by J. Thorn
The library was empty except for Lindsay and Major in the first reading nook. The crusty librarian, the bedraggled parents and the insubordinate children had all vanished. The books sat on the shelves, forlorn in their own loneliness. The water shot from the copper frog in the fountain and landed back in the pool, where the pump circulated it for all eternity.
“Will I remember?”
“The reversion?”
“Any of it,” Lindsay said.
“Nothing. It’ll be like the first go around without all yer mum’s boyfriends sticking stuff inside ya.”
The crude comment did not have the desired effect.
“Bet you’d be one of those evil fuckers,” Lindsay said. “I’ll bet you’d get off on diddling little girls because you couldn’t handle a real woman.”
Major sat unaffected by the insult. “I’ve been with more ‘real’ women than you can imagine. Taught most of them a thing or two, clearly more than you seem to know after all the tricks you’ve turned.”
They stood at the same time, chairs rattling to the stone floor and reverberating throughout the vacant space. Lindsay stared at him, sensing the dream would be reaching its natural conclusion and a decision would need to be made.
“And if I refuse your deal?”
“The spider-crabs,” Major said. “You’ll wish they had torn you apart the way they did Jack.”
“But you’ll be stuck in whatever shithole locality you’re in now. One you desperately want to escape.”
Major laughed, slowly turning his head back and forth. “Which ain’t no worse than before I started. If you don’t want to help me, I’ll find another way to get my hands on that talisman. Then again, I’m not the one who has to live the rest of my life with the pain inside. See you at the peak for the big shindig, honey.”
Lindsay made her decision as the dream dissipated like an early morning fog. She thought about the ramifications of it and hoped to avoid yet another disastrous regret in a life full of them. She would not turn on Samuel and hoped Major would rot in hell, or worse yet, spend eternity in the reversion.
***
Deva let his head rest on the cool stone wall of the stairwell. He closed his eyes and felt the burn that began in his calves now scorching his thighs as well. Pain radiated from his lower back and even into the muscles of his arms. The staff sat across his lap, and he wondered what Shallna was doing. Deva concentrated, trying to sense another set of eyes from the other side of the orb, but he was simply too tired. It would be over soon, he hoped. Whether he winked out of existence or slowly turned from this world, he would be gone, and the relief was like a bittersweet treat.
He stood and inhaled until he felt as though he could continue upward without succumbing to a fall or a dizzy spell. In the reversion, even the air thinned as he stumbled through the ascent to the peak. A breeze gathered from below, whisking over the stone steps toward the summit. It brought no relief and no noise, much like the rest of the sensations in this place.
Deva willed his body into motion. He pushed each leg in alternating rhythms up and over the next step. His bloodshot eyes looked down at the steps as he marched onward. The dust of time remained, as did the clatter of his staff on the rough-hewn stone. However, the steps at this level appeared pristine. Unlike those of the first several thousand, the middles were not worn down by countless human feet over generations. The edges remained sharp, as if just born from the stonecutter’s tools. Even the torches on the walls held firm in their sconces, several with whitened tops had never been lit.
After taking several more steps, a silent flash of light caught Deva’s attention. He peered upward through the spiraling steps, sensing the top rather than observing it. However, he found himself standing in front of an arched window cut through the rock. Deva paused and approached the ledge like a child. He leaned forward, and the vista came into view. He could not remember being awestruck like this, whether from the reversion or the orb. Deva reminded himself to breathe and let his eyes soak in the scene.
The window gazed upon an endless sea of sand that stretched eastward to the horizon. The reversion’s cloud sat atop the desert, suffocating whatever might remain. It danced, now within striking distance of the peak. The cloud had swallowed the locality and, once finished, would digest it with the countless others at the end of a cycle, hoping to be reborn.
A second flash, this time from above, disturbed Deva’s thoughts. He glanced upward and saw discrete bursts of light within the clouds.
Rain would surely mean an end, he thought.
