Touchstone (Meridian Series) (36 page)

“Things are where things are,

and as Fate has willed,

so shall they be fulfilled.”

—
Aeschylus:
Agamemnon 67

(Translated by Browning)

28

He
arrived
on the dark of
night, the chill of the Arch quickly giving way to a sensation of growing
warmth. The sound of flowing water came to him next and, as the mist of the
time shift dissipated, he gathered himself and scanned the low horizon for the
moon.  It was a thin sickle, hanging in a of jade black sky  just above the
darker shape ahead, which he immediately recognized as that of a great beast,
silent in its repose as it waited for the dawn.

       He
stared at it, realizing that this was not the real sphinx, the stony lion that
sat at the feet of the Great Pyramids, but it bore an uncanny resemblance. The
Great Pyramids did not yet exist, and would not be built for another eighty
centuries or more! Yet here this ancient artifice sat, guarding the eastern
meridian where the faint glow of fading stars were now setting, low on the
horizon. He immediately recognized the constellation as that of Orion—that the
Egyptians might call ‘Osirus.’ As the moon crowned the head of the beast, he
could make out the telltale shape of a crudely carved face, draped in shadow.
Moments later, the silhouette was plain to see and he froze, as if the creature
might spy him out where he stood on the gentle downward slope of a low hill.

       For
a moment he thought he perceived a glint of light emanating from the eye of
that great carved face. But then he was possessed with a feeling of immense
emotional weight, as if the burden of ten thousand years had suddenly come down
upon his shoulders, the leaden legacy of all the centuries that stretched out
between this moment and the time of his own life. The gleam in the eye of the
beast was one of recognition, he thought. It was oblivious to all else around
it—fleeting life that came and went in the barest wink of a moment compared to
the vast span of its existence. But when Kelly appeared it took notice, one
ancient thing regarding another in the silence of the desert. He felt old now,
hobbled by time and the dire urgency of his mission.

       His
instinct told him to move, down from the exposed slope of the hill to the
covered watercourse below, and he felt his legs labor with sluggish response.
Must be the effects of the time shift, he thought. Paul had told him what to
expect. Though this was not the first time he had moved in the continuum, the
feeling of disorientation was greater now than either of his previous shifts.

       Moving
forward was feather light, he remembered. He felt as though he was simply
evaporating to mist, and then suddenly appeared in the pristine white chamber
of some future world. There he had met, and spoken again, with Mr. Graves, a
man bound to the thread of his life by the mystery of Time and Paradox. They
had saved him from certain annihilation, snatching him away from the hounds as
they sought to fall upon him at the end of that first mission.

       He
remembered snatches of conversation, questions and answers he did not fully
comprehend at the time. It was necessary to move him forward to the safety of a
Nexus, Graves had told him, otherwise his life would be forfeit to Paradox. The
mission, undertaken by Paul and Robert, had been a success. Somewhere, back
along the desolate track of the thin rail line that led down from Maan to
Medina, a moment had been found that would change all future moments. It was
something that still remained unseen and hidden in the confounding complexity
of Time, hidden by its own insignificance. Neither Paul nor Robert could
discern it. They could not determine what they had done to change things, but
the Pushpoint was there somewhere, replete with significance, the whole of Time
wrapped tightly round one single instance of the ordinary. What was it? Was it
something they said to one of the historical figures they encountered? Was it
something Paul did while held captive on the train? Was it something Robert
worked by changing the life course of the two Arab men he had stumbled upon? 
They would never know.

       That
thought filled him with anxiety as he reached the bottom of the hill and descended
into the low, winding thread of the watercourse. He remembered Paul’s anxiety
when a silly error had sent his friends millions of years into the past. The
farther back you go, the greater the influence of every thing you do.

       There
was a distant flash of light in the sky and, seconds later, the low rumble of
thunder. Storm coming, he thought, and there was something in the growl of the
night sky that filled him with deathly fear. LeGrand had spoken of a floodgate
he must find and open. Could they have known that, on this night, of all
nights, the sky would open and rains would fall heavily upon the barren
landscape, a tempest that would end this whole affair. He remembered the rains
of the Bay Area that first night in May when they were planning the Shakespeare
mission. It began with a storm, and it will end with one, he thought.

Shivering, he looked about him at the
flowing stream. What was he supposed to do here? Look toward the moon, follow
the water, LeGrand had told him. It would lead him towards the great beast of
stone that guarded this place—the only  sign of human civilization anywhere to
be seen. What would he find there?

       He
had no idea whether the numbers provided by LeGrand were even accurate. For all
he knew, the time shift could be well off the mark. Even a minor variance could
find him decades from any moment where he could actually carry out his mission.
Follow the watercourse. It will lead to an opening and become a hidden, underground
stream. That is the way.

       He
looked at the wine dark waters, agleam with slivers of moonlight, and stooped
briefly to let his hand dip into the stream. The water was slightly cool, and
he could perceive a gentle tug as the water swept slowly along its way, heading
east towards the dark mass of the sphinx. He looked around him, wondering if
there were any other people about. Would not this gateway be guarded? LeGrand
seemed to think the site would be free and clear, its makers, if they still
existed, unwary of any intruder.

       One
way to find out, he knew, and he started along the muddied edge of the stream,
following its winding course as he crept silently to the base of the immense
monument. Up ahead there came the sound of falling water, and he soon came to a
place where the stream cascaded down a steep incline in a low fall. The mist
from the rising spay was cool and refreshing, awakening his senses as he
searched for a path down. In the inky darkness, he could barely make his way,
afraid that he might lose his footing at any moment and tumble into the water. 
Trusting to fate, he lowered himself until he sat at the base of the fall.
Amazingly, the water flowed down a slight incline here and rushed into the
mouth of an eroded cleft in the ground, vanishing from his sight.

