The Remembering (32 page)

“No, we could not,” Fielder answered. “It must come from you. We cannot interfere. You must find your own way to us.” She paused and smiled at me. “And because of the Stone of Dreams, you did.”

The Fleur-du-Mal asked, “What if Zezen had not been able to read the spheres?”

“Yes,” Sailor added, “I was pondering the same thought. We have only forty-three years until the Remembering occurs and—”

“Forty-three years?” West interrupted. He looked completely surprised. “No, no, not forty-three years, Umla-Meq.” He held up his hand and spread his fingers wide. “Five years—what you call the Remembering is in a little less than five years.”

I said, “That was what you meant when you said we were ‘just in time.’ ”

“Yes,” West replied, then grinned. “It seems that like a clock that has run on its own for a very long time, the Meq are a few seconds slow.”

“But you have not answered my question,” the Fleur-du-Mal said. “What if Zezen had not shown us how to read the spheres in time? What would you have done?”

“We would have continued waiting.”

The Fleur-du-Mal raised one eyebrow. “For what … another Remembering? You have waited over thirteen thousand years for this one … and I assume for Geaxi and me. Is not this Remembering the only one for us? After what I have heard and what I have felt today, I am certain this Remembering was and is inevitable.”

“Yes,” Sailor said, “is it coincidence or destiny that we are here?”

“Both,” Fielder answered. “For us, the Meq and the Traveler, it is both.”

Out the windows to the west there was only a faint glow where the sun had slipped below the horizon. Inside the big room, West turned on a few lamps and Fielder leaned over to gather the empty teacups onto the tray. Ray, who had not yet made a sound or moved a muscle, said, “I got just one question. Is this Remembering gonna tell us why we are the way we are?”

No one said a word. No one had an answer.

In the space of a single afternoon the Meq had changed forever—past, present, and future. Now we no longer were the
only
ones, we were simply the
newer
ones. What this meant and would mean was still not clear, but we were on a path of understanding and the path led straight to the Remembering.

Fielder and West extended an open-ended invitation to stay at the manor and we accepted. Morgan Manor, as it had long been known in that part of South Wales, became our home for an indefinite period of time. Koldo said his farewells and drove the tour bus back to Cornwall and Caitlin’s Ruby. He had never asked what we were doing or why. He was just acting as his father and his father’s father would have acted. He was the last Aita of the tribe of Vardules, protectors of the Stone of Dreams.

In the first few days at Morgan Manor, we learned its history and that Fielder and West had a relationship and connection to the Morgan family and their estate much like the Meq had at Caitlin’s Ruby. And the connection, or coincidence, went even deeper. It was rumored that an ancestor of the current Morgan family, Mr. John Dawes Morgan, had known Caitlin Fadle intimately and was possibly the father of her son, though it was never proven.

Fielder and West had established similar relationships with the “newcomers” in the area going back in time to the end of the last ice age. West said they had also lived nearby but farther inland, twice for a period of time on the River Wye and for a few thousand years or so in the Lliw uplands. He spoke of whole millennia as if they were minutes or hours on a clock. In the months that followed, listening to West and Fielder was mesmerizing, exhilarating, and enlightening. We not only heard about times, places, and animals barely imaginable, but we learned the living history of the planet itself. Within their lifetimes, Fielder and West had seen and experienced entire geological and climatic epochs come and go. They had long known of the ecliptic path and had witnessed the entire twenty-six-thousand-year cycle of the precession of the equinoxes. They knew the causes and effects and they had endured and remembered it all. There were no living beings more connected to this Earth than the two long-living Travelers.

Now they were connected to us in the deepest and most intimate ways, West to Geaxi and Fielder to the Fleur-du-Mal. During the first few months at Morgan Manor, I watched Fielder and the Fleur-du-Mal become closer, although they did not display the kind of physical closeness that Opari and I shared, as well as Nova and Ray and Sailor and Sheela. His arrogance would probably not allow it. Neither Opari nor I could fathom why they were each other’s Ameq. How could Fielder love a cruel and cold-blooded killer, and how could the Fleur-du-Mal love at all? Even in her presence, he never denied or regretted a single act, yet that did not seem to concern Fielder in the least. One of the contradictions in the Fleur-du-Mal is that he is as honest as he is evil. Maybe that was their connection. Both their natures were contradictory and unpredictable. She ignored his arrogance and he ignored their physical differences and each embraced the other’s intellect. Watching West and Geaxi interact was similar in that Geaxi’s personality did not seem to change—her droll wit and blunt manner remained—but in her eyes there was a brand-new understanding that was universal and joyous. In her heart, Geaxi had come home.

