The door of that grand central mausoleum was closed and sealed shut, but the room was not unlit. There were all sorts of various circular electrical lights, kinds they’d never seen before, and their power source was a colossal pendulum, strung from the supports of the ceiling.
It ticked, back and forth, yet with hardly a sound, and the force of its swinging turned a hodgepodge of cogs, of all sizes, like an old grandfather clock, only a clock that instead of telling time made vast amounts of energy, and more energy than that lone disheveled man could ever use.
He sat far away from them, as Timothy tore an already shredded portion of his shirt, to use as a bandage for Barbara���s bloody, but miraculously mending hand.
���Do you think it’s him?��� Barbara asked, through a wince of pain, as Timothy tightened the strip of cloth around her hand.
Timothy nodded a ‘yes’, and said, ���There’s only… [thinking the numbers over in his head], only three people I could think of, in all the galaxy, who could make a machine like that [motioning toward the massive pendulum energy generator]; One of them is dead, one of them is back on Earth, and the last one is Arthur Greyford. If it’s not him, then I’ll give you whatever you like.���
Timothy finished wrapping her hand and the two sat staring at this strange bearded gentleman. He was perched on a boulder near the edge of a naturally occurring spring of water that the central building was built around, and that spread outward from the mausoleum through a series of underground aqueducts. This man, who did not seem especially old, sat in his tattered clothes, fidgeting, and rocking slightly back and forth, like the most nervous host you could imagine.
But once enough time had seemed to have passed to be polite, Barbara interrupted the man’s nervous fidgeting, saying with a loud speaking voice from across the room, ���Thank you. That was awfully nice of you to risk your life to come save us.��� But the man had not seemed to hear her, turning his head from side to side like a child, uncomfortable with his surroundings.
Yet, with no clear response, Barbara leaned over to whisper to Timothy, saying, ���Looks like you’re going to owe me whatever I want.���
���Now, hold on, I’m sure it’s him,��� Timothy replied. And then rising from his own seat, Timothy began to walk toward the man as he spoke these words, ���Hello… My name is Timothy… [and the man began to stare at him as if he’d almost understood the words] and this is Barbara, [now the man’s eyes followed over to Barbara, so that they were almost sure he understood] what’s your name?���
Timothy’s words seemed to agitate him. He grumbled and gargled something unintelligible, and then like words coughed up from inside, from deep within dusty portions of his lungs, the man spoke. ���Aaddam,��� he grumbled.
���Adam?��� Timothy asked, like you would ask a child. And the man’s eyes lit up, happy to be understood.
���Adam?��� Barbara said, questioning, after coming to stand beside Timothy. ���Looks like someone’s going to be owing me whatever I want,��� she said.
���Looks that way, doesn’t it,��� Timothy replied, as they both stared at this man, with his wide open, animal-like eyes.
With a cold wind blowing in her face, and with one hand gripping the rope that tied around her, and with the other clutching her medallion so that it would not fall, Tavora directed Ata back to the place where she had last lost her father’s trail.
Which was an old and nearly covered over set of horse cart tracks, that wound back around toward the town of Bethharbor, and then a newer, fresher set that dug into the newly fallen snow powder, and traveled up the great arching stone bridge. And these same tracks were partially hidden in another hilly and rockier forest, which Ata could only see from above, because the leaves had fallen for the winter.
And as they flew above the forest, every so often Ata would stop to catch his breath, and take a drink from their canteen. Although every time, before Tavora could initiate anything like a normal conversation, Ata would hand her back the container, wiping droplets of cold water from his face and say, without the least bit of cordialness, ���We have to keep moving.��� Which Tavora always agreed to, even though her under arms were growing sorer and sorer. Though she never complained, seeing that she was getting a free ride in all this, and considering it’d been Ata who’d been doing all the work, pulling them through the air, in a game of catch, in pursuit of fresh tracks that were growing newer and deeper all the time.
Perhaps they would find him in time, she thought. Perhaps they could convince him to return the globe, that he’d unlawfully stolen for his own advantage. And perhaps, when they had found him, she could take off this ghastly rope that burned into her skin.
If you have ever had the privilege to witness a child learning, then you will know that it is not an immediate process; That you will never see a child learn his entire alphabet in a single day, nor will he grasp the basics of mathematics and logic in only one sitting.
Yet that night, with this ���Adam���, each passing hour was like watching an entire year, or two, of a child’s early education. And fairly soon, he could speak in full unbroken sentences, and though he would ask all of the same types of questions that a child would ask, the travelers could clearly see the shadow of an untapped brilliance lying dormant in his mind. And it continued to be that way, until Barbara and Timothy got to the part of their story, the reason why they had begun to search these new worlds in the first place; It was to find a man, Arthur Greyford.
At these words, a haze seemed to drop from the man’s eyes, as if his true self had been lost and was now returning to him.
���I know that name,��� the man said, as if waking from a dream.
���You do?��� Barbara asked, leaning in.
���So you’ve met him then?��� Timothy added.
