"I am sure of it, Pacal," I replied, "but I think there is a great deal more to Apterona than meets the eye. Perhaps your eye to the sky would do better to gaze upon the mysterious Kamachej, with whom, I fear, my business is not yet finished."
"Perhaps."
The night air was refreshingly cool as we sneaked along the arterial lane to the river. By this time, the floodwater had trickled away into the channel, leaving only a slippery lane of earth for us to walk. When we reached the river, Pacal's left side was caked with mud; he was not the most agile of creatures.
"Here he comes," he whispered, pointing upstream to a shadow upon the slow-moving river. The prow of a slender vessel eased toward us. It drifted on the current, guided by Puma Pawq'ar's single paddle. He maneuvered the boat parallel to our bank so we could to jump aboard. As soon as my feet hit the deck, it started to wobble. Pacal damn near capsized the thing, but knew to stay low until the rocking ceased.
It was a wooden longboat, fifteen feet from bow to stern, expertly crafted to cut through counter-currents. This made it an ideal vessel for negotiating the varied course of a river. I knelt alone in the centre, flanked by my companions, who each stroked the glistening water with his paddle. The reflected great palisade of Yaku blurred in rapid jabs of moonlight as we passed.
At the southwest corner of the village was a gridiron gate, buttressed on either side by two thick layers of fencing. It barred our exit. Puma had to leap ashore and wind a crank in order to lift the barrier. With there being no way to operate this from outside the palisade, Puma locked the crank into place for our return, granting every man and beast access to Yaku for the duration of our trip.
"Be watchful," whispered Puma. "The river and the night are a deadly combination. We are the prey tonight. I suggest you ready yourself with a spear, Lord, and your sharpest wits. Nocturnal creatures are the fiercest of all."
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Through the forest, to the sea," he replied.
"Why?"
"Why not?"
I suddenly realized how Rodrigo must have felt as he stood beside me in the time machine. Trusting one's fate to a fool on a fool's errand takes a special kind foolishness. A surge of adrenaline forced me to sit up, hyper-alert.
The night spewed darting shapes and fell noises. Strange, slithering creatures slipped into the river here and there. Their eyes merged with moonlight shards strewn across the dark water. I alerted Puma and Pacal at least a dozen times to no account; whatever protagonist Apterona had for The Boy Who Cried Wolf fable, I was it that night.
We traversed eight or nine miles of the river before the tree-line rose before us. The channel's flow grew more rapid. We were buffeted from bank to bank as the watercourse adopted a series of chicane-like twists, while Pacal and Puma paddled like crazy to steer us mid-stream, back into the flow. The sprawling canopy ahead seemed alive. A thousand draping snares twitched and waited in the gloom.
"Let us light a torch," I insisted. "We'll be blind under the forest roof."
"Would you rather us light a beacon for all the night hunters?" said Pacal. "Sit still and remain silent until we reach the far side."
Enormous branches reached out over the water from either side. I had no way of telling how near or large they actually were. The forest ceiling, as I had remembered, was pretty much impenetrable. The only light sources were a few scattered moonbeams. We drifted into a vast tunnel of shadow.
The water flow eased until it barely moved, and I determined that the channel's breadth was considerably wider at this section of the forest. That relaxed me slightly, as I figured we would no longer be within biting range of creatures on the shore. But this was the first rainfall of the year. How many monsters might now be awakened from their hibernation? What hideous creatures might gather to taste that first sip, and find a floating meal instead?
I swore the undergrowth shook. A heavy rustling rose from the left bank. Pacal and Puma quickened their strokes but still kept to a smooth rhythm, so as not to attract attention by splashing. I readied my spear. The rustling grew louder still. Branches snapped, and I imagined more and more creatures gathering inside the knots of vegetation.
My eyes ached from trying to penetrate the night. I glimpsed a thousand sharp edges scything through the tall grass. Muscular tails jabbed into the air. What hideous predators stalked us from the shore? The sound of displaced foliage grew a hundredfold. It was as though the entire jungle forced itself inward upon us. At any moment, I expected the water to erupt with scrabbling terror. My hand shook. The spear chattered against the side of the boat. What a pitiful deterrent the weapon was, when the beasts trampled a forest of far firmer wood in their wake. I should have used the weapon to help my companions procure our escape. Instead, I froze.
