1000 of You

by Linda Mooney

  Gova gasped, drawing his attention to what lay in front of them. It was a deep, wide hole in the sand. Although he couldn’t tell for certain, it seemed that more of those water-clear walls were preventing the sands from pouring back into it.

  A small brown, urn-shaped object rose from the pit and flew to a spot nearby before dropping a load of sand from its underbelly. A second urn followed it, then a third. As he took it all in, he realized the urns were flying in some sort of pattern. When the first urn flew back down into the pit, another one was seen rising from the depths.

  “What is all this?” he asked.

  “It started a little over eight months ago,” Ossa explained. “That’s when the Turkish military began mapping the desert with surveillance drones. The drones have ground-penetrating radar, to help them find buried caches of weapons and such. When they got to this area, they got a hit, and the army was sent out to investigate. But they discovered whatever had pinged the drone was buried further down than was feasibly possible.”

  “How deep down?” Gova questioned.

  “Not quite thirty meters,” Ossa replied. “Most caches are, at the most, three to four meters down. But at the depth they were spotting, it was impossible to think any renegade army would take the time and effort to sink their weaponry that deep.”

  “What if it was a tank or plane, or something else that large?” Doluca wondered aloud.

  Ossa waved it off. “The pings were too small to be a tank, or large equipment.”

  Bregstrom took over. “That’s when we got a call at the institute, asking for us to help come check it out, on the off chance it might be an archeological site that needs excavating. There’ve been several such incidents in the past where satellite images have detected similar places scattered throughout the desert. So you and me, Dr. Beccali, came to get this dig started. It means exactly what it sounds like, Dr. Tripp, uhh, Muam. We dig into the ground to find out what’s underneath.”

  “And when we began to uncover the remains of a village we had no idea ever existed here, that’s when we called for your assistance,” Ossa concluded.

  “What kind of assistance would Dr. Tripp have provided?” Muam questioned, glancing over at Doluca.

  “You specialize in Far Eastern history,” the young assistant provided. “We’re to determine what country or tribe this village belonged to.”

  “We need to learn if this village is part of Turkish history, or of a tribe that migrated from other areas and settled here,” Ossa added.

  “How would I be able to make that determination?” Muam queried.

  Bregstrom pointed downward. “You go into the pit and take samples. Take pictures. Hopefully find some artifacts. And then you make an educated guess as to which country owns the rights to the site based on your findings.”

  All during their discussion, Muam noticed how the urns never ceased coming above ground to dump their loads of sand at a spot far enough away to where it wouldn’t slide back inside the pit.

  Something in the back of his mind, something about this place, intrigued him. Looking at Gova, he noticed a curious expression on her face, and he gave her waist a squeeze. “What are you thinking?”

  “I am not thinking so much as I am… I cannot explain it, but this place feels familiar. I feel that we have lived here before.”

  He chuckled. “It is very possible, considering how long we have lived.”

  Bregstrom stepped off the clear floor and waved for them to follow. “Let me show you what we’ve already managed to uncover.” As they proceeded back to the tent, the man explained further. “It took us eighteen days to uncover the first set of buildings. After which, we reverted to the vacuums to remove the finer debris.”

  “Any signs of art or mosaics?” Doluca inquired.

  “Not yet. From the looks of it, this was an ordinary village not meant to be a mecca or center of trading, although we’ve uncovered what appears to be carts and wagons.”

  “Then what alerted the drone?” the assistant insisted.

  “Ah!” Ossa held up a finger and grinned. “You’re not going to believe me when I tell you.”

  “Tell us,” Muam insisted.

  “Iron.”

  Muam paused. “Why is that unbelievable?”

  “We’re not talking iron deposits,” Ossa noted. “We’re talking about iron that has been shaped, and worked, and made into tools and weapons.”

  Inside another tent were more of those odd boxes sitting on tables. In the center of the structure was a much larger table with another one of those flying urns hovering above it. Ossa picked up a small box as Bregstrom led them to stand around it. Immediately, the lanterns in the tents went dark. At the same time, smaller lights appeared above the table. Muam leaned over to examine what he saw more closely. It looked like a very small village, similar to a painting or drawing, but made out of light.

  “This is a 3D holographic image of the dig,” Ossa informed them. “See that red dot in the center? Follow it as I point out a few structures we believe we’ve identified.”

  Gova pressed closer to him as she and Muam stared in rapt fascination.

  “This is where we’ve discovered partial remains of wagons and carts. Note that they’re surrounded by several stone buildings. This section looks to have been the central part of the village.”

  The red dot slowly moved to another area, away from the village. “This is what we believe was the well that provided water for the village. Now, here’s the intriguing part.”

  The dot moved back into town and ended on the opposite end, away from the center. “This is where the manipulated iron fragments were located. This is where we’re concentrating our attention for the moment. We’re hoping to find more artifacts that will enable us to pinpoint a more specific timeframe.”

  “Have you found any cuneiforms or evidence of writing? Tablets and such?” Doluca inquired.

  “Not yet.”

  “How about coins? Jewels? Precious metals? Something they may have used as a monetary system?”