As if responding to his thoughts, the clouds opened and the water poured forth in all of its silent glory. Drops the size of eggs fell from the sky and pummeled the dry, ancient sand into submission. Flashes erupted simultaneously in several spots within the cloud, each one blasting open and releasing the water. A westerly wind pushed the rain through the window in the side of the mountain. Deva closed his eyes and let the cool liquid massage his face. His skin felt the life-giving moisture caressing him, and he momentarily abandoned his climb to the peak. Wave after wave of water crashed down upon the land, creating shallow canals that began to ferry it to lower elevations.
Deva stepped back and spread his arms as if to welcome the event. Water fell through the opening and puddled on the steps before rolling off and rinsing the dust away. More flashes cut through the empty sky, and the cloud inflated to the point where Deva thought he might be able to touch it. He imagined the cloud pulling him into a torrent of water bound for puddles in the desert wasteland, washing him of his sins like a baptismal flood.
With the rain came old memories. They surfaced from the depths as the storm raised the levels of his ancient reservoirs. Deva closed his eyes as images flashed behind them. He reached out as the faces of lovers swung through, followed by siblings, sons, daughters, mothers and fathers. He called some by name and knew others by sight, their identity lost to the passage of time. The images came faster, much like the rain. Deva moaned, trying to grab what he could from the mental carousel, hoping to snag a faded memory from obscurity, one he could use to help him through to the end. As the images whirled into nothing but a mix of colors and emotions, he heard the mental calling that snapped his eyes open. The storm swirled around the top of the mountain and the rain continued to pummel its face. However, he would need to respond, probably for the last time.
Speak, Shallna. I am nearing the end of my climb.
***
“They have found them.”
Shallna stared into the orb as smoke swirled within it. He knew Deva heard him, sensed his presence in the channel of energy.
“The others?” Deva asked.
“Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“The two men, Master.” Shallna felt as though the term had lost all significance in the face of their impending doom. “Major and Kole have located Samuel inside this locality.”
He waited, sensing the silent pause from Deva and knowing it would be punctured soon by a response.
“Physical manifestation?”
Shallna felt Deva’s questions and made note of their short, punctuated delivery. He thought his master was reverting in his own way as the reversion’s cloud pushed through what remained of the barren world.
“It does not appear as though they are corporeal. The rain. It follows the spider-crabs?” Deva asked.
“I hope you approve. I conjured it myself after the spider-crabs failed to immobilize them. I can’t imagine a climb through waves of water rushing off the mountain’s side.”
Shallna waited, sensing the disgust and impatience of his mentor. His eyes widened, and he peered with greater intent inside the orb, hoping to will a satisfactory response from Deva.
“You seemed to have made something from nothing. Resourceful,” Deva said.
“There is nothing left of this locality but what resides inside the cloud. It has devoured every other sentinel at our beckoning.”
There was a pause, and Shal
lna worried the mystical thread connecting him to his master had been broken, until Deva replied.
“Nothing truer has been said, my son. There is nothing left of this locality.”
“What does that mean, Master? Please, tell me your will.”
Deva felt the sense of urgency and desperation in Shallna’s response and decided to ease him to his knees. If he could not orchestrate any salvation from what was about to occur, he would falsify comfort for the one that was more like a son than his own. The lie slid from his tongue like the rain rinsing the petrified sands of the desert.
“Take the orb and walk to the reversion. Leave the mountain and its false sanctuary. The peak will crumble to the ground soon and bury you within it should you not vacate immediately.”
Shallna paused. He thought about what Deva said while looking about the empty space carved from the bowels of the mountain.
“Leave? Leave you as well?” he asked.
“Yes. This cycle is different. This reversion will end in a way unlike the others.”
“How?” Shallna asked. “How will this end?”
“I do not know. Do what you will, my son, but I can no longer be accountable for all that is coming. I cannot protect you through the end of this cycle, and I hope you either find the peace to accept it or the ability to move into another where you can complete your work. I am tired and I can see the peak of the mountain. It is within my grasp.”