We were the focus of a full-on stampede. The creatures kept their distance from the river's edge, always a few meters beyond our sight. My two friends bobbed at a fierce rate, surging our boat ahead with muscular drive. They steered us by the right hand bank, which was silent.
Suddenly, we drifted toward the left. The distance between boat and shore began to diminish. I was about to alert them when I realized it was not of their doing. The channel itself was narrowing at a rapid rate. Their paddles scraped uselessly against the shallows on either side. I gasped as first Pacal, and then Puma, stopped for a rest.
How dare they! I thought, ready to leap ashore and make a run for it.
I needn't have worried. A few moments later, they flipped their paddles and used the handles' leverage to push us along the shore. Though we hadn't slowed much during this pause, I noted the fact that there was less current at this point of the river--the channel must have been much deeper here--and that we would be able to traverse this bottleneck by the same means on our return journey.
Return journey? That's insane!
The narrow section soon ended. Strangely, the stampede also dissipated. The foliage was at its most dense, and the jabbing tails quickly disappeared. As the watercourse widened, the thunder behind fell to a whisper. For what seemed the first time since entering the forest, I let out a breath.
We drifted for the next few miles. A silent ripple across a hidden pond. Our paddle strokes were whispers in a tunnel of no echoes, where not even the coursing water disrupted the night. The odd distant chirp or nearby cicada kept me alert, but I did not say a word. My mind adopted a kind of schizophrenia, whereby one half fretted over the unseen dangers to come, and the other half grew more relieved, excited to learn what secret Pacal and Puma thought was worth this terrifying ordeal.
Could it be another settlement? Or perhaps a stash of treasure to rival King Solomon's? One thing's for sure, it had better be something extraordinary.
A gentle rumble ahead warned Puma to steer right, where we drifted in preparation to dock. Our course had been more or less flat since Yaku, and I deduced that in order to reach sea level, the river would have to fall significantly, and soon. My guess was either steep rapids or a waterfall.
Puma jumped onto the bank and dragged the bow firmly to shore by its mooring rope. He secured the line to a dead stump, and Pacal and I got out. While we jogged, I dared not look anywhere but at Puma's feet in front of me.
The river ended a short distance ahead. Its rumble soon grew to a roar. We'd reached a waterfall. I wondered why the fellows were leading me to a sheer drop when Puma suddenly broke right along a faint trail in the grass. We stepped into the open on a carpet of slick moss. I stopped for a moment, but Pacal pushed me on.
A gust of salty air hit us side-on, and I knew we were atop the great sea cliff, the pedestal on which all Apterona sits in safety from the ocean. Indeed, the void a dozen strides ahead sang with scaling breakers and the fizz of falling spray.
"We are almost there, Lord. You can rest shortly," said Pacal.
"I will rest when I am safely in my bed, and not before."
"So be it, but we still have the return voyage to contend with tonight."
He had a way with words, a frankness that again reminded me of Rodrigo. Not an ounce of sympathy permeated his logic. I wanted to throttle the swine then and there, to the strains of some tragic sonata. That would have at least fitted the way I perceived this doomed expedition!
Puma halted when we reached a gap in the rock and said, "Take the spears, Lord. Pacal, grab the flints. We'll light our way from here."
They fumbled through a clump of dark weeds, each retrieving a wooden torch wrapped in what must have been a waterproof cloth. They lit them by striking a flint. Puma wasted no time in leading us on. I suddenly recalled how Rodrigo and I had gained access to Apterona all those months before--a stairway inside the rock. An identical tunnel had been hewn here, also. The steps wound down in much the same fashion as the ones we had climbed, spiraling, diagonal, ill-carved.
"Who is to blame for these steps?" I asked.
"The ancients," replied Puma, "in the days before the first Kamachej. Some say the gods themselves oversaw their construction."
"Then the people in that time harbored a desire to reach the ocean?"
