The Basingstoke Chronicles (16 page)

And now that I had found it, what if I decided to re-shuffle the puzzle, thus saving his
life? The nature of space-time was clearly not so absolute as to unravel the universe at the
slightest time tampering. We were
here,
after all.

What then, were its limits? What scale of change could I effect before the temporal
forces imploded on us? How much could I interfere?

As for the rules governing time, I was ignorant. Any blame for saving Pacal, therefore,
must lay squarely on Him Who supplied me with a heart, curiosity, and no instruction.

The lime grass grew darker as we trudged northward. It swayed in the north-easterly
breeze. How many miles we walked I could not tell. Nor could I quite fathom how I was able to
maintain such stamina.
Something in Chasca Quilla's medicine perhaps?

When we reached the first tributary stream, the great Palace was barely visible behind
us. We had also climbed without my realizing it, for the ziggurat lay hundreds of feet below. It
was thus that I discovered the optical illusion of Apterona's vast plateau. Hillocks occurred across
the terrain, but the gradual declivity from the rim toward its centre was well-disguised. It was in
fact a bowl of an island, the only split in its shape forced by the southwesterly course of Kuti
river.

We reached the edge of the northern forest in no time. Ten of the eleven burly soldiers
lined our left flank, spears at the ready. Now a jungle veteran, I was content to keep a safe
distance from the trees. The widest part of Kuti river, however, all but barred our way ahead. The
stretch of grass between forest and water diminished to a path just a few meters wide, and I soon
crept along in the shadow of great trees.

Distant bird cries pierced the silence; bare trunks stood scraped and scarred, as though a
legion of hot claws had sharpened upon them. A warm mist settled no higher than the height of a
man, and through this we saw only pale emptiness. Our movement through the tall grass
produced a constant hiss that drowned all other sound..

I stopped for a moment. My shins tickled, the same way they had in the time machine. I
bent down to listen more closely, and felt a gentle vibration underfoot. The ground beneath was
trembling. Rodrigo caught up and crouched beside me. He nodded. It was the second tremor we
had experienced on Apterona.

"It's only very slight," he said. "No more than a thunder roll miles away."

I had to agree. We quickly caught up to the others who by now were almost on the
water's edge. I saw Puma Pawq'ar point Pacal to the river bank. The water surface confirmed our
findings, rippling against the side quite noticeably.

It stopped for a moment but resumed with greater intensity. Rodrigo stumbled back from
the river, so he let go of K'achita's hand for better balance. Most of the guards pushed past us to
shield Chasca Quilla. I quickly found myself hiding behind them, side by side with Puma and
Pacal.

A solitary black deer appeared atop a hill to the east, followed by a swathe of dust. Two
more deer joined it. In moments the cloud rose to blanket the sky. Rodrigo yanked my t-shirt and
yelled something I couldn't hear. A strong guard lifted the queen onto his shoulders and ran
northward, while another carried K'achita. I tried desperately to keep pace with the others as they
fled.

As I turned, the hillock erupted in a torrent of dark streaks, as though a dam had spilled a
great herd of quadrupeds onto the valley. The dust cloud stretched northward, out of sight. Those
animals that stumbled were pulverized by a hurricane of hooves. Nothing could have survived in
the stampede's path.

Without warning, the wave spilled westward across the river, in the direction of the
settlements far below. To the trail of dust was added the spume of an awesome fountain, as Kuti
river exploded, spraying its white hoarfrost on the back of the dark tsunami.

The northernmost deer avoided the barrier of trees. They pressed back into the herd until
the tide swept them into the valley. I breathed a great sigh of relief, for we were still in the
forest's shade, and out of danger from the stampede.

We ran for an age, finally stopping as the roar subsided, spent as matadors after the
Pamplona run. As the last of the herd vanished behind the tree line, Pacal and Puma waded across
the Kuti. They climbed a steep verge on the other side. From there they could see some way
down into the valley.

"Where is the herd headed?" shouted Chasca Quilla, updated by whispers from her
chaperon.

"It is fine for the moment," replied her son from high above. "They have stopped near
the south forest."

