red, and blue lined its body and the white around its mouth suggested a beard. There were horns, too. They rose out of its head in twists and curls—a bramble, and a very sharp looking one. Why did everything here have horns?

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The creature wasn’t alone. Maxwell looked over his right shoulder and saw a second one standing on the waves behind the boat. A third was waiting to the right. They seemed calm amidst the storm. Unperturbed by its rage. Maxwell tried to think of what the counsellors had said about wild beasts in summer camp, but all he could remember was that he should always climb a tree if a bear attacks . . . or was it to never climb a tree?

The creature in front of Maxwell charged. Maxwell tried to maneuver the boat out of the way, but the vessel was far from agile. The creature plowed into the side of the boat.

Maxwell gritted his teeth, but by some minor miracle, the boat remained upright. It rocked in place but didn’t capsize. The creature had only grazed it, and its charge had left an opening. Maxwell rowed.

Against all odds, he was doing it. He was going to be safe. He had made it.

These were Maxwell’s last thoughts before the second and third creatures charged, slammed into the boat, and sent him tumbling into the stormy waters of the Intermittent Sea.

*

It was a long, hot, dusty day in the middle of the summer. The sun was directly overhead. She looked out over her sun-parched land and wondered if rain would ever come. She thought there was still lemonade left in the fridge and got up to check. The door creaked on its hinges. The whole place was falling apart. She should leave like everyone else had. She knew it deep down, just like she knew she wouldn’t. Where else would she go at this point? A little lemonade left. Thank God. She wiped off a bit of dirty glass with the hem of her sleeve and poured out the last of the pitcher. The fridge door didn’t quite close, not until she put her full body against it. She needed a new fridge. She needed a new everything. Back on the porch, she let the sour sweetness spill over her tongue and looked at the dry, dead land and remembered when she used to ride horses there.

The horse was sick. Sick and maybe dying. Dying, she knew, was the same as dead. Her father would make sure of that. A kindness, he had always told her. Maybe he was right, but she doubted it. It was cold and getting colder. The horse had been sick for several weeks now, but she would not accept its fate. She bent down to give it food and hoped that the handful of grass would restore the slightest grain of the horse’s strength, just enough to make it to tomorrow.

He used to be strong. Yes, strong and healthy before this job started killing him. It didn’t do it all at once, of course. The job used time to chisel off every moment, to keep him bound to a desk, and to sap every ounce of his strength. And here he was again. Another meeting. How much of his life had he spent in business meetings? As a percentage of the whole, had it broken fifteen percent at this point? Surely it must be getting close to that. God, it was only 10:00. Still two hours until lunch.

This wasn’t right. This was not who he was. These memories were not Maxwell's. It was like what had happened back in the Archive. Other thoughts were entering his mind, other feelings. If he lost himself in them, he knew he would drown. He had to keep going. Stay underwater and keep going. If he made it to shore, he would stand a chance. He hoped he was heading the right way. He couldn’t be sure in the dark grey, not even with the occasional flash of light.

Another evening at the baths. A group of children making loud noises in the corner. Two men arguing loudly beside him. Was he the only one who liked quiet? He sank deeper into the water until it covered his ears, and the world was temporarily silent.

Silent was what she needed to be. Silent and alert. Her prey could hear her slightest movement and if she tumbled into her head again, if she let the moment escape her, she wouldn’t see when it came. Why was it so hard to focus? She needed to focus.

Focus, focus, focus. It was only two weeks until the imperial examination, and he had so much left to memorize. Zhao had managed the feat, and Zhao was an idiot, a well-connected idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. He mustn’t think about him. There were still pages of text to get through before he could sleep.

Maxwell came back to himself in waves. He could remember himself only in flashes between these lost moments from other places, other people. He surfaced for a moment to grab a lungful of air. Shadows in the distance. Was that them? He thought he was almost at shore. Back under the water. Just a little further. A little further, but he could feel his consciousness slipping again.

A long stream of videos, one after the other, a boy singing a made-up song, a trick for making cupcakes, a man in his underwear slipping around on the ice in the dead of winter. She knew her life was slipping away from her and into the moving surface of her phone, but some days it was hard to care. What kind of life did she have, anyway? One more video. A cat showed up on her screen, tried to jump onto a bed, but missed it by a few feet and tumbled onto the floor. OK, one more.

One more day at a foreign court in a foreign land. Overall, she thought she would’ve been happier living life as a cat. At least then she wouldn’t have to go to another ball and make the same dull conversation with the same dull officials. She wanted to be home.

Home meant nothing to him now. Even if he could go back, he wouldn’t. They would love it if he went back. He could see his father’s smug face as he walked in the door, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He would keep driving this car until it broke down. The highway would be home.

Was that the beast’s hoofs above him on the water's surface? All he could see was shadow and the occasional flash of lightning. It was getting shallower though. He thought he could at least be certain of that. But what was happening to him?

He was alone by a fire on the banks of the lake. When would the others return?

She was at a first-year econ lecture, but the professor didn’t realize half the class was asleep.

A concert. A terrible one. Why did they come? Who were they?

*

On and on, foreign memories swirled through Maxwell’s head, a million, a billion, an endless series of lives and moments playing through his head one after another, with only seconds of respite for Maxwell to keep going. Who were these people? Where were they? Time and space had become elastic. An eternity of memories passed in a second.

Maxwell swam and swam until he felt something solid underfoot and pulled himself up out of the water. He had made it. He was on land, a stone beach beneath him, and a pale-green forest beyond that. The intrusion of memories had stopped. There was no time to consider what had happened. The three monsters had seen him emerge from the water and they were turning toward him. Their heads lowered as they began to charge. He looked for anything to defend himself with, but there was nothing on the spotless grey beach. He reached into his pocket for the screwdriver and held it out like a knife.

A noise echoed through the trees behind him and with a single great leap, Marigold sprung over Maxwell’s head, and the heel of her boot connected with the lead creature’s tangle of horns. The creature staggered, falling backward into the other two. It didn’t take the creatures long to regroup though. They stared at Maxwell, and he could feel their hunger.

Then a light flared overhead. It pierced through the trees, accompanied by the sound of an annoyed demon cursing about his torn vest. A shrieking robot followed closely behind. Its arms flailed about as it charged the wild animals.

The sight of the demon’s blazing wings startled the creatures. The monsters hesitated for a second and finally decided Maxwell was not worth the effort. The leader turned its head and the other two followed, skimming off along the water just as the storm cleared and the sunless sky shone again.