Chapter 55
The Tower of Destiny
The spiral staircase was barely wide enough for Wataru to walk on. It ran up along the inner wall of the giant, hollow tower as far as his eye could see. The shape reminded him of a model of a DNA double-helix he had seen in a science book.
The Tower of Destiny was made of the same radiant blue crystal as the collage of towns and cities he had just walked through—even the stairway was made of the stuff. After circling the interior of the tower a few times, the translucent steps made it hard for him to judge distance. Wataru ran his right hand along the wall as he climbed so as not to mistakenly step off the edge.
Though the light coming from the crystal was cold, the material of the wall itself was warm to the touch. When he looked closer he could see his own reflection—and someone else’s. Who’s that smiling?
Mom. Wataru stopped. An image of his mother was suspended in the crystal before him. She was much younger than the last time he had seen her. Her hairstyle was different. She was wearing a pastel-colored sweater, and carrying…
A baby? Who is that?
It’s me. She’s carrying me. The nursing infant in her arms was barely able to hold its own head up. He was trying to touch his mother’s face with both hands. She would cover her eyes with a hand then pull it away. Peekaboo! The baby Wataru laughed and laughed.
A few more steps up, Wataru saw another image floating into focus in the wall. Wataru ran up the stairs. Dad. They were at the local pool on a summer day. He was teaching Wataru how to swim. He was holding on to his outstretched hands, cheering him on as he kicked his legs. His father was walking backward, leading him along. Soon Wataru would be able to cross the pool on his own. That’s it, you’ve got it!
More images from the past splashed across the walls. It was like a movie theater built for him out of his own memories. Wataru was transfixed, watching each image intently as he climbed the spiral stair.
Soon, Katchan made his debut. He was wearing the same preschool uniform as Wataru, a yellow bag slung over his shoulder. He was jumping all around, excited about something, tugging on Wataru’s shirt until his mother scolded him. I remember that. It was after the ceremony on the first day of school. We had just taken a photograph by the school gates.
Wataru’s past was playing out before his eyes.
A school trip on a rainy day. Eating lunch right before the track meet. Doing homework by the heater at Katchan’s house in the middle of winter. Bringing an abandoned kitten home, and having his mother tell him he couldn’t keep it.
More images: Wataru crying on the balcony—he had been particularly bad, and his mother had locked him out. Going to the hospital by ambulance in the middle of the night—he had caught a cold and it got worse and turned into pneumonia. Each scene presented itself clearly. His mother in the ambulance, her face white. Katchan came to visit with his mom when Wataru was in the hospital. He remembered Katchan’s mom apologizing. Katchan’s too rambunctious for his own good. He never should have been playing soccer in the rain with your son that day.
Playing catch with his father in the courtyard of the apartment. Here comes Mom, carrying an armful of grocery bags. Dad throws her the ball, she picks it up, tries to throw it, and it goes wild. Way wild. The glass in one of the apartment windows on the first floor breaks, and the three of them go to apologize. Dad’s teasing Mom, and she gets mad at him. They sneak away to laugh where she wouldn’t see them…
How could there be so many memories in only eleven years? The human heart is a strange, bottomless container. Anything and everything goes in, just waiting to be taken out again someday.
Wataru climbed further and saw an episode with Mitsuru. He was looking grim the day they met at the shrine. This is sacred ground, he told Wataru, sounding adult and knowledgeable.
And there was the priest. Wataru was saying something to him over his shoulder, running off with his bag under his arm. That’s right. I asked him if there really were gods, why were they so lazy?
Then he saw her—Mitsuru’s aunt. He remembered the silver bangles she wore on her arm. She was worried about Mitsuru, yet looked like a little girl herself. The resemblance to Lady Zophie was startling.
The translucent walls of the Tower of Destiny showed him Uncle Lou too. They were lighting fireworks in the garden at his grandmother’s house in Chiba. His uncle was so tan that at night, he could have stepped behind a tree and you’d never have seen him. Only when he smiled would a row of white teeth suddenly appear, floating in the air. Wataru laughed so hard he fell over. It made him smile even now.
But, in the next image, his uncle’s face was twisted. He was calling out to Wataru who had crawled under the bed. Come out, come out, he was saying. The pain rose in Wataru’s chest to see how sad his uncle looked. I did that. I had no idea.
What’s that, swaying on the wall up there? It’s me. He was grabbing on to the collar of a karulakin, dangling perilously far above the ground. He had wandered into a pack of gimblewolves in the Fatal Desert. It was funny to think how little he knew of Vision back then.
Now he was riding on Kee Keema’s cart. They were racing across the grasslands. Wataru was holding on for his life, still unused to the rolling ride. Wataru ran farther up the stairs, following the darbaba cart as it raced along the wall.
There, the wall became suddenly dark. But it wasn’t night. Black things, too numerous to count, were swarming along the wall. Flying in a great cloud.
It was a swarm of demonkin, so many they blocked out the sky. Long fangs jutted from skull-like faces. He could almost hear the clicking of their claws.
This isn’t the past. This is Vision right now.
The shock and horror of the scene made Wataru step back from the wall, his arms hanging slack by his sides. The heel of one of his boots jutted over the edge of the stairs, and he almost lost his balance, which quickly returned him to his senses.