The Basingstoke Chronicles

by Robert Appleton

  "Come on, Baz, one last effort," said Rodrigo, lifting me to my feet. "Antes de caídas de noche."

  "What's that?"

  "Before night falls," he replied with a wink.

  Dusk outpaced us. It covered the forest in a matter of minutes. My tired eyes barely remained in focus.

  Silhouetted in the distance were the peaks of a mountain range to the east and the forest to the west. Vague, rolling grassland threw up undefined shapes in the dark ahead. In a matter of minutes, we could see only by feeble moonlight.

  "You got that torch handy?" said Rodrigo.

  I retrieved it from my carrier and replaced the battery with our one and only spare. I made sure Darkly was still with us before we continued. My idea was to put as much distance between us and the hostile forest as possible. Yet I was honestly too spent to take another step, and was ready to order Rodrigo to make camp then and there. But as we reached the top of a shallow hillock, a noticed small fire flickering ahead.

  I snatched the torch from him and killed the beam. "What shall we do?"

  Rodrigo hushed me. "Well, we're exposed now, no matter what," he whispered. "Whoever inhabits this place, I'd sooner have the element of surprise on our side than theirs. Let's introduce ourselves. If there's any trouble, we have Darkly. If not, maybe we're out of the woods on this trip--in more ways than one. Either way, it's better than being ambushed in the middle of the night by some band of Neanderthals who've almost certainly seen our torchlight by now."

  "Wait a minute. What the hell kind of strategy's that?"

  "You've got a better one?"

  I was far too tired. Rodrigo's plan may have struck me as bull-headed, but in an exhausted state, one is wise to default to another's more lucid reasoning. In hindsight, Rodrigo probably thought along the same lines. That I didn't offer an alternative only proves what a dangerous thing trust can be. Each assumed the other had faith in this bold course.

  "We'll have to be damn quiet," I insisted.

  "And hope Darkly doesn't give the game away," he added.

  We crept over ankle-high grass for what seemed an eternity. Finally, when the flames were not twenty feet ahead, we saw two figures sitting on either side of the campfire. Their faces were turned away from us and up toward the heavens.

  We were soon upon them. So stealthy was our approach that I was able to alert them of our presence before they noticed us.

  "Hello there," I said amiably.

  The two strangers whipped their heads round to see. One of them fell back with a jolt. Both scrambled to their feet and stood, in defensive poise.

  My God, they were enormous! Rodrigo and I, each at around five feet ten, were no pygmies, but these fellows dwarfed us with head room to spare. My first guess of seven feet was, as it later turned out, not far off the mark.

  The only sound was the lickety-click of ravenous flames devouring timber. The strangers' faces towered above the fire, and thus were lit from beneath to produce a cruel appearance. I could tell they were as apprehensive as we, for their eyes darted between us and Darkly with dizzying rapidity. Rodrigo and I waited to see how they would react. As I later learned, both sides had the same idea, waiting for a sign that the other meant them no harm. Such a simple commonality, yet eons apart.

  They broke the stalemate first. The giant on the left, who seemed fascinated by our furry companion, took a few bold strides forward and placed his hand tentatively on my shoulder. I didn't recoil. His expression was gentle and full of hope. His handsome face suggested a similar age to ours. A woolen fabric covered his broad shoulder and draped down to below his knees, which immediately led me to believe there was some skill evident in his tribe.

  Returning the gesture, I smiled.

  For the first time, he spoke.

  I was wont to reply with a gesture telling him I didn't understand, but the man went on and on, obviously enthused, but for all I knew, giving us our last rites. It was surreal. I looked over at Rodrigo, ready to burst into laughter, when I noticed him nodding at the stranger, egging him on.

  "It's Quechua," the Cuban exclaimed, "or something very similar. The vocabulary is almost identical."

  His smile suggested there were at least decent grounds for communication.

  The second fellow seemed shy, unwilling to approach yet, but the way his friend jabbered on was utterly disarming. If only all strangers could be so unassuming. He finally stopped, reached to the ground, and picked up a small cup. To my surprise, he offered it to me. How could I refuse?

