The Flames of Time (Flames of Time Series Book 1)

by Peter Knyte

Following breakfast I wandered out to the sturdy shelter of the western veranda to watch the rain as it continued fall. At times it seemed to lighten, almost as though it might stop again, only to come down heavier than before a few minutes later. From time to time as the downpour eased off, a figure or two could be seen to dart from one building to another on some errand or other. But on the whole everyone was quite comfortably confined to the lodge and stables. A new batch of newspapers had been delivered while we were away, so the morning slipped by in easy distraction as we each reacquainted ourselves with the goings-on of our respective homelands.

  In the afternoon, following a light lunch, the group began to fragment along the lines of our individual interests. And after a few minutes casting around for something to do, I was just beginning to think I’d have to entertain myself editing my journal, when Harry came over and suggested a little sabre fencing in one of the stable barns near to the lodge.

  As we made our way, stopping off to pick up the gear, we also picked up Jean and Marlow, who were just in the act of resetting their chessboard.

  ‘It is no good,’ said Jean, ‘he is not even trying to beat me. Maybe you will concentrate more with a sword back in your hand my friend.’

  A few minutes later, this time with us being the ones darting through the rain, we were installed in a clear corner of one of the barns. Harry and I started and then following Harry’s undeniable victory, Marlow took a turn against him. Theirs was a much closer match, but again Harry prevailed, albeit by a narrow margin.

  ‘Rob, while it’s enjoyable to beat you for once, it would be considerably more gratifying if you’d at least pretend to be paying attention.’ said Harry with a palpable tone of irritation in his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry Harry, and to you too Jean for the chess,’ said Marlow, ‘You’re both right, I haven’t been giving you my full attention… There is in fact something preying on my mind… from our meeting with Nelion at the Singing Stones.’

  ‘I thought you might be holding out on us,’ chipped in Harry, with unrestrained zeal. ‘What else did you see Rob?’

  Hanging his sword and mask on one of the tack hooks along the wall, Marlow turned back toward us with a troubled look on his face.

  ‘I’ve been trying to make sense of it myself, though in some ways the message is clear enough. The account I gave you of my dream was honest, but it’s what I saw when I touched that blinding flame at the centre of the gathering that I didn’t explain as fully as I might.

  ‘The pain, as I’ve said, was overwhelming, but as I plunged my hand into the blaze, there was more besides the pain that was washing over me. At first it seemed like it was just a flickering image or two, but then I began to see groups of images. Moments of time that began to slow down to a speed I could comprehend. I can hardly describe the sensation. You see, whatever I thought about suddenly appeared in greater detail, places I knew, times and events I recognised. It was still blurred and confused at the edges, but slowly I began to exercise a deliberate influence the things I saw.

  ‘It was amazing. I remember thinking this kind of knowledge could be both wonderful and terrible. But as I thought it, I started to lose control of the flame, and had to struggle to understand what I was seeing. Dark futures of things that humanity may or will experience, the growth and decay of our societies, and those great societies that have come before us, all flashed before my eyes. It seemed so hopeless, but just as I could feel myself falling away from the flame, the conversation we had back at the lodge, about our lack of purpose, came back to me. And again as I thought about it, it was as though the flame understood what I sought. The images were coming too fast to begin with. It seemed like the entire history of humanity passing before my eyes in moments. But it slowed and I recognised that this sentient fire was showing me birth, death and survival throughout the ages. Yet there was nothing more, for just as we began to develop, to show potential, we began to decay, both as individuals and as societies. We simply didn’t exist long enough to reach beyond the petty achievements of our short lives.’

  ‘Robert, I am not sure I like where you are going with this … vision of yours.’ added Jean in a concerned voice. But Marlow hardly seemed to hear him as he continued.

  ‘What we could achieve if only we had more life, while I touched that flame everything was a question, and every question was answered. And I saw wonders you would not believe, slow at first, but my strength was fading, and the images started to slip though my fingers, back to a blinding, burning light. Still I hadn’t seen enough, and I couldn’t let go until I’d asked one final question.

