For every man in the castle pledged to the Kadi’s
bidding, there was another that would answer to the Sami’s command. If it came
to it, and the two elders could not agree, what then?
If the protocols were rigidly
followed the stranger would be sleeping now, guarded in the lower chambers near
the well. Was this another messenger, as the Kadi insisted? It was said that
his clothing and effects were very odd, and that was more than enough to rouse
the Sami’s interest. He stood up, resolved on something, and glad to be moving
again, on his feet, and done with his doleful muse.
Action.
A man might do as he pleases. A
man might do anything at all. He would go to the chamber of the burning and see
what he might find. Perhaps there would be some mark, some sign that would open
his mind on the matter. He would learn nothing, and know nothing, sitting here
in the tower. A man had to act. Only then would the world become real.
8
Paul was alive. His fall had
been broken by a vast subterranean pool of water, alight with a hazy
phosphorescence. It was actually a kind of whirlpool, and the swirling motion
of the waters swept him dangerously near the rocky shards of the cavern wall
before they spilled down a low fall and ran away in a swift moving underground
stream. Paul was carried with them, struggling to keep his head above water,
his arms and legs flailing about with a reflex born of panic.
He could not swim.
He remembered the day that he
had first been thrown into water that was well over his head. He was on a sliding
board at the Matillija Hot Springs Pool in the hills near Ojai, California. He
was twelve years old then, and the family was enjoying the hot Saturday
afternoon with an outing to the pool. Paul climbed up to the top of the sliding
board, and slid too fast on the way down. He intended to guide himself to the
shallower water near the pool’s edge, but instead he landed smack in the
middle, in deep water. His slender legs poked down to find nothing beneath
them, and he was suddenly terrified. Somehow, in a flurry of thrashing arms, he
made it to the rim of the pool—even as he managed to reach the edge of a shelf
of stone now on the margins of the stream.
He pulled himself out of the
water, shivering with fright and the trauma of his fall. He could barely move.
It was as if the fear and adrenaline had overloaded his system, and his mind
needed to shut down before he could function again. He tried to stand up, but
his legs gave way beneath him and he fell on a sandy shelf, dizzy and nauseous.
He did not know how long he lay
there that way. When he opened his eyes he was completely disoriented. He had
been dreaming, strangely aroused. It was a wild erotic dream and it almost
seemed that he could still feel the hands of a beautiful young woman as they
smoothed and caressed his naked body. As his senses coalesced, he suddenly
realized that he was lying in a dimly lit room! The light of a flickering oil
lamp was wavering on the walls and ceiling, and there was someone at his
side—someone touching him, soft hands spiraling over his bare chest.
He thought of Jen, the young lab
tech that had become his partner after the mission. He had been waking up next
to her for the last several months, and it was only natural for his mind to
reach for the familiar. Was she having another nightmare, he thought. The
troubling dreams about that night on the project had plagued her ever since.
She would awaken, confused and disoriented, not knowing where she was; the
fading echoes of memory still shaking her with fear. “Did you hear?” she would
cry out in the dark. “It was on the news just now!”
She was remembering things from
the old, unaltered time line in her dreams. The new world they were in—the one
in which Ra’id Husan al Din had never lived, was still besmirched with
bidding, there was another that would answer to the Sami’s command. If it came
to it, and the two elders could not agree, what then?
If the protocols were rigidly
followed the stranger would be sleeping now, guarded in the lower chambers near
the well. Was this another messenger, as the Kadi insisted? It was said that
his clothing and effects were very odd, and that was more than enough to rouse
the Sami’s interest. He stood up, resolved on something, and glad to be moving
again, on his feet, and done with his doleful muse.
Action.
A man might do as he pleases. A
man might do anything at all. He would go to the chamber of the burning and see
what he might find. Perhaps there would be some mark, some sign that would open
his mind on the matter. He would learn nothing, and know nothing, sitting here
in the tower. A man had to act. Only then would the world become real.
8
Paul was alive. His fall had
been broken by a vast subterranean pool of water, alight with a hazy
phosphorescence. It was actually a kind of whirlpool, and the swirling motion
of the waters swept him dangerously near the rocky shards of the cavern wall
before they spilled down a low fall and ran away in a swift moving underground
stream. Paul was carried with them, struggling to keep his head above water,
his arms and legs flailing about with a reflex born of panic.
He could not swim.
He remembered the day that he
had first been thrown into water that was well over his head. He was on a sliding
board at the Matillija Hot Springs Pool in the hills near Ojai, California. He
was twelve years old then, and the family was enjoying the hot Saturday
afternoon with an outing to the pool. Paul climbed up to the top of the sliding
board, and slid too fast on the way down. He intended to guide himself to the
shallower water near the pool’s edge, but instead he landed smack in the
middle, in deep water. His slender legs poked down to find nothing beneath
them, and he was suddenly terrified. Somehow, in a flurry of thrashing arms, he
made it to the rim of the pool—even as he managed to reach the edge of a shelf
of stone now on the margins of the stream.
He pulled himself out of the
water, shivering with fright and the trauma of his fall. He could barely move.
It was as if the fear and adrenaline had overloaded his system, and his mind
needed to shut down before he could function again. He tried to stand up, but
his legs gave way beneath him and he fell on a sandy shelf, dizzy and nauseous.
He did not know how long he lay
there that way. When he opened his eyes he was completely disoriented. He had
been dreaming, strangely aroused. It was a wild erotic dream and it almost
seemed that he could still feel the hands of a beautiful young woman as they
smoothed and caressed his naked body. As his senses coalesced, he suddenly
realized that he was lying in a dimly lit room! The light of a flickering oil
lamp was wavering on the walls and ceiling, and there was someone at his
side—someone touching him, soft hands spiraling over his bare chest.
He thought of Jen, the young lab
tech that had become his partner after the mission. He had been waking up next
to her for the last several months, and it was only natural for his mind to
reach for the familiar. Was she having another nightmare, he thought. The
troubling dreams about that night on the project had plagued her ever since.
She would awaken, confused and disoriented, not knowing where she was; the
fading echoes of memory still shaking her with fear. “Did you hear?” she would
cry out in the dark. “It was on the news just now!”
She was remembering things from
the old, unaltered time line in her dreams. The new world they were in—the one
in which Ra’id Husan al Din had never lived, was still besmirched with
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