The Rosetta Codex

by Richard Paul Russo

  She had no name. Or rather, she had given up her name when she had left civilization and come here to . . . well, what she came here to do was her own business, she told Cale. When he asked her if she had come from Morningstar, she said she had come through Morningstar, but would not elaborate.

  “I’ve left all that behind,” she told him.

  “Why?”

  She shook her head.

  Three days after Cale arrived, the woman announced what they both had already silently accepted—that he could stay until the worst of the storms were over. That would be at least seven or eight weeks, she informed him. Possibly much longer.

  If he stayed, she told him, he would have to agree to certain conditions, though they were not many. When she asked for silence, even if it was for an entire day, he would comply or leave. He would bring wood from the shack each day and help with the cooking and keeping the cabin clean. He would not go naked in her presence. Anything else she might ask of him—and she did not expect there would be much—he would comply or leave. Did he agree? He agreed.

  “The days will seem long,” she said. “But reading helps pass the time, and it is edifying as well. You may read any of these books.” She gestured at the bookshelves around the cabin. “The only books you may not read, the books you will not touch, are those in this case.” She stepped to the small, three-shelf bookcase beside her chair, brushed her fingers lightly across the dark, worn spines. “These are sacred texts.” She turned back to him. “But everything else is open to you.”

  “I can’t read,” Cale admitted.

  The woman seemed surprised. “Not at all?”

  Cale shook his head. “I think I could once, a little. A few words. When I was young.”

  “Can’t write either, I suppose,” she said with a sigh. “Not even your name?”

  “No.”

  She sat in the chair and looked at him, shaking her head to herself. Then she got up and paced back and forth from one end of the cabin to the other, brows furrowed. Cale wondered what was distressing her. He couldn’t read, but it didn’t trouble him much, and it was not her problem.

  “I can’t do it,” she finally said, looking at him.

  “Do what?”

  “Teach you to read.”

  “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “But you should be able to read. You’re an intelligent young man, I can see that. But I lack the patience to teach you.”

  “That’s all right.”

  The anchorite shook her head. “No, it’s not all right.” She sighed again, then nodded slowly. “What I will do, though, is read to you,” she said.

  The storms drove through the mountains, one after another. The valley, narrow with steep slopes, was relatively sheltered, the cabin even more so, but still there were times when the wind shook the cabin and rattled the stove pipe and screeched through the tiniest gaps in the walls. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do.

  She read to him, and new worlds opened up all around him. She read from books of stories, excerpts of novels and epic poems; from books of science and history and art; from philosophical inquiries into the nature of human beings, the reality of the universe, and the meaning of existence.

  She recited poetry by Sartorian, Emily Dickinson, Anwar Munif, T. S. Eliot, and the Widows of Landsend.

  She spent one evening singing the Hive Chants of Marker’s Colony, swaying slightly with eyes closed and arms outspread as if in supplication. Cale felt mesmerized, though the words made no sense, jumbled together without logic, without meaning, yet flowing naturally from one to another with feeling and purpose.

  History: “An Analysis of the Insurrection of Cygnus 7,” by Bronso of Ox. Angels of Expansion, by Mia Motono. Exiles, author unknown.

  Archaeology: Two slender books speculating on the nature of the Jaaprana aliens, who had apparently become extinct long before human beings had begun their expansion outward from Earth, and whose existence was evidenced only by scattered ruins on several worlds humans had themselves later colonized.

  Science: The Interrogatories of Samuel, questions about the nature of physical reality answered by other questions. Man, Machine, and the Sarakheen, concerning the biomechanical advances made by the Sarakheen, human beings who turned themselves into cyborgs.

  The old woman began to read from her sacred texts. She explained that they were the canonical texts and authoritative commentaries of most of the major religions, and some of the minor or obscure sects. Over the next several days she gave him an overview of the major religions, read texts from each, but although it had become clear to him that she had chosen this solitary existence for religious reasons, she never discussed her own beliefs, and Cale thought it would be rude to ask.

  The religious books interested him less than the others she had read, however, and the woman appeared to sense that, because after a few days she abandoned her sacred texts and returned to the other books in the cabin.

  She read aloud a book called Invisible Worlds, which at first appeared to be a kind of travel guide to other planets, filled with descriptions of exotic and wonderful places; but Cale gradually realized that few, if any, of the worlds described in the book could actually exist. This realization did not diminish his enjoyment of the book, nor dampen his desire to travel to those imaginary places.

  One day she acted out the scenes from several dramas, moving about the cabin, gesturing, modulating her voice for each of the different characters. Another day she brought out several large volumes of art reproductions, and explained painting, sculpture, and other art forms to him as she leafed slowly through the books.

  Philosophy. Natural sciences. Sociology, which the anchorite said she read more for amusement than insight, but which Cale found fascinating for the descriptions of large numbers of people living together in cities on different worlds.

  Astronomy, cosmology, and physics, all of which were so far beyond his comprehension as to be nearly meaningless.

  More novels and stories, which Cale relished most of all.

  The anchorite read, and Cale listened.