  ‘In my minds eye I stepped further forward into the flame, pain coursing through every fibre of my being, and I grasped the bright centre of that inferno with both hands before shouting my question into its heart.

  ‘Where can humanity find more life?

  ‘The response was as dispassionate as the rest. I saw everything, but couldn’t control it, there was just too much. I grabbed fragments as they passed and tried to force them into my memory, but couldn’t stem the flow for long enough.

  ‘I don’t know at what point I passed out,’ finished Marlow, but I know my memory contains only a fragment of what it should. The part that remains though, it speaks to me of something I barely dare mention . . . Immortality!’

  For a moment Marlow was like stone, motionless after his tale, he was sat on the edge of one of the water troughs, looking distractedly at the ground lying between us.

  It was Harry who spoke, finally breaking the silence. ‘Surely an impossible dream Rob, do you remember nothing more?’

  ‘I can recall pieces Harry, fragments of a whole so large I simply couldn’t grasp it. But I know the answer is out there, humanity has held immortality in its hands before, but has lost it or buried it or forgotten it. There may even be those amongst us who still know the secret and walk this earth untouched by the ages. But what I do know is that this secret can be found, and brought forth once more into the light.’

  As he said these last words, he seemed to regain some of his focus, and standing up, he looked straight at us, ‘… and, I think I know where to start looking.’

  It was Harry’s turn to sit down, though I suspect we’d all have accepted a seat right then if there’d been anything around.

  ‘I’ve been trying to decide,’ continued Marlow as we all gathered our wits, ‘whether or not it would be fair to tell you all this. And I’m still not entirely decided as far as the rest of the group are concerned, but I think it would have been unfair of me not to tell some of you the truth before I go.’

  ‘Go? What do you mean before you go?’ said Jean. ‘Robert, we are your friends, you cannot be thinking of just disappearing in the night without first telling us of your plans or asking us if we would accompany you.’

  We talked for another two hours in that barn. At times it felt like I must have been dreaming, but eventually we all walked out together, dashing back to the lodge through the mud and rain. Marlow at least agreed that this was something he had to share with the group before deciding what to do next.

  After we returned to the lodge, Marlow took himself off to his room to prepare. Luke had spotted us returning and it took just one look at us for him to notice that something had transpired. Jean was at the fore and as we’d agreed in the barn, he prepared the way by telling Luke and then others that we had been discussing Nelion’s dreams again and that Marlow now had something he’d like to share with us.

  It was almost an hour before Marlow re-appeared, bringing with him several large rolled up maps and assorted other paperwork.

  We’d taken over a small dining room, which had yet to be set for the evening, and whilst there was a certain anticipation in the air, everyone was cordial and mostly happy to have the distraction, though Sylvio was still notably quiet about the entire matter.

  Marlow began by apologising for not telling them the whole story at the start, and then recounted what he had told us in the barn. With
the second telling he’d obviously made more sense of what he’d seen and now it was a more forceful structured account leading straight to the conclusion that he intended to search for the places and things he’d seen.

  That it was shocking we all knew and accepted. That it would not be accepted well by Sylvio and Luke was something that none of us had really considered.

  ‘This is wrong.’ insisted Luke.’ It is against the law of God to seek such things. I do not understand what poison we drank to give us such dreams, but it is the work of the devil my friend and it will drive you to your destruction.’

  ‘For the sake of our friendship, let us just wait for the end of the rains, then go to find some of the fresh new game. The savannah will be rich with life soon, the bush in flower and full leaf. Let us go and enjoy it and forget this primitive nonsense.’

  Harry immediately objected to this. That it was unusual and unorthodox could not be doubted, but primitive and devilish he simply didn’t agree with.