"Evidently. And not all of their legacy is in as poor a shape as what lies beneath your feet, Lord, as you shall see."
This spurred my curiosity. Both Puma and Pacal were adept at hinting, rather than telling--a sly attribute to go with their devious machinations. I trusted them, yet not wholly. After all, they had delivered me, without explanation, straight to the Kamachej and his cruel interrogation.
Perhaps this was the turning point, the ultimate revelation of their trust.
A blast of wind staggered us backward. Another followed. The effect was not surprising to me, though; the stairway acted like a wind tunnel on the sea front, and the potent taste of salt told me we were almost at the ocean. The claustrophobic passage spilled us onto a wet beach. Bounding waves broke no more than thirty feet ahead. A cliff wall on each hand stretched out a short distance into the sea, spreading apart as an open-armed invitation.
On a temperate day, our cove might have made an ideal spot for sunbathing or swimming. That night the elements were fierce. Screeching winds tore above us and swooped to whip up the crests of breakers, soaking us with that fine sea spray. Puma led us across bare sand to the right, where we reached another entrance into the rock. This was around twenty feet high and ten feet across. It was not visible from the cove at all, concealed by a jutting curvature of the cliff wall, parallel to the shoreline.
My companions shielded their torches until we stepped inside. My damp jeans clung to my legs. I looked up, astonished. The cave was an enormous natural hollow in the rock. Nowhere near as high as the one Rodrigo and I had found, it was far deeper. Its ceiling rose from twenty to fifty feet high. A chandelier of stalactites hung low, almost reaching their stalagmites. The enclosure resembled the fossilized jaws of a shark, whose haphazard teeth had continued to grow, rather than decompose, after its death.
All this was decorative, though, next to what Pacal and Puma had brought me here to see: a vast water channel along the far wall of the cave. It stretched back under the island for at least a mile. Froth from a torrential cascade nodded across the surface a few meters inside, and I guessed that the waterfall partitioned this channel from the sea. A little further in, ripples lapped the bow of a small wooden ship. About the size of a schooner, it was fully rigged with rope and a single furled sail. When I looked closer, I saw that such vessels populated the entire length of the channel--over a mile of ships, moored there, waiting.
The spears fell from my grasp. They clattered with hollow thuds that pulsed through the entire chamber. Pacal placed his hand on my shoulder.
"I knew it would impress you, my friend," he said.
I was speechless. The enormity of this endeavor was beyond anything I had encountered on Apterona, save the ziggurat palace. This constituted more than a vague ambition to explore. It was an imminent plan to leave en masse. The sheer time and manpower required for shipbuilding, not to mention the ingenuity and know-how.
"This must have taken..."
"One hundred and thirty-eight summers," finished Pacal.
As I headed toward the fleet, a thousand questions flooded my mind. "How many are involved in this, and how have you been able to keep it a secret for so long?"
Puma handed me his torch. This expedition was the ultimate display of trust, all right.
"There are many involved from the villages," said the prince, "but not as many as you might expect. A hundred and thirty-eight summers is more than four generations of concerted effort. Legend has it the great Palace was built in less time. As for the secrecy, you will be surprised how meticulous one can be when the consequences of a misstep are so grave."
"So, no one loyal to the Kamachej has ever found out about this?"
"Let us say no one has been given the chance to tell him."
"What do you mean, Puma?"
"I mean, Lord, that anyone who attempts to reach this place without permission is...not allowed to do so. We were observed the moment we reached the stairway, just as we are being watched as I speak. Indeed, were Pacal or myself not with you, I doubt if you would have reached this far, and you would certainly not leave this cavern alive, my friend."
"A dubious privilege, then," said Pacal, attempting to lighten the mood.
I made straight for the first vessel, noting her rather bluff bow and ever-so-slight list to port. My breath soon grew very cold. Not for the first time since leaving the time machine, I felt the effect of the tiny organisms that rendered a chill where there was none. These hardy life forms, used for refrigeration on Apterona, coated the entire wooden vessel.
"What purpose do these serve on board?" I asked, tracing my fingers through the sparkling frost which lined the mast.
