The Spirit Well be-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “Of course, dear heart. That happened to me last Thursday.”

  Cass could hear him move across the room and settle into his big leather chair.

  “So tell me about it. What’s turned your world upside down?”

  “Not just my world, Dad,” Cass told him. “Everybody’s world. In fact, the entire universe has come unhinged, or disconnected, or-I don’t know what. It’s just so weird. It’s inexplicable.”

  “Well”-his laugh was a soothing sound, gentle and familiar“ you’re going to have to try, or we’re not going to get very far.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know how to explain.”

  “Okay.”

  She could hear him putting on his scientist hat.

  “Don’t analyse anything, just start at the beginning. And don’t skip anything. What are we dealing with?” At her pause, he added, “Don’t think-just speak. Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

  “You know the vortexes?” she asked. “The famous Sedona Vortexes?”

  “I’m familiar with the term-from what you’ve told me I assumed it was nothing but a racket hyped up by the locals to bring in the tourist trade-exploitative hooey.”

  “I suppose… ” Cassandra sighed.

  It was true; the Sedona Vortexes had been tarred with the tired old brush of New Age claptrap. Whatever the scientific legitimacy-if there was even a molecule of fact in the concept-the enterprise was now the hobbyhorse of aging hippies, earth goddess devotees, wannabe mystics, and assorted kooks, quacks, and fraudsters. Whether they existed or not, vortexes were grand for the Sedona economy: everything from Vortex Jeep Rides and Vortex Helicopter Tours to Vortex Psychic Readings and Vortex Energised Jewellery was to be had for a nifty price.

  “Are we talking about the same thing?” her father asked.

  “Yes, but something happened today-something really weird. I guess you’d call it a natural phenomenon-but of an order I have never seen before.”

  “Excellent!” Before she could respond, he rushed on. “Now, where were you? What were you doing when you observed this phenomenon?”

  She explained about her routine, the dig site, what she was doing, and went on to describe following Friday into the canyon. When it came to what happened next, she faltered.

  “Yes, yes, go on,” her father urged. “Don’t think, just blurt it out.”

  “You know how all your buddies are always talking about those extra dimensions of the universe?”

  “Mathematical dimensions, yes.”

  “Well, what if they weren’t merely mathematical?” She took a breath and then plunged in. “Dad, I think I travelled to a different dimension.”

  This admission was met by silence on the other end of the line.

  “Dad? Still there?”

  “You mean… ” he began, then paused and started again. “Exactly what do you mean?”

  “Only that one second I was in the canyon being pelted by sand and wind and rain, and the next I was… Dad, I was standing on an alluvial pan of volcanic cinders-no canyon, no cacti, no nothing- only lines stretching to the horizon in every direction.”

  “Define lines,” her father said after a moment.

  “Lines-you know. Like someone had taken a snow shovel and dug a shallow trough through the cinders across the plain, but not arbitrary or haphazard. These lines were absolutely straight, and they went on for miles.”

  Again there was silence. Finally he said, “Was it hot today? I mean, hotter than usual? Are you drinking enough water out there?”

  “Dad,” Cassandra said, exasperation edging into her tone, “I am a seasoned pro-I don’t get sunstroke. Okay? You think I was hallucinating?” Her voice rose higher. “It was not an hallucination or food poisoning or malaria. I’m not having my period. It was real. It happened.”

  “I wasn’t judging you, Cass,” he protested. “I’m on your side. But we have to examine every possibility. Rule things out.”

  “You’re right,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the more I think about it, the more rattled I get. At the time it was weird enough, but now… ”

  “You said Friday was with you. You followed him and met him in this other dimension, and then what?”

  “He said I shouldn’t be there, and he brought me back.”

  “How did he do that?”

  She paused to consider. “He turned us around, and we just started walking… the wind kicked up… some dust blew in my eyes, and everything got a little hazy… I felt the rush of wind on my face

  … and then it started to rain. When I looked up we were back in the canyon.”

  “The same canyon as before?” her father asked.

  “Right. The same one-they call it Secret Canyon,” she said, and paused. “That’s all. That’s what happened.”

  “Any physical symptoms? Anything at all?”

