by Kara Timmins
61
Eloy woke early the next morning. Timyr slept across from him on the other side of the smoking ashes from the night’s fire. For the first time on their journey, they had both slept at the same time. If Timyr deemed it safe enough, then Eloy trusted his judgement.
Eloy looked up at the black rock. The golden light of morning filtered through the mist of the raincloud above it and shone on the uneven edges of the rock. In all the years he’d pictured where he would end up, he’d hoped it would be something to marvel at, but he couldn’t have imagined it would look like this. The staggering enormity of what waited ahead of him was beyond the capabilities of his imagination. The world around it could have been decimated by the Omnacom and the black jutting stone would have been untouched, unmoved.
But Eloy knew the rock would move for him.
He heard rustling from the other side of the camp followed by a harsh sniffle and a cough. Timyr was awake.
“You been up long?” Timyr asked, his throat hoarse.
“Not long.”
“You want to build a fire and take in the morning or set off soon?”
Eloy was already packing up his bags. “As soon as you’re ready.”
Once packed, they stamped out the last few stubborn embers in the ash and started toward the rock. They ate as they walked. Timyr tucked a few seeds into the hammock across his chest, Vivene’s little grasping hand poking out from time to time to ask for more food.
They walked until the black rock was the only thing in front of them. Timyr tipped his head to the side, his ear almost touching his shoulder once or twice, listening to something. Eloy’s impatience made him feel a jab or two of jealousy that Timyr was getting closer to understanding what was ahead. He reasoned the sensation away. They would be there soon.
The soft grass of the plain started to thin until the ground was rough and rocky. The gritty runoff of black pebbles and sand bunched at the bottom of the massive jutting rock, building an incline to the base of the monolith.
The two men walked halfway up the incline until they had to tip their heads all the way back to stare up at the top of the rock.
“There’s still no rain,” Eloy said.
The sound was all around them, but not a drop fell on their faces.
“It’s not running down the rock, either.” Timyr had his bushy eyebrows pulled together until they were almost touching.
“What’s wrong?” Eloy asked.
“I have to get closer.”
Eloy followed Timyr the rest of the way up the incline until the porous rock was like a wall in front of them. Timyr put a hand on the rough surface and stood unmoving for a long time.
Eloy was impatient. He wanted to know what he wasn’t seeing, but he kept his questions to himself. Timyr would tell him when he had the answers. Eloy just had to wait.
Timyr shook his head. “It’s odd. This rock looks like the one we saw before, the one by the bear, but it isn’t. “
“How is it different?” Eloy asked.
“How do I say it?” Timyr took his hand off the rock. “This rock isn’t talking.”
Eloy tilted his head to the side, not understanding.
“There’s energy in everything, and I can hear it in things, mostly in the things that come from the earth, like rocks. I don’t make objects do things, I make a persuasive argument to it. Whether it’s forming metal and glass or moving stone, it’s a conversation. Some things are harder to communicate with, but just like an uninterested person, there are ways to connect. This rock”—Timyr looked up at the black monolith—“is blocking me out completely.”
Eloy looked up too.
“Think of it like this,” Timyr continued. “If this rock was a person, it would have its back to us, its eyes closed, and its fingers in its ears. It doesn’t want anything to do with us. But that’s not all.” Timyr smiled. “It’s hollow in the middle. This isn’t solid stone. This is a wall.”
Eloy’s hope and excitement lifted. “There has to be a way to get to the other side.”
Timyr looked down at the stone hanging from Eloy’s neck. “I agree. You aren’t getting any kind of insight into what that might be?”
Eloy wrapped his fingers around it, still surprised at its heat, as if it had been resting next to a fire. “No. We’ll have to go about it the way I always have: keep moving until something makes sense.”
“How about this?” Timyr gathered an armful of rocks in various sizes and started stacking them on the ground until they were waist-high. Logic said that the rocks should have tumbled down the hill after the first few, but Timyr made them stay. “We’ll walk around and see if we can figure it out. If we get back to this spot without finding a way in, we’ll have to think of something else.”
“Okay.”
As they walked around the base of the black rock, Eloy marveled at the strange pole-like pieces that made up the wall. The stones looked just like the ones he had seen before, in the place where they had fought the diseased bear, only these were much larger. He was sure that if he ever stood at the top of the wall, the ground would look tiled with their six-sided tops. But despite their beauty and wonder, they became more frustrating than fascinating.
The sun moved above, bearing down on the top of their heads, before moving in front of them, staring them down and leaving the path behind them dark.
Timyr stopped every so often to touch the stone, each time shaking his head.
“You said the middle is hollow,” Eloy said after one of the stops. “Does that mean it’s empty?”
“I don’t know. It’s like a void.”
The answer wasn’t one Eloy wanted, but he had to be patient. A divide split in him, between his rational thoughts and his untethered emotions. His mind told him to stay level, that he didn’t know what he was going to find on the other side of the rock. But his emotions were a whirling mix of fear, excitement, and impatience. What if there wasn’t anything on the other side? What if he was wrong? What would he do then? Did he have an idea of where to even begin? The idea of having to start over at step one made him feel ill. And if he was in the right place, what would he find? What would it look like? He had imagined it in so many different ways over the years that the idea of riches and promises fulfilled mixed together to become something beyond visualization. He wanted to know. He wanted to know right now.
