Book of Days

by James Rubart

  Early on Tuesday morning Cameron looked at his directions again, wondering if he'd missed the cutoff. The guide at the climbing store said the trail was tough to see, but was right past the huge boulder shaped like a peach. He wanted to find a climb no one had been to in years. A place he could be alone on the mountain.

  Wait. There.

  He slammed on the brakes and made a quick U-turn.

  At the base of the rock was a faint trail. It looked like it had been eons since anyone had used it. Perfect. He didn't care if he remembered the climb, didn't care if he forgot it.

  He just wanted a place to figure out his next move. Maybe even attempt another conversation with God.

  After hiking for a little over an hour, he reached a cliff that looked at least 250 feet high. Other than a single crack that meandered up the rock face, there were no holds he could see for at least the first fifty feet. It would be a challenge. Good. He was ready.

  By the time he was halfway up, sweat dripped in a steady pattern off his forehead, down his nose, then either onto his burgundy climbing shirt or slid past him to splat onto the ground 120 feet below.

  He was almost bored by the time he reached the top. The climb was strenuous, but the crack had widened after the first twenty feet providing an easy hand and foothold all the way to the crest of the ridge.

  Cameron sat at the top, his legs dangling over the edge. Little zings of fear bounced through his stomach as he teased himself by looking down.

  "Are you alone?"

  Cameron spun at the sound of the voice and his heart rate spiked.

  Behind him, twenty or thirty yards away, sat an elderly man in a plaid shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. His long, jet-black hair hung to his shoulders. He looked Native American. And familiar. Had he seen this guy before?

  "Wow. Didn't expect to meet someone else up here. Yes. I'm alone."

  "I ask your forgiveness for startling you."

  The man stood and eased toward Cameron with a slow gait. Without question he'd seen that walk before.

  "You looked strong during the climb."

  "You were watching me?"

  "I've watched you for a while now." The man smiled and sat on a small boulder. "I pulled back from the edge a few minutes before you crested. I didn't want to scare you as you came over the top. To lose your grip just before the point of success could be extremely unsettling."

  "Agreed." Cameron smiled, knowing the man was talking about more than climbing.

  "My name is Grange."

  "Cameron Vaux."

  Grange looked out over the valley, then down the cliff Cameron had just ascended and yawned. "It makes me tired thinking about the climb you just finished. I did it often years ago, but no more."

  "How did you get up here?"

  "This is my land. I live here on my twenty-three acres of paradise." Grange pointed behind him with a gnarled finger. "Go far enough that way and you'll find what you might call a road. I certainly never drop by the store for an impromptu gallon of milk."

  "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to tres—"

  "You need offer no apology. I see very few people up here anymore." Grange closed his eyes and bowed his head. "You are welcome here, Cameron Vaux."

  He offered Grange a Powerade from his pack, and they sat on a rock near the edge of the cliff.

  "Why did you choose to attempt this particular climb?"

  "I don't really know. I was looking for something different. Something off the beaten path to explore, somewhere to get away, to get some time to think."

  "Maybe you were brought here by the guidance of a higher power."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Might I trouble you to look at the stone you wear around your neck?"

  The guy wanted to see Jessie's stone? Grange's eyes were intense as he gazed at Cameron's chest, and they didn't leave the stone as he untied it and handed it to the man.

  Grange turned the stone over in his palm. "Where did you get this?"

  "My wife got it years ago. She gave it to me before she died."

  "I'm sorry for your loss."

  "It's an unusual rock I'm told." Cameron took a long drink of his Powerade.

  Grange nodded.

  "Apparently it's rare."

  Grange nodded again.

  "But I don't know where she got it."

  "I do."

  "Really? Where?"

  Grange's only answer was to give tiny shakes of his head.

  "She thought the scratches on the back were some kind of writing, but she didn't know what language it was or what the symbols said."

  "I didn't think it would be found during my lifetime." Grange studied the stone for over a minute, the midday sun sending off little flashes of light as he turned it slowly in all directions.

  "Do you mind?" Grange stuck out his tongue and licked the stone, then studied it again. "I mean no disrespect; the darker shade helps me see certain nuances more clearly."

  "No problem, but maybe next time you could use some of the Powerade?"

  "That I would find to be too sticky."

  Cameron nodded. "Good point."

  After twenty seconds, Grange said, "Your wife was correct. It is a language." He turned and squinted at Cameron.

  "Whose?"

  "Mine."

  "What?" Cameron blinked.

  "It is the old markings. My grandfather was fluent in it. I can speak a little. I'm better at deciphering it."

  "So you can translate the markings?"

  "I already have."

  "And?"

  "Before I answer, I need to apologize for possibly disturbing you. It was not my intent to be seen."

  Two memories splashed into Cameron's mind. The figure in the park and the one in the truck. "You've been stalking me."

  "Not stalking. Watching. You and Ann. I needed to see you two. I needed to watch you for the coming time."

  "What coming time? What are you trying to say?"

  "As I said before, I think a power beyond yourself guided you here today. Maybe you are the new guardian?"

  "Guardian of what?"