  That the atmosphere remained cordial for almost the entire duration of our talks was a testament to the friendship that existed between the group. But after half an hour or so of constant back and forth discussion, of maps and illustrations, and even of Luke bringing down his bible it all fell apart.

  Sylvio, who’d been quiet for most of the conversation, stood up, and after expressing his regret at our decision, and stating in very simple terms that he felt what we were proposing was not only wrong, but dangerous and against the will of God, he walked out. After that I don’t think any of us expected to find the common ground we so desperately sought, and eventually Luke also took his leave of us.

  ‘I wish I were able to wish you well on your venture Robert.’ he finally said, slowly standing up from the table around which we’d been sat. ‘But I cannot. I do believe you are stepping onto a truly dangerous path my friends, so I will pray for you no matter which way you choose to travel. May God go with you.’

  With that Luke also turned and left. The rain was still heavy so there was no way in which Luke and Sylvio could leave the lodge for at least another couple of days. But as soon as they were able, I knew they would depart.

  Without anything having been voiced the matter was completely dropped whilst Luke and Sylvio were trapped in the lodge with us. They in their turn made no mention or comment upon our plans, and for a brief few days all was superficially as it had been. We talked and dined together, played cards and distracted ourselves with the other limited games and entertainments provided by the lodge. At one point, possibly the closest any of us came to the subject of our plans, I came across Jean on one of the verandas, desperately trying to recapture the scene beneath the cliff face, from his memory. His original sketch having been entirely destroyed in the complete soaking we’d got on the journey back.

  Eventually though, the rains did subside, and Sylvio and Luke took their leave. We were all there to see them off. And although we enquired politely about their immediate plans, there was still very definitely no further mention of ours.

  As they rode away from the lodge, leaving the five of us behind, I couldn’t help but wonder what could be going through the minds of my companions. From being a large and gregarious group that had travelled around Africa for over two years together, they had in the space of a few short weeks fractured and split to leave just four of their original number, plus myself.

  I couldn’t be sure, but as I looked at them after Sylvio and Luke had ridden out of sight, I thought I could see the same thoughts present in their expressions.

  CHAPTER 5 – THE PATH

  It was another ten days before we were ready to leave the lodge and start our long trip down country toward our destination in Rhodesia. It was going to mean travelling through some unfamiliar territory into what had once been known only as “the interior”.

  But it felt good to be busy, and to be heading far beyond the territory any of us had explored before. The practicalities of such a journey demanded some additional preparations, and aside from waiting for the last of the rains to finish, we also needed some guides and servants. Provisions and currency had to be sent for and then transported to the lodge, along with more ammunition and all the maps we could obtain of the territories we’d be travelling through. By the time we were finally ready to set off, the anticipation was unbearable. But go, we did and it wasn’t long before we were surrounded by the now verdant and rich Serengeti. The dark red soil was still soft under foot after the rain, and every tree and bush in full leaf or flower, much to the enjoyment of the insects and birds

  We were initially heading inland, leaving the Great Rift behind us and toward the eastern edge of Lake Victoria. From there we were planning to find a boat to its more southerly shore and then south again, over the surrounding highlands, and hopefully down one of the rivers feeding into Lake Tanganyika, that longest of all African lakes. If we could make that far and then find another good boat to take us down its great serpentine length then we’d be half-way to Rhodesia.

  We were making good time through the bush and savannah, and after a couple of days had crossed the invisible boundary into Tanzania. With the travelling and activity the group morale seemed to improve, and it wasn’t long before we were once more sociably chatting over an evening meal and being victimised by Jean’s unforgiving French sarcasm.

  ‘Perhaps I should start writing my memoirs.’ He’d spontaneously commented one night whilst we were sat around the camp fire over a ‘digestif’ pipe or two. ‘Like George here, with the journal in which he is always writing. A record of my thoughts and sensations, as well as perhaps a note or two upon my previous achievements and … conquests.’ he said, smiling as Harry exploded with an involuntary cough and puff of sparks from his pipe.

