Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  And, as the full ramifications of immortality struck her, she smiled. For Felicity’s sake…and for her own.

  Chapter 27

  RACHEL NOTICED A CLEFT in the cliff face. It sloped in a way that, being careful and using muscles they didn’t know they had, the university group managed to descend and not need to backtrack to the area with the frightening beasts.

  They reached a flat clearing and were congratulating themselves when Rempart decided to make camp. As the oldest and least fit of the group, he felt ready to drop. He didn’t even help gather firewood, but lay down and soon snored almost as loud as the beastly howls from the forest.

  The others built a fire as Devlin and Melisse began to carve wood into sharp fishhooks. The others joined them, and soon began braiding grass to form fishing lines and weaving thicker grass strands into nets. Their empty stomachs and the chill in the air focused them on their predicament. Once the snows came, how long could they last?

  Constantly sorrow over Brian, a nagging fear for Ted, and worry over the strange creatures and dangerous landscape they would encounter plagued them.

  “I think it's time for a new plan,” Vince said, pushing up his glasses. “We’ve got a long way to go. The weather is turning cold. I say we stay put and build ourselves shelter, find food, and store it to get us through the winter. It could snow any day. We've already woken up to frost. If it snows, and we aren't prepared, we'll die.”

  “Don't say that!” Brandi pressed clenched hands to her temples, memories of the creature that attacked her far too fresh. She began to cry.

  The students turned quiet, fighting their own tears.

  “We don’t have time,” Devlin said, “to find or prepare enough food to make it through the long winter. Once heavy snows hit, the mountain passes won't open until late March or April. That means we’ll be struck here five or six months. I’m not ready for that. We need to keep moving, to hurry.”

  “No way!” Vince clenched his fists. “Don’t you know the dangers out there? Am I the only one who's ever heard stories of this area? About ghosts and old Indian tales of bad things and of people simply disappearing? That’s what happened to us. It’s time you faced it.”

  Rempart, awakened by the bickering, turned to Vince. “You've heard that?”

  “It's a wilderness,” Devlin ranted, exasperated. “People get lost in the wilderness. What else is new?”

  “There's something seriously wrong, and we need to stay put until we figure out just what's going on,” Vince countered. “We can make it safe to stay here. We'll survive this if we all work together.”

  “I'm not staying, Vince,” Devlin announced. “Who wants to travel with me?” He glanced at Rachel and she nodded.

  “That's crazy!” Vince shouted. “You'll get yourselves killed!”

  “Stop it!” Rempart ordered as he rubbed his eyes. “I've listened to both arguments. It's not likely we'll be rescued if we remain in this god-forsaken nothingness. The only prudent thing to do is to head south right now. Surely, we'll find a major roadway before long. There, we'll find help.”

  “What if you don’t?” Vince cried. “What if there’s nothing out there?”

  “You’re being silly. We must all concentrate on making this work. Be positive, and get a good sleep,” Rempart stated, lying back down and turning his back on them. “We'll start out fresh tomorrow morning.”

  “Who made you king?” Vince shouted. He stood, hands on hips, and faced the others. “What's wrong with you people?”

  “Don’t be so stubborn,” Melisse snapped. “Trying to save ourselves is well worth any potential risk.”

  The others agreed with her.

  Vince's face flamed at his idol's rebuke. “Like hell! You'll see.” He stomped away from the camp, angry and embarrassed.

  “I guess I should go get him,” Devlin offered.

  “Leave him alone,” Melisse said. “He can't rush off simply because he doesn't get his way. I suspect he'll realize it soon enough.”

  o0o

  Vince was furious that the others didn't know better than to take chances with winter weather. He'd once been stranded in it as a child. His uncle thought it would be fun to drive out to Silver City, an old mining town south of Boise deep in the Owyhee Mountains. People were warned not to try to reach it in winter, but the interesting and colorful town was worth the trip.