  “I got a little seasick-queasy, dizzy, and a terrific headache. All that passed pretty quickly. Besides getting windblown and spattered from the rain, nothing else.”

  “Was Friday there too?”

  “Yes, he brought me back, as I said,” Cass confirmed. “I tried to get him to explain what happened, but he was very elusive about it. He kept saying it wasn’t for me-I took that to mean for white folk in general, not just myself in particular-and he used all these Native American names for things. He called it the Ghost Road and Coyote Bridge-things like that. He said we had visited the Spirit World.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  “You do believe me-don’t you, Dad?”

  “Of course I believe you, Cass,” he said, his voice full of confidence and assurance. “What is more, I think this worthy of more extensive investigation. I think I’d better come out there.”

  “Dad, you don’t really-”

  “We need to test it, document it. I’ll bring some instruments.” He paused. “I wish your mother were here. She would be in her glory.”

  Cass could hear him thinking.

  “Can you find this place again?”

  “Sure, no problem. But, listen, I was thinking that-”

  “Good. Don’t do anything until I get there. Not a thing. I’ll catch a flight out tomorrow afternoon. Can you get me a room where you’re staying?”

  “Yes, but-Dad, I’m not sure this is such a good idea-”

  “It’s settled then. I’ll see you soon, sweetie. Now, don’t mention this to anybody. Okay? You haven’t, have you?”

  “No-just you.”

  “Thing is, dear heart, the last thing we need is a bunch of amateurs and nutcases poking around, making things difficult. From what you tell me Sedona is full of those.”

  “Do you really think-?”

  “Good-bye, Cassie. I’ve got some phone calls to make. Don’t do a thing until I get there. Love you!”

  Click. The line went dead.

  “Love you too, Dad.” She held the phone for a moment, then closed the cover and tossed it on the bedside table.

  “Great,” she muttered. Then thought, Well, you dolt, what were you expecting? You wanted to be taken seriously-what did you think that would look like?

  CHAPTER 3

  In Which Kit Contemplates a Miracle

  The cold seeped up through the frozen ground into the very marrow of his bones as Kit lay shivering in the snow. He had the feeling that he had been curled in a slowly chilling heap for days, if not longer-though it could only have been a few minutes at most. Move, he told himself, or freeze where you lie.

  Slowly, slowly Kit rolled onto his side and looked around. His head ached and his muscles were stiff, and he was back: back in the forest clearing, back in the dead of winter, back in the prehistoric past. The sky was overcast and dark; silent snow sifted gently down from the low, heavy clouds, softening the contours of the Bone House. Constructed entirely of interlocked bones-great, curving mammoth tusks; the antlers, spines, and pelvises of elk, buffalo, antelope, and pigs; at least one rhino’s skull; innumerable ribs and leg bones of lesser cre
atures; and who knew what else? — all intertwined in a crazy jigsaw pattern that formed a gently mounded dwelling that was somehow more than the sum of its disparate parts.

  Set in the centre of a circular clearing deep in the forest, the odd igloo-shaped hut exerted an undeniable force-an earthy, primitive power like magnetism or gravity, subtle but palpable. The mere sight of the structure brought the vision back in all its splendour: he had seen the Spirit Well, and in some way he could not yet fathom, nor even begin to describe, he knew his life had changed.

  He closed his eyes so that he could relive it all again from the beginning. First, he had been inside the Bone House, holding the ley lamp and feeling it grow warm in his hand as it became active; he saw again the little lights shining blue and bright in the weird half-light of the Bone House. Then, inexplicably, he had plunged through the snowpacked floor and into a realm of dazzling light and warmth, a realm of breathtaking clarity where even the smallest objects possessed an almost luminous radiance. His first impression was of a world of such beauty, peace, and harmony that it sent a pang of longing through his heart. Reeling from the almost intoxicating tranquillity, Kit had stumbled along a path lined with plants and trees of exquisite proportion in colours so vivid it made his eyes ache. Every leaf of every tree and plant seemed to shimmer with vitality, every blade of grass radiated the same energy of unquenchable life. Kit walked through this lush and verdant woodland garden in a state of rapt wonder, eventually reaching the edge of a lake unlike any he had ever seen before: an expanse of translucent crystalline fluid with a slightly viscous quality, like that of olive oil or syrup; it gave off a faintly milky glow, its smooth ripples shimmering with the restless energy of living light.