Eloy was so lost in the emotional struggle of it all that he ran into Timyr, who had stopped walking.
“Sorry,” Eloy said.
Timyr didn’t seem to process that it had happened. His attention was focused on the rock, his eyes squinted, assessing.
“What is it?” Eloy asked.
Timyr put his hand on the stone, but instead of furrowing his brow and pulling away as he had done before, he kept his hand on it and walked forward, running his fingers over the angled edges as he went.
Eloy didn’t move for fear that he would disturb whatever Timyr was following. When Timyr stopped moving, Eloy held his breath. Timyr looked back over his shoulder, a triumphant grin showing through his bushy beard.
“These stones are different,” Timyr said.
Eloy looked at the black pillars around Timyr’s hand and didn’t see anything that would indicate a change. He didn’t need to see it, though; he believed Timyr and the look of victory on his face.
“What do we do now?” Eloy asked.
“We see if I can get these pieces to move apart for us. These stones—” Timyr smacked the stone he had his hand on twice before moving five steps down to slap another “—from there to here are paying attention. I have to make the case that all the stones from here to the center should move apart for us.”
“Can you do it?” Eloy didn’t want to doubt Timyr, but he’d never seen him move stone before. He didn’t doubt Timyr’s ability to know the forest, but this was different.
“I can do it.”
Eloy thought he saw a flash of doubt as Timyr turned his face back toward the stone.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Eloy asked.
“Just be ready to go through when it starts. It’s going to take a lot to get it going, and I’m not sure how long I can keep it up.”
“Okay. Do you want to do it now?”
“Was there something you wanted to wait for?”
“No,” Eloy said.
“Then now it is.” Timyr turned toward the stone, widened his stride, and closed his eyes.
Eloy felt his heartbeat pick up until each pulse thumped in his neck. He was sure the beat was hard enough to be visible. His stomach swirled in discomfort. What he was looking for was here. The moment he had been waiting for. This was the door he had been trying to envision, night after night, since Amicus had given him the stone hanging from his neck. He saw one of the pole-like pieces of the stone shift to the right.
Eloy moved closer to the wall. Timyr was sweating. Drops of perspiration ran down Timyr’s forehead and dripped off of his brow and the tip of his nose. Eloy looked at the movement in the rock.
The pieces shifted away from one another. The once-impenetrable stone looked as supple as reeds bending to a strong wind. The separation didn’t stretch all the way to the top of the rock. Instead, the moving parts bowed aside, making a walkway shaped like the center of a cat’s eye. The path opened in a wave, the pieces closest to them opening first. Eloy still couldn’t see what was on the other side.
“It’s opening,” Eloy said. “Should we go?”
Timyr opened his eyes and blinked at the path ahead. “That would make it easier, yeah.”
Eloy took the first step inside. The ground was uneven, the angles of each of the stones making dips and angles next to stones beside it that leaned in the opposite direction. Eloy tread carefully, but quickly. He didn’t know if there was a risk of the walls closing in on them. Things tend to search for their natural state, and the natural state of these rocks wasn’t to be bent into each other. He took deep, measured breaths and willed his mind to stay away from those thoughts.
Then everything went black. The small gap they had walked through closed behind them. Eloy reached out and felt his way forward. He ran as best he could, but his toe caught one of the rocks, and he stumbled. His ability to hold back his panic was at an end. In his mind, he could see the walls closing in on him. He hoped it would happen fast.
He reached out, his fingers searching for enough of a hold to pull himself back upright. The porous stone gave him just enough for the tips of his fingers to gain hold. His arm rubbed up against the wall as he pulled himself up, the sting of a burning rash blooming on his arm. Every rapid inhale seemed to fail at quenching his growing need to get a good breath.
Timyr pushed him from behind. “Keep moving.” Eloy could feel Timyr’s breath hard on the back of his neck.
Then there was light. Eloy cried out in relief. This time, the opening was ahead of them, and it was close, just five strides ahead. Eloy burst forward, tumbled out of the parted rocks, and fell to the ground. Timyr fell out and dropped down to his knees next to Eloy.
The rain fell on them. Eloy closed his eyes and let the water flow over his face. The rain was warm, comforting, like loving hands patting him. The panic drained out of his body.
“You okay?” Eloy asked, his eyes still closed.
Timyr gave a barking laugh. “Good as ever. Are you?”
Eloy sat up and looked at Timyr. “I wasn’t prepared for the way behind us to close up.”
Timyr cradled the weighted hammock across his chest, petting Vivene. “There was a lot going on. I thought it best to focus on moving the things ahead of us rather than worrying about the path behind.”
“Scared the daylight out of me.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t great, I’ll give you that.”
“Vivene okay?”
“Better than either of us. She’s sleeping like a squirrel in winter.”
