The Spirit Well be-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “That’s right. We leave one reality and enter another that is on a different time stream-like stepping from one merry-go-round onto another. Maybe one merry-go-round has not made as many revolutions as the other, but everything else is more or less the same.” He considered this for a moment, then said, “I once asked Cosimo whether it was possible for you to meet yourself in another world. You know? Suppose you popped into London and went to your house, knocked on the door, and-Ta-da! There you are meeting yourself face-to-face. Could that ever happen?”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he didn’t know if it could happen, but that it somehow never did,” Kit replied. “It must be that the same person cannot occupy the same reality in two different bodies-something like that.”

  “I went back to London and visited the bakery and my flat. I even went around to your place, but you weren’t there. It was strange, but it didn’t occur to me to wonder if I would meet myself there.” She thought a moment. “So if I went to a place where there was another Wilhelmina, I would… what?” She looked at Kit.

  “I don’t know. But this idea that once we start jumping around in space and time our lives no longer maintain a linear chronology must be tied up with it somehow.”

  “Brother Lazarus is convinced that it all has to do with consciousness,” Mina said. “If that is true, then it might be that you have only one consciousness, and it cannot be in two places at the same time.”

  “So you’ve been coming here and consulting with Lazarus a lot?”

  “He’s the best,” Mina said. “A trained astronomer with a deep knowledge of cosmology and physics-a huge asset. All that, plus he understands ley travel.”

  “I wish I did,” sighed Kit. He regarded Mina thoughtfully for a moment. “I wonder when we’re going to catch up to one another. We have to get synchronised at some point, don’t we?”

  “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.” Her gaze was earnest and sympathetic. “You endured such hardship. I had no idea, or I wouldn’t have sent you there.”

  “Really, it’s okay.”

  “I looked for you every day-for weeks. Why didn’t you just stay put like I told you?”

  “But I did,” Kit insisted. “If I’d waited any longer I would have taken root. I went back every day for as long as I could, but the line never became active again. I waved your little ley lamp around until I was blue in the face, but could never raise a signal.”

  “And here was I thinking you’d just got bored and wandered off somewhere.” Mina regarded him with a sympathetic look. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I feel responsible.”

  “You’re not hearing me, Mina,” he said, force coming once more to his ragged voice. “I count it a privilege to have had the opportunity to spend time with the clan, and to learn what I did. I’d go back there any day.” He smiled knowingly. “Besides, if none of that had happened, I never would have discovered the Spirit Well.”

  “If it is the Spirit Well.”

  “What else could it be? There is no such thing as coincidence, remember?” He turned his gaze to the blue-misted valley stretching into the distance far below their mountain perch. “I used to think that was just something Sir Henry and Cosimo said-one of their little mottos.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I know different.” His eyes lost focus, as if gazing through a window into a wider, more intricate landscape beyond. “Everything happens for a reason. You don’t have to convince me. I’m a believer.”

  Kit fell silent for a moment, lost in contemplation.

  “Tell me again how you found the Spirit Well,” Mina suggested at last.

  Kit nodded, considering how best to explain. “I mentioned the Bone House, remember?” he began.

  “I remember,” she replied. “But I can’t quite picture what it looks like or exactly what it’s for.”

  “Think of an igloo made of the skeletons of prehistoric animals- a huge mound of intertwined bones-and that’ll give you a rough idea. The clansmen carried bones from a kill zone to a clearing in the forest-it’s the dead of winter, right? Then En-Ul-I told you about him, remember? Well, the Bone House was made for him-so that he could go and sleep in it. He called it Dreaming Time-”

  “The Dreaming Time,” repeated Wilhelmina softly.

  “No,” corrected Kit. “Not the Dreaming Time, just Dreaming Time.”

  Mina’s face scrunched up in bewilderment. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. But it seemed that En-Ul went to sleep so that he could dream, and what he dreamed was time.”

  “Like looking into the future, something like that?”