  He remembered reaching out to touch that miraculous substance.. and then… something had happened… What?

  The creak of a nearby branch, cold and bending with snow, brought him back to the present reality of ice and cold and prowling predators; brushing clots of snow from his furs, he stood and shuffled forward, dropped to his hands and knees before the tunnellike entrance of the bony hut, and crawled inside. The interior was sunk in gloom, but relatively warm-at least warmer than the clearing outside-due no doubt to the radiating presence of its sleeping occupant. On impulse, Kit reached out to the reclining form of En-Ul. The aged primitive was warm to the touch and stirred under his hand. The Old One was still alive, and still dreaming time.

  The term was Kit’s attempt to translate a concept that he could not exactly define-a sort of mystical meditation or prophetic journey that involved time in some way. Then again, maybe it was something else altogether.

  Kit settled himself beside En-Ul and tried once more to reconstruct what had happened to him. After dropping through the floor of the Bone House and making the leap into the unknown, he had followed a sunlit, leafy trail through the paradise world as through a garden of delights, eventually discovering the Spirit Well. Something had happened there. At the mystical pool he had seen Arthur Flinders-Petrie and… something so incredible that even now it seemed to cast a magical glow over him-if he could only remember what it was.

  Concentrate! he told himself. What did you see?

  Pressing cold hands to his head, he squeezed his eyes shut, and into his mind came the image of his own feet on that otherworldly path

  … walking swiftly, almost running-away from the pool of light, retracing his steps… and then he felt himself falling, his foot catching something in the path-a vine maybe, or the root of a tree.. falling hard, hitting his head…

  Kit reached a hand to the back of his skull and felt a tender goose egg there. Yes! He had fallen and struck his head. Of course! That proved it was no dream. He had been there; he had witnessed a miracle. That was it! He had witnessed a miracle of rebirth, or resurrection.

  Instantly, memory snapped sharp and focused once more; his mind filled with clear, precise images. He saw again the wondrous pool; a movement at its edge had warned him to take cover amongst the foliage. He withdrew into the shadows, and Arthur Flinders-Petrie had appeared at the edge of the pool carrying the body of a woman. The woman, clearly dead, had been restored to life by the vivifying waters of that extraordinary pool. Cradled in the arms of Arthur Flinders-Petrie, her corpse had been carried into the water, emerging a moment later fully alive. Kit had seen it with his own eyes, the same eyes that now misted at the thought that the beautiful world he had found was now lost again.

  The memory of that wonder so fleetingly glimpsed and experienced filled him with a longing of such intensity he could hardly breathe. Kit slumped back, holding his throbbing head and feeling immensely sorry for himself until it occurred to him that what had been discovered once could be discovered again. Why not? The first time had been by accident; he had not even been searching. The Well of Souls had found him, so to speak. This time, he would find that miraculous pool and plunge himself into its living, healing water.

  With that in mind, Kit fished the ley lamp from its place in the interior pouch he had sewn into his deerskin shirt. Wilhelmina’s curious brass gizmo was dark now; the little row of holes that glowed bright blue in the presence of telluric activity were black and empty. From this Kit knew the ley portal that had opened to allow him to pass to the other world was no longer active. Just to be sure, he waved the device around the interior of the Bone House. The lamp remained a dark, cold, unlit lump of cast metal. The sense of loss sharpened at the realisation that he would not be able to return to the Spirit Well-at least not yet, not until the ley or portal opened once more. He stuffed the instrument back into the pouch; he would try again later. Resigning himself to waiting, Kit settled back and, listening to the slow, easy rhythm of the sleeping En-Ul, was soon dozing.

  In his dreamy state Kit let his mind roam where it would, and it soon wandered to Wilhelmina. He wondered what she was doing. Was she still searching for him? Did she fear for his safety? As for himself, he had no such fears. He had found a place among the River City dwellers and, aside from the lack of a few obvious creature comforts, Kit was not only surviving but thriving. In fact, in ways he could not have predicted, he was content. He still wanted to go home, eventually, but for now it seemed right to stay. If this was meant to be, he could accept that.