  The beverage had an unfamiliar taste but its fruity smell was not altogether unpleasant.

  "Save some for me, Baz. He used the word for include quite a few times, and friend as well."

  No sooner had I finished when Darkly emerged from behind, brushed between Rodrigo and I, and reared up in front of the stranger. He promised to wreck all our hard work. Yet, nothing happened. The bear took to our new acquaintance immediately, sniffing him in approval. The man, too, seemed unafraid, and if anything, treated Darkly with a strange reverence, as if he felt privileged beyond mere cordiality.

  Rodrigo understood the bizarre language well enough to hold a conversation. The garrulous stranger invited us to sit by his campfire. He introduced himself and his companion. Rodrigo responded by giving our names. Unfortunately for me--and I'm quite sure my old friend did this on purpose--I was presented rather too formally as Lord Basingstoke. This title amused the tall fellows no end. Whatever Rodrigo said to them, it must have been a cheap shot at my expense, and from then on I was known to these two simply as Lord.

  The bold fellow introduced himself as Pacal Votan, a name that, to me, sounded distinctly un-Mesoamerican. But what did I know? The quiet one was Puma Pawq'ar. The first time he spoke was to correct our wild mispronunciation of his name until we darn well got it right. He struck me as a man of great pride and stateliness.

  Before long, tiredness gripped me once again. It was persuasive this time, for as soon as I saw Darkly settle down at my side, his huge haunches spreading on the shallow grass, my eyelids drew shut and the busy day behind me vanished. The last thing I heard was the sound of laughter.

  Chapter 9

  A deep, prolonged growl woke me the following morning. I blinked groggily through the sun's glare. Darkly's bulky shape sharpened into focus.

  I saw a crowd of tall, tanned people standing no more than thirty feet from where I lay. They were dressed in pastel-colored chitons. At the head was Puma Pawq'ar. His expression was wide-eyed and expectant, as if he and his copper-haired fellows were the audience, waiting for a performance of some kind from me. I swallowed hard, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into.

  Where was Rodrigo? I glanced all around, slowly so as to not display panic, but my heart thumped. He was nowhere in sight.

  The crowd observed my every move with wonder. As I rose to my feet behind the bear, they gasped and took a collective step back.

  C'mon, think fast--you've got a nine thousand year head start.

  I was higher on the slope than they were, enough to see a huge distance beyond them. An impressive vista filled my eyes. Interspersed with patchwork yellow and brown, the landscape was mainly a lush green and undulated toward the east, where a formidable mountain range partitioned the continent. I was struck by the uniform forest covering the rim of this land. It formed a circumferential, coastal barrier which, save for solitary clusters here and there, had somehow never grown far inland at any point.

  I glimpsed a number of settlements ahead, each five or six miles apart. The farthest was partially obscured by the rise of a hill, yet I could still make out its blue-grey hue. This color identified the civilization's stone abodes. The nearest village was very clear, only a quarter mile ahead. It told me much about the tall folk.

  Built astride a dry river bed, the village was a marvel of primitive architecture; primitive, that is, until one observed these ancient engineering feats close to. Set equidistantly opposite each other along the river, the front
lines of buildings were arranged in a quite ingenious fashion. They were adjoined in the form of a row of square teeth lain horizontally, two parallel to the river, side by side, then two perpendicular, one behind the other, and so on. Makes sense...a riverside village.

  Two things sprang to mind. One was the garment belonging to the body I had seen at Dumitrescu's; the other was the tiny pendant I had picked up from the sea bed, just prior to finding the time machine. Both had possessed identical, angular patterns.

  Pieces of the puzzle all about me.

  Darkly reared up again, perhaps in an attempt to dispel the onlookers. Fearing an imminent engagement, I felt my heart thump against my chest. A sudden burst of pride also emerged, for the bear was a towering presence, and every inch of his eight feet was bent to my protection. He roared and slashed at the air with his huge claws. Many of the natives fled toward the village.

  "Wow, easy, boy," shouted a voice, in English, from behind the crowd. The tall folk parted to make way for Rodrigo and Pacal Votan. I gave a huge sigh of relief.