  “Maybe,” Kit allowed with a shrug. “I got the sense that he somehow entered into the flow of time and was able to manipulate it, or create it. Maybe he saw the future and was able to shape it. I don’t know. He was better at reading my thoughts than I was at reading his. Anyway, he took me down there to sit with him while he did it, and while I was there, a ley portal opened up. It registered on your ley lamp. I fell through it and ended up in the most breathtakingly beautiful place I’ve ever seen-definitely not of this world.”

  “The Bone House created the portal?”

  “Either that, or the clansmen built the hut there because they sensed the portal was there.”

  “Just like the mound builders who made Black Mixen Tump,” concluded Mina. “They knew it was there.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Kit. “It seems that primitive humans were far more sensitive to earth energies and things like that than we are.”

  “Which is why they marked them,” suggested Wilhelmina, thinking of the standing stones, wells, dolmens, mounds, crosses, cairns, and such scattered willy-nilly across the whole wide world. “Okay, so you fell through the floor of the Bone House and ended up in this amazing place-what happened then?”

  “I walked around a little, taking it all in, and I came to a pool of light-I don’t mean an area of sunlight in a shadowy place, I mean an actual pool filled with a sort of liquid light-think of honey made of light, or… or…” Words failed him, so he shrugged. “You’ll just have to see it for yourself to understand. I was standing there looking at it when I heard a noise on the other side of the pool.” Once again Kit’s eyes lost focus as he revisited the memory of a miracle.

  “Then what happened?” asked Mina softly.

  “I look up, and this man appears, and he’s carrying the body of a woman…” His voice took on the reverent quality of one reporting a marvellous dream. “She was wrapped in a long white robe and had long black hair; her skin was sickly pale, like grey clay. She was obviously dead in his arms. He comes up to the pool and without a second’s hesitation he simply strides into the pool with the dead woman and sinks down into the liquid light. He keeps walking until they are completely submerged in this syrupy liquid.” Kit shook his head in awe at the memory. “They seem to be under for a long time- but it must have been only a few seconds… you know how time stands still? But then when he surfaces again, the woman is alive.”

  Wilhelmina gave him a sceptical look. “Are you absolutely certain she was dead? You only saw her across the pond-how do you know she was dead?”

  “Mina, she was dead-stone cold dead. You weren’t there. You didn’t see her. But trust me, Arthur was carrying a corpse.”

  “How do you know it was Flinders-Petrie?”

  “Because,” Kit explained, “when he came up out of the pool with her and put her down on the grassy bank, I saw his chest. It was covered with tattoos-the Man Who Is Map, just like in the tomb painting. He was wearing the Skin Map. Mina, he was the Skin Map.”

  “And that’s how you guessed the pool was the Spirit Well?”

  “That’s the first thing that popped into my mind. I remember seeing those symbols and thinking, that’s Arthur Flinders-Petrie at the Well of Souls.” He paused. “It is the Spirit Well, I just know it.”

  Wilhelmina
considered this. “I wonder…”

  “You doubt me?” said Kit. “You think I’m making this up?”

  “No, no,” Mina countered quickly. “It’s just that since we don’t know exactly what the Well of Souls is supposed to be, we can’t say for certain that is what you saw.”

  Kit stood. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll take you there and show you.”

  “Right now, this instant?”

  “Why not? I can easily find my way back.” He gazed down on her with an intensity Mina had never seen in him. “What are you waiting for? If I’m right, we’re this close to solving the mystery of the Skin Map.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, “just pause a minute and let’s think about this. If we have to travel back to the Stone Age, we should have some equipment. Knocking about in a cave in total darkness is not my idea of fun. We should have torches, at least-maybe ropes too, and… I don’t know-a weapon of some sort in case things get sticky?”

  “Sure. Whatever,” agreed Kit. “Then you’ll go with me?”

  “Yes, and we’ll take Brother Lazarus with us.”

  “Fine.”

