The Basingstoke Chronicles (14 page)

The spears fell from my grasp. They clattered with hollow thuds that pulsed through the
entire chamber. Pacal placed his hand on my shoulder.

"I knew it would impress you, my friend," he said.

I was speechless. The enormity of this endeavor was beyond anything I had encountered
on Apterona, save the ziggurat palace. This constituted more than a vague ambition to explore. It
was an imminent plan to leave en masse. The sheer time and manpower required for shipbuilding,
not to mention the ingenuity and know-how.

"This must have taken..."

"One hundred and thirty-eight summers," finished Pacal.

As I headed toward the fleet, a thousand questions flooded my mind. "How many are
involved in this, and how have you been able to keep it a secret for so long?"

Puma handed me his torch. This expedition was the ultimate display of trust, all
right.

"There are many involved from the villages," said the prince, "but not as many as you
might expect. A hundred and thirty-eight summers is more than four generations of concerted
effort. Legend has it the great Palace was built in less time. As for the secrecy, you will be
surprised how meticulous one can be when the consequences of a misstep are so grave."

"So, no one loyal to the Kamachej has ever found out about this?"

"Let us say no one has been given the chance to tell him."

"What do you mean, Puma?"

"I mean, Lord, that anyone who attempts to reach this place without permission is...not
allowed to do so. We were observed the moment we reached the stairway, just as we are being
watched as I speak. Indeed, were Pacal or myself not with you, I doubt if you would have reached
this far, and you would certainly not leave this cavern alive, my friend."

"A dubious privilege, then," said Pacal, attempting to lighten the mood.

I made straight for the first vessel, noting her rather bluff bow and ever-so-slight list to
port. My breath soon grew very cold. Not for the first time since leaving the time machine, I felt
the effect of the tiny organisms that rendered a chill where there was none. These hardy life
forms, used for refrigeration on Apterona, coated the entire wooden vessel.

"What purpose do these serve on board?" I asked, tracing my fingers through the
sparkling frost which lined the mast.

"They are great preservers," said Pacal, "both of their own lives, which re-generate
endlessly, and of their surroundings, which they adapt to and protect. They are
time
skin
--brought down from the mountains by the Kuti river, which also brought us here tonight. Kuti is
the ancient word for time. When the river empties, they remain--the indomitable skin which not
even the sun can defeat--until the river fills up again, eventually spilling them into the sea. They
have lined our vessels for over a century, preserving them in this pristine state. We owe them a
great deal."

This answer pleased me. One of the minor mysteries of Apterona was now resolved.
However, a mighty checklist still remained. The cold quickly became unpleasant, and I jumped
back ashore. My two companions walked behind me as I began the sublime tour of this
underground armada. Thinking back to the
Moncado
and the
Aquitaine,
I tried
to imagine what Rodrigo, Ethel, Sam and Dumitrescu might make of this and its possible
ramifications.

What precedent in the tomes of historical fact, or even myth, was there for a great
pre-classical civilization crossing the ocean to foreign lands? And what of the advanced intellects and
knowledge that would travel with them?

Actually, the conjectures of mythologists were quite well known on this topic. Many
sources point to a common motif among the origins of ancient stories and religions; it tells of a
tall man, dressed in white robes, arriving from the sea to impart great wisdom. This is
documented across many of the great cultures and eventual empires of the world, including Egypt
and, according to one or two sources, even Ancient Greece. Perhaps most crucial is the presence
of this tale in the origins of Mesoamerican civilizations. Aztec, Toltec, Mayan and Incan
mythologies all incorporate it in some way. Had I found the epicenter of this shock-wave of
human advancement?

Of course, these great empires arose at vastly different points in history, yet who is to
say that the seeds of knowledge were not sown patiently? The architectural genius of Mayan
monuments, like El Castillo, or the Pyramid of Kukulkan, have always baffled historians to some
extent, as have the ziggurats in other South American countries. The pyramids of Egypt, too,
possess a precision and even astronomical significance that people have studied and revered for
centuries. Could the knowledge of Apterona have been recorded somewhere, and utilized by later
intellects with the means to oblige it? Indeed, there is so much unexplained of ancient cultures
that one simply has to keep an open mind.