"They are great preservers," said Pacal, "both of their own lives, which re-generate endlessly, and of their surroundings, which they adapt to and protect. They are time skin--brought down from the mountains by the Kuti river, which also brought us here tonight. Kuti is the ancient word for time. When the river empties, they remain--the indomitable skin which not even the sun can defeat--until the river fills up again, eventually spilling them into the sea. They have lined our vessels for over a century, preserving them in this pristine state. We owe them a great deal."
This answer pleased me. One of the minor mysteries of Apterona was now resolved. However, a mighty checklist still remained. The cold quickly became unpleasant, and I jumped back ashore. My two companions walked behind me as I began the sublime tour of this underground armada. Thinking back to the Moncado and the Aquitaine, I tried to imagine what Rodrigo, Ethel, Sam and Dumitrescu might make of this and its possible ramifications.
What precedent in the tomes of historical fact, or even myth, was there for a great pre-classical civilization crossing the ocean to foreign lands? And what of the advanced intellects and knowledge that would travel with them?
Actually, the conjectures of mythologists were quite well known on this topic. Many sources point to a common motif among the origins of ancient stories and religions; it tells of a tall man, dressed in white robes, arriving from the sea to impart great wisdom. This is documented across many of the great cultures and eventual empires of the world, including Egypt and, according to one or two sources, even Ancient Greece. Perhaps most crucial is the presence of this tale in the origins of Mesoamerican civilizations. Aztec, Toltec, Mayan and Incan mythologies all incorporate it in some way. Had I found the epicenter of this shock-wave of human advancement?
Of course, these great empires arose at vastly different points in history, yet who is to say that the seeds of knowledge were not sown patiently? The architectural genius of Mayan monuments, like El Castillo, or the Pyramid of Kukulkan, have always baffled historians to some extent, as have the ziggurats in other South American countries. The pyramids of Egypt, too, possess a precision and even astronomical significance that people have studied and revered for centuries. Could the knowledge of Apteron
a have been recorded somewhere, and utilized by later intellects with the means to oblige it? Indeed, there is so much unexplained of ancient cultures that one simply has to keep an open mind.
"Excuse me for a moment," interrupted Puma, turning back to where we had entered. "Our resident friends want a word with me."
I watched as he strode away toward a group of four or five distant figures stood at the cave entrance.
"There is something else you ought to be aware of, Lord, and this is a good time to tell you, now that we are alone," whispered Pacal, handing me his telescope. "I know that you arrived here from the sea, and that you and Rodrigo traveled a great distance to reach us... A great distance... Through time..."
Chapter 14
"W-what do you mean?" I said.
"There is no need to worry," said Pacal. "Vichama Supay does not know, nor does Puma. Only one other is aware of it, and he is the one who told me."
I swallowed hard before answering, "All right then, who told you, and what sorcery led him to that conclusion?"
A law student friend of mine once told me it is prudent, when trying one's case, to only ask a question one already knows the answer to. By that rationale, Pacal now had me at a grave disadvantage. The multitude of possible answers rushed at me like a spinning trident. Put simply, our game was up. This mysterious other person knew we were time travelers. He therefore had our lives in his hands, for if he were to tell it to the intolerant Kamachej, we would be in serious trouble.
"He wants to meet with you," replied the Apteronian, cryptic as ever. "I will take you tomorrow, if you like."
"I think that would be very wise," I agreed.
And that was that: the yank from my rapture, the breaking of the spell, the end credits rolling before my eyes. My warning to Rodrigo all those months before was finally justified. Somehow, someone had figured out our secret and told Pacal.
Was it just luck this person had gone to Pacal first, or was the fact significant? Perhaps he was equally broad-minded. Maybe he was anxious to learn something from me--the future of Apterona, perhaps? It would be logical to assume a person traveling back through time would know all about his destination beforehand, to ensure, as far as possible, a trouble-free stay. What might I say if he asked that? Should I impart the mystery of the dead time-traveler, whose appearance had prompted this whole affair?
The Basingstoke Chronicles Page 10