  “Right. So, as soon as he gets back we’ll start assembling the things we need. It will take a bit of time to get everything, and anyway, if this is as important as we think it is, then it is worth doing right.”

  Kit had to admit that she had a point, and in any case there was nothing to be gained by arguing about it, so he let it slide. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said, taking his seat again. “I saw Baby-the cave lion? — I saw it in the cave. In fact, it sort of led me out.”

  “You followed it?” Mina regarded him askance. “Brave man.”

  “I didn’t know I was following it at the time,” conceded Kit. “I lost my light and then heard the chink of the chain and moved towards the sound.”

  “You’re sure it was Baby?”

  “Positive. That chain.”

  “All the more reason to take a weapon with us,” Mina concluded. She thought for a moment, then asked, “These cave paintings-are you sure you can find them again?”

  “Pretty sure. Why?”

  “Because we can copy the symbols in the cave and test them against those on our piece of the map.”

  “But we may not need the map anymore,” Kit pointed out. “I can find the Spirit Well again without the Skin Map.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Mina said. “I’m all for it. But we don’t know that the Spirit Well is the great treasure Cosimo and Sir Henry were looking for. It might be something else, something even bigger. In any case, it won’t hurt to spend a few minutes copying the symbols.”

  “So we’ll stop off on the way and make a copy. No problem.”

  Wilhelmina nodded. “Do you think Arthur Flinders-Petrie was really there?”

  “He must have been. How else did those marks get on the wall of that cave?” said Kit. “Either our old buddy Arthur was there and drew them himself, or somebody copied them off his skin.”

  “We still don’t know how to read them,” Wilhelmina pointed out.

  “True,” agreed Kit. “But we may not need them anymore.”

  They talked a little longer, and then Wilhelmina went in to make some more coffee. She was just pouring the first cups when Brother Lazarus returned with the news that he had been granted leave to accompany Wilhelmina and Kit down the mountain to explore the cave.

  “How soon can we leave?” asked Mina.

  “As soon as we have gathered the necessary supplies and equipment,” replied the priest.

  Wilhelmina translated for Kit, who observed, “We don’t need all that much equipment. How long will it take to gather a few torches, some rope, and some drawing paper and pencils?” He thought for a moment, then added, “Can Brother Lazarus get his hands on a camera of any kind? We would need a flash too.”

  Mina and Lazarus exchanged a word. “He says he thinks Brother Michael at the library might have a camera we can borrow. The rest of the equipment shouldn’t take more than a couple hours to scrape together. What kind of weapon are we looking for?”

  Kit considered this. “Nothing fancy. A hunting rifle-something like that.”

  Mina spoke to Brother Lazarus, then said, “We won’t be able to get our hands on one of those at the monastery.”

  “Then we can try in the town,” said Kit. He stretched and stood.

  “It’s nearly eleven,” Mina told him. “I’ve got prayers in an hour, and I am in charge of setting out the service books for vespers this evening.”

  Kit regarded her with a quizzical look. “What are you saying, Wilhelmina? Are you really a nun?”

  “No,” she said, dismissing the comment with a laugh. “But I do try to fit in while I’m here. I have duties.” She rose and faced Kit. “That said, I do find the daily office very meaningful. I don’t like to miss it.”

  “Okay, but-”

  “Listen, let’s take the rest of the day, get all the gear together, and then set out tomorrow morning after Matins and breakfast-how’s that?”

  “Well, if you insist…”

  “A day of rest won’t hurt you.” She smiled. “And you can use the time to get to know Brother Lazarus better.”

  “Fine,” agreed Kit, regarding the smiling cleric. “As you know, my Spanish and Italian are every bit as good as my German. We’ll have a ball.”

