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.
The great bass drum of thunder sounded again, as he thought what to do. Then an idea came to him as he looked at the rough wood beams cast up on the far embankment. He made his way over to them, taking hold of a thick log and dragging it off the embankment into the pool of water. It had an amazing buoyancy for its weight, and bobbed easily on the surface of the water once he had it afloat. Perhaps he could use the thing as a great ram to strike the wooden pegs and force open the hatchways on the lock. Could that be the reason these logs were kept here?
He was getting ready to thrust the log ahead of him as a ram, but paused a moment. Studying the pegs again closely. There was something he was missing. The log could not strike the pegs, for it was still well below them… but that would change as the water continued to rise in this pool in the minutes ahead. It suddenly occurred to him that the hatches might not open like doorways, but rather like windows, sliding upward. He squinted at the overhead ceiling and saw a series of depressions in the stony roof, each aligned with one of the pegs. Yes! The hatches slid upward, he was sure if it now, but how to move them?
The log had something to do with it all, but what? The log…the log…the log! The answer came to him and he quickly repositioned the log until it was parallel to the face of the lock. Now he guided it into place, just below the horizontal line of pegs, taking the rope coiled about the pegs and lashing it to the beam. Could it be this simple, he thought? The water would rise, and the log would rise with it, until it struck the pegs and slowly raised them. The hatches would open, sliding upward, ever so slowly, and more water would be added to the pool, increasing the upward pressure.
He wondered if the logs would have enough buoyancy to prevail against the sluice gates. Something told him that this was a carefully balanced system, and that counterweights must be involved. Just for good measure, he dragged another log into the water and lashed it to the first. Now the buoyancy of two logs would press against the pegs as the water rose. When he finished he was cold, and soaked to the bones. He wanted nothing more but to reach the safety of dry land above, and made his way toward the torchlight.
But what have I
done, he thought? I’ve rigged the lock to open the sluice gates and flood this entire chamber. Under normal circumstances he could see that it would be a slow, gradual process…but the growl of thunder, and the rain that was sure to follow, made him realize that his death now fell from the storming clouds above. Rain could fill up the watercourse in a sudden flash flood, and the lock would give way under that pressure to flood the whole chamber beyond this point.
Well, he thought, whatever is beyond this point, I suppose it’s time for a look. No sense waiting here for the flood tide. I’ve done my best. There’s no sense trying to backtrack at this point either. I’d never make any headway against the stream. If there’s a way out of here, I must go on from this point and see what lies ahead.
29
He was some time getting up the muddy embankment at the far end of the pool, but he soon dragged himself, breathless, onto a shelf of dry stone.
Kelly looked back for a moment, wondering where the water emptied from the chamber below. It must flow on through another opening in the wall of the chamber, hidden beneath the surface of the pool. If those sluice gates open, however, the flow will be too great. The water will fill the chamber and rise to this level, spilling over to flood … To flood what?
Now his gaze was pulled down a long limestone corridor that led east from this point. The flickering of torchlight moved shadow and light over the walls, illuminating a series of carvings there, in classic Egyptian style. He wished he had time to bone up on the hieroglyphics, for he could make no sense of them at all.
He walked slowly on, his senses keenly aware, until he reached the first guttering torch. It had been doused in a sweet smelling oil, lending a pleasant spicy aroma to the air. Another roll of thunder rumbled in the distance but, as it subsided, a faint clink of metal on stone could be heard. He listened, hearing a steady chink, chink, chink, as if someone was carving, or excavating the chambers ahead.
He walked on, drawn by the sound, his gaze playing over the silent carvings on the walls. Up ahead the corridor opened to a great chamber that stretched up into deepening shadow, and there, hunched against a far wall, was another man in Arabic robes. He was bent over a section of the wall, chipping away with a mallet and chisel by the light of a wavering oil lamp.
Kelly did not know what to do or say, but he stepped gingerly forward, approaching quietly as the man worked at the wall. As he crept closer, he was possessed with the feeling of an intense déjà vu, as if he had come upon this place, this man, before, though he knew that was clearly impossible. Still, the feeling that he knew what was about to happen next was overwhelming, and confirmed when the man suddenly stopped his work at the wall and turned to face him.
“Falaq – The Dawn is come. In the name of God the most gracious, the most merciful. Who seeks refuge with the Lord of the Dawn?” The man looked at him, dark brown eyes above a graying beard, his face lined with the years, cheeks sallow below his thin, yet regal, nose.
Kelly could almost hear the words he would speak next, impossibly, in answer to the man’s question. “I… I seek refuge…”
“Refuge from the mischief of created things,” the man answered. “From the mischief of darkness as it overspreads, and from the mischief of those who practice secret arts…” There was a glint in his eye, the hint of a smile.
Kelly was confused. “You speak English?” he stammered.
“No, that is not my native tongue,” said the man. “But you speak it, and know nothing of the true voice, and so I meet with you on ground that may be more familiar to you, for I have been waiting here this morning, expecting your coming at the edge of the storm, as it was foretold to me.”
“Foretold? What do you mean?”
