A River Called Time

by Courttia Newland

  Keshni was more beautiful than he’d ever seen, an oval of green and purple flowing around her body, the perpetual shift a silent dance of energy for his eyes alone. His own sleeping form was also alive with what he now knew were ‘his colours’. Their separate energy fields reached towards each other, absorbing and mixing, though no subsequent colour came from the pairing. They merely churned together, as meeting oceans.

  A shadow detached itself from its kneeling position beside his prone body. The young, nubile form was gone, replaced by the hesitant step of the old man, the hung skin of a dour face. Wallace. He lifted his arms upwards, a gesture that reminded Markriss of a silent request for an embrace. They regarded each other.

  What are you doing here?

  Although he registered anger, Markriss was surprised to find his thoughts remained calm, serenity pervading. Strength coursed through his being, steeling his soul. Every nerve, every cell that made up his body was alive.

  I’m to lead you to the Way.

  Snapping back, drifting closer to the ceiling, the colours around his sleeping body swirled in ever-faster revolutions.

  The last time you led me somewhere, it was an abyss.

  Wallace let his arms drop, bowing to appease him.

  Forgive me. Though I made many attempts to communicate, fear kept you tethered to the physical plane. To bring you to this point you had to be freed from reliance on the gross body and all its senses. That’s what I did.

  I don’t understand . . .

  Markriss, all will be clear. There’s little time for explanations that reveal nothing . . . Open the Way, and in turn you will know.

  Wallace fell silent, allowing him to contemplate his position. He got the feeling he could say nothing for any length of time and the old man’s emotionless stance would remain unchanged. This was a being of infinite patience. On the face of things, there was no way he could trust him; the professor didn’t have the greatest track record for preserving human life and following Wallace would mean putting himself at his mercy. It didn’t necessarily tally that he had his best interests at heart just because he’d become an ancestor. And yet how long could he stay floating above his own body, watching energy fields join and dance?

  Then what? A return to day-to-day living? His ordinary job? The physical plane Wallace spoke of?

  Alright. Alright . . .

  The dour face rose in his direction.

  Good. The body you inhabit is a double of your physical form, a bridge between the formed and unformed world. As such, it is virtually impervious to danger, yet it can be damaged by travelling further than your will has power to grant. You must go only where I take you, leave when I request.

  Sure, he replied, grasping for meaning. So this body double is my spirit, right?

  It is the ethereal form that houses your spirit and is known by many names. Bardo, chi, sunsum, prana . . . Every culture of the world knows a different name. In mine it is ka.

  You’re Kemetian?

  Of course . . .

  Markriss drifted back to floor level, lowering himself until he was floating centimetres from Wallace.

  There are many more subjects I must explain, most of all my reason for communicating with you. It is of utmost importance that you see your true power without delay. Do you trust?

  Yes.

  Strength was powering through him, feeding his words with a confidence and certainty that matched his feelings. When he looked at his sleeping body the colours were racing so fast they blurred. Keshni’s jogged along at their former speed. They no longer seemed so compatible.

  Look from your window . . .

  He did as was asked. Beneath his tower block, the area that had previously been Prospect Road, the beginnings of the Poor Quarter, the shops and people that made the place he recognised, had disappeared. His tower seemed to be standing atop a sea of purple clouds in constant motion, their lazy roll making him dizzy. Puffs of vapour lashed against the brick walls of the building like waves against lighthouse rocks. Just beyond, a clash of electrical energy, two crackling horizontal lines ran parallel to one another. When they met, an explosion of light was created. When they separated, a bottomless hole was left in their wake, bright light occasionally erupting from within the depths. Markriss floated by the window, enthralled by the endless depth before him, devoid of thought.

  You must dive into the light.

  Wallace was by his side, illuminated by the intensity of elements.

  I have to?

  It is the only means of opening the Way.

  He needed time to think.

  What is this Way?

  You must dive.

  He didn’t know how to say he felt some vague notion of mistrust, and was scared of being hurt. His strength felt minuscule compared with the power he saw.

  Set no boundaries that do not apply. You cannot fall and break your bones, for ka has none. You cannot spill blood, for blood exists only in the physical. Awaken your senses to the world in its entirety. See beyond limits.

  Silence, deeper and longer than any Markriss had endured.

  OK . . . OK . . .

  He moved to the window, visualising the lifted latch, the frame swinging outwards as he’d asked and felt no surprise when it occurred. A noise like the roll and boom of thunder came from below, mixing with the echo of chuckles inside his head.

  There’s no need for windows and doors in this realm . . . Still, do what you must . . .

  Ignoring the professor, Markriss drifted through the window, cautious, alert for danger. On the other side, the thunder was louder, overpowering any words he might have voiced. Wisps of purple leapt, dissolved into nothing. He couldn’t look down for fear he might be swayed. Reminding himself how he’d got to that point, he abandoned resistance, letting what Wallace termed his spiritual body fall.

  Everything occurred in a blink. Racing downwards, Markriss saw crackling lines of electricity part to expose the pitch-black chasm he’d been so afraid of. Nothingness was much worse the second time—a place where even the all-powerful elements he’d witnessed couldn’t survive, a pit of unreachable depths. He was scared again. An instant later the electricity returned, fusing into intense white light, eliminating any other. It was this light Markriss fell into, searing heat burning him on the inside, torching all of his senses.

