by A. L. Knorr
“What’s wrong?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
We watched for a few more moments, sitting up straight and leaving the camel spider to his work.
“You know I was raised in Australia…” Jesse began.
My ears perked. He was finally going to share something personal with me? “Yeah?”
“Well, I traveled for a time when I was twenty. I spent some time on an island in Thailand, surfing, enjoying Thai food. I worked at a beach bar for a season, mixing drinks for locals and tourists.” He lifted his hat, ruffled his hair and set the hat down again. The hair at his temples was damp with sweat and nearly black. “One night, late, just before closing, a woman came to the bar and ordered a cocktail. She was alone.”
I made a sound that indicated I was listening.
“I served her, and I thought something was so familiar about her. It happens sometimes, right? Someone can ring a bell in your memory, even if you’ve never actually met them before.”
“Sure.” I was reminded of the photo of the Japanese girl on the wall of the Saltford Highschool lobby. I even remembered her name—Akiko.
“I watched her for a long time.” He raised a defensive hand. “Not in a creepy way. Just in a stealth way I have.”
“You’re stealthy?”
“As a fox, when I want to be. I didn’t want to make her feel like she was being observed, but man I watched her hard, trying to puzzle out where I knew her from. She was old, so it was even weirder.” He gave me a lopsided smile. “I don’t hang out with so many old ladies.”
I laughed. “I bet you don’t.”
“Anyhow, after she left, I went home. And I kid you not, I thought about it for weeks afterward. But it wasn’t until I got home to Australia and I ran into an outdated newspaper at the barber shop that I figured it out.”
“Why? Who was she?”
“She was a soap star named Bernadette Peters.”
“Never heard of her.”
“No, you wouldn’t have, she was a B-star, but she had a devoted following in OZ.” He waved a hand. “Who she was is not important.”
“No?” I didn’t get it. “Wasn’t her identity the point of the story?”
“No. The important part is that she had been reported dead of an overdose about a week before she walked into my bar.”
“No way!”
Jesse nodded. “I kid you not. I even kept the newspaper clipping.”
“Maybe it wasn’t her? Maybe it was her doppelganger. They say we all have one.”
“Maybe.” Jesse shrugged. “But I don’t think so. I’m very good with faces, and even better with gestures and body movements. Everyone has their own way of walking, their own way of moving their hands. I had grown up with her on the TV screen every weekday.”
“You watched soaps when you were a kid?” I laughed. “I can’t picture that.”
Jesse smiled and shook his head. “They were always on in the background. My mom liked them. Bernadette was one of her favorite stars. She was really beautiful, in that made-up, soap-star way. She had these huge eyes, and this big bouffant blond hair, like yellow cotton-candy.” He made a gesture with his hands to show me just how big the bouffant was.
Jesse smiled at the way I was laughing at him. His accent and facial expressions made his story even more entertaining.
“I would have recognized Bernadette if she’d had a sex-change.” He held up a finger. “Which she hadn’t. She looked different for sure, but I pegged her.”
“So you think she faked her death?”
“Sure seems so to me.” Jesse chuckled. “And I actually don’t think it’s that uncommon.”
I gazed out at the party on the sand, thoughtful and still bemused about the story. A few faces were glancing over at us. Ibby spied us and beckoned us to come back to the group.
Jesse got to his feet and helped me up and we began to walk back over the stones to join the crew.
“Why did you tell me that story, Jesse?”
Jesse turned to face me and his expression was so serious that it brought me to a sudden standstill.
“I’m just saying that if you really look—” He squinted to emphasize his words. “If you pay attention and you really watch––” His mossy green eyes bored into mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. His voice was low, his words obviously for my ears only. “You’ll see things that others wish to keep hidden. Most people are blind. Don’t be one of them.”
“Jesse.” My heart seemed to squirm up into my throat.
But Jesse grabbed my hand and pulled me toward our dig-mates, a smile on his face, carefree.