"Excuse me for a moment," interrupted Puma, turning back to where we had entered.
"Our resident friends want a word with me."

I watched as he strode away toward a group of four or five distant figures stood at the
cave entrance.

"There is something else you ought to be aware of, Lord, and this is a good time to tell
you, now that we are alone," whispered Pacal, handing me his telescope. "I know that you arrived
here from the sea, and that you and Rodrigo traveled a great distance to reach us... A great
distance... Through time..."

"W-what do you mean?" I said.

"There is no need to worry," said Pacal. "Vichama Supay does not know, nor does Puma.
Only one other is aware of it, and he is the one who told me."

I swallowed hard before answering, "All right then, who told you, and what sorcery led
him to that conclusion?"

A law student friend of mine once told me it is prudent, when trying one's case, to only
ask a question one already knows the answer to. By that rationale, Pacal now had me at a grave
disadvantage. The multitude of possible answers rushed at me like a spinning trident. Put simply,
our game was up. This mysterious other person knew we were time travelers. He therefore had
our lives in his hands, for if he were to tell it to the intolerant Kamachej, we would be in serious
trouble.

"He wants to meet with you," replied the Apteronian, cryptic as ever. "I will take you
tomorrow, if you like."

"I think that would be very wise," I agreed.

And that was that: the yank from my rapture, the breaking of the spell, the end credits
rolling before my eyes. My warning to Rodrigo all those months before was finally justified.
Somehow, someone had figured out our secret and told Pacal.

Was it just luck this person had gone to Pacal first, or was the fact significant? Perhaps
he was equally broad-minded. Maybe he was anxious to learn something from me--the future of
Apterona, perhaps? It would be logical to assume a person traveling back through time would
know all about his destination beforehand, to ensure, as far as possible, a trouble-free stay. What
might I say if he asked that? Should I impart the mystery of the dead time-traveler, whose
appearance had prompted this whole affair?

I offered Pacal a full explanation right then, which he refused to hear.

"There will be plenty of time for storytelling later," he said. "Besides, your motives for
being here are not as important as your actions thus far on Apterona. You are, by all indications,
one of us, a man who longs for new horizons, and whether from a distant shore or a future time,
we have revealed this great secret to you in the hope that you will help us, too, to reach new
worlds."

My heart swelled. Here was Pacal Votan, ambassador for a civilization somehow
un-credited in all of archaeology, admiral of a secret fleet to sail the very crest of history, asking for
my assistance. I was in a tenuous position, but his sincerity and the importance of his plea were
simply too great to deny.

"Of course," I replied. "When do you plan to embark?"

We turned to greet Puma as he approached. His fist was clenched, with something
inside.

"As soon as we can arrange a suitable decoy," said the prince. "Mobilizing thousands of
people against the will of a stubborn ruler like my father is no small task. In any event, three
quarters of them are still loyal to him. This endeavor must, I fear, be defended with deadly force
when the secret is out. It goes against everything my father stands for, and his Palace guard will
stop at nothing to keep these ships from sailing.

"I have something for you, Pacal," he continued, opening his fist and holding the
contents out.

Pacal Votan's frown grew until his eyebrows met. He plucked the object from Puma's
hand and studied it. I leaned in, also. It was a pendant, with decorated ivory beads and a familiar,
angular centerpiece, identical to the one I had found on the seabed, next to the time machine. My
first thought was that it must have fallen through a hole in my pocket. I checked.

Strangely, mine was still there.

"This was my father's," proclaimed Pacal. "Where did you find it?"

"The guards found it near the mouth of the cove, on the ocean bottom," replied Puma. "I
recognized it instantly."

"Indeed. There was no finer engraver than my mother. This was the first gift she ever
gave to my father. I am so glad it was not lost."