  Markriss loitered on the corner of a busy intersection in the heart of Chaucer. Trams rolled by, taxi horns beeped and crowds of people walked the streets at idle pace. Shop owners blared music through open doors and windows, hoping to shock commerce from its daydreams and into the tills. Wherever Markriss laid his eyes, an illusion of prosperity and clean living could be seen . . . here, like everywhere in the Ark, there was another story beneath the surface. Beyond the walls, there was always another story.

  Chaucer had long been notorious. Taxi drivers gathered by their hundreds, vying for customers that came to town for consumer or entertainment purposes. Sometimes, in their eagerness for fares, they would knock over a child, a young adult, sometimes a pensioner. The local community would petition and protest for better traffic lights, fewer taxis, slower speed limits. Rumours said that Governor Hanaigh E’lul fed those petitions through a paper-shredder without a single glance. The Chaucer Crossing, as it had become known, kept its notoriety.

  A brief once-over. Markriss felt relief to see his physical body, arms, legs, head and chest, all solid as before. A second, more detailed inspection revealed a strange addition—a series of coloured circles that spun at specific points. The circles varied in size, and were all over his body, the largest on his upper stomach, the smallest on his neck and lower stomach. A pulsing in his brow and somewhere further on his head indicated that there might be more elsewhere. Turning his palms face up, he found tiny dots at the centre of each hand. Others on his shoulder blades, elbows, knees, ankles. Their glow emanated from deep within his body, changing his natural colour into one he’d thought skin could not possess.

  Your naardim. Energy
that unites your physical form with your ka.

  Wallace spoke, facing traffic and the general public, standing next to Markriss. When Markriss looked in the direction of Wallace’s gaze he finally noticed the circles running along the bodies of shoppers, parents and their children, young lovers, everyone. A woman and her teenage daughter each wore two circles he hadn’t noticed, and now felt; one on their foreheads, another sending a mixture of light gushing from their crowns like water. The spray consisted of colours that mirrored his and made him feel at ease. The woman smiled. Nodding, he watched her go by, aware that the pulse in his head indicated the presence of his own extra naardim.

  This is . . . This is something else. Something amazing . . .

  He couldn’t find words. Another roll of deep chuckling beside him.

  You have done well not to be swayed by fear, yet your mind still clings to that which it knew. Why else would your first true step into this realm bring you here, to the subtle manifestation of a place you know?

  He couldn’t help feeling disgruntled with what Wallace was telling him.

  What’s my mind got to do with me being in Chaucer? Are you saying I asked to be here?

  Not asked, demanded. Markriss, you are in control. You could not fall because you would not wish it. You cannot go where the Will does not permit. Bringing you here is the mind’s way of making something strange feel familiar. That is why you see the Chaucer of the Way—the unformed Chaucer.

  Right.

  He was lost. Nothing made sense. He only believed because it was impossible to deny reality. The energy flow of his and Keshni’s bodies, the naardim, Wallace himself.

  Where are your naardim?

  The most direct question he could ask, plucked from thousands.

  I have none. I am not a physical being.

  Back to square one, the list lengthened by at least a couple of hundred questions.

  Let me show you this plane as it truly is. You may learn as we go.

  Sure.

  A flash, searing. He floated in an expanse much like the depths of the chasm he’d dived into. He knew this because a vague light source came from somewhere above, illuminating Wallace a subtle candyfloss pink. Markriss turned towards the light. Here, wherever he was, his body returned to that formless band of light, colours swirling involuntarily in clockwise motion.

  Where are we?

  The professor said nothing, head moving up and down, left and right, as if to find his bearings. Markriss became aware of a steady chorus of humming along with a subtle tremor from all sides that brought a quiver to the tails of Wallace’s suit. The chuckling returned.

  Amazing. Though I chose to lift the veil from your eyes, control of how it is done remains in your mental domain. Remember, everything here is exactly how you would wish to see it. What you have done indicates your might. You surpassed the lower levels of existence and climbed to a higher realm known as Briah. Come.

  Wallace rose and Markriss followed, confused again by words that stirred no understanding. The light grew brighter as they climbed, washing them a soft fairy-tale shade of pink, red, black at its darkest point. The polyphonic hum rose in volume, as the tremors did in strength. Sight and sound gained further momentum until its source was upon him. If Markriss hadn’t left his physical body in the podroom with Keshni, he was sure disbelief would have made his jaw fall.

  The Shekhem, his guide said, with unmistakable relish. The power behind all physical manifestation. Some would see the Fifty Oarsmen, or Fifty Skulls of the Kali Necklace. You have chosen to view the Fifty Gates of Binah.

  Markriss saw a procession of towering gateways that stood like oversized castle drawbridges, twice the height of the block he had leapt from, and made of what seemed nothing more than glowing beams of energy. Though none of what he witnessed was solid in the true sense of the word, the energy still resembled the huge bricks, concrete and steel Markriss remembered so well from his journey into the Ark. Letters and words were inscribed all over the gates in a strange language. It was difficult to tell what was more fantastic—the sight of something that should have been solid and immovable swaying like a ghostly mirage, or the line of gateways standing rigid as parading soldiers, marching towards a horizon that never came, piercing the night with beauty.