Jesse’s story, or more accurately, the attitude he’d implored me to take, haunted me for several days afterward. But as the weeks passed by, the excitement and tasks of the dig became my world.
I did watch. I watched as human remains, ancient cooking tools, and Neolithic weapons emerged from the Saharan earth, speaking to me straight from history louder anything else going on around me.
Chapter 10
It wasn't the noise of the night that woke me, but rather the stillness. Lying there on my Therm-a-Rest, I went from a dead and silent sleep to wide awake. My eyes opened to blackness, my ears perked. There was no wind, no sand spattering against the sides of my tent, no whistle of air as it whispered through holes in the rocks around our camp. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, then sat up. I hugged my knees for a moment, listening to the remarkable stillness, the disconcerting lack of sound.
I found the headlamp in the pocket beside my bed and clicked it on, leaving it in its pouch so it wouldn't assault my eyes. The interior of my tent was cast in a green glow, the top of my open luggage illuminated while the bottom half remained swaddled in dark—like it was floating in a sea of soft black fabric. I fumbled for my hair elastic and raked my hair up into a haphazard ponytail. I pulled on a long-sleeved t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and yanked on my tri-shoes, chosen for the very reason that I could don them without bothering with laces. I unzipped my tent door, clicked off my headlamp, and crawled out into the night.
"Wow," I whispered, looking up. The sky arched above me like a massive inky dome, and millions of stars twinkled across it in clusters—their light stark and perfect against the backdrop of the universe. The moon was small and high in the sky, its light cold and blue and bright as a halogen headlight on a dark highway. A single cloud reached across the man in the moon's face, looking like fingers, as though he was checking to see if he needed to shave.
"The moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudy seas," I murmured, not knowing why that particular piece of poetry had taken up permanent residence in my brain. Turning slow and taking in my surroundings, which now seemed completely alien to the world in which we operated in the daytime, the Acacus formed rough black shapes that blocked out the stars. They looked like the backs of gigantic grazing animals. I walked toward the cluster of rocks, the sturdy sand cushioning my steps. I wondered if this was what a ghost felt like as I passed through our camp and out the other side toward the rocks beyond. The air was dry and still and body temperature. It was the first time I felt completely comfortable and not vulnerable to some aspect of the Saharan environment.
I passed into the narrow funnel leading through the rocks, and the horizon narrowed into a strip of stars above me. Winding my way through the narrow rocks made me feel as though nature had built a labyrinth that was meant to be walked at night. I passed where I knew the drawing of the rhino was, the moon lighting my path. Just beyond, I knew where the rock formed natural steps, and I climbed the twelve feet or so to the top of the rock. There, I stopped. The only sound was of my breathing. The moonlight dusted the tops of the rocks with light and showed the winding serpentine tops and the black gulfs in between.
A sound of movement, like sand gritting against rock, made me gasp and look to my left. A small dark shape was silhouetted against the sky, a prone body with its head lifted seemed to turn to look at me.
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br /> "Petra?" A voice called softly.
My thumping heart calmed and I sighed with relief.
"Jesse?" I walked the tops of the rock, the moon showing me the way, to where he lay. I sank down beside him and sat cross-legged. "What are you doing up?"
The smell of his soap drifted to my nose, juniper and lemon.
"I could ask you the same question," he replied, sitting up. "I think it was the stillness that woke me."
"Me too." I looked up. "Isn't it breathtaking?"
"Yeah, it's awesome. How lucky are we? This is why we dig, right? You can put it on your pro con list."
"One of the reasons." I smiled in the dark.
The moon dusted Jesse's features with cool blue light. His cheekbones and lips stood out, his eyes glinting wetly.
We passed a few minutes in silence. I was captured by how the tops of these rocks, with the rivers of black shadow laced in between, looked like the pathways of desert spirits. They were the opposite of damp wooded trails closed in by foliage and tree trunks. These paths were embraced only by space on either side, and a misstep meant dropping into the dark land hidden between them. Ahead on the horizon jutted a tall elegant rock, one we'd taken to calling the dreaming spire.