       How
will I get through there? He wondered how deep the water was, and whether he
could walk upright through the entrance and yet keep his breath. Gingerly, he
stood and advanced into the stream, feeling the cool water rushing past his
lower legs until he was in well above his knees. When he reached the cleft he
had to stoop low to pass inside, but thankfully, there was plenty of open space
between the water and the stony roof of the underground passage. How long was
it? What if the cave roof lowered?

       Only
his feet, and the quite determination that drove him forward, could give
answer. He surged forward, finding the passage ever deeper, until the dark
flowing water was chest high, then shoulder high, the rough ceiling very close
to his head now. Then came the moment of truth.

       He
had been walking carefully, with one arm extended overhead to brace himself
against the roof. The cool water chilled him, and he could feel his muscles
tightening with involuntary shivers. It was so dark that he could barely see
anything at all. Then the low ceiling descended abruptly and he came up short,
nearly bumping his head against the jagged roof. He could hear the water
frothing against the stony lip of the overhang, and he knew there would be no
room to breathe if he went further. The only option was to completely submerge
himself !

       He
passed a moment of fear, wondering how long he would have to hold his breath
beneath the stream. What if it went on for a hundred feet like this? His fear
seemed magnified by the sound of the cool black water as it rushed away. He
could not come all this way without at least trying, he knew, so he shored up
his will and took several deep breaths. Do you swim? LeGrand had asked him. He
would soon find out.

       A
second later he took the plunge, ducking under the lip of the overhand and
pressing forward. Five, then ten seconds passed, and he pushed forward, his
hand groping on the rough upper throat of the cave. Fifteen seconds… twenty… He
would soon have no choice but to turn about and retreat to catch his breath. He
took three more steps, then his ankle wrenched hard on a slippery stone and his
feet gave way beneath him. The force of the stream took him, and dragged him
on. In a moment of panic he flailed about, disoriented, and desperate to gain
some hold, but the water dragged him along the narrow underground channel at a
speed he could never have achieved on his own. A moment later he came
sputtering to the surface of a wide inner pool, gasping in the air, strangely
sweet and warm here.

       He
thanked any god who would listen to his prayer just then. If he had kept on
walking, his breath would have given out long before he could reach this place.
It was only the fall, and the force of the stream, that enable him to gain the
safe air of this chamber. He wondered if he had just stumbled on a Pushpoint, a
silent stone in the bed of the stream that would change all Time from this
moment forward.

       He
was surprised to see the faint glow of light ahead, wavering yellow and orange
on the surface of this underground pool. As his eyes adjusted, he could see he
was in a great cavern. Here the water was chin high, and he could still bob
along on his toes, the soaked robes of his Arabic garb trailing after him as he
moved. He made for the light, which now registered as torchlight in his mind.
Ahead he saw the smooth dark shape of  a barrier, something spanning the far
edge of the cavern like an immense wall.

       At
once he realized that he must be looking at the hidden lock on the stream—the
first lock, built to control and moderate the flow of the water beyond this
point. He leaned forward and began to swim, making steady, even strokes until
he reached the lock. His hand probed and he felt the telltale texture of wet
wood. Yes, there was no mistaking this now. He saw that there were several
openings in the lock that allowed the stream water to pass through, and kept
the chamber from filling completely. It was a carefully regulated flow, but the
recollection of the lightning he had seen in the night sky when he arrived made
him shiver with the thought of what a torrential flash flood would do if it
reached this chamber.

       A
distant rumble reverberated in the chamber, the hollow sound of thunder
emanating through the earth. It seemed to him that the great lion of the sphinx
was growling awake. Dawn was coming above the earth, and the beast was waking
to greet it.

       Kelly
studied the lock carefully, wondering how he would get on the other side. He
moved to one end, close by the edge of the pool, and ran his hands along the
thick wood beams, until he felt something irregular in the face of the barrier.
It was a lever of sorts, attached to a trap door! There was a thick coil of
woven rope tied about the lever, giving him a good place to make a firm grip.
He leaned down on it and. The door gave way with a wet squeak that echoed
through the chamber, and it opened inward, moved easily by the rushing water.

       Kelly
wasted little time slipping through the opening to a much smaller pool on the
other side. The chamber then narrowed, lapping up on sandy banks on either side
where there were several large wooden beams, possibly leftovers from the
construction of the lock itself. At the far end it ascended up a steep
embankment where the way was dimly lit, and he felt the urge to get out of this
damp, dark place and reach the warmth of the torchlight. Then he remembered
that this was his mission—this very place. He stared at the lock, wondering how
it operated. What was he to do? Should he merely leave the hatchway open? Would
that be enough to cause the flood LeGrand was hoping for?

       He
spied a line of thick pegs, the thickness of his leg, jutting from the lock at
intervals, just a foot above the water. Each one had a coil of rope about it. As
he puzzled over them, he noticed that the water was slowly rising from the increased
water flow of the open hatchway.  The pegs had a purpose, he knew, but what? He
waded over, feeling about one of the pegs until he noticed the depression of a
seam in the wood below it. He groped about and was soon satisfied that the peg
was attached to yet another hatch…a whole series of hatchways built into the
lock. Is that what he had to do? Open all these hatches? He tested one, but for
all his straining effort, he could not make it budge.