  CHAPTER 31

  In Which a Familial Connection Is Forged

  The journey to China had proved a trial of patience and endurance. Schooners, however luxurious-and they were rarely that-might be strong and reliable, but they were slow. Even the swiftest of the new clipper ships took six months or more to reach Hong Kong from Portsmouth, and there was no faster way to make the journey. At least there was no faster way Charles Flinders-Petrie had ever found. Grandfather Arthur might have discovered a ley line connecting Britain to China, but if he had, that was yet another secret he failed to pass along to anyone. The monumental inconvenience of sea travel was one of the main reasons Charles had never made the journey, and the only reason he was making it now was that cruel necessity had forced him from his beloved London garden.

  Now, as the humped back of Hong Kong island slid into view beneath the low clouds hanging over the harbour, it was all Charles could do to refrain from leaping into the sea and swimming the rest of the way to shore. The ship made port a few hours later, and by midday Charles was picking his slow way up the dusty steeps of Wah Fu Road, looking for the house of Xian-Li’s sister. Having shunned the clamour of rickshaw drivers at the harbour for the pleasure of feeling solid ground beneath his feet after so many weeks aboard ship, he was enjoying his exotic surroundings as much as the physical exertion was making him sweat.

  At the top of the hill he stopped and looked about him. The houses in the neighbourhood were oddly out of place-rambling English-style wooden bungalows with steep roofs, deep eaves, and large wraparound porches-built as they were by European businessmen and bureaucrats for families accustomed to suburban sprawl. They were painted white with red trim, and as a concession to climate and decorum, most of the porches and windows were screened with woven bamboo shades. He had never met Hana-Li, but he had the number of the house and, as the widow of a notable government official, she was well known.

  When he had caught his breath he continued on, entering a wide tree-lined boulevard where the houses were larger and set back from the road by green lawns strewn with flower beds and ornamental shrubs tended by barefoot gardeners wearing wide straw hats. At last he came to an iron post at the end of a winding driveway. The post bore a sign with the number forty-three painted in gold. He stood for a moment and gazed at the rambling house, wondering whether he would find a welcome within. There was only one way to find out.

  Charles walked up the drive and mounted the steps to the porch. There was a bell pull beside the door, which he employed, once and then again, and waited until he heard the quick patter of sandals on the other side of the heavy wooden door.
It opened to reveal a sprightly young girl with long black hair, robed in a plain white shift, with simple sea grass slippers on her feet.

  “Hello,” said Charles with a smile. “I have come to see Hana-Li. Is she at home?”

  If his words made an impression on the girl, she did not show it.

  “Do you speak English?” asked Charles.

  The girl frowned, then turned away abruptly and pattered off, leaving the door open. Charles stood on the threshold gazing into the dark interior of a spacious vestibule lined with standing porcelain pots in green and blue. He patted the parcel beneath his shirt and waited.

  In a moment an old woman appeared. Her dove-grey hair was bound in a topknot beneath which a round face, wrinkled as a walnut, expressed a mild curiosity at what had fetched up on the doorstep. Her robe was threadbare and faded, and she carried a dusting cloth in one hand. Taking her for the housekeeper, Charles replied, “I have come to see Hana-Li. Is the lady at home?”

  “She is at home,” answered the woman in careful colonial English with a whistling lisp. “Who wishes to see her?”

  “My name is Charles Flinders-Petrie,” he said. “I am the honourable lady’s great-nephew.”

  “Nephew?” wondered the old woman.

  Charles offered a reassuring smile. “My grandmother, Xian-Li, was her sister,” he explained. “She is my great-aunt.”

  The woman paused to consider this, her quick dark eyes wary of this bold gaijin stranger.

  Charles grew uncomfortable under this scrutiny. “Does Hana-Li live here?” he asked finally. “May I see her?”

  As if making up her mind about him, the old woman opened the door and stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

  “Thank you.” Charles entered the foyer. The room was dark; a red silk rug carpeted the floor, and two potted palms stood at the doorway into the sitting room.

  The old woman gestured toward the second room. “Sit down, please,” she instructed.

  From among the chairs available, Charles chose a low-seated rattan model with a red silk cushion. The old woman remained standing in the doorway, studying him as Charles settled himself.