Voices of Stone

Marin remembered . . .

A younger man, then, dropping down the shaft into a well of darkness. A long enough plunge that he doubted the accuracy of the sensors that declared it a safe drop before the water erupted around his feet and the soles of his boots found wet stone. Cold ankles, soaked pant legs, but joy - this was an unknown place.

Finger to lips. Water. Fresh water, life’s blood of the universe, but of course it would be here to support the ruined civilization they’d found above, and the one they planned to build to replace it. Snap on the light. Not a well, but a stream. It must lead somewhere . . .

Uphill. Dry land now. Water blocked, depleted? Stone orbs sensing his approach and lighting without command. McDougal’s voice-blast in his ear.

"Not now, but yes, send Reiner."

The Cavern. Arches carved, this was built. Spindly columns-chiseled or grown?-circular pool in the center. Slope down, kneeling at the edge. This looked dry but the bottom is still damp.

Finger to moist rock, then to lips.

Voices . . .

The same voices call to him now out of this darkness, this cold pressure at every side, like fingers made of stone, pumice that crunches and falls away into powder when it meets the resistance of his own muscle and bone. Voices. Chanting, shouting, a thousand years of conversation compressed into a single moment, replayed again and again.

Finally, light again. Round orbs that light at his approach.

Dry stone. Inside-inside, they command, to the place where the red rings the circle. There. There. There you will see the face of the One Who Knows.

Pain on knees. Not meant to crawl at this age, you old fool. They’ll send the Golems soon to clean up the mess-don’t let them think you’re part of the mess.

On your feet, before the others wake up and try to follow you. The boy can’t know what’s at the heart of this.

Through the arch, like before. Follow the red spine; it will lead you.

The voices again. What more could they possibly have to say?