Island of Echoes

by Roman Gitlarz

  “Thank you for all of your assistance,” Father Daniel gushed ceremonially. The women gave a small bow of their heads and left us.

  “Can someone please catch us up on what is happening?” Lady Pearson complained as soon as the apartment door had closed. She labored over to one of the lion couches, for our climb had taken the wind out of many of us.

  I restated all that Etia Sarmia had disclosed. To say that we were wholly comfortable would be an overstatement, for tranquility is always out of reach when one’s circumstances hang is someone else’s balance. Nevertheless, my companions and I seemed placated with the knowledge that our hosts are both civilized and welcoming.

  Travert began making his way through the apartment and we followed him like ducklings as we familiarized ourselves with the space. The unit, like everything else in the tower, was half-circular. It was divided into nine rooms. The lounge we entered stood at the center, with a narrow hall leading to two bedrooms, a water closet, and a bathing room on both sides. The bedrooms were all positioned along the outer wall and replicated the floor-to-ceiling window of the lounge, as well as its view.

  Etiquette deemed it proper to give the women their own side of the unit while we men took the other. Every room was extravagantly outfitted with floors of polished stone and sophisticated furniture, though space restrictions limited the bedroom furnishings to only two large beds and a chest. Despite his familial connection with Travert, it was more appropriate for Rémy to share his room with me given our closeness of age. This pleased me, for I was much more partial to the young boatman’s company than that of the priest. Rémy seemed very much like the younger brother I never had. We got off very well from the start; I delighted in his company and in his boundless enthusiasm.

  As promised, two attendants came into the apartment shortly thereafter and laid out platters of food on the long wooden table. The fare was delectable. We were presented with several varieties of smoked fish, loaves of fresh bread, goat’s milk cheese, fig paste, an assortment of fresh vegetables, and a small basket of dried fruit. The heavy clay plates provided were square in shape, but the silverware was far more unique. The delicate forks and spoons of our own Western refinement, stamped with lilies and elegantly decorated, bore little resemblance to the large, heavy, and unornamented utensils of the Capribians. The forks only had two large prongs, curved and very sharp, more reminiscent of an eagle’s talons than dinnerware. I had half a mind to sneak one into my pocket should I need use of a weapon.

  We excused ourselves to wash up before dining and took turns at the bathing room sink. I was last to enter and I was most pleased to find hot and cold running water within. I eagerly rinsed my face of any wind-swept grime from the day’s long carriage ride.

  The others had regrouped in the lounge and I was about to join them when I spotted another door which we had not yet explored. I suspected it to be a closet but I opened it regardless. I found that it led back out into the hallway and realized it was one of the other doors we had first seen upon exiting the staircase. The discovery would have been of little import had I not peeked my head into the passage.

  The two attendants who had brought in our food were talking quietly halfway down the hall, but it was the wall beside them which caught my attention. A small portion of it appeared to shimmer like a fluid screen of light, a transparent square atop the stone. The illusion vanished several seconds later and, to my great surprise, one of the large slabs of limestone in the passage slid aside silently, allowing both persons entrance to some hidden chamber.

  I re-entered the apartment and clicked the door closed. Alarming the others was not something I wished to do, especially without a sensible account of exactly what I had witnessed, but I resolved to venture into the passage and explore the wall and its mysteries after eating. I composed myself and joined the others in the lounge.

  “I wish I brought my suitcase of books,” I commented as we ate. “I had a number of empty journals and I would like to start documenting as much of the island as I can until we resume our journey home.” My mind was already filled with images of leather-bound volumes lining the shelves of libraries across the world. The Island of Capribo: A Historical and Cultural Exploration by Phillip Laurence. I smiled at the thought.

  “If these people are willing to help us,” Travert grunted between bites. “I don’t like our circumstances one bit. There’s something about this place that doesn’t feel quite right.”

  Lady Pearson picked at her plate and nodded. “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” she warned. “We’ve been treated like honored guests, but I have a suspicion there will be a price to pay for all this.”

  “I always imagined lost worlds to be filled with savages, cannibals, and the like,” Ella remarked. “At least these are a more refined people. Indeed, they excel our own achievements in some respects!”

  “I admit, this is not at all what I would have expected,” I confessed. “But I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that one area of advancement could have superseded another. Perhaps they simply lost the art of shipbuilding, just as we lost many of our own ancient advancements during the dark ages.”

  “Regardless, how could countless ships traverse the sea without landing, or even spotting, an island of this size?” Travert questioned.

  “My friends, please!” Father Daniel interjected with a smile. “God has presented us with an incredible opportunity.” We looked up quizzically at the priest, who appeared perfectly content in our exotic surroundings. Even his naturally slim and pale face appeared flushed and animated. “Don’t you see?” he continued. “There are almost a million people living here. Not entirely uncivilized, to be sure, but a race which lacks the greater knowledge that we can offer. I believe we are here as messengers, conveyors of the faith. Just as the prophets of old, we can set up mission in this land and provide these people with salvation.”