  “Not yet,” Bregstrom answered. “But it’s conceivable that they may have solely used a barter system of trade.”

  Muam let go of Gova and placed both hands on the large table. The more he stared at the miniature representation, the more certain he became of something. Gova’s confession echoed in his ear. “I cannot explain it, but this place feels familiar. I feel that we have lived here before.”

  “Gova, look at this. Tell me what you see.”

  “I see a village.”

  “A village. With a central area where there are carts. With a well on the outskirts.” He pointed to the red dot. “And a place where iron has been shaped.”

  She clutched his arm as the truth came to her. “It cannot be. Muam?” She locked eyes with him, incredulity masking her face.

  An ironic smile curved the corners of his lips. “You were there only a short time, but you see it, do you not, my beloved?”

  “What? What’s wrong? Do you see something?” Bregstrom demanded.

  “That place where you found the iron fragments. Did you also find an anvil? And a large rock oven?”

  Bregstrom and Ossa exchanged looks. “Yeah,” Ossa finally admitted.

  “You know this place, don’t you, Muam?” Doluca challenged him.

  “We know of a place very similar to this one. I cannot, in all truthfulness, tell you this village is the one I believe it is because I have not inspected it for myself,” Muam confessed.

  Bregstrom grunted. “Hell, that isn’t a problem. We can suit up and go down to look, if that’s what you want. But you do recognize this village, don’t you? You’ve been here before, maybe in one of your past lives, haven’t you?”

  Muam shook his head. “Not in a past life. In our first life. In the life we were living when the curse was laid upon us. This may be the village where I was a forger of iron. Where I made swords and daggers, and sold them to soldiers passing through.” He turned to Gova. “Where I trad
ed one of my finest weapons for a slave girl, who I freed so she and I could wed.”

  Doluca clapped his hands. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go check it out while we still have plenty of daylight!”

  Chapter 21

  Forever

  They went into a smaller tent that was lined with clear material similar to the floor above the pit, but more malleable. Ossa walked over to a box standing on-end and opened the lid sideways. Reaching inside, he removed several belts, which he handed over to Muam and the others. Seeing Muam’s perplexed look, he grinned.

  “Buckle it on. Like this.” He demonstrated, putting on his own. “Now, press the center of the buckle. Don’t be afraid when you feel the shelter surround you.” He frowned slightly. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you, Muam?”

  “What is that?”

  “Afraid of small, enclosed spaces.” Ossa glanced at Gova. “Are you?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “These project a protective suit around you, in case there are any spores or contaminants at a site. It also protects the dig from contamination from you.” The man chuckled. “I take it you don’t understand a tenth of what I’m saying, do you?”

  “This device protects us from any danger at the dig, while also protecting the dig from us,” Muam repeated.

  Bregstrom snorted. “Give the guy a chance, Hamid. Sounds to me like he’s a bit more tech savvy than we give him credit for.”

  Muam stared at his arms and hands, then down his body. He appeared to be surrounded by some sort of light. Gova was also encased in light. She smiled at him as he scrutinized her. “You are as bright as the holy fire in the sky.”

  “That’s to enable us to see in dark areas. Can you breathe okay?”

  “What is okay?” Gova asked.

  Bregstrom nodded. “It means everything’s all right. Your shield filters the air, but it doesn’t recycle it. If you get caught in a cave-in, you’ll only have a small amount of air to breathe. If that happens, try to take slow breaths until we can rescue you.” He pointed to a red button on the side of his buckle. “If you get into trouble, press that red button. It’ll notify us and send us your GPS. A GPS is a location. Same goes for us. If any of us find ourselves in trouble, your suit will alert you and help you find us.”

  Doluca clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I’m ready for this! Let’s go!”

  They returned to the clear floor suspended over the pit. This time Bregstrom went to a box on a pole and pressed something, resulting in several more poles rising from the floor. “Hold on to those so you don’t fall,” he instructed. “Sometimes the lift can jerk.”

  Muam grasped one of the clear poles. Gova took the one next to him, and they clasped hands. Immediately, they could tell they weren’t quite holding hands. Not flesh to flesh, but close. Almost. It was akin to wearing gloves. Touching, yet not touching, although it looked like they were.

  The floor lowered them down into the pit. Muam stared at the walls of sand as they descended. Beside him, Gova murmured what he was thinking. “Sometimes our deaths have been swift. Other times, excruciatingly prolonged. What do you think, my beloved? Could a burial by sand slide be our demise this time?”

  “I do not know. But I am curious as to why the gods have brought us back here, back to the place where all our years of torment began. There has to be a reason.”

  Her fingers tightened around his. “We may never know why. Not if the gods choose not to reveal it.”

  When they reached the bottom of the pit, they stepped off the clear floor, onto the ground. Muam slowly turned around, taking in their location and comparing it to what he could recall of his village. Stopping, he pointed ahead of him. “My shop is over there.” Without waiting for someone to comment, he began walking toward the place where he’d spent years honing his craft.

  The far rock wall of the structure remained intact, to an extent. Stepping inside, he spotted the rock anvil and the furnace where he’d heated the blades in order to shape them. Muam released Gova’s hand and went over to the raised fire pit. Bending down, he reached behind it and pulled out what was left of the mallet he’d used, holding it out to show to the others.