  ‘Conquests Jean? Are you sure the world is ready for such revelations.’ responded Harry, tamping down his pipe and attempting to re-light it with a thorny spill from the fire.

  ‘Oh I did not say I would necessarily publish such gentle … histories, but I think perhaps I should start to record them.’ retorted Jean with a very self-satisfied glint in his eye.

  ‘Ah, more of an aide memoir,’ responded Harry again, struggling to restrain his smile, ‘to help you remember the details in years to come perhaps.’

  ‘I have an excellent memory, thank you Harrison,’ Responded Jean, with an air of mock offence at the barely restrained laughter from Peter, Marlowe and myself. ‘I was thinking more as a general record, for what I might use it in years to come, who can say. But if I were to wait until I had the purpose before I start to keep the record, then I should never begin.’

  We talked some more about journals, their pro’s and con’s and I explained about my father’s writing being the inspiration for my own, and my trip to Africa. As for the purpose, I had to confess myself just as much at a loss as Jean. As the fire burned and we emptied and refilled our pipes it became Harry’s turn to become more serious.

  ‘You know, as I think of it now, despite my earlier comments Jean, I do begin to wonder whether you should consider keeping some kind of record of this journey. Like the rest of you, and please forgive me for putting it so bluntly Rob, I have no idea whether we’ve embarked upon a journey of fools, or something entirely more serious. We cannot know one way or the other at the moment, but if it should prove to be the latter, then a record of this … gentle history, may well become of interest and even importance.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive Harry.’ responded Marlow, ‘Whilst the lucidity of my dreams was enough to convince me that I had to investigate them further, it’s only right all of you should retain your scepticism. Especially as it’s far from certain that I will be able to take us straight to our destination, though I have been attempting to commit as much as possible from my dreams to paper in order to ensure nothing that might be useful is forgotten. Even so, there will still be times when an educated guess is all I can offer.’

  We’d talked our way to that calm time of night, when slee
p was almost upon us and contemplation comes easily. So after throwing the conversation around for a little while longer, the talk gradually went down to nothing before we each turned in for the night.

  Another couple of uneventful days travel saw us at the shores of Lake Victoria, and aboard a medium-sized barge that plied a route up and down the eastern shore of the lake between Mwanza and Kampala. We’d been fortunate to catch it heading south, and even more fortunate to find it with enough space for us.

  I must confess I hadn’t appreciated the sheer scale of the lake until we were upon it, a warm south-westerly breeze pushing us away from the water’s edge as we travelled. The expanse of water was enormous, though shallow by comparison with the other great African Lakes, and strangely warm as a consequence. But it seemed less a lake than an inland sea.

  At over two hundred miles across and three hundred long, we were still skirting the edge comparatively speaking, even if at times the shore was just a hazy blur on the horizon. Of the western or northern shores we never saw sign, even with the small telescope that Jean carried. But as impressive as it was during the day, at night after the last trace of sunset had faded from the west and only the starlit sky remained to be reflected in the water, it must surely have been one of the most beautiful places on the earth. The boat seeming to sail through the heavens themselves. Not that its motions were appreciated by the hippopotami, who we could hear baying and calling throughout the night from the shore. As for the crew, they were oblivious to Lake’s charms. For them, to upon that field of stars served them only to navigate the darkness.

  We arrived in the early morning on the third day in Mwanza, a small but bustling port right on the edge of the lake and framed in the distance by the smoky outline of the surrounding highlands. It was fairly rudimentary by comparison with Nyrobi, but it had enough of a population to merit a number of larger and obviously European-style buildings. Not that we got to see much of them. Within an hour of touching land we’d found another barge going in our direction, ferrying a middle-aged Dutch couple who were heading the same way as ourselves on their way to a mission outpost located in the highlands on one of the rivers that fed Lake Tanganyika. It was too much of an opportunity to miss, so forgoing a stay in Mwanza we simply moved our things from one boat to the other and then set off once again.