  "Get your things, Baz. We've both been invited to stay at--what was that name again--someplace unpronounceable. It's down there, at any rate," Rodrigo said, pointing to the village.

  "What about Darkly?" I replied.

  "As far as I can gather, the pairing of man and bear seems to have some ancient significance," he said. "You'll have to see for yourself, though. Our new friend, Pacal Votan here, has stirred up quite a hornet's nest for us, I'm afraid."

  Pacal succeeded in calming Darkly, but I could tell the bear wasn't entirely duped. His big, brown eyes kept watch on the natives. As I accompanied Rodrigo past them, Darkly followed, snorting every now and then, ensuring they stayed their distance.

  "So we're not in any danger at all, Rodrigo?"

  He gave Pacal Votan a friendly jab to the arm, before winking at me. "No more than we were last night."

  "OK," I said suspiciously, "then what's this place called?"

  "Well, the natives don't have a specific name for it, but Pacal Votan seems to be a bit of a rebel. He refers to the island as Apterona."

  As we neared the village, I took the opportunity to look more thoroughly at our surroundings. Magnificent herds of red antelope drifted to and fro between us and the western forest. To the northeast, a few miles away, not far from the dry, winding river, the tip of a large, bronze structure came into view between the cleft of two hills.

  We approached the settlement. As well as the stubborn consignment of natives following us, a sizeable welcome committee had assembled on the village outskirts. The copper hair of this people was universal, as was their slightly darker skin and tall stature. I also noted how similar the male and female garments were. All were just short of knee length. The only difference was that the men's chitons were open on the upper half of one side, much like a Greek charioteer's, whereas the women's were a trifle more conservative. Color-wise, I saw little apart from the basic blues, browns and greens, though these were quite tasteful and seemed appropriately rustic.

  The dry river wound parallel to the southerly stretch of the village palisade. As we crossed it, a coolness in the air refreshed me.

  "Check out that surface permafrost," said Rodrigo, pointing to the ground.

  I bent down to touch the soil and quickly recoiled. It was freezing! While firm and rocky, the earth was lined with a sparkling, transparent frost. Yet, this phenomenon did not extend beyond the banks of the river. Given that the night had not been cold, I must admit to being bamboozled. One thought did occur to me, though--a connection between this waterway and the underground cave we had experienced earlier. Unnatural as their temperatures were, I was intrigued by the common factor of water.

  Puma Pawq'ar overtook us, to join Pacal Votan at the head of this strange procession. The two appeared at odds as they spoke privately, Puma gesticulating like a riled octopus. Pacal Votan was content to shrug in response, once or twice even disagreeing. But Puma Pawq'ar, so quiet the night before, was clearly the dominant fellow. This assumption was proved beyond doubt when Pacal Votan finally waved his open palm across his chest and gave the slightest of bows.

  "We happened on the right pair, didn't we?" I whispered to Rodrigo.

  "I'll say. I can't quite figure out the hierarchy yet, but these two seem to be big chalk and big cheese. What do you reckon, Baz?"

  I laughed. "I think you're well on your way to becoming big cajone."

  "Why thank you, Baz. I can see you're going to learn your place in no time."

  The Apteronians waited for us in their hundreds against either side of the only open entrance in the giant wooden palisade. Many of the men were over six feet six, while the women tended to be somewhat shorter. They observed us with a mixture of awe and suspicion, many parents shielding their infants. One toddler, I remember, wailed the entire time, no doubt after hearing some cock 'n bull story about the bear and us foreign devils. I don't know about a hornet's nest, but there was a definite ambivalence written on those smooth, native faces.

  Entering the village should have been daunting, yet somehow that was not the case. The whole chain of events thus far: the appearance of Darkly, the friendliness of Pacal Votan, the ease with which Rodrigo had been accepted into the village, the fact of our still being alive--seemed, more and more, to be the work of Providence.

  The bear darted ahead to a wooden trough filled with raw fish, before returning with a mouthful. I rolled my eyes and glanced over to our two Apteronian friends. To my relief, they both smiled.