“I tell you, to be Vivene for a day,” Eloy said, smiling.
“Someone just carries you around, feeds you. Doesn’t sound so bad,” Timyr agreed.
Eloy looked up at the wall, the way they had come now closed back up. The tunnel was gone, as was his fear. He turned around. The only thing left was what was in front of him. He puffed out his chest, steeling himself for the end.
62
He couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. The rainfall was lightest around the outer edge of the area, a gentle pattering where they were sitting. The area looked like a perfect circle, about six or seven hundred strides from one side to the other. But the gray, smudging effect of the rain made it hard to be sure. The ground was a vibrant green, nourished by the constant rainfall, and the grass was soft enough to make Eloy want to curl up and sleep.
Eloy faced the center of the circle, and Timyr did the same.
“I don’t see anything,” Eloy said, starting to feel the early prodding of disappointment.
“There’s something in the center,” Timyr said. “Let me just see . . .” He tightened his features, the telltale sign that he was concentrating, and then doubled over. Vivene swayed in her hammock as Timyr supported himself with his hands on his knees. He heaved, but nothing came out. “I’ve never felt anything like that. Something pushed me back.”
“Here. Water.” Eloy put one hand on Timyr’s back and handed him a pouch with the other.
Timyr took it and drank deeply. “Thanks. I’m okay.”
“Is it dangerous?” Eloy asked.
“Doesn’t seem so. Just defensive. But I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Timyr wiped at the rain dripping off his brow, which didn’t make a difference under the steady fall. “You ready?”
Eloy started forward.
“Right. Of course you are.”
Eloy walked ahead, his focus on the place at the center, waiting for something recognizable to show through the rainfall. The rain got heavier, but the pattering wasn’t uncomfortable. He’d never felt a storm so soothing. It ran over all of his bruises, cuts, and scrapes and eased the pain. Each step forward brought more rain, and each drop made him feel better and more awake.
“Eloy!” Timyr yelled.
Eloy realized that Timyr must have been yelling for him a few times, but the holler sounded distant, farther out than what would be possible in the fifteen or so strides they had taken.
When Eloy turned around, he saw why. Timyr’s face creased in strain. The same rain that ran down Eloy’s skin in a gentle patter pelted Timyr.
“It’s too strong!” Timyr yelled.
The sound didn’t make sense. Timyr was only a few strides behind Eloy, but he sounded as muffled as if he were yelling from the other side of a waterfall.
“Maybe if we get to the center,” Eloy yelled.
“What?” Water filled Timyr’s mouth as he yelled, causing him to cough.
Eloy looked down at his arms and the water falling on them. The droplets were heavy, but the downpour wasn’t anything like what he was seeing rain down on Timyr. Eloy walked back and reached out and put a hand on Timyr’s shoulder. The intensity didn’t change over his hand.
“Can you run to the center?” Eloy yelled while motioning ahead and mimicking a running motion.
“I can try,” Timyr said.
Eloy linked arms with Timyr and started forward. They took four quick strides before Timyr fell to the ground. The brutality of the raindrops parted the hair on the top of his head with every hit. Any harder, and they could do damage.
Timyr pulled open the flap of the hammock over his chest, revealing two wide black eyes peeking out of wet, clumped fur. He looked up at Eloy. “I have to go back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Eloy yelled.
“No.” Timyr pointed at the
center. “You go. I’ll be here when you get out. Then you’ll have all those answers for me, right?” His eyes were bloodshot, tired.
“I will,” Eloy said.
“We’ll be out here. Go.”
Eloy helped Timyr to his feet and watched his friend run back through the rain to the wall. When Timyr reached the spot they had emerged from, he turned and waved.
Eloy turned back toward the center of the clearing and started again. The green grass sloped up, barely enough to notice. He jogged. Four hundred strides more. The rain urged him on, replenishing his energy.
Three hundred more strides. The hill got steeper, but just barely, negligible.
A hundred more strides. He could see the top of the mound, which was flat. There was something there.
Twenty-five more strides. He saw a dark patch on the top of the hill. A stairway.
Five more strides. He stopped running and looked down into the dark passageway. Rain flowed down the white stone steps.
He took the last few strides and walked down into the darkness.
63
The sound of the falling rain echoed through the stone passageway. The river of rainwater flowed down the steps and around Eloy’s ankles. Just like the rain, the stream wasn’t uncomfortable; the water was warm, like bathwater. If he were anywhere else, in any other moment, he would sit down and let it wash over him. But he was walking toward the end, and nothing in the world could stop him.
His steps were sure and solid. The stone stairs were smooth, expertly carved. The bottom of his shoes didn’t slip. In everything he had experienced in his journey to get to this passageway—creatures, betrayal, war—he should have felt at least a moment of hesitation walking down into that passage. But the allure of the mystery ahead kept the dark possibilities as bay.
He didn’t know how many steps he’d gone down, but when his foot hit level ground he was in almost total darkness. When he looked back over his shoulder, the gray rectangle of rolling clouds looked no bigger than the size of a book.