  Grange tilted his head back and held the stone up to the sky. "This was marked over four hundred years ago. It tells of the place where the stories of time are told."

  "Stories of time? What are the stories of time?"

  "Memories. Of the past. Of the future."

  Cameron stared at the stone, and his heart pounded faster than it had during the climb. He grabbed his climbing pack and rustled through it, even though he knew his notebook wasn't inside.

  Hadn't Jessie said something about the stone and the book? Weren't her last words about the stone having to do something with the book? The memory flitted in and out of his mind like a dragonfly.

  He needed God to come through.

  If You're real, help me remember.

  A moment later her death flashed into his mind.

  "You have the stone?"

  "What stone?"

  "You must not lose it. It's the key . . . use it to find the book, okay?"

  She'd known. A chill sprinted down his spine. Cameron closed his eyes and rubbed his face with both hands. She'd known where the stone would lead him.

  "It's a place that records the past, present, and future?"

  "One might use that word to describe it, yes."

  Unbelievable. This had to be the Book of Days' legend Taylor had spoken about. Cameron wiped his hands on his pants and swallowed.

  Stone had lied.

  "It's real? This place?"

  "Yes."

  His heart rate kicked into another gear.

  "Can you tell me how to get there?"

  "It is a special place. It is not for everyone." Grange held Jessie's stone by the leather cord and let it settle onto Cameron's palm. "It is only for a very few."

  "I need to go there."

  "Why?"

  How could he explain the reasons to a man he'd just met? For Jessie, for his dad, for himself. To know there was mean
ing to life, that there was something beyond what he could see, beyond the chemical reactions residing in his mind he called memories. To be healed.

  Cameron closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest. "For the love of my father and the love of my wife."

  "Is there anything else?"

  "Just before my wife died, she told me to use the stone to find the book. And that someday I would know it's okay."

  "I see." Grange stared out over the valley, sitting on the palms of his hands. "If you choose to go, please note that it is a long hike. The hike is not hard, but it is four miles from an obscure trailhead not frequented much any more. Consider giving yourself enough time to make the journey. And give yourself enough time to be there as long as is necessary."

  Grange picked up a small stick from the ground and sketched the Three Peaks Mountains in the dirt at their feet. "Start here." He pointed to the base of one of the peaks. "This is where you will find the trailhead."

  Wait. Grange's sketch reminded him of something. A view? Taylor . . . Didn't Taylor show him? Yes. That day at the park. Stone guided him to a specific spot at a specific time of day to look at the Three Peaks. And he'd seen a shadow that looked like an arrowhead pointing to what looked like a tunnel in the same spot Grange had just drawn.

  Cameron shook his head and smiled. Taylor had been telling him where to find the book.

  "Do you know Taylor Stone?"

  Grange nodded. "We are friends."

  "Has he been there? To the place where the Stories of Time are told?"

  Grange patted Cameron's shoulder. "Let me show you what to look for along the way." And he continued drawing in the thin layer of dirt at their feet.

  When he finished he asked Cameron, "Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "I pray you are able to discover your path and find the Stories of Time."

  Cameron's adrenaline didn't stop pounding till he reached the bottom of the cliff and started the two-mile hike back to his MINI Cooper. He'd found it. The Book of Days and the Stories of Time were one and the same. He clutched the stone around his neck. Tomorrow he would take Ann and find his memories of Jessie and see his father again. Maybe even be cured.

  After that he and Taylor Stone would have a very long talk.

  CHAPTER 41

  The next morning Ann called Cameron at 7:40.

  "Are we still on for coffee?"

  Cameron rolled over in bed, grabbed his iPhone, and punched up his calendar. SEVEN THIRTY. ANN: COFFEE AT JAVA JUMP START. Whoops. They'd set the date the night they explored Taylor's building, but he'd forgotten to set his alarm. "I spaced. Yes, we're on. I'll be there in ten."

  "Good, we have to talk. There's something bothering me about Taylor's basement, and I want to work through it with you."

  Ann had a white chocolate mocha waiting for Cameron when he walked into the coffee shop.

  "How was your climb yesterday?"

  Climb? Right, yesterday he'd gone for a solo. Wake up, Cam.

  "Excellent. Great workout and great view from the top." At least there probably had been.

  "Were there any other climbers?"

  "Nope, my solo climb stayed solo."

  Was that right? He didn't see anyone, did he? Another climber? No, but he'd seen someone . . . Cameron squeezed his head.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "You look like you just forgot what day it is."

  "I . . . think I did meet someone." The flash of a conversation flitted through his mind. There was someone at the top. Was that right? A wave of panic flashed through him. Something deep inside said it was critical he remember who he talked to. And what they talked about. Was it a man? Yes, he was certain it was a man. A moment later he wasn't sure he'd talked to anyone.

  "Who'd you meet?"

  "I can't . . ." Heat filled his body. "You have to help me." He looked up. "It's important for me to remember this." He kneaded the back of his neck. Remember!

  "Was it a man? A woman? A kid?"

  "I talked to this person about the Book of Days, I know it." Cameron stood and immediately sat back down. "Help me."