Five years. For the Giza five years can prove to be a long stretch of time, even a lifetime for some. For the Meq five years is nothing. Sailor once told me that in the past it was not uncommon for the Meq to discuss the brightness of a single star for a hundred years or more. It was that way at Morgan Manor. With so many of us living in one place, long walks along the coast and treks inland among the barren and beautiful foothills of Black Mountain were common and frequent and usually filled with discussions that always led back to the Remembering. Seasons ran into seasons and time passed around us unnoticed and barely felt.

Mowsel enjoyed his stay in South Wales perhaps more than any of us. He had always had a great desire for knowledge of all things Meq, especially our history and our secrets. Every day he learned from the Travelers what was myth and what was reality. In his nearly five years at Morgan Manor, Mowsel probably spent more time in discussion with West and Fielder than did Geaxi or the Fleur-du-Mal. Zeru-Meq was equally intrigued and intoxicated with the Travelers and their stories. He asked them endless questions about ancient cultures and routes of travel that had only been fairy tales and fantasies to him until he learned the truth through their own histories and journeys. Zeru-Meq had once been indifferent about the Remembering and its importance, and he and Sailor had feuded about it for centuries. But now Zeru-Meq and Mowsel, along with Sailor, had become the true caretakers of the Meq and our destiny. Early on, it was Zeru-Meq who recognized that this Remembering, whatever else it might be, was all about the Zeharkatu. “It is self-evident,” he said. “The five Stones are here, as they must be, and the five are now here with their Ameq. It is no coincidence. The five are here to cross in the Zeharkatu during the Remembering.”

“You are correct,” Fielder told him. She glanced at West, then looked hard into the eyes of the Fleur-du-Mal. “Those of us who have met our Ameq are meant to cross now. What is within us is within the Stones and must be returned and renewed. The five Stones must cross in this Bitxileiho during this Gogorati, this Remembering.”

The Fleur-du-Mal did not move or give away his thoughts, but if anything when I looked at him, he seemed pleased with the idea. Ray muttered “Damn!” and grinned and winked at Nova. Geaxi turned her head and locked eyes with West. Sailor and Sheela didn’t make a sound or look at each other, but I saw her hand move closer to his. I glanced at Opari. She didn’t say a word. Her black eyes were bright and inscrutable.

• • •

On January 1, 1979, West lit fires in each of the three fireplaces in the great living room of Morgan Manor. A long oak table was placed in the center of the room and the curtains were pulled wide open to allow everyone a good view of the sea. The table was stacked with dozens of breads and cakes and a plate full of good Welsh sausages. As West played an impromptu concerto by Vivaldi on his cello, the rest of us sat at the table feasting on the sausages, drinking mulled wine, and toasting the New Year. It was only fifty-seven days until the Remembering. Because of Fielder and West we had learned the correct and exact time and place where we were to be for the event. It was set to occur on the morning of February 26, 1979, near the town of Grass Range in what is now the state of Montana in the United States. An unlikely and inauspicious time and place, but that made no difference. The Meq would be there, all of us, including the five Stones.

The next six weeks passed without incident. Our routines and daily life remained the same, yet there was a slight tension in the air, even among the old ones. The anticipation of the singular event was palpable, and everyone was anxious to begin our journey. Our plan was to leave the United Kingdom together on February 17, flying by charter into New York, then on to Denver, Colorado, where we were to transfer aircraft and fly into Billings, Montana. From there, we would be driven north to a hunting lodge twenty miles east of Grass Range near where the Box Elder and Flatwillow Creeks converge. Through contacts established by Mr. Morgan, we had leased the lodge for the last ten days of February, and it was there that we would wait for the morning of the twenty-sixth. Our “chaperones” for the entire trip were an older couple from Cardiff, and they would serve as our grandparents. Fielder and West had hired them before for international travel, and West said the couple was friendly, efficient, and could be trusted implicitly.

