Dena sat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling in empty air above the sucking mud below. That would disappear soon enough; the tide was encroaching with every wave. She stared up, the sky beginning to break clear of morning haze, the promise of another clear blue day cresting the departing clouds. This was the best time, in her opinion. Too early for the hordes of screaming toddlers, harassed parents and water-crazed dogs. Stillness held dominion, and that suited her needs.
It was always too loud to think at home. Paul with his drum practice and dreams of stardom. Mum with her ever present clacking on the computer as she caught up with people she used to hate at school, and then slagged them off over the dinner table. And Dad, poor ole Dad, retired, bored, playing ancient music and remembering when he had hair. Too much noise, not even peace in her room. These early morning walks to the dock gave her that. Time to let all the voices settle, quit their bickering and attention seeking, and let the important thoughts float to the top.
Mind calm, she let her gaze wander across the vast expanse of water, wondering what it had looked like back in the day. Back when huge ships had sailed up the wide, deep river, delivering their cargoes, taking back coal and wood. She could hear the distant echoes haunting her imagination. The cry of sailors, the heft and thud of crates, the tramp of feet and whinny of horses towing barges toward town. It was all there, embedded in the rocks of the pier, in the shattered timbers piercing the water, reaching for the sky they once sailed beneath.
A peripheral movement caught her attention, juxtaposed with a sudden gust of wind which draped hair across her eyes.
“Odd.” she muttered, tucking locks behind her ears.
She looked again, focussing now, determined to disprove her eyes. But no, there it was. The wind blew stronger across the water, playing with the waves, and she realised it was those which had caused her brain to think the world was a little of kilter.
The wind created paths in the water, miniature miracles, parting of the waves bible style. Furthest from her, kissing the far bank, a water path ran from east to west, waves racing towards the bridge, empty of cars, for now. On her side, under her feet, she noted it was heading west to east in another path, waves bolting for the freedom of the sea. Looking to the centre of the river, half expecting to see waves running vertically, so strange did it seem, she saw a path which lay completely still. Glassy, mirror smooth and with edges clinically straight, the path was perfect, untouched by the strange goings-on around it.
Knowing it was an idiotic thing to do, but intrigued beyond bearing by the odd waves and paths, she studied the closest path. It ran only a couple of feet from the edge of the dock where steps led down to the water. Idly wondering how many ancient mariners had climbed the steps before her, boarding for foreign lands, or aching to be home, she stood at the head of the steps, contemplating.
“Am I this curious?” she asked herself, and smiled, taking the first step down.
Thankful for the boots she'd worn after the night's rain, she stepped into the rivulets teasing the dock. The water washed lazily back and forth, barely covering her feet, but she knew the river was treacherous, replete with sudden eddies, whirls and undertows. Gingerly, she moved toward the edge of the water path, sure she would find a sandbar beneath her questing feet. Her dad always said there was usually a very simple explanation for the unexplained, waiting to be discovered. The water brushing her ankles, she walked onto the path.
The waves continued to scramble seaward, but she stood firmly in place, feeling solid ground under her feet. Uncertain, she bent, plunging her hand into the freezing water, expecting to feel sand. What she encountered was smooth, solid, like a glass path under the water, invisible, the trick of a magician. As she uncurled, confused, she felt the wind pick up. It whirled around her, caused the water to swirl up until she was surrounded by it, couldn't see out of its dervish spinning. She felt a tugging, first against her body and then inside her head. She gasped at the unwanted pain, the suction which followed and staggered as she was suddenly clear of the water, dumped on an unevenly cobbled road.
She tried to catch her balance, in mind and body, looked up and screamed. A phalanx of uniformed men were marching straight at her. The leading soldiers looked as shocked as she felt. She could almost see their thoughts in their faces. At only a yard away there was no doubt they were about to trample straight over her. There was no room to turn, no time to stop the momentum of disciplined feet. One started to speak, another looked at the river running to their left, thinking perhaps to push her away, and then a hand grabbed the back of her jumper.
She was yanked backwards, experienced the pain and suction again and landed on her rear in a cave. A young man stood before her, his smile wry. She could hear water, instinctively turned to it.
“There's a river at the cave mouth. I wouldn't advise walking a path right now.”
“Who are you. Where am I?”
Dena struggled to her feet, disorientated.
“You are barely escaped from being stomped by the Roman army. I'm Mike” He offered his hand to steady her, proffered a beaker, “Drink this. It helps.”
Dena downed the offered drink and choked. Mike clapped her on the back and laughed.
“Wow, a little at a time. Rum's a bit strong in pints!”
“Rum!” Dena stared in disbelief, “What is this? Are you crazy?”
