The Divide

by Jeremy Robinson

  Berube stares at me for a moment, and then turns to Shua, who gives a nod of agreement. “Should have damn well said so from the start.” He gives Shua a shove toward the door. “Quickly! If Micha is following you, we will slow him—”

  Shua opens his mouth to object.

  “—without risking our lives. They cannot fight what they cannot see.” He shoves Shua again. “Now go, before it’s too late!”

  As we hurry to the door, Dyer stops by Berube. “Do you have any books about cupcakes?”

  Berube is flabbergasted into a fit of sputtering before saying, “Cupcakes? What’s wrong with you, woman?”

  “Do you or not?”

  He blinks several times, and then says, “Three.”

  “I’ll be back,” Dyer says, heading for the door again. “Well, probably not. Shit.”

  We leave the library behind, its windows and hatch closed once more, invisible to all who pass by. In the short time we’ve been gone, our horses have been fed and watered. But the rumble in the air has changed. It’s now underfoot as well.

  Micha is gaining, or perhaps worse, the Golyats.

  Back on our horses, we break into a gallop, striking out north as Berube and his people melt into the forest. At this pace, we’ll reach our destination in far less time than predicted, but I suspect we might simply be hastening our own deaths. If we don’t find a solution at Mount Fletcher, we will have hastened the demise of all of Kingsland.

  48

  We ride hard, slowing on occasion to consult the map, which Salem is using to navigate in tandem with mountain peaks that are growing more distinct the further north we travel. We stop in a clearing of tall grass, and the horses start munching, oblivious to the danger behind us. While we’ve seen no sign of Micha, rumbles still roll through the ground.

  When Salem slides from the back of Shua’s horse, I drop from mine and stand beside my son. He inspects the map and then looks up from one mountain to another.

  “We’re nearly there?” I ask.

  “I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Identifying mountains on a map from this perspective is difficult.”

  “We’re not lost…”

  He shakes his head, but lacks confidence.

  “Let me look,” I say, leaning in.

  “You haven’t spent a lot of time with maps,” he points out.

  “True,” I say, looking over the bird’s eye view of the region. I find the path pointed out by Berube and follow it, glancing at the peaks around us. “But I have spent a lot of time in the wild.”

  Imagining the flat image rising from the page, standing among the flat mountains, I picture the scenery. “We’re here.” I point to the map.

  He nods.

  I look at our surroundings again, this time imagining the mountains from above. I match my mental map to the one in Salem’s hand. Unable to read the labels, I ask, “Which one is Fletcher? On the map?”

  He points to our destination, and then I point to the real world mountain that matches. “That’s Fletcher.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I can see it,” I tell him. “If that makes sense.”

  “Actually,” he says with a smile, “It does.” He looks at me with a kind of admiration that makes me uncomfortable. “It’s how I describe most of what I can do that other people don’t understand. It explains a lot.” He leans in close and whispers, “We both know I didn’t get it from father.”

  We share a laugh that isn’t lost on Shua, who’s been watching us. “If you are done telling jokes…”

  “There,” I say, pointing to our destination. “That’s Fletcher.”

  As Salem and I return to the horses, he says, “I can teach you to read. When there is time.”

  Bake perks up atop her horse and turns to me. “You can’t read?”

  “Most people can’t,” I say, climbing onto my horse. “Only elders and those brave enough to break the Prime Law.”

  “The Prime Law had no such decree to break,” Bake says. “Your Prime Law is shit.”

  “Later,” Shua says, and he sets his horse galloping across the field.

  As we cross the field, Mount Fletcher rises up before us. It’s not the tallest mountain, nor is it steep, but it is covered with an endless sea of pine trees.

  How are we going to find what we’re looking for in that mess when we’re not even sure what we’re looking for?

  On the clearing’s far side, back in the forest’s shade, Bake comes to a sudden stop. She turns back in what I’ve now learned is called a saddle. “Trouble at six o’clock,” she says, and I’m relieved when no one else appears to understand her either. “Behind us.”

  Emerging from the forest a mile back is a line of men on horseback. At their center is Micha, his horse trotting back and forth as the group halts. I can feel their tension from here, equal parts anger and terror.

  They’re chasing us, but what is chasing them?

  I get my answer in the form of a distant chatter. Unlike a Golyat in the Divide, the sound is crisp, clear, and without echo.

  There is no doubt. The Golyats have invaded Kingsland.

  And they’re coming this way.

  “Fan out,” Shua says. “Every thirty feet. We’ll go up this side, down the other, and then split into two groups, working our way around the top, and then again and again until we reach the bottom. The multiple paths might slow them down.”

  Our progress is slowed by the steep grade, the horses constantly trying to walk along the mountain’s side, but we make steady progress. I study every tree, stone, rock, fern, and game trail, hoping to spot some sign of ancient habitation. As much as I’d like to find an entrance as obvious as the FEMA bunker, that structure stood on the far side of the Divide. For this site to have remained hidden in Kingsland means it is well hidden. How many hunters, shepherds, and explorers have traversed this mountain without stumbling upon it?

