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

by Peter Knyte

  ‘You mean he’s wanted to try this before now,’ I asked slightly surprised that I’d had no idea or suspicion.

  ‘I have attempted to be discreet, partly because of the reaction I thought it might cause in Luke, but also because I hoped it might somehow be avoidable. But Robert is acutely aware of the visions fading within his mind, and it has taken every scrap of my persuasion to get him to delay this long. Now of course I have failed, and he is determined to make his experiment this evening.’

  The others it seemed were already preparing, and Jean had just been waiting for me to return to tell me of the plans.

  I don’t know why it had popped into my mind, but that very afternoon, while I’d been walking back along the base of the escarpment, I’d found a small overhanging area of the cliff face, with a shallow depression in the ground below. It was an idyllic little spot, that was ideal for a summer nights camping, the overhang sheltering those below from falling rocks, as well as reflecting back the heat from a fire. It must have been the thought of the fire beneath the rough overhang that made me think of Africa, and our encounter with Nelion beneath that much greater rock face covered in shadow-dancing figures.

  I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck as I explained about the place I’d found to Jean. It was a simple coincidence that I’d been thinking of that particular experience only a few hours earlier, nothing more. But I could still feel that ‘other’ state of mind creeping up on me, the smoke-like tendrils of the dream I’d had in Africa brushing against my consciousness again, just as they had back then.

  The others thought the place I’d found would be ideal, so with nothing more to say we just got on with our preparations. It was probably going to take us an hour to get there, more if we had to try and find our way in the dark, so we had to do things quickly.

  After the last storm the weather had been warm again, and was looking like it wasn’t going to change for the foreseeable, but we still needed to sort out bedding and some supplies. Jean had already assembled a small medical kit with purgatives, stimulants and charcoal, and then of course there were a few other precautions to take and make, and we were ready.

  There wasn’t really time to do much thinking about whether we were doing the right thing, and there was no point bringing the subject up with Marlow again. If Jean had finally failed to dissuade him then there was little the rest of us could hope to achieve.

  Luke as expected, was absent, so had we been in the mood for further conversation about our plans it would have been an ideal time, but somehow no-one seemed to feel much like chatting.

  The car dropped us off, where it had picked me up only a couple of hours earlier, and a few minutes later we were retracing my route across the bottom of the cliff face. The light was almost gone, but the last vestiges of sunset providing enough light for us to make it the rest of the way.

  The routine of making camp came back fairly quickly, and with the familiarity came the conversation, and the reminiscences, and in no time we had a small fire going along with a supply of wood for the rest of the night.

  We’d sorted more or less everything out for the evening, and were just standing around having a light bite to eat of some cold food we’d brought along, when Harry suddenly started slightly, and turned as though to listen.

  ‘Did you hear that,’ he said, suddenly pale in the firelight.

  ‘What is it my friend?’ asked Jean concerned.

  But it was Marlow who responded. He was stood on the opposite side of the small fire from me, and as he answered I could see he was looking past us all toward the far horizon. ‘The drums,’ was all he said.

  And then I heard them. Soft and distant, fading in and out, just as they had in Africa, as though borne on fickle winds that changed and danced with the starlight, one moment bringing the sound to us, the next casting it in another direction. But I’d heard it, I was sure of that, and it was enough for that ‘other’ state of mind to come upon me again, sending a shiver down my spine despite the warm evening, blurring the boundaries just a little between dream and wakefulness.

  The others had all heard it too, and in that state of half-dream, I heard Marlow tell Jean it was time, and then Jean moved without argument to retrieve a small sandalwood box from his pack. Inside there were two linen bags, which he removed before pocketing the box.

  The drums were becoming a little clearer now, more urgent in their call, almost as though they would draw us closer to them. Slowly, their tempo increased with that strange undulating African rhythm, compelling my heartbeat to follow.