���Oh yes, I knew him many years ago,��� he replied, with the greatest amount of clarity in his voice that he’d yet had that night.
���Tell us, is he still alive?��� Barbara asked.
���He is… and he has just been resurrected,��� he said in an oddly vague manner. ���Thank you,��� he added, looking deeply at them to show his gratitude.
���What do you mean?��� Timothy asked, putting a stress on the words. ���Can you help us find him?���
���No need for that,��� the man replied. ���He has just found himself. I am Arthur Greyford.���
Barbara rubbed her forehead trying to think through it all.
���But… I don’t understand. If you’re him, then why did you tell us your name was Adam?��� she asked.
���Because I’d forgotten,��� the man answered, now politely sitting up straight, and speaking rationally to them, like he’d been cured from his dream-like state.
���You forgot your own name?��� Timothy said.
���Sure I did,��� he answered. ���And it’s not that hard when you come to think about it. People forget things all the time. A name can be forgot, just as well as any other thing.���
Here Barbara asked, very intrigued by this, why he would call himself Adam, and not Arthur, or nothing at all.
���Oh, it was a joke… or it started as a joke,��� he said. ���Adam, the only man on Earth. You ever heard of him?���
Barbara hadn’t a clue, but Timothy seemed to get it after a few seconds.
Saying in a unsure manner, ���You mean, Adam, from the stories of Adam and Eve? The first people on Earth, the garden of Eden and all that?��� ���Yes, that’s right,��� he replied. ���I called myself Adam, because I was alone, and it took me thirty years, but eventually I forgot my own name. And once a name is gone, the most private and personal information a person can hold, everything else seems to leave as well…���
Timot
hy and Barbara looked at each other with bewildered expressions. They had found him. On accident no less, but they had found him.
���…I would have been a mindless wretch for all eternity, if you two hadn’t come to save me,��� Arthur continued.
���For all eternity?��� Barbara said peculiarly. ���You’re exaggerating, right?���
���Yes,��� Timothy said, butting in. ���You couldn’t possibly mean, forever…���
Though Arthur didn’t respond directly to their questions, but told them to unwrap Barbara’s hand, and to wash away the dried blood in the spring water beside them.
���Tell me what you see,��� Arthur said.
���Nothing,��� Barbara answered. ���It’s the same as it’s always been.���
And here, Timothy again interrupted. ���But you can’t be seriously saying that we can’t die. After all, no one lives forever.���
���Don’t they?��� Arthur replied, and he took in a deep breath, and paused before explaining. ���You two seem to have your heads about you, then tell me this, if we were capable of dying, on this planet, then where is the scar? Wouldn’t you expect a scar, if our bodies were at all breaking down? Instead… every scar you’ve ever had has been wiped away. You can look for them, you won’t find them. Every joint put back in place, every cavity in your teeth filled.���
���So, we’re immortal?��� Timothy said, with the most perplexed look on his face.
���Oh, you’ve always been immortal… but now, you just can’t die,��� Arthur answered. ���None of us can. We’re… perfect.���
���Then, this place is like… heaven?��� Barbara asked.
Though Arthur seemed to know better than they, about their situation. ���I’m afraid not, my dear,��� he said. ���You need God for heaven, and so far there’s just the three of us.���
And he looked to be sad as he spoke. ���The old name for this place is the Eddesu, or the Eternal Renewal,��� and he took another deep breath, staring somewhat away from them, at his ever swinging, unticking pendulum that he’d built for himself, ���But I like to call it Hades.���
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Brief History
As you might have guessed, Arthur’s statements about this world of immortality led to a great number of questions, including a very logical one on Barbara’s part:
���If we can’t die, like you say, then what happened to all these people who’d lived in the city? And why on earth build graves, if you’ll never get to use them?��� she asked. Arthur nodded his head as if to make a concession.
���Perhaps I misspoke,��� he said, running his hand over the length of his sagely beard. ���When I said, ‘we couldn’t die’, I meant a natural death. Of course we could still be murdered, though that would require weapons so horrific that it’s best not to mention them.���
���So is that what happened to all these people?��� Timothy asked.
���Yes,��� Arthur replied, somberly and seriously toned.
He then went on to explain the story of this world, the story of its destruction, and how he came to be stranded there (and, as well, many other things our travelers had wondered about for quite some time). Yet, since this was such a lengthy conversation, and since Arthur hadn’t spoken to anyone in over sixty-five years, their discussion would be far too extensive to write out in its entirety. Albeit, for your benefit, I shall include the highlights of that night’s, and early morning’s conversation, and ask you to trust that I have not left out anything of significant importance.
A summary of what was said:
As you might remember, from the brief history of the Seven Worlds of Men, that was transcribed onto the walls of their secret cavern in Gleomu; The great Assyrian king, Tiglath-Pileser III (who shall hereafter be referred to as King Tiglath, for obvious convenience’ sake), he for many years ruled his empire of the heavens from his throne and palace on our Earth. That was, until his scientists discovered the final world of man, far away at the distant edge of the galaxy, a world of infinite potential, and everlasting youth. And what king would not like to rule forever?