"The rocks almost look like they make a trail of islands the way the moonlight falls on them," said Jesse.
"I was just thinking that same thing." Had that been accidental telepathy of some kind, I wondered. Or was it just chance that the rock formations struck us the same way?
"Let's run them," Jesse said, getting to his feet. He bent and held a hand down to me.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not if we stay in the center. Come on, how often does one have the opportunity to run the tops of the Acacus mountains under a sky full of stars?"
"When you put it like that." I took his hand and let him help me to my feet. We came face to face, and it seemed the stars were moving and dancing in my periphery. For a breath I looked up and him and he looked down at me. His hands landed on my waist and he pulled me close, our chests and stomachs pressing together.
"Petra," he whispered.
"What?" He had my heart suddenly banging like a set of kettledrums at the unexpected closeness.
"Are you ready?"
"Ready?" The question took me off guard. "What do you mean?" I was certain he was about to kiss me.
He released me. "Ready to run? I'm going that way."
I grinned. "I was born ready."
He chuckled. "I'll bet you were."
"See you at the dreaming spire, Oz." I took a flying leap off the top of our rock and followed the trail the moonlight showed me. I heard Jesse laugh and take his own flying leap across a channel of sand, landing in a run.
My runners gripped the uneven rock surface and I stayed on my toes as I scampered along the serpentine trails and rock islands, giggling. I could hear Jesse running and laughing, and see his silhouette bobbing against the starry backdrop as he followed his own trail. My breathing grew increasingly labored. It was like running on an alien planet. I could peer down into the spaces between the rocks, small drifts catching the light here and there. If I fell, I would have anywhere from an eight to a twelve foot drop, but at least it would be into sand. I pushed that thought from my head and kept my eyes trained on the path the moon unfolded before me. The landscape changed, with larger banks of sand reaching up and wrapping over the rock in sections. In some places it seemed as though nature had provided banks to climb up or slide down. The sound of grit under my feet increased, and my footfalls were no longer soundless.
I looked over at Jesse and when I couldn't find his shape right away I slowed, looking up and down alternately as I ran.
"Jesse?" I finally called. When no answer came, I slowed to a walk so I could scan the rock tops better. I took a deep breath to feed my working muscles. "Jesse?"
My foot slid on grit and my right leg, the one whose turn it was to take my weight, swept off the rock and to the side. I gave a little shriek as the foundation beneath me began to move and run. Sand shifted and drained into some world beneath me that I couldn't see.
I gasped, struggling for purchase. But there was no solid rock to catch me, and I fell. My hip bumped and scraped against stone as the sand drained away beneath me and I went with it, now screaming in earnest. I was swallowed by a black maw and sliding. I had no perception of how fast I was moving because the dark gave up no secrets.
Fingers of fear closed tight around my throat and guts, squeezing with cold intensity. Sand flew up, half-filling my mouth. I covered my face with my hands as I slid in a trough of sand, half-expecting to be stabbed and scraped by rock at any moment.
I landed painfully on my knees, then fell to my hip and onto my hands. Sand filled my hair, my face, my clothes, my shoes. I coughed and spat the grit from my mouth. My heart thudded like the bass drum of a marching band as I ran my hands over my body, checking for all my bits and pieces. I'd have bruises, but I was so relieved to be unhurt that I found myself laughing as I took my ponytail holder out and shook my hair. I'd never get all the sand out, not until I showered. I brushed the grit from my eyebrows and face and opened my eyes.
I was in a cave with a partially open ceiling. I got to my feet, legs quaking with adrenalin. Eventually my breathing slowed to normal and my heart calmed, but the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rose into hackles. There was something, or someone, in this cave with me.
"He—hello?" My voice was soft in the deserted quiet. "Jesse? Is that you? Don't be playing jokes on me." My voice echoed eerily back to me.
No answer.