  While I was watching Jean, Marlow produced a bowl he’d bought at the gallery, and held it out for Jean to put the contents of the bags into. I had a strange moment of thinking it odd that Marlow should have bothered to bring that ornate little bowl with him, and then suddenly I realised he must have been thinking of using it for this purpose all along. But then Jean was pouring the hot water onto the powders and dried herbs he’d extracted from the bags in the bowl.

  I watched as the steam and vapours rose from the hot liquid and encircled Marlow’s face, a swirling billowing motion that again matched the rhythm of the drums as they soared and climbed toward their climax. Then, as Jean stepped back I saw Marlow, eyes closed, raise the bowl to his mouth and drink deep of its contents.

  Until this moment I’d had no intention of actually taking part in this ‘experiment’, but with the evocative sound of Africa once more in my ears, and that strange sense of otherness gripping my mind I was no longer certain. I saw the bowl pass to Harry, who seemed so sure, acting without hesitation, almost impatient to drink and then pass the thing on to me. As I took the bowl in my hands I became aware of Jean watching me. Holding it before me I pulled my gaze away from the swirling, steaming liquid to look him in the eye. I think I was searching for some kind of disapproval or rebuke, perhaps even some guidance as to what I should do, but as always there was no judgement or disappointment in those eyes. And then the distant heartbeat became stronger, and I again became a detached observer of the events in which I was partaking, the frenzy of the drums, gripping and seducing me, and then I saw myself raise the bowl to my lips and I too drank of the bitter liquid within.

  As I passed the bowl on to Jean, I could see that he too was feeling the pull of the drums, and was fighting his impulse to drink, but even as I realised it I could feel the sense of otherness growing stronger.

  I was still aware I’d had no intention of drinking that liquid again, but at the same time I was sure I should have a plan this time, of what I would do once I began to dream again. If only I could concentrate for a minute, but the drums kept distracting me and I couldn’t quite seem to remember what it was I’d had in mind. It was irritating and I thought to mention it to the others, but even as I looked for them I knew they’d already gone, and then my Father was there again. He was older this time, more like how I’d remembered him from when I was a young child. He simply came walking out of the darkness on the other side of the fire, a warm smile upon his face.

  I walked around the fire to join him, half expecting we’d suddenly find ourselves racing across the surface of the cliff again, chasing after some fleet footed game. But instead he simply welcomed me with a handshake, and then indicating the inky darkness beyond our circle of firelight, we walked off into the night.

  We talked of many things again, the journey I was on, my journal keeping, home and my friends. But we both knew it was all just a polite preamble, and eventually I saw the fire coming into view that Marlow had spoken of in his dream. I felt the warmth from the flames on my face from quite a distance away, and could only imagine how hot it must be for the circle of shimmering and strange figures I saw gathered much closer around it.

  As I looked upon them now, I realised it was these figures that had also interrogated and asked questions of me in my first dream, but that I hadn’t recognised their form and nature at the time.

  I stopped a short distance behind the circle of figures, unsure th
at I wanted to move any closer to them, unsure I wanted to stay, but not knowing what else to do. Eventually it was my father who spoke, and helped me to decide.

  ‘You’ve come a long way my son,’ he said simply. ‘But this is no place for doubts and uncertainties. The flames of time that burn so brightly at the centre, can consume one not ready to look upon their brilliance or feel their heat. We cannot stay here for long.’

  I knew what he was saying was the truth, it was almost as though the heat from the fire was felt not upon my skin but upon my doubts, and even so far removed it was becoming more than I could take. But just as I was about to leave, I saw Marlow approach out of the darkness a little further around the fire.

  He was walking and talking with a tall Maasai man wearing a lion skin across his back, who for a moment reminded me of the Shaman Nelion, or rather as I imagined he would have looked when he was young.

  The brightness of the fire seemed to grow a little as they approached, forcing me to take a few steps further back into the darkness. But even as I stepped away, I could see the circle of figures around the fire break and make way for Marlow and his companion, and then, with scarcely a heartbeats hesitation in his step I saw Marlow step forth toward the fire.