  The sun shone that day, the snow bright, white, and beautiful. They were high in the mountains, the frost-covered dirt road a narrow ribbon whose flatness and width were the only things that distinguished it from the rest of the sparkling white landscape. About five miles from their destination, the weather changed. Out of nowhere, ominous dark clouds gathered and the wind kicked up, harsh and loud. They hadn't thought it would snow that day, but they were wrong. Thick, wet globules of snow and hail pelted the car and made it impossible to tell what was road, and what was not.

  The car went into a slide. Fortunately, it slid toward the hillside and not the drop-off since guardrails were unknown in most of rural Idaho. The car hit a snow bank. Every attempt to get it out caused the wheels to spin, wedging the car even deeper.

  Vince, his uncle, and two cousins walked back toward the paved road some fifteen miles away. Since no one inhabited Silver City in winter, no help would be found there.

  They were pretty sure they would see a car coming their way before long. But they didn't. No other fools were on that road.

  Even as a child Vince was small and somewhat weak, and soon he was exhausted. His mom had dressed him warmly, but he'd forgotten to take the mittens she'd put out for him, and even keeping his hands in his pockets, his fingers were soon numb.

  One of his cousins wore light sneakers, and his toes became frostbitten.

  By nightfall, Vince's mother had grown worried and called the sheriff's office. A deputy found the nearly frozen foursome about seven miles from the paved road.

  Vince never forgot how cold and scared he'd been as the sun had sunk lower on the horizon, and he knew that night would be colder and lonelier than anything he'd ever experienced. He'd had nightmares for weeks thereafter.

  He didn't know what was...

  A sound, something indefinable, all but beyond hearing...

  He jumped to his feet and turned in a complete circle.

  Nothing was there. At least, nothing he could see in the darkness.

  Vince was no fool. He hadn't wandered so far away he couldn't see the glow of the campfire through the firs. Mrs. Norton hadn't raised her son to be an idiot, even though she had raised him alone when his father took off with another woman when Vince was only six years old.

  He thought of a wolf, a bear, or mountain lion, or whatever had carried off Brian, or the monster Brandi swore attacked her and Melisse.

  Vince assured himself he was simply nervous. Perhaps a tiny night creature made the sound. A jackrabbit. Maybe a badger or a beaver. Nothing dangerous would venture close to a campfire.

  In fact, maybe he should return to camp.

  But once there, how could he convince the others not to try to walk back to civilization? If they got caught in a blizzard, it would all be over.

  Silence settled around him. Maybe he should simply tell them about his Silver City experience and remind them how quickly weather in the mountains could change. They all knew it. Well, maybe not Rempart who didn't seem to know anything except what he read in books. But perhaps none had actually experienced it.

  Melisse was the smartest, the most experienced of the lot. She would listen to him. She had to.

  Just then, two shapes moved toward him in the darkness of the pines. The moonlight behind them gave him an idea of their outlines, upright, like great hulking gorillas, or Sasquatch, or men.

  They stopped, held perfectly still, and stared at him.

  Chapter 28

  MICHAEL, JAKE, CHARLOTTE, and Quade made camp. After the shock and horror of what had happened to Ted Bellows, they searched for footprints and found seve
ral that probably belonged to the university group. The footprints headed east. With renewed hope they followed them until it grew too dark to see. Eventually, they fell into a restless, troubled sleep.

  It seemed he had scarcely shut his eyes when Michael awoke to the lute-like sound of a sanxian. The melody sounded beautiful, intriguing. He had to see…

  Quietly, he left his small tent and sleeping bag and walked toward the gentle music. Moon and starlight in a cloudless sky lit the way. Instead of dry, brittle ground, a lush green garden of low grasses, moss, red peonies, and a mulberry tree spread before him.

  With wonder, he continued on. Mist swirled around a pond filled with lotus pods, and by the bank, her back to him, a woman sat on a low bench and lightly strummed a sanxian. She was slender, and wore an emerald green Chinese robe. Gold ribbons and mother of pearl combs held her long, heavy hair in elaborate coils.