  The day he left, the sun was bright and the sky was clear, but the air was still cold with a crisp edge that tightened the skin on his face. The anchorite had presented him with several gifts the night before: a water-testing kit, which she insisted could save his life; packets of dried meat and fruit; a hand light; and a small Bible. “One day you will be able to read it,” she had said. “Until then, it may provide some small measure of protection. For your soul.”

  Cale stood at the edge of the rock shelf and studied the snow, which still blanketed the earth, though now with a thinner layer. His rucksack was heavier than when he’d arrived, but seemed lighter. He was ready to leave, though he would miss the old woman and all those books.

  He had learned much during his weeks with the anchorite. The biggest change was a new and growing awareness of the world . . . no, not just the world, but an entire universe that existed out there, somewhere, a universe filled with worlds and cities and people and technologies, beliefs and ways of thinking and views of life that he could not yet truly imagine. The woman’s books had provided only glimpses of that universe, but they were enough to instill in him a yearning to explore it. But he wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet. For there was also the fitful and incomplete awakening of the memories of his life before the crash, which produced more confusion than anything else.

  “Where will you go now?” the woman asked.

  Cale turned. She stood in the cabin doorway, watching him. He knew she was both glad and sorry to see him go. “I haven’t thought about it, yet.”

  “Going west from here you come out of these mountains pretty quickly, not more than four or five days on foot in good weather. But what you get to is wasteland. A barren desert that seems to have no end, at least not one you can see. I don’t know that anyone can survive out there for very long.”

  “So I’ve come about as far west as I can.”

  “Just
about.” She appeared concerned. “This is no place for you, Cale. If you want to live with decent people, go east. Cross the Divide. You don’t have to go all the way to Morningstar, but at least get to the other side.”

  “I think I’ll go west,” he said. “I guess I want to see that endless wasteland first.”

  “Why, Cale?”

  He shrugged. “It feels important, somehow.”

  “And after that?”

  “Then I’ll make my way east. To the Divide.”

  She walked toward him, and suddenly seemed ill at ease. “I will never see you again, Cale.”

  “I might come back.”

  “No . . . you won’t.” She reached out with her hands, took his between her warm and gnarled fingers. “Take care of yourself, Cale. It’s a terrible world out there.” For a moment he thought she would step forward to embrace him, but she didn’t move, and he sensed her discomfort. He gently squeezed her hands.

  “Goodbye,” he said. “Thank you.”

  She withdrew her hands, then turned and walked back to the cabin. She stepped inside, and closed the door.

  Time to go. Cale turned from the cabin and started down the slope.

  FIVE

  For several days on the lower slopes of the western foothills, Cale shadowed a caravan of families. Ponies half the size of Morrigan pulled wheeled carts and wagons while the men and women and older children walked beside the laboring beasts; a few elders and small children rode in the carts, wedged between crates and bundles and furniture and other belongings lashed securely to the vehicles. One old woman cloaked in heavy folds of black cloth rode in a chair mounted high atop a cart near the center of the caravan, like some ancient matriarch guiding the remnants of a once prominent clan. Cale counted thirteen vehicles, close to forty animals, and nearly seventy-five people—a small village on the move.

  The narrow road was rutted and muddy, and the animals strained at their harnesses, breath steaming in the cool air as they struggled with their footing on the slick earth. Several times some of the men and women would have to join efforts with the animals, pushing at the carts to free them from deep ruts or heave them up and over a ridge or hump in the road. The old woman lurched from side to side, jolted up and down, but never seemed disturbed by the motion.

  In the afternoon of the fourth day, Cale emerged from the trees on a rise above the caravan, and took in his first full view of the barren plains stretching westward. The anchorite’s description had not completely prepared him for the utter desolation and vastness of the flatlands that now lay spread before him like the basin of a colorless universe, or one of the anchorite’s several versions of Hell.

  As he stood regarding that great expanse, however, he began to distinguish colors and features that had at first appeared to be nonexistent—pale rust-colored rocks; pockets of dry, spindly scrub; shallow and shadowed depressions that might once have been stream beds; striated sands of bleached reds and purples; far in the distance, a splotch of color that might have been a small butte; and farther still a crater of indeterminable size. But as the anchorite had said, no sign of hills or mountains as far as he could see—it seemed that this wasteland truly stretched into a strange, lost infinity.

  Three days later, the caravan reached the edge of the flatlands, and in the early evening camped at the base of the foothills beside a spring. Cale remained in the brush on the slope above them and watched their fires burn in the night; the drifting smells of cooking food made his cheeks ache. He chewed on a piece of dried meat and drank cold tea, and reflected on the anchorite’s warning that no one could long survive in that wasteland.

  In the morning, after an hour spent filling enormous containers from the spring, the caravan set out, headed almost directly west, following their own long shadows across the sands. With no place to hide on that open expanse, Cale knew he would have to reveal himself, or let them go. He hesitated, considering his options, then scrambled down the hillside. He stopped at the spring to refill his water bottles, then stood and watched the departing caravan with a sense of loss. He was certain the anchorite was right, and that out on that desert these people would find only their deaths.