  “This is what I used to hammer the blades.” He pointed to a small pile lying near the furnace. “Those are the bits and pieces of iron left over from my work. I kept them in a woven basket, but the basket has disintegrated over the years.”

  “Are you certain, beyond all doubt, that this is your old village?” Bregstrom demanded.

  Pausing, Muam glanced at Gova, then back at the men. “There is one last thing I need to check, which will remove all doubt if proven.”

  “What’s that?” Doluca asked.

  “My home.” Without offering any further explanation, he turned and walked away from the shed. Although countless, unknown and untold years had passed, his feet and body remembered this short walk to the hut where he’d once lived. He silently counted the number of steps from his work place to the area where his home would have stood.

  There was nothing there anymore. Only a flat expanse of sand. Overhead, the wind was picking up above the lip of the excavation. Bregstrom glanced up into the sky.

  “Looks like we might be in for a storm. Hamid? Anything on the radar?”

  Ossa checked something strapped to his wrist. “Not that I can see. No cloud build-up. Nothing in the forecast except for sun, sun, and more sun.”

  Muam ignored them and crouched where the fire pit should be. Gova kneeled beside him. “So long ago,” she whispered.

  He nodded and brushed the ground with his hand. He couldn’t explain why. It was a gesture he’d performed countless times. A motion meant to wave the embers back to life as he piled on more tinder with his other hand.

  His fingers hit something solid. Stunned, Muam halted and gazed at the slight indentation in the earth. Reaching down, he continued to wipe away the silt, until he found the object. A rock.

  Realizing what he was doing, Gova helped him to clear the fire pit, until the ring of rocks was exposed. Behind them, the three men stood and watched.

  “What did you find?” Doluca questioned.

  “My fire pit.”

  “Is that the evidence you were seeking?” Bregstrom interjected.

  Muam shook his head. “No. No, not this.” He swiveled around, still crouching, and stared at an area a few arms’ length away. Getting on his hands and knees, he crawled over to the spot and began scratching at the packed earth with earnest. Gova hurried over to assist him, and before long, he found what he’d been looking for.

  Sitting down, he crossed his legs and pulled out the small clay pot he’d hidden there eons ago. His hands shook slightly as he removed the lid and tilted the pot, spilling its contents into his palm.

  Six copper dua, one small silver ingot, and three lead ducats—the two Gova had given him from that time she’d sorcered a rock to resemble a dua, and the one he’d earned from the knives he’d sharpened for Cossi. He looked up at the three men. “I am sure now.”

  A loud blast of sound erupted above them. It continued to blare as the three men reacted with alarm.

  “Come on! We gotta get out of here now!”

  “Why? What is it?” Gova yelled.

  “It’s a haboob! A sandstorm!” Ossa hollered back as the three men began running. “Hurry! We have to seek shelter!”

  Muam got to his feet and grabbed Gova’s hand, but she refused to budge from where she stood. Turning around, he saw the tears glittering on her cheeks, and he knew what she was going to say before she spoke.

  “This is our time. Our death.”

  “Maybe not. Let us seek the shelter they are heading for,” he suggested, although they both knew from the rising wind and the sheets of sand already flying through the air that they had run out of time.

  Walking up to him, she placed her cheek on his chest and drew her arms around his waist to hug him tightly. Even though the contact was not as intimate as th
ey would have liked, they accepted it. “I am not afraid this time, my beloved husband. Being here, in this place where we found our love, where I came to you and you accepted me, gives me a sense of peace I have not felt in a very long time. It seems right that we should end up back here after so many years.”

  He slowly sat back down on the ground and pulled her into his lap. Around them, the sand whipped about as the horn sounding the alarm continued to wail above their heads. Fortunately, their special suits prevented them from being flayed alive by the granules, but the air quality was noticeably becoming thicker and harder to breathe.

  “How will we die this time?” Gova asked, raising her voice to be heard over the increasing growl coming from the wind.

  “It may be from lack of air,” he admitted.

  She gave a little nod and held him tighter. They couldn’t feel each other’s skin, they couldn’t take comfort in each other’s warmth. Their suits prevented them from having that. From experiencing that. But the important thing was that they were together, and that was what mattered.

  Bending his face over hers, they waited. Somewhere above them, he thought he heard their names being called out. It could have been a trick of the wind. Regardless, he and Gova didn’t respond. This was their moment to die, and they were ready. Again.

  The skies darkened as the winds increased in ferocity, striking their bodies as if trying to blow them apart. The howling grew louder, yet they continued to cling to each other.

  The air took on a dusty smell, like fetid crops. Gova moved slightly in his embrace, adjusted herself to where her buttocks rested solidly between his thighs, and kept her forehead nestled underneath his neck. He tried to lay a kiss on her hair, without success. Still, he’d tried, and he knew Gova was aware of what he’d done.

  It grew as black as the night. The wind continued to push and pull at them, yet they were able to remain resolute. Time passed, and they waited for death to come, as it always had. As it always did.