Touchstone (Meridian Series) (37 page)

       The
great bass drum of thunder sounded again, as he thought what to do. Then an
idea came to him as he looked at the rough wood beams cast up on the far
embankment. He made his way over to them, taking hold of a thick log and
dragging it off the embankment into the pool of water. It had an amazing
buoyancy for its weight, and bobbed easily on the surface of the water once he
had it afloat. Perhaps he could use the thing as a great ram to strike the
wooden pegs and force open the hatchways on the lock. Could that be the reason
these logs were kept here?

       He
was getting ready to thrust the log ahead of him as a ram, but paused a moment.
Studying the pegs again closely. There was something he was missing. The log
could not strike the pegs, for it was still well below them… but that would
change as the water continued to rise in this pool in the minutes ahead. It
suddenly occurred to him that the hatches might not open like doorways, but
rather like windows, sliding upward. He squinted at the overhead ceiling and
saw a series of depressions in the stony roof, each aligned with one of the
pegs. Yes! The hatches slid upward, he was sure if it now, but how to move
them?

       The
log had something to do with it all, but what? The log…the log…the log!  The
answer came to him and he quickly repositioned the log until it was parallel to
the face of the lock. Now he guided it into place, just below the horizontal
line of pegs, taking the rope coiled about the pegs and lashing it to the beam.
Could it be this simple, he thought? The water would rise, and the log would
rise with it, until it struck the pegs and slowly raised them. The hatches
would open, sliding upward, ever so slowly, and more water would be added to
the pool, increasing the upward pressure.

       He
wondered if the logs would have enough buoyancy to prevail against the sluice
gates. Something told him that this was a carefully balanced system, and that counterweights
must be involved. Just for good measure, he dragged another log into the water
and lashed it to the first. Now the buoyancy of two logs would press against
the pegs as the water rose. When he finished he was cold, and soaked to the
bones. He wanted nothing more but to reach the safety of dry land above, and
made his way toward the torchlight.

       But
what have I done, he thought? I’ve rigged the lock to open the sluice gates and
flood this entire chamber.  Under normal circumstances he could see that it
would be a slow, gradual process…but the growl of thunder, and the rain that
was sure to follow, made him realize that his death now fell from the storming
clouds above. Rain could fill up the watercourse in a sudden flash flood, and
the lock would give way under that pressure to flood the whole chamber beyond
this point.

       Well,
he thought, whatever is beyond this point, I suppose it’s time for a look. No
sense waiting here for the flood tide. I’ve done my best.  There’s no sense
trying to backtrack at this point either. I’d never make any headway against
the stream. If there’s a way out of here, I must go on from this point and see
what lies ahead.

29

He
was some time
getting up
the muddy embankment at the far end of the pool, but he soon dragged himself,
breathless, onto a shelf of dry stone.

       Kelly
looked back for a moment, wondering where the water emptied from the chamber
below. It must flow on through another opening in the wall of the chamber,
hidden beneath the surface of the pool. If those sluice gates open, however,
the flow will be too great. The water will fill the chamber and rise to this
level, spilling over to flood … To flood what?

       Now
his gaze was pulled down a long limestone corridor that led east from this
point. The flickering of torchlight moved shadow and light over the walls,
illuminating a series of carvings there, in classic Egyptian style. He wished
he had time to bone up on the hieroglyphics, for he could make no sense of them
at all.

       He
walked slowly on, his senses keenly aware, until he reached the first guttering
torch. It had been doused in a sweet smelling oil, lending a pleasant spicy
aroma to the air. Another roll of thunder rumbled in the distance but, as it
subsided, a faint clink of metal on stone could be heard. He listened, hearing
a steady chink, chink, chink, as if someone was carving, or excavating the
chambers ahead.

       He
walked on, drawn by the sound, his gaze playing over the silent carvings on the
walls. Up ahead the corridor opened to a great chamber that stretched up into
deepening shadow, and there, hunched against a far wall, was another man in
Arabic robes. He was bent over a section of the wall, chipping away with a
mallet and chisel by the light of a wavering oil lamp.

       Kelly
did not know what to do or say, but he stepped gingerly forward, approaching
quietly as the man worked at the wall. As he crept closer, he was possessed
with the feeling of an intense
déjà vu
, as if he had come upon this
place, this man, before, though he knew that was clearly impossible. Still, the
feeling that he knew what was about to happen next was overwhelming, and
confirmed when the man suddenly stopped his work at the wall and turned to face
him.

      
“Falaq – The Dawn is come. In the name of God the
most gracious, the most merciful. Who seeks refuge with the Lord of the Dawn?”
The man looked at him, dark brown eyes above a graying beard, his face lined
with the years, cheeks sallow below his thin, yet regal, nose.

       Kelly could almost hear the words he would speak
next, impossibly, in answer to the man’s question. “I… I seek refuge…”

       “Refuge from the mischief of created things,” the
man answered. “From the mischief of darkness as it overspreads, and from the
mischief of those who practice secret arts…” There was a glint in his eye, the
hint of a smile.

       Kelly was confused. “You speak English?” he
stammered.

       “No, that is not my native tongue,” said the man.
“But you speak it, and know nothing of the true voice, and so I meet with you
on ground that may be more familiar to you, for I have been waiting here this
morning, expecting your coming at the edge of the storm, as it was foretold to
me.”

       “Foretold? What do you mean?”

       The man smiled, the lines of his face stretching
as he did so. “Look about you,” he said, gesturing with a thin arm. “Have you
not seen this place before?”

       Kelly looked, seeing the high walls carved with
hieroglyphics, stretching away into the shadows. The sensation of
déjà vu
was redoubled, and he had the distinct impression that he had been here, seen
all this, spoken with this very man, many times before.