So that the standard greeting of His Majesty of the heavens, King Tiglath, ruler of the Seven Worlds of Men, was this: ���May he live forever.��� Which were the words that all his subjects spoke with every mention of the King’s name. ���May he live forever,��� and he intended to.
Though, as nice as it is to say, or as an idea in one’s head, the day-to-day practice of eternal life is actually quite difficult.
And so that you can understand my meaning, I will present for you, a crude and boyish example, but one we can all relate to, if we are honest with ourselves.
Imagine for me, if you will, that you are in the habit of picking your nose, or of spitting (this will serve a purpose, I assure you). Now imagine that you have allowed this habit to continue for five years, or ten, or even fifteen years. How difficult would it be, then, to break such a well learned habit? Fairly difficult, I should gather, but nowhere near unattainable.
However, what if you had allowed yourself this same poor habit over the span of a thousand years? How much more difficult would it be to break the habits learned during the course of ten lifetimes? It would be nearly impossible, I should think.
And now you might have begun to see the true issue of eternal life: It is that nothing short of perfection will do. Even the most menial, the most forgivable sins will become a reckless tyranny, over the length of eternity.
And such was the case for King Tiglath, who began his reign as a ���mortal��� on Earth, with justice and propriety, but here in the Eternal Renewal, after several hundred years of peace and equity, he began with small discrepancies, little things he would allow for himself and not his subjects; Which then became subtle favors to friends, which then became patterns of behavior, which then became law.
However, even this slight favoritism, spread out over the reign of thousands of years of peace, was hardly enough to bring down an empire, to shatter the land with war and bloodshed. It was not the King’s favoritism, but something else so average, so mundane, that Timothy and Barbara could not believe it, at first, not until Arthur had explained the issue fully.
���Interest?��� Timothy said, showing the creases in his forehead. ���Like… bank interest?��� he said again, to make sure that he’d heard right. ���How could that destroy anything?���
���Looking around the city, I’d always thought there was a war,��� Barbara replied.
���Oh, there were wars,��� Arthur answered. ���Horrible, devastating conflicts, that stretched on for hundreds of years, but…��� Arthur said, and lifted up his finger to show he was making a point, ���all because of interest.���
Simple interest, Arthur said, can be harmless enough on Earth: A man borrows from a lender to pay for, let’s say, his motor-car, and in the end he pays it back plus the extra.
But, what if it were allowed to build upon itself, debts upon debts, and in a world such as this, where it is nearly impossible to die, there would come a point, rather quickly, that a man would have so much debt, so much extra, that it could never be repaid. In that instance, that man would no longer be considered a borrower, but a slave. And in such a perpetual place as this, there would be whole classes of people, born into the world, who will only have ever been slaves to the debts of their parents. And then war would be inevitable, as it was; Civil war, the children of slavery against the sons and daughters of privilege. And how brutal it was.
After the first war, King Tiglath was murdered, but each new king was even more hated and unfeeling than the one who’d preceded him. Until all of Eddesu had collapsed into anarchy. And those whom the wars and inquisitions, and terrible famines did not overtake, th
e lions soon found, until there was only one small tribe left, hiding in the tombs of this broken, once glorious city.
These were the people Arthur found when he first came to Eddesu, hiding in the ruins and in the tombs. And he, with the help of their tribesmen leader, Surru, discovered the old globe of that world, still intact, forgotten, and locked away inside what had been the King’s Palace.
���I’d no intention to make my home here,��� Arthur said, ���such a dreary and desolate place. Yet at the time, I could not see the harm in making this world the starting point for all my adventures. So that no matter what would happen, if I were injured in any way, my body would be instantly cured upon returning; And it seemed to be a clever habit and harmless, until I came back the last time, and found that Surru and his flailing tribe were gone, fled to some far away place, or killed, and I watched as the ruins of the old palace finally collapsed upon the globe of this world. And I was stranded.���
���But you had an unlimited life. Over all the years here, you never thought to rebuild the globe?��� Timothy said. And then, pointing toward the old scientist’s fantastic perpetually swinging pendulum, perfectly balanced, that constantly made energy to power his sanctuary there in that central tomb, Timothy said, ���I would think, of all people, you’d be able to reconstruct the globe.���
After this, Timothy went on to describe the giant ���tree-like��� machine that Darius had built, and how he kidnapped his grandmother, strapping her into the device, and how he was able to transport their old globe from Mayfield, back through space, and into his underground dungeon lair.
���And if Darius could do that,��� Timothy said. ���Surely you could have transported yourself back to Earth.���
Arthur smiled. ���I appreciate your confidence,��� he replied. ���But, as you’ve said in your story, Darius had the residual energy, and the signal from your grandmother to pull from like a leech, while I would have had to start from scratch. And one miscalculation, one Joule of energy or Lumen off in my design��, and the light energy would have exploded every cell in my body.���
The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending Page 49