We all breathed a sigh.

"Lord Henry Basingstoke?" she said.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You have encountered a second exodus, I believe."

"An exodus?"

"Yes. The host of scorpions in the western forest was the first, for they had fled the east.
The black deer have now seen fit to take flight in a similar manner. You arrival, it seems, has
sparked quite an upheaval."

I guessed she was jesting, but I couldn't be certain. For my part, the most curious thing
about this timing was the time machine itself. Very soon Pacal would have to make his fateful
escape to the future, an escape prompted by fire. Clues were soaked in possibility. They clogged
my thoughts. Ground tremors, a great fire, species fleeing from east to west--the evidence was
unsettling.

That some kind of natural disaster was imminent I felt sure; on what scale it might occur
I tried not to imagine. If Rodrigo and I were correct in our assumption, this was the western tip of
the great continent of Atlantis. Could the mysterious time-traveler have chosen this place and
point in history to visit for a specific reason, and, if so, was there more to its significance than the
underground fleet? My stomach felt hollow, for the enduring myth had long told of this ancient
place being destroyed. It was perhaps the most cataclysmic end of all the civilizations of history.
But in what guise would the tragedy hit? I realized the time was nearing for Rodrigo and me to
make our move.

We followed the river as it curved at a northeasterly tangent from the forest, into the
foothills of the great mountain range. I felt energized, intrepid. Chasca Quilla's curious expedition
seemingly had no end. Crossing from grass to rock, we led the Queen very carefully indeed.
Though I offered assistance, her helper did nothing but scoff at me.

The footing grew quite difficult after a while. A honeycombed path headed toward the
river's source. We negotiated it on tiptoes, and it is with a certain pride that I boast of not logging
a single misstep.

When I next looked up, we were looking upon a watery wonder of Apterona. A lagoon
about the area of a football field, precipitously enclosed in jagged rock, was the source of the
Kuti river. It was formed by a fluvial happening..

The few days of violent rainfall had filled the mountain passes to overflowing. Though
this lagoon was located toward the west of the mountain range, it was much lower than the
surrounding peaks; therefore, cascades of water, coursing for an outlet, soon found their way to
this spot. Three streams converged to feed the lagoon: one high from the north, one spurting into
the pool from a westerly track, and one directly opposite, from the east.

The waterfall's momentum gouged a constant wound beneath the surface, and was
accentuated by the forceful meeting of the two opposing currents. This created a remarkable
reaction. A soapy-white fountain sprang up a few feet ahead of the waterfall. It climbed twenty
feet into the air.

I marveled at this chance happening of the elements. Three rivers, a waterfall and a
fountain conspired in miraculous design. An accident of nature? Did this design, to form the
life-sustaining Kuti river, make it the very origin of
time
itself?

A gentle spray soaked our rock ledge as we walked around the lagoon. The path sloped
upward until we stood on a level with the bowed neck of the waterfall. Standing at the rear of the
party, I couldn't quite see why we had stopped at this point.

A strange, enveloping aroma caused me to sneeze.

I went dizzy for a moment. The rest filed onto a peculiar glassy surface ahead. I pushed
through the crowd to stand alongside Chasca Quilla.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked.

I beheld a field of unusual, transparent flowers. I had never seen the sort before, but then
again I am no botanist. Apart from the see-through petals, I did not regard these plants as
particularly noteworthy.

"I do not know what to say," I replied. "I always have time for flowers, provided their
scents are agreeable. Is this what you brought me all this way to see?"

She smiled, lifted her hand free from her chaperon, and held it out for me to take. She
then bade me lead her to what I perceived was the thickest cluster of these odd plants.

"You always have time for flowers, Lord Henry Basingstoke? Well then, this flower, the
t'ika, will surely have
time
for you. Kneel beside me a while."

Her words and manner were, once again, confoundedly enigmatic, but I obeyed with
curiosity. We had, after all, traveled many miles and nearly been crushed in a stampede, just for
this moment.