  He approached, but the setting made no sense. No placid waters or thick foliage existed in this high, arid land. And it had been night, but now sunshine warmed the day.

  Was this heaven? If so, he was sorry he'd stopped believing in it.

  The woman turned his way. He knew her at once.

  “Come sit by me.” She gave a small bow of the head as she gestured toward a small, second bench nearby.

  He didn't recognize the words she spoke, yet by the time they reached his ears, as if the mists themselves possessed the power to translate, he understood. When he answered in English, the same translation seemed to occur. He sat at her feet. They were tiny, but had not been bound. That practice came many centuries after the Han dynasty. He was thankful she had not been made to suffer. He felt big and clumsy beside her, but her warm smile eased his awkwardness.

  She had a teapot and two Chinese cups at her side. She poured him some tea. He thanked her and took a sip. He tasted it, smelled it, felt its warmth as it slid down his throat. He then set the cup aside. His gaze never left Lady Hsieh. She stared back at him in equal wonder.

  “I’m dreaming,” he said after a while. “That’s the only explanation. But it’s a pleasant dream.” He smiled, as she did. Once again, a sense of connection with this woman, deeper and more profound than anything he'd ever known, jarred him.

  “It's not a dream, but for you, it should be,” she said softly. “I'm not of your world. And yet, you are the only one who can set me free. You have begun, but there is more work to do. Dangerous work.”

  She placed her hand lightly on his forearm. He covered it with his. The skin of her small, delicate hand was softer than the silk she wore. He felt its warmth. “You are real. I can touch you. How can that be?”

  “You've been searching for me. I heard your call. It made me happy,” she said shyly. She spoke as much with her eyes as with her lips. He felt lost in them, the fine lashes, the thin feathery brows that lifted and drew him closer with each word.

  She pulled her hand free, but remained leaning towards him. He noticed the scent of peonies. “After you accomplish your work here, Michael, you must find your way back. That is where you will find what you seek. There is nothing here for you.”

  He could read the sorrow in her eyes and it filled his heart with profound sadness. “What is this place?” he asked.

  “It is a place where time meets.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  She clasped both his hands with hers. “My grandmother taught me the ancient instruction that the alchemist Li Chao Kuin gave to the Han Emperor Wu Ti. I learned to transform the powder of cinnabar to a yellow gold that gave prolonged longevity. With such longevity I lived among the blessed hsien—beings—of the island of P'eng Lai. There, I could not die. That is the Chinese way of alchemy.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand any of it.”

  “I don’t expect you to,” she said with a smile. “But you should know that I did wrong. What is existence without life? Without love? It is torture.” Her dark brown eyes seemed to read his very soul. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. He felt her loneliness because it matched his own. “Be careful,” she pleaded. “There are those who would stop you.”

  “Stop me from what?”

  She dropped his hands. “From destroying this world. Destroying me.”

  Stunned, he refused to listen to such madness. “I would never hurt you.”

  She studied him as if committing to memory every inch of his face. Her tender gaze filled with regret. “How remarkable that you were the one who woke me from my immortal sleep. You are a good man, with a good heart, and”—she blushed—“very pleasing to look at. I wish…” She stopped and sadly shook her head, unable to go on, to say what filled her heart.

  This is madness. He fought against his too sudden, too strong feelings for her. She’s not real. And yet, he wanted nothing so much as to touch her again, to hold her. “Tell me everything,” he whispered.

  She turned as if hearing something that only she could hear. “Time cannot be out of step in this way. It brings too much disorder, too much danger.” She faced him with an intensity that reached his very core. “When the time comes, follow your intuition. It will save you. I'm sorry, so very sorry.”

  The image shimmered then faded, and he found himself standing alone on a scrub-covered hillside in the middle of nowhere. The moon set just beyond the mountaintops. He felt empty inside. Destroy her, she had said. He would as soon destroy himself. “No,” he whispered, then louder. “No!”

  o0o

  Charlotte slept lightly and awakened suddenly. Whether because of a noise outside her tent, or the sudden quiet of the two owls that had been calling and answering all night, she didn't know. She rarely dreamed, yet in this place, she'd done nothing but dream of the dead.