  When the trees thin ahead, signifying our approach to the summit, my discouragement blossoms. Searching the entire mountain could take days. And the mountain is capped by exposed granite, where we would also be exposed.

  Shua gives his horse a kick and climbs into the clearing first with the kind of urgency that suggests he’s seen something. Our group converges, horse hooves clattering on the stone.

  The view ahead opens up, revealing distant mountains and lakes. But the sight doesn’t interest Salem at all. His eyes are drawn downward, to the stone.

  A collection of symbols have been etched into the gray rock. Spirals, crosses, letters, and even more intricate designs. There are also several piles of rocks stacked into pyramids.

  “What is all this?” I ask.

  “Markers,” Shua says. “Left by travelers. It’s a tradition in the northern counties, to mark our passage. Each symbol is a different person, and you can see who visits most often.”

  He points out a star inside a circle that’s been carved at least a dozen times.

  “Do you know who they are?” I ask.

  Shua dismounts. “If you know the symbol.”

  He crouches atop the stone slab and puts his hand on a symbol consisting of two vertical lines and two horizontal. “This was my father’s.” He shakes his head. “He stood right here. So close. Without ever knowing.”

  A scratching sound pulls my attention to Bake, who has silently dismounted, picked up a stone and begun carving her own symbol in the stone. She draws a circle, and a star within, and then inside that, a skull. It’s crude, but easy enough to see. “The symbol of a Queenswoman. To mark our passage, and our existence on this planet.”

  “Not that the pictures aren’t nice,” Dyer says, “but shouldn’t we be—oh, holy cupcacks! I mean—cupcakes! Holy humpcakes!”

  I follow Dyer’s wide, downturned eyes to the gray stone and spot what she’s already seen. It’s faded and partially covered by someone else’s work, but the circle with two lines in it is still visible, as is the equally old arrow etched besi
de it.

  Bake scurries over to the symbol, looks it over for just a moment, and then looks in the direction the arrow points…right back the way we came.

  “Missed something,” she says.

  “What does it represent?” Salem asks, as Bake and Shua return to their horses.

  “In the Old World, it was meant as a warning, left behind in places where people had no business treading. In that way, it was a symbol of protection. Later, in the end, it became a symbol of hope. Of direction.”

  “Which is it now?” Del asks, and it’s not a bad question.

  Bake’s answer does little to quell our fears. “Does it matter?”

  A heel thump to my horse’s side and a pull on the reigns turns me around. My intent is to answer her question by heading toward the forest and my murderous husband. But the view ahead staggers me and sets my horse rearing up onto its hind legs in shock.

  A Golyat rises up over the top of a distant mountain, eyes locked in our direction, but down, toward the base of the mountain. It’s following Micha. He’s led them straight to us.

  The monster chatters as it rises up higher, and is then joined by a second and a third, one of which has two arms dangling from its ribs, the other covered in moss.

  “Down the mountain,” Shua says, urging his horse past mine as it gains control of itself. “Hurry!” We ride over the crest moving down, straight toward danger, and maybe hope.

  Once again, we scan for signs of something—anything—that will reveal an entrance.

  Ten minutes later, as a chorus of chatters cuts through the forest, I see it. I think I see it, because it could also be nothing at all. “Here,” I say, drawing the others to me and possibly wasting time. “Look.”

  The thick pine is hundreds of years old. If I’m right, it’s more than five hundred years old. Ten feet above the ground is a round eye where a branch once hung. The bark has grown up around the wound, but the two vertical cuts can still be seen at its core.

  “Could be,” Bake says, but doesn’t sound convinced.

  “Search the area on foot. Fast as you can. If we find nothing, we’ll keep moving.” I dismount at the base of the tree. When my feet strike the ground, a hollow thud booms beneath me. I look down at the ground, lift my foot and stomp. The sound repeats.

  “It’s hollow,” I say, stepping back to solid ground.

  The others leap down from their horses and we scour away centuries of dirt and decaying pine needles. When a sheet of metal is revealed, we double our efforts, clearing away a hatch that bears the symbol of my ancestors.

  But is it a warning?

  Or an invitation?

  Not needing an answer, I find the still solid handle and pull.

  49

  Like Berube’s library, the open hatch leads to a small, dark space, the way forward blocked by another metal door. Unlike the first, which has weathered the elements for five hundred years, if not more, this second door is pristine. Its gray surface is aglow in the light of day streaming through the still-open hatch.

  I rap my knuckles against the surface.

  “You think someone is going to answer the door?” Dyer asks. “Pretty sure no one is home.”

  I don’t bother replying to the jab. In fact, I barely hear it. My focus remains fixed on how to cross the threshold. The door has no handle. No lock mechanism. “Doesn’t look like it was made to be opened.”

  “Not from the outside,” Shua agrees. “Perhaps there is a lever?”

  A quick search of the empty walls turns up nothing. There is a door, and beside the door, a flat panel of what looks like black glass.

  “We need to think like our ancestors,” Salem says. “This site was secret, and based on the revelations in Lew’s journal, it contained technologies that were more advanced than what was publicly known about at the time of the Golyats’ emergence, including a possible solution…”

  “Which was never put to use” Bake says. “Have you considered that it was never used, because it was never ready?”