  I met the gaze of my companions as we processed his words. My family was Christian of course, though, much to the chagrin of my grandparents, I was not a regular practitioner of the faith. The idea of teaching gospel was far from my interests and I could tell the others were likewise put off by the idea.

  “Always the missionary, Father,” Travert finally replied lightheartedly.

  “God works in mysterious ways,” Father Daniel declared, “and judging by that pagan temple we first came across, I doubt his word has reached these shores.”

  “Let’s not be too hasty to assume anything. There is a great deal we don’t know about these people yet,” Lady Pearson murmured.

  “Naturally,” I agreed. “Which is exactly why documentation should be our first priority.”

  “That’s not precisely what I meant,” she went on. “When you have guests over, do you take them to the salon or the servants’ corridors? Believe me, we are only being shown what they want us to see. It’s all well and good for now, but there is much more here than meets the eye.”

  We all looked down at our plates and continued to eat in silence. Her words echoed the numerous befuddling experiences I have already had on the island, including the vision in the corridor just minutes prior. Despite my enthusiasm, I instinctively knew she was right.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Now if you’ll all excuse me,” I stated at the conclusion of our meal, “I would like to explore some of this tower prior to our dinner summons.”

  “But…” Father Daniel sputtered, “suppose they don’t want us poking around. I don’t want to risk offense.”

  “I quite agree,” Lady Pearson piped up. “I certainly wouldn’t expect to see one of my houseguests trudging around the mansion unsupervised.”

  “Not to worry, I shan’t venture far,” I pacified them. “I’m simply curious about the architecture of this building. If anything, they should find it a compliment that I have taken such an interest.”

  “May I join you?” Rémy requested excitedly.

  “Of course,” I replied and we made our way from the table. “We will be b
ack in no time.”

  “Just be sure to fill us in on any discoveries,” Ella encouraged with a smile. I flashed her a grin and nodded.

  I carefully opened the ornate lounge door and glanced down the corridor. Empty. Rémy and I stepped out quietly and I clicked the door closed behind us. I could see the arched entryway to the staircase down the hall, with an identical opening at the other end, presumably to a mirrored stairwell. Rémy instinctively began walking toward the opening we had come from but he stopped when he saw that my eyes were drawn to the segment of limestone paneling before me.

  “What is it?” he asked in French.

  “I’ll tell you in confidence,” I began, “because I know you would not consider me senseless,” and I quickly recounted my observations of the odd light and the secret passage within the wall.

  His eyes went wide as he listened to my recollection. “And it was right here?”

  I nodded and we began feeling the wall before us, but it was as cold and solid as any other stone. The doorway was concealed well. The square panels of polished limestone were organized into a grid, making it impossible to detect where the crevices surrounding a door might otherwise have broken the arrangement. The smooth panels were broken every two dozen feet by ornamented half-columns of darker stone.

  “The light came from this area,” I indicated the dark stone, which I fathomed to be granite. It was intricately chiseled with a pattern I had never seen before. Flowing lines were carved into the column so that it appeared wrapped in many narrow ribbons. We were examining the unique design when we spotted it. Nestled among the carvings was a perfect black square, flat and unornamented.

  “It doesn’t even look like stone,” Rémy pointed out, his face mere inches from the mysterious shape. It was perfectly smooth without any natural grain and it was not as reflective as the granite surrounding it. I reached out to touch it, but the young boatman quickly grabbed my hand. “No!” he whispered. “Suppose it opens the doorway, what do we say to the people within?”

  “Suppose the passage is empty,” I countered, “and we have a better understanding of what these people are capable of.”

  He thought about it for a moment, his blue eyes darting between the black square and the hidden doorway. “I don’t think we should risk it,” he admitted.

  I lowered my hand. “Perhaps you’re right,” I gave in reluctantly.

  I kept true to my word and Rémy and I did not venture far; we only climbed two additional floors. Each landing presented us with a set of hallways identical to those on our floor, though marginally shorter as the cone of the tower narrowed above us. The ceilings were very high throughout, stretching about twelve feet from floor to ceiling. Without a journal for documentation, all my senses became devoted to intense observation. It was on our return descent that I spotted a pattern in the carvings above the arched doorways in the stairwell.

  “These symbols may not be merely decorative, but numerical,” I pondered aloud, examining the reliefs. “The two opposite each other are always nearly identical, but they look very different from the set above, and the set above that. They could designate the story we are on.”

  Rémy examined the carving. “But if the island has been in isolation for millennia, wouldn’t they use Roman numerals?” he inquired.

  “Not necessarily,” I explained. “Every culture had a different number system and they changed many times. Our modern numerals only became widely known throughout Europe four hundred years ago. Everything on this island has evolved in isolation.” In short, I realized, we could not assume anything about these people.

  I left the apartment in the pursuit of answers but found myself returning with even more questions. The others were naturally curious and we informed them of our trivial discoveries but made no mention of the hidden passage for the time being.

  My shipmates and I passed the remainder of the afternoon in recuperation. We were all heavily fatigued from the day’s events, myself in particular due to the interrupted slumber of the previous night, and so we decided to retire before dinner. I was not a man for mid-day naps, but the sight of the large bed filled me an immediate craving to revive my faculties.