  When did you last see this?

  Back when I rode the train into the Ark. We had to pass through a gateway to enter.

  This is not the gateway you saw, exactly. The Gates of Binah are a visual representation of the Fifty Words of Power that aid your journey from physical to astral existence, via chants used during transmutation. Your memory fills in the blanks, presenting what you now see.

  Then they’re not real? Only a figment of my imagination?

  Imagination or not is irrelevant: simultaneously, things exist and do not.

  That he believed, more than anything the professor had said. A straightforward answer, even if the reasoning was ludicrous.

  Now we leave, Wallace said. You are not permitted here until you have reached a level of understanding far from your immediate grasp. The results could cause harm.

  Light came and went. They flew at speed above a charcoal desert, the cracked and barren land beneath them beaten flat. The tremendous humming was gone. They must have entered some kind of highway, as belts of light resembling Markriss’s ka were all around, darting above and below in orderly streams of movement. Ahead, he could see a shadowed range of mountains growing steadily taller as he and Wallace drew close. Above the peaks, in what he could only loosely term as the sky, a sparkle of far-away stars appeared.

  We have reached Asiah, Markriss heard, the fifth and lowest level of the Phenomenal Plane. You may also hear it mentioned as the Taut, as like many other dimensions, Asiah bears many names. Some traditions know it as the Light.

  I’ve heard of that.

  A name he recognised. He felt relief.

  Asiah is just a small step from the world you are familiar with. The lower half, where you will find your physical body, is Geb. This complementary structure follows the ruling adhered to by all creations of natural order: subtle and dense, anti-matter and matter, formed and unformed, negative and positive. A union of opposites creates everything that exists in this plane or any other.

  OK. OK, I think I understand that. My world and this are one and the same, right?

  As are your ka and physical form.

  In the midst of Wallace’s explanation, Markriss failed to notice a belt of light loosen itself from high above, plummeting with lightning speed. When he heard its approach, a high-pitched whistle that lasted a mere second, it was too late. The ka slammed into him with the force of a cannonball, sending sensations through him that felt like pain, but as it went on the feeling was closer to unbearable pleasure, so severe there came a point where he couldn’t take more. And yet the sensation went on. A screaming ecstasy pierced his hearing, the voice crying in harmony with his own. His vision became impaired to the point where colours were all he could see . . . A green and purple flashing sequence over and over, faster until they were one.

  Then it was gone, the renegade ka off and racing into dimness, him reeling. Emotions leapt. He felt joy without knowing why, feared he might not experience anything like that again. Pain, not from collision but loss of connection. Ecstasy at its highest, most sustained level and Markriss needed more. When he regained his senses the ka was a pinprick of light almost reaching the distant mountains. Before Wallace could say anything, Markriss gave chase.

  He needn’t have bothered. The ka was a darting, shimmering minnow in an everlasting ocean, hard enough to keep in sight, let alone catch. He accelerated enough to see its form in better detail until over a hundred metres from it the ka dropped pebble-like, disappearing before he realised what had happened. Markriss saw he’d almost reached the mountain range and slowed. Wallace appeared, floating towards him with effortless ease.

  What was that?

  Although you might not feel like it, your desti
ny has been blessed, Markriss. You experienced a meld. Your ka merged with another to form a bond that will manifest in the physical plane. You met your mate.

  Then where did she go?

  Assuming his mate was a woman could be presumptuous. The professor never paused to correct him.

  The ka was travelling in the dream state, as most here do. Its disappearance is likely due to a reunion with the physical form, brought on by the meld. Put in simple terms, your soulmate either returned from transmutation, or woke.

  He snapped to attention. Keshni . . .

  Her name, before he could stop the thought—hearing it resound, he knew he was right. Why would he need more signs? The way she’d approached. The mixing of their ka and the instinct he possessed from the moment he saw her all pointed to the same thing.

  Were the colours hers?

  Yeah . . . Yeah, they were. Green and purple. I’d never forget.

  Then it is inevitable. She’s your mate.

  Relief, impossible to fully express. Coupled with exhaustion, it bled former strength and left him limp, powerless to stop himself losing height, drifting towards the mountainside.

  This way, Markriss. Just a little further and you may rest.

  They crept upwards again, slower this time, crossing the mountaintop with great effort. And even while his head reeled at the prospect of finally having the relationship he’d hoped for, the view beyond the peaks was another spectacle that sent his senses into overload. Stars in the indigo sky burst into life like arctic meadows, dotting the heavens with varied sizes of white, blue and red, leaving little room for anything else. Then, when his gaze could take no more, it was drawn to the backdrop of nebulae and galaxies—misted red and yellow clouds of dust representing the nearest, spirals of centre-lit Catherine Wheels in freeze-frame denoting those further away. There was little time to see it all, the whole scene spinning and shifting to the east as he watched. From the west, he saw an inexhaustible pattern of more coloured dust.