The cave was long and serpentine. Behind me, a long funnel of sand glimmered with starlight. I couldn't go back out that way; the rock on either side of the crevice I had fallen into was nearly vertical now that the sand had been swept away by my body.
Before me lay dark shadows and softly illuminated rock surfaces, curved and smooth and I knew it would be red in the daylight. The floor of the cave seemed to drop away downhill, and walls of rock jutted into the narrow canal, leaving my only path partially obstructed.
I began to walk, and shortly discovered why parts of the cave were illuminated. An open oculus overhead let in moon and starlight in shafts of soft light. Going slowly, my hackles still up, I went the only way I could go—down and through.
"Jesse?" I yelled louder this time and cocked my ear toward the hole as I passed under it. I half expected his face to block out the stars visible through the hole, and for him to yell down asking if I was all right. But I had lost Jesse even before I had slipped into this cave. He could even be in a cave of his own at the moment. "Jesse!" I called, and the name bounced off the walls, esse... esse...
The cave had to end, didn't it? As I rounded jutting corners protruding from the cave walls, my feet padding silently on the sand floor, I hoped to see an opening I could simply stroll out of. Another hole in the ceiling ahead lit my way like natural installations some creator knew would come in handy.
The sound of my breathing amplified in the small space and slowly, my hackles relaxed and the feeling of not being alone eased. Ahead of me, the cave widened into an cavern. Moonlight spilled in from the natural skylight, throwing the cavern into soft curves of shadow and light.
A gleam caught my eye as I entered the cavern. Something a little larger than my hand, and so black it seemed resinous and oily, was lodged in the rock across from me. As I strode toward it, I paused under the hole in the ceiling, looking up at the stars so high above me. I called for Jesse again, and listened. Still no answer.
Worry twisted in my gut. What if he had fallen, too? What if he'd broken an ankle or something? It was stupid, what we had done. It was something kids did. But it had been fun, until I'd come sliding down into this place. I turned my attention to finding a way out. Looking around, my heart plummeted. The cavern was closed in with no exit save for the way I'd come in.
I approached the black glinting thing and looked up at it, squinting. I
t was embedded just above eye level. It had to obsidian. But what a strange place for it to be, wedged into the cave wall the way it was. It was the size of a coffee mug and so smooth I half expected it to run down the wall like oil. I reached up and laid a hand on the stone, expecting it to be cool and hard.
With a gasp, I jerked my hand back. The stone was warm. I touched it again. It was warmer than my hand and seemed to be pulsing softly—or was it my hand that was pulsing? Curiosity elbowed fear to the back of the line as my inner archaeologist woke up and rubbed her eyes. This was a find! Excitement at the idea of telling Ethan and Jesse and the rest of the team what I had found began to thrum in my torso. What was a polished piece of obsidian, warm obsidian, doing down here in some random cavern? The pulsing was probably just me, the oscillation of my heart responding to my strange predicament.
Was this cavern random? I looked around. The obsidian had to have been put here for a reason, embedded like an eye to watch this place for thousands of years. Another glint in the wall not quite opposite winked at me. There was a second stone embedded in the wall, at the same precise height as the first.
I gasped at the realization and crossed the cave in a hurry, heart pounding, mouth dry. What had I stumbled upon? This stone was also smooth, but in the dim light it appeared to be a light green color. Libyan desert glass. I had seen the stone in Ibukun's collection. I put a hand on the pale stone's smooth surface. It too, was warm, and there was that same pulse.
"Why are you here?" I asked the stone in wonder. "How did you get here?" More unspoken questions followed. Where am I? What is this place? Who put the stones into the wall?
And what the heck happened to Jesse?
"Jesse!" I went to stand under the hole in the ceiling, the stars winking down at me as though to say, no trouble. There's no trouble here. There's been no trouble here ever, we've been watching. "Jesse!" I called several times. I walked to the side of the cave I hadn't been to yet, peering up as the stars passed overhead, hoping for Jesse's voice or face to make a show.