  Thoughts of the men who had been hunting her, who had killed her friends, jarred her into action. She took her gun and crept to the opening of the tent where she peered through the slit.

  And saw Michael.

  He acted arrogant at times, even cocky, with his intelligence and the successes he’d had, but it was almost as if he were putting on a show, a strong face to the world so that people wouldn’t see the real Michael. She could sense that he held locked inside a deep sorrow, perhaps because she had done the same for so many years. Where she had burrowed into a mundane life to avoid facing all she had lost, he did the opposite. He seemed to seek danger in his travels, as if he used them as a means to run from his troubles, or perhaps, to run towards them. And he seemed to do so with little care or concern for the dangers he would face. Perhaps, she thought sadly, even welcoming them.

  She wondered if he would talk to her.

  o0o

  Michael heard his name. He turned to see Charlotte standing outside her tent.

  He spoke quietly so as not to wake the others as he approached. “I couldn't sleep. Strange dreams.”

  “You aren't the only one,” she admitted. “You're trembling.”

  He wasn’t aware of that until she mentioned it. He felt half frozen. She took his hand to draw him into the warmth of her tent. He knelt because the tent was small, and she touched his forehead to check for a fever.

  “I’m not sick,” he said, yet felt oddly comforted by her touch, her concern.

  She sat, cross-legged, and he did as well, then she placed the back of her hand against his cheek. “You feel like ice. Get into the sleeping bag. You’ve got to warm up or you might become ill.” She had him lie down, and eased a corner of the bag over her cold feet and legs.

  “What were you doing out there?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer the question—he wouldn’t know how to. Instead he asked, “Do you believe any of this, Charlotte? A vortex to another time, another place. You're the realist. I want you to tell me I'm dreaming and none of this is real.”

  His words surprised her, and she studied him before speaking. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m not sure.” He stopped himself from saying all he wanted to, how, usually, he felt only emptiness, as if he was
adrift and didn't know how to stop himself. But here, he had found an anchor...and doubted it was real.

  Cold, she slid further into the unzipped sleeping bag with him, turned onto her side, bent her elbow into position and rested her head on her hand. “Tell me what's troubling you, Michael,” she said. There was nothing sexual about her actions, but merely as a one seeking to understand his troubled mood.

  “Do you know what it's like to feel empty inside?” he asked. “To wonder why you go through each day?”

  “Yes, I do,” she admitted. “But I'm surprised to hear you say that. I would have thought you have everything—money, fame, an exciting profession that takes you all over the world, and I'm sure more women than you know what to do with. What more could you want?”

  He answered without hesitation. “Perhaps…to not feel hollow?”

  Her blue eyes met his, and she nodded. She understood.

  He remained silent, however. As much as he wanted to open up, he couldn’t. He wasn’t that way.

  No longer was he trusting, able to “share” or to bare his soul. Once he had been, but no more. Once, he knew a woman—or thought he did—the two of them had grown up together. She knew his family, knew how cold and unfeeling it was, how everyone in it ignored the youngest child. Only with her could he share his deepest secrets and reveal his wildest dreams.

  And still, their ending haunted him.

  He had loved her, but it hadn’t mattered.

  After that, women seemed to come and go in his life. He'd been “in lust” often enough, even to the point of contemplating marriage, but his instincts told him happily ever after didn’t exist for him. Deep-in-the-heart-and-soul love was as alien to him as the galaxy of Andromeda. So he kept traveling as far and as fast as possible…but he couldn't outrun himself.

  Charlotte waited, her expression open, trusting, empathetic. What kind of fool was he? He opened up to a figment of his imagination, and wouldn’t talk to this compassionate woman who had been through so much he should have been the one offering her comfort, rather than vice versa. Sometimes he disgusted himself. He forced himself to speak.