  How that blistering inferno arose to meet his presence, the explosion of heat and pain was unbearable as the flame suddenly brightened and grew in its intensity. I was forced to withdraw further, even as the figures that had been standing so comfortably around the fire threw themselves away from the now scorching heat.

  Only Marlow’s companion and one or two other figures remained, forcing themselves to stand against the searing heat, almost physically forced back by the incendiary power. I couldn’t stand to even look at that white-hot furnace, but before I fled into the cooling darkness I saw Marlow as he stepped into the centre of that impossible flame, arms extending outward as though in welcome, letting the fire wash over him, feeling and embracing its purifying touch. It was an agony to stand for even that moment to watch, before I allowed my father to pull me away into the night.

  I couldn’t imagine the force of will it must have taken to step into that blaze of light and heat, let alone to stay there. I only hoped it was worth it to Marlow when he awoke.

  We moved out amongst the stars again for a while, my father stopping off to show me Harry, as he walked and talked with someone I presumed to be his old professor. I wasn’t sure because the man seemed too young to be the person of whom Harry had referred. But they seemed to be engaged in some intense conversation, and to be walking once again around the site of the Singing Stones, looking at the wall paintings and smoke marks and who knew what else.

  There was no sign of Jean, so after seeing Harry, we simply walked and talked some more, until eventually we’d made it back to the camp where I once more said good bye to my father, before laying down to rest.

  CHAPTER 20 – ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS

  I awoke early the next morning clear-headed but slightly tired as though I hadn’t quite had as much rest as I could’ve done with. The sun was already up, but our camp was still firmly in the shade, so it was a bit on the cool side. Fortunately Jean had obviously been up and around for a bit, and had rekindled the fire to warm the rest of us, before disappearing off somewhere.

  He returned a few minutes later with a couple of canteens full of water and some more wood for the fire. He immediately greeted me upon seeing that I was awake, and promised hot coffee within half an hour now that he’d got some water.

  While the water was heating, I took the opportunity to go and wash and freshen up beside the nearby spring, and when I returned I discovered the coffee ready and Harry already awake, but obviously feeling the effects of the previous night, much like myself.

  ‘Well your potions definitely do the job Jean,’ he started, with a good-humoured smile, ‘but I don’t think you’ve got the recipe down to quite such an art as old Nelion.’

  ‘Practice, my friend, that is all I need,’ Jean retorted with mock seriousness. ‘Once I have experimented upon you another ten or twenty times I should have something comparable!’

  ‘Well I’m happy to say my friends,’ responded Harry with a strange glint in his eye, ‘that particular pleasure will not be necessary.’

  I didn’t quite understand what he was driving at for a moment. But Jean was as ever ahead of me. ‘Do you mean to say, your dream has revealed something to you?’ he asked warily.

  But before Harry could answer we were all distracted by Marlow suddenly starting in his sleep, and coming awake. He’d been sleeping perfectly quietly while we were talking. It was unusual for him to sleep in for longer than the rest of us, but Jean had checked on him at least once, and come away without any concern.

  But now as he sat up, he was wild-eyed, and almost delirious. He seemed to look around not seeing us for a moment, and then as he spotted the fire he stopped and gazed fixedly at it. We’d all gone over to see that he was alright, but he wasn’t aware of us, and seemed to be talking nonsense, with just the odd word being audible for us to understand.

  I couldn’t tell what he was rambling on about, and he wasn’t responding to us, but then suddenly his face set into a mask of steely determination, and for the first time in my life I saw rage enter those unnervingly calm eyes. For a moment then I was afraid of him.

  Yet it was what he was saying that really transfixed us. ‘Selene’ he said over and over again. ‘Selene hold on. I will bring it to you, just try to stay awake… Selene wait for me.’