Shallna stepped from the orb as the words struck his face. He was not prepared for this eventuality and felt a sense of helplessness as Deva cast him off into the universe without guidance. His intuition told him Deva was finished with explanations.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall obey your command.”
***
Lindsay woke to a light tapping on her shoulder. Before she could open her eyes, the pressure intensified until she realized it was not Samuel’s touch but the beginnings of a torrential downpour. Lindsay sat up and saw Samuel gazing upward and to the east, where the cloud billowed with an unspoken anger. Water droplets pelted the dusty earth like miniature meteorites hurled from space. Flashes ripped through the cloud without a sound, and the water came faster with each burst. Within seconds, the water fell and drenched her to the core. However, it brought an uneasiness and discomfort rather than relief. The water falling from the blackness above felt tainted in a way Lindsay could not describe.
“A storm,” Samuel said, looking over his shoulder at her.
“How long did I sleep?”
“A handful of minutes,” he said.
Lindsay shrugged and pushed the dream away, not ready to deal with the consequences of her actions within it. She would never get used to the timeless inhabitation of the dream world and the awkward reentry into the real one.
“Always feels longer.”
“It does when you dream,” Samuel said, giving Lindsay the opportunity to be forthright if she so desired.
“Yes, the dreams come on their own terms, don’t they?” she asked, neither revealing nor denying his implied question.
Lindsay winced as she touched the wound in her shoulder, which had stopped bleeding but remained painful. Samuel pretended his nose was not a crooked mess on his face despite the fiery pain.
“The storm is the work of the reversion. Probably a last attempt at keeping us from the peak. I think I’ll take my chances climbing the mountain on a rainy day rather than trying to get out from underneath the spider-crabs.”
Lindsay nodded and stood, stretching her arms above her head. She yawned and felt the fatigue threaten to dull her emotions. Her muscles stiffened in the forced rain of the reversion. Samuel walked to her until they stood face to face. She looked him in the eye and then cast a gaze to her feet.
“Are we ready to climb?” he asked.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Samuel nodded and placed a hand on the craggy outcrop of rock that stretched over his head. He pulled himself up by the arms until he could swing a leg over one side and roll to the top of it. Lindsay smiled and was impressed by his muscle tone, knowing he had a few years on her. She wondered if his need to display his strength was self-preservation or male ego, and then figured it didn’t matter either way.
He reached down and held a hand out to her. Lindsay brushed it aside and mimicked the move he just completed, letting him know she was up to the challenge and would not need his help.
“Okay,” Samuel said. “I’m not really much of a climber, so if you know what you’re doing, you should probably lead.”
The rain came heavier now, as if the reversion sensed their elevated position. The lightning continued and the thunder remained absent, suffocated by the reversion. The mountain grew slick with the rain, the windblown erosion now coated with a thin layer of water that clung to the rock.
“You can lead,” Lindsay said.
“Are you sure? You trust me to get us to the top?” he asked.
“Do you trust me to follow?” she asked.
Samuel let it hang, staring at her face, now framed by wet, stringy hair. He turned and reached for the next fissure in the mountain that would give him purchase on its slippery surface. Samuel groaned with the expenditure of energy and looked at the desert floor, still close enough to mock his progress.
“Can we make it before the cloud hits the mountain?” Lindsay asked.
Samuel reached down and pulled her up by the arm until she was able to crest the outcrop where he stood.
“Let’s hope so,” he said before turning and reaching again, the peak seemingly miles above and enshrined in its own crown of clouds. “The rain will slow us, but once it’s wet, it cannot make the climb any wetter.”
Lindsay nodded, somewhat befuddled. The storm could rise up and knock them from the face of the mountain as if they were helpless children, should it wish to. She thought of the spider-crabs and the way they had snapped Jack’s body in half. She was sure the reversion could conjure whatever it needed to keep them from the summit, to hold them in place for whatever came next.