  "Wanaku," said Puma Pawq'ar, which tickled his companion.

  "What's that?" I asked Rodrigo.

  He blinked a few times. "Um, some kind of woolly animal, I think."

  "Indeed."

  Dust and dry grass lent an impression of poverty to the village. Three unobstructed lanes led directly from the three points of perimeter access to the village center. Small homes, reminiscent of early Spanish villas, lay haphazardly about. All were built with limestone and painted in the same marine color. It was as though an ancient seaside resort had been pushed inland.

  The architecture of these buildings incorporated severe angles and ornate, miniature pillars to support verandas. At the back of each was a spacious plot for growing organic food. Some were regular garden plots, with rows of colorful vegetables at various stages of ripening; others were more akin to orchards, jam-packed with all kinds of beautiful, fruit-bearing trees. My first impulse told me that only a hive-minded, and indeed high-minded society could seek to pool their materials from so many peripheral holdings.

  Pacal Votan led us into the large, elliptical centre of the village. It was a paved area as big as a football pitch, around which seemed to lie the vital mechanics, the hub, of this civilization. Facing the ellipse, porches and verandas held the means to prepare and supply every kind of resource imaginable: rigs for blacksmiths and stonemasons, looms for weaving, pots for preparing chemical dyes or mixing beverages, benches for carpentry and sculpting, and of course, various culinary set ups and displays. There was even a wooden rack filled with rolled-up, labeled scrolls--evidently a library of some kind.

  Although I was wont to wander around for a while, Pacal Votan ushered us to the building nearest us on the right. Sealed wooden casks stood on its porch. As I bent to smell, I rediscovered the sweet flavor of that fruity nightcap our new friend had given me to taste the night before.

  I'll bet this is his place, I thought as we entered.

  Darkly shuffled his way through the doorway, and refused to take no for an answer. Pacal Votan and I could not keep him outside. Eventually, we decided the only solution was for me to sit on a bench almost in the doorway, so the bear would not object to any separation and I was more or less out of harm's way.

  Pacal Votan stood before me for a moment, quietly inquisitive. He struck me as a handsome man for his tribe. On the whole, I didn't think them a particularly attractive people, but my taste has never fitted into popular convention when it comes
to looks. His six-foot-eight frame was also quite broad. While strong, I possess only a medium build, and I felt rather undersized in his presence.

  Rodrigo translated Pacal's words as best he could, words that I will never forget.

  "Lord, in my eyes you are welcome, but there are those who still fear the horizon. This is a belief we are burdened with on Apterona. Mistrust is everywhere, and until you have met with our Kamachej, for his judgment, many will see you as a dark prophecy, a drop before the deluge to come. I plead with you, wait here, and do not venture outside lest I call upon you."

  With that he strode out the door and met with Puma Pawq'ar again. The two of them hurried northward across the ellipse, through the shadow of a ten foot high statue magnificently carved from stone. It depicted a man looking up toward the heavens, and the beast at his side, a bear, whose head was turned to one side, alert to the many dangers facing them.

  The interior of Pacal Votan's home was a veritable cornucopia of scientific intrigue. I was stunned as I surveyed desks and shelves overflowing with metallic devices and instruments, the intricacies of which I could scarcely dream. Many of them seemed to be astronomical in nature. Indeed, there was a celestial map laid flat on one of the tables. It had been fashioned from a beige-colored material, its markings inked with a black dye. Not being much of a stargazer, all I was qualified to be was impressed.

  "All right, Rodrigo. Now we're alone, be kind enough to tell me what the hell's going on."

  He sat on a bench opposite me, fiddling with a complex contraption.

  "I've a feeling we don't know the half of it."

  "You're remarkably sanguine about all this."

  "Sorry, Baz, but I suppose we have to accept... The bottom line is, we'll not be leaving anytime soon. To tell the truth, this trip has turned out better than I ever expected. Think about it. What's the real reason we journeyed in the time machine in the first place? Scientific research? To solve some half-assed mystery about a dead body? Those ships sailed before they even lifted anchor. We're in this for the adventure, my friend--pure and simple.