  Despite its already-disheveled appearance, I did not wish to further soil my shirt before dining with the King, and so I took it to the bathing room to rinse out the more prominent stains. I could only guess where our provisions trunk had been taken, and even the spare clothing there would be creased to high heaven. I hung the shirt to dry on a wall hook.

  My parched mouth called me back to the lounge and, seeing no one at the table, I proceeded to pour myself some water from an elegant metal pitcher. I was taking a sip and nearly dropped my cup when I spotted Ella standing beside the large window. She looked in my direction but the sight of my exposed torso quickly darted her eyes away in embarrassment.

  “Forgive me,” I mumbled, spilling some of my water. “I thought everyone had left.”

  “No, please continue,” she giggled, her eyes fixated on the horizon.

  I put my water down and awkwardly made my way across the room. “It’s a splendid view,” I muttered, feeling heat in my cheeks.

  “It is,” she replied melodically. “The entire island is so picturesque.”

  I stood there for a few moments gazing at her stylish silhouette against the backdrop of blue and green. Her elegance and charm grew more attractive every time we had the chance to speak.

  “Well, I suppose I should retire,” I finally stated.

  “Yes, it has already been a very long day.” She stole another glance at me and smiled. “Pleasant dreams, Mr. Laurence.”

  “You too,” I stuttered, and proceeded into my bedroom.

  Rémy looked up from his bed when I entered. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You’re positively flushed!”

  “I had an encounter with Lady Ella in the lounge,” I informed him. “Like this.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve developed a crush!”

  “Who wouldn’t?” I stated rhetorically, realizing it confirmed his suspicion. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just get some rest.”

  “Sure,” he laughed. “But if you must know, I think she likes you too.” He then turned around with a smirk and closed his eyes.

  “What do you mean?” I probed.

  “Let’s just get some rest, Phillip,” he echoed mockingly. I sighed and realized my slumber may yet again be interrupted, though the thoughts would be of a more pleasant nature this time.

  I was gratefully wrong, for I awoke fully refreshed and exhilarated. I glanced at my watch, nearly five o’clock. The sun would be setting soon. I saw that Rémy’s bed was empty but he entered the room just as I was propping up.

  “Oh good, you’re awake,” he acknowledged. His skin gleamed with moisture and he had a towel around his waist. He carried his dirty clothes in a heap under his arm. We were both slim men, but I admired his physique. The manual labor aboard a ship defined his muscles well, much more than my work spent in front of dusty old books. In spite of his golden locks, his chest was covered in a fine carpet of dark curly hairs. “The others are all finished bathing,” he stated. “I was just about to wake you so you can do the same.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I was thinking,” he began shyly, “that I might wear a native outfit to dinner.” He opened one of the drawers of the dresser and looked up to read my reaction. I saw that it was filled with neatly folded tunics.

  “Yes, my clothes are rather dirty too,” I admitted, “but I wouldn’t be comfortable in such a foreign fashion.”

  “Oh, come Phillip,” he pleaded. “They may expect us to change. And I would much rather don a fresh garb after all the sweating, bleeding, and traveling I did in this one. I’d look silly being the only one.”

  “I’ll think about it while I rejuvenate,” I promised.

  I took a hurried bath in water that smelled of roses and mint, which seemed to revive my mind as much as my body. I examined my shi
rt on its hook after I dried off and found that much of the grass and dirt did not wash off. Despite my initial hesitation, I realized Rémy’s idea may indeed be the better one. He was already sporting one of the tunics when I reentered our bedroom, a form-fitting pastel purple garment which ended just above the knees, with white trousers underneath. A pair of leather sandals and a matching belt completed the outfit. He gave me a pleading look and I nodded.

  Our hosts proved to be forward-thinking, for our wardrobe was supplied with clothing and accessories of varying sizes. I found a pair of white trousers and a light green tunic which suited me well. Rémy and I now looked one with the masses. I examined the apparel closely and discovered that what had looked like one segment of fabric from a distance was actually a meticulously sewn garment made of a multitude of fitting pieces. Even the golden leather belt and sandals were adorned with metallic details which were only appreciated at close range. The construction was remarkable, and the ensemble once again echoed the carvings on the great temple. The sunset trumpet blew its call just as I finished dressing.

  “Good heavens!” Lady Pearson exclaimed when Rémy and I entered the lounge. “You can’t possibly attend dinner in that.”

  “With all due respect, Lady Pearson,” I retorted, “the fashions of our world have no existence here.”

  “Nevertheless…” Travert gawked, letting the word hang.

  I could tell by his dour expression that Father Daniel likewise disapproved of the garments, but Ella renewed my confidence with a smile.

  Etia Sarmia knocked and entered the lounge. She had changed into a rosy coral tunic and a circlet of small white flowers decorated her hair. One of her arms was covered by a large piece of semi-transparent white silk. Her hair had been twisted into sharply-angled curls at her sides, accentuating her already prominent features. She looked upon all of us warmly but beamed when she saw Rémy and me.