       “Yes,” he whispered, not knowing exactly what he
meant.

       “Yes,” the man returned. “For this is the first
place. The first true moment. From here, all things progress forward to become
what they must, and here I write it, as it must be told, inscribed upon these
walls so that my brothers will know the tale of the ages.”

       “The history,” said Kelly. “You are carving the
history of all time here on these walls?”

       “As I am able.” The man squinted at the torchlight
carvings and pointed. “See there, that they call ‘cartouche’ in the modern
tongue, each one begins a new sura. But this is the first.”

       ‘The touchstone,” Kelly whispered. “This is where the
messengers come to press their parchments against the wall.”

       The man nodded. “And they take away a rubbing of the
sura they are charged with, so that they may know the outcomes that are to be
desired. So it is that we work our will upon the days, and herd them to some
good end.”

       “Good end? Perhaps as you may see it,” said Kelly.

       “Certainly,” the man agreed. “But how else can I
see it? Each man sees what he wishes. But it is not my will that must prevail.
The world belongs to Allah, blessed be his name, and I am merely his servant.”

       “Oh, of course,” said Kelly, with a touch of
sarcasm in his voice. “Tends to relieve you of the burden of guilt, eh? You
were speaking of mischief a moment ago, the mischief of those who practice
secret arts. Don’t tell me you are blameless in that.”

       “No,” said the man, “I will not be so arrogant, my
friend. I am as guilty as any man that ever lived, though the only arts I
practice are those I can work with this hammer and chisel. Yet I know that with
every stroke of my hammer, a legacy is set down that will decide the fate of
billions. It is a terrible burden, yet I must bear it. And you? You have come
here to make an end of this place, have you not?  Yes…you have lashed the beams
to the gate in the passage below, and the waters are rising. You have come to
set the tempest of the dawn upon the beast that has hidden this chamber for
millennia.”

       Kelly was troubled. “How could you know that? You
saw me? I don’t understand…”

       “Oh, but you
do
understand. That is why you
greeted me with a knowing glance…why this place is familiar to you, why all of
this seems as if it has been lived before.”

       “You’re telling me that I have been to this place,
and spoken with you before?” Even as he asked the question Kelly knew the
answer himself. This was the beginning of all places, the Prime Meridian. To
this point in time all things owed homage. Every generation would bow to the
lion of stone that guarded this place. He had a sudden vision of the image of a
sphinx, imprinted on a silver coin, as if to commemorate the sacred significance
of this place and time. And the coin was in his hand, an ordinary silver piece
that he might use for pocket change. He could not make any sense of the memory,
but he was certain of it.

       The man turned to him, with real warmth in his
eyes. “The first time we spoke of the dawn when you questioned me about the sura
I quoted at our greeting. I can see you are confused. Do not worry. This
place—this time—has but two possible outcomes. Either you succeed in your
quest, and this place is destroyed, or you fail, and we live on. You are
experiencing a moment of dissonance, that is all. The echoes of each possible
outcome join together now to create this moment in your experience.  Come… we
have so little time together. Will you not walk with me? We will go out and
greet the dawn, and perhaps, if you are willing, we might offer a morning
prayer of thanks, as all men should do when they are given a moment like this
one.”

       He started away, gesturing for Kelly to join him,
and Kelly felt himself pulled along, as if by an irresistible curiosity.

       “Then you knew I was coming… You expected me.”

       “Yes, this time, at least. And we have set aside
the logs and closed the lock on the hidden stream. Rest assured, your death
does not await you within these chambers as you feared. That possibility has
been closed…”

       “What do you mean?”

       “The first possible outcome—that you should
succeed and the flood comes upon us here: I have seen it as well. I still
recall the image of your face and voice in the hall of records when the waters
came, and how we clung to one another when the torrent came upon us. Thankfully
Salim was at hand at that very moment.”

       “Salim?”

       “Yes, one of our messengers. He was here to make
his delivery of the fourth age, and set to leave just when you  arrived. So it
was that he returned with knowledge of all that you would work here. It was all
in play, you see, his coming and going at that moment. And so it was meant to
be this way all along. The other side strives mightily, but here we are once
more, taking this long walk through the heart of the beast, out to greet the
dawn. Oh yes, forgive me, I have not told you my name, though I am sure you may
already know it.”

       Kelly knew the man now.

       “You are Hamza,” he said, the word appearing in
his mind as he reached for it. “You are the keeper of records, the Scribe, the
maker of days that are set in stone.”

       “You remember!” Hamza beamed with delight. “I told
you my name as we clung to one another before the end—in that other time, the
possibility we have ended once and for all.”

       They walked through a low arch, and Kelly could
discern the gray light of dawn ahead of them. Soon they were up a long flight
of rough hewn stones and out of the Sphinx, emerging from a nook near his right
hind leg. The cold rain fell upon them, and the wind played with their robes.

       “The tempest is upon us,” said Hamza. “This is no
place to pray but, if you could see far enough, that is the way to Mecca, or at
least the place where Mecca will rise up in ages hence.

       Kelly
squinted, the rain washing his face, and mixing with tears that welled at the
corners of his eyes. They learned of my mission when Salim was sent back on
routine courier assignment. He knew it all now, remembered it all, as if the
contact with Hamza had shaken the hazy coils of recollection in his brain, and
set them in motion.
The fog of uncertainty
was finally lifted in a golden moment of complete awareness
. Salim was pulled out, and informed the other side
of these events. Somehow, some way, they were able to run yet another
intervention andsend someone back to preserve the integrity of the lock on the
stream below. He had little doubt that the logs he had lashed to the flood gate
below were set aside by now, as Hamza told him, and the hatchways closed to
seal out the flood that was pouring down from the gray heavens above.