“Yeah, I felt like that at first. I promise you can trust me though. Take my hand.”
Reluctantly, but with little alternative, Dena took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the river at the cave entrance.
“See the paths?”
The water flowed wide and strong, rippled with water paths travelling in every conceivable direction. She nodded.
“Hold tight and don't let go.”
He took them onto a path. The same sensations, but with less force. They landed on a beach. A young man toiled back and forth, shouting words into the wind.
“Byron” Mike explained, "And this is Greece, about 1823, give or take a month. The nasty bits of travelling fade the more you do it.”
“Byron, really?” Dena stared at the infamous poet, watching his curls bounce in time with his agitated, staccato bursts of words, hurled at the sky.
“Yep. Easier way to prove it.”
Another skip, another path. This time they set down in a field. A stream burbled happily along, watering long spires of almost ripe corn. Dena knew where they were instantly. Knew a miniature Dena, aged six, would come hurtling out of the corn, chased by 'monsters', Mum and Dad doing their best 'Where the Wild Things Are' impressions. As the scene played out, she found it hard to watch herself, feeling the dislocation return. Mike seemed to know, grabbing her hand and heading for the stream.
“Time to go back.”
Seconds later they were back, seated on a pile of cushions, eating hunks of bread and drinking water from a spring in the rear of the cave. Mike grinned round his crumbs.
“I'm guessing you want some explanations?”
Dena nodded, wasting no effort on words, suddenly ravenous.
Mike leaned back, his eyes watching the passing water.
“I don't know how or why. Let's get that straight. All I know is not everyone can do it. On certain days, the wind blows just so and, those who can, see the water paths.”
“What are they?”
“Not sure. They allow you to go anywhere in time. Literally anywhere. If you can imagine it, the paths will take you there.”
“Why?”
“You're asking the wrong person. Rumour has it, the only person who knows is The Rambler. He's supposed to control a single river with a single path capable of taking him to the moment time began. It's called Eternity Esplanade.”
“Really?” Dena's scepticism was clear, “Sounds like an urban legend.”
“Maybe, maybe” Mike's voice became dreamy, distant, “But I've been here ten years now, and the stories about him are consistent. I'm looking for Melody. She's supposed to have met him, but she travels constantly. One day.”
“Ten years? Do you mean you haven't been home in ten years? Not once?”
“Yep.”
“Your family...?”
“I check on them every now and then. They think I drowned. They were sad for a while, but they've started laughing again. It's good to see.”
“Don't you miss them?”
“Some, at first, but I have all of time to explore. I don't want to go back.”
Dena put that thought aside for future consideration, already wondering if the allure of time would drown the pull of home and family.
“How does it work?”
“Bit difficult at first. I ended up in the middle of a street in Beijing’s rush hour once. Worst one was falling out of the sky.”
“What! I thought it worked through water.”
“It does. Trouble is I decided to see if rain works. It does, if it's a real heavy storm... but you fall down with the rain. Wouldn't be here if I hadn't got blown sideways and managed to grab the edge of a workman's cradle.”
“You may not be the best advert for time travelling, Mike.”
“Nah, I don't do anything that stupid now.”
“So, back to how it works?”
“You can go anywhere in time, as long as there is running water nearby. Think of the time you want to see as you step onto a path and off you go.”
“It can't be that easy.”
“Just remember two things. First, be very, very, incredibly, minutely aware of where you want to go. If you stumble or think fuzzy, you could end up anywhere. As your encounter with Caesar's minions proved. Second, Don't stay in one place too long. The longer your visit, the more chance you have of changing something irrevocably. Time can cope with the odd anomaly, but don't push your luck. Two days is the longest I've stayed anywhere. Stick to that and you should be fine.”
“No killing my grandad then?”
Mike grinned and rose, holding out his hand.
“Ready to go again?”
“Sort of scared...”
“I'll hang with you the first few times.”
On the verge of time, feeling it lap at her feet, Dena took her first step into eternity.
Author's notes - For those of you with an interest in the workings of my mind, two things inspired and are referenced in this tale. The first is common to many writers. I carry a notebook almost everywhere. It is the most disorganised thing you have ever seen, full of random thoughts, shopping lists, websites, phone numbers and random story ideas. Near the front of the current book is a page of thoughts including one about the weird water patterns I saw on a local river. Hence the water paths. The other refers to the description of glass paths, a magician's trick. That is down to this guy and this video -
Bright blessings
Mojo
This is an awesome story. I always keep a notebook with me, unfortunately, I'm not as creative as you. That video reminded me of this walk on water video with the singer from the Cars.
ReplyDeleteI really loved this story! =D