Opari and I had little to pack for the journey, but on the afternoon of February 16, while we were folding and packing our clothes, Mr. Morgan knocked on our door and handed me a telegram that had just been delivered to the manor. It was for me. It was from Koldo, and as I read it, I knew I had no choice but to act immediately.

“What is it, Z?” Opari asked. “What is wrong?”

I stared down at the telegram. There were only three lines. “It’s from Koldo,” I told her. “It says, ‘
JACK DIAGNOSED IN DECEMBER WITH PANCREATIC CANCER. FAILING FAST. BETTER HURRY.
’ ”

Opari and I looked at each other. I didn’t have to say a word. She said, “I will come with you.”

We left that same night. Before leaving I told the others of the situation in St. Louis and said we were only taking a detour. Opari and I would meet them at the hunting lodge. They all understood. Ray even tipped his beret in respect to Jack, but Sailor remarked, “Make sure you are both in Montana by the morning of the twenty-sixth. The Stones must cross.” I assured him we would be there. Mr. Morgan was gracious enough to drive us to the Cardiff Central Railway Station, where we caught a train for the two-hour ride to London. The next day at Heathrow we purchased tickets and boarded a nonstop flight to Chicago. The ticket agents and flight attendants were all more than helpful after I explained that we were brother and sister traveling home alone because of a family emergency. We used the same story going through customs, then caught the last flight out to St. Louis, landing at Lambert Field in a cold light rain, almost a mist. It was well after midnight by the time our taxi pulled into the long driveway and finally came to a stop under the stone archway of Carolina’s house. I paid the driver, and Opari and I walked through the rain and around to the side kitchen entrance. There was a light on inside, and two women, one in her early fifties and the other in her late seventies, were playing cards at the kitchen table. They both jumped and dropped their cards when I knocked. “It’s okay,” I said through the window. Antoinette and Star stared back. “It’s just me … Z.”

It was Antoinette who opened the door, giving Opari and me a long, tight embrace. “Come in, come in, both of you. You’re wet,” she said.

“Just a little,” I told her and followed Opari inside.

Star was still sitting at the table staring at me, and she was smiling. “I knew you would make it,” she said. “I knew you would be here.”

“Is he …?”

“He is sleeping … for now. He’s in a great deal of pain.” I walked over and embraced her, holding her head close to me. “Mama would be glad you’re here, Z,” she whispered.

We stayed up another hour talking with Antoinette and Star. We were told Caine was in Chicago giving a series of lectures, while Georgie was living in Berkeley and working on her doctorate. It was only the two of them in the big house, and they said they often played cards late at night just in case Jack might need something quickly. We learned that his cancer had spread rapidly and viciously throughout his body. His mind was sharp and clear, but his body had failed. Jack was dying and he knew it would be soon. “But please, do not pity him,” Star said. “He will literally try to kick you out of his room if he senses pity of any kind.”

“That sounds about like Jack,” I replied.

“Believe me,” Antoinette added, “Jack is still Jack.”

• • •

The next morning, after Antoinette informed me he was awake and had even eaten a little breakfast, I walked unannounced into Jack’s room. He was lying in his bed, propped up with pillows to a sitting position. He had a tube in his nose and another tube in his arm, which was connected to a morphine drip. His face was gaunt and he weighed less than a hundred pounds. His once dark hair had turned snow white. He still had his hair because Star told me he had stopped chemotherapy after only one round of treatment. I dragged a chair up next to him and sat down. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me. Because of the morphine his eyes had a slightly dull and lazy focus, but he was there. Behind those eyes, Jack was very much alive. He looked at me and smiled. “I saw Bob Forsch pitch a no-hitter last April, Z. First one in this city in fifty-four years.”

“Jesse Haines, July 17, 1924, right? We went together, remember?”

He laughed. “I do remember. I was just testing you. You know, Z, you have a pretty good memory for a kid.”

I looked him in the eye and said, “Thanks, Jack, but I don’t feel much like a kid anymore.”