Her hand probing the flowers, she settled on one in particular, a tall specimen at least
two inches higher than the rest. She ran her fingers down its stalk, the way a flautist tickles out a
tune, before grasping it between her forefinger and thumb.

"Do as I do, Lord Henry. By lightly squeezing the neck, you will aggravate the scent. In
a few moments, the perfume will be ready to inhale. Place your nostrils above the stamens, so
close as to almost touch, and then breathe in until your chest can rise no more. Do not worry if
your vision fades. True vision does not need eyes to soak up its secrets. Follow where you are
led, and do not think
yourself
the trail-guide of your thoughts, for where they lead, you
are without map."

I hadn't smoked as much as a cigarette since secondary school, and had never partaken of
the senseless drugs bandied about in college. This one, however, I felt obliged to try. The aroma
intensified around me as I crouched to imitate the queen. When her nostrils flared and her smile
bloomed into dimples, I closed my eyes and sucked in an acre of pollen.

My vision blurred. I felt as though I was wheeling backwards, faster and faster, through
streaks of white. Ready to fling my arms out to steady myself, I gasped. The breath shot bitterly
up my nose. It stung for a moment and then flooded my world with white light.

I drifted, fully aware, seemingly light years from anything tangible. I felt lost from color,
yet drank from the sum of all colors. White. There was no darkness; the past had no shadow, the
future no horizon. I was utterly alone, yet I bathed in that isolation as a single pearl in an oyster
full of milk. I looked, turned, through nothing but white.

Paralysis or spinning at light speed? The effect frightened me. Perhaps the knack of
expanding one's mind is to let go without reservation. I clung desperately to reason.

It was no epiphany. I sensed nothing exalted in the light. Chilling impulses flickered
about me, like discordant ends from a wire circuitry trying to shock me, convince me all was
awry. I thought of Rodrigo and K'achita bonding across millennia, mocking the passage of time;
of Pacal Votan and his father, both doomed to leave Apterona, only as pebbles skimming out
from the shore, obliged to sink after a mere few skips; of Ethel Brooke and Chasca Quilla,
women I had to covet from afar, destined to be the fragile bookends my adventure would never
quite let me touch. I sank, drowned inside these fears. I swirled as a flake of skin into a plug
hole.

Suddenly, orange erupted! The dizziness stilled completely. I entered into a landscape
that I had somehow drawn: not the Apterona I had lived in all these months, something terrible, a
smoldering canvas melting, flooding the entire pastel continent with fire. Each flame spat the
cries of a hundred voices I knew. I could do nothing to stop it. A firefly with a volcano on its
back, I was burdened by guilt. Tasting the first smoky fumes, I shrank back from the vision until
I had a bird's eye view of melting paradise. I rose high enough to see the whole of Apterona.
Nothing left of her now, only fire. A haze grew over the flames. Turquoise surrounded it. And
gradually I realized I was staring into the sun through a wisp of cloud. The
real
sun, real
cloud, and a blue, unthreatening sky.

Where was I? Where had I been? Squeezing the coarse, leathery grass between the tips
of my thumbs and fingers gave me an anchor to reality. A sublime wooziness kept willing me to
drift away again, but I remembered the vision. The horrible, helpless sensation of being witness
to the end of the world. It couldn't have been real.

But I'd not dreamt it, I'd
witnessed
it as surely as my parents' funeral and their
wake at Basingstoke Manor. So what had I really seen? The destruction of Apterona? I dragged
myself up onto my knees, barely keeping balance. By the time I managed to stand upright
without staggering, the urge to escape from those awful plants clenched me into a single,
desperate muscle.

Jesus, man, get a grip! It's just a bloody flower!

Many of the guards visibly shook, a few even sobbed like children as they rose to their
feet. Rodrigo and K'achita held each other tightly, while Pacal and Puma knelt facing one
another, but looking away. Chasca Quilla stood beside me. Her eyes were filled with terror.

My heart plummeted. The transparent flowers had affected us all. Their vision, I
concluded, was of the future--near, opaque and, consequently, disastrous.

"Your Majesty, what did you see?"

She recoiled, gasping, horrified. "The end," she said. "That is it, then."