  No one has voiced the concern, but I’m sure we’ve all considered it. I know I have.

  “At the very least, this structure might provide a place in which we can survive the coming slaughter.” Bake frowns at the door. “If we can get inside.”

  Salem steps to the front of our group, inspecting the glass. “The Old World had what they called computers. They were machines…but smart. They could think, in a way, and displayed information visually, through sheets of glass.”

  “I read about them,” Shua says. “The concept never made sense to me. Why couldn’t people just think for themselves?”

  “Computers just did it faster, in some cases,” Salem says, leaning toward the sheet of glass. “They interacted with the computers using small tactile devices, but could also speak to them, and…” He reaches his hand out to the screen. “…touch the screens.”

  His fingers push against the glass.

  Nothing happens.

  A heavy, unseen weight falls over us, filling the small space, applying pressure.

  “Shit,” Salem says, and withdraws his hand.

  The moment his skin parts with the glass, it glows to life.

  Shua, Dyer, Bake, Del, and myself respond by drawing weapons and preparing for a fight.

  Salem leans closer as a dot spins around in circles, leaving a trail behind it, looping around and around. “How? After all this time? It still works. Still has power…”

  I’m not sure what kind of power he’s talking about, and I don’t get a chance to ask. The screen turns white and displays a single word. “What does it say?”

  “Passcode,” Salem says.

  “What is that?” Del asks.

  “It’s like a password.” Salem inspects the glass again. “I don’t see a way to input text.”

  “Is there anything in the Prime Law about a passcode?” I ask. “Something that would have been passed down over generations.”

  “Not in the true Prime Law,” Bake says, “And I doubt it was included in your sham of a Prime Law.”

  “It wasn’t,” Shua confirms.

  “Perhaps it is not a word?” Del asks. “With no way to input text, it would have to be something else. You said you can touch the screens?”

  “The symbol,” I say. “Of Sig.”

  Salem reaches out for the screen, one finger extended.

  “Wait,” Bake says with enough force to lock Salem’s finger in place, just an inch above the screen. “I would like to try something. To know we were not forgotten.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Salem steps aside. “Don’t break it.”

  Bake glowers at him a moment, and then reaches her finger out. When she touches the screen, a black mark is left behind. She touches it again, drawing a circle. Inside the circle, she draws a star.

  The ‘we’ she spoke of was not humanity as a whole, or even Kingsland. She’s drawing the symbol of a Queensdaughter, finishing it off with a skull. When she withdraws her finger, points of light blink at all of the junctions and the crude finger-drawing is refined as though by magic.

  Text scrolls onto the screen, and Salem reads it. “Welcome, Queen.”

  The door thunks as it unlocks.

  The door opens to darkness.

  “Great,” Dyer says. “Anyone have a torch?”

  A glaring bright light erases the darkness, and then snakes down a long, straight hall. My eyes squint as rectangles that appear to contain the sun itself illuminate everything. While the rest of us tense once again, Salem steps through the door like he’s returning home after a long journey. He points at the glowing box above him. “These are lights! They’re powered by electricity.”

  “Elec-what now?”

  “Electricity. Like lightning.” Salem lifts a hand, stopping our questions. “They had ways of generating it, without a storm. They could contain it. And somehow, though I doubt we’ll ever understand how, stored it at this site in a way that defies time.”

  He step
s further into the hallway, waving for us to follow. “C’mon. We don’t have much time.”

  Despite our fears, and the strangeness of this place, Salem is right. I’m not sure Micha would follow us inside, but he will certainly be waiting for us when we exit…if he and his men haven’t been consumed by a Golyat by then.

  “What are we looking for?” Shua asks, as we move down the hallway.

  “Someplace that looks important.” Salem glances into rooms as we pass through. They’re full of ancient, but modern looking desks, chairs, cabinets and darkened computers.

  “Geez,” Dyer says, looking through a door on the right. It’s twice as thick as the rest and has a lock mechanism similar to the one that gave us access to the facility. But this lock was disengaged long ago, and the door left open, revealing racks of weapons that are both ancient and modern. Amidst the strange, black metal weapons are an array of blades, two bows, and more arrows than Del could fire in a week. “Can we stop?”

  “Keep moving,” Shua says. “We can resupply on the way out.”

  I look into the next room and find more oddly shaped equipment for which I cannot guess the purpose. “These all kind of look like they were important once.”

  “The space we’re looking for will be bigger,” Salem says. “Something…I don’t know. Something like…” He stops in his tracks, peering at two doors mounted side by side. He’s looking through glass windows. “Something like that!”

  Salem pushes through the doors, and as he does, I register a faint vibration in the floor. The Golyats are closing in, which means Micha is, too. “We need to hurry.”

  I follow my son through the doors and stagger to a stop. The space beyond is massive, far larger than the FEMA bunker and so well-lit that the space—and everything inside it—can be seen.

  “What is that?” Dyer asks, looking at the massive object to our left. I can’t tell much about it other than it’s black and crescent shaped.