  Thinking of Wilhelmina tirelessly searching for him stirred in Kit a desire to somehow reassure her that he was safe and was content to wait, however long it might take. “I’m okay, Mina,” he murmured as he nodded off. “Don’t worry. Take your time. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Kit dozed on and off for a while. When he stirred again, it was darker inside the Bone House than before. He yawned and stretched and looked around, then saw that he was being watched.

  “You are awake, En-Ul,” he said aloud, holding in his mind the image of a man waking up.

  The Ancient One gave the customary satisfied grunt that Kit associated with assent, and in his mind’s eye Kit saw the clan sitting by a fire eating meat… followed by the image of an empty mouth opening wide.

  “You are hungry?” asked Kit, rubbing his stomach in a pantomime gesture for hunger. “Shall we go back to the camp?” He mimed walking with his fingers against his palm and then pointed in the vague direction of the gorge.

  Again came the grunt of affirmation, and the old chieftain made to rise. Kit helped him sit up. “We can take it slow,” he advised, forming a mental picture of this thought. “There is no hurry.”

  They sat in silence for a time, and then En-Ul moved to crawl out of the hut. Kit followed and emerged in the early twilight. A snowsoftened hush lay upon the forest. He could hear the soft plop of clumps falling from the branches of the trees around them. The air was crisp and tasted of pine. Kit drew a deep breath into his lungs and exhaled, feeling the icy tang on the back of his tongue. En-Ul stood for a moment, gazing around, listening, then turned and began the trek back to the gorge and the safety of the rock ledge where the clan waited.

  Night came upon them long before they reached the valley flo
or; Kit saw torchlight winking through the trees on the trail leading to the limestone escarpment, and they were soon greeted by members of River City Clan who had come out to welcome them. Once again Kit experienced the uncanny sixth sense of these primitive people; he thought of it as a sort of mental radio that allowed them to communicate with one another instantaneously and over considerable distance. They might have had the vocal acuity of bright toddlers, but telepathically they were wizards.

  Their looks, too, were highly deceptive. A casual observer might reasonably surmise that the typical River City Clan member was a shaggy, lumbering specimen, slow of foot and apprehension, a hulking, ham-fisted brute utterly lacking all human refinements. In actual fact, they were agile and lithe, possessing a peculiar grace all their own. They could move through their forested world in complete silence and near invisibility; they knew how to avail themselves of every source of food on foot, wing, or root; they possessed the gentleness, patience, and long-suffering tolerance worthy of saints. They would never be mistaken for elegant; their stocky, muscular build, thick limbs, and broad bodies were not designed for dance, but for endurance. Shaggy they were, true, but in the months Kit had been with them he was no less hairy; in many ways life was simpler without scissors.

  The clansmen were glad to see them; with much patting and pawing and grunts of satisfaction, the two sojourners were gathered back into the fold. To Kit it felt like a genuine homecoming; he had a place among these people, yes, but in light of his experience at the Well of Souls, he could not help thinking it was something more-that he had some more definite purpose here. What that purpose might be eluded him at the moment, but the feeling was real and inescapable.

  The words of Sir Henry came back to him: No such thing as coincidence.

  Despite all that had happened to him, or maybe because of it, Kit could accept that at face value, thinking, I am meant to be here. Now all he had to do was figure out why.

  The welcome concluded, the greeting party led them back to the winter quarters. The soft flutter of the burning brands and the soft squeak of snow beneath feet swaddled in bearskin were the only sounds to mark their passing. They moved along the river’s edge, now iced over, the snow-covered humps of stones creating a lumpy field; they trooped up the narrow passage along the wall of the gorge to the generous rock ledge that was the clan’s winter home. By the time they tumbled into camp once more, Kit was chilled all the way through. A wide, flat space on the lip of the ledge had been given over to a sizeable campfire, which was kept burning day and night. Sleeping mats made of bundles of dried grass overspread with pelts and furs lay scattered around the perimeter of the fire, and at the back of the ledge two hollows-one for food and one for water-allowed the clansmen to keep ready supplies close at hand.