My mind clicked into gear. If the pendant was unique, and the mysterious time-traveler
had taken it with him to 1979, he must have also gained possession of it before he left Apterona.
A horrible realization struck through me, and I shuddered. The man doomed to suffer an
indescribable end, the man to whom I owed this whole adventure, had just been identified.

Pacal Votan, my first and best friend on Apterona, was the answer to our great riddle.
And sometime soon, he was going to die. The Fates had declared it. Yet, what was my presence
here if not a spanner in the temporal works?

Could I help him to somehow cheat death, and, if so, what effect would that have on the
future? On my future? If his dead body was not found off the coast of Cuba, my presence here
would never be. That was one theory. However, I had conjectured that the rules governing time
travel were not simply cause and effect, but rather laws unto themselves, and that a person
displaced through time was no longer linked to the time he left. In other words, my ties to 1979
had been severed by this journey. Whatever changes I effected on Apterona, they might indeed
ripple into the future, altering my 1979, but they would not touch me here.

I shifted weight from one leg to the other, horribly self-conscious. What if my theory
was right? Rodrigo and I would be safe, but we might never see
our
1979 again. There
was still too much to figure out before I could risk revealing Pacal's fate to him. I decided to keep
quiet. But one thing I had to do, and could not wait to do, was talk the matter over with Rodrigo.
The Cuban would know what course to take. At least, I hoped so.

We remained in the cavern for another hour while Puma and Pacal conversed with their
men. By this time, my limbs were stiff. My jaw quivered from the cold. I noted how little Pacal
and Puma seemed affected by the dip in temperature. Indeed, their scant clothing reminded me
what great survivors we humans used to be. I was relieved to hear Puma say the time had come
for us to return to Yaku.

Apart from the occasional whisper between Pacal and Puma, we were silent all the way
to the cliff top. The wind had calmed. In its place, a heavy atmosphere slowed our steps and
pressed tightly against our chests. I sensed a severe turn of weather would hit us at any
moment.

As Pacal loosened the boat's mooring rope, the first drops of tepid rain peppered the back
of my neck. The jungle canopy above bore the brunt of the sudden downpour and let the rain
trickle down in measured streams upon us.

We made excellent progress upstream in the longboat, despite the growing current. Pacal
Votan and Puma Pawq'ar maintained a marvelous rhythm. Soon after we shimmied past the
bottleneck, however, I leaned forward to shift my position and felt a sharp jab to my ribs.

I winced and clutched my side. My jaw clenched. The sting doubled me up across the
deck. But after that initial dash of pain, the sensation was not unpleasant. I remember a wonderful
puzzlement enveloping me as the blurring figure of Pacal thrust his spear at a dark shape clinging
to the side of the boat. The chaotic tap of what sounded like fingernails on wood faded into a
happy clickety-click. The darkness of the forest eased into my thoughts, and I smiled before
winding along a deep, cool river of slumber.

* * * *

It was early evening when I awoke. My throat felt dry, coarse as a desert rock. I trembled
when I tried to move, and my eyes could not handle even the dwindling light from a pale sky.
The flimsy walls around me seemed to belong to a tent of some kind. They were sheet white and
flexed in the wind. But I was pleasantly warm. Despite one side of the canopy being half open,
whomever had erected the thing had made sure I was sheltered from the wind.

Kindly hands had set me here.

My bed consisted of four woolen blankets; one covered me, while I lay on the other
three. Beside me was a small, hinged box, its lid left open and its contents visible. A collection of
tiny bottles and bowls, carved from wood, were neatly arranged inside. Aromas of various
liquids, powders and herbs combined to fill the tent with a bizarre aroma. I wondered to what
alchemist this mobile kit might belong. Why was I not in my home? What had happened to me
on our return up Kuti river?

"Ah, awake at last!" K'achita was taller than I remembered but just as voluptuous. She
blustered inside the tent, adjusting her sandy-colored shawl repeatedly in an attempt to drape it
comfortably about her neck. I smiled as I realized Rodrigo could not be far away. The past
months had taught me that. Where Rodrigo was, there also was K'achita, and vice versa.