The man smiled, the lines of his face stretching as he did so. “Look about you,” he said, gesturing with a thin arm. “Have you not seen this place before?”
Kelly looked, seeing the high walls carved with hieroglyphics, stretching away into the shadows. The sensation of déjà vu was redoubled, and he had the distinct impression that he had been here, seen all this, spoken with this very man, many times before.
“Yes,” he whispered, not knowing exactly what he meant.
“Yes,” the man returned. “For this is the first place. The first true moment. From here, all things progress forward to become what they must, and here I write it, as it must be told, inscribed upon these walls so that my brothers will know the tale of the ages.”
“The history,” said Kelly. “You are carving the history of all time here on these walls?”
“As I am able.” The man squinted at the torchlight carvings and pointed. “See there, that they call ‘cartouche’ in the modern tongue, each one begins a new sura. But this is the first.”
‘The touchstone,” Kelly whispered. “This is where the messengers come to press their parchments against the wall.”
The man nodded. “And they take away a rubbing of the sura they are charged with, so that they may know the outcomes that are to be desired. So it is that we work our will upon the days, and herd them to some good end.”
“Good end? Perhaps as you may see it,” said Kelly.
“Certainly,” the man agreed. “But how else can I see it? Each man sees what he wishes. But it is not my will that must prevail. The world belongs to Allah, blessed be his name, and I am merely his servant.”
“Oh, of course,” said Kelly, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Tends to relieve you of the burden of guilt, eh? You were speaking of mischief a moment ago, the mischief of those who practice secret arts. Don’t tell me you are blameless in that.”
“No,” said the man, “I will not be so arrogant, my friend. I am as guilty as any man that ever lived, though the only arts I practice are those I can work with this hammer and chisel. Yet I know that with every stroke of my hammer, a legacy is set down that will decide the fate of billions. It is a terrible burden, yet I must bear it. And you? You have come here to make an end of this place, have you not? Yes…you have lashed the beams to the gate in the passage below, and the waters are rising. You have come to set the tempest of the dawn upon the beast that has hidden this chamber for millennia.”
Kelly was troubled. “How could you know that? You saw me? I don’t understand…”
“Oh, but you do understand. That is why you greeted me with a knowing glance…why this place is familiar to you, why all of this seems as if it has been lived before.”
“You’re telling me that I have been to this place, and spoken with you before?” Even as he asked the question Kelly knew the answer himself. This was the beginning of all places, the Prime Meridian. To this point in time all things owed homage. Every generation would bow to the lion of stone that guarded this place. He had a sudden vision of the image of a sphinx, imprinted on a silver coin, as if to commemorate the sacred significance of this place and time. And the coin was in his hand, an ordinary silver piece that he might use for pocket change. He could not make any sense of the memory, but he was certain of it.
The man turned to him, with real warmth in his eyes. “The first time we spoke of the dawn when you questioned me about the sura I quoted at our greeting. I can see you are confused. Do not worry. This place—this time—has but two possible outcomes. Either you succeed in your quest, and this place is destroyed, or you fail, and we live on. You are experiencing a moment of dissonance, that is all. The echoes of each possible outcome join together now to create this moment in your experience. Come… we have so little time together. Will you not walk with me? We will go out and greet the dawn, and perhaps, if you are willing, we might offer a morning prayer of thanks, as all men should do when they are given a moment like this one.”
He started away, gesturing for Kelly to join him, and Kelly felt himself pulled along, as if by an irresistible curiosity.
“Then you knew I was coming… You expected me.”
“Yes, this time, at least. And we have set aside the logs and closed the lock on the hidden stream. Res
t assured, your death does not await you within these chambers as you feared. That possibility has been closed…”
“What do you mean?”
“The first possible outcome—that you should succeed and the flood comes upon us here: I have seen it as well. I still recall the image of your face and voice in the hall of records when the waters came, and how we clung to one another when the torrent came upon us. Thankfully Salim was at hand at that very moment.”
“Salim?”
“Yes, one of our messengers. He was here to make his delivery of the fourth age, and set to leave just when you arrived. So it was that he returned with knowledge of all that you would work here. It was all in play, you see, his coming and going at that moment. And so it was meant to be this way all along. The other side strives mightily, but here we are once more, taking this long walk through the heart of the beast, out to greet the dawn. Oh yes, forgive me, I have not told you my name, though I am sure you may already know it.”
Kelly knew the man now.
“You are Hamza,” he said, the word appearing in his mind as he reached for it. “You are the keeper of records, the Scribe, the maker of days that are set in stone.”
“You remember!” Hamza beamed with delight. “I told you my name as we clung to one another before the end—in that other time, the possibility we have ended once and for all.”
They walked through a low arch, and Kelly could discern the gray light of dawn ahead of them. Soon they were up a long flight of rough hewn stones and out of the Sphinx, emerging from a nook near his right hind leg. The cold rain fell upon them, and the wind played with their robes.
“The tempest is upon us,” said Hamza. “This is no place to pray but, if you could see far enough, that is the way to Mecca, or at least the place where Mecca will rise up in ages hence.
Touchstone (Meridian Series) Page 25