Samuel paused as he tried to find the next grip for his tired fingers. Lindsay touched him on the shoulder and stepped past. He shrugged and let her take the lead.
Samuel followed Lindsay as she rose higher into the empty sky. He watched from underneath as her body became embossed over the black velvet void before swinging back to grip the slick rock of the mountain. He noted the athleticism in the muscles she tried masking with ink. Lindsay grunted and climbed but did not pause to speak as she scaled the mountain. Samuel continued behind her, convincing himself that looking down would not help.
The rain continued without abatement. Samuel noticed it came heavier at times and lighter during others, but it never stopped. He imagined the reversion weeping, the cloud pouring forth outbursts of tears that ran down the long, wrinkled face of the mountain. Samuel thought the rain would stop when they reached the peak, and the cloud would have exhausted its emotional wailing.
“I need to rest.”
The climb and the force of the reversion sapped their strength. Samuel pulled himself up to the next outcrop and saw Lindsay sitting, her back to the mountain and her knees pulled up to her chest. She turned to the sky, letting the rain cool her face. She had pulled her hair around to the right side of her head, where it lay in a wet ponytail over her right breast. He felt a magnetism about her and could not look away.
“Take a picture,” she said, snapping him from his daze.
“Sorry,” he said, shuffling to sit next to her.
Lindsay’s legs shook, and she used her hands to massage her calf muscles. Samuel looked out over the desert and through the rain to an empty world beyond.
“Do you think it’s always been like this?”
The question caught Lindsay by surprise, as it was one she expected him to answer, not ask. She wondered if the fatigue brought the introspection, or if he were simply testing her.
“I’m sure the desert has always been like this. Even in our
world, people don’t live there.”
“They acclimate over time. They adapt to their surroundings and find a way to thrive. We’re resilient.”
“We’re a plague,” Lindsay said. “We find resources and then devour them until nothing’s left, and then we move on.”
Samuel turned to face her as she used both hands to wring the excess water from her hair. Lindsay shrugged as if the statement was fairly obvious.
“What do you mean?”
“Anasazi. The American Southwest.”
Samuel waited for her to explain. He enjoyed watching her movements and feeling her so close to his skin.
“Ancient people in the desert of the Southwest. They built these crazy-ass structures out of adobe that housed thousands of people. I mean multilevel buildings with sophisticated plumbing and cooking systems. And then, they simply vanish. Those abandoned structures are all over that area.”
Samuel smiled at her and leaned his head back on the rock of the mountain. He laughed and thought of the conversation as one taking place on a first date over a glass of wine and a plate of cheese, not in the middle of a mountain at the end of a reversion.
“How do you know all that?” he asked.
“I’m a woman,” she said, “not a fucking idiot. I read.”
Lindsay gave the words a harsh tone, but the sparkle in her eye revealed the good-natured teasing masked by it.
“But to answer your question, I think at one time there were many people here, in this locality. And like the world of the Anasazi, their numbers dwindled over time until nobody was left. I think we got here at the end. Even those ropes swinging in the suicide forest were most likely there for years, decades. Everything is rotten and worn. Falling apart.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. “At some point, near the death of the locality, the reversion sends the cloud to clean up.”
“I’m cramping. Let’s get climbing again.”
Samuel nodded, knowing she was right and the longer they sat, the more difficult it would be to continue. As if on cue, the rain picked up and the wind threw the water into the rock face. Samuel felt the rain’s cumulative effect as he pushed himself back into the climb. The water did not feel cold on his skin, yet it chilled him from the inside out. His bones, muscles, everything felt weak and bland. Samuel knew this had been orchestrated by the reversion, much like the horde of the last world or the spider-crabs of this one, but even with this knowledge he struggled to push his mind past it and focus on the climb. He had to reach the peak regardless of what his body felt. He had to push on for the sake of salvation, whether it was his own or not.