  And then as suddenly as he’d woken, he again fell unconscious, and we had to place him back on his sleeping mat.

  None of us were quite sure what to make of it or what to do. Jean checked Marlow’s pulse, to discover it beating quickly, and his eyes could still be seen to be moving frantically beneath his closed lids, but for the moment he was still.

  ‘Is it the drug?’ asked Harry bluntly. ‘Did he drink too much, and he’s unable to awake properly?’

  ‘No,’ responded Jean quietly, ‘it cannot be the drugs.’

  ‘But I thought you were concerned about their potency,’ asked Harry slightly confused.

  ‘Yes, yes I am indeed concerned about both their strength and their effect,’ answered Jean rather too frankly, ‘but that is why they are still in my pack, and last night I gave you all nothing more than a mild sleeping draught.’

  ‘What… but why?’ Harry stammered out in his incomprehension. But now was not the time for such questions, and after trying to form his question for another moment, he abandoned it to turn his attention to what we could do for Marlow instead.

  ‘What are you thinking Jean?’ he said getting back to the matter at hand. ‘Is there anything we can do to help him?’

  ‘I do not know,’ Jean replied obviously still thinking, ‘I have never known Robert to experience or suffer from such a condition before, though it is far from uncommon. I have heard that such dispositions can often be relieved by reassuring the subject about whatever it is that troubles them.’

  ‘He was talking about Selene,’ I said, ‘something about bringing something for her. Though why he should be concerned about such things I cannot imagine.’

  ‘I think I can imagine,’ Harry responded rather thoughtfully. ‘He wasn’t just talking about bringing something for her, he was talking to her as though she were in trouble, perhaps even dying.

  ‘Now I cannot imagine what that circumstance might be,’ he continued, ‘Neither can I say what vision or dream Rob might have been having, but I do know, no matter what our differences with these women, he’d still go out of his way to help if they were in danger.’

  ‘Then we must reassure him that she is safe, and perhaps this will help him to awake,’ suggested Jean.

  It took only a few moments of Jean’s calm voice assuring Marlow that Selene was well and safe before his pulse started to slow and he seemed to relax before falling back into a more normal sleep. We were still too concerned to try and wake him, f
eeling it better to let him come around, or at least out of that state of deep sleep, in his own time.

  As we watched and waited we began to talk again about the previous evening. I knew Harry had some news he wanted to share, but I was also curious as to what had happened to Jean.

  ‘It was without doubt a strange evening.’ Jean began after I put the question to him. ‘When those drums began again, it was almost as though I were transported back to Africa. I saw each of you drink the sleeping draught I had prepared, but even knowing what it was, I still felt myself wanting to join you and drink also.

  ‘But I struggled against it. Telling myself over and over that it was all just foolishness, until eventually I gained enough control to dash the bowl into the fire. As I look back now I cannot imagine why it should have been such a trial. But by the time I came back to myself, and was able to look toward your care, you had all obviously been unconscious for some while.

  ‘I do not recall looking at the time, or even having much sensation of it passing. And even after I had made you all more comfortable by moving you back to your sleeping mats, still the drums continued to sound, ever more distant and faint, but still calling to me, until eventually I too fell into unconsciousness. I dreamt much as I had done back in Africa, of things and people now passed, but without the force and persuasion of before.

  ‘I do not know why, but I awoke several times in the night, long enough to check upon each of you before once more falling back to sleep. The rest you know.’

  ‘How is it possible that we could hear those drums again,’ asked Harry, ‘let alone feel such a strong compulsion upon hearing their sound?’

  But none of us had any answers for him on that point, so we moved on again and I asked him about what he’d meant earlier on when he’d said we wouldn’t need to try this little experiment again.

  ‘I know where there is a full set of intact and pristine tablets.’ he said quite simply, ‘And I don’t mean I know where they are roughly, or even that I’m just fairly sure they’re there. I mean I can put my finger on them exactly, because we’ve all already been there.’