  He headed east. In the early summer he came upon a deserted town at the edge of a dry lake bed. Sixteen small dwellings built of stone and wood formed an irregular ring around a larger building near the center. Nothing moved, and the silence rose from the town like a warm, dense fog.

  Cale squatted on a hillock, looking down on the ruined dwellings. Roofs sagged, broken shutters hung askew from their hinges, chimney rock lay scattered on the ground. He watched for a long time, until midday when the shadows nearly disappeared, then he clambered down the rocky slope and entered the empty town.

  Heat shimmered up from the ground, reflected off the walls. Cale blinked the sweat from his eyes. No breeze stirred the air. He did not at first enter any of the dwellings, but circled several of them and searched the shadowed interiors through open doorways and windows. He coughed at the smell of rancid dust, a harsh grit he kicked up with each footstep.

  Three of his water flasks were empty, but there was no sign of a well anywhere in the town. Although he had little hope of finding water inside any of the dwellings, he dug the hand light out of his rucksack, squeezed the beam on, and entered one of the small buildings.

  There was only one room; the air was dry but heavy and stifling, as if there had been no circulation inside since the town had been abandoned. Bright motes of dust hung almost motionless in the light. Scraps of faded, curled paper hung on one wall, flanked by two chains of oxidized metal.

  In the corner farthest from the doorway lay a human skeleton, the bones discolored by bits of dark and desiccated muscle or sinew. The hands and arms were folded across one another atop the figure’s chest, as if the inhabitant had died peacefully, but its skull had been crushed in by a huge mallet that still lay nestled within the shattered bones.

  Once outside, he breathed freely again. He looked into a few of the other buildings, saw pieces of broken furniture, scattered bones, two more nearly complete skeletons, and the smaller skeleton of a six-legged animal. He saw no signs of food or water, but even if he had he would not have dared to eat or drink.

  Cale approached the larger central building and studied it. There were a number of large windows on either side of its length, and two open doorways at one end. Sunlight slanted in through two holes in the roof, irregular beams that illuminated rotting benches and a pedestal tipped onto its side. He set the rucksack on the ground, then stepped through the doorway.

  The wooden floor was surprisingly firm beneath him, more solid than any of the other wood he had seen in this town. His footsteps were loud but did not echo as he expected. He righted the pedestal; set into the top surface was a wide metal bowl. When he looked up, the sun shone through a ragged hole in the roof and directly into his face. Cale moved on.

  He worked his way among the rotting benches, stepping over broken candles, pieces of colored glass, a black leather shoe. For some reason he was reminded of pictures of church sanctuaries the anchorite had shown him. At the far end of the room, the floor stepped up twice and he stopped before a long stone structure that might have been an altar. A strip of rich, deeply colored fabric lay across the stone, dark purple and indigo patterns lined in bloodred, the ends weighted with brass cubes. He stared at the fabric, and gradually made out the image of a woman holding up clasped hands in prayer.

  The high stone wall behind the altar was etched with strange, alien glyphs unlike anything he had ever seen. The anchorite had shown Cale several alphabets, including the odd letters she had said were Greek, Arabic, Hebrew, and Cyrillic, as well as the Asian ideographic systems, but nothing in any of her books had even vaguely resembled these figures. He was reminded of the tracks of terratorns, and patterned blades of grass. Standing before the wall, he felt a power in the glyphs, as though the words they formed, when spoken, could conjure up the dead.

  When he finall
y turned away from the wall, he froze as he saw for the first time a large painting at the other end of the building, above the front doorway. The painting depicted a tall, massive armored figure emerging from the impenetrable darkness of a cave mouth surrounded by a star-filled night sky. Shining silver spines bristled from the arms and legs of the blue-black armor, gleaming in the starlight. Most of the head was obscured by the cave’s shadows, but a strip of reflected light illuminated the lower half of the face—where there should have been a mouth there was only smooth pale skin. Cale glanced back at the wall of glyphs, then looked back at the painting, sensing some kind of invisible connection between the two.

  He hiked out of the deserted town and onto the dry, gently sloping lake bed. Large splotches of tiny white crystals spread across the bottom of the dry lake like diseased skin; each step left a distinct footprint, but he saw no tracks other than his own. He passed small white bones and the bleached ruins of old boats. In the distance, storm clouds darkened the sky above the nearest foothills.

  There was a small, shallow pool at the center of the lake bed, surrounded by a few clumps of reeds and several short, scraggly berry shrubs. Day-bats looked up at him from across the pool, green fleshy wings shivering; they hopped back fluttering from the water’s edge, but did not take flight.

  Cale knelt beside the pool and filled the water tester, then added the drops from the two small bottles. The water in the tester column remained clear. He filled his flasks, then drank deeply from the pool.

  He considered staying the night by the pool, but when he looked up at the sky again, the storm clouds were nearer and he could see the slanted wall of dark rain descending from them. The clouds roiled with the winds, and a breeze picked up around the pool, bending the reeds. The day-bats squawked and rose with a frenzied flapping of wings and flew off toward the deserted town. Although he did not welcome the thought of spending the night in one of those buildings, Cale decided he had better go back.