  For the next few minutes Cameron tried to recreate the event of the previous day, but nothing more than a vague recollection of talking to someone at some point during or after or before the climb was all he could grasp.

  "It'll come back. Give it time."

  He didn't have time. And it wouldn't come back. "We need me to remember it now. I have to."

  "Let it go."

  "I can't." Cameron turned and stared out the window of the coffee shop.

  "It seems like whatever it was, it's let go of you." Ann took his hands and rubbed the top of them. "It'll be okay, Cam-Ram."

  He fell back in his chair as another wave of heat washed over him. "What did you call me?"

  "Cam-Ram. Has nobody ever called you that before?"

  He gripped his chair. "Jessie called me that."

  "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you something she—"

  "No problem." Ann calling him that? As strange as it was, it felt right.

  She squeezed his hands. "Can we talk about Taylor's basement? I think I've found something that might help us in this crazy quest."

  "What quest? It's over."

  "Probably, but maybe not."

  "Give me a minute to clear my head."

  Ann stood. "No problem. Those éclairs have been tempting me for three days. So I'm going to get rid of the temptation by eating one."

  Ann seemed to move in slow motion as she weaved through the knot of people waiting to order their java jolt. When she reached the pastry shelves at the back of the coffee shop, she reached in and pulled out two chocolate éclairs and pretended they were dancing with each other.

  When she got back, she said, "This éclair will do wondrous things for your mind and to your taste buds."

  "Wouldn't that be nice?"

  Ann took her first bite and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I think Taylor wanted us to find the book."

  "What do you mean?" Cameron took his first bite of the éclair. Wow. Tasty.

  "Didn't you think it strange he wasn't upset that we broke into his building?" Ann took another bite. "He didn't even mention it. And did you see the look of satisfaction on his face as we left?"

  "No."

  "Trust me. It's a girl thing. Any other woman would have seen it too."

  "And?"

  "It was as if he'd accomplished something he wanted to see finished."

  "Which was?" Cameron clicked his pen and pulled out his notepad.

  "I think he wanted to keep us from finding anything else in that basement."

  "Like what?"

  "Something we missed."

  "And that is?"

  "Another room we should have seen, that should have been there but wasn't, but had to be but we didn't see it."

  Cameron rubbed his forehead. "English please."

  "According to the blueprints, there is one more room in that basement we didn't see. My photographic memory, remember?"

  No, he didn't. "And you remember what?"

  "When we dropped down to the second level of the basement, we could only go left. But there should have been a room just to the right. There wasn't."

  "How big?"

  "At least ten by ten, maybe bigger."

  Cameron ran his fingers through his hair. Was it possible? He couldn't stop hope from stirring in his heart. "Hidden from sight just like the book room."

  "That's what I'm thinking."

  "You think he's stashed something in the extra room? A real Book of Days?"

  "You won't be able to push me that far, Cam, but I think we're going to discover some fascinating things about Taylor Stone."

  "I'm going back. Soon."

  Ann dug her hands into her hips. "You mean we're going back."

  "Really, even after that run-in with Jason?"

  "Yes."

  "I think I like you." Cameron smiled.
>
  "It's mutual."

  Finding the additional hidden room proved easier than finding the first. Behind the tapestry to their right was a small door with three ancient-looking padlocks. Time for Ann to apply her special skill again. She winked at him and two minutes later tossed the locks to the concrete floor.

  "Ready?" Ann asked.

  "More than."

  The door scraped open and they stepped into a room the size of a small den. Cobwebs hung like layered curtains from the ceiling covered by a fine coating of dust.

  "Ugh." Ann brushed them aside with her flashlight. "Someone forgot to call the cleaning crew."

  "Amazing." Cameron took a slow spin, shining his light on the room's contents. "I have a whole new set of questions for Mr. Stone."

  A large stack of newspapers were piled on a large oak desk directly in front of them. Hundreds of photos were tacked to the wall above the desk. On the left-hand wall was a map of Deschutes County. On the right wall hung a world map with a familiar set of dots and next to it a map of the night sky with the Vela and Pyxis constellations lined out with a white pencil.

  Cameron rapped the map with his fingers. "We have just found—"

  "Game headquarters."

  "Take a look at this." Cameron pointed to a framed picture on the desk. It was a copy of the photo of Ann's mom flying through the air on the tire swing.

  "All the secrets of Taylor Stone on display."

  He continued to search the right side of the room as Ann explored the left. A few minutes later she walked back carrying something. "I think you're going to want to sit down for this, Cam. Maybe lie down. Stone created more than a game." She shone her light on an old notebook in her hand.

  As Ann flipped the pages of the notebook, Cameron felt like a dentist had shot his body full of Novocain. Page after page was filled with scrawled notes on how to make leather look and feel hundreds of years old, how to hand-make parchment paper to look hundreds of years old, and notes of the fonts used in the early eighteenth century.

  The realization flooded over him. "He made the book."

  "Yes."

  "The whole thing."

  "The question is why," Ann said.

  Cameron rummaged through the rest of the notes on the desk. "Native American legends of the Northwest, Native American languages, burning letters into leather . . . unbelievable. He could publish Creating a Book of Days for Dummies."